#Good endings exist only in fairy tales that are for children

[melancoley]

WHAT MOVES THE WORLD

SYNOPSIS: when you’re born into a burning house, you think the entire world is on fire – that was kakashi’s reality. always surrounded by fragments of war, kakashi grew up with only the purpose of surviving beating in his heart. for him, nothing else existed in the world but war – that was kakashi’s philosophy. until you showed up. and, like spring, you came with the promise of hope and warmth and ended up bringing an inevitable change that would forever alter the life, and heart, of hatake kakashi.

PAIRING: hatake kakashi x gn!reader WORD COUNT: 5.811.

TAGS: soulmate!au, strangers to lover(s), fast-paced, unrequited love, kinda miscommunication. angst, fluff, hurt/no-comfort. CONTENT: gloomy kid kakashi. confused young-adult kakashi. heartbroken adult kakashi. shinobi reader. you are full of life & love talking to kakashi. conversations about stars, wars & love. he is the captain of your team one time.

WARNINGS: mention of sakumo's death but nothing explicit. you are going to break kakashi's heart, so be ready.

COLE'S NOTE: hiii, miss me? ♡ so !! this fic was originally a request and i posted this on my previous blog - if it sounds familiar, maybe u read the old version: ‘war & love’. i did some changes here and there to turn ur reading more pleasant and i hope i did a good job lol also !!! someone made one fanart based on this fic - if u know them/saw the fanart, please tell me so i can link it and give them the attention they deserve. ok, that's all ♡ have fun breaking hearts ♡

Not all stories are happy.

Not all soulmates are reciprocal.

Not all people could change their destiny.

Of course, in a perfect world, one person’s soulmate would also be another person’s soulmate. But reality went far beyond fairy tales and, as such, not all soulmates were mutual – and a person only knew their destiny when it was too late.

For years, people woke up with words tattooed on their wrists. They were simple, small words, just for the purpose of summarizing people’s love lives with their true love.

There were the luckier ones who woke up with little ‘fulfilled’ or ‘happily ever after’ on their wrists after their wedding. There were also those who had little ‘close call’ or ‘don’t try again’ written on their wrists on the coldest nights. And there were also those that read painfully ‘not destined’ or even ‘maybe in a next life’ that caused an inexplicable burning in the eyes of those who received such words. There were those who liked it, there were those who didn’t mind a mere tattoo and there were also those who did everything to force a soulmate into their lives.

The reality is that a person’s tattoo was already inscribed on them from the moment their soul found a body, always wanting to arrive at the right time to make itself noticed. And that was why no one could change their destiny.

But none of that matter. None of that mattered one bit to Kakashi. Because he only had one thing in mind: becoming strong and reliable. Kakashi didn’t care about dating or romance. Kakashi just wanted to do his duty as a shinobi.

But, of course, no matter how much he didn’t want to know, no matter how much he showed he didn’t want to know, his father was always attentive to him, always wanting to make him even minimally interested in the subject. After all, parents only wanted the best for their children.

And that was why Sakumo forced Kakashi to sit next to him on that cold, foggy morning.

“Kakashi, there is beauty in the midst of all this chaos.”

Sakumo’s voice was lost amid the fog, a phrase of pure harmony and delicacy trying to find its way in the thick maze of clouds and trees that invaded the territory.

There was a pause.

Kakashi didn’t deign to respond – he knew perfectly well where this conversation would end, he knew perfectly well what awaited him.

“The world is not driven by war alone.”

“Dad…”

Kakashi let a long and monotonous sigh escape his small lips, muffled by the dark mask, trapped inside the fabric without being able to show his total dissatisfaction.

“Not again. I have class in a bit.”

Kakashi stood up carefully and a little hesitantly. The truth is he didn’t want to leave his father alone. Kakashi didn’t want to abandon him once again at the mercy of fairy tales that did nothing but deceive a person.

However, Sakumo gave him no other choice. The cheap repetition of stories and princesses and kings became tiring – there was no longer any surprise in his father’s speech, there was no longer any hope for Kakashi.

As such, he was determined to abandon his father sooner than expected, his little feet taking short, uncertain steps to get away from his father, to get away from yet another unwanted conversation.

“Kakashi, why do you think there is war?”

Kakashi stopped his step with some abruptness.

That simple question from Sakumo echoed strongly inside Kakashi’s head, causing small dizziness in his mind where several possible answers appeared without any invitation, assaulting the little child’s sanity, making him question everything.

Why does war exist?

Of course, the main answer focused on people’s inability to be able to communicate with each other. There was also that need to come out and show their disgusting egos – that is the second answer to that question.

But there was something more.

There had to be something more.

People didn’t start wars just because they were bored.

…

Right?

Throughout his small and short existence, Kakashi has lived in a world of war and from an early age he was trained and taught to live and survive amidst so much devastation and anguish. Kakashi’s entire existence was shaped around the thick and aggressive sphere of what moved the world – war.

Would he have to know why?

In reality, Kakashi didn’t care if someone wanted to conquer the world, or if someone was kidnapped or killed unleashing days and months and years of pure destruction. Kakashi only had the mission to fight the war – that was all that mattered. Now the reason?

���I don’t care. Certainly the origin of all wars has an illogical basis. I have to stop the war. I don’t need to know why it started.”

Sakumo smiled and let his son go on his way, slowly losing sight of him as he began to be consumed by the fog.

Sakumo’s lips formed a perfect smile, a smile that left a trail of sadness with it because he knew perfectly well what was going to happen that day – Sakumo couldn’t really smile, not when he knew the end was near.

But there was something else hidden in his smile.

No matter how loud the voices screamed in his mind, the reality was that Sakumo feared for his son. Sakumo feared that Kakashi would never experience the beautiful pleasures of love as he himself had once experienced.

And there was nothing to do. There was nothing to do when Kakashi only focused on the human intellect. There was nothing to do when Kakashi purposely denied all the emotions that moved the world. There was simply nothing to do.

And Sakumo kept smiling.

His cold fingers gently stroked a small ‘there will be more in the next life’ that was fading due to the passage of time.

Several memories of a short and intense love began to haunt him in such a way that Sakumo didn’t even notice when the sadness on his lips turned into hope.

That hadn’t been the last life with his beloved – Sakumo knew that.

Then, muttering the answer to the question he himself asked his son, Sakumo stood up as well.

He knew perfectly well that there would be a second chance for his love. He knew perfectly well that Kakashi would realize the reality of the world they lived in. He knew perfectly well that everything would end well.

After all, there has never been a war without love.

Kakashi had lost everything.

There was nothing left for someone so young.

At fourteen, Kakashi’s entire life fell apart before his own eyes. Without family or friends, without anyone who could support him, he had lost everything – including his way in this world. Kakashi was wandering through the days, lost on the path of life, with no knowledge of maps or no guides that could help him.

Kakashi had lost everything, until he gained a new friendship, a new hope.

You appeared with the arrival of spring. Uncertain and always encouraging steps, an enormous desire for knowledge to be noticed in the intense shine of your sweet eyes, and wide smiles enchanting anyone.

You brought with you the breath of fresh air that prevailed at that time of year. Your feet encouraged so many beautiful flowers to bloom, new lives were created by you, new paths were drawn by your bare feet. The innocence of someone who had not yet experienced the evils of the world painted your smile with an extra tenderness that gave your cheekbones small splashes of the passion that the sun felt for you.

That spring day, when Kakashi saw you leaning over a hollow log, you carried something more than pure curiosity and amusement in your fingertips. You brought with you the hope of a new life for Kakashi, a hope that was felt by him when he, very clumsily, stopped you from rolling with the log to the bottom of the cliff.

Quickly, like someone blowing a leaf, something formed between you. A friendship? Probably. It was hard to be sure with Kakashi. But whatever you and he shared, you both knew it was something unique, something true.

A new stage in both of your lives was discovered in the other’s presence, a vast and longing wave of feelings beginning to form in you.

There was complicity between the both of you.

Since your first meeting next to that log, you and Kakashi shared an enviable complicity. Each one understood the other without the need to exchange words. A simple look, a simple sign, was enough for one to be understood by the other.

Days were spent together. Little secrets were exchanged amidst laughter and sighs, two distinct lives were soaked in pure melancholy, drenched in an extreme longing for a long-lost past.

And your adolescence has never looked so beautiful in the eyes of others.

Before you knew it, you and Kakashi have reached adulthood. And what used to be so simple and natural now seemed complicated with so many glances and hidden smiles and that hint of desire that clung to every word you exchanged.

Quickly, like someone forming a smile, beyond that very natural friendship, something more emerged between you. Something deeper began to emerge between the two of you.

“I don’t understand people’s admiration for the stars.”

You stretched a little as you sat next to Kakashi, the red blanket you always carried protecting you from the cold wind of that autumn night. “It’s something that has existed since the beginning of time. There are maps and photographs of them everywhere. Why the fascination?”

“It’s like war.”

The rest of your team rested silently on the ground, wrapped and cozy by a small fire starting by you, the tranquility of a successful mission being noted by their deep and steady breaths.

You and Kakashi were relaxing on one of the many branches of the most colorful and sturdy tree near your camp, your vision completely focused on the vast starry sky and the faint line of the horizon painted by the small mountains covered in snow.

There was silence on the ground and there was silence in the tree branches.

The breeze had been encouraged by several clouds venturing along unknown paths, giving you a little privacy on that very welcoming night. The moon was small, gaining strength for a more special date, slowly feeding on the desire of the most melancholy people who wrote to her. Every animal in the forest slept near you, the heat of the fire that crackled so loudly convincing the most diverse living beings to truly rest that night – except you and Kakashi.

“The war?”

You couldn’t contain the laughter that formed inside you, a sound so melodious and innocent that it woke up nature itself for a brief moment. The breeze had returned to you only to take with it the pure sound you released, keeping among the various clouds and stars the memory of your innocent question and laugh.

“How does the fascination of the stars compare to the war?”

“Humans can’t live without them.”

Kakashi was leaning against the trunk reading one of his typical books. None of his words were of the slightest interest. His uncovered eye cautiously read each line of the book. And he just waited for an answer. He waited for your curiosity. He waited for you.

“My dear Kakashi, I live well without both. Does that make me non-human?”

Kakashi let a long, amused sigh escape his lips and grab the echo of your new laugh. By closing the book and adopting a posture more favorable to a conversation, Kakashi let his movements continue over time.

The relaxing crackle of the fire calmly accompanied your team captain’s gestures as you fixed your eyes on Kakashi in the vain hope of encouraging him to speak or, at the very least, to hurry up.

However, there was no rush in Kakashi’s movements – all the time he took to sit next to you and stare at the stars seemed like an eternity to you.

But finally, Kakashi spoke.

“Of course you live well without both. But would you be the same person you are if they didn’t exist? Would you be complete if they didn’t exist?”

“Are you insinuating that we humans need to have stars and wars to be real?”

It seemed like an outrage. What Kakashi had just insinuated to you seemed to be wrapped in a thick layer of blasphemy and nonsense. The indignation at those words was reflected in the way you looked at the various leaves that framed Kakashi in an ethereal casing of change.

What was once a peaceful setting has now become a stage for nature. Strong winds and thick clouds slowly began to appear, hoping they could continue listening to Kakashi’s thoughts. Small nocturnal birds greeted you shyly with sweet and tender melodies that spread through the sleeping forest and made you smile.

“It’s what moves us.”

“I’m sorry,” you let out a fake laugh as you composed yourself on the tree branch.

You turned to Kakashi and focused your attention on his relaxed posture. Curiosity was caught in your eyes, and an eagerness to prolong that conversation could be seen in the way you so firmly and enthusiastically pronounced the words. “But I still don’t follow your reasoning.”

“A’right, let’s go step by step.”

“Please.”

Kakashi let out a small, almost inaudible laugh at your tender plea.

His eyes were now resting on your very curious posture: your arms adjusted the red blanket to also shelter Kakashi on that cold night; your eyes sparkled with the enthusiasm of yet another conversation with your best friend; your smile warmed Kakashi more than any blanket or fire could do.

“The stars, yea? We all know that since ancient times they have been the cause of all happiness and pain for people. People in ancient civilizations worshiped the stars as gods and saw in them countless stories and life lessons. And the very own people of those civilizations used the stars and their positions for agriculture and to make decisions. Are you following?”

“Yes, professor.”

You let out another laugh as you placed your legs over Kakashi’s and gently slid closer to him. The night was getting cold, the fire was on the ground and all you had was a red blanket and Kakashi.

And how he thanked all the gods for wearing a mask and for the moon being lazy that night. For, the pink tone he quickly adopted when he felt you so close to him only revealed how much he was waiting for that action of yours.

“So…”

A brief moment of silence followed after Kakashi’s statement.

Your captain’s reasoning was lost with your innocent act. It was a simple, affectionate gesture, something that had been repeated so many times. And, like every other time, Kakashi simply lost any coordination – the feeling of having you so close to him was fantastic, almost magical.

Thus, a brief moment of silence followed as Kakashi tried to find the thread of his thought, as Kakashi tried to grasp that thread without losing the very welcoming feeling of having you close to him.

“So,” he repeated again, his posture always relaxed and carefree, the mask being the perfect hiding place for his rosy face. “People adopted these little habits from their ancestors and that’s why there are so many people who still marvel at the stars. Of course, all romantics are also enchanted by them.”

“Why?”

Pause. Silence. Contemplation.

Why? In fact, that was always the question you asked. That was always the question that made sense to ask. Indeed, why?

Kakashi stared at the stars, trying to understand why. You stared at Kakashi, waiting for him to answer why.

But the answer never came. The answer never showed up and beautified your ears with sweet justifications and immaculate logic. For, realizing that there really wasn’t a defined reason for that question, Kakashi continued his reasoning.

Your captain’s voice was drawn out and always monotonous as if it were perpetually stuck in a timbre that conveyed a vast sense of comfort.

And you listened carefully to every word Kakashi said. You listened attentively to everything he had to say, always trying hard to follow his thoughts.

“Now the war.”

Kakashi paused briefly and took a deep breath.

A sigh that seemed to be filled with tiredness escaped his lips without realizing it – the memories of conversations he had with his father were felt at that exact moment. And they weighed. They weighed so much.

“War has always existed. Since the beginning of humanity there has been war. No wars, no humans. It is in our condition as human beings – it is our need. We crave destruction. We seek chaos. It’s in us. We need war to move us. Because, quite simply, we are the war. Without it, what would we do? Who would we be? That’s why there is fascination with it. That’s why there’s so much admiration. War is the stars of the most political. And the stars are the war of the most romantic.”

“So, by that logic, love is the war of the most philosophical.”

Kakashi looked at you with confusion expressed in his eye. The various and infinite stars reflected in Kakashi’s gaze showed that, in fact, he had not understood the use of your words.

Why did you decide to grab love out of nowhere?

Why did you decide to bring that taboo into the middle of a conversation that was so special to both of you?

Why?

You noticed the confusion in Kakashi’s lack of reaction. You realized that there must be doubt in your captain’s thoughts. Looking at Kakashi, it was easy to decipher the confusion he felt and you were intrigued, fascinated even.

“Do you really think that it is only war that moves the world?”

Kakashi opened his mouth but you didn’t know.

Kakashi closed his mouth again and you didn’t even notice.

In your captain’s mind, that last conversation he had with his father began to replay endlessly. Sakumo’s words came up whenever that dangerous topic was brought up – it seemed that Sakumo’s cheap philosophies tormented Kakashi until that day.

But it wasn’t always like that – no.

From the moment Kakashi met you, Sakumo’s haunting finally ceased.

There was no need to understand love because, quite simply, and even though he didn’t know it, Kakashi was experiencing that feeling so strong, so true. There was no need to recall a conversation that tried to explain something he was feeling, even though he couldn’t decipher that specific something.

Therefore, for several years, Sakumo’s words that were imbued with understanding and affection had been forgotten, completely erased from Kakashi’s memory.

No. Wrong. The words were still there, safe, inside Kakashi’s heart.

And it only took your question, your question so similar to Sakumo’s question, to free the words and torment Kakashi again.

“Kashi?”

You let out a laugh.

Kakashi certainly knew there was something more than war. He positively knew that not everything was destruction or contempt in this world. He had to know there was beauty and hope. He had to know that there was something good in this world. Kakashi had to know all this – right?

