#It was like... in theory a reasonable goal. I used to be able to slap out digital paintings SO fucking fast

[prolibytherium]

Went from the ambitious hubris of 'I'm gonna do two large complete paintings for this zine' to 'if I don't get one of tgem to a presentable state by the due date tomorrow I will DIE' REAL quick

[fanganfessions]

The thing that gets me with Hu (and someone PLEASE explain this if you have an explanation, I want to like her) is her double standard in the betrayals of David and Nico. With David she is more or less telling him to kill himself, which is particularly messed up considering her secret, but when Nico does it she defends them to high heaven and only shuts up when asked how Nico got her wire.

What is the difference here? Both of them betrayed her and were willing to have her killed for their own ends, and both of them spelled this out quite clearly. Nico wasn't as vulgar about it as David, but for all intents and purposes they did the same thing.

Actually, Nico was worse because with David it was shown to be nothing personal really, he's allegedly trying to end the killing game, it's not an issue with her specifically though he does throw around some information about her, but Nico actively admitted to using Hu's weapon with the intent to frame her and then sacrifice her to get away with their crimes, which might I add worked very effectively in the eyes of the fandom for a long time.

(I like both David and Nico, this isn't me shading Nico or defending David, I'm just pointing out when looking at things from Hu's POV, shouldn't Nico's betrayal be worse?)

How is Hu able to be so scathing and ranting at David how he has no right to decide what to do with her life, when Nico tried to do that exact thing just for different and honestly more personal reasons, and they got a pass for it?

The only thing I can possibly think of is that Nico was more subdued and matter-of-fact about it, while David started monologuing and cursing people out. All in the presentation and not in what objectively happened. Which I guess tracks with why she hates Ace so much to the point of slapping him, but it's still really bizarre to me.

(One explanation for why she was okay with Nico and shut up when the wire got asked about is she for some reason gave it to Nico willingly and was down for the murder plan. But if that's the case, her losing her shit at David makes no sense because in that scenario she would have been doing the exact same thing sacrificing everyone and herself for a certain goal. So I don't really believe that theory.)

.

[wirewitchviolet]

Wire Witch Hex - Wearing Many Hats (Font Design)

Lately most of the traffic I'm getting on this blog has been people stumbling onto my multipart series on how a computer works. Glad people are enjoying that as much as they seem to be. My reason for teaching myself all of that (besides just the joy of learning) is I'm very slowly working on designing a new video game console that anyone sufficiently motivated can build for themselves as a neat little DIY project. There are so many moving parts to this project that for now I'm focusing mainly on just the controller and its unique features. To avoid having to make a whole working console, with software, to test it, and make sure I have something to show for all this if the rest doesn't pan out, I'm designing the controller to also be more or less compatible with the NES and SNES (which secretly use the same input standard, just differently shaped plugs at the end of the cord).

This means all I'll need to test and demo my controller is an SNES ROM that knows what to do with my scroll-wheel outputs, a setup where an emulator accurately handles those signals, and later a cart I can slap a couple EEPROMs into and test on real hardware. Oh and I also need to teach myself enough about SNES development to actually create every demo I want to run, do all the art, code it up, and compile it. This is a big job, and I'm not getting paid, so maybe consider throwing me a little money before we dig into this?

Since... really the last time I reported in on this, I've been studying away trying to learn all this, and hey, have a compiled ROM image that'll display a blank screen in any color I want, and a third party program that IN THEORY with a bit of massaging will convert a 256x256 image into an SNES character ROM image. AKA the file with all the graphics. My ultimate goal for this demo cart is to cycle through several very simple games, showcasing how my controller works with each. So I need to cram every image any of these are going to need into my one big image file, which I'm slowly picking away at, but the one thing I knew from the start that I'd definitely need is to throw some text on screen explaining the controls for each demo. And since it's not like there's a built in font in in the system, I had to make my own.

This is not my first font-making rodeo. For this one, my thinking was, I'm going to be in a fixed 16x16 resolution per character (because I forgot the specifics of how the SNES actually tiles graphics), some built in spacing so I can slap them all right up against each other or some border and still be readable, and I wanted a nice little shadow built into every character in case they end up on a low contrast background. Let's zoom in on what I have here so far, in case you don't feel like downloading the file and blowing it up to something more readable.

The first thing I want to note is that after finishing the first 4 rows of characters here, I double checked, and while the SNES CAN break backgrounds into 16x16 tiles, the absolute minimum is 8x8. If I were really trying to be space efficient, I should have designed around that. Several of these characters would easily fit into a 16x8 space, that level of compression would also let me have just the period and comma and be able to build a colon, semicolon, or apostrophe from those, and most importantly, I rendered this with all of the lowercase letters exactly 1 pixel too tall to fit into a 16x8 space and let me double up there. Since I'm rather happy with this font so far and I'd eventually like to make some version of it available for, if nothing else, other people writing software for my eventual console here, I will likely, at some point, make a more space-optimized variation. I'd also like to cover a wider range of characters. At the very least, have some accent marks, wouldn't be too hard to add support for Cyrillic. Pretty sure I can get Japanese and Korean text in keeping with this look. Maybe some other languages. Anyway though, let's talk about what I've got.

My general design rule here was, where possible, make lines 2 pixels thick, and have each white pixel cast a black pixel shadow immediately below, to the right, and the diagonal between them. This gives a pretty convincing relief effect in my opinion, and keeping the shadows this thick keeps a nice firm edge there so it's even generally readable on a pure white background. Within each 16x16 tile, I was extremely strict about keeping a 1 pixel margin clear at the top and bottom of each image, and 2 or 3 on the sides (often 3 on the left, 2 on the right. With capital letters, I went with a generally rigid and blocky style, trying to stretch things to my arbitrary margins. Lowercase letters I restricted to just 8 pixels tall, and those featuring tails are given special permission to drop down an extra pixel, leaving the shadow right on the edge of their true bounding box.

While it wasn't an intentional move at first, several lowercase letters ended up with a decidedly rounded, squashed look, particularly g and q. I found that to be both kind of cute, giving the whole font a real unique character, and eventually started to actively lean into it (which may not be super obvious, I started with W as it's kinda the letter than needs the most breathing room and worked outward from there), and did my best to distort all the rounder shapes and in particular the highly mirrorable b d p q set, as I seem to recall once reading the more you avoid identical shapes with those, the more legible the font becomes for people with dyslexia. Similarly, I made a point of distinguishing the shapes of the Ms and Ws, and added a little whimsy to the numerals. Overall I'm super happy with all the lowercase letters (except for e and s being too thin, but that was an inevitable compromise), and if I ever have the time to kill it's very likely I'll revisit this someday and apply this squishy rounded aesthetic to the capitals too.

Your eyes were probably drawn really quickly to the parentheses here, where for at least the moment I'm breaking my rules about blank space and shifting them inward quite a bit rather than centering them. That's going to look really bad if I use them in a sentence (like this), but the main reason I'm including them right now is so I can list button prompts with both the icons representing what's actually going to be on my controller, and the SNES buttons sharing the same signals. So something like: "GO (A) Jump" and I think the half-spacing and closeness to what they enclose will look pretty nice in this one specific case.

As a final note, the particular hardware I'm working with absolutely supports the ability to mirror any image horizontally or vertically, as well as change the palette. If I truly wanted to cram letters in as efficiently as possible at this font size, I could, for instance, have an 8x8 right-angle segment, build a whole H just from mirroring that, also use it for the legs of the A, P, F, the left side of the D, etc. This however is incompatible with the shadows I'm using for extra readability. And of course for other projects I HAVE made a perfectly legible 8x8 font before.

I'm pointing this out because hey, if you do the math, JUST these characters I've set aside for having arbitrary on-screen text, as is, are consuming 5/16ths of my total graphical memory, and I'm probably never even going to display most of these anywhere. Again, not a huge problem for the simple demo pack I'm making, and that 256x256 drawing space isn't a hard limit. Spending an extra processor cycle to change an index value and access a whole other page of image data is a pretty common practice on the hardware, but especially with older computers and racing to get things ready to draw before a screen refreshes, it's good to at least be mindful of the tradeoffs with that sort of thing.

And again, my sole source of income at the moment is patreon donations, so if you're excited about seeing updates to this weird project of mine or you're learning useful things from any of it, maybe consider throwing me a little support?

[dramaticoil]

I have a lot of complaints.

The agonies of growing up and my experiences

The slow painful burn of people around me that are looking to only make themselves comefortable

The agony of not having friends but staping outside the house to only deal with enemies always careful of when they will stab you

The agony of constantly being pulled into war along with people who cannot do anything except war

War is to protect those people who do not have any other ability and would be useless in times of peace

War is created to create jobs for completely useless ideology less belligerent people who always have to be given orders

I am tired of being humiliated as a woman for no good reason while the entire world has gone so far

There are people who slap me and then go to the relevant authority complaining that I have slapped them and the system is thinking for a long time trying to determine what has actually happened even though it is all there

I am extremely tired of the dishonesty breeding in this country the worm like parasitical people who are so dishonest for simple things

They will do anything to justify the fact that they simply want power without putting any effort into how they are going to get it

That there only passion is power as an end itself not what power will be used for

And they will justify their dishonesty as smart work smartness sums form of intelligence to say that rape theory murder is okay as long as you are smart or intelligent enough to cover it up

If you are intelligent enough immediately all these actions become moral and somehow if this idea can be institutionalized the entire collective dishonesty of this nation can be justified

The fact that nobody does any honest work in this country

The fact that nobody can justify their narcissism or why they feel superior or why there entire effort and life is dedicated to actions which will make them superior or help them make other people feel inferior

As long as hard work or merit or talent is not required.. anything that requires a person to do something honestly and illustrate path is difficult and therefore it has to be established as a system over any existing system already that it is better to do smart work intelligent ways to do crime and make it look like other people are doing crying if it is possible murder someone and tell that the murdered victim actually murdered you

I cannot believe the legal system. It not only failed to protect me against people who openly and in front of everybody humiliated demand me smoke about my sexual organs also in public forum with my teachers and relatives watching as if enjoying the punishment of a woman being put into place for having an opinion in public... Not only did the laugh and get away with it... After doing this to make sure that the burn last for a long time the punishment continues and I continue to understand how much superior these people are

They had the goal to go and approach the legal system saying that I had used "expletives" and "cuss" words with literally no shame... I am trying to understand the lesson here is it the lesson to show me what I am as a woman in this country ....where my place is

Aur is it to justify that all those people who are unable to speak are better and if I speak I make them look bad and inefficient... As long as 100 people are unable to do something your ability makes them look bad their food we will publicly humiliate you and then make sure that the after effect of the humiliation stays for a long time by adding some measure of injustice to it.

