#AND THEN MISDIRECTS EVERY TIME IT GETS TOO CLOSE TO HIS LIVED REALITY

[variousqueerthings]

sherlock, to a victim: "my father packed me off to boarding school when i was just eight years old. i was a little bit of a know-it-all, well... massive know-it-all, actually. turned a lot of the other boys at the school against me. especially one by the name of anders larson. over the course of the next year anders took his anger out on me in a myriad cruel and terrible ways- nothing close to what you experienced, of course, but... it seemed worth mentioning, because, yousee... the more anders hurt me, the more i felt gratitude that he was actually paying attention to me. that in tormenting me he was attempting to correct what i knew to be wrong with myself. one day, after a particularly brutal lesson - it left me in a very bad way - a teacher asked me who was responsible. i said i'd fallen down the stairs. funny the things that we do for the people that we care about"

joan, later: "any of it true?"

sherlock: "I went to boarding school"

[bossbutch]

umineko chapter 6 (first half)

or door chains and "wait, is umineko actually about being trans and plural"

after thinking about Trans Beato in my last post one of the early things Featherine (hi featherine) says is to describe new beato as An Egg, lol so in anje's reality every chapter is a bottle message and ep 5 (and 3 and 4?) was a Forgery, ok ok umineko the book tells umineko the reader "without you here i don't have the power to think" yeah i get it i get what you're putting down

so i thought battler figured out Everything but he really only knows love and what his sin was? or he figured those out and could derive everything else. i'm 99% sure it was his promise to sayo but also that kanon was the one mad at him, not shannon

ok how much does umineko author understand about DID. i'm not sure what specifically made me write that in my notes? i'll be up front that i am not plural and get all my info about it secondhand from autistic girlies. but like. i'm seeing a lot of what i know about it in umineko, which like the trans reading idk how much is authorial intent versus what i'm bringing to it. but umineko rolls out the red carpet for you to read into it "fun beato won't be revived" :(

sayo giving kanon Permission to Love is a conversation i've had with one of my friends a number of times YOSHIYA-KUN! google translate has kanon writing his name something like "good, question mark", i'm sure if i knew japanese there's a lot of meaning in how he writes it (kanon may be a boymoding girl but "kanon" is An Assumed Identity anyway. i'm going to use he/him until he says otherwise.) but can i trust any new information in episode 6 to be Truth or just battler's interpretation? i guess that's all i've ever had to go on

beato chick being all like "i gotta Live For Father" is incredibly fucked up knowing that that's probably what kinzo asked of beato the younger

so now chick beato is reading umineko, which is awesome. i wanted ch6 to jump right into Battler's Game but chick beato and anje+featherine commentary are fun side stories.

erika once again metagaming and battler using it as bait. we love an "i know you know i know". lol at everyone in battler's story expressing immediate annoyance with her

anje doesn't get why the servants need "magic" to allow themselves to love which means she must be way behind me and battler in understanding. but, with that said, why in top-level-reality would they think that they Have the power to marry into the family, but it can only be used by shannon OR kanon? going under the assumption that they're different people because the alternative is too silly to consider at the moment

eva-bea is back (in metaphor at least), and they reiterate that spiderwebs are bad for beato-prime but part of eva-beato's Thing. dunno what's important about that- eva beato is A beato, not Our beato. as someone with a controlling parent george's Thing with his parents hits hard. i feel bad for kanon because jessica clearly loves him Way Less than george loves shannon

anje says that asumu gave birth to battler when we know that's not true. is the anje that meets with featherine not seeing any of the purgatory stuff?

i know there's still a "lion" and a "williard" to be introduced because of the fighting game but they still aren't here in chapter 6

[while writing my notes i wrote "anje" and forgot what i was gonna say]

big focus on The Chains this chapter. if knox means that the chain couldn't be set from the outside, how do you make it possible. they could've been shot and staked through holes/traps but knox says that's undiscovered evidence. if knox 8 resolves anything not shown then either its hiding in the room (boring) or the room was never really closed because kanon cut the chain before battler arrived. but genji supposedly saw the door locked and with no sigil so he'd have to be lying too.

if knox Is a misdirection- that is, beato has used secret passages or weird devices or other unrevealed clues- then the amount of focus they've put on it is kinda silly. but what counts as a "clue that's shown to the reader" leaves a lot of wiggle room. like umineko isn't under an obligation to show the necessary clue in the same chapter as the puzzle or anything.

remember when rudolf told battler that he was gonna die soon? when was that. that was probably a big deal.

umineko outright says "pay attention to the romance sections" and idk if that's just a hint for The Promise To Sayo or something more

battler to beato: "i understand magic, so i'd be able to carry you off the game board, i think that was your wish". so is host-beato not just a representative of trauma but explicitly A Headmate to battler?

what's the thematic point of making erika Pathetic. [i'll write more about her when the episode is over]

Alright so there's only one Big Mystery in episode 6, and it's How Do You Get Battler Outta The Room. i'm writing about this no later than featherine tells anje to think about it for herself. "love" is the hint to the intended solution. -_- Erika is Not the Detective, so he could just kill her, but he would still have to deal with the standing red truths. could he argue Kinzo Exists This Time? he died before The Game Begins so i dont think he could be part of the setup. either battler doesn't know how eva and hideyoshi's Chained Room was set up (if it was set up at all) or erika made that setup impossible this time.

the two nonmagical explanations are "not a crime" or "not a closed room". he has to Leave The Room without breaking the tape somehow, so it's not a closed room. (on that subject, i love that battler's first idea for a game is "everyone fakes their deaths". of course he wouldn't want to really hurt them.)

if erika isn't held to knox's 7th (she killed those folks) then battler isn't held to knox's 3rd right? he could make a secret passage? or say that "no secret passages impossible for erika to find" just means erika missed it. but that's a weak answer, it's much stronger to create a possibility for someone to escape the Other sealed rooms to come help him. we haven't said no secret doors or search from erika for them. we do say "unbroken seal means no one has entered or exited" but that just means no one used those particular doors, right? if there's another means of escape it's all okay

in the second half of the chapter: gaap immediately goes through everything i just said. umineko is good, ya'll.

[mxnxdrama]

Did Sparkle really needed him to stall for time? Maybe. Maybe not. After all, its either she can actually do it from the beginning, or she purposefully let herself stall to enjoy the show being freely served before her on a silver platter. The struggle between the 'tin knight' and destined death is quite the marvel for her after all, something she can wholeheartedly take great credit for.

A handiwork that she wanted to enjoy for longer. After all, its not every day that one could get a front row seat in such brutal intensity between both parties, with neither wanting to let up nor recoil.

'Can you act like we're in a fight for our damn lives here!' is what he barked. After all, there was dissonance in the atmosphere shared by everyone involved. While the monstrous meme aimed to kill, and Caelus aimed to fight for their lives by the skin of his teeth, Sparkle seem unbothered of such reality at all, as if it was simply a show she gets to experience live. A normal person would probably snap to attention after hearing that and actually focus on the gravity of the situation, but Sparkle isn't really quite normal now, is she?

For her merit however, she wasn't quite the slouch, even as Caelus carried her around close to him, what with her supporting him every couple of moments, that same power being used on him in crucial timing, allowing for him to hit much harder at the right moment.

Perhaps she does understand the seriousness of their current predicament, yet at the same time was also finding joy in it that she can't be bothered to show her concern at all? Sure, such reasoning would hinge on the absolute absurdity, but towards the Masked Fool? It most certainly can be the most logical reasoning.

The forewarning to close her eyes was heeded, the resulting sounds from the clash had Sparkle hum out in delight, hearing that sickening crunch of Caelus' bat hitting its mark.

Once they were in the brief clear, with the meme of destined death starting to recuperate in such a surprisingly advanced pace, the question about the 'favor' was finally garnered with a proper response.

"Hmm, I almost thought you've forgotten about it, little racoon~." She stated, a tone with full intent of teasing him as her eyes would now have that distinct glow again, and soon enough, several of the large goldfish from moments earlier would appear again, swimming about across the area they are currently located in, spreading out a wavy haze of sorts, quite similar to the one Caelus and Firefly had experienced before during that little 'trick' Sparkle had done to the both of them that sent them to this place for the first time to begin with.

However, this one lasted longer, persisted for a prolonged duration as it was repurposed to misdirect, to trick the beast before them.

Hence, Caelus would be able to see the effects of this illusory haze.

The two of them would be promptly undetected while the haze is active. However, as for what would keep the meme of death busy?

If their combined ingenuity would work against it, then those numerable gleaming eyes would see... illusions. Projections of its latest kill. Caelus would be able to see it too.

Multiple Fireflies spread out around the place, the symbol of Caelus driving force and motivation that has led him to this moment now being used as an object of distraction. An intentional, premeditated taunt that goes both ways.

A taunt towards the beast of death, to mislead it that maybe it wasn't really successful in scoring that kill.

A taunt towards Caelus, for if the beast would bite the bait, he would get to see these illusions of Firefly get 'killed' over and over again.

In some twisted way, Firefly managed to set both of them up, making the most out of the joy she can gather from having both him, and the meme of death strung up to her strings.

And maybe this was also her way to have Caelus unleash more of his wrath towards their joint enemy? Who knows what's going on in that head of hers, after all.

"Well, what do you think, little racoon? Is this 'favor' enough to your liking~?"

If he truly wished to see what's beyond the curtains, to make good on the sheer mass of expectant hell she decisively doles out to him..

Dying held no quarter as a possibility within his mind.

That goes for the both of them for this 'roller coaster ride'.

If she expected those words from before, biting accusations, a distinct reminder of how much the shackles of failure remain biting into wrist and ankles alike, it'd be successful. The severity of the situation was transformed into power that emboldens the limbs. Another firm breath was taken in, of the floral fragrance that's tucked by his figure, only for that utter frustration to be worn upon his face like the best sort of mask. "Can you act like we're in a fight of our damn lives here!" The sort he dragged her into technically.

Such details were neither here or there, not when their sparse, near carefree interactions in itself was quickly drawing the bestial presence's ire. If Sparkle found herself motivated to see if even Death itself could have the wool pulled over their eyes.

Caelus has to commit. That served as a simple enough fact.

Whatever she derived from terrorizing him had to serve as a good foundational base to focus that power, right? It would be the last thought his mind allowed itself to pressure a gargantuan claw found itself slashing forward from the opposing end, caring little if it sliced away at it's own violet scales in the name of this pursuit. Bracing his knees, the following action found itself perfect time as a firm stomp of the heel would bounce them into the air.

Throwing their bodies into a sudden pirouette, those fingers clenched securely upon her hip as they brushed by the danger of severance once again.

"You'll get your time. So relax n' see that you can give a show that can wow even me!" As much as it made the mind seethe, in the same vein, that melodious, taunting laughter certainly beats out that bestial roaring any day of the week. It was a sign that she's within the pivotal shape to turn this performance upon its entire head.

With the renewed height of his jump, gravity quickly follows up, pulling them into an abrupt descent towards a pillowy flourish of shadow as the vantablack nature of it's growing power nearly ensnare them in what looks like a hazy brand of fog. Ignoring the way his stomach flopped within, his ears strained themselves to what sounds like a measure of grinding saws growing louder by the second.

Death had no intention of making whatever mindless dance they perform to last any longer. The knowledge of rending and tearing, fears wrought from fallen prey, it catered to the maniacal creativity it issued by conforming the surroundings pressure around them. Within that dark veil, a multitude of those violet eyes would open, following them eagerly for the nearest sight of bloodshed.

What should've been a landing prolonged into a personal hell.

...

It should've been.

For within the Trailblazer's grip would that trusty bat materialize. A haunting visage of golden burning bright within those irises as his wielding arm lashed out, creating the chaotic noise of steel against glimmer curio, the cerulean haze of the bat striking like streaks of nebula as a flurry of strikes were issued. Wrenching saw blades from their sockets, utterly crushing the meat grinding tools into themselves, making them look like shattered mouths, to overarching swings that either blinded or punctured one of those very eyes.

This wasn't the fear it garnered before! Instead what Death would be blessed with was none other than pain, the way it'd worm the presence not into its joints, but into the scale of emotion that thrives within its core. It dislodged its concentration as the manipulation of reality briefly stalls back to normal.

Once Caelus had maneuvered into a steady landing at the bottom, not a beat was missed before his body shot like lightning to a sudden direction. Death continues to hover as that upper body reveals itself, allowing those violet, demon eyed wings to brace as a malleable brand of wing projectile as they launch forth, continuously skewering at the ground in hopes of gaining any leverage.

A sudden jump, holding Sparkle tighter as he slid upon his hip, dodging a few overhead swings before abruptly tapping back up into his prior sprint, the concentration hadn't been dented into the slighter as he kept ahead. Thankfully, their abrupt passing was surrounding a few of those sparking Dreamjolts reaching their end, that stupidly comical smile radiating upon them approval as another hurrah of Path power was blessed into their bodies.

For Caelus, it was enough to let Destruction pulse like vibrant life blood within his veins. It'd all start with him pivoting into a 180 turn back towards the beast in question.

Only for an advance to be made instead..!?

This brazen knight would advance with clenched teeth and a sudden siphoning of vitality, the replacement high of Fighting Spirit making up for the abrupt loss as that very aura flares around their bodies. "Might wanna close those eyes! Goin' blind'!" He grits out, ducking them both underneath a piercing claw, only to bounce into an instant a higher kick of momentum, both of their forms rendered into a blur. For an instant, his visage found itself a near ruthless image of Nanook himself.

Resonance Formation.

Cataclysmic variable.

Fiery wrath, the matter dissolving force of Antimatter, both of these energies would abruptly coalesce as a raging forth that seethes through that infamous bat to the bane of countless. Just the weight that nearly made it tear from his grip was agonizing fascinating, the struggle in itself only adding to his potential.

It'd be directly under that vulnerable underbelly would that devastating blow find the mark. Enough force to make Death understand as that entire crystallized body shuddered, only for an explosive swath of crimson energy to send its hulking frame going airborne as the shadowy dimension shatters from around them. For an instant the figure finds itself stunned, webbed cracks shifting from the vicious meme as it tries to regain its bearings from that unsuspecting law of Breaking.

As its frame managed to gradually recover (so frighteningly quick), the view of such tenacity made Caelus grit his teeth in growing annoyance.

Just what in the hell was this thing made of!?

"How's that 'favor' coming along!?"

[knewyouwereaweirdo]

johnny headcanons (cuz i cannot keep these to myself)

(watch him dance 👀)

- johnny used to spend a whole lot of time with his mum—she was a music prodigy and had an amazing singing voice.

- she also played the piano, so back when they lived in Wales, she’d teach him to play.

- after his mom died from cancer, he hadn’t been able to lay a finger on the piano keys because it hurt to think of her.

- johnny learned to ice skate for his mum because back when she was sick his tricks were one of the things that made her smile.

- he’s been skateboarding since he was seven, so he basically knows all the skateboarding tricks you could think of.

- when he was thirteen, he stole one of his dad’s cigarettes and tried smoking—he hated how it felt like it was choking him and never tried it again, scared that if he did it again it would make him unable to sing.

- johnny, since he was young, had been a massive clay calloway fan; some of his songs were his mom’s favorite, so whenever he feels alone and in doubt he sits back and let the music play on his phone.

- music was johnny’s way to escape reality.

- whenever he felt like he couldn’t take it, he left the garage to an abandoned warehouse and he’d sing his heart out alone for hours and hours.

- after his mom died while in Wales, his dad and his gang moved to the States and they moved around a lot.

- johnny was never really bullied at school because of his friendly demeanor, but he never really got to make any close friends because he moved around too much to stay long.

- johnny and nooshy are gamer buddies.

- they gather at johnny’s place every weekend in the afternoon to play video games.

- when he loses he gets grumpy (yes, he pouts).

johnny: this isn’t fair, you got three more ko’s while you made me go get the snacks.

nooshy: it’s called misdirection, big guy. :)

johnny: i’m not playing. >:( *proceeds to play*

- he has music playlists created in his spotify for every single mood he’s feeling.

- believe it or not, johnny’s into reading (anything besides nonfiction, really).

- when he reads, he wears glasses.

- oh holy hecc, does it make him look distinguished.

- johnny writes his own songs from time to time.

- nowadays, johnny, ryan and nooshy just come together from time to time to do free-form dancing.

- johnny is oblivious to everything.

ryan: i was thinking we could be more than just friends.

johnny: oh, sure! so like, best friends?

ryan: no, more than that—

johnny: best best friends?

ryan: no, even more.

johnny: mega best friends?

ryan: i give up.

- yes, we all know he’s a lovely bi mess. 

[rockabelle]

Things to consider:

In the temple, Jin Guangyao points out that that it was the Jin clan that helped the Cloud Recesses to rebuild. 

That got me thinking. Most of the Jiang disciples were killed when Lotus Pier was destroyed. The Lan, though the Cloud Recesses suffered significant damage and losses, were not brought to the brink of annihilation the way the Jiang were. 

The Jiang would have needed a lot of aid from the other sects, both during and after the Sunshot Campaign, to survive and rebuild. And who would be giving that aid? The Lan needed aid themselves. The Nie did some of the heaviest fighting during Sunshot, what with the Lan and Jiang being weakened and the Jin only somewhat participating (not to mention their proximity to the Wen sect), so they were licking their own wounds. 

The Jin rose in prominence after Sunshot precisely because they didn’t invest much in it until the very end, and then they swooped in and took credit for victory because of Meng Yao’s (Sorry, Jin Guangyao’s) actions as a spy and the beheader of Wen Ruohan. The Jin were already known as being the wealthiest sect even before Sunshot, and then they played both sides of the war and lost little, while still probably getting spoils. Afterwards, this left them at the top of the cultivation world as far as resources, stability, and military power.