“Love?”

The word burned in Kakashi’s mouth, his melancholic eye locked in your eyes, the reflection of the universe trapped in your fingertips.

“Love.”

Your response came with a real, genuine smile. Your eyes showed a light and tenuous sadness while a tiny hope threatened to collapse at any moment.

You spoke like love itself. Delicate and light, your lips pronounced that word with precision and extreme ease.

You spoke like love itself. Your smile was genuine and embellished by the infinite stars, painted by the cool night breeze. Your eyes were sad, scared and fearful of the drastic change of an event, of a feeling.

You spoke like love itself. You spoke in a mix of emotions that were foreign to Kakashi, a thick ball of feelings and memories was trapped in your expression and made Kakashi feel confused.

You spoke like love itself, but Kakashi could only speak like war.

Kakashi spoke like war itself. Without any feeling, afraid of what his lips could utter, scared of the strength of the word itself.

Kakashi spoke like war itself. His every word and thought was completely calculated by him, no mistake to be uttered by Kakashi, the doubt that escaped his lips bringing a bit of wisdom.

Kakashi spoke like war itself. Kakashi spoke knowing perfectly well what awaited him, he spoke knowing perfectly well the answer to his question.

And between war and love there was a brief moment of silence. A moment of tranquility brought by the infinite stars.

Between war and love there was a moment of serenity that was heard only by your careful breathing, your gaze locked on each other, your smile slowly fading as time passed.

Love.

Was that the answer to his father’s question? No. It couldn’t be something so simple like that – but there was no such thing as simplicity in love.

“Love.”

Kakashi said his statement again, allowing a fragile and invisible line to escape his mask and take with it the bruning of that word.

There was something comforting in your gaze, something soothing in the way you held the blanket tight to you. There was something serene in the way you rested your legs on Kakashi’s, something welcoming in the way you and him stood together under that starry sky.

“Love” – Kakashi never found it easier to pronounce that word.

Days without you were boring.

Everyone knew that whenever you were on a mission without being on Kakashi’s team, he would roam the streets of the village like he used to do before he met you. Everyone knew that, for Kakashi, days without you simply didn’t make sense, not when you and he had already become fully accustomed to each other’s presence.

And that day wasn’t much different from the others.

Kakashi walked through the streets calmly. His feet shuffled without any energy, one of his hands sheltered in his pants pocket, the other holding a book close to his face.

Kakashi didn’t pay attention to what he was reading or where he was walking. Having already read and reread that book so many times, having already walked those streets countless times, Kakashi didn’t need to pay attention – because something else occupied his mind.

Your mission was somewhat complicated and you left with a good team, yes. But Kakashi couldn’t trust them, not when your integrity could be at risk – Kakashi could only worry about you.

A melancholy trail was left by Kakashi’s short and relaxed steps.

His eyes read and reread the same page over and over as his mind wandered to so many possible scenarios that could happen to you.

How he hated being away from you at a scary time like that.

Kakashi had been your team captain enough times for him to know you knew how to take care of yourself. But you were also distracted and that was what bothered Kakashi. A distraction from you, an ambush from them, a misfortune from the universe – everything seemed plausible when he was away from you.

He just wanted to be with you, to hear from you, to know that you were okay. He had to be with you.

But regardless of whether or not you managed to get home safe and sound, Kakashi spent his days monotonously without you by his side.

Even though Guy continued to make his occasional appearances, enticing Kakashi into meaningless duels; even though Naruto and Sakura could fill a fragment of the void you created; even though he knew you would be back next week, the reality is that Kakashi simply couldn’t live the days in your absence.

Not since that night under the starry sky. Not when the confession of a love came out disguised in a novice and somewhat shaky pronunciation.

What could Kakashi do? Just wandering around the village without your company. Just wishing every day was shorter than the last. Just peacefully wait for your arrival.

“Today I received my words!”

Naruto was always so loud.

Kakashi lazily looked up from his book and watched Naruto talk excitedly to Sakura and Shikamaru. The smiles they shared with each other were big, contagious, as if enticing Kakashi to also let out a small smile.

“Hinata is my soulmate!”

“I got mine during the war. It was Ino who noticed,” Sakura let out a small laugh as she recalled her chaotic reactions when she discovered that Sasuke was, in fact, the man the universe had destined for her. “What about you, Shikamaru?”

“Nothin’.”

A small sigh escaped Shikamaru’s lips and brought with it the hope of not having to worry about a soulmate anytime soon.

“What about you, Kakashi-sensei?”

“I don’t pay attention to that.”

A shrug was enough to direct the conversation back to Shikamaru.

But Kakashi kept thinking. Without realizing it, all the younger’s’ speeches were obstructed with the thought that, perhaps, Kakashi had already received his words.

It was true that Kakashi avoided looking at his wrist – since that night, the mere thought of love scared him.

Once, Kakashi simply didn’t care about something as trivial as love. The mere thought of such a feeling brought only haunting of long, uninteresting conversations with his father. But now, after that night, there was fear in the feeling. There was an extra fear that burned in Kakashi’s heart when he allowed himself the luxury of thinking about something as dangerous as love.

Ever since that night, the mere thought of love scared Kakashi because, quite simply, Kakashi couldn’t imagine that word without picturing you.

And Kakashi blamed you. Yes, you. You were the bringer of Kakashi’s destruction. Because, since that night, Kakashi really started to see the world differently. And he blamed you. He blamed that word. He blamed all the stars.

But had any mark already been engraved on his wrist?

Leaving conversations and laughter behind, Kakashi returned home.

A single goal was stuck in his mind. A single need ran through his heart. A single feeling moved Kakashi. Love.

The four walls of Kakashi’s room had never felt as cozy as they did at that moment.

It was the end of the day.

The last rays of sunlight were lost in Kakashi’s room. Shades of gold and hope burned fiercely in the three frames that rested delicately on his little furniture. Your face and Kakashi’s were adorned with light celestial tones from the last ray of sunlight, enhancing the joy and comfort that that photograph brought to Kakashi.

Night fell so quickly that it didn’t even give the sun a chance to warm Kakashi’s room.

It was cold.

The proud and bright moon contrasted with the weakness of that night, the stars taking the night off to give the various and diverse clouds their turn to shine.

There was darkness and there was cold.

In the midst of that discomfort, Kakashi looked for some warmth in his wrists.

His right wrist had nothing on it – the pale skin brought a bit of disappointment to him.

But there was still hope. There was still a second chance.

Cautiously taking off his left glove, Kakashi saw a single word shining in the moonlight.

‘Almost’.

Almost?

Kakashi’s mouth opened slightly on impulse as his eyes repeatedly read and reread that single word that was carved into his wrist.

How long had it been there? How long ago did fate decide to steal you from him? Almost? Why ‘almost’? Hadn’t his confession that night been enough for you? Wouldn’t the vulnerability with which he uttered and repeated that forbidden word have been enough for both of you? Almost. Almost? Why? Could he have done something? Could he have done nothing?

A wave of corruption completely washed away any and all hope Kakashi might have had. The curiosity that once drove Kakashi’s gestures was entirely replaced by regret and frustration.

Could he go back? Could he do something to change that word?

Surely if you arrived and he confessed everything he wanted and felt for you, maybe you would reciprocate his words.

No. Not ‘maybe’. Kakashi was sure there was reciprocity. That night left no doubt. The way you two spoke, the way you looked at each other, the way you pronounced the forbidden word.

Yes. There was definitely still a little hope, even if it was small. And Kakashi knew, as years of war had taught him, that hope would always be the last to die. Surely the same applied to love. Right? – you said it yourself: love is the war of the most philosophical.

Yes. Hope.

‘Almost’ wasn’t the word Kakashi had chosen to dictate his fate, no. It was ‘hope’.

 Clinging to that small flame that had quickly lit in Kakashi’s heart, he watched the remaining days pass slowly and wistfully.

Kakashi just wanted you to come back as soon as possible. He just wanted to cheat fate once and for all and grab the happiness he had been so deprived of. Would it be too much to ask?

‘Almost’. Pathetic.

‘Almost’. Of course it wasn’t almost – Kakashi would never allow it to be ‘almost’.

And when you arrived, Kakashi carried the war with him – he was determined to change his destiny, even though he was scared. There was determination in his steps, Kakashi’s eyes so empty conveying a bit of uncertainty, of fear, of regret in actions he should have done long ago.

Waiting for you for so long only gave Kakashi permission to think, to ponder all the opportunities that were missed by him in fear of a confession made of decent words – he could make a list of all the waste that was lost.

The ‘almost’ was right.

Years passed – Kakashi should have known better. He had so many books about it, he should have known better. It wasn’t enough to just say a complicated word. It was not enough to just feel a complex feeling. Kakashi had to show – and Kakashi never showed.

But now Kakashi was determined to change that. Kakashi was determined to change his destiny.

Just like war, Kakashi came to you without any warning.

Just like war, Kakashi caught you unnoticed in a spontaneous embrace of longing and nostalgia. It was rare for Kakashi to express his love, but you couldn’t deny that it was something that always made you smile.

You hugged Kakashi back, your arms fitting perfectly around his body, the way his strong arms squeezed you in a comforting embrace making you more relaxed. Although you had already arrived at the village two days ago, it was at that moment that you truly felt at home.

“How’s the mission?”

That wasn’t the question Kakashi wanted to ask – it wasn’t what he had rehearsed.

But you started a long, drawn-out monologue about all the ups and downs of that mission that lasted almost two weeks. A rollercoaster of emotions was reported by you as Kakashi listened attentively to every word out of your mouth.

And, while he listened to you, he looked intently at your arms.

Kakashi’s empty eyes searched for tattoos made by the stars. The curiosity to know your fate was what moved Kakashi’s eyes and forced him to look at your body.

Until finally he saw it.

‘It was close’.

It was close?

What absurd words had fate given you? It didn’t make sense.

Was it close that you didn’t end up with Kakashi? Was it close that you fell into someone else’s love trap? What did those words mean? What did they mean in a vast sea of ​​possibilities?

“And I got my tattoo on the way here.”

You extended your arm and gave Kakashi permission to read your mark better.

‘It was close’.

“I was confused by what it meant. But it made sense when I found…”

“Him?”

Him.

Kakashi knew who you were talking about.

You didn’t need to confess names or draw portraits with your words. Kakashi always knew who you were talking about, because he was the one you loved before you met Kakashi, and he was the one you loved during the early days of your friendship with Kakashi.

“Yea.”

The smile you let out reminded Kakashi of love: shy and so happy, a hint of accomplishment displayed in the beautiful curves of your lips, a sense of comfort trapped in your confession.

Love.

Damn you.

“He walk with me to the village and is staying here. Today we’re going to our first date.”

And that’s when Kakashi realized – no one could change their destiny.

With a fake smile and forced curiosity, Kakashi allowed you to nail long, painful barbs into his heart, erasing any hope he still had left, completely staining the forbidden word for Kakashi.

With a fake smile and tears trapped in his eyes, Kakashi allowed your happiness to flood his darkness, little stars of your joy faintly painting Kakashi’s pain.

Because, yes. Despite everything, Kakashi was happy.

Even though he would be happier with you, Kakashi was happy for you.

You overflowed with love.

Extreme happiness wrapped in a film of euphoria delicately filled your room. Your eyes shone with the emotion of a love about to be lived. Your wide smile managed to be contagious, even though Kakashi didn’t want to smile.

You were the embodiment of love.

You were hope and comfort from the first day he met you and he hated you for it.

Kakashi hated you because he knew he would never be able to find someone who had as much of an impact as you did. He would never be able to find someone who made the word ‘love’ mean as much as you did.

It was the way you spoke so happily about each other. It was the way you still cared about Kakashi like you still liked him. It was your own way of being.

You were kindness and simplicity hidden behind a strong sphere of complexity.

You were, undeniably, love.

And the conversation that night never made as much sense as it did at that moment.

In Kakashi’s realization, in the midst of all the suffering caused by you, you continued to move Kakashi. The way you still made Kakashi eager to see you. The way your company was still, and always would be, crucial to Kakashi. The way he still loved you after you caused him so much anguish.

You have always been the personification of the word love. And, just like the feeling itself, it was you who moved Kakashi’s world.

♡ feedback is always welcomed ♡

[a-silent-observer]

Not doomscrolling anything I've been on this ride back in 2016 an didn't like it at all. I am just feeling numb. Calmly looking at my belongings and assess what I can pack in a single person suitcase permitted for air travel. We are going to lose everything. (I am not flying to USA now. That's for sure.)

[flightyquinn]

thinking about how cursed objects work in most fantasy RPGs.

typically, they wind up just kind of being a big middle finger from the game master - a kind of "whelp, you should have been more paranoid, so now you get hosed" sort of deal. which includes the somewhat game-y trope of objects that you can't get rid of. it's kind of an un-fun mechanic, when you think about it, which is why in most games I've been a part of cursed items often don't see much play, unless it's as a "punishment", or part of a story arc.

...which naturally leads me to think about how to do it better. in the past, I've tried using a curse as a kind of limiter. restrictions or drawbacks to a mostly functional item that is still worth using despite being "cursed". that's good, but it doesn't let you draw on truly nasty curses, because the item needs to be worth using, but also still needs to be balanced.

so, I'm drawing from a lot of sources here, like the cursed shield in Final Fantasy VI, and especially the comics by @foldingfittedsheets, where curses exist to (literally) teach the recipient a lesson

MEAT OF THE POST STARTS HERE:

what about cursed items that have a way to overcome their curse?

it's actually a fairly common trope in classical literature / fairy tales. every curse has a way to be broken. yet in D&D and Pathfinder, most often the only way to break a curse is to find someone with the specific curse-breaking spell.

so, give each cursed item a condition. perhaps a weapon that fuels a person's anger and causes them to fly into a blind rage in battle waits for them to sincerely forgive a hated enemy. perhaps boots that slow the wearer are actually making them heavy with the weight of past transgressions and a sufficient act of atonement will free them. maybe the perpetually bloody doll that gives its bearer horrible nightmares simply waits for someone to be motivated to action by them, either to right some past wrong, or generally bring a certain number of murderers to proper justice.

...maybe a Bag of Devouring. which is technically actually a creature, not a cursed item (but usually classified with them), can be befriended by figuring out a treat it likes, and will not only carry things for the player if fed and cared for, but even cough up a few things that previous bearers had stuffed inside.

the specifics aren't too important, but the idea is that any item with a curse on it has a reason for that curse, and a way to break it. the players can drop the item at any time, sell it off, give it to someone they hate, whatever, but if they put in the time and energy to actually breaking the curse, it becomes better than it was before, sometimes simply losing a drawback, or sometimes gaining new powers.

for an example, let's look at how that doll idea from earlier could work in D&D 5e;

while the party has the doll in their possession, they will all be afflicted by horrible nightmares, seeing themselves as children being attacked by a group of eight bandits with indistinct features. the details of the dreams change each night, and the players awaken before learning their ultimate fate, but the general gist is always that they are completely helpless, and subjected to harm.

after a long rest, have them roll a Wisdom or Charisma save (challenging DC, but not too difficult), or take a small amount of psychic damage.

if the players bring murderers to justice - meaning deliver them to the proper authorities and see them punished for their crimes - the content of the dreams starts to change. one bandit gets caught or killed by the end of the dream for each real world criminal successfully punished, possibly hinting to the players what they need to do. once eight murderers in total have had their sentences enacted, the next morning the doll will be in pristine condition with a serene expression, emitting a faint glow. thereafter, any player may attune to the doll to gain the ability to cast the Guidance cantrip without components (as thought the doll's ability to project what it wants the players to do into their mind was turned to their benefit.