While the legal system ponders as to how to approach this matter. I am not even talking about how justice is being delayed every single I am talking about what is not obvious despite everything being in clarity.

I am wondering about how naked corruption how naked rapists have to be for people to be actually able to see all this. Somehow nobody is able to understand anything everybody has become extremely stupid.

After a person rapes a person then they go to the police station claiming that the person they have raped has raped them

So after public humiliation there is also the use of a system a legal system to add on top of the rape a social pressure so it feels like not just them the entire society is also responsible for the rape

After that tell the person that not only do they have to swallow the public humiliation and the humiliation of being not only the rape victim but also publicly the rapist... Then pay money so that at least only the rape happens and they can live in peace because this humiliation will continue

Why? Because even though some people have work other people have a lot of free time and free time is advantage free time is time to extort... And this is an entire system and machinery that is created to protect people.

This legal machinery has been made to prevent crime... I wonder how this is happening.. the legal machinery is being used to add to the crime done to me...

I have too much agony too much humiliation... The perversity of what the society has done to me collectively and the perversity of the lessons that I am learning everyday as I am growing up makes me realise slowly that I do not want to give anything to this country

This country has not only created the rapist but this country has actively helped the rapist rape me and then after doing that extort me and punish me and teach me perverse obscene lessons about life... I do not want to give anything to this country

Except courses that there will be a time when only people like this will live here and they will bite and eat each other.... this will become some sort of a hell where only criminals live and everybody that has any quality any honesty any talent anything worthwhile will leave this place and celebrate and help other pieces of the world where there is not this much blatant dishonesty

This made up superiority... This abnormal encouragement of criminally clever.. the abnormal encouragement of intelligence that is destructive and harmful to other people.... The abnormal corruption of being unable to see an event as it is but rather trying to judge whether a rape can be seen positively from one angle of the other... Whether an outright lie and have some sort of a positive impact.... Whether killing one person may be good or not whether extortion should happen or not..

. I don't know whether the system will finally decide after sucking out all the blood that it will be morally and legally correct to have me raped once more by these people and then have me charged again for having raped the 50 men and then set fire to my house after taking all my money... Because it can and it is arbitrary and it is fun and people can feel in authority when they actually abuse authority otherwise authority does not feel like authority...

One day no matter how long it takes when I will be free I will tell the world the perverse lessons that this system has taught me... the obscene way that they have destroyed me... The way that they broke my mind repeatedly... Over and over again shamelessly openly in public while people could not see or understand anything conveniently...

[heliads]

Secrets Kept

Based on this request: “thomas x reader and one of the other people are being rude and they slap her and they get all worked up and mad? (maybe the person is making fun of her because she got attacked by a griever (she’s a runner) and minho had to help, but minho also stands up for her)”

masterlist

You’ve been running in the Maze for maybe an hour, maybe more. It’s not long enough. It’s funny how every morning, you wake up and manage to convince yourself that being a Runner is easier than you think, that you’ll be able to keep moving endlessly and never have a problem with it. You seem to forget how hard your job is overnight, but you’re reminded of it every single morning. To be honest, you’re not sure what you expected when you signed up to be a Runner in the first place, but the constant exhaustion is just one of the side effects.

That being said, you wouldn’t trade this job for anything. A slight grin appears on your face as you look around you, tilting your head up to feel the breeze whipping around the corners of the Maze. Your mind is turning, thinking of ways to remember every hall and corridor that you cross. Beside you, your running partner turns to you, eyebrows raised over your apparent delight. This causes Minho’s attention to be focused solely on you, which is why he doesn’t notice your boyfriend, Thomas, appearing down a nearby corridor.

Your eyes widen imperceptibly. Thomas isn’t supposed to be here, not at all. You joined the ranks of the Runners a long time ago, way before Thomas even showed up here and wanted to risk his neck with the rest of you. That meant that he would be a part of a different pair of runners, one that wasn’t you and Minho, and that he would be assigned a completely different part of the Maze to run for today. Ever since the Gladers discovered that different sectors of the Maze opened at different times, they carefully divided each sector into runnable routes that were parceled out to the various pairs of Runners. Basically, all of this means that you shouldn’t once see Thomas during the entirety of your daily run, yet here he is now.

You think you know why he’s here, though. Your theory is proven when Thomas stumbles to a halt mid-step after realizing that Minho is seconds away from discovering you, and quickly stumbles behind a wall of the Maze for cover. When he peeks out again, he’s got a smirk on his face that tells you that the added danger of getting caught is only making him more willing to risk discovery.

Why is he here, then? Well, it’s probably because you’re dating Thomas, or at least you have in secret. Once you showed up to the Glade and became the first girl to add to their numbers, Alby set in motion a rule that none of the boys could even come near you. They could be friends all they wanted, but the second they looked at you with a desire for something more, they’d be thrown in the Slammer before they could say ‘I escaped the friend zone’. 

You’ve been perfectly fine with this rule. There are enough gaping boys in the Glade that make you more than alright that Alby gives any flirting slintheads a death glare. However, when Thomas showed up, you just couldn’t stick to the plan. He was kind to you, and it seemed like he was the first one to truly listen to you for a very long time. When you spoke about anything, when you even so much as sat next to him, Thomas would look at you with this soft smile that made you want to reach over and kiss him right then and there.

You’d been afraid to do something, at first. What if you misread something and suddenly it was you crossing his boundaries as opposed to any one of the Gladers with you? Then, one night at the Bonfire, Thomas had been walking you back to the Homestead when he’d turned to you with this look in your eyes, one that made you shiver slightly despite the heat of the dark hour. He’d asked if he could kiss you, voice low and rumbling in the shadows, and you’d barely been able to nod your head yes from the thrill of it.

Ever since then, you’ve been happy enough to consider him your boyfriend. The problem is that Thomas still technically isn’t supposed to be seeing you, and the only way you can kiss him is if the two of you sneak out to the Deadheads or find time when nobody is around to reach over and wrap your arms around him. These come with an unsurprising rarity, as the Glade is practically overrun with shanks with little to no concept of personal space and privacy, so you have to make do with what you have.

This means that on days like today, when Thomas had been held back from seeing you even into the late hours of the night, he’s willing to stretch some rules and come find you himself. So, you turn to a still unsuspecting Minho, and gesture for him to go forward without you. “Tell you what, I’m going to fix my shoe. I think there’s something in it.” Minho starts to say something about how he’ll wait for you, but you hurriedly wave his concerns away. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Minho hesitates one last moment then shrugs, turning to keep running. You watch him go, afraid to make the slightest of motions towards the general area behind you where you spotted Thomas, lest your running partner suspect something and come back to you. Minho’s just disappeared around a corner when a pair of hands descend on your hips, spinning around to come face to face with Thomas, who’s wearing a particularly proud grin at the look of surprise on your face.

You reach forward to smack his arm. “Slinthead. I thought a Griever was sneaking up behind me.” Thomas just laughs. “I don’t think Grievers look this good.” You try to hold back a laugh of your own. “Good to know that your pride hasn’t been hurt by you bending the rules all the time. We could get caught, you know.” Thomas just lifts a shoulder in dismissal. “I’m dating the prettiest girl in the Glade. I’d say that’s worth going behind Alby’s back.”

You fight to keep heat from rising to your cheeks. “The prettiest girl in the Glade? Thomas, I’m the only girl in the Glade.” Thomas smirks. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Just accept the compliment, Y/N.” You open your mouth to protest, but you’re effectively silenced when Thomas leans forward to kiss you. Suddenly, all of your complaints are evaporating into the hot air of the Maze.

You allow yourself a few minutes of this before you reluctantly bid Thomas farewell. Despite being able to throw Minho off your tail for a little while, you can only ‘fix your shoe’ for so long before the boy starts to suspect something. When Thomas finally lets you go with a goodbye kiss and you jog down the labyrinthine corridors in search of your running partner, you do so with a smile. How’d you get this lucky?

You find Minho after a little while, who offers up a few joking criticisms about how long it takes you to tie your shoes. You bear these with a smile, knowing that your real reason for being late is something that far outweighs any of Minho’s sarcastic comments. The two of you run for a little longer before heading further into the center of the Maze. It is only there, once you’re as far away from the Glade as you could possibly be, that you realize that something is wrong. It feels as if you’re suddenly not alone, that you and Minho aren’t the only ones lurking in these corridors.