The Jin already had a connection to the Jiang because of the friendship that had existed between the Madames Jiang and Jin, and the engagement that had been between their children. Bringing the engagement back and getting Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan married was a significant move. It made good sense for the Jiang, who were extremely vulnerable and would very much benefit from having such a tie and thus being under the protection of the wealthy and powerful Jin sect. As great as it would have been for Jiang Yanli to stay and help her brother rebuild, this was probably the best way she could help their sect (and be protected herself, from Jiang Cheng’s point of view). 

Through Jin Guangyao, the Jin had connections to both the Lan and the Nie- he literally saved Lan Xichen’s life when the man was fleeing from the Wen attack on the Cloud Recesses, and then he saved Nie Mingjue’s life when the latter was captured by Wen Ruohan. These connections were solidified when the three of them swore brotherhood and became the “Venerated Triad.”

The Jin gained a strong relationship with the Jiang through marriage, and a history as an ally and benefactor to the Jiang in their hour of need. The Jin not only had the advantage in their trade partnership and whatever role they had in giving aid to the Jiang, but Jiang Yanli, and then Jin Ling, were essentially hostages for good Jiang behavior. 

All of which is to say, when Jiang Cheng asked Wen Qing why she didn’t come to him for help, and she was like, would you have helped me regardless of anything else? What could you have done?- she wasn’t castigating him. She was pointing out what they both already knew: his hands were tied. He could not have helped her. 

(Even Wei Wuxian knew that, which was at least partly why he did not come to Jiang Cheng, either, when he decided to get Wen Ning’s location from Jin Zixun. He didn’t tell Jiang Cheng what he was going to do and he didn’t try to work through Jiang Cheng’s authority. He ignored him, his own sect leader, entirely. It made Jiang Cheng, already at a disadvantage as the youngest and most inexperienced sect leader, look really bad that his right-hand man/terrifying demonic cultivator underling did this and Jiang Cheng couldn’t control him. But it also made Jiang Cheng look innocent, made it clear that he was uninvolved in what Wei Wuxian was doing and did not endorse his actions.)

The previous time Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing had met, she had told him that they were even and he didn’t owe her anything. He insisted on giving her the comb, anyway, as the symbol of a favor that he was willing to give her and she could cash in if she wanted. Of course, it was also a symbol of unspoken romantic feelings, but that was not something that was ever explicit between them. When Wen Qing returned the comb, it was not meant to be a slap in the face. She was saying, again, “You don’t owe me any favors. You bear no responsibility for me.” 

It also symbolized letting go of the old hope for a romantic relationship, yes. Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing were pulled apart at every turn by their responsibilities to their sects. The final time they met was just the culmination.

Both Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing severed their connections with Jiang Cheng on the same day and for the same reason- to protect him and his sect. Wei Wuxian did this by asking that Jiang Cheng expel him from the Jiang sect, and Wen Qing by returning the comb and releasing him from any obligation to her. They knew he could not protect them and they could only endanger him, so they pushed him away. 

What could Jiang Cheng possibly have done when Wei Wuxian came to accuse the sects after the Wen remnants sacrificed themselves? The situation was even worse than before. Was he supposed to turn his precious remaining disciples against the other sects? Oppose the sect that had his sister and nephew even at that very moment? Destroy the alliances that kept his sect alive? 

And for what? A hopeless, apparently unjust fight to save the person who had killed disciples from almost every sect? Who had killed the Jin sect heir and made Jiang Yanli a widow and Jin Ling fatherless? And then Wei Wuxian made it all too easy for the sects to fight him at the end by acting unhinged and using zombies/his powers against them. Let’s be honest, here: he killed a lot of cultivators who probably didn’t deserve it.

There was nothing Jiang Cheng could have done, not without abandoning or dooming his sect.

After Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli were dead, Jin Guangyao disposed of his remaining relatives to solidify his position. Except for Jin Ling. Jin Ling had a better claim to Jin leadership than he did, why did Jin Guangyao allow him to live?

Simple. As long as Jin Ling was alive, Jin Guangyao had Jiang Cheng by the balls. 

By this time, Jin Guangyao’s connections to the other great sects all ran through himself. He had a very close friendship with Lan Xichen, who along with trusting him and being easily manipulated and willing to ignore his suspicions of any wrongdoing, was also quick in defending Jin Guangyao and thus lending him the shield of the First Jade’s excellent reputation. He was a great help in keeping Nie Mingjue under control. When Jin Guangyao finally got rid of Mingjue, he already had claws deep in the new Nie sect leader. He had a longstanding friendly, older brother/mentor relationship with Huaisang, who was incompetent, weak, and had a reputation for uselessness. Nie Huaisang made it even easier by relying on his san-ge for everything. Jin Guangyao honestly believed himself to have more control over Nie affairs than he even wanted. (Fucking brilliant misdirection, Nie Huaisang)

Under Jiang Cheng’s leadership, Yunmeng flourished and became strong again. Jiang Cheng himself became a force to be reckoned with as he grew in experience and confidence. But Jin Guangyao kept a firm hold over him through Jin Ling. Jin Ling was the only family that Jiang Cheng had, and he made his devotion to his nephew very clear to everyone. In their patriarchal world, authority was passed down through the father’s side. Since Jin Ling’s father was Jin, the Jin clan had ultimate claim on Jin Ling. He belonged to the Jin clan, not the Jiang clan, and he was the Jin heir. They might be expected to graciously allow Jiang Cheng to be involved in Jin Ling’s life, but the amount of time the boy was allowed to stay in Lotus Pier, for example, was under their control. Jin Ling’s life was in Jin Guangyao’s hands, and there was little Jiang Cheng could do to control what happened to Jin Ling when he was at Koi Tower.

Jin Guangyao could use Jin Ling to manipulate Jiang Cheng in all kinds of ways, and he could also use him to unknowingly provide information on the Jiang. 

Obviously, a lot of things are not being addressed in all this word vomit, but these are just thoughts I’ve been having when I see blame being put on Jiang Cheng for not “doing more” to protect Wei Wuxian or Wen Qing or Jin Ling, especially when folks assume that because Jiang Cheng was a sect leader, that meant he had more control over the situation. In reality, Jiang Cheng’s position curtailed his freedom very much, and made it impossible for him to do the sorts of things that characters with less authority/responsibility could. 

It also makes it easier to understand Jiang Cheng’s point of view. Because to him, Wei Wuxian should have been in much the same position as Jiang Cheng was, if he really meant to help his brother bear the burden of their sect. Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have felt “free” to act on behalf of the Wen remnants, either; not if he was serious when he told Jiang Cheng to depend on him. 

[sometimesrosy]

What elements make B/E such an obvious romantic obstacle to B/C, narratively, etc?

A lot really. I mean, first, with that time jump, we needed to see that Bellamy had grown and moved on from the trauma of earth. Who better to show that transformation than the grounder who represented betrayal and brutality and murder and war to him? The one who betrayed him and almost killed his sister and held him captive. To forgive HER means he’s over the s3 bizness where he treated all grounders as the enemy who deserved death just for existing in some cases. We SAW him learn the lessons, but with the time jump and B/E he now INHABITS it. He’s grown from it. 

There’s also the parallels between CL and B/E. first alliance, then betrayal, then kidnapping, then working together, then saving from sucide, then forgiveness, then love. I know some people consider CL to be endgame, but my theory here is based on CL being over, for important reasons within the narrative. So to parallel two relationships that are important and transformative, but not endgame, and to show the longer pace of B/E which shows that Bellamy was healthier than Clarke was, is a sign of character development.

Bellamy needed a relationship in order to move forward on the ship, so he wasn’t a wreck. He needed to be a whole person, who COULD live without Clarke, because the Bellarke relationship is a relationship of equals, and it’s NOT codependent. They don’t fill in the holes of the other person. They are not INCOMPLETE without each other, They needed to be shown as complete people on their own. So showing that he’d not been destroyed by her loss meant having him accept love, accept that he deserved love. Therefore, he needed a healthy relationship. 

OKAY. This turned out to be A TOTAL EPIC post. And it’s too long so after the jump. STay tuned.

IT COULD NOT BE RAVEN. Wanna know why? Because Raven has her own journey. And she CAN NOT be second choice, because of her problems with finn and clarke in s1. Raven needs someone to be head over heels over her, if she’s going to have anyone. And if Bellamy had been in a relationship with Raven, CLARKE would always be standing between them. And with Clarke’s resurrection, Bellamy’s SOULMATE, Raven would be cast into second place, thus ruining Raven’s character arc, and putting Clarke into the SAME narrative of being the other woman, without any development. This would be a failure of storytelling, lacking growth and transformation which is NECESSARY for this story. 

As long as Bellarke is endgame, Br/aven could NOT happen. If Bellarke is NOT endgame, Br/aven is actually the CLEAR AND OBVIOUS choice for Bellamy’s next relationship. They already love and respect and like each other. Raven is a major character. The audience loves and wants them both happy. If Bellarke were not endgame, then Br/aven would have been. If Bellarke were PLATONIC, for real? Then Br/aven should have been developing all this time. But since Bellarke is an endgame romance, Br/aven CAN NOT happen romantically. 

THUS they needed a character to be his romance, to show him moving on, but it couldn’t be a character who was TOO essential that we would replace Bellarke with that ship, as would have happened with br/aven. Although it also needed to be a character who was tied to the major issues we’ve been dealing with, someone who maybe reminds him a little of Clarke even. Enter Echo. betrayals, ruthless, sneaky, beautiful, cheated in the conclave, almost killed his sister, does whatever she has to to save her people, loyal. 

I’d also like to bring up Echo’s name. And I think her name DOES matter. At first I thought it was because she was an ECHO of CL and that betrayal for Bellamy.  The myth of Echo, as the nymph who pined after Narcissus didn’t make sense to me, as Bellamy wasn’t a narcissist in love with his own reflection... UNTIL someone made the point that the classical concept of soulmates was one soul split into two bodies, so a person and their reflection COULD be a metaphor for this soulmate concept. Which made Bellamy in love with his reflection/soullmate Clarke, which now ENTIRELY fit the Echo and Narcissus myth. Echo is in love with Bellamy who is obsessed with his soulmate Clarke (who in s6 was ‘behind the glass’ like a mirror image! huh. Who was it that posted that theory!? that sounds like a confirmation to me.) Now again, Clarke and Bellamy are separated by this distance, and Echo goes in to find him? I hope Echo doesn’t fade away like her namesake did, but it’s possible. But Narcissus also dies at the river, in love with his reflection, becoming flowers, right? This actually fits my spec that Bellarke will “die” but in reality just be separated from their family and live out their lives in pastoral happily ever after. Anyway. The myth of Echo and Narcissus, means Echo is NOT the soulmate.

Also. JR said Clarke and Bellamy were soulmates. And fine, I don’t use commentary in my analysis... but I do if it fits, and this fits. They are SHOWN as being soulmates from season 4 AT LEAST. “you center her.” “you got it backwards.” for an example. 

Okay, but now lets get to the narrative. What I told you before is more about storytelling and tropes and character development. Or HOW you tell a story. Now we’ll get to canon evidence. There’s still some storytelling in there. I’m gonna start with s5, because that’s when romantic b/e showed up.

This was the big sign to me of what was going on with Bellarke and B/E.

The first episode of s5 was almost ALL Clarke. We were focused on her survival in the wastes. We were given access to her feelings and thoughts and pov. We were given her monologue.  Which was not a monologue.

It was a conversation, one way, with Bellamy. The voiceover of 5.01 was Clarke making her 2199 radio calls. Which is a romantic trope. They were, essentially like a diary, or love letters, or even a prayer, in a way. For that little bit of the story, in fact, huh. We could almost think of that whole episode as being Clarke’s tales of survival, told to Bellamy as a kind of epistolary tale. What we see IS what she said to Bellamy. Hmm. That’s interesting.

ANYWAY. My point was. The audience is put square inside Clarke’s head, and her head is “why haven’t you come home,” and talking to Bellamy and missing him.

THEN we get the scene where Clarke is talking to Madi about them, and missing them and then the camera pan up through the stars to Bellamy looking down on them, unknowingly, at the valley.

THIS IS THE MOST POETIC THE MOST ROMANTIC SHOT IN THE WHOLE SHOW. MAYBE IN EVERY SHOW EVER. It is a poem. She yearns for him, across time, beyond the stars, and he’s looking down on her, thinking she is dead, and the INFERENCE is that he’s yearning for her too, past death.

A love that literally lasts past death time and space. ULTIMATE EPIC LOVE STORY. And they are finally going to be reunited. AH, resolution for their separation and their love.

AND THEN... dun dun dunnnn, the plot thickens. 

Out of nowhere, the reveal that Bellamy and Echo ARE LOVERS. 

BAM! OBSTACLE. more, ROMANTIC obstacle. 

Clarke’s yearning was romantic in nature. We don’t see inside Bellamy’s head, but making the obstacle to their reunion no longer tech, but instead an established romance, means that the narrative has set Bellarke on a romantic path. Because otherwise another romance would not be an obstacle. Heck, Echo is not against Clarke. Even when she was threatening her life she wasn’t really against Clarke. She gets her. As a leader and partner, she gets her. Echo is ONLY an obstacle if the goal is a romantic relationship between Clarke and Bellamy.

That it’s set up this way, as a shock, is part of the romantic narrative.

THIS is on purpose a slap in the face. Because the audience has been set up to want them to come home TO CLARKE, to want a Bellarke reunion and to FEEL that they belong together. 

THEN when Echo is sure things will change between them, and Bellamy assures her that nothing will change between them on the ground, this is what’s known as DRAMATIC IRONY. The audience knows that Clarke is alive, they know that the bellarke bond is epic, they know that Clarke is yearning in a romantic way, they know that when Bellamy finds out that Clarke is alive EVERYTHING will change with his relationship with E. 

But then, we get a misdirect, or rather, a plot obstacle to B/E. Octavia is not forgiving and she’s scarier than ever. 

B/E is set up from the VERY BEGINNING as a romantic obstacle.

Then to prove it, we get

Clarke’s VERY shocked and jealous face when B/E reunites and kiss. That the camera focuses on HER, shows her watching them, and not on THEM means the main emotional weight of the scene is not the lovely reunion between loving partners, (thank god you’re ok i was so worried i’m so glad to see you again love love love,) but rather on clarke. (omg bellamy is kissing someone. bellamy is not mine. heartbreak, jealousy, shock!) See the focus is NOT on the established relationship, the B/E leg of the love triangle, but on CLARKE, the pining one, the one whose love is unrequited. The soulmate.

IF B/E were endgame, the focus would have been on the relief of the reunited lovers. But we’ve just spent like two episodes on the reunited (non-romantic apparently) soulmates, and the CANON relationship can’t even get an infocus shot?

A close up of someone’s face means the narrative wants us to feel their EMOTIONS. We got lots of those when Clarke and Bellamy reunited, when they hugged, when they struggled to regain their connection. But with the B/E reunion. Their faces were obscured, not shown, blurred.

Ok. And YES, Bellamy then moves on to focus on Echo and B/E, and saving her from Octavia, and that is to show that B/E is real. Because no obstacle that is not made real is going to be enough to really scare the audience into worrying that it could stop our heroes from their goal. IT HAS to be real. But even while Bellamy is proving to O that he loves Echo, the focus is NOT really on B/E, but on the Blakes relationship.  And on Bellamy and Octavia. This is teaching us who they are now, after 6 years apart.

Then there’s a love scene between B/E, or half a love scene anyway. The beginning. It is cut off in the middle and cuts to CLARKE getting ready to leave.. Oddly, the music for the scene stays the same, which CONNECTS the two scenes. A LOVE SCENE cut with a LEAVING SCENE. An established romance confirmed, a pining soulmate leaving aka giving up. And in the next scene, we get this dynamic reinforced... however, there is a change. The romantic couple is confirmed again, while Clarke watches. HERE we are shown a closeup of her face, tears in her eyes, all about how she feels about their relationship, after the close up of their faces I think, and sadness and love yes. this is real. Then Clarke steps back, straighten her shoulders and accepts it. She won’t interfere. He’s not hers to love. HOWEVER, then Echo LEAVES. The established couple separates. And we turn to Clarke and Bellamy immediately he knew she was there somehow.  

While B/E are split up, Bellarke are brought back together, although at this point they are non romantic, with each member choosing Echo for him. And we spend many episodes with them rediscovering their soulmate bond and getting closer and more intimate as they do so. While Echo has her OWN narrative and it has nothing to do with Bellamy or b/E. 

This leads to Bellarke making pledges to each other, over her daughter, and he swears to take care of Madi when/if Clarke dies. Bellamy promises to parent his soulmates daughter while his canon girlfriend is off risking her life. They bond as, well, co parents. Making them a family unit, Mother, Father and Daughter, though no romantic or sexual relationship between the two? 

Not so fast.

“Another traitor who you love.” Octavia lays out the issue. Bellamy loves Echo. Bellamy loves Clarke. She is comparing Echo and Clarke in his love. This is a ROMANTIC love comparison. She’s goading him. He doesn’t take the bait. Because he has a plan. 

Bellamy sacrifices his sister for Clarke’s life. Poisoning her. His sister who has been established as the person who means more to him than anyone else in the world. When it was O or E? He chose O and let E go off on a suicide mission to win a place with wonkru. When it was O or C? He chose C and poisoned O. That is an equation. Bellamy loves these three women. C more than O. O more than E. C>O>E. When compared, Clarke wins over Echo. If Octavia made it clear that the love is romantic, then Bellamy made it clear that his love for Clarke is deeper than his love for Echo, even if he’s not ready to face that or deal with it.

AND THEN SHE LEAVES HIM TO THE PIT. He knew he’d betrayed Clarke, but it is confirmation to him that Clarke does not return his feelings. So, when that’s sorted out, he has a moment where he’s choosing between Clarke and Echo (the earth vs the sword, it’s a heavy handed bit of symbolism so we don’t miss it.) He chooses Echo. It’s the logical choice. Head over heart. 