[synergysilhouette]

Things I'd want for an an "Ever After High" reboot

As much love as "Monster High" has gotten--and as much attention as it's gotten, thanks to 2 reboots--I think it's time for a reboot of Ever After High, for the lore/show if nothing else (and yes, I know it was all for the dolls). And note: I say "reboot" instead of "revival" because the show had a gaping flaw with it, and I'll include it in one of the things I'd like to see in a Gen 2 of EAH:

More nuance--The BIGGEST issue with the show was how biased it was when it was trying to see itself as a complex story. The Royals were written as selfish, hypocritical, and vain when discussing the future and their legacies, and it made being a Royal unlikable, which was probably done by the writers to make us sympathize with the Rebels more, not to mention the fact that Raven was always kind and level-headed, making Apple come off much more disingenuous. It wasn't even a "the Rebels are slightly more right"; the Rebels were written as 100% right and the Royals weren't "good" people until they came around to the way the Royals thought. I'd enjoy them embracing the Royals' positive side (which have been shown when not involving the RvR debate), as well as highlighting the fact that following tradition isn't always a bad thing, and that those who followed their destiny didn't have to follow it to the letter, but were allowed to make changes here and there (ie Apple marrying a prince; it didn't have to be Daring). As such, destinies are vague, giving you a beginning and end while omitting the in-between parts. And given this change to what is considered a Royal, there are no in-between groups like Roybels.

2. Don't forget the guys--Part of what made EAH an engaging "girly" show for me was the fact that they still had significant male characters (usually it's like a 10-1 ratio; here it feels like 5-1), all of whom have unique designs and appearances. I'm pretty sure this wouldn't be an issue, but I still wanna point it out.

3. Headmaster Grimm is more altruistic and wise--I swear, "Wish" has ruined me forever. I'm on a Magnifico kick. Headmaster Grimm, while still lying to the students and kinda misleading them, doesn't do so just because of the flimsy "This is how things are done"; he's more of a lawful neutral/true neutral character, where he understood after years of seeing people try to change their destinies it either comes true anyway or ends up getting their own Happily Ever After, but it does more damage than good for everyone else. As such, he understands the fact that good cannot exist without evil, and vice-versa, explaining his own motivations for manipulating events at EAH, with the proposed destinies being what he believes to be the best-possible scenarios. (Plus the evil headmaster at school is so cliche to me at this point. It feels very juvenile.)

4. More lore in the show--Albeit, less confusing. I don't remember the show exactly, and I didn't get into the novelizations, but I do recall that the books fleshed out the Legacy Day ceremony a bit more, citing that the current students at EAH were descendants (rather than children) of fairy tale characters, and embracing your destiny was something done for generations--with one disturbing detail being that Ashlynn's mother would eventually die and her father would marry one of her stepsisters, making the new stepmother's daughters Ashlynn's new stepsisters who would make her enslaved. AND EVERYONE KNEW THIS. This circles back to #1 about making being a Royal less terrible. Put emphasis on following your destiny and the history of the world, but I'd prefer to avoid the "we do this every generation" thing; the characters are still descendants of fairy tale characters, but it hasn't been a wash, dry, repeat cycle; it only happens when the descendants' circumstances start to match up precisely with their ancestor's, and it's believing that by following their destiny, they preserve the balance of good and evil. Not to mention, most of the other students don't get to accept or deny their destiny; they're just regular people in that respect, while the special descendants (let's say that Maddie, Raven, and Apple are only a small handful of people who have Legacy Day this school year) get to see what their futures hold. Not to mention it'd be fun to see more of the characters' lives outside of the school, ie Briar's relationship with her younger brothers and the fact that her mom is always tired and her dad (who needs a name; can we avoid nameless characters here?) is always slaying monsters.

5. More emphasis on fairy godparents (and magical characters in general)--I'll always question why Cupid coming to EAH didn't reinvent her as a fairy godmother or something similar. In any case, I like the idea of fairy godparents and their children being one the only major characters in fairy tales who's destiny was flexible and no one had any qualms about it; they were above good or evil (though they typically chose good), and had a business where people would pay for their services, powered by their wish and conviction. Grimm being a fairy godfather would also make sense for his grey mentality in the series. Plus I feel like we don't have enough magical characters, with Cerise, Farrah, and Raven being the few that come to mind.

6. It's not just about Raven--Something I liked about "Monster High" was that while Frankie started off as the main character (before she sadly became underrated), many other characters got the spotlight outside of her. Given that the EAH webseries was story-driven, they gave Raven the spotlight. But I'd like to focus on other characters who may be dealing wit the consequences of following/rejecting their destiny, as well as more people fighting with their "inborn" morality issues, similar to Raven fighting her evil urges.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (22)

Arianwyn meets Aemond in the Godswood.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

“Marry me.”

Arianwyn’s heart stopped.

“What did you say?” she asked, the question hardly more than a sigh. She hardly noticed that her tears had stopped, frozen where they fell on her cheeks.

Aemond swallowed, turning his gaze from her as if he hadn’t altered her world – her entire existence – with just two words.

Years ago, in this very spot, she had told him how she feared being married. She did not want to return to a strange castle with a strange man who may mistreat her. She was afraid she would meet the same fate as her mother. Rhea Royce had married a strange man, and it cost her not only her happiness and reputation but her life.

Marriage was not as it was in many of the fairy tales they read throughout their childhood: romantic and full of magic and wonder.

Those were always Aemond’s favorites, she knew, because in the realm of those stories, he could pretend was not a forgotten second son whose fate was limited to playing a small part in the grand tales of his more important siblings, but a valiant prince destined for greatness. And for him, she would pretend she was not a child borne of hatred, eternally haunted by the sins of her father, but the noble daughter of two ancient bloodlines fated to rule her people with kindness and grace.

No, Arianwyn preferred the other kind of fairy tale. The ones where valiant princes fought admirably against evil to no avail. Where princesses stayed locked in their towers because their keepers were too powerful to be defeated. The ones where good did not win, but endured within the shadow.

Good did not win. She was proof of it. If good won, she would have grown up in Runestone with her mother, alive and unharmed. Daemon would be dead for the crimes he’d committed. And Aemond would not have lost his eye.

But good could endure. In small, secret, bright moments. Like when he’d taken her to her old apartments, and she’d read to him. Like her having the chance to meet Helaena’s children. Like that quiet moment of contentment they’d shared at dinner before it was ripped away by the cruelty of her stepbrother. It was those moments that made life worth living.

What Aemond was offering wasn’t real. Even if she wished it could be.

He moved his grip on her chin to cradle her cheek. “If you marry me, you will no longer belong to your father.”

“I would belong to you,” she countered. Her face twisted with confusion as her heart resumed its hammering. But it did not feel like rage. Nor the all-consuming sadness that had only just threatened to overtake her. Still, her pulse raced, her face flushed, and an exhilarating chill spread through her body.

“Yes,” Aemond breathed, “but I would never command you, Aria. I would never even try. You know that. In all the ways that truly matter, you would be free.” His face was as open as she had ever seen, his beautiful eye almost pleading, begging her to let him save her.

Without bidding, the memory of him standing so close to her against the wall of books in her room flooded her mind. His hand on her waist. The warmth of his body enveloping her. Only a breath away from their lips touching…

She could name that feeling. Knew why it sent her heart pounding. Saw it reflected in Aemond’s face, as well.

“You would do that for me?” she asked. “Without permission from the king?”

He looked almost hurt that she would ask. Again, he pulled her tighter into him as he brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I would do anything for you, Arianwyn,” he whispered. “And I don’t give a damn what the king thinks.”

Gods, the raging feeling inside her urged her to throw herself at him, to abandon all logic and place her trust in the childish notion that a marriage was the beginning of a happy ending. Perhaps, just this once, it could be.

Even if it weren’t, it would be a moment bright enough to carry her through a century of misery. Perhaps even into the afterlife.

Squeezing his hand, she gave her answer. “Then I will happily marry you, Prince Aemond.”

Raising a prayer of thanks to each face of the Seven, Aemond pulled Aria into his chest in an embrace so tight he was sure she would feel his heart pounding. But he did not care. It beat for her.

He would have happily wed Aria beneath their table, but his back was beginning to ache, and she needed to have her wounds treated. So, he reluctantly released her and helped her crawl back out into the real world. Still, he held to her as if she would disappear without him holding her to reality.

“My lady?” Ser Warren’s voice drew her attention, and Aemond almost resented him for it. But the knight had known Aria all her life, and he was only concerned with her safety. “Are you well?”

“I’m perfectly well,” she replied, flashing a genuine smile. “Thank you, Ser.”

Again, it seemed she had forgotten the twin trails of blood running down her throat and the beginnings of bruises lining her jaw. But Aemond had not. And Ser Warren’s black eyes were stuck on those two lines of red.

“You are wounded, lady,” he said gently, like a father lovingly scolding his daughter. “I assume it was Daemon? What did he do?”

Aria’s hand flew to her throat, running delicate fingers over hateful marks. The first, the larger of the marks, was on the side of her neck. A trickle of fresh blood flowed as her touch grazed over it. “He was choking me,” she said simply, dispassionately. “His nail cut me.”

The second mark was smaller, akin to the prick of a large needle, and dangerously close to her throat. “I made this one, I think.” She furrowed her brow slightly as she tapped her broken skin once, twice, again, again. “The shears went all the way through his hand. I must have accidentally stabbed myself, too.”

Aemond could hardly breathe. She had come so close to puncturing her own airway in an attempt to escape from Daemon because he hadn’t been able to protect her. He had been too afraid of being branded a villain. Never again.

Warren stepped forward, his sword sheathed, and hand outstretched. “What shears? You stabbed him? Lady, what happened?”

“Brynna gave me her shears to protect myself,” she explained. Her hand went to her skirts and rifled around for a moment. “I must have left them in him. I don’t have them anymore.”

The other two Bronze Guards appeared, intuitively taking up defensive positions around the three. Aemond still didn’t know their names. He had to learn them, so he could properly thank them for protecting her all those years on Dragonstone. The rest would arrive soon. Their orders were to reconvene here if they did not find Aria.

Once they were here, and Aemond was assured she was well-defended, they could begin.

“Can you show me where you stabbed him?” Warren removed the gauntlet from one hand and held it out to Aria. She pointed to the flesh between the thumb and the first finger. “Well, it won’t cripple him forever, but I’m sure it hurt like the hells. Good work, my lady.”

She smiled a bit at the praise. “Thank you, Warren.”

They fell into comfortable silence as they waited for the others. Warren examined Aria’s wounds more closely and determined them to be minor, though the bruises would linger. Aemond combed through her hair with his fingers and whispered gentle reassurances in her ear. She said nothing in return, just held to him. Was this what she saw in him on his ‘quiet days?’

Two by two, the Bronze Guard reassembled until the last, Ser Rody Tollett and another Aemond didn’t know, arrived with Ser Criston Cole in tow. He had likely been sent to find the wayward prince when he ran into his old friend.

Aemond gave him a nod before again leaning down to Aria. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He had never heard a more beautiful word.

“Send a man to fetch Grand Maester Orwyle,” Aemond commanded, lacing his fingers through Aria’s protectively. “And another for Septon Eustace. Bring them to the Sept. The rest of you will accompany us there.”

Warren glanced at their held hands and the flush on both their faces. “May I ask for what purpose, my Prince?”

Aemond raised his chin as he answered, challenging the knight to object. “The Lady Arianwyn and I are to be married this night.”

Rather than raise any objection or even question why they were doing this secretly, Warren only smiled and bowed his head. “Of course, my Prince. It would be my honor.”

“Ser Warren?” Arianwyn called as he turned away to gather the men. “Not the Sept. The Godswood, and the Weirwood tree.”

Aemond looked down at her with a questioning gaze, and she offered him a thoughtful, sweet smile. “I think it would be wise for us to seek the blessing of as many gods as possible, don’t you?”

They would certainly need all the protection they could manage when Daemon found out. Aemond nodded to her, then to Ser Warren. “The Godswood,” he affirmed.

The full moon set the leaves of the Godswood ablaze with silver as the ceremony began. Arianwyn lingered outside the entrance to the Heart Tree courtyard, Orwyle dabbing the last of the blood from her neck. Aemond stood before the giant Weirwood with Eustace while the Septon recited the traditional prayers.

Was she really doing this? Marrying in secret in the middle of the night? Shackling herself to one man to be free of another?

But this wasn’t just any man, she reminded herself. She was not being sold to a stranger, some second son she barely knew, or an old man seeking to use her only for her royal, Valyrian womb.

This was Aemond.

The person in the world she knew better than anyone or anything. She had known him almost her whole life. This was a man she had grown up with, played with, and studied with.

They had discovered and chased their passions together. Spending countless hours together, in the library, in her rooms, and in the Dragonpit.

He had been there the first time she rode Emrys, and she when he claimed Vhagar.

When her father ripped her away to Dragonstone, he had written to her every day, even while healing from the loss of his eye.

It was he who had held her and wiped her tears that very night after her father had come so close to killing her.

This was the man she loved, though it had taken her years to admit it.

She loved him. With every beat of her heart and breath in her lungs, she loved him.

It had been that love that had kept her alive on Dragonstone. That fed the wild hope that one day she would see him again, and they would be together until the end of their days. Along with his beautiful letters, that hope had sustained her.

But even before they were separated, she had loved him. Why else would she have gone with him to claim Vhagar? What else but love would have made her fool enough to approach such a massive beast? Could anything else have made her heart soar to the heavens themselves when she watched him finally fulfill a lifelong dream?

All her life, Aemond was there. Alicent once told her that when they first met as babes, they had smiled when they saw each other. Had they somehow known, even then, what they were destined for?

Arianwyn felt like a fool for being so blind for so long. Had she known the true identity of her feelings, she would have fought harder for him. She never would have allowed them to be torn apart.

“Bride, approach.” Eustace’s voice ripped her from her thoughts.

She took Ser Warren’s arm, and he led her into the heart of the Godswood. When they stopped at the base of the Heart Tree, he released her, but not before squeezing her hand and kissing her brow. “Your mother is not here to give her blessing,” he whispered. “But I know she would give it, were she able.”

He moved to turn away, but Arianwyn pulled him back and kissed his cheek in return. “Thank you,” she said. For so many things.

Then, she climbed the few uneven steps that led her to Aemond. She wore no veil, so there was nothing to hide her flush as she faced him.

Seeing her nervousness, he reached out a hand to take hers before remembering himself and pulling it back. Eustace spied the movement and smirked as he instructed Aemond, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

It was a borrowed cloak. White, as her bride dress should have been. Ser Criston Cole had offered it without prompting and gave it with his blessing.

Arianwyn gazed into Aemond’s violet eye as he swept the cloak around her shoulders, taking an extra moment to arrange her hair upon the fabric, the silver curls and white cloak aglow in the light of the full moon. She could find no trace of nervousness on his face, only the slight edge of a smile on his lips. It began to reflect on her own before she could help herself.

Eustace continued. “I stand here in the sight of the gods to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Now with the proper cue, Aemond took her hand, as he had done so many times that night and in all the years before. But this time was different. His hand was so warm against the chill of the air, warmer even than the cloak he had put around her. This time, Arianwyn could not help but notice the way his hand fit perfectly on hers.

The Septon began wrapping a ribbon – in truth, the leather lacing from one of her guard’s bracers – around their joined hands. “Let it be known that Arianwyn of Houses Targaryen and Royce, and Aemond of Houses Targaryen and Hightower are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

A dangerous flash ran through Aemond’s eye at the words, though it faded as fast as it appeared.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” Eustace let the ribbon unwind and fall to the grass below them. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

One violet eye met a shining pair of silver, and Aemond and Arianwyn spoke as one.

“Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger.”

“I am hers, and she is mine.”

“I am his, and he is mine.”

“From this day until the end of my days.”

They were ritual words, spoken by brides and grooms in Westeros for hundreds of years. But still, they had never rung so true as on this night beneath the Heart Tree in the Godswood of Kings.

Arianwyn did not know what the morning would bring. Whether she would remain here or be taken back across the Blackwater against her will. But it did not matter anymore. She looked at the determination and love on her husband’s face, and she was not afraid.

Dragonstone was not her home; of that she was certain. But neither was the Red Keep nor Runestone her home. Not even the library she loved so dearly was her home.

Aemond was.

[sytokun]

Ok but how cathartic would it have been if instead of Jaune being the famous Rusted Knight all along, V9 was written so that Ruby fell into the Ever After and became this aged warrior in a tattered cape called the Hooded Huntress or whatever, spending the last few decades stewing over her friends' death and her perceived uselessness, pushing herself to protect the Ever After as its sole guardian all this time.