Seconds later, something heavy comes to an abrupt stop in front of you. You and Minho rear back in identical shock, staring at the Griever, the one that’s just jumped down from the walls of the Maze to land a few feet ahead of you. You gaze at it unthinkingly, unable to move a muscle despite all of your body screaming for you to run. “How is it here? I thought Grievers weren’t supposed to come out during the day!”

Minho gulps beside you. “They’re not, but this one’s here anyway. Run!” That’s all the incentive you need for your legs to start working again, and the two of you turn and sprint in unison. Your feet are pounding down the ground, your body focused on the sole goal of surviving. You thought you were tired before, but all of that exhaustion is gone now, replaced by an intense adrenaline rush that leaves you feeling as if you’ve got all the energy in the world.

You race around corners and down straightaways, your breath coming hard in your chest. Despite the fact that you’re running as fast as you can, you almost get the feeling that the Griever is toying with you, not going after you with as much force as it could truly muster. Indeed, once you’re almost to the final corridors separating you and the Glade, it seems to draw back, disappearing into the halls of the Maze once more.

You turn to Minho, gasping for breath after your abrupt sprint. “What was that about? Why did it stop?” Minho shrugs, hands on his knees for any kind of support. “I don’t know. Maybe it wanted to stop us from going too far. Maybe we were going to see something that it didn’t want us to see. All I know is that I’m pretty shucking happy that we’re still alive.” You manage to limp over to him, slapping him on the back. “You can say that again. Let’s go tell Alby that we’re the two unluckiest shanks in the Glade to stumble upon a Griever in the middle of the day.”

Alby is, unsurprisingly, stunned by this news. This contradicts everything you’ve thought of the Grievers and the Maze before today. No matter how strange your living situation in the Maze is, the rules have never changed- Grievers come out during the night, and the night only. No one has any idea what to think now that this has changed, and to be honest, no one really wants to think about what happened. In the end, Alby decides that there’s nothing you can do about it except tell everybody to be careful.

As a result of this, you see a lot of somber faces around the Glade that afternoon. Everyone’s clustered into tight groups, talking in hushed voices about obviously critical topics that no doubt revolve around your little Griever incident. When Thomas comes back from his run in the Maze, you see his face fall in an instant when he hears what happened. He starts to come your way, expression twisted with concern, but you shake your head once. Technically, you’re not supposed to know Thomas that well at all. Let Newt handle him- despite everything, you still can’t blow your cover and reveal to everyone that you’re dating.

Still, the anxious mood persists around the Gladers. Gally eventually gives in and asks Alby for a Bonfire Night, which the older boy approves. This is basically just an excuse to light things on fire and pass around Gally’s suspicious brew, but everyone’s so keyed up over what just happened that Alby decides everyone needs a night to have fun. Once the glasses of amber liquid start getting passed around, though, you begin to think that it might not have been such a good idea after all.

Once fear mixes with Gally’s concoction, people start getting louder, their friendly punches in the fighting ring less charming and more antagonistic. You decide to leave early, already tired of the signs pointing to the fact that this night will not be going well. However, you’re barely taken a few steps away from your seat before one of the more drunk Builders stops you in your tracks.

“Where are you going, Y/N? Running away again?” You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” The Builder scoffs. “We all know what happened with the Griever. You saw it and ran away. Big bunch of nothing for someone who’s supposed to be one of the bravest Runners we’ve got.” You fold your arms over your chest incredulously. “Then feel free to take my job. I’m sure all of your experience stacking bricks will help you deal with a monster as tall as a house.”

The Builder’s smug smile drops. “Are you calling me a coward?” You snort. “I’m calling you weak. Get out of my way, I don’t want to deal with you tonight.” You move to walk past him, but the Builder just shifts to block your way again. “Like shuck. You don’t get to call me weak.” You stare back at him, feeling anger starting to rise up in your chest. “And you don’t get to call me a coward. You wouldn’t know bravery if it hit you over the head.”

This is probably a bad idea, you know that. This thought is proven correct when the Builder’s hand moves in a blur across your field of vision, and seconds later, your hand is coming away from your nose. There’s a streak of red across your fingers that tells you that he’s hit you hard, harder than he should have for what was supposed to be a friendly bonfire night.

Already, there are outraged shouts coming from around you, Gladers already starting to come to your defense. The loudest one, though, is from the boy who’s already by your side. Somehow, you’re not surprised that Thomas is already here. He probably would have punched the guy already, were it not for the fact that Minho and Newt both are holding him back. “Don’t you dare hit her. Don’t you dare.”

The Builder chuckles, although you can tell that he’s afraid. “What are you going to do? Hit me? We’ll just be together in the Slammer.” Thomas stops fighting against Minho and Newt, fixing the Builder with a death glare that makes the boy flinch. “You wish. Were it not for the fact that I actually give a damn about what’s supposed to happen around here, you’d be on the ground, trust me.”

The Builder raises an eyebrow, trying to add to his tough-guy demeanor in the hopes that it’ll cover up for the fact that he’s slowly trying to back away. “What do you care about what I do? This doesn’t concern you.” Thomas takes a step forward, and the Builder practically shrinks back. “Actually, it does. Y/N’s braver than you could ever dream of being. Do you know what it’s like to come face to face with a Griever? The fact that she’s not dead should tell you something about how tough she is. And yes, this does concern me, because she’s my girlfriend.”

Silence falls around the Bonfire at Thomas’ words. He glances over at you now, realizing what he’s said. “Surprise.” You laugh in spite of yourself. “Well, it was going to come out eventually.” You reach over, slinging your arm around his shoulder. “Come on, let’s let Alby deal with this slinthead. We’ve got better things to do.” Thomas allows himself a grin, moving away with you. “That we do.”

maze runner tag list: secret bestie @underc0vercryptid​, @ellobruv​

[citydreamgrls]

yes, captain

fred weasley x fem!reader

words: 2,675

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on ‘a christmas treat’ it’s been crazy how many of you enjoyed it <333

warnings: smut , 18+ 

“What do you mean he’s sick?” The twins cried out in unison. I had heard voices before I’d reached the common room, but seeing them shocked wasn’t what I had been expecting. In fact it was a rarity to see them surprised at all.

“What’s up?” I asked them both, just as Lee was leaving. George had his head in his hands and Fred’s lip was blatantly chewed up.

“Wood’s sick, he’s off for 2 weeks.” He explained.

“Oh shit, that’s not good. So does that mean you two ar-”

“Co-captains.” They groaned in unison, used to having people follow them but not usually having to be in charge of anyone.

I put my arms around Fred, who was still in his quidditch uniform from practice, and gave him a much needed hug.

“You guys will be great, I’m sure of it.” I promised the twins, letting them clean up before dinner.

-

“So… how does it feel to have a boyfriend who’s the quidditch captain.” Hermione teased me, finding this to be more interesting than her book of all things.

“Fred’s co-captain, remember, and besides they only found out today.”

Harry came and sat in front of us with Ron as his side, who was more bothered by his food than his older brothers.

“I think they’ll be great captains,” Harry said, excited to have the troublemakers taking charge.

“Well of course you’d say that,” Hermione scoffed, opening her book again.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Ron looked up, clearing his throat as though to speak but the girl beside me cut him off before he had the chance.

“Harry’s the team’s seeker, he just has to do his job. That’s easy. It’s the chasers that cause trouble, they’re always squabbling over who goes where and how many goals each of them scores.”

“Yeah, what Hermione said.” Ron rolled his eyes and carried on eating.

“Guess we’ll see tomorrow afternoon eh?” Harry sighed.

“Do you think you guys will be ready for the match against Ravenclaw?” I asked.

“Hard to tell, we’ve got some time… but we’re out of a keeper now Wood’s off sick.” He huffed.

Just on cue both Fred and George turned up, looking as confident as ever as people congratulated them on their temporary promotion. Fred sat down beside me, giving me a kiss quickly before any of the others could complain.

“Ron, we need you to be our keeper.” George told his younger brother without hesitating.

Poor boy almost choked on a mouthful of potato when he realised what the twin had told him. Harry had to slap his back to get him to look alive again, making Hermione giggle from behind her book.

“Me!”

“Yes you, come to practice tomorrow and we’ll see if you’re any good.” Fred added, giving my hand a squeeze under the table.

-

“So I guess this means you’ll be too busy with captain duties,” I teased Fred as he tried to write an essay on the common room sofa.

“Oh yes, too busy for girlfriends. Especially when I have so many.”

I rolled my eyes and mindlessly played with his long hair.

“You don’t have the energy for too many girlfriends, me and George are enough for you.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He closed his potions book with a sigh and threw it to his feet, finally able to relax a little bit and lay with his head in my lap.

“Are you nervous Fred?”

“About what?”

“About being captain silly, you do have a practice tomorrow remember?”

“Oh no it slipped my mind, because I really have so much more going on right now.” He huffed sarcastically.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” I laughed and he nodded sheepishly. “It’ll be fine, I said I’d help Ginny with some homework tomorrow though so I can’t come and watch.”

“That’s actually a bit of a relief, I’d hate to embarrass myself in front of you.” Fred sighed.

“You’re the most confident person I know, not to mention the goofiest. When have you ever been worried about embarrassing yourself?” I pointed out, and he couldn’t help but agree.

-

The next day, after practice, the team filed into the common room kinda quietly. Making both Hermione and I frown at their sudden gloomy nature.

Fred and George were last and stopped at the two of us leaning up at them on the sofa.

“How was it?” I asked, still hopeful.

“Pretty bad,” George grunted before kicking off his boots and flopping into an armchair.