MEANWHILE, Echo and Clarke are having their own life or death convo. In which we find out that Bellamy loves Echo, Echo loves Bellamy, Clarke always cared for Bellamy but thinks him dead at her hand. NOT SO FAST. Bellamy is alive, “oh now you care?” AND THEN, revelation from the past FlameLxa tells her love is not a weakness, she was wrong to betray Clarke (canon love) and Clarke should not do the same thing (betray her love bellamy.) Remember also CL and B/E are paralleled. Remember also all the same players were at MW the original betrayal. L walked away, Echo walked away, Bellamy was under the ground, and Clarke stayed to get to him. it’s just interesting. So in the end, Clarke betrayed ELigius, spares Echo and sends her daughter (another love equation. Clarke canon loved Lxa, but she tells Madi she loves her SO much more than Lxa. Now she risks her greatest love Madi to war in order to save Bellamy. Here’s the equation. Clarke loves Bellamy>Madi>Lxa. We have two equations using actions to prove a primacy in love. Clarke love Bellamy more than all of her other great loves. Bellamy loves Clarke more than all of her great loves.

HOWEVER B/E comes back together to fight. As a couple. It is a couple reunion, but not as romantic as their first reunion, or their goodbye. THEN, they are fighting together and it isn’t romantic. And from there to the end of the season, the B/E romance disappears. 

HOWEVER, Bellamy learns that Clarke cares for him so much that she called him every day for six years. That changes his perception of Clarke, and how Clarke feels for him, and when she urges him to come in, he says, broken, I can’t leave them behind. “Not again.” With the understanding that leaving HER behind was the trauma that he can’t do again. 

So where did B/E go? It doesn’t matter. It’s literally not important to the narrative. Echo literally goes to sleep. B/E is frozen. What is important. Bellarke’s intimacies of saying goodbye to their families and their connection that is still there. And THEN them waking up TOGETHER and facing the loss of Monty, the revelations, the new world AND the commitment to be better, to be the good guys, together.

Known: B/E is a canon relationship. Clarke loves Bellamy and has been pining for him for six years. Bellamy loves Clarke but has moved on though he cannot ignore his feelings for her. Bellamy CHOSES Echo, but Echo keeps disappearing from his story while he focuses on Clarke and their relationship.

HOW do I know Echo is the romantic obstacle and Bellarke is the endgame rather than Clarke being the romantic obstacle and B/E being endgame?

Because the story focuses on the deepening relationship fo Bellarke, while his attachment to Echo stops it from moving forward. It focuses on the FEELINGS of Clarke about B/E, but not the feelings of Echo about Bellarke. It is never even presented. Her feelings are absent, when if her ship was endgame it would be about her feeligns at least partly. Now we do seem BELLAMY’S feelings, but his feelings which start out as about Echo vs Octavia, who hates Echo, shift and become Clarke vs Echo... evenn though Clarke does NOT hate Echo and accepts her just fine. So what is the conflict?

The conflict is that he can’t have competing feelings fo Clarke if he loves Echo. That means his feelings are ROMANTIC.

YES. He does choose Echo near the end of s5. This is because Clarke leaves him to die. Not because his feelings for her are not as strong (remember C>O>E) but because HER feelings seem to show she doesn’t care about him. UNTIL Madi spills the beans, and then he shifts back to Clarke a bit, even though his choice is STILL Echo.

Bellamy loves Clarke but thinks Clarke doesn’t love him so he chooses Echo.

Clarke thinks Bellamy loves Echo and not her, so she refuses to show him or admit to him that she loves him and she attempts to move on and keep him as her “platonic” soulmate.

Echo loves Bellamy and Bellamy loves Echo but Echo has no idea Bellamy also loves Clarke or that he is deciding between Clarke and herself. She has no say in this narrative. It’s not about her. It’s about Clarke and Bellamy. She thought the problem was Octavia. And while that’s a problem, it doesn’t affect Bellamy’s feelings for her. 

Echo has done nothing to make him not love her. Their relationship has remained stable. The only change is that there is another love in the equation. That Clarke’s existence puts B/E into jeopardy means that the Bellarke love is AT LEAST as strong as the B/E love. Possibly more... the love equation says more, but we will get more proof of that in season 6.

When we actually see the love triangle thrown into comparison CONSTANTLY. S5 had Bellarke and B/E separated. We got very few shots of them all together, and when we do, it’s Clarke’s jealousy and dismay on display.

However in s6, right from the beginning, the shots have all three of them in view. With Echo between Bellarke or Clarke between B/E often. Oddly, we also see Echo supporting Clarke. Or not that oddly. They’re a lot alike. She’s not competitive with Clarke, though. Even though there IS a competition. She does’t know about it. We see Bellamy choosing B/E with Clarke on the outside in ep1, but by the time they get to Sanctum, we start to see Bellamy choosing Clarke, or Clarke AND Echo (come look at this echo) with his focus on Clarke not E. We see him REACHING OUT to Clarke. (commiserating about raising their adopted kids without school, then the radio calls conversation which she runs away from because she’s scared.) Even in the eclipse psychosis, he goes after Echo first, but then turns his attention to Clarke. Murphy gets in the way as he always does, but he ignores everyone else. 

As time goes on, though, we get a NEW dynamic. He’s starting to argue with Echo. It’s over Octavia mostly,  but Clarke and Bellamy use Octavia to speak about their feelings for one another, without admitting them, so is that happening here? He’s using the argument over Octavia to express his feelings of frustration and distance with Echo?

Look. I’ve been showing you the love triangle. It is a CANON love triangle, which means B/E is romantic and requited and Bellarke is romantic although it’s unrequited. 

I need to show the love triangle in order for B/E to be A ROMANTIC OBSTACLE.

But just showing the love triangle means it could be B/E that is the endgame and Bellarke that is the love triangle.

How do we know this isn’t the story? 

Well aside from the love equations. We see Bellarke get closer while we see B/E bickering constantly over tactics, over octavia, over feelings, in season 6a. Clarke talks to him about her regret over the pit. The making amends scene is actually pivotal in their relationship. In the C/B/E love triangle. 

He accepts Clarke’s amends, and her claim that he is so important to her. He didn’t want to talk about it. But she is open and they are intimate. Cut to Clarke being PHYSICALLY intimate with Cillian, and Bellamy looking on with all sorts of emotions in his face. Sorrow, happiness, pining, regret, jealousy, acceptance, longing, who knows? And we IMMEDIATELY get Echo coming up, trying to talk to him about Octavia, and him turning ViCIOUS on her, blaming her for not being human, not being emotional, not being open (which clarke just was and is.) He’s STILL watching Clarke.  B/E is falling apart, not because of anything that Echo did, but because of something that Clarke did, again. HER actions are the deciding factor, and HIS emotions are where the choice is coming in. Echo has no control over it. Her emotions don’t matter. Her actions don’t affect it. He is not a character who has agency over this storyline, over her own relationship. This scene leads to Clarke being betrayed at the same time that Bellamy apologizes to Echo and Echo, FINALLY, opens up to Bellamy about her past. 

For the first time, Echo has agency in how her relationship goes, and Bellamy admits he’s a dick and commits to Echo. NOW. If this story were ABOUT B/E as endgame, this would be the point where their relationship rises to new heights and becomes stronger.

Instead. Clarke dies. And Bellamy’s attention and emotions go to CLARKE. Even when she’s dead dead, all he can think about is not having Clarke, how it’s not living, Echo comforts him but it goes nowhere. Instead, we see him grieving ALONE. Echo is willing to destroy everyone, but Bellamy chooses what Clarke would do, and keeps everyone safe. 

Until he finds out Clarke is alive, and then all bets are off and it’s a race to bring her back, canon, “you only care about Clarke.”

Yeah.

True.

Another pivotal scene. Bellamy leaves Echo to take care of their people and goes with Josephine to save Clarke. Echo says “Go save Clarke,” which is a parallel to Clarke telling Echo to “go save him.” Echo let Bellamy go to Clarke the same way that Clarke let Echo go to Bellamy. 

We’ve now switched who the primary relationship is. It’s Bellarke, not B/E. Echo and Clarke made the choice to let the other woman “have him.” They gave up their claim.

Everything we see with Bellamy and Josephine acts as if Bellarke is romantic and the true love in his life. An epic love compared to Josephine and Gabriel DOZENS of times. And Bellamy’s last ditch save her from death scene is GLARINGLY romantic in the way that all the best fairytales are romantic. 

There was never anything to compare to this in the B/E story. 

The next morning, Bellarke talk about leaving Echo and spacekru behind to save Clarke, and Bellamy still isn’t willing for her to risk her life to save them, although she insists, and they agree to do it for Monty. SO MUCH INTIMACY. And Octavia witnessed it.

Their goodbye is more romantic and more intimate than Bellamy’s reunion with Echo, even though she was STATED as at risk and being in danger. She almost died. And all she got was a hug, much like he’d hugged Harper after the fighting pit. 

The hug when Bellarke is reunited, however, is cast in romantic buttery light, with emotional close ups of their faces, and a rather intimate discussion of feelings and pain, with a parallel to their OTHER hug outside Camp Jaha, which was one of the pivotal moments in their relationship. 

This in contrast to the pat on the back he gave Echo before this, and how Echo, who is standing right there, disappears from the scene.

The final scene after this Bellarke intimacy, has B/E back together. ExCEPT there is NO initmacy. He’s the leader, she’s the soldier. No feelings. Just defense and tactics.

From the beginning of season 6 to the end, Bellarke and B/E have switched placed. on the non-romantic/romantic scale. Comfort and intimacy goes to Bellarke. Team work goes to B/E. 

THE JOURNEY of the love triangle switches from the primary leg being B/E with a side order of Bellarke partnership, to Bellarke with a side order of B/E partnership.

Technically, because we’ve had no time to sort out all these emotional issues with B/E (although we kind of have with Bellarke) B/E is still the canon ship. 

But that’s just a matter of dealing with the plot point. Because the NARRATIVE is now about romantic Bellarke, and all that’s left to deal with in regards to the B/E romantic obstacle is how it ends. (And for Echo’s side, she has been focusing on Ash, and her own independence. They have set her up to have a self empowered storyline, which means she does not need and should not have a king anymore. Bellamy is her king, even now. And she needs to be her own person. Which means B/E is doomed even without Bellarke.)

Thus I have shown why C/B/E is a love triangle. Why Bellamy needed a relationship ANY WAY. I take for granted that Clarke was in love with Bellamy and he was her fantasy boyfriend over the time jump. That Bellarke is romantic as is B/E, that the show has created a love equation for both of them. How the love triangle is shown in s6. How B/E fades while Bellarke grows, and that B/E is the romantic obstacle while Bellarke is the soulmate endgame. 

I’m so tired now.

[phantasmagoriaoriginals]

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH MY CHARACTER?

Vash

1. a trait they have too much of  (ex. too much pride = arrogance)

One trait that causes Vash problems is his overconfidence. He has issues with thinking he’s stronger and more capable than he is— usually because he’s so desperate to prove himself that he gets caught up in assuming he can do anything. When it comes to tasks and missions, Vash takes on more than he can handle almost without fail. In his mind, he’s a highly capable Mage and a determined, ambitious enough person to fight for what he wants to accomplish and win. In reality, he’s a dumb kid who’s assuming the best of himself, or more than that, at times when he really shouldn’t. This overconfidence gets both himself and others in trouble, as the choices he makes when led by the idea that he can handle anything are also damaging to anyone who happens to get caught up in them. 

2. a trait they don’t have enough of (ex. too little pride = insecurity)

Vash has a very distinct lack of respect for other people. As you’d expect, this manifests in the way of problems with authority and refusing to do what he’s told, but it also shows up as him having little respect on a more individual scale. Vash is bad at keeping boundaries and letting other people make their own choices. He tends to be pushy and aggressive and assumes that he knows best more often than not. He doesn’t like when people talk back or correct him, and he’s generally sassy, bad-tempered, and unpleasant to anyone who gets too close. Overconfidence blends into this, as he’s convinced he’s always right. 

3. a trait they express in the wrong way

A driving force of Vash’s personality is a desire to be appreciated and approved of. He’s desperate for people to think of him as impressive, capable, and strong, and that’s the cause of a lot of his poor choices. On its own, this desire isn’t exactly a bad thing. It makes Vash a hard worker, determined, and willing and eager to take initiative and get things done. The problem is that, when it couples with the rest of his nature, the need for people to approve of him ends in Vash making very stupid choices. He goes out of his way to do everything possible that he thinks could make himself look better— even though his idea of what will make himself look better is entirely off. He’s reckless, aggressive, impulsive, and stubborn because he’s convinced that if he works hard enough, he’ll gain the approval that he so longs for. It means that he can never be satisfied with himself. 

4. a trait they’re ashamed of

The number one thing Vash is ashamed of is his inexperience. At his age, he knows he doesn’t have anywhere near the history and success record of Mages older than him. He knows he’s naive, and he hates that more than anything. For someone who longs for respect and admiration, knowing that people look down on him— and often, rightfully so— is incredibly frustrating. Vash’s inexperience drives a lot of his other negative traits. He’s so desperate to prove himself that he goes to dangerous lengths. He’s so determined to show that he’s still capable that he makes all kinds of unfortunate choices. Whenever he’s proved wrong or shown to be ignorant or naive, he’s eaten alive with fury and shame. Every flaw feels like one more reason why the people around him will never take him seriously. He’s quite self-conscious of any stupid mistakes that highlight his youth. 

5. a trait they’re not ashamed of (but maybe should be)

Vash has a very bad tendency of throwing himself headfirst into danger. His fire magic is extremely destructive and hard to control— and Vash’s response to that problem is to take risks that hardly seem sane. He’s convinced that he’s impervious to danger and harm, and despite the burn scars covering his body from a combination of poor choices and sheer overwork, it still isn’t getting through that he needs to be a little (or a lot) more careful. And Vash sees no problem with this tendency. In his mind, he’s doing what he needs to in order to prove himself. If launching right into a perilous situation is what shows he’s a capable, powerful Mage, then he’ll take the risk happily. He doesn’t see any problem with the damage and injuries he suffers— or the rampant harm to property that follows his missions. He’s sure that his recklessness is a good thing.

6. a bad habit

A bad habit of Vash’s is his tendency to be a show-off. In line with his desire to be noticed and approved of, he’s developed an unpleasant tendency to try to steal the spotlight and take glory for himself. Vash can’t stand it when other people look better than he does, so he’ll go to uncomfortable lengths to make sure he’s the one who everyone’s focus is on. This includes the aforementioned reckless behavior, not caring if he gets hurt or not so long as the result is impressive, and having major issues with teamwork and cooperation. Vash tries to hype himself up to seem impressive (even when he’s clearly not), and has so thoroughly convinced himself that he does indeed live up to that ideal that he loses his temper when countered. 

7. something they do that hurts themself

Despite his aggressive, punk-like behavior, Vash is surprisingly hard on himself. He values doing things right heavily.... the issue just comes in what he thinks “right” is. He has very high standards for himself and others, with it unclear which set is higher. At the same time that he expects other people to follow his expectations and do things properly, he also is absolutely brutal on himself. Vash will aggressively berate himself for any mistake, no matter how small. Even if it’s silent and hidden (so no one knows how badly he feels he’s messed up), his rage amplifies every time he realizes he’s done something wrong. And this tendency doesn’t do anything to help him. Vash has the perpetual issue of feeling like he’s never good enough for himself or anyone else. He expects so much of himself that he loses it over even the smallest failure. Wanting to be perfect is hard on him, and only serves to make his aggression levels and desperation rise. 

8. something they do that hurts others

Vash is not the type of person to listen to others. More often than not, he’s so certain that he’s right that he completely ignores reasonable directions and requests. While he’s capable of being functionally obedient on missions, Vash does have a nasty tendency of going his own way and making choices that get people hurt. He has a long streak of property destruction behind him thanks to making snap decisions out of careless impulse. And yes, he is indeed careless. In his desperation to show that he’s capable, Vash tends to make choices that don’t take other people or things into account. He’ll accomplish his goal, but he’s likely to hurt himself and the things around him in the process. He has a lot of power, not a lot of control, and a habit of rushing to conclusions that he’ll choose above orders and instructions. 

9. a reason (or excuse) they haven’t improved on any of the above

The main reason why Vash doesn’t improve himself is that his desperation wins out over his logic. If he sat down and thought about it, he could likely find ways to make himself better, but he’s so focused on proving himself and showing off that he doesn’t do that. He’s not too self-aware, and that’s something that hinders him massively. Even when other people try to get through to him, Vash is more likely to assume they’re telling him off of looking down on him than that they’re trying to help. He’s so caught up in accomplishing his goals that he never stops to consider why his actions might not be working. Instead of careful planning and work, he just gets angrier and angrier every time he fails. Aggression is how he faces his problems, and it doesn’t occur to him to try to change. 

10. a way that they are improving on any of the above!

However, in an almost contradictory way, Vash is constantly trying to improve himself. While he’s almost always quite misdirected, Vash does have incredible determination to make himself the best he can be. He’s frantically fixated on improving, growing, and showing that he can climb to greater heights than anyone believes. The problem is that he’s rarely on the right track as to what he needs to change. Vash is the type to assume that he needs more firepower instead of more careful usage. He’ll think that he should act faster and better instead of considering his choices more carefully or listening to people who might know more. In his desperation to show what he can do, Vash completely misses the point. Even so, the truth is that he’s trying his best to be someone better than he now is. 

Questions from here!

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 21 - In Which Jack and Charles Have a Conversation

Jack and Charles tumble into bed, laughing. The party's over but Jack's still hopped up on the almost manic beat of the dancefloor and the feel of Charles pressed against him, skin to skin. They roll together until Jack is atop a grinning, panting Charles, his own grin nearly splitting his face in two.