Her teammates try to find and console her, but reuniting with them after so long just brings back all the bitter memories and she does everything she can to avoid them, even Yang. Inwardly Ruby is torn because the chance of meeting her team again was why she's even alive and fighting after all these years, but now... she can't even bear to face them.

Slowly but surely her team reaches through to her. And then it all slowly clicks: Ruby and her friends figure out she's the Hooded Huntress. She's the hero in the books Ruby always looked up to. She's the fairy tale ideal Blake wished the world could be. She's the hero Weiss would think about to push herself through her training. She's the hero Yang would read to her about during bedtime. Her tale may have even been old enough to inspire Maria and Qrow to become Hunters. Summer herself.

All of this hits Ruby like a truck, knowing that she was always meant to be a hero and has still done so much good, more than she'll ever know. And Ruby learns to accept her mantle once again and returns to Remnant wiser and better than ever. She may not have been enough to save the kingdom of Atlas or Penny, but she poured her everything into the Ever After to make up for it and in doing so, became the hero the world would soon need; that it always had.

Fuck your ascension and fuck your suicide tea; Ruby chose to keep going for one more day instead of giving up, if only for the sake of others, but found not only the light at the end of the tunnel; she was the light guiding others through it, even when she was too caught up in the darkness around her to see it herself.

But I guess we needed Jaune to be the big hero again. He's canonically now a bigger and more influential hero than Ruby, Summer or almost any other Hunter in existence can hope to be - immortalised forever as an enduring tale thousands of children and aspiring Hunters would emulate, even after Team RWBY themselves are gone.

Like. Let Ruby have fucking something. Is she still the protagonist or is she fucking not.

EDIT: Also this would have been our one chance to get scruffy long-haired Ruby. Let that sit with you abit.

[literallys-illiteracy]

The floor of history: an analysis

This is going to be the final revision of this floor's analysis for at least a few months, im going to prioritise finishing other floors before coming back to it.

Major Spoilers for Library of Ruina and Lobotomy Corporation's story

The Abnormalities//EGO:

Scorched girl ("fourth Match Flame" (Currently "4th Match Flame"))

Happy Teddy Bear (The Forgotten (Formerly "Bear Paws" (Lob Corp))

Fairy Festival (Wingbeat)

Queen Bee (Hornet)

Snow Whites Apple (Green Stem)

happy teddy bear; scorched girl; fairy festival; and snow white's apple, all represent some form of loss or (in the latter two’s case) being betrayed.

The scorched girl was a child who lived a poor life selling matches, in the fires of the lit matches she saw hope for a better world bathed in the warmth that the flames provided, in her longing and pursuance for this better world, she burned to death; The Abnormality of the scorched girl is the soul of this child, betrayed and burned by the flames which promised her a better life.

Happy teddy bear is an abnormality that we have less knowledge of its past, only that it was abandoned and left to decay at some point by its previous owner; longing for attention the abnormality, upon finding someone who cherishes it like its old owner, will ensure that they are never going to leave

For the case of the Fairy Festival, it's the only one of the bunch to be the betrayer rather than not; the fairies of the festival will heal and take care of you, with ideas of them being able to sense goodness in people, and protecting those who are faithful and trustworthy (haha), but then: the hunger. The fairies are carnivorous creatures who simply attempt to keep their prey fresh through their “care”, being able to kill them in an instant despite their perceived nature.

I am not writing about Queen Bee

Snow white's apple, as the name suggests, is the witches poisoned apple from the fairy tale of snow white; the apple, after a single bite, was thrown to the side and left to rot, vermin and worms came over time, attempting to eat the apple, all of them died of the poison. After serving her use to both the witch and snow white, she was thrown to the side to rot, after which she started to look for her own path in life...

Angela and the Floor Realisation:

"Is it a sin that I was born this way?"

The thematic of isolation, which is present in the bear, apple, and child, is quite obvious to the realisation, Angela suffered untold period of pain, isolated from everyone surroundings her, suppressing her desires, her honest urges to stop the suffering of the employees, as doing so would only prolong the play;

Angela was punished for her existence; A machine created to be a human, created only to suffer endlessly where a human would not; Angela was punished for the sin of her birth, condemned to this hell, to orchestrate this play. 

As the finale of the play comes, the Girl who had nothing, who was denied happiness since creation, who was not allowed the warmth of the stage, not allowed to stand alongside the others, saw a future in the light, the whispers of a future she could make, if she only claims the light, Carmen’s promises of her truest desires, mirroring the world seen in the flames of the Match Girl.

As both of these children have nothing in life, the Match Girl and Angela both desperately seek these promises shown in the blaze, chasing the light, their hope of the future, as it is all they have left.

In seeking the future she saw, the Match Girl’s last match burned out, and she, no longer having the warmth to guide her, was consumed by the night.

"If this matchlight goes out, nothing will be left for me."

Angela’s story diverges in the end, being pulled from the light by her one and only friend, not letting her be consumed, forgotten as she was always meant to be.

In relation to the scorched girl, who seeks to burn all that there is in order to gain this sought world in the flames, Angela seeks fulfilment in burning down all that Ayin planned for her, the petty revenge to see the hopes of others burned the same way that hers was. 

 "Maybe I could be free after I’ve burned down all things and then myself."

In the course of Lobotomy Corporation’s story, Angela grew to despise A, her creator, after being abandoned, both left to follow the script, and in the finale, where she is expected to simply lay down and cease after serving her purpose; in this idea of being abandoned Angela Resonates with the Happy Teddy bear. Being modelled after Carmen, in Ayins futile attempt to replace what he had lost, Angela was created, a human machine, despised by her created for existing in the manner he dictated for her; Angela was not abandoned at the end, Ayin had abandoned her the moment of her birth, as soon as she first spoke.

“I remember you… You were a person with a warm smile…"

In this denial of an ending, a place to stand amongst the others as the show concluded, Angela, despite her value, her necessity in the play, was simply used as a blessing for others only to be cast aside, expected to rot.

In this desire of being denied an ending, of being disposable to those who needed her, Angela creates her own ending; In being forgotten, abandoned, left to rot, Angela’s desire for a life of her own is manifest through the library as a whole, and causes her to resonate with the Snow White's Apple:

"My existence was born from a yearning and began as a curse, yet I served as a blessing to others."

Akin to the apple, Angela was made to serve a purpose and be discarded; Both left waiting in their isolation, waiting for someone to come to them, waiting until the last moment for Ayin to look at her; As the apple grew limbs, in search of her own story, her own prince, Angela walks in search of what she had been denied, a life, a story, a happy ending rather than being neglected until the end.

Through the true ending of Lobotomy corporation, Angela makes the ultimate betrayal in defiance and spite of Ayin's plan; After eons of living simply to serve others, to complete this act of the play, she was still unable to stand on the stage with the others at the finale: 

The connection of the fairy festival is one of her deceptions, the presumption of her goodwill and servitude to the plan used to hide her true intentions. As Angela says herself:

"I did everything to care for you, so it’d be only fair that I get something in return."

Just like the famished fairy, being starved, deprived and denied of her innate desires for so long, Angela takes action herself, looking to consume hopes of others, the culmination of this time spent starving, all for herself.

Now, as she attempts to satiate her hunger, the desires that have been aged for millennia, denied for her sin of existing, Angela pilots the Librarians in the same manner that Ayin set the script; The Library’s guests, the librarians, the Sephirot, suffering to make Angela’s will manifest, sending countless to their deaths, to be killed and forgotten, all for her pursuit of humanity. 

"No one remembers those who gave their effort to raise the kingdom. It’s a truth that repeats on and on."

In taking on the role of the Queen, Angela takes the role of her father, forgetting those who suffered, who worked towards the ending, seeing others as disposable, only tools to achieve a purpose.

"There can’t be any meaning to a history that repeats itself. Attain the will to stand up straight by looking back? You know nothing about my past."

[Insert Natural Segue]

The Willingness to Stand up Straight:

Elijah, Malkuth:

Lobotomy Corporation, in regaining the memories of her trauma, Malkuth sees her death, in impatience she tested the substance Cogito on herself, after being denied as a test subject several times. (oh god that is one fucking sentence isn't it) In this recklessness, through her desire to help the Cogito project, her determination to make a difference in the project, Elijah, now Malkuth, died, decaying from the experiment. Writhing on the floor in pain, begging Ayin to turn around and help her, there is no option but to ignore her. Ayin did not remember everyone name, nor respond to or make "meaningless gestures" of praise, which only fueled Elijah's fervor to make a difference in the project, to have the fruits of her effort be tangible.

Overcoming this despair, in competing the Meltdown, Malkuth sees a glimmer of hope for improvement, she cannot continue to look back with hopes of changing her choices, to despair at her own actions. Instead, she sees the possibility of improvement, and gains the willingness to stand up straight, to hold her head high rather than being weighed down through her past.

Like Angela, Elijah was cast aside by Ayin, finding only despair when seeking rewards for her deeds:

Though already having faced her past, overcame her trauma, the Abnormalities on this floor represent Malkuth's, Elijah's, history:

Through Ayin's lack of validation, a desire begins to take place, hollow, demanding to be filled. Only driven further by her impatience, Elijah is driven to take action for this hunger, to finally satiate herself in return for her actions, in the same manner as Fairy festival.

The famished faeries (fairy's? fairies?), being unable to feed their desires for so long, begin to consume other faeries, destroying itself in the process.

"I knew I didn’t have any right to participate in the experiment, that’s why I was so impatient." "Will you finally praise me? I just want to feel proud."

In seeking her desires, wanting validation from Ayin for her efforts, Malkuth loses her hopes, being burned by the supposed source of her rewards, losing hope for the future.

in seeking this validation, like the Scorched Girl seeking the world seen in the flames, Elijah's story ends in a death, alone and forgotten by others.

"Make sure you feel this horrible sense of helplessness to your core, right to your heart."

After working so hard, sacrificing herself to be useful, to finally be praised by Ayin, he refuses to turn around to see her. Not even acknowledging her, even as she reaches out to him.

Just like all the others who have been burned by Ayin in the past, Elijah represents the workers of the queen bee, seen as disposable by the queen (Ayin Queen Bee art is next on my to do list), sacrificing everything for the greater workings yet never being remembered, not being rewarded, only discarded when they have outlived their usefulness.

"No one remembers those who gave their effort to raise the kingdom. It’s a truth that repeats on and on."

After everything that she had done, she was abandoned by Ayin, forgotten, left to the wayside to rot, to be forgotten, like the Apple and the Bear which appear before us.

"Be honest, back then it wasn’t that hard to turn around and look back at me."

Where the story of these two abnormalities diverge follows the point where they were abandoned. While the bear seeks the fulfillment of a new, loving owner, the Apple seeks its own path in life, growing to find its own path, its own fulfillment. While Elijah, now Malkuth, was abandoned by Ayin, in the past, rather than seeking the same fulfillment that she sought from Ayin, she looks to the future, with hope of improvement, the Will to stand up Straight.

Angela:

Like Malkuth looks back at Elijah to gain hope, to know that her past does not define her, Angela must realize the same, as we can see from her quotes in the realization:

"Attain the will to stand up straight by looking back? You know nothing about my past."

In the same way that Ayin refused to look back on Elijah, refused to create a place on the stage for Angela, the sufferings of both were ignored.

Angela refuses to look back at her past, to realise what she has become. Angela cannot gain hope for the future without accepting her past, she cannot gain the Will to Stand up Straight as long as she is defined by her suffering, by her past.

"Looking back on myself… It wasn’t even so difficult to do."

Angela says, mirroring Malkuth's own words towards Ayin.

Angela, following the realisation, like Malkuth, looks towards the future, to seek her own path, undefined by her trauma, free from the script that bound her.

. Thank you for reading this Essay, the Ayin Queen Bee thing is not a joke, there is an actual list and it was next down.

If you liked this essay consider following and/or suggesting something for me to write about.

and for a final note, a quote from Angela's realisation:

"I can’t fly with ragged and tattered wings."

... Yi Sang Hornet EGO when?

[stardustizuku]

PART 2: What is Cinderella?

So, what exactly do I mean when I say “All Girl Dream of Cinderella”?

“Cinderella”, huh.

That’s obviously going to get some eyebrows raised. Because while, yes, Cinderella is a very popular story, it still very much is a western one, isn’t it? Why the universality of “every girl dreams of Cinderella?” How can I be so sure of “all girls”.

For starters, I’m not literally talking about the 1950 Disney’s Cinderella.

I’m more so using Cinderella as a signifier. A symbol. Something a bit bigger than Disney.

Truth is, there’s thousands of variants of the folk tale, which expand all over the world. Cinderella just happens to be the French variant.

But it exists in other countries outside of Europe: The Tale of Ye Xian, is Chinese; Tám and Cám, is Vietnamese - with the only noticeable difference being a goldfish instead of a fairy godmother and golden shoes instead of glass slippers. Korea has Kongjwi and Patjwi, which curiously enough, extends after marriage. The Iranian versions is called Moon-Forehead. The fairy tale has an extensive history and it expands far beyond western ideals. It exists in fairly different contexts.

So, I’m not literally talking about Cinderella, the Disney Movie.

I’m talking about the idea of Cinderella. What it represents.

At its core, Cinderella represents the idea of “something rightfully yours to have, being taken from you [Cinderella had a good life until her dad died], having to endure a lot of pain, but because you endured it gracefully, you gain the affection of others [enduring the abuse gets you help from animals and your fairy godmother], and because you’re such a good person you get a happily ever after [the prince]”.

If you switch around the parts and increment things here and there, you’ll find that most, if not all, cultures have something similar. For good reason.

It’s the idea that, even if something you have is taken from you, the universe will help you set everything in place. It’s the idea that good people succeed, and bad people suffer. It’s a good children’s story, that’s why you see it everywhere. The good will triumph over evil; you will get your happy ending.

But what happens when you grow up? Well, you start questioning the world, obviously.

You become a teenager.

You get sick and tired of Cinderella. I mean, who gets to decide what is good or bad? Why is my dream a man? Can’t I be an imperfect bad and messy girl, and still find a happy ending?

You’re exploring the world, so what’s the point of staying trapped in a story where the prize is a man? What’s the point of dreaming of princesses and castles, when there’s a city right outside your door?

So, you do what all teenagers do. You expand your horizons. You look at more nuanced material, you indulge in stories without happy endings, and maybe you experience some yourself. You face the world, you get heart broken, and its-

Exhausting. The world is chaotic, it’s confusing, and you’re suddenly not a wild and reckless as you were at thirteen.

You are tired.

You’ve seen pain, you’ve gotten hurt, you’ve fought, and you’ve bled, and everything is too much.

YET. You still want a happy ending.

And suddenly, you get Cinderella.

The exact same premise of, “your life was good, now it isn’t. But it should. And the universe will make sure you get a happy ending”.

But now, it hit harder. It’s much more real.

And before long, you indulge in it.

Cinderella is just that. The idea (and illusion) that there’s a clear right and wrong, a good and an evil. And, someday, the universe will reward you for being “good” by putting everything in its place.

That’s how stories like this become popular. Specially with older women and teenagers going through a rough patch in their life.

And while I say Cinderella in a very cishet view, there obviously are queer variants. (Trust me, there are plenty BL and GL Cinderella variants, but that’s an entirely different genre so we’ll put it aside for now). The flavor doesn’t really matter here. But the idea that “everything made wrong, will be put right in the end”.

It’s self indulgence, in its most raw form.

That’s why all girls dream of Cinderella.

It’s not that they dream of this Cinderella.

But they do dream about what it represents.

They dream about their rags turning into dresses. Maybe not literal dresses. But they do dream that they’ll look in the mirror and love what they see.

Maybe they don’t dream about a night at a ball, but they dream of night where they can go out and enjoy themselves. Maybe a nightclub, maybe a concert, maybe a bar, or even just an outing with a group of friends where they let loose.

And maybe they don’t dream of a Prince Charming - but they dream of love. Maybe they dream of companionship. Or the financial stability that comes with it. Or maybe they just dream of having an ending where everything feels right.

Every Girl Dreams of Cinderella - doesn’t mean every girl dreams of a cishet wedding; but they dream of a happy ever after where everything feels right. Whatever shape that takes.

Villainess stories, or in general Isekai shoujo and romance novels, are exactly that. A happy ever after, where everything works how it’s supposed to work. It functions in the way that you, as an AFAB person, were taught as a kid that the world works. Where there’s a prince, where there’s a wedding, and where there’s a dress.