“Two of the chasers got into a fight and targeted each other any time we tried to play, it was useless!” Fred exclaimed as I played with his quidditch robes.

“Told you so.” Hermione hissed, but I just ignored her.

“They’re bound to be a bit unruly, it’s probably because they’re used to Wood.” I tried to reason with them, but neither twin seemed convinced by my theory. “It’ll get better.” I whispered to Fred.

-

It could’ve been possible that I cursed it, because things seemed to spiral from then on. Ron had doubts about being a keeper, Harry was always turning up to practices late and leaving early. The chasers refused to talk to one another, and things just took a turn for the worse when the twins started to argue over how to fix things.

It was 3 days before the match and the team was more divided than ever before. Making Fred feel responsible for the downfall.

“It was two weeks, that was it. And I couldn’t even control things for one day!” He complained aloud as I sat on his bed, hoping he would chill out a bit. I opened my arms, letting him crawl into them as if he was a child.

“I’m helpless y/n.” He huffed.

“No you’re not.” George walked in, saw his brother and immediately went to walk back out. They had been avoiding each other ever since their argument, and it was time for things to go back to normal.

“Oi stop right there.” Both boys froze as I spoke, I moved Fred off me and stood up. Not that it was intimidating to either of them, but it was worth a try. “You two need to forget whatever you were mad about and forgive each other, because nothing’s gonna go right if neither of you can agree.” I stated, their heads hung in the realisation that what I was saying was right.

“If we did things my way we could actually win.” Fred grumbled from his bed.

“I don’t care,” George seemed caught off guard that I wouldn’t immediately take my boyfriend’s side. “If you did win, it wouldn’t feel as good than if you did it together.”

“She’s right.” The boy by the door finally spoke up, holding a hand out to his brother. Fred shook it with an awkward smile. “Sorry Georgie.”

“Now. let’s figure out what to do with this team.” I sighed.

-

After a whole night of negotiating, Fred and George settled on a game plan and went to the last practice with hope in their hearts. Hermione  and y/n watched them fly about from the stands, unable to hear the boys talk, but unable to spot any problems as they played through the upcoming match.

Once it was over Fred came straight over to y/n. He was grinning wider than she’d seen all month.

“Better?” She laughed.

“So much better.”

-

“I like seeing you happy,” The girl told her boyfriend later that night, promising not to keep him up too late. They needed to be awake early of course. Her and Fred were standing at the top of the astronomy tower looking over the grounds as the sun went down.

“Thank you for helping us,” He whispered. He loomed behind her and rested his arms on the balcony in front of her, caging her in.

“Yeah well you owe me, big time.”

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll get a reward.” He smirked, making a chill run down her spine.

They’d had sex before, plenty of times, and many after winning games. But something more rested on this game, if he won there would be an even bigger feeling of achievement for the boy. Who was usually quite happy to take sidelines as one of the two beaters in the team. Now, he was a captain and it would look good if he won.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked y/n.

“I shouldn’t distract you, rest is the only thing you need Fred.”

“It’s not what I want though,” She felt his body press up against her and she wondered whether getting fucked by him up there would be all that bad. However, she decided to wait, knowing it would be even better after they won.

“Fred. I’ll see you in the morning okay?” y/n smiled and slipped out from under his trap, giving his cheek a kiss and running off.

“Oi, that’s not a proper goodnight. Come back here!” He called out with laughter, a chase beginning on the twisting steps back down to the castle.

-

Hermione always claimed she couldn’t care less about quidditch, but as soon as she saw Ron as Gryffindor’s keeper she suddenly became yet another teenage girl screaming his name in support. Y/n laughed, seeing her friend switch up so quickly.

Then again, her voice always went hoarse after cheering on Fred and George so violently it sometimes felt like she’d never talk again. But she would never do it differently. Seeing the twins in their captain’s robes made her heart swell with pride, especially when Fred flew past their stand to give her a wink like he did before every game. It was practically tradition by this point.

“Go Fred!!!!” She screamed as he swung his bat around, sending bludgers flying through the air and towards Ravenclaw’s chasers. One of them almost fell to the ground trying to dodge it, and in turn losing possession of the quaffle to the Gryffindor chasers who had finally learnt to work together. They flew in formation, passing the ball between one another to throw off the other team. Then as one of them went to score, the other two held off opposing beaters so they could score.

To Hermione’s joy; Ron was amazing. He barely let a single goal in, kicking them off and thwacking them away with his broom. After a while he began to show off, but no one minded because he still managed to defend the goal.

Fred and George were working their asses off trying to hit off bludgers, not stopping for a single second to notice what else was going on. Y/n could watch her boyfriend work like that all day, his face laced with determination and joy whenever he hit one off successfully. Even more so whenever they scored another goal. Ravenclaw had never had a chance against them.

The match ended as always, with Harry just about catching the snitch before the other team’s seeker got there. He flew down to find the team hugging one another in joy, the rest of Gryffindor house racing from the stands to join the celebration. It wasn’t long before Fred and George were carried back to the common room, their names being chanted like gods.

Y/n caught a flash of her boyfriend’s red hair disappearing into the crowd as her and Hermione followed the flow of people into the castle.

-

“There you are!” Fred had called, finally finding y/n amongst the people partying later that night. “Thought you’d sacked me off.”

“As if, you’re the winning captain now I’m basically a celebrity by default!” She joked, taking the drink from his hand and sipping it hesitantly.

“Oi, what was that for?” He complained.

“I don’t trust my own drinks round you and George.”

“You’ve learnt then,”

“Yep, the hard way.” He smirked at my words and pulled me aside to talk quietly.

“Speaking of hard things, I’m on an absolute power high and really need you.” He said, never one to beat around the bush, well they’d done it once in a bush.

“Give me 10 minutes,” she told him.

“I’ll be waiting in the secret hallway, near potions?” y/n nodded and Fred disappeared off to wait for her, hoping no one would stop him on his way there.

Y/n went up to her dorm room, quickly knocking back a few shots before fixing her makeup and making her hair look less flat. Hermione saw her sneak through the common room and sent her a wink, making the girl blush as she slipped out into the main castle.

It was a Saturday night, and everyone would be gathered in their common rooms by now if there wasn’t already a party going on, so the castle was quiet as she walked through it. Footsteps sounded from somewhere in front of her. The girl slipped inside the transfiguration class, keeping the door just ajar to see filch walk past. Seconds past before she ran back out and straight to the secret passageway her and Fred had discovered a few months prior.

“Fred?” She called out quietly, not able to see him yet. He came out of the shadows with a smirk on his face and rested on the cold stone wall.

“Hello beautiful.” He said, as she took no time to jump on him. Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist, immediately enthralled in his kiss and the slight taste of licorice that seemed to constantly linger on his tongue.

“It’s been so- so hard not to just come f-fuck you right away,” She moaned admittedly between breaths, struggling to speak over the sheer lust coursing through her body.

Fred’s hands played across her neck, rough as always from the cold air, and travelled across her body. He didn’t dare waste time taking off clothes, and grabbed her waist to push her away. She gasped at the sudden lack of touch, but obeyed his every move as the boy laid himself down on the cold steps. Y/n knew what to do. Fred pulled out his cock as she took off her panties from beneath her skirt. She straddled his lap, letting him slip inside her.

In that moment, as their heads were involuntarily thrown back, both groaned out with immense pleasure. Y/n knew how cocky Fred would get after a quidditch win, this position being their own kind of celebration. But there was something different about the boy this time.

He was pounding harder, and deeper, and encouraging the girl’s sweet moans every time one slipped from between her beautiful lips. She could feel his grip, tighter than ever, leaving little finger sized bruises on her hips as she rocked back and forth.

The sheer size of his cock inside her made y/n tense up, Fred having no choice but to speed up.

She screamed, suddenly very appreciative of the passageways seclusion, her chest heaving as the girl had to take a second to adjust to the growing desire in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re close aren’t you?” Fred laughed, revelling in how good he was making her feel. Y/n could only nod in response, her lip tight in her teeth. The boy laughed again, but she could never feel nervous around him.

A hand came up to her neck, she felt it first before she saw it. He clenched the sides with his long fingers as y/n gasped out. He watched her moan lightly, almost begging incoherently as he got her closer and closer.

One last push with his hand made the girl scream, her pussy tighter than he’d ever felt it before. The boy struggled to hold back much longer, pushing her off so he could cum.

“Fuck,” Fred groaned.

“Please, promise me one thing.” Y/n asked, making her boyfriend frown.

“What?”

“Never let anyone else be captain again,” She gasped, still worn out from how ruthless he’d been with her.

[realcube]

CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY 

characters ♡ bokuto, tendō, matsukawa & suna

tw ♡ gn! reader, timeskip! bokuto (all sfw tho), swearing, reader wears makeup (matsukawa), swearing, mentions of death & food 

cred ♡ thanks to anon for this request <3

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ he was literally counting down the days to your birthday, he even took the day off practise to celebrate it with you so imagine his surprise when the special day finally rolls around and he wakes up to an empty bed

♡ at first, he thought that perhaps you were just around the house somewhere but nope, the place was completely empty and even worse, all signs pointed to his theory that you had gone to work/school on your birthday 

♡ outraged. he was absolutely outraged. 

♡ firstly, he tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up, even after his many attempts so his next resort to call your place of work/school reception 

♡ obviously he managed to get a hold of you then-

♡ he was originally gonna yell about how you lied to him about taking the day off on your birthday but there was no way he could be angry at you — almost ever — so instead, he made the quick decision of telling you to have a nice day before hanging up 

♡ you were kinda pissed that he wasted your time like that but how could you stay mad at him? he’s fkn adorable! he blew you audible kisses over the phone for good luck!