And then they're kissing. Deep and almost lazy, like ocean breakers against the shore. Unending and eternal and unfathomably deep.

It's perfect. It's everything Jack's been dreaming about for weeks and weeks. He breaks the kiss.

“Is this real?”

They've spun so many gossamer dreams over the past months. So many shimmering impossible realities. Made to trap and to trick and to misdirect their marks.

It's possible Jack himself has gotten trapped.

Charles looks up at him.“You mean me being in love with you?”

In love with him? “Yes,” Jack manages to choke out. “That.”

Charles shrugs. “Yeah.” As if it's just that easy. And then he asks, “Is it real for you?”

“Of course it's real! I've been in love with you for weeks! Months!” Jack's almost indignant that Charles could think otherwise. But at least it means Jack hasn't looked as ridiculously lovestruck as he'd feared. “Wait, how long've you been in love with me?”

Charles shrugs again. “It might've taken me a while to figure out, after everything with Eleanor and Flint and that whole fucking mess, but I've known for a while.”

“Then why the fuck didn't you say anything Chaz?”

The idea that Jack could have had this – possibly for weeks! It's galling!

Never mind the fact that he could have said something too.

“It wasn't real, us being boyfriends,” Charles says, matter of fact. “It was just for the con. And I – even if this ain't my usual kinda job, I'm not going to fuck it up just cuz of how I feel.”

He looks at Jack, now, and he looks frustrated, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Such a difference from a moment ago, when everything had been light and happy. Fantastical.

“I almost threw everything away over Eleanor,” Charles says. “I already almost fucked us during one of the most important jobs we ever pulled - I wasn't gonna do that again. Flint's job. His whole plan for us and all the rest of the crews. The stakes were too high for me to be led around by my cock. But I fucked us over for a chance with someone who didn't give a flying fuck about me.”

Because it wasn't just his cock Eleanor'd led Charles around by – she'd had him by the heart. Which was the bigger problem – if she'd just been a good fuck, Charles wouldn't have kept coming back over and over again after every betrayal.

And he's got the same problem with Jack. It isn't just that he wants to fuck him. He is in love with him.

And when Charles loves someone, there's nothing he wouldn't do for them, for that chance at loving them and being loved by them. Even if they use that fact against him, again and again and again.

And Jack's already betrayed him once, for much less than their current con is worth. Who's to say he wouldn't do it again, if he thought he had to. If he thought that was the only way to keep himself and Anne – the first and truest love of Jack's life – safe.

And Charles wouldn't even blame him for it. He understands what it means to be backed into a corner, with no good way out of it except the way that's filled with blood and death and betrayal. So he'd made sure to never back Jack into that corner.

“The stakes are always that high, now, the jobs we're pulling,” Charles continues. “And I'm not going to fuck us over again. Especially since we're supposed to be pretend boyfriends. I wouldn't put you in that position. I wouldn't force that on you when you couldn't say no.”

He's looking at Jack like he's willing Jack to believe him. Like he can make Jack agree through sheer force of will.

But Jack doesn't agree.

“You're so full of shit, Charles.”

He looks startled. Like Jack had slapped him.

“You wouldn't be forcing me into anything. I want this. It – I thought you didn't.”

Frankly, Jack didn't really think Charles could fall in love. Or that he'd want to – particularly with Jack.

Because he's right about love and betrayal and everything. Jack's no Eleanor – who he'd always thought Charles had loved more for the idea of her, the image of strength and pure ballsyness she'd professed, even if it had been a hollow facade. Charles wasn't looking for tenderness – he was looking for a fellow captain. The meanest fuck on the block. Someone who could spill as much of his blood as Charles spilled of theirs. Not a coupling, not a partnership, but a fight for dominance.

And Jack thought Charles was a bloody fool for letting Eleanor lead him around for as long as she did. For letting her betraying him. For letting her use him – though she's more than reaped her reward for all of that.

But he'd thought he'd understood what Charles was looking for. And it sure as hell wasn't the kind of love Jack found himself feeling for him.

“I didn't think you'd want, well, romance. Long walks on the beach. Quiet nights in, all that romance novel rot.”

Charles snorts a bit at that.

“See, that just proves my point! You're not the sort for candlelight dinners and breakfasts and-”

“Bubble baths and cuddling and all that sissy shit, right?” Charles raises a sardonic eyebrow. “All that shit that'd make me weak?”

Jack blushes. “It's possible I may have miscalculated slightly.”

There's a pause.

Charles looks off to the side. And Jack thinks maybe the issue's closed for the time being. But then Charles lets out a long breath. “I used to think like that. My whole fucking life was about being the toughest and the strongest. No attachments, no weaknesses.”

No love. No tenderness.

“But it's not weakness. It's strength.”

Charles turns to Jack, looks him right in the eye.

“We're partners in this thing, Jack. All of us. And there won't be any betrayal, because it would be betraying ourselves as well.”

“You can't know that,” Jack says, sounding frustrated himself now. “You can't know that we wouldn't ever fight. That we wouldn't ever have different ideas about how things should be run – that we wouldn't ever betray each other because of that.”

They've all betrayed each other so many different times. Pulled in different directions by what they thought was the best way forward – the best way to keep each other safe. Jack has betrayed Charles and he has betrayed Anne and he has betrayed Max. And been betrayed in turn. He knows intimately the pain and the fear and the confusion and the hurt that follows. Just as he knows the sick twisting triumphant shame.

“I asked Anne about that. About how it was so easy for me to love you, even though you'd betrayed me. And you know what she said? The whole point of this con, the whole point of being rich fucks, and of fucking over the system from the inside – the whole point of that is so that things are easy, now. So we don't have to struggle. We don't have to be afraid anymore. We can just live. Like all them rich fuckers get to do.”

Jack doesn't know that it's quite as easy as all that. But Anne's right, they aren't living like that anymore. Scared and fractured and trying desperately to stay just one step, just a half step even, ahead of the slavering jaws of enemies much more powerful than they could ever hope to defeat.

They have the luxury of time now, and of choice.

“I suppose we can't promise we'd never fight,” Jack says gently, thoughtfully. “Any one of us. But we've got time now, to come to a decision – together.”

Charles grunts in agreement.

And Jack supposes it doesn't hurt to try. To reach out for this one thing he'd never thought he'd get to have. With someone he'd never thought would want it.

“Anne and Max and Mary are all making it work, after all,” Jack muses, half under his breath. And they have almost more issues than Jack and Charles. “Suppose we gave it a try.”

Charles grins, sharp. “Suppose we did.”

“I get to be the one to tell Anne,” Jack says, calling dibs because otherwise Anne'll let on how desperately Jack's been pining after Charles. And that's just too embarrassing.

“You'll just make a whole big show of it,” Charles grumbles. But in a way that means he wouldn't really mind it all that much.

Jack just gives him a look.

“Yeah, all right.” And Charles heaves a put upon sigh. “You'll be fucking insufferable otherwise.”

“Oh you know you love me,” Jack says, with a coquettish fluttering of his eyelashes.

“God help me, I do.”

A pause.

And then Charles glares up at Jack again. “This is the part where you say you love me too.”

In truth, Jack feels rather giddy knowing his affections are returned. But he's not about to admit that. Admit how looking into Charles's eyes makes him feel like his insides are full of bubbling champagne. How his heart beats faster whenever Charles stands too near him. How much Jack would like to shout his infatuation from the rooftops so that everyone knows he's absolutely besotted.

He can't admit any of that, so sarcasm and good-natured teasing it is.

“Oh, who wouldn't want to date you, Chaz? Such an exemplar of charm and good manners.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

Charles pushes him off and Jack lays sprawling, looking sideways at Charles. He's got a genuine smile on his face, and Jack's sure his own grin matches.

“Love to, darling. But not tonight. We really ought to get some sleep.”

“Hmmm,” Charles hums low in agreement.

There's another, longer, sleepier pause.

“Like it when you call me that,” Charles says, sounding half asleep already.

“What, darling?”

“Yeah. Know it doesn't mean anything. But s'nice.”

Jack snuggles back against the pillows and makes a note to come up with the sappiest fucking nicknames for Charles he can think of.

--

Jack and Charles come down to breakfast the next morning, blushing and smiling and holding hands and Anne doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that they've finally figured out that they're stupidly in love with one another. The oblivious idiots.

“Oh. My. God,” is Mary's assessment. “Fucking finally.”

The two just grin and hold hands and blush harder.

[awkotacosummoner]

What Had Happened

Summary: Kiran asks Lif what had happened to the Kiran of his world.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134002

Warnings: Major character death

Alfonse, no Lif, was seated in the castle’s garden.  A stone bench was next to rose bush.  Kiran realized it was the same bench that they and Alfonse would sit at all the time.  Alfonse always showed Kiran Askr’s stars, and Kiran would talk about how different they were compared to their world.

It was one of the things that Kiran just adored doing with the prince.  Nobody ever bothered them when they sat on that bench.  It was as if nothing else ever existed when they sat there together.

Kiran and Alfonse had silently to avoid the bench when Lif was summoned.  Kiran and Alfonse had been sitting there, enjoying themselves like they did every night.  But when they left, Kiran had noticed Lif not too far from where they sat.  Kiran brought it up to Alfonse and they decided that they would let Lif spend time there for a while.  It was the least they could do for him.

But for some reason, something just seemed to pull Kiran to this spot.  They knew full well that Lif would be there and that they should give him space, but they felt like they should go see him at least.

Kiran had stood there just watching quietly for about fifteen minutes before they finally got the courage to approach him.

When they finally did, they took a seat next to him on the bench.  Lif did not acknowledge them, but he made no effort to get them to leave either.  They just sat in silence for another few minutes before Kiran finally spoke up.

“Have you talked to anybody?” was all Kiran asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to anybody about what you went through?” Kiran re-worded.  “Maybe Sharena?  She’s really worried you, you know...”

“I can’t.” said Lif.  “I put her through so much back in my world, I can’t do it to this world’s Sharena too.”

“What about me?  You know how great of a listener I am.”

“Kiran...” Lif slumped over, putting his face in his hands.  “You have no idea how much it hurts to see you, no matter the circumstance.  I see you all day, and then at night you’re in my nightmares.  Both you and Sharena.”

“Lif... I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Kiran apologized.  “I know it’s hard, but I really think you should talk to someone about this.  It’s not healthy to keep everything to yourself.  If you were to share that burden with someone, I’m sure you’ll feel at least a little bit better.”

Lif didn’t respond to that.  He knew Kiran had a point, but he believed it was his burden to bear.  No one else’s.  Kiran had pulled one of his hands from his face and slowly slipped his hand into theirs.  It was so cold for Kiran.  They gave the hand a tight squeeze before continuing.

“Could... Could you at least tell me what happened to the me in your world?  Keeping this to yourself is only going to hurt you, Lif.”

“Are you sure you can handle it, Kiran?  I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that if things were just a bit different, you’d be dead.  Do you really want to know how it would’ve happened and what came after?”

Kiran thought for a moment before squeezing Lif’s hand a second time.

“Yes.”

Lif took a deep breath before telling Kiran what he’d been keeping to himself for so long.

----

“Al-Alfonse...” Kiran tried to speak through the gurgling noise of the blood in their throat.

“D-Don’t talk, Kiran.  Stay still, a healer should be here soon.  Everything will be okay.” Alfonse sobbed, cradling Kiran’s head in his lap.  His hand resting on their cheek, unable to look away from the gaping hole in Kiran’s gut.  It was obvious to anyone that Kiran was not going to make it, Alfonse refused to accept anything else.  He had already lost so much, if he were to lose the love of his life after his sister, it would be too much to bear.  

“I love you, so, so much, Alfonse.” Kiran rasped, a little bit of blood pooling out of their mouth and going down their chin.  “I just want you to know that I don’t regret coming here.  I’m so happy I got to meet you, my love.”

Alfonse held Kiran’s hand to his chest and simply nodded.  

“I love you too, Kiran.” he sobbed.  “I love you more than you could ever possibly know.  And I promise you, that I will find a way to bring you and everyone else back to me.   Both you and Sharena.”

“Don’t... push... yourself... ” Kiran’s breath was starting to get laboured, Alfonse realized as Kiran took a deep breath between words.  “Just focus... on surviving...”

As soon as Kiran had said that, Alfonse could feel their hand go limp in his.

Alfonse couldn’t bring himself to do anything except cry into his beloved’s hair.  He just sat there and cried until Eir had finally returned with Askr soldiers.

They had managed to convince Alfonse to return to the castle with them.  Eir stayed away from Alfonse, thinking he must have blamed her.

But in reality, Alfonse didn’t blame her.  He didn’t blame anyone except himself and Hel.  Hel took his parents away, slayed his sister before it was her time, and she had now taken the life of someone who should not have even been here in the first place. Hel.

This was all Hel’s fault.  Alfonse would not rest until he had personally destroyed Hel himself.  He clenched his fists in anger.  For the rest of the march back to the castle, all Alfonse could think of was how he was going to kill Hel.

----

When they had finally arrived back at the castle, it was pretty much empty.  No one except the castle staff and the kingdom’s army remained.  Alfonse discovered that all the heroes Kiran had summoned were returned to their worlds when Kiran died.  Kiran was the only thing keeping them in this world and now that they’re gone they weren’t able to stay.

He knew the castle would feel empty, but not this empty.  It was practically silent in the building.  There were a few confused servants, who were most likely confused by the sudden disappearance of all the heroes.

But Alfonse could care less right now.

He was all alone right now.

Yeah, sure; Eir was there.  He knew despite everything, she’s still there for him.  Kiran and Sharena both were close to her.  She loved them, and he knows she loves him too.  But he just can’t face her right now.  If he saw the daughter of the woman who killed his love and sister... he just didn’t want to throw any misdirected anger toward another victim.

----

Time blurred for Alfonse.  The moment he arrived at the castle he retreated into his room and had stayed there.  He had no idea how much time had passed.  One moment he looked out the window and the sun was up, he faced away for a bit and the next he looked it was dark.  He couldn’t really remember anything he had done for the past few days.  He vaguely remembers eating the meals that the castle staff had urged him to eat, but the meals were the only way he knew how much time had passed.

It must have been a week of this before he heard this frantic pounding on his bedroom door.  He slowly got out of bed and answered it.  No longer caring about appearances he put no effort into making himself look presentable.  When he opened the door he saw it was one of his general’s.  The name escaped his mind at the moment but the man immediately started his report.

“Prince Alfonse, Hel and her army have been seen marching toward the kingdom.  We believe she’s making her way for the Capital.”

Alfonse stood there for a second, taking in the news.  Not quite sure how to respond to this report.

A part of him was ashamed to admit that he didn’t really care about the war anymore.  Most of his kingdom is gone, most slayed by Hel and her army.  He had no real kingdom to protect anymore, he had no family to fight with him, and he no longer had a love to fight for.

But there was also a part of him who wanted to march straight to Hel and destroy her and get revenge for all that he had lost.  To make her pay for everything that she had done to him and his people.

He finally reached over and grabbed his sword and looked at the general.

“Grab any soldier who’s willing to fight.  We’re ending this once and for all.” he said.

“Y-Yes, sir!” the man saluted before running off toward the barracks.

Alfonse changed into his armor.  He wasn’t going to let Hel have her way, not without a fight.  That’s not what Kiran or Sharena would have wanted.  If Hel wanted a fight, well he’d give her one.

----

With both the Askr army and Hel’s army marching toward each other it wasn’t long before they met and engaged in combat.  Alfonse and what was left of the Askr army did what they could, but soon only Alfonse remained.  He held his sword up, directed at Hel and glared through the rain.

“It seems that after everything you still want to fight, Prince Alfonse.” Hel said, looking down at him from her throne.

“There is nothing you could do that would make me stop fighting you, Hel!” Alfonse yelled.  “I will kill you, and avenge everyone you’ve slaughtered!”

“Is that so?” she asked.  “Well if that’s what you want you’ll still have to reach me.  I have one guard who I think you’ll have difficulty fighting.”

“Send anyone, Hel!  I’ll kill them if it means I can finally kill you!”

Hel closed her eyes in thought for a second before opening them.

“Very well.” she said, and motioned for someone to come closer with her hand.

Alfonse readied his sword and got into position, he was going to cut down anyone who got in his way.

When the person Hel called for had finally reached the front of the army, Alfonse felt all the color drain from his face, he was nearly brought down to his knees from the shock.

There in front him, standing guard for Hel, was his beloved Kiran.

But Kiran didn’t look like themselves anymore.  Their skin was no longer the same color, instead it was a colorless gray.  Their eyes no longer held the same glow it usually had, they looked sunken and lifeless.  Even their hair looked dead and brittle.

It was then that Alfonse recalled one of Hel’s abilities.  She was able to bring the people she killed over to serve her.  As a part of her army of the living dead.

This... This was just too much.

This, he just couldn’t do.

Being forced to fight the person he had fallen in love with?  It was unthinkable.

“Alfonse...” Kiran’s small voice reached his ears, causing him to look them in the eye.  Kiran had a sword ready in their hands.  “Please, kill me.”

Alfonse’s eyes widened at their request.

“K-Kill you?  Kiran, I can’t kill you.  I’ve already seen you die once, I can’t handle it again.” Alfonse argued, feeling tears build up.

“You have to.” Kiran said, tears running down their face.  “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to kill more people.  Innocent people.  I’ll never be able to rest as long as I live like this.  Alfonse, I can’t control my body at all.  Everything I’m doing is against my will.  I can’t stand this much longer.”

Kiran’s sobbing ripped Alfonse’s heart apart.  He remembered having to do this for his father after he took the curse meant for his son.  Kiran was right, they’d never be able to rest, never move on to the afterlife, as long as they were here a part of Hel’s army.