While people write the story, I think it’s important to analyze what that story says. What is exactly that “dream” that was sold to us? And what does it mean that we dream of it as adult women, (and sometimes not even women, or women who like princes anymore)? That what Media is for. What is it that we find comfort in, why, and what does it say about us?

That said.

I find most disappointing, when people with the empathy of a straight white man start to talk about it this genre with contempt. Specially, romance literature aimed at older women.

Because while literature can risky, a point and deep and deconstructive - sometimes that’s not what the audience wants, or even needs.

Sometimes, tired women, want to be able to read stories where the obviously good girl wins, and the obviously bad one loses. Where a big strong man takes all your problems away, and you have the fantasy promised to you since you were a kid. Where, you get to sit back, relax and read about how the wold is okay. It’s right. About how things are working they should.

Men get a chance to do that with blockbuster movies, why can’t women have that too?

Are there things to criticize about them? Yes. That’s partially what I’m here to do.

But you also need to do this with compassion and understanding.

This is not a multimillion dollar film, so you (and I have to stress this with permanent market) CANNOT, approach them with the same cynicism you would a video essay about how the transforms franchise is sexist crap.

In normal life, no one will bat an eye about a guy liking the Fast and Furious franchise. But a woman liking Fifty Shades of Grey, or any of those raunchy pulp novels they sell at a discount bin in Barnes and Nobles - is very much mocked. Made fun of. And the same goes for shitty villainess webcomics and novels. Even a teenager liking shitty romance novels.

I mean, just look at the way people treat Twilight, Colleen Hoover books, heck, even Ali Hazelwood’s books are mocked sometimes. And if you turn to see the contempt many have for women publishing they Reylo Fanfic that, in no way affects others, it’s very obvious the scrutiny through which romance novels are put through - even when they’re meant to be thoughtless self-fulfilling fantasies.

For some reason, there’s this expectation that women have to have the moral high ground. All they consume must be perfect. Not raise eyebrows, not be provocative, and definitely not controversial. While men get to ogle at Megan Fox on 4K at a booked-out theater.

It is not an even playing field.

And you have to acknowledge it, before doing any sort of analysis.

Because the literature that women like, is always considered a lesser form of art (sometimes even compared to world war 1, in case you think I forgot about Twilight), the same criticism said, will have a different impact.

If someone points out that Sixteen Candles is kinda creepy, everyone ignores it. If someone points out Twilight is creepy, it causes media to run a hate campaign against teens who like it.

So, I wanted to make that clear.

While what I will talk about in the next few chapters is important, always bear in mind that: It’s not exclusive to the genre, and not a problem only women have to solve.

It’s also important to recognize that individual authors may not even be aware of what they create comes across. Not to say that they’re all completely blameless, but that the fault sometimes lies less in the individual and more so on the broader trends that permeate literature. Which, in turn, are a reflection of our societal expectations and constructs.

In a more digestible example: A single author writing about how the evil character is ugly, may not be bad. But if multiple authors start doing it, it may mean that we, as a society, apply moral values to beauty. And that must be examined. It’s also important to recognize what exactly makes this character “ugly”, and if that’s born out of our standards of beauty, hidden racism or ableism, and what can we do about it? How will you change based on that information?

It doesn’t mean that the author has any moral failing. They’re telling a story. But it’s our job as literature analysts, to decode what that says about us. As a society. And what it means that it became so popular.

I have this disclaimer because we will inevitably confront the ugly side of this analysis. And I have seen people get very weird about them. Rather point fingers about what author is or isn’t racist, or if their work is or isn’t sexist - to me is far more productive to look at it and ask: Hey, if this is popular, what does it say about us? Why do I like it? What ugly truth am I looking at, in this mirror I’m holding?

I do not wish to appoint moral value in what I’m looking at. Not right now. Because if you do, you throw everything into the garbage and say “it’s bad”, “it’s problematic”, or “it’s gross”. It limits your scope.

The scope I want is not to tell you, “this is good” or “this is bad”. I want to discuss the way that certain tropes originated, what this “Dream of Cinderella” means, and how it can potentially impacts us when we read it.

So, to start talking about this “Dream of Cinderella”, first we have to ask:

Well, who is Cinderella?

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[adarkrainbow]

Tales from Broca street: The water-tap fairy

This story, "La fée du robinet", is one of the most famous stories of Pierre Gripari, most notably because it is, to this day, the most well-known parody of Charles Perrault's fairy tale "Les fées" (The fairies), also known in English as "Diamonds and toads" (or "Toads and diamonds"? I can never recall the order).

Once upon a time, in Ancient Gaul, there was a tiny good fairy who lived in a spring, and the people of Gaul regularly brought her offerings of flowers, cakes and fruits, and danced around her domain during celebrations. However, one day Gaul was Christianized, and a priest came to the area: he told everybody to stop giving offerings and dances to the fairy, he claimed she was a soul-stealing devil. The villagers knew this was a lie, but they feared the priest: so they mostly stopped... outside for the oldest of them all who continued their practices in secret. When the priest discovered this, he became mad with anger: he had a huge cross of stone built over the spring, and he used Latin magical formulas to banish the fairy. And everybody believed it worked, because the fairy stopped appearing, and that for 15 centuries!

However the fairy was still there: she was trapped in her spring, due to the cross of stone. But since she could not appear anymore, slowly everybody forgot about her existence... The fairy was however very patient: she knew that the time of the Christians would eventually pass, just like the time of the fairy ended, and she knew that one day the cross-stone would fall into pieces and she would be free. [Note: I know this all sounds like some serious modern epic fiction but trust me, it is a very simply-written children story of the 60s].

One day, two engineers passed by the area, discovered the spring, and immediately decided to use it to bring fresh water to the town nearby. So they destroyed the cross, and placed pipes that sucked the water... and the fairy. The poor tiny fairy wandered for a very long time in the endless maze of dark pipes, wondering "What is going on? Where am I? How did I get there?" But finally she reached the end of the tunnel... a water-tap in a kitchen.

[Gripari humourosly notes that the fairy was quite lucky she didn't end up in a toilet, and that as such our story wasn't the one of the "Toilet fairy"]

The kitchen was part of a flat in which lived a low-class workers. There was a mother and a father, who worked very hard all day long, and two daughters who went to school for most of the day. As such, they usually were all asleep by 10 PM and didn't use the tap of the kitchen during the night... which prevented their encounter with the fairy, since fairies never appear during the day, but always at night, usually after midnight.

As I said, there were two daughters. One, named Martine, was a gluttonous, lazy and very rude girl. One night, around two in the morning, she got up to steal food from the fridge - a piece of chicken meat, a tangerine, some jam... Feeling thirsty she opened the water-tap to drink some water when, surprise! The fairy appeared. A tiny, tiny woman with a mauve dress and dragonfly wings, holding a wand with a golden star at the tip. With a musical voice, the fairy said hello to Martine (already knowing her name) and asked her for a bit of jam. Martine, seeing that she was a "well-dressed lady", and knowing you must always be polite with well-dressed ladies to get out of trouble, immediately gave her the jam. The fairy, to reward her kindness, gave her the gift of spitting a pearl for each word she said.

The following day her parents discovered the gift. Immediately they tried to have her spit larger pearls. They thought that by having her say the longest words possible they would have bigger pearls, so they tried to have her tell the longest word of the French language (anticonstitutionnellement), but it only created a twisted and crooked pearl. Forgetting this idea, her parents simply had her speak all day long in front of a bowl to make their fortune. Martine, who loved to gossip and hated to work, was delighted with this new life... Until she realized she was fed up with being all alone, sitting all day long. So, after three days of this new life, she started cussing... And suddenly the pearls she was spitting were MUCH larger.

As such the parents discovered how to make her create big pearls. This is a French pun: in French, cuss words, "dirty words" and other swear words and insults are called, in a neutral (if not a tad bit childish) way "gros mots" (large words/big words). As such, when the girl says "big words"... she creates "big pearls". Now Martine was told to insult and swear and curse all day long, and she loved this even more than before... But after one week of being scolded by her parents every time she stopped cussing or swearing, she got fed up and ran away.

She wandered in the streets of Paris (because yes, we are in Paris), but by the evening she was tired, hungry and homeless. As she stopped by a bench to cry, a beautiful, sweet-faced, curly-haired, white-handed young man asked her what was wrong. She told him her story (while spitting a lot of pearls) and the man declared he was in love with her, and wanted to take her home to live with her... Except that the young man turned out to be a greedy abuser: he locked Martine up in his house, and forced her to spit a salad-bowl full of pearls every day. If she didn't... he would beat her up. Thus began a very sad life for Martine...

But let's return to the flat, and let's take a look at Martine's sister Marie. Marie was the younger sister, and the opposite of Martine. She was kind, well-behaved, polite, very wise. She had also been deeply affected by what happened to her sister, so when her parents tried to have her open the water-tap at night to receive so she could "replace" Martine, Marie refused. Her parents had to use of all sorts of tricks to force her to open the water-tap, including giving her a LOT of salty food before going to bed. Eventually, she HAD to go fetch some water past midnight... and of course the fairy appeared.

The fairy asked for some jam... And Marie straight up went "No! You did the misfortune of my sister, this is not going to happen to me too! And anyway, I can't just take food out of the fridge while my parents are asleep: it is forbidden!". The fairy was quite angry at this answer (and as the narrator says, she had been cut off from humanity since 1500 years, and wasn't really in-tune with modern civilization). So, disappointed, she cursed the girl: spitting a snake for every word she would say.

After trying to speak and spitting a grass-snake, Marie had to tell her night adventures to her parents by writing it down. Her parents immediately brought her to a doctor who lived two floors above them, in the same building. The doctor was a young and kind man who had a promising career in front of him. He asked Marie to come to the bathroom, and to speak above his bath-tub, so as to perform some tests. He asked her to say a random word: "Mother" created a grass-snake. He asked her to say "a big word", and Marie was a bit shy, since she was a nice girl, but she whispered a cuss word - and a young boa was created. Then the doctor asked for a "nasty word", or "wicked word", and she had to force herself to come up with something since she was not used to say mean things. Ultimately, "Dirty cow" created two small vipers. The doctor's conclusions: "big words" create large snakes, and mean words create venomous snakes.

The doctor's solution? To marry him! The parents, confused, ask him if this will cure her. The doctor answer is "No, and I do hope she will never be cured!". He explains that he works for the Pasteur Institute, and that they are in dire need of snakes to create anti-venom serums. A snake-spitting girl like Marie would be a treasure for the advance of science. So the parents married Marie to the doctor, who proved to be a very kind and gentle husband to her. They had a very happy marriage, even thought she often had to say truly horrible things to him to create cobras, vipers or other coral-snakes. But he didn't mind, and Marie stayed a very simple, modest and kind woman.

Now, the story does not end here, far from it. The fairy in the water-tap was wondering what happened to the two girls, so a Saturday night, after midnight, she appeared in front of the two parents (they just returned from the movie-theater and had a late-night snack). She asked them what had been the fate of the two daughters, and the fairy was VERY surprised and confused by the answers. Not only did she learn that she had cursed the good girl and gifted the bad one... but that ultimately the gift caused disasters and the curse happiness. The fairy, disappointed, declared that she is lost into this modern world, and is not accustomed to how things work anymore: she has a false judgement on things, and doesn't prepare the consequences of her actions. Her solution? (Beware, slight 60s misogyny here) She needs to find an enchanter wiser than her, so she would marry him and obey him. (Yep, casual 60s France... Women were only allowed to have their own bank account, separate from their husband's, in 1965. Mind you, the rest of the tale does nuance the misogyny as you will see, but still)

However, where to find an enchanter in modern-day? Simple! The fairy will just create him. She flew into the street, and then quickly ended up... Yes, in Broca street, by the épicerie-buvette of Papa Saïd, as papa Saïd was closing the shop. The fairy flew in discreetly, and found there the large notebook and the color crayons that belonged to Bachir. She ripped a page out of Bachir's notebook, took a black crayon (the narrator points out two things: 1) this is the reason Bachir's notebook has so many ripped pages an 2) Fairies have such good eyes they see colors even in the dark) and draw an enchanter with a large pointy black hat and a black houppelande, before reciting the rhyme: "Enchanteur noir, Couleur du soir, Je t'ai dessiné, Veux-tu m'épouser?" (Black enchanter, Color of evening, I drew you, Do you want to marry me?). The drawing comes to life, but the enchanter refuses, saying the fairy is too fat. In anger, the fairy removes his life, and he turns back into a simple drawing.

She repeats the process using the brown crayon (and in the rhyme it is "Enchanteur brun, Couleur de rien", Brown enchanter, Color of nothing). But the brown enchanter claims she is too skinny - so he too loses his sort-of-life. Having only one last attempt, she rips a third page, uses the last crayon, a blue one, and once she is done, she is quite happy with the result because he is more beautiful than the other two. "Enchanteur bleu, couleur des cieux, Je t'ai dessiné, Veux-tu m'épouser?" (Blue enchanter, color of the heavens, I drew you, Do you want to marry me?)

The enchanter agreed, the fairy took him out of the paper so he would become a real enchanter.

Immediately, the enchanter said they had to remove the spells on Marie and Martine. With one magical formula, Martine stopped spitting pearls - and after being beaten up one last time by her abusive tormenter, she was kicked out in the street. She returned to her parents, but the experience had turned her sweet and nice, having lost all of her flaws. Marie also lost her talent at creating snakes, but it didn't change anything, since her doctor of a husband had grown very fond of her, and they had developed a mutual love.

The enchanter and the fairy disappeared: nobody knows where they went, though they are still alive. They are very, very careful with their magic, and in general refuse to make themselves noticed in any way.

And the following day, madame Saïd, Bachir's mother, scolded him for how the shop as filled with ripped paper pages, used crayons and enchanters drawings. Bachir told her it wasn't his fault... But nobody believed him.

[seung-scrittore]

‧₊˚📡 ✩ ₊˚🎙️⊹ MURKY WATER — l.hs

📻 … hel- … can anyone … kkchh .. WC: 747 a… GN! READER … GENRE: angst … WARNINGS: implied death, mc!d … -over … kchhh ..

Sirens.

Growing up, Heesung couldn't hear enough about them. Enticed by their mysterious tales of beauty and fatality, they were the only thing he asked his mother about when he was a child. He carried this curiosity with him through his teen years as well, going as far as to question his teachers and read the books his town library had to offer, however limited that knowledge might've been. Heesung spent most of his spare time learning what he could about mythical creatures of every kind, though none caught his attention the way sirens did. Perhaps it was because his quaint, lakeside town was known for its aquatic myths, or perhaps it was just because he was curious by nature, regardless of cause, Heeseung often found himself being drawn toward the murky water and its mysteries.

Though Heesung knew these were just tales that parents told children to both scare them and spark imagination, he couldn't help but feel intrigued. His mother shared his love of fairy tales, though, unlike Heesung, she spoke often of forest faes and how they watched over their small town rather than the serenading sirens that Heesung dreamed of learning about. Another difference between Heesung and his mother had to do with their views on mystical interactions; Heesung wanted nothing more than to encounter magic, his mother, however, through her half-hearted belief in the myths she so loved, believed that the two worlds should not interact lest there be consequences.

It was this belief of his mothers that drove Heesung to search for the creatures in his childhood tales. He kept a journal of facts on mythical creatures, writing as much as he could per page. If one flipped through his book they would immediately take notice of the abundance of notes on sirens, adorning the sides of the pages were small, poorly drawn sketches of the different creatures (or at least, what he believed looked like them).

He carried this journal with him everyday, taking extreme caution as to not lose or ruin it, especially on the days he went down to the riverbank. He sat by the side of the expansive stream, knowing that the larger end of the river extended into the sea.

Heesung knew better than to sit by the riverbank, yet he often did. His mother told him that the waters were murky for a reason, but what’s a boy to do when he can’t find peace elsewhere.

Heesung returned to the riverbank constantly, he spent his evenings daydreaming of what lie beneath the water’s surface. He could find out, the water looked shallow. He could wade in for a little bit, that sounded like a good idea. The more he looked out onto the river, the more compelled he felt to walk out into it.