♡ you laboured your way through the day, putting in great effort yet through it all, the only thing on your mind was how much you wanted to just pass out on the couch with bokuto as soon as you got home. you weren’t even sure if you had the energy to change into your pjyamas.

♡ however, when you finally did arrive home, there was no need to put yourself through the onerous task of changing clothes as the first thing you were greeted by when you stepped foot in your own home was a chorus of cheers of ‘surprise!’ followed by people spilling out into the foyer from the kitchen and living room 

♡ then there was bokuto, the loudest of them all leading the crowd, blowing into the party horn while dashing up to, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight hug, ‘happy birthday, sweetie!’

♡ a light gasp escaped your lips at the sudden hoots, and the unfamiliar — and frankly uncomfortable — sight of many friends swarm towards you had you on edge but when you felt bokuto wrap you in his warm embrace, you knew you were home

♡ he held you close until you were forced apart by many guests tearing you away to personally wish you a happy birthday

♡ now that the initial shock had died down, you noticed that there wasn’t as many people present as you thought, it was a humble gathering of all your closest friends 

♡ there was a massive pile of bright-colored gifts lying on the stairs, and it was hard not to immediately acknowledge them as the sheer mass and number of the presents scattered across the steps prevented anyone from being able to go upstairs

♡ the following day, you were made aware of the fact 90% of those presents were addressed from ‘your best ace husband ;)’ which was pretty straight-forward considering you only have one husband; kiyoomi sakusa. 

♡ jokes, you married bokuto but sakusa was also at the party. he originally just wanted to drop off his gift then leave but bokuto persuaded him to stay, though he seemed to be regretting it now as almost everyone at the party now shared an unspoken goal to slam sakusa’s face into one of the cupcakes that decorated the circumference of your cake

♡ speaking of the cake, bokuto remembered what type of cake was your favorite from the wedding planning and he was so chuffed with himself. in fact, he was so confident in his cake picking ability that he ordered a massive 3-tier monster of a dessert 

♡ neither of you would be able to finish it before it goes bad so you ended up cutting it up into pieces  and sending each guest away with a little goody-bag with a slice of cake inside lmao 

♡ once you had finished your goodbyes and everyone had filed out of your home, you flopped onto the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. well, it was only a sigh for a few moment as it became a wheeze when bokuto laid down on top of you 

♡ ‘happy birthday, (y/n). i’m sorry if i tired you out.’ he hummed, fiddling with your fingers as his lips curled into a shaky smile

♡ ‘i’m a bit sleepy but i had an amazing time. thank you so much, kō.’

♡ bokuto smiled, his heavy lid falling shut as he finally rested his neck, being able to fall asleep comfortably now that you’ve told him that you had fun

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ unlike bokuto, he’ll actually mention your birthday a few weeks prior to the celebration so he can plan the perfect date :3

♡ ‘so do you wanna go to the aquarium or the theme park? because i know we’ve went to the park before but they remodelled it apparently. plus, maybe the aquarium is a bit underwhelming for such a special day, but it’s up to yo--’

♡ ‘we won’t really get to spend much time in either. if you consider the time school finishes, the train ride and the time the aquarium and park closes so maybe we could just chill at my house instead.’

♡ tendō deadpanned for a moment, the most unamused look taking over his features until he suddenly burst out laughing, cackling as if you just told the joke of the century, ‘seriously, (y/n)? you’re gonna go to school on your birthday.’

♡ ‘yes, of course.’ you replied in all seriousness, resulting in tendō awkwardly beginning to stifle his chuckles.

♡ he frowned, slumping back into the seat beside you, ‘c’mon, it’s your birthday, though! you deserve the day off.’

♡ you shook your head, kindly declining his suggestion, ‘i have a test on that day.’

♡ ‘all the more reason to ditch!’

♡ now it was your turn to deadpan

♡ tendō tossed his head back while letting out a sigh  of defeat, draping his arm around your shoulder to lovingly pull you to his chest, ‘alright, then. whatever you want, dear.’

♡ you smiled, glad that you didn’t need to disagree with him any longer — and you were even happier on the day. even though you insisted that he keeps things small on your birthday, he still managed to find a way to make things extra asf by getting you a massive plush that was about half the size of your stature and a hamper of homemade chocolates ><

ISSEI MATSUKAWA 

♡ honestly, he’s never been the best at giving gifts but he tries extra hard for you 

♡ like if you off-handedly say that you are cold during class, he’ll buy you a bunch of new jackets, jumpers and gloves

♡ or if you say you need more mascara, he’ll buy you exact same one you usually wear 

♡ he’s observant enough to notice and remember the exact shade and brands of all your cosmetic products but he’s not observant enough to pick up on the subtle hints you drop as to what you want for your birthday 

♡ you can never guess what he’s gonna get you and that adds to your anticipation for the day 

♡ if your birthday is on a school day, he’ll bring in a batch of homemade cupcakes (which hanamaki helped him with) and stick a candle in one of them for you to blow out 

♡ he offers you one but they are all pretty stale- just smile and nod while your teeth feel like they are being shattered trying to bite down on the cupcake 

♡ it might set off the fire alarm but oh well, just count that as another present

♡ oikawa will probably get you something like a bouquet and try flirt with you so at that point, matsukawa and hanamaki begin using the cupcakes as weapons 

♡ they are a two for one deal so you’re going to be spending the day with both of them tailing you like lost puppies

platonic RINTARŌ SUNA

♡ (requester specified) your birthday is on the same day as his so ofc he’s going to be a little salty abt it 

♡ you both created a game to see who receives the most birthday wishes and whoever won gets ¥1500 from the loser’s birthday money

♡ for the past few years, he’s usually been the winner by just a few but this year, you made it a point to befriend all him teammates in order to ensure victory 

♡ having to pretend to be friendly with atsumu — who wasn’t very good at hiding his massive crush —was definitely a challenge but you powered through 

♡ in fact, you may have played the role too well as both the miya twins gave you a gift 

♡ osamu gave both you and suna a plastic bag filled with some food he made and water bottles

♡ as for atsumu, his gift to you was a massive hamper filled with an assortment of many different luxury confectionary which didn’t look cheap at all but it didn’t feel appropriate to question the price so you simply took it from him with a bright smile

♡ of course, suna was excited (and very hungry) as he expected the same gift but he was more than disappointed when all he received was a bag of chips and a slap on the back

♡ he goes out of his way to tell every teacher it’s your birthday in hopes that they’ll make the class sing happy birthday to you 

♡ but it pisses him off to no end when you add that it’s his birthday too so he ends up getting roped into your misery 

♡ also your thumbs are going to be sore at night swiping through all the various candid pics that suna took of you throughout the day (in less than flattering poses) which he uplaoded to almost all of his social media stories with stupid ass captions 

♡ but dw bc he’ll eventually post a nice photo of you with a sweet message

♡ ‘happy birthday to @(y/n) . i would die for you, bitch (even though you annoy the hell out of me every single day 🤠).’ 

[ddarker-dreams]

Aspiration. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part 2! 

Watching others has always been a hobby of yours.

There’s a lot to be learned from observing and watching how people behave and interact. Whether it be for your own simple amusement, or for the sake of gathering information. While some may find it creepy to keep such a keen eye out for others, you don’t look at it that way. Understanding human nature has an endless list of advantages, after all. 

It started as a small side project. When you’d stumble across information on the Phantom Troupe online that wasn’t at a ridiculous price, you found yourself looking more into them. Possible members, possible motivations, surface level stuff. The more you looked into the more you descended into a minor obsession. Questions plagued your mind about their goals, the theories you found too shallow for your taste. 

Through carefully studying their past hits, you came to the conclusion there were no patterns to be found. Nailing down the next possible heist felt like searching for a needle in a haystack, a part of you losing hope at the prospect of ever being in the same area as them. 

So you busied yourself in other ways. From digging through hours of forums and pricey information, you pieced together the most possible members. While they’re all unique in their own right, the apple of your eye has always been their mysterious leader. There have been no solid leads on his real name, much to your chagrin. 

But the leaked autopsies from what’s assumed to be his victims are fascinating. The cause of death was always different! For most nen users who kill, the method of death was typically similar with minor discrepancies. But for whoever this leader was, it almost felt like he had an unlimited amount of abilities. Was that even possible? 

The morality of his actions had never been a strong concern of yours. Wanting nothing more than an opportunity to learn more about him, you brainstormed all you could on how to gain any form of contact. That’s when you got the idea of posting information online yourself, but not about the Troupe. 

From guessing where they might strike next, you posted on hunter websites about information that they might find helpful. Important figures to expect at the events, bodyguard’s abilities that had been confirmed from previous employers. Whether or not the Troupe actually looked and used the information is a mystery, but the prospect of assisting them felt… thrilling. Like you were almost a part of them yourself. 

That leads you to where you are now. A mini road trip of sorts, your last exit approaching fast. 

The Troupe’s realm of possibilities stretched throughout the entire globe, but never close enough where you could investigate in person. But that all changed when rumors of some of the strongest hunters being hired popped up, for a museum exhibit that would be opening tonight. In your city, nonetheless! 

Securing an invitation to the event was a tedious matter, but the possible payoff was enough to keep you motivated. Though being in attendance for too long could be risky if they do actually strike, running surveillance throughout the area would be easier without having to sneak around bouncers. 