It was their last wish, for Alfonse to free them from this living Hell that they had been forced into.

Alfonse dragged them into all of this, he’ll get them out.  He promised.

Alfonse looked at Kiran through teary eyes and readied his sword.

“Alright, I’ll kill you.” Alfonse said in a tight voice.  “If it’ll free you from Hel’s will, I’ll do it.”

He saw Kiran smile through their tears before running over and raising their sword.

“I’m sorry!” Kiran cried.

“Don’t be.” Alfonse smiled as well, blocking Kiran’s sword.  Kiran was never strong to begin with.  Alfonse insisted they stay behind the army at all times so they never really had to learn how to use a weapon.  Alfonse knew that despite Hel controlling Kiran, they still couldn’t go beyond the limits they had when they were alive.  He knew that this was just to keep him from fighting.

Well, he wasn’t going to let her use Kiran as a shield.  He’d free Kiran from this nightmare and give them the peace of the afterlife that they deserved.  He at least owed them that much.

Alfonse closed his eyes and swung his sword and felt it penetrate skin.  His eyes clenched tighter when he heard Kiran grunt in pain.

‘This is for the best.’ He reminded himself.

He took a look and saw that his sword cut right through Kiran’s abdomen.  Kiran stood there for a second, sword still raised from moving to cut him down, frozen.

Kiran smiled before coughing up blood that splattered onto Alfonse’s face, but he didn’t even care.  Kiran’s arms dropped along with the sword and Alfonse caught them in his arms before they fell.

“Thank... you...” Kiran smiled as what little life they had left drained from their face.

“Anything for you, my love.” Alfonse said as he held their hand up to his cheek.  “Anything for you.”

----

“It was after that, that Hel proposed the deal.” Lif finished.

“The deal that if you served her she would bring back everyone who dies in this world back to life in your world?” Kiran asked.

“Yes.” he said.  “The thought of losing you not once but twice was too much to bear.  I couldn’t handle the idea of having that image of you working for Hel to be the last thing I saw of you.”

“Are you upset that I summoned you here?  Are you angry that you have to keep living in this world?”

Lif was silent for a second, but he spoke up after a few seconds of thinking.

“Sometimes.  It hurts that I’m not able to be with the Sharena and Kiran of my world.” he said.  “But being here, and seeing you two live happily now comforts me.  It makes me feel like I’ve made the right decision.  I feel like this is what the Kiran and Sharena of my world would have wanted.”

Kiran leaned onto Lif’s shoulder and squeezed his hand once more.

“I think so too.”

[wmua-amherst]

Four Albums with Distinct Atmospheres

By John Matraia

We are currently living through a historical event and at times, it is difficult to keep our spirits up. All we can do is try to adapt and do what we can to keep ourselves safe and sane while being cooped up indoors. One way to cope is to try and step away from the tragedy for an hour or two. I’ve personally found myself watching movies, reading, or listening to music to distract myself. There are many different ways music can help, but I’ve found that albums that distinguish themselves from the rest are those that create a distinct atmosphere and a world of their own. They do this by establishing consistencies, not just sonically, but also in terms of subject matter.

An atmosphere alone isn’t ideal though. Many albums fall victim to using the same presets, filters, or vocal pitching across songs to the point where they blend together and create an album that serves as nothing more than a soulless tone. What is really impressive is an album’s ability to have a collection of songs that stand strong on their own, while also reinforcing the qualities that many of the tracks around them share, thus creating a cohesive piece.

You may be thinking that I’m just describing a concept album, and some may use that term more loosely than I do, but the projects I point out below are not in-your-face with a singular story or meaning. While they create their own universe, that universe may vary from listener to listener because these projects allow us to make our own interpretation of it, while still focusing on certain themes and stringing the project together musically. This is exactly what makes these albums below such transcendent experiences.

Liquid Swords – GZA (1995)

Liquid Swords gives me a feeling similar to the one I felt when I watched Michael Mann’s film Heat from the same year. The world of Los Angeles in Heat, contrary to the film’s title, is actually cold, devoid of any compassion or love. The icy blue hues that consume so much of the film’s color palette represent the city’s cold nature and the characters’ inner workings. The film is raw and up close and personal with the characters and the multiple lives that they each balance. On Liquid Swords, GZA (and other members of the Wu-Tang Clan) recognize the reality of the world they are living in, and this album is them coming to terms with that reality and telling their story. The intoxicating combination of GZA’s otherworldly raps and RZA’s barren beats place the listener directly into New York’s cold world in 1995. Everything, down to the way the album is mixed, drops the listener into their story.

The beats on Liquid Swords are dark and skeletal, with grim storytelling to match. Its minimal production doesn’t distract from the rapping, but everything included is necessary for the album’s success. GZA reflects on his surroundings, most notably on tracks like “Cold World”, speaking on the violence and other social problems that surround him in New York. Along the way though, he also establishes his dominance as a top tier rapper who will slay any opponent he comes across. It wasn’t just RZA’s production that created the bleak aura of Liquid Swords. GZA’s way of translating the daily problems people in his position faced for the listener to give them a harsh, yet realistic depiction of his life adds to this nature and brings the listener in. Liquid Swords is a true timepiece that captured the gritty essence of a night in New York, and has also proven to be a lasting piece of music that has influenced the generations to come.

The OOZ – King Krule (2017)

The OOZ is King Krule’s slow and lengthy descent into loneliness. It translates emotional outbursts into music on post-punk influenced tracks like “Dum Surfer”, and converts roaming aimlessly into ambient pieces like “The Cadet Leaps.” Tracks here include subtleties in the background that would be musically impressive even without the dark jazz infused instrumentation that graces the foreground of those tracks. The album drags on in the most realistic way possible, following our protagonist as he copes with the dreary world surrounding him.

The album’s moody nature swallows the listener through fleeting guitar solos and alienated keyboard melodies. The instrumentation of “Lonely Blue” becomes more climactic as Archy’s vocals become louder and more helpless. The experiences Archy describe seem uncertain to the listener at times, but the mystery within the songs reflect the unpredictable essence of his experiences. We empathize with his sense of misdirection, and wander along with him in a world that seems hopeless at times.

Big Fish Theory – Vince Staples (2017)

Even if Big Fish Theory came out today, it would still be ahead of its time. There is nothing quite like this album, and I’m sitting here waiting for it to get the credit it deserves. If nothing else, from a production perspective alone, it is remarkable. The beats are sharp and cold with rhythms that move in hot and sweaty fashion, serving as a wake-up call within an album that has a very gloomy feel to it. The punchy, booming bass on every track feels like the thunder that accompanies a rainy day.

Regardless of whether the track goes down a more electronic dance route or takes on an industrial sound, Vince’s adrenaline-packed delivery is hard to ignore. When a track like “Big Fish” takes a funkier approach, a subtle running water sound effect plays throughout the track and strings together the album’s motif of water, supplemented by other tracks with bubbly synthesizers and futuristic recordings. A small detail like this only adds to the theme of drowning created by the other tracks through Vince’s lack of optimism about society’s future and even the way his vocals are mixed. We hear this distrust in Vince’s lyrics that are fed up with the system and the dystopian world that the music of the album creates.

Wildflower – The Avalanches (2016)

Wildflower is breezy and care-free musical bliss. It’s rooted in nostalgia and creates a sense of longing for the unknown future in the listener. The light, airy rhythms and angelic vocals are pure joy in sonic form. It’s full of bright and colorful textures, and flows together beautifully. The run from “Subways” to “If I Was a Folkstar” features infectious grooves that float above the glistening samples and take us on a journey like none other.

The group’s unique sampling style we heard on Since I Left You is still there, but Wildflower presents more easy-going instrumentals at times that give the listener space to breathe and lounge on the beach. Not only that, but The Avalanches also make room for a number of guest appearances on the record from the likes of Danny Brown, MF DOOM, Biz Markie, Ariel Pink, Toro y Moi, and more.

While the first three projects I pointed out featured murky aspects, I’m glad to end this piece on more of a cheerful note with an uplifting album experience. Many of us tend to resort to consuming darker art, and it’s good to be in touch with that side of ourselves. It’s important to understand our situation and face it. At the same time though, it’s important to take a step back from all of this and try not to worry or mope around too much, because better days are ahead.

Originally appeared in Lyrical Lemonade

[littlemissrainhoe]

Here’s my piece for the @knb10thannizine. A huge thanks to the mods who hosted this project. I had a great time working on this. I hope y’all enjoy this. ^^

-

Title: Immortal for a Limited Time [AO3 Link]

Summary:

We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. - Lemony Snicket

Death champions no one. The same holds true for seven special people: bound by friendship, camaraderie and one great love for basketball.

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Generation of Miracles & Kagami Taiga

Warnings: Major Character Death 

-

Death champions no one.

It is but a simple truth, an eventual reality that one has to accept. Not even the greatest king nor the sneakiest thief could ever escape its clutches.

Yet somehow it still manages to elude even the most brilliant of us all. Its power of misdirection knows no bounds. Its presence lurks at the back of the mind, yet is not acknowledged until it manifests itself from what seems like nowhere and punches one in the gut.

The same holds true for seven special people: bound by friendship, camaraderie and one great love for basketball. They had such dreams, big ones—all of them including one another, despite tight lips and vehement denials. Though not outright, all seven were always in the periphery. They didn't have to say them, of course; they already knew—and nothing was going to stop them.

(But death does.)

.

.

.

 Akashi Seijuurou died at the hospital, surrounded by a plethora of sweet-smelling flowers that masked the scent of bleach and death.

He was found by a nurse, the look of absolute peace and satisfaction of a great man etched on his aged face. "It looked like he was coming home from a long journey," she would later describe to curious colleagues, perhaps embellishing her story a bit to sound more poetic.

At age ninety-two, he had accomplished far more than what his late father had. Right after finishing his Ph.D. with flying colors, he took over as CEO for his rapidly deteriorating father, proving that he is an Akashi through and through early on in his career. He continued to uphold the Akashi name, and even brought it to greater heights. He led the Akashi Corporation fearlessly and efficiently, turning it into a powerful empire that stands among the leading zaibatsus in the world.

Unlike his father who ruled with an iron fist, Seijuurou was known to be a compassionate and mindful leader; strategic and sharp, but never ruthless. He was loved and admired by all.

"My father was a great man," his eldest son said during his funeral, with a note of pride and sincerity that was missing during a similar speech done five decades ago. "If there is anyone in this world I aspire to be, it will always be him."

The media adored Seijuurou, going so far as releasing a special magazine in honor of the late Akashi, covering everything from his early childhood to his last days. His regimes as the student council president of both Teiko Middle School and Rakuzan High School did not go amiss, as well as his strong relationships with his family and friends over the years. Even his prowess on shogi was not overlooked, highlighting some of his more interesting plays.

In the eyes of many, he will be remembered as one of the most powerful and influential men in his time. However, to a certain few, he will forever be known as the invincible captain of the legendary Generation of Miracles.

 .

.

.

 Up to this day, the driver of the simple sedan would insistently say that he didn't see Kuroko Tetsuya, age twenty-nine, cross the road that dark and dreary night.

A man in his thirties, an ordinary salaryman. Family of three. Has been living in Tokyo for most of his life. Has no connection whatsoever with the victim. No malicious intent and solid alibi. After the collision, he immediately contacted an ambulance and attempted to resuscitate the bleeding man. He was later found by police officer Aomine Daiki, who happened to know the victim.

"I didn't see him! I swear I didn't!" would always be his answer, half-crazed from the accusations and growing guilt. The police had him checked for any signs of intoxication to find none. Even surrounding CCTVs would confirm that he did not speed a red light. Curiously, it was as if Kuroko Tetsuya was a phantom, an after-image in the rain, that even the cameras hardly picked him up until after the accident.

The doctors tried to revive him, but he passed away after a few hours.

It was but an unfortunate accident in the rain, but it took away a life nonetheless.

He was survived only by his grandmother.

 .

.

.

 As with most things in his life, Midorima Shintarou's death was predicted by Oha-Asa—or as much as fortune-telling can predict death and disaster.

Though relatively healthy at eighty-seven, when Oha-Asa came on with a particular medical warning for Cancers, Shintarou knew his time had come. Like a cat who recognized its end was near, Midorima Shintarou left his home after carefully saying goodbye to his family to purchase his lucky item of the day.

As the medics came to take away the venerable doctor who suffered a sudden heart attack in the middle of the department store, no one paid any mind to the rolling marker pen that fell out of the dying man’s hand.

 .

.

.

 Kise Ryouta did not so much die as he went missing.

At forty-two, he was one of the best pilots Hyperion Airlines had to offer. But when a freak incident took out both engines, his plane crashed into the ocean with only 17 survivors.

To this day, his body still hasn’t been found.

 .

.

.

 Murasakibara Atsushi found out he was dying of diabetes when he was thirty-four years old, which he pretty much expected. If anything, what surprised him was that it didn't come earlier. He never did get to control his eating habits; it only grew worse with age. He didn't continue playing basketball after college, focusing on his patisserie training in France, thus allowing his body to deteriorate with the lack of exercise.

Akashi conferred with his doctors every time he visited, and Atsushi knew he consistently asked even Midorima and various other specialists for a second opinion. Himuro constantly fussed over him like a mother—perhaps even more than his. They were very stubborn about all this.

But Atsushi was more stubborn.

"Muro-chin," he mumbled, attempting to get comfortable on the hospital bed he easily dwarfed. "You should go home. Ami-chin must be worried."

Himuro furrowed his brows. Had he always had that much wrinkles on his forehead? "Ami understands, Atsushi. I—I want to be here, okay? Don't worry about me."

He gave Atsushi that phony smile again—the one Muro-chin gave him whenever he tried not to show him what he really felt. Atsushi had seen it so many times, even more so in these past few months, and it’s still annoying. Atsushi wondered what Muro-chin would do if he punched him this time around.

Kaga-chin would probably get mad at him if he did. Better not then.

"Just go home, Muro-chin. You look like a ghost. Eat lots of cake. That would make you feel better."

Himuro chuckled. It was weak, but it was there. "That only works for you, Atsushi."

Atsushi only shrugged, as if saying, "So?"

There's that look again, but it was so fond and teary that he could only look away.

If there was anything Atsushi could pride himself in, it's the fact that he knew himself. Denying his feelings were one thing, but he knew his body—its wants, its needs, and its limits.

He knew he didn't have long. It was getting harder to breathe. The lub-dub in his chest was getting slower, heavier. His joints constantly ached, irritating like an itch he couldn't scratch.

Regretting his (admittedly) bad habits had no merits. For one thing, he never regretted eating what he did. (Though that wasabi-barbeque-pina colada-mix-flavored pudding was quite close.) Maybe he should've gone back to playing basketball, even from time to time, but he couldn't really bring himself to regret it. If anything, he regretted being in the mercy of nurses who refused to give him what he wanted to eat.

Even in the hospital, he kept requesting for his snacks, sometimes even going so far as rejecting his doses when they didn't comply. The nurses were quite exasperated with him. A man of such hulking stature—not to mention diabetic and dying—shouldn't be sulking about not getting his Maiubo.

"I promised Kaga-chin that I'd do the eating for him," he reasoned to a particularly irate head nurse.

But maybe, just maybe, his biggest regret was leaving his friends behind.

That's why he made sure to hand them snacks (smuggled in by Aka-chin) whenever they visited him—the most generous he'd ever been, really—as a simple thank you for always being there for him. He hoped that it could bring them the same kind of joy he got whenever he ate his favorite snacks.

In his funeral, his friends brought him baskets of pastries and snacks. They knew he would've appreciated those more than flowers.

 .

.

.

 Aomine Daiki wasn’t supposed to die at thirty-six, but when a perp got away from his bindings, he took the blow that was supposed to be for his partner. He died instantly.

Though he’s eternally grateful for Aomine Daiki, Tsuchiyama Kagami would wonder what made his chronically lazy and perverted senpai jump in to save him. They were just recently assigned together and based on his reputation at the station, despite being a brilliant officer, Aomine Daiki was not the type of person to play hero.

It was a question he would never get an answer to, but he would think of Aomine Daiki for the rest of his career.

 .

.

.

 Perhaps the hardest death to accept was Kagami Taiga's. Out of all of them, he was the first to go. Nineteen was too young, was it not? Everyone thought so as well.

A Modern-Day Hero, or so the papers said. The news about the fearless fireman who rushed into a burning house to save a seven-year old girl who was stuck inside. The girl made it out safely. Unfortunately, the young fireman did not: a light snuffed out too early.

"He’s a hero," the little girl's mother said in an interview, her eyes filled with tears as she held her daughter tightly in her arms. "I will be forever thankful to him for saving Hitoka-chan."

But awards and gratitude would not bring a dear friend back.

Of them all, it was Aomine who had the least control over his emotions, raging and yelling over his casket with the despair of the one left behind as Kise tried to hold him back through his tears.

He was the last of them to see him alive, just having finished a round of basketball a week before. It was jarring to see Kagami just laying unnaturally still, paler than he's ever seen him, in a tux that he was sure itched like hell had he still been able to feel.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Never again would they hear his voice, tinged with excitement and determination. Never again would they play the sport they love together. Never again would they see him soar.

"Why the hell did you have to go and be a hero, you dumbass?"

A lot of people came to visit his remains and paid their respects. His family all the way from America, the various friends he made throughout his stay in Japan, his colleagues from the fire station, his classmates at university and his teammates, the people he’d played basketball with, and the people who was inspired by his courage; so many people who hadn’t been in the same room for years, suddenly seeing each other again in what could only be a morbid reunion.

"Mere words cannot express how much I am indebted to Kagami Taiga," Akashi said during the eulogy. "He was my—no," he corrected himself. "He was our saving grace. His light never stopped shining bright, and even after all that has happened, not once did he stop sharing that light with us. Kindly, willingly... selflessly." Akashi glanced at the white coffin, his eyes full of emotion.