A shiver made its way up Heesung’s spine, his hand loomed forward as he inched toward the water. Despite the grey-coloured water, there was a clear reflection of his hand displayed on the water, reaching forward.

The reflection of his hand distorted, one second it looked human, the next, it was almost grey. Dread pooled in Heesung’s stomach, but he couldn’t turn away.

Suddenly, an almost scaly hand grasped onto Heesung’s forearm. Webbing between each finger and inhumane strength behind the palm. No matter how much Heesung fought against it, he could feel himself being pulled toward the water. He lashed and struggled, but the grasp on his arm only tightened and dragged him toward the unknown.

Fear took over before long, and he tried to shout but his voice betrayed him in his moment of need. Heesung’s vision swirled as water began to fill his lungs. The tang of salt dripped over his tongue as it all faded to black.

𖦹⭒°｡⋆

As far as everyone knows, Heesung just disappeared one day, or maybe he never existed to begin with. But by the riverbank lives an older lady, and she tells a different tale.

The older woman will sit down with you, offer you something to drink before she shows you a small notebook, it’s a little worn with age but well taken care of. Perhaps it was once a journal. Inside is decorated with notes and drawings, clearly the product of hours of dedication to… mermaids? Sirens, she corrects. As you flip through the pages, she’ll tell you a story about the boy who once owned this journal. She starts with, “Sirens. Growing up, Heesung couldn’t hear enough about them…”

‧₊˚🖇️ ✩ ₊˚🎧⊹ — hey ! leo here, popping in to say tysm for reading 🫶 if u liked the fic, consider leaving a like & reblog ^^ !? have a great day bubs ~

… is anyon- … kkkch .. TAGGING: @liumoonlight , @tbzloonar , @noramoons , @seonghwas-lighter , @septabuspass , @hwasdollie , @kflixnet , @kwritersworld , @k-labels , @kdiarynet … pleas- … -you copy? … kchhh …. 📻

[anjelicawrites]

The Winner Takes it All

Chapter V (I, II, III, IV)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: inspired by the Æthelflæd and Erik's storyline in The Last Kingdom. Might be spoilerish if you haven't seen it (go watch it!!!), even though I've just stolen the inspiration and went on with the story my way.

Warnings: Canon compliant violence, hints at cunnilingus, p in v sex, blowjob, suicidal thoughts, talk of murder, anxiety.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns are used (they are called “lady” and “daughter of the North”). The only descriptor is that they have long hair.

A/N 1: this is an AU. Look at me taking the canon story of Westeros and yell “Parkhour!” as I jump out of the window clutching it in my hands.

18+ only, tank you!

You don’t expect him to be back and try to ignore the happiness in your heart when Aemond comes visiting you in the afternoon, saying that he wants to talk; both your stances scream that you two are trying to keep the conversation from derailing somewhere unsafe, your eyes tell a different story, burning with desire, scorching one another with heated stares. Words and words pass both your lips, white noises in both your ears until neither of you know how you two find yourselves near the cot, bodies too close to comfort, hands curled in fists in the hopeless illusion that neither of you will act on the need bubbling in your bellies, until the cord snaps again and you two kiss with hunger, his fingers opening your dress with ease, your hands going into his mane of hair to keep his lips sealed with yours.

He has you and you have him repeatedly that afternoon and those following, your body experiencing the heights of pleasure again and again, his mouth devouring you until you beg him to stop and he does begrudgingly, hopelessly dependent on your sweet nectar. Every coupling spurs you two on, your mutual hunger growing, never satisfied, each orgasm more devastating than the one before. You don’t know how this is possible, wanting him regardless of all the violence your husband had subjected you to, regardless of the invasion of the North; when you are with him, none of this exists, there’s only you two and your bodies singing for one another.

You are lying in his arms, your face cradled against his chest, both your breathing haggard, bodies covered in perspiration under the thick fur. As you listen to his heart, you realize that he had cried afterwards only during your first time under the stars, the desperate weeping of an inconsolable child, his eye haunted when he had apologized to you; that never happened again and now you wonder what his story is, why he now looks like he’s shaken off a terrible burden. You wonder and know you’ll never have your answers, all of this being just a blip in your life, no future, no plans, no knowing one another like lovers do. You shudder at your last thought, that’s dangerous thinking: there’s no love here, only need, you remind yourself as a weight, like a stone, sinks in your belly. You burrow closer to him, trying to ignore the sadness permeating your bones; this is no fairy tale, he’s not your prince charming coming to save you from your husband, try as you might, you already know the end of your story. You sink your fingers in the muscles of his back, your nose inhaling the smell of sex from his skin; you don’t want to cry, men don’t like tears, they get mad when people cry. Aemond senses your distress, you can hear him humming before speaking, you don’t want to talk though, there’s nothing to talk about, not now, not ever.

Your husband always said that a spouse is good for two things only: sucking cock and bearing children, you were, at least good at the first thing. You don’t want to think about him either, you don’t want to burst the bubble you and Aemond are in, you just want to stay in this limbo where there’s only the two of you.

Your lips slowly travel downwards, sucking and kissing the hard muscles of Aemond’s chest, he tries to say that you don’t have to, his words gone after you concentrate on his stiff nipples until he moans, rich and deep in his throat. You follow the lines of the muscles of his belly, a slow path to his half hard cock, until your tongue finds his head and he keens when you start licking it, slowly and deviously, savoring his scent and taste, pleasantly bitter on your tongue. For the first time you want to have your partner’s cock in your mouth, you want to play with it until he can’t take it anymore and he has to come. For the first time you want your partner’s seed to paint your face and bosom, to mark you with his scent.

He doesn’t put his hands in you hair, as you expect, you can hear his fingers grabbing the cot, moans spilling from his mouth as you slowly envelope his now fully engorged cock in your mouth, cheeks hollowed in to offer him more friction, your head slowly bobbing up and down, letting him feel every inch of your mouth, until he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes lift to his and you swallow him down, throat constructing around him and Aemond lets out a bellow of pure pleasure, hips pushing in until you have to pin them while you come up for air. He doesn't look at you, eye closed, abs tight in the effort to push up against your hands. For a second you wish he was your first and only, your rightful husband: he would respect you, if not love you. With silent tears streaming down your eyes, you swallow him again, your lips tight around his cock with intent, spit and precome escaping your mouth with the ferocity of your movements, one hand around his base to keep him at the right angle, your movements too fast to breach your throat, but that doesn’t really matter, you can easily tell how close he is by to the way his hips follow your movements, by the moans escaping his lips. Aemond tries to warn you, tries to move your head away before he can't control himself anymore and comes down your throat, bitter and copious and you swallow him, mad in your quest to forget the world around you.

There are still tears on your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, when Aemond can finally see your face; the distress and doubts plain on his face, the moment he sees the state you are in. His big hands frame your face, his voice worried when he asks you why you are crying, afraid he’s hurt you in his passion. You try to kiss him, your goal to evade his questions, but he’s far too smart to fall for that, his fingers tightening around your skull to stop your advance, his thumbs caressing the soft skin of your cheeks.

“Talk to me, sweet Daughter of the North”

“Aemond please!”.

Don’t make me beg, you think, I wouldn’t be able to bear it!

“What’s causing you distress, my lady?” he asks, the movements of his thumbs jerky on your skin

“Nothing is - liar! Liar! Liar! Your conscience screams - I need you, I don’t want to think!”.

There’s immense tenderness in the way Aemond helps your body under his, your legs splayed to make room for his wandering fingers on the soft skin of your thighs, until they find your cunt, wet and loose from all the previous lovemaking.

“You’ll tell me, in due time - he says gently - for now I shall grant your wishes”.

One knuckle after another, one finger after another, Aemond slowly opens you up again, digits curling and seeking your G-spot until your hips jump off the cot and he concentrates on that magical spot inside of you, movements firm and steady, pressure increasing against the mounting tightness of your cunt, stopping only to scissor you open for his length,

until you explode for him.

Aemond stays curled up with you under the furs until he can and he is reluctant to leave you to your thoughts, your tears from before still haunting him. He knows you came to him willingly: your wetness, the way you moved with him, arms and legs curled around his frame to keep him as close as possible to you. Why the tears though? Why did your fingers curl to grab chunks of the skin of his back while you two lain together, listening to each other's breathing? What haunts you that you don't want to share? Is it your husband? Or this war? While he undresses in his quarters, Aemond chastises himself for even hoping to think that you would share any thought with him: there's nothing between you that would push you to do so. As much as he burns with worry for you, this is not this kind of relationship, unfortunately, he tells himself. Whatever fire burns inside of you two, it will need to die the very moment you go back to your husband, as much of a piece of shit he is. His mind goes back to the scars on your body, anger roaring in his chest: how could he let you go back to that? How can he keep you safe by his side? His analytical mind is already ahead of him, deaf to his brain screaming that it's madness to think anything different than follow the plan. This is a puzzle, a difficult chess play and he loves finding solutions, finding the right key that will open the lock. You might not burn the same way he does, but something tells him that you would be glad to be parted from your husband forever.

Down in your cell, you stand up to go near the small window to try and see the dark sky, searching for a sliver of peace.

You know you can pretend all you want, there's no way you will come out of this situation on top: if your husband pays, he'll beat you for the kidnapping, even though he was the one to force you to accompany him. If he doesn't, you lose any worth in the eyes of King Aegon and you shudder at the mere thought of what that will bring forth to you. Your only way out is death, and there's nothing here you can use to snuff out your life, Aemond is always weaponless when he comes to you. Aemond, your heart sings for him, not even him can save you from what will come. With dread in your heart, you fall back on the cot and cry yourself to sleep.

When Aemond comes to you, a handful of days later, the worry filters through the cracks of his composure.

"Your husband has answered our ransom request" he says, trying to appear nonchalant.

You are taken aback, he hasn't told you that a raven has been sent to your people’s camp.

"Why didn't you tell me?" it's your answer, rage barely contained

"I didn't want to worry you"

"It is my life we are talking about! - forgetting yourself, you march towards him, invading his personal space - I am sick and tired of being a thing you men can exploit!".

Aemond looks surprised at your show of anger. He wanted to shelter you as much as possible, keep you safe, he’d never meant you harm.

"You men have done nothing but use me as a pawn on your games all my life and you have the courage to tell me you didn't want to cause me worry? You really think I would be so indifferent to my own destiny?".

You are pacing the length of your small cell, your fury encompassing Aemond's mistake, a lifetime of anger and fear fueling your words.

"Don't you think I haven't been worrying about my future? Do you think I don't fear what's to come? You truly think I stay here day and night waiting for you with my legs spread open, daydreaming about you? - you snatch your wrist away when he attempts to grab it to stop your pacing - shouldn't I worry that my husband will hurt me so bad, that I will wish for death to come and take me away? If he knew I was unfaithful…".

Words die on your lips, killed by the sobs wrenching your throat. You try to slip from Aemond's embrace, his arms crushing your body against his chest. Slowly he helps you to the bare floor of your cell when your legs give out, your head under his chin, his hands tight around your waist, a soothing humming in his chest. You are not sure for how long you two sit on the cold ground, while your tears dry and only sobs remain, when he carries you bridal style on the cot to sit there, him kneeling between your spread legs with his hands cradling your face.

“You should kill me Aemond - you say, your eyes not meeting his - after my ransom is paid, you should kill me. There’s no other end for me but the sweet embrace of death, which will come for me anyway. I’d rather it being painless that be by beating”

“I’d rather kill your husband than you - it comes out sharper than he intended, even better, it shouldn’t have come out at all - happy accidents happen, assassins slither their ways everywhere, even though I’d rather him die on my sword”

“Aemond…” this goes beyond anything you could have ever imagined.

You’d be lying if you were to say that the thought hadn’t crossed your mind during the lonely hours in your cell, amidst your own suicidal ideas your desire to live birthed these dark images: kill your husband and lay the fault on the Valyrians or trip him when drunk, making sure his skull crashes on the sharp angle of your shared cot. The possibilities are not infinite, but many. To hear it out loud it’s what shocks you, after banishing those ideas as soon as formed, to know that you are not alone with these dark thoughts.

When he tells you the sum of your ransom, you are speechless, it’s too much; if it’s not paid, what will happen to you? Even after days of negotiations, a new sum proposals will be too much. And how can your people pay to finance their own destruction?

“I have a plan already - a wolfish smile on his face - I have told you that you are under my protection”

“Do you truly want me to believe your brother will keep me safe the moment I lose all my bargaining value?”.

Rage starts burning again in the pits of your belly. Your husband might be the one wielding the power of your joined houses, but you are not ignorant in politics, your father having tutored you well.

“My brother is a simple man - Aemond states calmly - if push comes to shove, I have a proposal for him that will tickle his fancy, better than what he’s thinking now. I cannot say a word more, but I never give my word lightly”

“Even to me?”

“Yes. Even to you”.

Your heart doesn’t dare hope, your lips lack the courage to ask Aemond if there’s a third option, were his plan to flop: what then? And what has he planned? For a moment you hope he wants to run away with you, anywhere that is not here, not New Valyria, somewhere you two can build a new life together, away from politics and war. Would he do this? Desert his brother and his own people for you, a complete stranger? And if this isn’t his plan, how will he save you?

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog @fan-goddess

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Draft Excerpt from a Potential WIP Fic

This is set in Stymph Forest, during Rise. It isn't a TOTSMOV41 excerpt.

⸻

He tossed his blackened handkerchief into the glade from atop his high perch.

It landed in the circle of Stymphs, the birds arranged much like a fairy ring of living corpses.

His birds stared back up at him. One cocked its head.

Rafal smirked back.

Here he was, airing out dirty laundry. Literally if not figuratively.

Bah! That was Good’s job. Exposing villains. And whatever went on amongst his graduates.

Lately, the lot of them had been disappointments. But really, all that was the decline of the youth. Couldn’t be his teaching methods. His methods had never failed him before.

A few decades ago, villainy was worthwhile. Not now.

Ought he to change?

No. The problem lay with the students themselves. Children were becoming stupider with every passing generation.

Probable that the tales were making their parents soft. Less bloodshed these days. Fewer blood oaths than ever, even if his from a century ago hadn’t been the last. Far from it.

Yet, allowing the stupid duffers to live and procreate had been a mistake on the Pen’s part. They were the culprits, from a few generations back. The tales ought to have not been so merciful, sparing them!

A few too many dimwitted Evers and even the slower Nevers he’d not seen before in his time hadn’t just managed to stall their deaths with the comforts of advancing technology and so-called conveniences. They’d seemingly thrived.

And restaurants! In the densest parts of the Woods, no less. And spellcasts. And squirrely nuts of all things! Even the vermin had longer memories than his students did, if they could recite letters with that much precision.

It was more than he could say about his latest class. Besides the rampant insubordination and how they’d just barely passed their last impromptu examination.

They’d had it too soft for too long. Those conveniences wouldn’t be so convenient when they were stranded alone in the Woods. When they had nothing but birds and cloaks for company. Not even birds in their cases, he reasoned. His Stymphs served him and him alone.

No wonder those parents’ offspring couldn’t keep up with his curriculum. They’d all gone to rot—brains leaking through their ears, moth-eaten attention-spans. Worse every generation, it was.

It was all ludicrous, this, this accursed modernity. Look what it’d bought them: a marked lack of survival skills.

And the result of that deficit was premature deaths when the cushioning ceased to exist, when all the fail-safes excess inter-kingdom tourism had engineered fell to ruins like all enterprises did in time, like the hotels and spas some of his brother’s vapid colleagues couldn’t even begin to live without did. And they called themselves “professionals.”

He tossed his head back, tilting his chin skywards. Nothing endured forever. Not even the stars.

Forever was only as long as you could prolong it to be, through sheer force of will, and that was assuming you were shrewd enough to see forthcoming disaster on the horizon.

And if the tales didn’t result in death, then they ended with the living afflicted by grave stupidity. Which was worse. Incurably worse than ridding the Woods of the problem at all.

Yet, Good’s mortality rates these days were at an all-time low.

He couldn’t ease up. Not now. When he’d return, he’d require better performance from them all—if only so they could crane their necks to live up to great heights and exceed his expectations as Nevers. Prove they were deserving of his attention.

His eyes lit up as he grinned to himself.