Checking your glove department, you find a blurry photo that serves as your hope. It had been posted on a hunter information website earlier today, a credible one at that. Even if obtaining it cost you a pretty jenny, you didn’t think much of it. In the image is what’s believed to be one of the members. A girl wearing a dark turtleneck with equally dark, short hair. 

Having driven around the back of the museum, you lean back into your chair. Stretching your aching muscles, you see why this area is such a hot spot. While the actual exhibit itself didn’t interest you much, it’s evident a lot of effort went into preparing this event. Limousines had lined the entrance, important individuals emerging in expensive outfits; waiting to be escorted inside. 

It’s quieter back here though, with no flashing cameras and chatty socialites. The silence gives you the opportunity to think through your plan once more.

‘I shouldn’t go in unless one of the bodyguards gets suspicious at my loitering. If I’m lucky, maybe, just maybe… I’ll see the Troupe tonight. And their mysterious leader.’ 

Rolling down your windows, you keep a sharp eye on your surroundings. Boredom never gets the opportunity to set in, your own rapidly beating heart never once slowing down. Having flung yourself into a possible lion’s den, the last thing you need to do is relax your concentration; it could be the death of you.

The exhibit opens at 8:00, and it’s currently 7:30. 

The exhaustion from the day starts to weigh on you against your will. All the preparation and anxiety leads to your eyelids feeling heavy, leading you to lightly slap your face. The last thing you need to do is loosen your concentration. That’s when you suddenly feel a strange sensation. 

Perking up almost immediately, your rapidly eyes dart around for the source of this ominous feeling. Only to find nothing out of the ordinary, your car is the only one in this parking lot. Checking your mirrors again, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be dark fabric. 

‘Am I just imagining things?’ 

As far as you see, you have a finite amount of options ahead of you. One, to ignore whatever it is you just saw. Two, to drive off as fast as you can. Three, activating your En to see if anyone is in your immediate area. Staying without doing anything doesn’t feel wise in the slightest, and driving away wouldn’t matter if it is indeed the Phantom Troupe. They’ll catch up to you before you can set any solid distance. 

That leaves using your En. 

It’s risky, but everything about this trip is. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you close your eyes. Activating your En, you feel nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe everything is getting to you after all? It is late, after all. There’s always the possibility that they’re out of your range, but if you were able to see it in your mirror they couldn’t have been that far away.

“So you are a nen user after all?” An unknown voice breaks any semblance of peace you have, scurrying your mind into action. 

Snapping your head to your left, your eyes widen at the sight of a stranger. Not bothering to take a second look, you immediately react by going to start your car. Before you get the opportunity, your car door is pried off by them with ease; their presence threatening. Hands twitching over your keys, you realize they’re faster than you are.

“There’s no need to be hasty,” A deep voice says next to you. “Move back, slowly. What happens to you all depends on your next actions.” 

All you can hear is a mantra of cursing within your own mind. Leaning back as you were told, you hesitantly look to see who your possible assailant is. Much to your surprise, it looks to be a young man around your own age. Wearing a long, leather coat with fur; raven black hair slicked back. 

‘Could this really be…?’

Given the tense situation, this individual doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. Is this the confidence a Troupe member normally exudes, if that’s who this is? You can’t help but feel a sense of admiration, that would undoubtedly be stronger if not for the dire circumstance. 

He helps himself to your glove department, rummaging through your insurance information. 

“Ah, your name is [First] then?” he inquires, finally breaking some of the tension in the air. 

It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t humor him with a proper response. He studies your defensive position with analytical eyes, taking in as much information about you as you are about him. You get the feeling that in comparison to him, you’re more of an open book. 

“Do you want my wallet too?” you can’t help but inquire with sarcasm, almost immediately regretting it as his eyes widen. Why you can’t ever keep your mouth shut is beyond you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“This gives me all I need to know for the time being,” he states with minor indifference, waving your insurance paper with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.” 

Humming in response to his words, you can’t help but throw in another cheap quip. “Something tells me you’re not a police officer.” 

He laughs in good humor at your biting words. “Well, you’d be correct.” 

Before you’re given the opportunity to ask who this person is, he speaks as if he knew what you were intending to ask. 

“I’m surprised you don’t know who I am, [First]. Seeing as you’ve dedicated so much time into researching me.” With this, he places the paper back into the glove compartment with a click. Giving you his full attention, you feel like every aspect of you is being scrutinized. It takes all your will power to hold eye contact, his dark eyes unlike anything you’ve even seen before.

Mouth agape, you speak without thinking. “I take it my VPNs weren’t good enough then.”

Another chuckle leaves his lips at your comment. 

“At first they were. Shalnark had difficulty finding out your identity for a while, but everything can always be traced back to its source,” he leans closer to you, tilting his head. “You’ve been an enigma to me to say the least.” 

“I feel like I should be saying that, not you.” you mumble breathlessly, the reality of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. This is either the worst prank in existence, or you’re actually speaking face to face with a member of the Phantom Troupe. While them tracking you down was always an unfortunate possibility in the back of your mind, you never paid much attention to it. 

“You’re free to say what you like. I don’t have any intention of killing you… unless you try something stupid,” he explains to you, straightening his posture. “But you haven’t given me reason to believe you’d do that.” 

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, your attention turning from him to the fists in your lap. Everything in your body is screaming to run, to do something, but you know it’ll be for naught. While he said he wouldn’t kill you, it’s not nearly enough to comfort you. There are fates worse than death, after all. 

“Don’t you have a crown to steal or something? Why waste time with me if you’re not going to kill me?” 

He blinks at your question, before amusing you with an answer. “I’ll get to that later. I’m more interested in seeing what you’re going to do, if I’m being honest.” 

“What I’m going to do…?” you repeat his words back aloud, hoping it’ll help you process the information better.

Knitting your eyebrows together, your mind races to make sense of the implications in his words. This must be how jesters used to feel back in the day, you surmise. Is he expecting you to do something entertaining? Well, given as there’s a solid chance you’re going to be dead in five minutes, why not.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Since I’m likely dying soon, why not tell me your name? It’d be cool to know that much in the afterlife.” 

He considers your words, before responding. “Didn’t I say that as long as you don’t act foolishly I don’t intend on killing you?” 

“I figured talking this much to a Phantom Troupe member counted towards my ‘acting foolishly’ points.” 

“Maybe it does, yes. And to answer your previous question, but my name is Chrollo.” 

The name is one you’ve never heard before. Despite only having met Chrollo a few minutes prior to now, you feel that his foreign name suits him well. Practicing the pronunciation on your tongue in a low tone, you feel a sense of pride at having uncovered this newfound information. It’s more than anyone else has learned.

Chrollo looks down at his watch briefly, before returning his attention back to you. It’s uneasy being incapable of hiding your feelings as well as he does, but you still try your best. Straightening your posture, you try to think of what to say next. This situation is one you never expected to be in. If you had known this would’ve happened, you would’ve prepared some questions at least…

He’s toying with you, you know that much. But it doesn’t seem to have any malicious intent behind it. Rather, a genuine intrigue towards your motives. It could just be hopeful thinking, but you feel like Chrollo wants something from you. Though you’re unsure what. 

“Since I shared my name with you, I believe it’s only fair if I asked you a question of my own,” Chrollo insists, your heart racing for whatever comes next. “Why is it you spend so much time assisting the Spider?” 

You blink. It’s actually a question that you’ve seen before in responses to your posts. People wondering if you were just messing with others by spreading false information, or if you’re an undercover hunter trying to fool the Troupe or something. The question never really sat right with you, since you couldn’t give a good answer to it yourself.

But now that you have a captive audience, you need to think of a coherent response. Vocalizing feelings that you don’t even understand yourself, while under pressure, is certainly anxiety inducing.

Placing a finger to your chin, you articulate your response to the best of your abilities. “I don’t think I have a solid reason. I just found you guys interesting, in a way. No one really knows your motivations, for example. It just adds this mystery element.” 

Chrollo takes in your answer with a slight frown, seemingly not expecting such an unsure response. Since you have no reason to lie at this point, you assume he doesn’t think you’re being untruthful. He’ll undoubtedly call you out on it if he thought you were being dishonest.

“And what do you think our motivations are?” Chrollo continues to press, not settling until you give a satisfactory response.

‘He really isn’t letting me off the hook easily, is he?’

“Well, that’s always been a hot topic. Typically people guess that you do it to spite the rich, or to assert power. I even read one theory that you guys were under a curse and the only way to be free is to steal rare items for the person who cursed you! Weird stuff.” you let out a shaky ramble, scratching your neck with an airy laugh.

“Is that what you believe then?” 

“Not really,” comes your response with a dismissive wave. “I could be wrong, but… I’ve always thought that there isn’t a special motivation. That you do what you want, only for the sake of doing it. There doesn’t always need to be a solid reason for a person’s actions. Sometimes… people just do things.” 

Much to your surprise, Chrollo’s interest remains on you despite your long-winded rant. Why your opinion means anything in the slightest to him is still beyond you, but he seems to be taking in every word seriously.

“For the sake of doing it, huh…?” Chrollo repeats your words back to you, considering them himself. Whatever you said must've struck a chord, as he appears in deep thought by your side. A few moments of tense silence go by, causing you to frown. 

‘Hopefully I didn’t upset him. I didn’t think I said anything that bad, though.’

“You may be right,” Chrollo breaks the brief silence, causing you to jump. “You’re a very strange person, [First].” 

“S-strange? I don’t think you have room to talk,” you blurt out before you can think twice, Chrollo smiling in good nature at your curt response. “I guess you’re kinda right though. Any normal person wouldn’t have been in this situation. I think.” 