"Until the day we join him in the afterlife, we will miss him dearly."

[awintersrose]

“I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.” maybe w/the sanin????

*

*

*

The woods are silent, dark, and still. There is no hint of a solitary rustle of wind, nor the buzz of a single pestilential insect in the stifling summer air. The portent is ill indeed, suggesting either genjutsu or the promise of a natural disaster looming close, and Orochimaru holds his breath, cloaked from sight and patiently waiting, his every sense attuned to the merest change in temperature or sound. This close to home there is no telling what awaits him among the redwoods this close to the Forest of Death, and he readies himself to move at the slightest flicker of chakra in his second sight, or in reaction to a new vibration along his skin. One thing is certain - he will not be caught unaware in enemy territory. And enemy territory it is, now that he has left home for good.

He doesn’t like to think of it as home. Not anymore.

Konoha stopped being home the minute there was no one left in the village who could call him family or friend. He has only returned to seal the shrine and to bring his parents’ ashes to the home of their birth. There are boltholes leading into tunnels that his clan created at the edge of their lands if he can just cross into the territory northwest of the Nara Forest. Even the Shimenawa held their secrets, never truly trusting those who held their fealty, placing contingencies where they needed them in case of calamity. If only he’d known sooner.

Orochimaru places his fingers on the ground sending out a low pulse of chakra to search for the seal, and he finds it several seconds later, once he crosses the border without incident. Then the wind shifts, and metal clinks, at once cold and biting at his throat.

“You know for someone so smart, you sure are stupid sometimes.” Jiraiya’s voice is bitter in his ear, his right arm suddenly snapping closed like a band of iron around Orochimaru’s middle.

The snake summoner nearly laughs, as their position is practically absurd, and one he never truly expected. For a man of Jiraiya’s stature and strength to move with such stealth in this terrain is something to be commended, even moreso if there is a genjutsu at work; it never was his teammate’s strong suit.

“Someone’s been practicing. Be careful, you might even bloody me.” Orochimaru scoffs, daring to lean right into the press of the blade, calling his best friend’s bluff. “Besides, don’t you have some savior to go teach? Some prophecy to fulfill?”

Jiraiya’s grip on the blade doesn’t waver, and its well-honed edge kisses his flesh with a hot sting, but with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Orochimaru can hardly feel it. What he notices more is the low rumble beginning in Jiraiya’s chest, and the glaring edge of righteous fury sharpening his sun-bright chakra into something more formidable.

Naturally, his immediate inclination is to taunt the raging bull even more.

“Oh, that’s right. Your savior died. Prophecy is a farce.”

“When will you just learn to shut up?” Jiraiya snaps. “I could literally slit your throat right now.”

“You won’t. You don’t have it in you to kill me in cold blood.” Orochimaru sneers, heart lurching, glad he cannot see the likely pain in Jiraiya’s eyes.

A figure steps out of the tree line. “Or the both of you could shut up and stop fighting one another.”

It’s been at least five years, maybe eight, since he’s seen her last, but it still hurts to look Tsunade in the eye, and she is not letting him look away.

“What are you doing home, Hime? Aren’t there gambling halls missing their favorite moneymaker?” he smiles humorlessly, and he can see Tsunade’s fists clenching hard.

There is hot wetness trickling down his throat and Jiraiya has not let up on his hold. Which makes it equally perplexing when Tsunade speaks.

“Let go of him so we can tell him why we’re here.”

At once, Jiraiya releases him, the irrepressible heat against his back is suddenly absent, and Orochimaru can breathe again.

“I’ve been tracking you for the last year, and I knew you’d be coming home for these.” Jiraiya suddenly produces a storage scroll, and at once Orochimaru is livid, readying for an attack, Konoha be damned.

Their proximity to the Forest of Death will keep anyone in the village from noticing any chakra abnormalities, and if not, well, let them see what happens when the Sannin truly fight one another.

“Stop! Orochimaru, will you fucking listen?” Tsunade charges him, moves right into his face and grabs him by the front of his yukata, and her willingness to approach him unguarded gives him pause.

The sudden tingling coolness of healing chakra eases the sting of the cut at his throat and he looks at her with disbelieving eyes. Her honeyed eyes are shadowed, and she looks drawn and tired, for all that she hasn’t aged a day past twenty-five. Even so, her expression has not lost its fire. “We had to neutralize you somehow. We want to talk.”

“Give me the scroll.” Orochimaru demands, looking aside to Jiraiya. “How dare you touch their graves - the shrine - You knew these were the last sacred things I had!”

Jiraiya passes him the scroll with an easy hand, and crosses his arms. “Give me a little credit, bastard, you act like I wouldn’t perform the rites first. And I did get the blessing of the shrine guardians, so kindly fuck yourself, it’s all safe and sound and just as blessed as it was sitting there covered in dirt and brush.”Tsunade jabs Jiraiya in the upper arm and he winces hard. “Stop baiting him.”

Orochimaru holds the scroll like something utterly precious and slips it into the inside pocket of his yukata as soon as Tsunade releases him. His heart rushes in his own ears and he fights back the rising anxiety that forces his fingers to clutch his sleeves, an old habit he squashes as soon as it rises. “You wanted to talk, fine. Talk.”

He watches as Jiraiya reinforces what appears to be a barrier shimmering along the edges of the periphery, and likely the reason he did not sense either of them when he crossed into this side of the territory. Orochimaru chides himself for his lack of care, but then again, considering this is a barrier and not genjutsu at all, it is possible that he has underestimated Jiraiya’s sealwork. His former teammate has always been good at misdirection.

“We’re coming with you.”

“Excuse me, what?” Orochimaru fixes Tsunade with his gaze.

“You heard me.”

“You’re not serious. This is a trap, a trick, and if you don’t let me go now, the both of you will regret it.”

“It’s not a trick.” Tsunade opens her hands, in a universal sign of surrender. “We can hash out the dirty details later. And so can you. But something is rotten in Konoha and we’re both tired of being used. We’ve lost too much. Now, Shizune’s waiting in Tanzaku, and we’re ready to follow you so let’s go.”

“No, no, no. You two can’t just show up here and ambush me after--”

“Orochimaru,” Jiraiya starts, tone suddenly mild. “Don’t you think it convenient that you were caught red handed working on an experiment you were supposedly authorized to perform, at exactly the right time, by exactly the right person, tipped off by the commanding officer who gave authorization?”

A chill creeps down the line of Orochimaru’s neck. “Speak plainly.”

“Let me say right now that I’m not excusing any of the terrible things you did in the name of discovery, but I’ve seen a lot of the same in T&I and among our own research initiatives. A rose by any other name well… it’s even worse that it was children, but I’m saying plainly that you were Danzo’s scapegoat; it wasn’t a coincidence. None of the screwed up bullshit that has happened to any of us is. I have proof. And I am done.” Jiraiya says.

The truth turns Orochimaru’s stomach, but none of it comes as a surprise, no, a part of him feels somewhat vindicated, as if another reality has been confirmed. Konoha’s elders have always been out to get him, and during such a time and opportunity as that one, when he was able to uncover the key to such a genetic mystery? Of course Danzo lied. He should have known, and perhaps a part of him always did. Even so, the memory of Hiruzen-sensei’s last words to him still raises Orochimaru’s ire, and he has to reign in the part of him that wants vengeance, or his killing intent will alert the ANBU sensors on patrol.

“So, can we go?” Tsunade asks, pulling him from his thoughts. “We can hash out the details in a secure location, but we need to get out of here soon.”

“What did they do to you?” Orochimaru looks at her carefully, studying her reactions.

“Isn’t it obvious? We fell apart by design. Dan was eliminated, deliberately. There is more but I’d rather not talk about it now.” she smiles wanly.

There is a silent dare in her eyes, as if her truths are like a barely healed wound that runs deeper and darker than he wants to know; he wants so much to scratch at that wound until it bleeds again.

For him.

If only that inclination were not eclipsed by the desire to take her small yet impossibly strong form in his arms like he once would have when they were far younger, and she still sought both her teammates out in times of distress. He knows such things may never be again. Not like that. But here they both stand, offering impossibilities.

“You were free to live as you wanted regardless. Why do this?” he asks, golden eyes searching hers.

“Because I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried.” Tsunade says simply.

At once, Orochimaru finds himself stripped of all attempts at a response, and perhaps this is good, because she continues.

“I have tried, and tried, and tried, and nothing worked.”

Not even Dan? He wonders bitterly.

“I have thrown myself into cups and debt, into bars, and ditches. No amount of drink can drown out the fact that you aren’t here, with me.” She looks at Jiraiya pointedly. “That we are no longer together.”

“Better together than apart,” Jiraiya says softly, an inscrutable look on his face.

“No one can stop us if we will it so. I know there are still many things broken between us and we’ll have it out when the dust settles, but we’re coming with you, Oro.” Tsunade affirms.

“You’re a right bastard, and you still have a lot to answer for, but you’re ours. You never stopped being ours.” Jiraiya says, pulling another scroll from his sleeve. “I managed to salvage these things from your house. The cellar was still sealed after ANBU searched.”

The lump in his throat is an unnervingly foreign sensation as Orochimaru reaches for the scroll, almost incapable of speech. “Thank you for doing that. I didn’t expect that anything was recoverable.”

Jiraiya smiles, softening. “Some things are worth saving.”

Thank you for the ask, Maus dear - sorry it took so long! The story got longer than anticipated :D Hope you enjoyed it!

[Deathless sentence prompts...]

[tyrusquacks]

Misdirections- Chapter 1: Nice Stranger

Read it on AO3

Previous: Prologue

One year later

A sleep-deprived Cyrus reluctantly drags his feet to his last period class. He is clearly having a bad day today. And as if that wasn’t enough, he has chemistry last. The mere thought of having to watch Mr. Wright dryly explaining how to do a stoichiometry problem while he fiddles with his pencil sends an involuntary groan down his throat. Cyrus isn’t usually quick to judge people, but two weeks into his senior year, he’d already decided that Mr. Wright must be the most boring person on this planet and that at best, this class would be a total waste of his time.

That’s probably what annoys him the most whenever he sits there wanting to be anywhere else. Lately, Cyrus finds himself running out of time so often that he can’t afford to waste any. For example, today is Friday so he should theoretically feel comforted by the quickly approaching relief of the weekend. In reality, he is anything but, because today is SAT prep day. Most people had taken the test once in the spring of their junior year, and maybe a second time during the summer, which Cyrus also had done. And yet despite scoring in the 1500s both times, he was determined to take the test one last time in October to make he sure he got as close to a perfect 1600 as he could.

But now as he waits outside his chemistry class, leaning against the nearest locker, eyes closed, and running on a meager four hours of sleep, he begins to rethink his decision. Just as Cyrus begins to think that he might be able to take a nap standing up, Mr. Wright strolls into the classroom, no more excited to be there than his students. Cyrus senses the movement of his classmates going inside and switches to autopilot as he opens his eyes and follows everyone inside, hoping to get through the next 50 minutes without boring himself to death.

To make matters worse, chemistry was the only class he didn’t share with at least one of his best friends, Andi and Buffy. As he looks up to the clock for the 1000th time, slumped in his chair with his chin resting on his hand, Cyrus can’t help but think about how much less agonizing this class could be if he could even steal a glance to one of his friends to silently communicate his despair. Cyrus looks at the clock again. It’s only been maybe 30 seconds since the last time. Right when he decides that this couldn’t get any worse, his stomach rumbles impossibly loudly as to prove him wrong.

Of course he’s hungry. Because he stayed up late last night doing the practice problems his private SAT tutor had assigned him for today, he had missed his morning alarm and was late to school, not that he is normally a morning person anyway. Per the school’s strictly enforced lateness policy, this meant that he could not leave the building to buy his lunch, so he was stuck with questionable cafeteria food. Buffy was kind enough to sneak in some fries for him when she’d gotten back from lunch outside with Marty, but if the second growl he’s hearing from his stomach is any indication, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Already bored out of his mind, Cyrus sighs, seeing no additional harm in reminiscing the rest of this godawful day. Things had gone downhill after lunch. This year’s first bake sale for the student government was, to put it mildly, an epic fail. All because people can’t do the simple task of keeping their promises. As a result, they only brought about a quarter of the baked goods they said they would bring for the bake sale. To add insult to injury, two of the three people who had agreed to help Cyrus sell completely bailed.

Even then, he hadn’t given up and was still hoping that he’d be able to pull it off and sell the limited amount of cookies and cupcakes he had. Unfortunately, today was Friday which meant that the longer lunch period and the fact people had more money early in the school year had incentivized a significant amount of the student population to eat outside. He can’t believe he wasted his free period trying.

Cyrus looks at the clock one more time. Ten minutes left. Mr. Wright is done lecturing and the students are left to work independently on a few problems. Though he couldn’t care less, Cyrus pretends to be working diligently because he still has to keep up his “good student” reputation. While he scribbles random numbers on the worksheet, Cyrus mentally makes a list of what he’s gonna do as soon class dismissed, reminding himself that every minute should be accounted for.

First, he’d run—or more realistically walk briskly—to his locker and dump his chemistry textbook and shove all the notes he’ll need for the weekend into his bookbag. On his way out, he’d probably run into Andi and Buffy and shout a goodbye at them. Maybe a quick hug. Then he’d rush to the train station and cross his fingers that the trains are running on schedule so that his twenty-minute commute to the Upper West Side goes as smoothly as possible.

If all goes to plan, he’ll be able to get a snack before his tutor arrives. After the session, he’d work on his college essay until dinner. Finally, he would FaceTime Buffy and Andi and they’d take turns complaining about the stresses of senior year. The weekly Good Hair Crew video call was the only thing he looking forward too, except that sandwich he may or may not have time for. If he wasn’t completely exhausted by then, maybe he’d get a headstart on his history project. But if he is being honest with himself, that was highly unlikely.

In the midst of all this mental planning, the bell rings, indicating the end of the period and of a dreadful school day for Cyrus. Nearly everything goes to plan, and he even gets to be in a group hug with Andi and Buffy who were conveniently waiting for him at his locker, aware of their friend’s earlier misfortunes. As the girls’ basketball team captain, Buffy has a meeting with the coach about this year’s tryouts after school and Andi is doing community service by helping the AP Art teacher, so they say their goodbyes and Cyrus promptly heads towards the exit, relieved that something today is going right for once.

With his faith in the universe renewed, Cyrus walks in long strides towards the train station, fueled solely by the thought of a hypothetical sandwich. It was only a three-minute walk, but today Cyrus makes it in two. Since every member of the Good Hair Crew lives in a different part of the city and took a different train, Cyrus had gotten used to taking the train alone. He wastes no time in looking for his student MetroCard, having stored it in his wallet phone case which his friends jokingly teased him about whenever they got the chance. But he didn’t care because it did the job. Cyrus swipes his card and pushes against the turnstile in one swift motion. He looks up at the countdown clock. One minute until his train arrives.

Perfect. It looks like I’m having that sandwich after all.

He continues to walk along the platform towards the head of the train because he’d figured out a long time ago that the third subway car was closest to the exit when he got off at his stop. He’s almost there when he sees the train arriving. As he takes his last few steps, he notices a fairly group of teenage boys. Quite frankly, they’re being so loud that it’s hard to miss them. The boys are standing right in the area where Cyrus likes to board the train, causing him to roll his eyes when he realizes he’s about to be in an enclosed space with them. Still, he decides not to get any closer and positions himself to use the other door.

The train slows down to a stop and all the doors open. While waiting for the passengers to get off, Cyrus shot one more glance at the mob of testosterone who at least had the decency of splitting up so people could get through.

That’s when Cyrus recognizes him. Actually, he’d recognize that head of blond hair any day, anywhere, anytime. Turns out, these guys go to his school. And they’re friends with him. Friends with Reed.

Fuck.

Cyrus is not expecting to see him here. It’s easy enough to ignore a junior at school, but there aren’t that many people in the subway car at this time of the day. He can’t risk Reed seeing him. Who knows what he might do? Especially with his friends around…

In the meantime, people start to step into the train. Lost in his panic, Cyrus doesn’t realize that he’s blocking the way, but a quick shove from an impatient middle-aged woman pulls him out of his thoughts. A voice comes through the intercom: Stand clear of the closing doors, please. Cyrus’ body goes into flight mode. He was as determined to avoid Reed as he was to eat that sandwich today. So he runs to the first door of the closest car just as the doors close behind him.

For a moment, he thinks he’s escaped the worst. Cyrus goes to move forward because he hates standing in front of the doors, only to be yanked back by his backpack. He knows almost immediately what’s going on: his bag is stuck in between the doors. But before he even has time to struggle, someone steps directly in front of him and reaches over his head and pulls the double doors apart with both hands to force them open before taking a step back.

“Oh my God,” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. He is about to say something else when the train starts moving abruptly, sending Cyrus, who wasn’t holding on to the pole, stumbling to the side. He thinks he’s going to start falling for sure, but and hand firmly grasps his arm and brings him back to balance.

“Woah there,” his savior says, and for the first time, Cyrus looks up at him. Woah, Cyrus thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Suddenly, he is very aware of the stranger’s lingering grip on his arm and the vague scent of citrus that was definitely not coming from him.

The boy in front of him clears his throat and Cyrus realizes that he’s staring but he can’t help it. His eyes are just so… so green, and he was standing so close. After a moment, however, he looks away and collects himself enough to grab the nearest pole and straighten his posture with the little bit of dignity he had left. The other boy lets go of his arm and moves a reasonable distance away.

“You okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“Um yeah. I- I’m okay. Thanks for...you know, thanks for the help,” Cyrus responds, trying his hardest to smile in the least awkward way possible. He feels the heat of embarrassment rise to his cheek and stares at his feet.

“Yeah, no problem.” Cyrus doesn’t know what to respond, so he doesn’t.