And, if they couldn’t, well, there was always the chopping block. Or the pruning shears for Mogrifs.

He couldn’t let old standards decline. Not even while he was gone.

If he could scout out someone exemplary, to replace the rancid, rotted-through students with, those limp-spined lost causes, maybe they’d rally together and make something of themselves. Live to see another day in their future tales, if they garnered the Pen’s attention at all.

It was the best he could do.

That said, he should probably keep up with the tales while he was away, once they were released into the Woods, via printed copies, if not the Pen’s first editions.

There’d be a delay in acquiring storybooks, but what could go wrong in his absence? The manor was secure, even if his brother wasn’t fortress material.

[nayialovecat]

The Ink Demonth 2023 - Day 23. Contraband

Day 23. Contraband Crossover: Craig of the Creek, Disenchantment Apparently Workshop toys are a pretty bad currency at least for the time being, but wait until you have some more of them, Kit, and you can make the best trade in your life: "limited edition toys from haunted studio, only from me!"

Kit, as well as the Trading Tree itself, come from the cartoon "Craig of the Creek" (I drew Craig once), which is an extremely nice Cartoon Network production showing kids playing on the titular Creek. I love it for many things - firstly, it brings back sentimental memories from my own childhood, secondly, it is a wonderful cross-section of different types of kids and their behavior, thirdly - it shows small problems in a completely different light. Every parent should watch this series to understand things better. I especially love the episodes that alternately show what the kids see - and what is really happening (e.g. during the game "the floor is lava"). My objection is the same as against Bluey: that it is a bit unrealistic that all the kids always take part in the games and accept the sometimes problematic rules (e.g. when playing hide and seek or being trapped in a maze) - that no one will say "ok, I've had enough, I'm not playing with you anymore". But apart from that - a wonderfully presented world of imagination, actually a mini-community. This series was also "nominated" for the City entry for a while, but I decided that I wouldn't find anything else for the Contraband (plus wanted to draw Kit).

I really like the character of Kit. This little, enterprising girl is something of a higher instance of the creek - thanks to her, kids (for a small fee) can eat their favorite sweets or snacks without having to leave their playground and go to the store, she also sells toys and gadgets. I ship her with Craig - all the episodes of them working together confirm in my eyes what a wonderful couple they'll be when they become teenagers. I'm honestly counting on it, because of all the girls hanging around Craig, Kit is the one who best suits him in terms of character and common interests.

More observant people may also notice a guest from another cartoon, this time absolutely not for children - the demon Luci from "Disenchantment" - a series by the creators of Futurama aimed at adult viewers, a somewhat modern fairy tale, and partly a parody of many well-known stories. If someone is an adult and doesn't know it, I recommend it. A wonderful story with a very good ending to the whole plot. Luci, the personal demon of the main character, Princess Bean, is undoubtedly my favourite character. I love his physical two-dimensionality, to his absolutely non-one-dimensional character. I love his texts and the fact that in all his participation in Bean's adventures, he never forgets for a moment that he is a hellish being, and his "do it, do it" is always wonderful. In his original storyline, Luci was considered a "weird cat" by those around him, hence Kit's text (while he's actually just another of Bendy's "cousins" that the ink demon is wandering around with).

As for the technical side... it took a lot of time to colour, but was surprisingly fun. It was the first time in a long time that I shaded in such a strange way. Oh, it's worth noting that the colours of Bendy's clothes were entirely developed by my daughter, Ursa. Kudos to her! By the way, I wonder who Bendy stole these clothes from X"D

Finally, I will just mention that the Contraband theme was originally associated with "The Owl House" and Eda's stall, but I moved it to another place with a better idea. And that's why Craig landed here.

PS. I don't like Kopiko, but I'm not crazy about avoiding showing existing products in my drawings. But seriously, I didn't feel like changing the name, so here you have it, a covert advertisement for the hideous Kopiko coffee candies. You're welcome, Kopiko.

Bendy and the Ink Machine (c) Joey Drew Studios Inc. Craig of the Creek (c) Cartoon Network Disenchantment (c) Matt Groening Sammy and the Ink Machine (c) Nayia Lovecat

[uptoolateart]

One last one before we get new episodes (!!!).

So, this whole 'those two were made for each other' business becomes really interesting when we hear Gabriel and Tomoe say that Adrien and Kagami were 'made for each other, just like we planned' and 'perfection calls for perfection'.

In the most literal sense...it's Adrigami who were made for each other. Seen from that angle, Adrinette are actually breaking the programming...even if they are bending to some more mysterious influence.

Gabriel and Tomoe imagine that they can shape and control destiny - that they are the highest power. And whenever mortals develop that kind of delusion, the universe throws some wild cards into the mix.

Enter Felix. He definitely wasn't 'made' for Kagami, even if he looks like the boy who was...but he seems to be for her anyway. He's a mixed up ball of emotion - the perfect complement for a girl groomed to believe emotions are a weakness. She tempers him and he sets her free. There was no way she could have been with Adrien. They're too alike. Of course he needed someone like Marinette, his wild card who allows him to be just a normal boy.

Perfection doesn't exist - and no one is drawn to their exact likeness. Remember 'Kagami' means mirror, and if you stare in a mirror all the time, you start noticing all your flaws. Good relationships are founded just as much on our differences as our similarities. That's how we grow - we learn from each other.

We can't know why things happen as they do, or even be certain there is a reason (though I like to think there is). The adults can't truly control the paths of their children - and this even applies to Marinette's family, where Sabine might be the only one not carrying a clear vision of who she hopes Marinette will be. No parent controls their child's destiny. No parent is a god.

In trying to divide Adrinette, Gabriel claims it's all done so Adrigami can have their happily ever after. Gabriel clearly can't see that he's the wicked witch in this fairy tale. (Imagine him as your fairy godmother.) What the kids keep demonstrating is that it's up to us to find our own happy ending - and it just might take others by surprise.

Please no post-Revelation spoilers in comments :)

[ravenya003]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Nightmares, S01E10

Here’s my lukewarm take on Nightmares: it’s way too soon for a What Do They Fear Episode. This opinion is borne out by the fact that the fears depicted here – clowns, stage fright, being in your underwear in front of class, not studying for a test – are all pretty superficial stuff. There’s no real psychological depth to these characters as yet, which is why this premise works so much better in later episodes like Fear Not and Restless.

By the time season four rolls around, we’ve spent enough time with Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles to really delve into their psyches, in which their fears manifest as being alone, inadequacy, and a lack of control. This early, the only fear that really strikes a chord is Giles seeing Buffy’s grave.

It also strikes me for the first time that many of the “villains” in season one are just normal people whose anxieties and/or ambitions are amplified and turned into physical threats by “mystical Hellmouth energy.” I’m thinking of the hyenas, and what Giles calls “the nightmare realm,” and (in the next episode) Marcie’s invisibility. It gives everything more of a fairy tale quality than the show had in later seasons.

It starts with a good old fashioned Buffy dream, in which she’s edging her way through the Master’s lair, only to be caught by the throat and strangled by him. Standard nightmare stuff, though it’s interesting for two reasons: firstly that it makes for a fairly accurate premonition of what happens when she does face the Master in two episodes’ time (especially the fact that she freezes up) and secondly that it sets up Giles’s fear that Buffy’s nightmares will be particularly difficult to deal with if they manifest in the real world.

Also, she’s in pigtails, which I can only assume was a deliberate choice to emphasis her youth and innocence.

In the waking world, Buffy is excited about the imminent arrival of her father from L.A. Ah, Hank Summers, the dad who will soon cease to exist. I have plenty of things to say about this character, but for now the most important plot-point is that Buffy blames herself for her parents’ separation. That’s a standard fear for children of divorce, but no doubt exacerbated when you’re sneaking out every night to hunt vampires.

Willow also mentions that her parents don’t fight, they only glare at each other if they’re angry. I’m always fascinated when either Willow or Xander mention their parents, as they’re such an infinitesimal part of the show and their children’s lives that they may as well not exist at all. Yet by the sounds of it, Willow’s parents have a pretty good marriage.

The trio head into class, where Ms. Tishler is leading a lesson on “active listening.” Another of those Sunnydale teachers who are unknowingly dealing with a Hellmouth beneath their feet, yet diligently teaching their students regardless of the danger. I salute them.

(I’m sorry these reviews are so weird, in which I’m more interested in tidbits about Willow’s parents and the Sunnydale High faculty than any of the creepy supernatural stuff).

A nerdy student called Wendell (give a kid a name like that, and of course he’ll end up a nerd) opens his book and starts screaming in horror as tarantulas crawl out of the pages and over his hands and face.

As everyone panics, Buffy notices a young boy standing at the door of the classroom and looking straight at her, who apologizes quietly before disappearing.

I wonder, was Billy looking for Buffy specifically, or was he simply drawn to her? Presumably the latter since he has no idea that she’s the Slayer, but I like the idea that in his dreamscape there’s a certain energy or light to her that indicates she’s someone who can help him. Or maybe it’s the presence of the Hellmouth he’s attracted to, since we’re constantly seeing him at the school.

After the opening credits we get a scene with the Master and the Anointed One in the underground church. They don’t figure into this story much, but given that the season finale is coming up fast, it was a good idea to remind the audience of their existence. We haven’t seen them since Angel.

The scene’s other purpose is to lay out the central theme of the episode, which is fear. According to the Master, fear is the most powerful force in the human world, and he describes something happening above as a “new powerful, psychic force.” It’s interesting that he knows this, though I suppose it makes sense that he’s tapped into the mystical energies of the Hellmouth.

We get a nice pan up back to the school, where the trio find Giles in the library to ask him if he’s researched anything about spiders crawling out of books. Giles looks a little disconcerted, having gotten lost in the stacks, and suggests they ask Wendell himself about the significance of yesterday’s occurrence.

Poor Wendell still looks rather traumatized, and explains that he’s not afraid of spiders, quite the contrary – he loves them. He once had a huge collection of specimens, only for them to perish when he left his brother responsible for their wellbeing while he was at camp. Ever since then, he’s been plagued by a recurring nightmare about the spiders taking revenge for his dereliction of care. Eerily, what happened yesterday followed the events of his dream exactly.  

For some reason, Buffy has a lollipop in this scene, which reminds me of the pigtails she had in her nightmare. Again, this episode seems very intent on emphasizing her youth.

While this conversation is going on, Cordelia walks past and reminds Buffy that they have a history test. Having completely forgotten, Buffy rushes after her and tries to complete the answers, only for the clock to speed up and the class to finish before she’s even had the chance to write her name.

This is a fairly standard nightmare for a high schooler, but I can’t help but feel it would have been more appropriate for Willow?

Elsewhere, the little boy that Buffy glimpsed outside the classroom watches as another student slips down into the basement for a cigarette, ineffectively warning her that she shouldn’t go down there. The girl (Laura) lights up, and is promptly attacked by a terrifying figure with a deformed face and a club arm, who mutters “lucky nineteen” as he assaults her.

The episode cuts to Buffy and Giles in good old Sunnydale Hospital, looking for Laura’s room. I actually really like this scene when you consider it in relation to the events of The Prom and Buffy’s Class Protector Award. This sort of thing, in which she gently asks questions of the Sunnydale student body and acts like she’s going to do something about whatever is going on, is the reason why she was honoured at the awards ceremony three years later.

Though attention was never drawn to it actually happening, people like Laura were clearly paying attention when it came to what Buffy was up to during such times. In this case, she says to Laura: “you can tell us [anything that happened], even if it may seem weird.” In response, Laura tells them that her assailant said: “lucky nineteen” as he was beating her.

As Buffy and Giles leave Laura to her lifelong trauma, a doctor draws their attention to another patient who’s still in a coma, who is apparently the first victim of whoever attacked Laura. As he points out, whoever did this used the same M.O. each time.

Willow and Xander are starting to put the pieces together, mentioning that Wendell’s dream came true... but how does Laura fit into that? Did she have a nightmare about getting beaten up? (Little do they know, but the Ugly Man is the outlier in this ongoing phenomenon, a manifestation of Billy’s fear as opposed to everyone else’s). They enter a classroom, and... Xander is suddenly naked sans his underwear in front of the entire class.

They say this is one of the most common dreams a person can have, along with being chased and having your teeth fall out, though I have to confess I’ve never had it myself. (The other two though? Definitely).

Over in the library, Giles is struggling with the fact he can no longer read, though Buffy spots a picture on the front page of a local newspaper and recognizes the boy as the one she’s been seeing around campus. According to the article, his name is Billy Palmer and he was found beaten and unconscious after his Little League game a week ago. He’s the coma victim from the hospital, and the number on his uniform is nineteen.

Giles suggests astral projection, but before the conversation can go further, Hank Summers turns up. Buffy probably should have been suspicious that he came all the way into the school instead of picking her up at their designated meeting point, but is too excited to notice.

More significantly, this is the first – and to the best of my knowledge – the only time that Giles interacts with Buffy’s father (and it’s not even really him!) Again, I’ll have more to say later about Hank and the way this show neglected to use him properly.

In the episode’s most gutting scene, Hank and Buffy take a seat outside, after which Hank proceeds to put voice to Buffy’s deepest fears: that she’s responsible for his and Joyce’s separation, and that she’s a terrible daughter who he hates hanging out with. Buffy’s face slowly crumples, and you get the sense that this isn’t just about being rejected by her father, but her abandonment issues in general. Though later episodes will explore Buffy’s deep fear of being alone, for now it’s enough that a teenage girl is being told the very thing she dreads most from someone who should care for and nurture her.

The calm and reasoned way he lays out the “truth” to Buffy is quite possibly the most harrowing thing about this entire scene.

Back in the library, the others Scoobies have finally realized that their nightmares are coming true. (Not their dreams, for as Giles says: “That would be a musical comedy version of this.” I mean... sometimes these early lines are so accidentally funny in light of later episodes). According to Giles, Billy is the cause of all this, having brought the nightmare realm over to the waking world when he astral projected out of his body while still in his coma.

As explanations go, it’s a little wishy-washy, but hey, Giles cites: “living on a Hellmouth” as cause enough.

A desolate Buffy spots Billy and follows him into the gym, where he’s clearly very reluctant to talk about what happened after his baseball game. Before she can get anything relevant out of him, the Ugly Man attacks. Buffy engages him in a fight, but he’s too strong even for her, and she and Billy make their escape out a side door.

The others are desperately trying to find Buffy, for as Giles points out – she dreams about deeply terrifying things that nobody wants to see manifest in the real world (this will be important in just a couple of scenes). Willow rather stupidly heads back down into the basement where Laura was attacked, and ends up onstage in a production of Madama Butterfly, stricken with stage fright. Xander follows a trail of candy bars into the vandalized auditorium and is attacked by the clown that terrorized him on his sixth birthday.

Meanwhile, Buffy is trying to get back to the library, only for geography to start messing around, taking her and Billy to a baseball diamond instead. Looking over the field, Billy divulges a little about what happened to him: that it was his fault he lost the game. Buffy points out that there are eight people on a baseball team – it’s never just one player’s fault.

The Ugly Man appears behind them, and they duck through the bushes to get to the cafeteria, only to end up in a cemetery. At night. Looking around, Buffy spots an open grave and is horrified when the Master appears, informing her that it’s her fear that has brought him there. “I am free because you fear it.”

Now, I’m not entirely sure whether this IS the Master in the flesh, who really is free (the episode has already established Buffy is having nightmares about him and that the Master is cognizant of something strange happening in Sunnydale) or just an hallucination, but he’s real enough to push Buffy into the open grave. Billy has scarpered, and the Master begins to shovel dirt on top of Buffy as she screams in terror.

I get it. Being buried alive is one of my top five fears.

And then... we don't see the Master again for the rest of the episode. It's a little odd given all the build-up.

The others Scoobies are faring a little better: Willow flees the stage and Xander doubles back to punch out the clown. (Heck, compared to Buffy, these two had it easy). Reuniting with Giles, the three look around to see people running around in a panic and helicopters hovering over the city. According to Giles: “in a few hours reality will fold completely into the realm of nightmares” and their only solution is to wake Billy from his coma. I’m not entirely sure how he knows either of these things, but it makes storytelling logic so we'll go with it.