“Anyways… since we’re doing some question give and take here, I have some of my own. If that’s okay with you.” 

Amusement flickers in his eyes at your unabashed interest. “Do your worst.” 

“So, there’s always been rumors of one member that I’ve found to be the most intriguing. I’ve seen the most speculation that it’s the leader of the Troupe, but of course no one really knows for sure.” you begin to ponder aloud, Chrollo letting out a soft chuckle at the word leader. 

“Basically, the cause of death is almost always different! I’ve heard of people having a few different types of Hatsu, but never more than two or three. It’s almost like his nen is having unlimited nen abilities? I don’t know, it’s just really fascinating. That’s the only reason that could explain it.” 

“Anyways, you’re probably not too keen on sharing Troupe abilities with a stranger. But like… blink twice if I’m right. Throw me a bone here.” 

Throughout your entire explanation, you paid extra attention to picking up body language. Just anything to see if Chrollo would subconsciously give a hint or two towards your theory being correct. But his ability to control himself is unparalleled. He only looks highly entertained at everything you say. 

“You’re almost right,” Chrollo confirms, making your eyes widen in surprise. “I would know. I’m the boss of the Troupe, after all.” 

His last sentence repeats like a mantra in your mind, your jaw loosening as you realize the full impact of them. 

Not only are you speaking to a member of the Phantom Troupe, but you’re speaking to their leader? This definitely wasn’t what you were expecting when you woke up today. Had you have known you were speaking to the leader, you may have been more polite. 

‘Oh god I’m so fucked.’

“Okay, uh, Mr. Chrollo. Sir. I now just realized I’m definitely gonna be disposed of. So. I have a business proposition. I have a pet cat at home, and if I die, he’s gonna starve. If it’s not too much trouble, can you set him up with like a meal service or something? Here, let me get my venmo…” 

“I’m still not planning on killing you,” Chrollo refutes with a shake of his head at your insistence on the matter. “Though I suppose it’s understandable why you would be worried about that.” 

“So torture it is then?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind.” 

“Oh…” 

Pursing your lips, you lean back into your seat with a deep sigh. This entire ordeal has been the most stressful time of your life, if not the most notable. The sides of your head feel like they’re pushing against your brain, a massive headache on the way. Sliding down in your seat, your eyes flicker to the time. 

7:43.

‘It’s felt like hours! Only thirteen minutes, huh? I guess time doesn’t fly when you’re speaking to a murderer.’ 

“I do believe it’s my turn to ask you a question now.” Chrollo states, leaning back into the passenger’s seat as if it were his own car. The way he speaks commands such respect, you wonder if it would be impossible for anyone to refute him. You certainly weren’t going to test your luck.

At your lack of rebuttal, he continues. “Why go through all this trouble if not for money? Or prestige?” 

‘Why is he so intent on giving me a midlife crisis?’

“If I had wanted money I would’ve posted detrimental information about you guys,” you respond with an unnatural ease. “But most of the people who do that end up dying. And prestige? Who cares what a bunch of strangers think about me. It’s not gonna do me any good at the end of the day.”

Shaking your head at the thought, you continue. “No, none of those things matter that much. I only wanted to appease my own curiosity. To learn what others tried, only to succeed where they had failed.”

Chrollo hums in response to your heartfelt words. He takes a moment to consider them himself, before leaning in closer to you. At the sudden, unexpected movement; you can’t help but flinch. 

Instead of causing you any harm, he gently places a strand of stray hair behind your ear. Your face ignites in warmth at the tender gesture, your tongue failing to form any coherent words. His cologne almost dulls your senses, overwhelming presence leaving your eyes wide as saucers.

He looks at you with a knowing smile, before retracting his hand and sitting back in the seat. Your hand shakily touches the same area he did, in wild disbelief. 

‘What just happened? Am I dreaming?’ 

“To be truthful, I’ve known about you for a while before now, [First]. I’d been intending on meeting you at some point. It just so happened that everything fell into place the way it did.” Chrollo informs you, serving only to befuddle your feelings further. 

“You’ve fascinated me in the same way I have you. Observation can serve an important purpose, but I’d longed to pick your brain in person instead. Thank you for indulging me.” 

“I-I really don’t know what to say,” you stutter out in response, swallowing thickly. “I knew spending ten dollars on a VPN wasn’t going be enough.” 

“I would’ve found you regardless.” 

‘Good god what is happening? When did breathing become so difficult?’ 

“Oh... well that’s... good to know I think?” 

Chrollo looks at his watch yet again, and you wonder if it means anything detrimental for you. Realistically speaking he probably needs to rekindle with the rest of his group before performing whatever heist they have planned. 

“It looks like our time together has almost run out,” Chrollo says, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “I hadn’t realize how much time went by.” 

Your hunch now confirmed, you once again go over your options. Should he try to do anything to you, there’s still a chance you could make it to the front of the museum in time to alert the bodyguards. If you’re crafty enough, that is. Whether or not you can think coherently in this state is up in the air, as your eyes flicker momentarily to the door handle. 

Hand twitching, you exhale shakily at the thought of your backup plan. What else is there for you to do? Although you’re afraid to test out who’s faster, since you get the feeling it isn’t you. 

Chrollo shakes his head at your obvious thoughts, reaching forward to lock the doors with a dreadful click. 

‘There goes that idea.’

“Still thinking of how to get away, hm?” he asks in a chiding tone, a blush returning to your cheeks at his words. Chrollo seems capable of reading you without even having to try, as frustrating as that is.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do exactly?” you counter, your words coming out shakier than you had hoped. The underlying sarcasm is still there, even with your waning tone. 

“You could come with me instead.” Chrollo offers, in a way that seems too genuine to make any shred of sense. 

“What?” you choke out, spluttering at the implications of his words. 

“Exactly as I said. I’m interested in you, and you know enough now to be considered dangerous,” Chrollo states as if it were obvious. “I know I phrased it like a question, but it’s not exactly a choice."

“In that case, I can’t really say no can I?” you mumble, grasping your hand to hopefully stop it from shaking. Control of your body had slipped through the cracks, leaving you in a constant state of alertness. 

“You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Chrollo looks at you in a way that shows he’s already won. “Instead, you’ll do this.”

“I already have someone monitoring you here -- so running won’t do you any good. Sit here and wait for me to come back. You can do that, can’t you?” 

Biting your lip, all you can do is nod your head. It’s better than dying, you figure. 

Chrollo seems content enough with your obedience, sliding over to leave the same way he had came in. Before he leaves you to your own thoughts, he offers a final quip.

“We’ll have a lot more discuss while we travel together, [First].”

[crybabykiko]

hi honeyyy can i have nsfw a-z alphabet for tsukishima please 👉👈? thank you 💞

I’ve had this in my inbox for like a month I am SORRY.

*deep inhale* TSUKKI FUCKERS RUN IN HERE AND GET Y’ALL JUICE

NSFW Alphabet: Tsukishima Kei

Gn!reader focused

Nsfw under the cut but you knew that...

𝕬 - 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊

I actually feel like he’s not too big on this part. He will 100% do what he needs to make you feel comfortable if he’s been particularly hard on you, but he will do the bare minimum, simply because he’s not the best at being very soft. It’s just not him. I feel like he actually would prefer to be alone and recollect himself rather than cuddle and do pillow talk. That doesn’t mean that he won’t if you need it, he most definitely will because he knows how important it is. Just don’t expect to be babied.

𝕭 - 𝕭𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙

FINGERS FINGERS FINGERS I WILL NOT STOP SCREAMING ABOUT THEM! They’re long and slender- they always fit perfectly inside or around your neck or in your mouth and just... yes. Yes to his fingers.

For him, it’s all about the eyes. He loves looking at your eyes and the various emotions they convey to him, be it adoration, panic, arousal, devotion… he loves looking directly into your pretty eyes as he takes you.

𝕮 - 𝕮𝖚𝖒

In your mouth. I can’t explain why I’m right but I’m right. I don’t think he’s a fan of mess per-se, but from time to time he will want to cum on your face/chest for a lil ✨humiliation✨. I’m also positive he drinks water so when he tells you to swallow it won’t be radioactive or thick like tar. Good job to him for that. (God the bar is on the mf floor)

𝕯 - 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

You caught him jacking off one time and he actually makes the prettiest noises- he’s usually pretty quiet with you but by himself it’s actually symphonic how desperate he sounds. He doesn’t know you saw him, but now you ONLY think about how his name spilled out of your lips each time you touch yourself too.

𝕰 - 𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊

Has much more experience in theory than in practice. He’s VERY knowledgeable about topics primarily based on his own research. He can implement just about anything to your liking though, which is the real reason he’s a great fuck. He’s adaptable without sacrificing too much of his own pleasure.

𝕱 - 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

This can go one of two ways imo- If he’s feeling lazy, he’ll sit in a chair and have you ride him. If he’s actually putting in work, he’ll hold one of your legs up/back (never both bc it’d probably kill you) or he’ll flip you into doggy, but he’ll make sure you keep your arch as low as possible, so you’re almost parallel to the mattress.

𝕲 - 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖋𝖞

Lmfao no.

𝕳 - 𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖗

He’s very well groomed as well. His hair is darker than his blonde locks, but he prefers keeping it short and neat. Not completely shaven, but trimmed on a schedule tbh. Also never smells like ball sweat.

𝕴 - 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖈𝖞

You would think a super sadist like Tsukishima doesn’t do the romantic gestures, but he does little things like making sure you’re stable and secure when he’s holding you up, or giving some VERY light praise when you take him well- you have to put attention or you’ll miss them.