At the next stop, a seat empties next to where the boy was standing. He nudges Cyrus and motions towards the seat with his head.

“You wanna sit?” he asks.

“Sure, thanks,” Cyrus replies before taking off his backpack and sliding into the seat. Now that it was clear to him that he wouldn’t be making conversation with the other boy, he pulls out his headphones from his pocket, plugs it into his phone, and puts Troye Sivan on shuffle. It actually isn’t that unusual. New Yorkers in public transportation are quite impersonal, and people tend to be on their phones, listening to music or playing games during their commute. In fact, it would have been weird he’d attempted to start a conversation. He is a stranger, after all. A nice one, but still a stranger.

After a few stops, the “nice stranger”, as Cyrus begins to call him in his mind, gets off the train. Cyrus feels his body relax immediately and he takes a deep breath. Somehow, this triggers another growl in his stomach which reminds him of everything that happened in the day before his most recent incident. Inevitably, he is reminded of Reed and his obnoxious friends.

How had he forgotten? Forgotten that Reed also takes this train? He then remembers that a lot had changed over the summer. He probably wasn’t paying attention to it before, but he definitely knew that Reed took this train too. It’s just that it hadn’t been a problem before.

But everything is different now and he knows that too. He also knows that he can’t allow a repeat of what happened today. Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee that Reed and his friends would catch the same train as him every time, but the very possibility of it happening made Cyrus’ palms sweaty. No way. He couldn’t afford it.

On his way home, Cyrus decides to stop getting into the third subway car altogether. There was no doubt in his mind that taking a few extra steps to the exit was worth reducing the risk of running into the blond to zero. And who knows? Maybe it would increase his chances of running into someone else.

[sancti-luminis]

From the air, the Temple of the Scions looked unassuming, even stark, uninviting.

It was plain stone and metal, without the grandeur of the Temples of Iacon or Tyger Pax.  The buildings were naturally shaped, following the cubical or hexagonal pattern of their native metal crystals, rather than the swooping, curving style favored by most Temples.  If the buildings had been true crystal, it would have looked much like a garden, ordered and repeating, pleasing to the optic.  Instead, they were the dull silver, green, and red of oxidized metal, the bones of Cybertron itself.

To the senses of one of Primus’ chosen, it shone.  The Temple was imbued with holy power, from the walls to the very ground.  There was nothing natural about it, save the base metals themselves.  Paladin, one of the oldest and greatest of Scions, dwelled here.  He was a geomancer--not the charlatan variety that practiced divination, but one that could call on the very earth and metal of their world and raise it to his will.  He had made this Temple, a home to all who had transcended mortality to serve Primus, out of the very bedrock of the planet.  As long as he lived, the Temple would stand.

As Galeforce landed in the courtyard, a sense of peace washed over him.  Here, all the mechs and femmes were like him.  There were no ephemerals with their endless questions, no concerns about hiding what they were.  Wisps, holy sprites, little blue-white puffballs with gently floating tendrils drifted through the gardens, congregating around an appealing formation of crystal.  Others floated around mechs and femmes they liked, often the ones that raised them into being, though not always.  One drifted around the tassel on his glaive, drawn by the prayers engraved on each strand.  It was not the High Temple in Iacon, the one he had lived in for much of his life, but it was nearly home.

His spark felt heavy as he sought out the Wild Garden.  He felt too much grief, and guilt, too.  Had he led the Scions to their death by not sharing the location of Grindor’s den, and returning with an army?  Had he been weak in letting Grindor live when he fled the blasphemed church in Kaon?  His thoughts whirled, tainting the very air around him with their miasma of misery and guilt.  Galeforce sunk to his knees in the gritty dust of the garden, staring blankly, unseeing, at a weedy formation of crystal.  The allure he felt when he was near Grindor, that was wrong.  It was deeply wrong.  He should have brought the information to Paladin right away.  He barely noticed another mech sinking down next to him, so lost in his own thoughts and inner conflict.

The other mech’s field lapped around Galeforce, gradually spreading over him.  Even rapids calmed when they met a deep, still pool.  Paladin said nothing, just vented slowly, in, hold, release.  Slowly, Galeforce began to respond to the aura of serenity Paladin exuded, his venting slowing to match the elder Scion’s, field calming.  His armor loosened, slowly relaxing from its tense state against his protoform, and he raised his optics to look at the Temple Master.

“Two Scions are dead at the hands of a Herald,” he said softly.  “I do not know their names, but I have an image of a blade.”  Galeforce offered it in a small databurst.  They were so close, side by side, even a comm would have been like shouting.  

“Sundust and Penitente,” Paladin answered, keeping his voice low.  “They told me they were hunting.  I did not know they were hunting a Herald.”  Optics still closed, he let the grief wash through his field.  He had known the pair, hotheaded and bold, though not as powerful as others.  They had dwelled in his home for a time, before they chose to make their lives in another place, together.  The two had not been poor Scions or bad mechs, but their rashness had led to this.  He wondered if they had known there was a Herald at the end of the monster hunt, or if they were seeking glory by keeping their hunt from some of the other known Herald-killers.  “May Primus grant them rest.”

Galeforce echoed the sentiment quietly, still vacantly staring at the weed.  He had grown calmer, more still, but Paladin sensed that the turmoil was lurking under ice.  “What troubles you?”

It was a long, long moment before Galeforce answered.  Paladin wondered if the other Scion would speak at all, or if he would bottle up everything again.  Damned ascetics.  They allowed themselves no outlets, and often burned out in spectacularly destructive fashions.  “I knew the Herald was there.  I have spoken with him, met him, eaten with him.”  He bowed his head, field closing in around his frame tightly.  “I did not know Sundust and Penitente knew of him.  I did not know they would come so close.”

That was something of a bombshell.  Paladin took time to gather his thoughts, process the emotions he felt.  Galeforce, spending time with a Herald?  Galeforce, who had fought a Herald, and triumphed?  Surely he would know better.  Or… if he was doing such a thing, there was a reason.  What that reason was, Paladin could not yet fathom.  He kept his field calm, radiating peace.  He would not impulsively leap to accusations and upset the younger mech, driving him to hide what he had been doing.  “You have been meeting a Herald?  Tell me about him.”

The bright curiosity in Paladin’s field was the only reason Galeforce did not get up and leave the Garden, and likely the Temple.  The Master genuinely wanted to know, he sensed.  “He is… he is like us,” he managed, at last.  “He is not an ephemeral.  He knows what it is to have the hand of a god on your shoulder.  What it is to see beyond the everyday, the creatures that walk between the worlds, to have abilities beyond mortal understanding.  He believes, but only because he must.  There is no faith.”  He gave a soft, dry laugh.  “There is no need for faith when the existence of the divine is responsible for your very being.”

“Do you know how Heralds are made?”  Paladin had not moved from his serene pose, sitting in the dirt of the garden.  Already, little crystals were sprouting around him, responding to the aura of his power.  “They are not made the way we are.  The Unmaker does not reach for a corrupted soul and exalt them.  He does not choose the most faithful, or even the most powerful.  I suppose He could, if He so chose, but He relies on shadows and trickery, preying on the weak.”  He smiled indulgently at Galeforce’s disbelieving snort.  “Yes, weak.  Not traditionally weak in body, of course, or even of will.  But their minds are vulnerable, open to manipulation.  There are whispers in their ears, hints of power to be obtained.”  Paladin glanced at Galeforce.  “It was my fear for many years Megatron would say the words.”  Paladin settled, armor and field smoothing out.  “Primus be thanked, he was too proud to utter them, if they were ever offered.”

“I never knew,” Galeforce murmured, field swirling in confusion.  It made so much more sense.  Grindor was not an obedient, willing servant to Unicron, as he was to Primus.  The Herald was a slave, a prisoner.  “It makes so much sense.”

“Some glory in it,” Paladin continued, nodding at the other Scion’s words.  “Some reject it, until the Unmaker grows too loud and forceful.  Those ones die, usually.  The Unmaker abandons them in a moment of crisis, leaving them to their fates.  It is why I do not advocate the wholesale slaughter of Heralds.”

The younger Scion started, hands tightening around the pole of his glaive.  He had to think back, and carefully analyze conversations.  Paladin had never sent Scions on a mission to hunt Heralds.  He had always sent them after the monsters.  Galeforce had thought at the time that one thing led to another--find the monsters, hunt them to the Herald that made them.  Or, as had happened to him, Primus had sent a Scion to face the Herald.  “You always sent us after the wraiths,” he murmured, low, astonished at the subtle misdirection Paladin had employed.

“I do not like sending you children to your deaths,” he said, shaking his head.  “The Unmaker’s arts are myriad, multifarious, constantly evolving, and undying. Each time they are beaten back, they will rise up again, stronger and more dangerous than before.  If one grows too deadly, Primus calls.  Until then, it is better the monsters I know and understand.  Our world, the intangible and the mundane, exist in a delicate balance.  It is so much more complex than good and evil alone.  We all exist as shades of gray, even the Heralds and Scions.  If we were to amass together, form an army, and annihilate every Herald, every pit bender, every voidwraith we came across, I believe, in the depth of my spark, we would create a vacuum that the Unmaker Himself could use to deadly advantage.”  The Master paused, considering, and continued.  “I believe he could use it to take corporeal form in the mundane world.”

Galeforce could not help himself.  He gasped, horrified and astonished.  It was a thought that chilled the soul, imagining Unicron in their world.  Paladin’s stance abruptly made more sense.  He was one of the oldest Scions, connected to their world to a depth many could not fathom, and none could replicate.  His armor rattled in a shudder, pricking up in fear, imagining such a thing.  It was a horror he prayed would never visit their reality, or any other.

Slowly, Paladin rose to his feet, brushing the little crystals that had grown around him away until he was able to move without crushing them.  “The loss of Sundust and Penitente is a grave one.  But I will not send more Scions after your… friend, Galeforce.  Not unless he hunts us first.”  Paladin placed his hand on Galeforce’s bowed head, a benediction.  “Who prays for the Fallen, Brother?  Perhaps it should be you.”

“Now,” he continued, grasping the other mech’s arm to hoist him to his feet.  “That is quite enough heaviness for one day.  Come join me for a drink.  Yes, yes, just tea, of course.  It is still quite cold, and we have been out of doors too long.”

The pair of Scions left the Garden, companionably side by side, returning to the Temple proper.  They did not notice a dark shape, lean and strong, climbing down from one of the ironwood trees, careful to not snag the bow at his back.  Their conversation had been overheard.  So the monster lives.

[thorne93]

Helping Hand (Part 12 - FINAL)

Prompt: You’ve got a crush on Bucky, and Loki can’t help but notice you’re striking out - so he offers a helping hand.

Word Count: 2479

Warnings: language, adult content? (not smut)

Notes: I loved writing it, it was a blast. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Thanks to my two amazing beta’s @carryonmyswansong @fanaticfanfiction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a good old fashioned night of crying yourself to sleep, you got up early, got dressed in pants and a blouse, ignored your hair and makeup, and set out to the car. You waited fifteen minutes for Loki, even called his cell phone, but no answer. When you couldn’t wait any longer, you told the driver to take you back to Manhattan, alone.

As soon as you got to the tower, Steve was all over you.

“What the hell happened in Westchester?” he demanded in a low whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“Loki quit this morning, and Bucky is sulking.”

The news hit you like a ton of bricks. Loki’s gone? Fine. Fuck him. Your heartbreak and sorrow quickly turned to rage.

“I--I didn’t do anything to him. I told him to be at the car at seven, he never showed,” you explained.

“Well what the hell happened? The team is freaking out, Thor’s upset. I thought you had this in the bag.”

“I did. I don’t know what changed his mind,” you lied, gritting your teeth.

“Well it must’ve been something huge. He took the offer from X-Men. I told you how important it was to keep him here,” he pressed.

“Jesus, lay off, Steve,” you said. “We don’t need him. We worked just fine without his lying, manipulative ass on the team, we can do it again.”

With that, you pushed around him to get settled back in your room. Nat knocked on your open door as you were angrily tossing things out of your suitcase onto your bed.

“Hey, can I come in?”

“Free country,” you snapped, not looking up at her.

“I uh...I heard what happened with you and Bucky. I’m sorry,” she offered.

You stilled your motions, standing and pivoting to face her. “I’m so stupid, Nat. I actually let myself feel something for him. He’s just...he’ll always be who he is,” you said, dropping back onto you bed, your face in your hands as a new fresh wave of tears came.

“Yeah, I mean, he can be an ass. What happened? Did Bucky hurt you? I’ll kick his ass--”

“Not Bucky,” you said through a strangled sob. “Loki.”

Her face morphed into surprise. “Wow, that even slipped past me...Loki, huh?”

You nodded as she came over and sat beside you while you went through the entire thing. The bet, the lying, getting Bucky...all the way up to last night.

“We had this amazing moment. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and he just...bailed. He had a chance to say something, but instead he ran.”

She shrugged, responding, “That’s sort of Loki’s forte. Misdirection, misleading, and illusion. His whole persona is built on surviving a situation, and for him it usually means lies, tricks,and leaving.”

“But leaving me? Leaving us? I mean, he had a true chance to open up, to be real with me, and he shut me out.” You shook your head.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could offer as she took you in her arms and stroked your hair.

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

Two days later, a red alert came over the tower. Steve gathered you in the conference room, explaining that Charles, from the X-Men was asking for the Avengers’ help. Apparently, one of Magneto’s minions had gone rogue and was trying to acquire some strange biological weapon to kill all non-mutants. They requested that you meet them at the mansion to come up with strategy to find him and get the weapon from him.

News of this slammed into your gut like a battering ram. Trying to keep your composure, you followed your team to the helicarrier that zipped you up to the mansion. Only Nat knew the reason behind your unusual quietness. The rest of the team was focused, reading what they could on the target. Bucky, especially, avoided you like the plague.

The ride up to the mansion was torture. You weren’t sure you were ready to see his face again, the heartbreak still too fresh on your mind. Charles, Hank, Jean, Scott, and Logan all greeted you when you arrived. They led all of you into a conference room of sorts to talk about how to stop the rogue mutant and his crew.

At the very last second, Loki entered the room. At first, the sight of him sent you a wave of comfort, almost relief, to finally see him again. Within the blink of an eye though, it was replaced by disdain and heartache. You could barely look at him. He kept his eyes off of you, selecting a chair far away from you at the table.

You couldn’t concentrate throughout the entire meeting. Ideas and strategies flew back and forth, but all you could focus on was either not looking at Loki at all, or continually stealing glances at him. Every time you looked, he had his eyes cast down to the table, seemingly shut off from the world.

Finally, the meeting ended and Xavier and his team were showing you to their modified jets: the X-Men Blackbird.

“We’ll go in these. Hank’s equipped them to be virtually undetectable--”

“I can make them entirely undetectable if you want,” Tony offered, his ego inflating.

“I’d be happy to work with you,” Hank quietly responded.

“Fantastic!” Tony cheered. The two scientists walked off together to work on modifying the jet. Xavier instructed his team to suit up, as Steve pulled everyone in to go back over the plan once more.

“Okay, we need someone to stay with the plane, in case we need to get out fast,” Steve noted.

“Just make sure you have someone who’s reliable,” you remarked with an eyeroll as you crossed your arms.

At that moment, the X-Men rejoined the area.

“Okay…?” Steve said, dragging the word out.

“Like, maybe don’t give the job to a man, because we all know he’ll just bail when you need him most.”

Loki’s eyes flashed to yours, daggers flying from his gaze.

All of the others were eyeing you two as if you’d lost your minds.

“You think you can count on them. Count on your partner, your team mate. But when the moment is just right and it’s time for them to man up and make a move, they vanish,” you remarked as your eyes steeled on him.  

“Yes, Professor, I would advise you not to let a woman take the lead on this mission, as she could be a double agent and turn on you with any other team at any given moment,” Loki casually noted.

“Yeah, Cap, maybe don’t let certain men take control of the mission, because they’re weak and the slightest scare might cause them to start running.”

“Right, because women are always the victims, at least that’s what they want us to believe,” Loki said coolly.  “They like to live in a fantasy world that all men do is break their hearts, but in reality, all they want is a checklist.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Is he strong? Is he handsome? Does he have money? Does he have status?” Loki said, listing the things off on his fingers. “And for anyone who even makes the cut, don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s love. They don’t love you, they love the credentials you can provide.”

Again, you rolled your eyes.

“No gesture, no matter how real and romantic, will ever make up for a really good resume,” Loki stated, his eyes sliding to you.

“Yeah? You want a gesture? Well here’s a gesture!” you said, holding up your middle finger, to everyone’s shock and surprise. Gasps and murmurs flowed between the two teams before you finally crossed your arms and looked away from the jackass.

“Woah, okay then,” Cap uneasily said, unsure how to handle this. “We really need to get going. Maybe you two can do this some other time.”

“Fine by me,” you said, storming into one of the jets, getting ready to strap in when Hank came in, powering the jet up.

“Okay, give it just a second. I’m going to check with Stark and make sure it’s reporting correctly from his software,” Hank stated as he left the jet and you nodded, acknowledging what he’d said.

As soon as he was gone, Loki entered the jet, fuming. “What is your problem?” he demanded.

“My problem? You’re the one who ran off to join the X-Men! Nice suit by the way,” you remarked, eyeing the canary yellow outfit. “Blends in real nice.” You rolled your eyes.

Just then, some sort of turbulence hit the still jet, making the two of you lose your footing. You had to catch yourself on the wall, your hand hitting a button, but you hadn’t noticed it.

“Tony, what the hell?” you called out.

“Sorry, kid. Had to run a rough diagnostics.”

Unbeknownst to you though, the plane was activated to Auto-Run. Both of you were so enveloped in your argument you didn’t notice the door closing as the jet smoothly rose from its platform through the roof.