Across the road, they notice the cemetery shrouded in darkness, and assume that Buffy is there. They come across a fresh grave with her name inscribed on the stone, and Giles identifies it as his fear: the death of his Slayer. (It plays out like the death of a child, and I have to believe it’s a deliberate contrast to how Hank spoke to his daughter earlier in the episode).

He lays his hand on the fresh earth, and naturally that’s the cue for Buffy’s hand to shoot up through the soil and grab his wrist. Giles helps pull her out, but Buffy has the visage of a vampire. Which brings us to the most interesting and infuriating part of the entire episode.

The transformation is a little random, since Buffy has never before made any mention of being afraid that she might get changed into a vampire... and she never will again. Yet it seems like a fascinating angle to take, as it begs the question: what exactly does she fear about this scenario? Dying? Losing her soul and identity? Becoming a creature of evil against her will?

The answer would have to be “no” to that last one, since if she has had a recurring nightmare of becoming a conscienceless vampire, then she would now be a conscienceless vampire. That could have been an interesting plot twist, with the rest of the Scoobies having to deal with Buffy suddenly being a bloodthirsty fiend who has no qualms about killing them (although she does float the possibility of this happening when she tells them: “I’m getting hungry.”)

And yet becoming an instrument of evil against her will vibes a little with what happens in the season finale, in which the Master points out that Buffy’s attempt to stop him from escaping the church is the very thing that provides him with the blood he needs to break out, and as Giles has already pointed out, Buffy poses a greater threat in this particular nightmare dimension due to the intensity of the dreams she has. It follows that a Slayer getting changed into a vampire would naturally be even more of a threat than your average run-of-the-mill vamp.

And yet, the show never returns to this particular well. This is the first and last time we grapple with the idea of Buffy as a vampire – in fact, the show never really delves into the horror of a loved one becoming a vampire and having to deal with the ramifications of that, period. Off the top of my head, there’s Gunn’s sister, Jesse, Ford, and bizzaro-world Willow... and that’s about it, right?

All things considered, I’m surprised that across the seven-year run of this show there was never any mention of any Slayer at any point in time being turned into a vampire and how the Watchers Council had to deal with that. I mean, it had to have happened at some point, right? Vampires would be aware of the possibility and the potential advantages to attempting it. And it would be a risk that the Council would have pre-emptive measures in place to deal with, surely.

I am aware that Sunday, the vampire in the first episode of season four, was originally conceived as a former Slayer that had been turned into a vampire, only for the idea to be scrapped when it turned out to be too complicated for a single episode, and I’ve always been disappointed the writers never returned to explore that premise. Heck, a Slayer!Vampire would have made a great seasonal villain.

Basically, the fear Buffy has of becoming a vampire (or more broadly, harming people through her attempts to save them) or the notion of a Slayer that’s turned into a vampire, are two interesting conceits that are sadly never returned to.

Okay, I’ve gotten way off track.

Giles tells her that waking up Billy is their best bet at making all of this stop, and so they rush to the hospital, where the doctor from before is clearly suffering a hallucination of having crippled hands. Outside the window, giant wasps are attacking Sunnydale.

Billy’s astral projection is in the room with them, refusing to do anything but hide from the Ugly Man, who is slowly approaching down the corridor. Imbued with vampire strength as well as her own, Buffy now has the ability to overpower him. Once he’s unconscious and slumped against the wall, Buffy calls Billy over: he has to do the rest. Though still afraid, he faces his fear and peels off the Ugly Man’s face as though it’s a mask. Bright light streams out...

And the next moment, everything is back to normal.

It’s at this point that Billy’s Little League coach walks through the door, ostensibly to check on the patient, but (as everyone has already figured out) to make sure his victim is still unconscious. That’s remarkably good timing, but we’ll let it slide since there’s only a few minutes of the episode left to go. Buffy confronts the coach, Billy confirms it was him that beat him up after practice, and Giles and Xander prevent him from making a run for it.

So all’s well that ends well. At some point, which could be that same day (since Hank picks up Buffy from school as scheduled) or weeks later (considering Willow mentions that the evil coach is now “behind bars where he belongs”) Buffy heads off to enjoy the weekend with her father, and Willow decides to torture herself by asking Xander if he still found Buffy attractive while she was a vampire. The answer is yes, of course.

Miscellaneous Observations:

This was another strange episode, and one that messes with reality in a way that’s unusually trippy for this show – it usually sticks to more tangible supernatural threats, or gives a clearer reason as to why bizarre widespread phenomena is happening (for instance, everyone losing their voices in Hush is the work of a specific group of demons; everyone singing and dancing in Once More With Feeling is because Xander cast a spell). Here, the reasoning is very vague – a kid got beaten into a coma, and thanks to “Hellmouth energy,” he managed to drag his nightmares (and everyone else’s) into the real world after he starting astral projecting.

I mean, there’s a fairy tale rationality to that, but it’s still very part and parcel of season one’s “everything is a metaphor, so don’t worry about the logistics” vibe. It’s the depiction of human evil – such as the zookeeper and the bullies, or what the coach did to Billy, or everyone ignoring Marcie – that is made manifest by the Hellmouth, without the need for any actual monsters. That type of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode goes missing after this season, and I have to say I miss it.

Given that everyone remembered the spiders that attacked Wendell, one has to assume that everyone also remembers the escalating chaos afterwards. Do authorities chalk it down to mass hallucinations? We’ll never know, as along with all the on-line drama that ensued with Moloch’s internet shenanigans, it never gets mentioned again.

On that note, I suppose we have to assume that the version of Hank that Buffy interacted with early on wasn’t actually him, as there’s no indication he remembers doing such a cruel thing to his daughter when he picks her up later (and the fake!Hank turned up earlier than Buffy expected, which is perhaps a clue that he was just Buffy’s projection of her fears).

The cops were noticeably absent in this episode, as was Angel (it’s a shame we don’t find out what he has nightmares about) and Billy’s parents. Seriously, where the heck were they?

I’ve only just realized that many of the fears on display in this episode were foreshadowed in The Puppet Show: there Xander jumps at the sight of a mime, Willow freezes up when she’s on-stage, and even Cordelia freaks out about her hair.

Speaking of, she’s back on comic comeuppance duty for this episode, first by having her hair turn into a tangled mess, and then in getting dragged into the chess club against her will. There’s also another fun comedy bit where a tough-looking punk is bragging about honour and retribution, only for his mother to turn up and start calling him embarrassing pet names.

There’s also that random little moment in which Xander says his nightmare is “if Nazis crawled over my face,” which is followed by the appearance of Swastikas graffitied in the empty auditorium. It feels like they were connected, but it never goes any further than that.

Even though I’ve accused this episode of only dealing with rather superficial fears instead of the deep psychological ones that will be explored in (much) later episodes, some good insights are given into what’s going on in the Scoobies’ heads. For instance, Willow’s stage fight is more to do with other people’s judgment of her. Buffy fears rejection from everyone, not just her father, because deep down she knows she’s in this fight alone. Giles’s inability to read also doubles as an inability to look after his “kids.”

With that in mind, it’s interesting that Xander is the one that steps up to face his fears first, with his trademark “well, fuck it,” attitude.

Granted, his was the most tangible fear and was easily punched out (his deeper fear is that he’s useless to those around him) but I also noticed that he grasped what Billy had to do to defeat the Ugly Man while Willow was still confused, which was an interesting detail that reminded me of Buffy clocking that Amy and her mother had swapped bodies before Giles did.

Giles and Willow are the booksmart characters, but Buffy and Xander have an instinctual sort of wisdom that’s rooted in their emotions (not all the time, but when it counts).

The Master and the Anointed One drop so many tantalizing lines that are never elaborated on, from the Master’s “when you were a mortal boy, what were you afraid of?” (I guess that answers my question as to whether Collin was a normal kid before getting vamped) to his musings on the crucifix and how it fills him with dread, to telling Buffy that she’s “prettier than the last [Slayer]”. Wait, does that mean he met the last Slayer? When? Where? How? Who was she?!

Then there’s Hank Summers, the character with the most untapped potential in the entire show. In my opinion, he should have returned to Sunnydale after Joyce’s death, or perhaps at the start of season six. His presence could have helped justify Giles’s leaving! He would have relieved the burden of motherhood/financial responsibility from Buffy’s shoulders (and we wouldn’t have had to sit through those awful Doublemeat Palace episodes)! There could have been an interesting rapport between him and Dawn – what if he had no idea who she was because the monks’ spell didn’t reach that far? They could have done the whole “keep the Slaying secret from a parental figure” and “how does said parent cope when they find out what’s really going on?” arc. Those are always fun!

Don't worry, I realize that I am the only person in this entire fandom who cares about Hank Summers.

As it is, the episode does a whole thing about how much Hank loves his daughter, and then at some point he becomes a deadbeat shmuck off-screen. The abandonment that Buffy fears becomes real, after this episode assures her that she’ll never have to worry about it from this particular person. That kinda sucks.

It seems like coma victims might constantly be at risk of astral projecting in a place like Sunnydale, so I have a little headcanon that Billy was a latent magic-user like Willow or that kid from The Shining. Speaking of the actor, he apparently hasn’t worked since 2011, but his very first role was in as one of Linda Hamilton’s kids in Dante’s Peak! Yikes, talk about peaking too soon.

Here's a chilling thought: the doctor says that Billy has the same M.O. as Laura, which means that the coach beat up a child as viciously as a monstrous club-handed monster would have. Geez, guys like this belong in hell.

The word “wiggins” is used again, this time by Xander. Show, stop trying to make fetch happen.

***

In many ways this is an odd duck of an episode, as the kind of large-scale reality-altering chaos that we see in this episode never really happens on the show again. I mean, there’s an actual dimensional time flux at one point! Not for the first time, I wonder what a year in the life of a normal Sunnydale resident looks like.

It’s also the most filler-y episode since Teacher’s Pet in regards to plot advancement. The likes of I Robot, You Jane and The Puppet Show at least introduced Jenny Calendar and Principal Snyder, whereas Hank never becomes as important to the show’s ongoing mythos as they do. (Not that filler episodes are bad, mind you).

The escalating chaos is nicely done, especially when it comes to Buffy’s arc – from the basic fear of failing a test, to hearing her own father reject her, to having the Master throw her into an open grave and then emerging as a vampire... I just question the fact that none of these fears ever come up again. Hank is practically a non-entity after this, and we never delve any deeper into the threat/possibility of a Slayer getting turned into a vampire against her will. I feel there has to be contingency plans in place for that one.

Ultimately, I’m kind of fascinated by this episode, because it feels so different from the usual Monster of the Week episodes. It’s not so much a definable monster that needs hunting down and defeating (though there is one – albeit a very mundane human evil that’s only onscreen for a couple of seconds) as a metaphysical mystery that need solving. The rules and concepts (“the nightmare realm,” “an astral projecting coma victim”) are surprisingly nebulous, and this type of problem is not like anything we’ll ever see on the show again: one derived from a cocktail of circumstance and trauma and Hellmouth mystical energy.

The unusual premise is almost lampshaded when Billy wakes up and quotes The Wizard of Oz, and writer Joss Whedon seemed fairly intent on emphasizing that these were nightmares the Scoobies were dealing with, not fears (even though the difference is slight enough to be meaningless) in order to sustain the dreamy (no pun intended), more amorphous vibe this episode conveyed.

Best Reveal: That the coach was behind it all: a banal evil that’s unfortunately all too prevalent in the real world. (And by a complete coincidence, I’m currently watching Harlan Coban’s Fool Me Once, which also features an abusive coach). Human evil doesn’t pop up too often in this show, but when it does, it’s more chilling than any demon or vampire.

Best Line: Willow: So, why is this happening? Giles: Billy. Xander: Well, that explanation was shorter than usual. It's Billy! Who's Billy?

Best Dumb Visual Gag:

Death Toll: Nobody! Everybody lived! (Well, the Ugly Man did club at least one other person before chasing Buffy and Billy into the cemetery, but I’m going to assume he was okay).

Grand Total: Fifteen civilians, fifteen villains, one ally.

[rosie-kairi]

You know watching that clip of Roxas wanting to know the truth of his origins I can't help but laugh nervously like oh Roxas sweetheart honeybun trust me you do not want to know because the truth is so much worse than he thinks in canon.

Cause you think it's pretty simple right? Sora gives up his heart thus Roxas is born. Oh but he looks like Ven? Well makes sense Ven was released alongside Sora's heart and made its way to Roxas. But then we have to get to the how and why they ended up like that in the first place. Cause if you think about it too long like I did you realize jesus christ the road to Roxas creation was paved with blood and mass murder O_O

In order for Roxas to be born Ventus has to be in the future (present? whatever time travel is wonky) and he has to end up alone in the keyblade graveyard and be abused for a year by xehanort and then get dumped on the destiny islands to die. But before that we have to go back to the age of fairy tales when Ven is a union leader traps an original Darkness within himself nearly dying in the process and everyone figures out that MoM essentially is using them as live bait to trap the other darkness' and leave the dandelions to die. But before we get to that we have to go back a year to when MoM purposefully sowed the seeds of discord amongst his apprentices so their friendship would fracture and the fissures would go to the unions causing everyone to turn on each other. Tensions start rising and before we know it a full blown war breaks out and thousands of children are sacrificed as they cut each other down and MoM is just off to the side watching all this like, "yeah this is an acceptable turn of events I am absolutely okay instigating the slaughter of thousands of innocent children and destruction of the world to defeat darkness this is indeed a worthwhile and good plan :)"

But before even that we have to go to like 10 minutes before (well 2 years and 10 minutes before I guess) because Strelitzia was meant to be a union leader but she was obsessed with player and wanted to save them from the keyblade war, and Darkness chose her to be a necessary sacrifice by taking advantage of a little boy's pain and loneliness and swapping their places. Had they not done that Ven likely would've died in the keyblade war meaning none of the following events post war would've played out the way it needed to for Roxas to exist.

So going back to Sora his heart joins with a traumatized and dying Ven as a newborn saving him. Then 4 years go by and Ven seeks sanctuary with Sora after almost dying again. This puts Sora within Xehanort's path and Sora's world eventually falls. His love and conviction for his friends keeps him going but he ends up having to fight his best friend seemingly to the death and has to essentially kill himself to wake up the love of his life not even sure if he'll survive what he's about to do. So before he dies he gives one last big grin and prepares to meet his fate like Ven has before him. And it is the release of Kairi and Ven's wounded heart that leads to Roxas being born.

All it took was a megalomaniac keyblade master deciding yeah the painful death of thousands of children and countless worlds plus the death of a few hundred is absolutely worth trapping darkness but his plan goes a bit sideways and the union leaders escape and manage to build back some of the world that inevitably leads Xehanort to his own crazy scheme and the egging on of the hidden 6th apprentice also manipulating things behind the scenes and destroying the innocence and lives of two innocent boys who only ever wanted to be with their friends and live their lives with them. And we still haven't fully touched on Vanitas which is a different can of worms. If even one bad thing deviated or didn't happen no Roxas. So everything had to go perfectly wrong for everyone for him to be here.

So yeah Roxas are you sure you wanna know where you came from or why? Are you sure you want to burden the full knowledge when even the one's who paid the price currently don't? Is it really worth it Roxas? Is it?

The sheer amount of events in the Kingdom Hearts timeline that exists solely due to an insane domino effect the likes of which humanity has never before seen is frankly ridiculous.

What if Baldr never succumbed to darkness and killed every single one of his friends except Xehanort and Eraqus (and BragiLuxu)? Xeha and Eraqus would've never had their views of Darkness vs Light twisted so much that they became extreme extremists. Without Xehanort doing his. thing. the entire plot of "current day" Kingdom Hearts would not have happened. Same thing goes for the what-if of Xehanort never leaving Destiny Islands.

Similarly, what would've happened if the Destiny trio never left Destiny Islands/DI never fell to darkness in KH1?

What if Strelitzia never died and got replaced by Ven? Or, what if one of the other Union Leaders was killed by darkness? What if the Foretellers never fought each other?

Of course, this all leads back to "what if the Master of Masters wasn't who he is as a person."

Roxas is the culmination of hundreds, if not thousands of years of bloodshed and interfered destiny all represented by a singular teenage nobody who eats a lot of ice cream and cares a lot about a lot of different things (most of all, his friends)