“I didn’t leave for the fashion choices,” he hissed.

“No, you left because you’re a coward,” you murmured as you looked away, crossing your arms.

Loki’s eyes narrowed on you. “I don’t leave because I’m scared,” he retorted in a low voice, anger saturating his tone. “But I am leaving now. Because I’m not going anywhere with you.” He walked over to the door and banged on it. “Alright, I need on a different jet,” he called out to what he thought was the X-Men.

You rolled your eyes. “Typical. Fleeing the scene as soon as the going get tough,” you snorted.

“Uh, guys,” Tony’s voice filled the jet. “You’re on autopilot,” he informed. “One of you goons hit the auto-run button.”

“What?!” you cried out, horrified at being stuck on this jet with Loki. “Turn us around!”

“No can do, kid. This isn’t one of my jets. We can’t remotely land it or turn its course around,” he informed. “Once it's set for the course, that’s where it goes. We’ll just have to catch up with you when you get there.”

“What? Tony! No! I can not be stuck on this plane with him!” you shouted.

“Sorry, kid. Nothing I can do. Might as well work out this little lover’s feud on the way,” he said before clicking off the communication system.

“Fantastic,” you groaned.

Loki sneered and sarcastically said, “Oh don’t worry, darling, I’m sure we can pass the time talking about all the carnal pleasures you and the soldier had.”

“I broke up with Bucky that night, you idiot!” you yelled.

Loki’s face morphed entirely from visceral anger to shock.

“Yeah, now that has your attention. You know, if you think we’re just going to pick up where we left off, you’ve got another thing coming, buddy,” you snorted, shaking your head. “That ship has long sailed.”

“Oh, right, as if I ever had a chance with you. You had eyes for the soldier for a long time and I could never compete with the Top 10 Things Y/N requires for a second date.”

“Oh fuck you,” you spat. “Maybe you would’ve had a chance if you weren’t so...you,” you informed.

“What does that even mean?” he asked exasperatedly.

Your eyes narrowed as they settled on him. “Oh, my name’s Loki. I’m a trickster god, who thinks all women should be walking robots, full of sexuality. Don’t fall in love because it’s too scary.”

“It is scary!” he shouted at you. “Especially when I’m in love with a neurotic, control freak like you! It’s fucking mortifying!”

You stood there, astounded. “I am not neurotic,” you replied through clenched teeth.

Loki threw his hands in the air. “For God’s sake. I just told you I’m in love with you and all you could take from that statement was ‘neurotic’.”

You remained silent. You weren’t sure what to say.

“How? I thought you said love didn’t exist,” you finally questioned after several moments, your voice volumes lower than it had been.

“I didn’t think it did,” he confessed. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has either abandoned me, betrayed me, or died. God forbid I let any of those things happen between us,” he stated, a flash of heartache in his eyes. “So yes, being in love with someone as amazing as you is terrifying, because you, out of anyone else, has the power to do any of those things and it would destroy me.”

“What do you mean?”

Loki frowned at you as if you’d asked the most stupid question with the most obvious answer.

“Because I’ve been in love with you, Y/N, for a long time. And I know I don’t deserve you. I lie, I cheat, I’m manipulative. I’m not good enough for you. I tried fooling myself once thinking I had a chance with you, but inevitably, I knew you’d see me for my true self, and you’d leave… Instead of putting myself through that, I denied my feelings.”

Standing, confused, with your mouth slightly agape, you had no idea how to respond.

“Why?” you breathed quietly. “Why did you set me and Bucky up then, if you loved me?”

He shrugged, a sad smile on his face. “Because I just wanted to see you happy. I didn’t think it could be with me. So to get my mind off of it, and put you with someone who might make you happy, someone you might deserve, I helped you seduce the soldier. I thought maybe if I at least saw you happy, it would ease my suffering. But of course, it didn’t.” It seemed as if he were fighting tears, just barely. “In fact, it made it worse. I spent time with you. I saw you transform into a regal lady...And I fell deeper in love,” he confessed, looking vulnerable. The sorrowful smile stayed planted on his face.

Your heart broke for the both of you as you stood there, gazing at him. Finally, you realized you needed to speak. Clearing your throat, you asked, “Why do you love me?”

“How could I not?” he mused with a crooked smile.

That’s all it took for you to launch yourself into his arms, your mouth finding his quickly. Soon after, you suddenly heard cheering over the comms, making the two of you break away, blushing.

“What the hell?” you rhetorically asked. “Were you listening the whole time?”

“No,” Steve said.

“Of course,” Tony informed at the exact same moment.

Loki and you held each other, giggling slightly at your friends.

“I think I won the bet, by the way,” you whispered.

“How so?”

“I got the guy, with nothing but my personality alone,” you reminded, prompting a giant grin from him before you held your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tags: @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please   @superwholocked527   @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo @damalseer @heyitscam99 @yknott81 @sea040561

Bucky Barnes: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester @its-not-a-tulpa @esoltis280

Loki Tags:   @lostinspace33 @ultrarebelheart @lenawiinchester   @esoltis280 @tngrayson @wangdeasang

HH tag list: @sorryimacrapwriter   @harrymewmew @mackievanstan-384 @imarockstar45 @hellkat2 @naniky @thebadassbitchqueen @learisa @anamcg317 @lost-moon-child96 @christy-winchester @ultranikilove @xxqueenofisolationxx

[the-penandpaper]

Marc Lamont Hill’s Full Speech for a Free Palestine

November 28, 2018 @ the UN. The next day he was fired from CNN

Full video

Mr Secretary- General, chairman, ambassadors and your excellencies.

Good afternoon. It is with great honor and humility that I accept the opportunity to speak before you as a scholar, as an activist and as a citizen, I am profoundly interested in the plight of the Palestinian people. As well as the broader ethical, moral, and political implications of their struggle for freedom and justice as well as equality. As such this annual convening represents a critical intervention, it also represents a site of possibility. On the other hand, it shows considerable irony. As well know this year marks the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This declaration is produced out of the rubble and contradictions of  World War 2 and it was intended to offer a clear ethical and moral outline of the basic rights and freedoms to which all human beings, irrespective race, religion, class, gender, or geography are entitled. This declaration of course has been far from perfect both in design and in execution. Too often we have framed human rights through the lens of the west we've viewed through the gaze of colonialism and we have assessed them to through the limited prism of our own experiences. Simply put, the powerful have too often attempted to universalize their own particular and local values. Still the Universal Declaration of Human Rights has offered us a flawed but functional starting point from which to articulate basic moral and ethical ambitions as global citizens. These ambitions have been particularly helpful when attempting to keep track of the vulnerable against the back drop of imperialism, exploitative economic arrangements, white supremacy, patriarchy and all the other entanglements of the modern nation-state. For this reason, it is indeed ironic and sad that this year also marks the 70th anniversary of the Nakba. The great catastrophe in May 1948 that resulted in the expulsion, murder and to date permanent dislocation of more than a million Palestinians. For every minute that the global community has articulated a clear and lucid framework for human rights, the Palestinian people have been deprived of the most fundamental of them. While the universal declaration for human rights says that all people are “born free and equal in dignity and rights” the Israeli nation state continues to restrict freedom and undermine equality for Palestinian citizens in Israel as well as those in the West Bank in Gaza. At the current moment there are more than 60 Israel laws that deny Palestinian access to full citizenship rights. Simply because they're not Jewish. From housing to education to family reunification, it is clear that any freedoms naturally endowed to all human beings are actively being stripped away from Palestinians through Israeli statecraft. While human rights promises the right to life, liberty and security of person. Palestinians continue to live under the threat of random violence by Israeli military and police. Disproportionate violence within the West Bank in Gaza, unprompted violence in the face of peaceful protests and misdirected violence by an Israeli state that systematically fails to distinguish between civilians and combatants. While the Universal Declaration for Human Rights protects us against torture and cruel and inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment, Palestinians continue to be physically and psychologically tortured by the Israeli criminal justice system, a term I can only use with irony. As human rights groups around the world have noted, the use of solitary confinement constitutes a clear and indisputable form of torture. Yet, in the West Bank, Palestinians are routinely subjected to solitary confinement and indefinite detention. Often with out and formal charges being filed. Last year, the Israeli Supreme Court ruled that physical torture in “exceptional cases” including ticking time bomb situations constitute acceptable means by which to engage in torture. Although these exceptions are themselves a violation of the absolute human right not to be tortured, Israeli security operates and practice in such a way that nearly all Palestinian cases are viewed as exceptional. Nearly every Palestinian is understood to be a potential terrorist. Thereby making them susceptible to ticking time bomb investigation tactics at all times. As such, Israel's practices are routinely in clear violation of the UN's Convention on torture which was signed by Israel in 1986 and ratified in 1991. While the Declaration of Human Rights insists that no one be subjected to arbitrary arrests, detention or exile, Palestinians are routinely denied due process of law. West Bank Palestinians are regularly placed under administrative a framework that allows them to be incarcerated for up to six months and can be extended after a judicial review without being charged with a crime. The only thing needed for such outcomes is the ambiguous claim of a security threat. A claim used by the Israeli state at all times, at all costs and for all reasons. Through this vagueness Palestinians are routinely punished for their political views rather than any actual threat of violence. The declaration of human rights insists that all humans are entitled to a “fair and public hearing by an impartial tribunal. Israeli military courts, the exclusive adjudicator largely, for West Bank residents and in some cases Palestinian citizens of Israel. They have a conviction rate of more than 99%. That suggests that Palestinians are either more guilty than any other group in human history or that the Israeli government is unwilling or incapable of offering fair and impartial trials for Palestinians.  Declaration of human rights promises the right to freedom of movement and residence within the borders of each state as well as the right to leave any country including his *own and to return to said country. It is impossible to travel throughout the historic Palestine and not see the blatant restriction of movement between cities in the occupied Palestinian territories as well as inside the state of Israel. Standing check points, temporary of flying checkpoints, annexation walls and other security barriers, prevent Palestinians from moving freely both within areas legally designated by the Israeli government and co-signed by the Palestinian Authority under the terms of Oslo but also we see in Gaza the restriction of movement that is so severe that it literally defines life in the area. I promise you that I will not exhaust all my time by enumerated every human rights violation perpetrated by the Israeli government. These are well known and have been well documented by every credible human rights organization in the world. Rather I would like to speak to you about the urgency of the current moment.

{sips water}Forgive my thirst, I literally just got off of a flight from Palestine to come to address you this morning and I was boycotting the Israeli water so I was unable to quench my thirst. But thank you for your indulgence or for indulging me rather.

As we speak, the conditions on the ground for Palestinian people are worsening. In recent decades, the Israeli government has moved further and further to the right. Normalizing settler colonialism and its accompanying logics of denial, destruction, displacement and death. Despite international condemnation, settlement expansion has continued. At the same time, home demolitions and state enforced displacement continues to uproot Palestinian communities. For Gazans, the 11 year Israeli and Egyptian blockade by land air and sea, has created the largest open air prison in the world. With only 4% potable water, electricity access that is limited to 4 hours per day,50% unemployment and the the looming threat of Israeli bombs, Gaza continues to constitute one of the most pressing humanitarian crisis of the current moment. And the West Bank conditions are not much better, unemployment is generally around 18% with frequent loss of income due to Israeli military closures. Making it impossible for Palestinian workers to get access to jobs, settlements and extra land allocated for them as well as closed military zones and other restrictions make it impossible for Palestinian towns to grow. And in the mists of it all, Prime Minister Netanyahu's administration has become increasingly indifferent to critique censure or even scorn from the international community for its practices. Perhaps the most glaring example of this indifference as well as the urgency of the current moment is the recently passed nation state law. Through this basic law of the Israeli state has officially rejected Arabic as an official state language. It has described settlement expansion both inside and outside of the green line as a national value and it has reinforced the fact that Israel is not a state of all of its citizens. As an American, I am embarrassed that my tax dollars contribute to this reality. I am frustrated that no American president since the start of the occupation has taken a principled and actionable position in defense of Palestinian rights. And I am saddened, though not surprised, that president trump's administration has further embolden Israel's behavior through it's recent actions. In May of this year President trump officially moved the US Embassy to Jerusalem which he recognized as the undivided capital of Israel. This choice not only flew in the face of international law and precedent but also constituted a powerful provocation and a diplomatic death blow. In late August, President trump then permanently reneged on America's commitment to funding UNRWA. A move that now leaves millions of Palestinian refugees in medical, economic and educational peril. Moreover, the move serves as a political strong arm tactic whereby the United States is unilaterally attempting to resolve through the trump administration, the final status of Palestinian refugees. While president trumps policies have been the most dramatic. It is important that I stress to you, to reiterate to you, that they are not wildly out of step with American policy. Cuts to UNRWA, is an idea that has been raised in Washington for years, dating back at least to the George W Bush administration. President's trump's decision to move the US embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jersusalem caused enormous controversy but he was merely implementing a bipartisan law congress passed in 1995. And in so doing, executed what has already been official United States policy and the fulfillment of a promise made by every president and presidential candidate, Democrat and Republican for a very long time. With regard to the question of Palestine, donald trump is not an exception to american policy. Rather, donald trump is more transparent and aggressive iteration of it. As I mentioned at the beginning of my remarks, the words offered today by everyone in this room, are a necessary component of our resistance efforts. We need powerful, counter-intuitive, dangerous and courageous words. But we must also offer more than just words. Will not stop the village with its make shift schools created local Bedouin villagers. Words will not stop them from being demolished in violation of the fourth Geneva conventions. Words will not stop poets like Dareen Tatour from being caged in Israeli jails. For having the audacity to speak the truth about the conditions of struggle on her own personal facebook page. Words will not stop peaceful protesters in Gaza from being killed as they fight for freedom against Israel still undeclared borders. Regarding the question of Palestine, beyond words we must ask the question what does justice require? To truly engage in acts of solidarity, we must make our words flesh. Our solidarity must be more than a noun. Our solidarity must be more become a verb. As a Black American, my understanding of action and solidarity action is rooted in our own tradition of struggle. As Black American resisted slavery, as well as Jim Crow laws that transformed us from a slave state to an apartheid state; we did so through multiple tactics and strategies. It is this array of tactics that I appeal to as I advocate for concrete action from all of us in this room. Solidarity from the international community, demands that we embrace boycotts, divestment and sanctions as a critical means by which to hold Israel accountable for its treatment of Palestinian people. This movement which emerges our of the overwhelming majority of Palestinian civil society offers a non-violent means by which to demand a return to the pre '67 borders full rights for Palestinian citizens and the right of return as dictated by international law. Solidarity demands that we no longer allow politicians or political parties to remain silent on the question of Palestine. We can no longer, in particular, allow the political left to remain radical or even progressive on every issue from the environment, to war, to the economy, to remain progressive on every issue except for Palestine. Contrary to Western mythology, Black resistance to American apartheid did not come purely through Gandhi and non-violence. Rather slave revolts and self defense and tactics, otherwise divergent from Dr. King or Gandhi, were equally important to preserving safety and attaining freedom. We must allow, if we are to operate in true solidarity to Palestinian people, we must allow the Palestinian people the same range of opportunity and political possibility. If we are standing in solidarity with Palestinian people, we must recognize the right of an occupied people to defend itself. We must prioritize peace but we must not romanticize of fetishize it. We must advocate and promote non-violence at every opportunity but we can not endorse a narrow politics of respectability that shames Palestinians for resisting. For refusing to do nothing in the face of state violence and ethnic cleansing.

 At the current moment, there is little reason for optimism. Optimism of course is the belief that good will inevitably prevail over evil, that justice will inevitably win out. In the course of human history and certainly even in the course of the United Nations there is no evidence of such a proposition. Optimism is unsophisticated. Optimism is immature. Optimism is what my students have when they take examinations that they did not study for. Some become quite religious at the time. But regardless of their strategies of optimism, the outcome is far from guaranteed or even likely. What I'm challenging us to do in the spirit of solidarity, is not to embrace optimism but to embrace radical hope. Radical hope is a belief that despite the odds, despite the considerable measures against justice and peace, despite the legacy of hatred, imperialism, white supremacy, patriarchy, homophobia. Despite these systems of power that have normalized settler colonialism. Despite these structures, we can still win, we can still prevail. One motivation for my hope in the liberation and ultimate self determination of the Palestinian people comes in the August of 2014. Black Americans were in Ferguson,Missouri in the Midwest of the United States protesting the death of the young man named Michael Brown, an unarmed African American male who had been killed by a law enforcement agent. And as we protested I saw two things that provided hope for the Palestinian struggle. One was that for the first time in my entire life of activism, I saw a sea of Palestinian people. I saw a sea of Palestinian flags in the crowd saying that we must form a solidarity project. We must struggle together in order to resist because state violence in the United States and state violence in Brazil and state violence in Syria and state violence in Egypt and state violence in South Africa and state violence in Palestine are all of the same sort. And we final understood that we  must work together and not turn on each other but instead turn to each other. And later that night when the police began to tear gas us, Miriam Baruti(misspelled..sorry), tweeted us from Ramallah. She along with other Palestinian youth activists told us that the tear gas that we were experiencing was only temporary. They gave us tips for how to wash our eyes out. They told us how to make gas masks out of tshirts. They gave us permission to think and dream beyond our local conditions by giving us a transnational or global solidarity project. And from those tweets and social media messages we began then to organize together. We brought a delegation of Black activist to Palestine and we saw the connection between the police in New York City who are being trained by Israeli soldiers and the type of policing we were experiencing in New York City. We began to see relationships of resistance and we began to build and struggle and organize together. That spirit of solidarity, a solidarity that is bound up not just an ideology but in action is the way out. So as we stand here on the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the tragic commemoration of the Nakba, we have an opportunity to not just offer solidarity in words but to commit to political action, grassroots action, local action and international action that will give us what justice requires. And that is a free Palestine from the river to the sea. Thank you for your time.