𝕵 - 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕺𝖋𝖋

Tries his best to act like he doesn’t- but he does fairly often. Probably once a week tbh. He makes sure that he’s completely alone tho, because he’s very vulnerable and loud… also aggressive? It’s just a complete 180 from what he’s like with you and he doesn’t want you to know that. But he whines and whimpers the entire time, cumming in his fist and laying there convulsing.

𝕶 - 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐

Sadism is the overall mf flavor. But we knew that. Let’s delve a little deeper:

Impact Play, yes very much. Likes spanking as a punishment, but will also slap you in the face from time to time, especially if you’re not answering him or being loud enough to his liking.

Temperature Play, prefers using heat over cold, so he would definitely be into wax. Also turns on the heat in your room when you’re fucking like it’s hot yoga or some shit.

Degradation/Humiliation, has you make messes on purpose, just so he can tease you about it later. Calls you mean names the entire time- but they’re peppered with the tiniest praises, he will follow pretty with cockslut, and such. Will ALWAYS refer to you as his “messy little bitch” without fail. It’s his go-to. Also a fan of “fucktoy” and “pathetic cocksleeve”

Auralism, specifically likes when your moans are choked out sobs, or when you work your voice so raw that it gets scratchy and hoarse. Likes to hear you in general, and will always ask you for a response. Also talks you through your orgasms with little things like “that’s it” and “keep cumming”

Dacryphilia, oh god he loves to see you cry. That’s the one thing that can make him cum almost immediately.

He also HATES a bratty sub. Needs someone who is very obedient. Likes to be called Sir.

𝕷 - 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Literally ONLY in private. He’s all about control and knows that he can assert that control in every way possible in the bedroom. And even though he gets off on humiliation, it’s only when he’s the one doing it- proving he owns you without the threat of lingering eyes.

Would be the type to totally soundproof a room in your house tho, if you’re picking up why I’m putting down. Has gotten several “home improvement” project ideas from kinktok.

𝕸 - 𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

His goal is to break you. No matter how many times he’s done it before, he always wants to see that perfectly fucked out glassy sheen coat your eyes as they’re filled to the brim with tears- and complete devotuon and total submission to him.

𝕹 - 𝕹𝕺!

He is never going to submit to you. It’s just not going to happen. Give it up, deelishis.

�� - 𝕺𝖗𝖆𝖑

Is not the biggest fan of going down on you, prefers using his fingers/other toys. But he LOVES facefucking you. Especially if he can make you cry with how much his cock is bruising your throat.

𝕻 - 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖊

It’s mostly even. Mostly. He definitely will edge as a punishment, snapping his hips into you violently, only to stop completely just when your eyes start to roll back. He definitely likes to maintain control of his own orgasm though so he likes to keep a nice even pace if you’re not being a brat.

𝕼 - 𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖊

Wont outright fuck you in public but would use remote controlled toys on you. He prefers taking his time with you, building you up super slowly so that he can knock you the fuck down in an instant.

𝕽 - 𝕽𝖎𝖘𝖐

If you think you can try him, no you can’t. He will shut it down IMMEDIATELY. Again, he’s not one for super public scenes, so he’s good at keeping a poker face whenever you decide to get bold… but you have to be prepared because your punishment is either going to be super harsh or nothing at all- and I honestly can’t tell you which is worse when it comes to him.

𝕾 - 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆

It depends on how he’s feeling. If you’ve been good he’ll get right to the point but if you’ve been disobeying him then be prepared to have your sessions drawn out. He can go on edging you for hours and not feel a single thing. He can still last a relatively long time if he’s actually fucking you as well, a good 45-an hour before he even thinks about cumming. And that’s just thinking about it. He can still go a bit longer after the fact. He won’t cum until you’ve cum at least 2-3 times if he’s being nice.

𝕿 - 𝕿𝖔𝖞

He has a few toys that he likes to use as punishment, primarily small vibrators that he can put inside of you to have you coming undone before he even touches you. When he finally does, you're a wet, whining mess and all he has to say is that you’re pathetic for not being able to even wait for him to touch you.

𝖀 - 𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗

Hates being teased. Don’t even try or think about trying it. Doesn’t necessarily tease you either, at least not TOO much. Will edge you to hell and back though.

𝖁 - 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊

Doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction of hearing how pretty he truly sounds, so a lot of his moans come out as long sighs and deep grunts that he catches in the back of his throat. And that’s only when he’s close.

He does talk a lot though, and is vocal in that sense- you’ll hear a lot of commands from him. You have to ask him for permission to cum, so there’s a lot of call and response when it comes to your sessions.

𝖂 - 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉

He has this fantasy where he’s essentially his partner’s sex toy master and you’re the toy, He would use remote-control vibrators to make you come throughout the day. You don’t get a say in when you come, it’s just whenever he wants. In front of your boss, on the train, when you're trying to go shopping, whenever. It’s equal parts humiliating and sexy for you both, because you can’t stop orgasming. You’re completely at his mercy.

𝖃 - 𝖃-𝕽𝖆𝖞

He’s a good size, a solid 6.5-7 with a decent girth. More of a shower than a grower and actually has a fairly pretty dick. Fair but even in color, suuuuper pretty and pink at the head.

𝖄 - 𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

Even though he’s about exerting complete control, and also the type to never let on that he’s needy, he is. His sex drive is slightly higher than yours... But you’d never know. He’s just that good at 1) covering it up, and 2) flipping the script to always make you seem like cockhungry one... asshole

𝖅 - 𝖅𝖟𝖟

No sleeping. Tbh I feel like he’s one of those people who actually gets a burst of energy after. But he’s not sleeping at all. He’s just gonna go back to his headphones or some quiet activities until you wake up.

Taglist Starseeds (check ur privacy settings if your url is in bold): @super-noya @crushzone @yumekosgamblingroom @boujiesav @onesingleravioli @ushijimasfarmhat @trouvelle @nekoma-hoe @right-shoe-jpg @makemealive @ukaic @nivky0-0 @animoozies @charmarsmith

[aot-snk-4238]

My thoughts on AOT No Requiem (Fanmade Ending) Part 1:

With another chapter of this story coming out soon, I thought now would be a good time to share my thoughts on the first part. Before I do that, though, I have a few things that I would like to get off my chest.

A part of me hates that this project exists. Not because I find it disrespectful, but because it serves as a bitter reminder of what a complete mess this ending caused among many fans. I'm still in disbelief how things got so bad so quickly. First, you've got the people who hated it. People began turning on Isayama and calling him a terrible or incompetent writer, regretting ever getting into the series, insisting that it was worse than Game of Thrones, the list goes on and on. People who liked the ending are now endlessly referred to as "ending defenders" or more crude names like "Isayama cockriders," as though they're a bunch of incompetent fools who don't know the first thing about reading comprehension all because they just happened to like it. And then of course you've got the other extreme end of the spectrum where the ones who were disappointed are accused of not understanding the story or they're only upset because their favorite ship or fan theory didn't become canon. This, too, is very demeaning and invalidating for those who grew up with this series that they gave their heart to and cherished for so long, only to have it do what they felt was a complete 180 at the very last second that undid every part of the story they thought was special and unique. It's one of the hardest slaps to the face you can get as a reader and long-time fan, and while I can't fully relate to everyone's feelings, I can at least understand and acknowledge that it's there and it shouldn't be laughed at. Now with all of that out of the way, here are my thoughts and analysis of this fanmade ending and how it differs from Isayama's.

To start things off, I found that part 1 started off similar to how 137 did in the canon manga, with Armin and Zeke conversing in PATHS. The biggest difference would be kid Eren being transported there and seeing his older self. To be fair though, this chapter was only about half the length of what we're used to reading, so I'm sure we'll get a lot more in part 2 onwards.

While Zeke is enlightening Armin on the history of the earth and how the life form that attached itself to Ymir sought to avoid death forever, young Eren is in PATHS too with his older self, witnessing the moment Ymir found the tree and fell in it to become the first titan. At first, there is no dialogue exchanged between them. They just hold hands and watch. Meanwhile, Zeke is still talking to Armin about Ymir and how she continued to serve her oppressive master despite acquiring godlike powers that would allow her to obliterate him whenever she pleased. This is where the team working on this project attempt to provide their own alternate possibilities as to why this happened in a way that would make more sense than what we were given in the canon story in which she simply had a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome and couldn't let him go no matter how much he made her suffer.

So what are these new possibilities? They come in the form of a question, so their validity is not made absolutely certain, but they're presented as the most likely candidates nonetheless.

According to Zeke, she was unable to separate her own desires from King Fritz and was a lost girl who sought meaning. A place to belong. Tragically, King Fritz was the only connection she had in her life, so she clung to it with everything she had despite it being toxic and abusive. I could argue that these are the very reasons why she supposedly loved the king in the official manga, as explained by Eren in 139, but they weren't explained or touched on as plainly as they were here. I feel like they could have been if Isayama had just been given more time, but sadly the whole thing was rushed and underdeveloped.

Moving on, Zeke states that despite his efforts in trying to understand Ymir and her feelings, it was Eren who ultimately was able to get to her and offer her the choice of freedom. The next page transitions to young Eren standing in the clouds with his arms spread out and a smile on his face just like in the official 137, only this time 19yo Eren is next to him. Now I'm going to be honest here, this is where things started to get a little corny for me. Yeah. I know a lot of people hate that argument, but that's just how it felt to me. And before I say anything else, I want everybody to know that I am in no way about to mock anyone's fondness of this Eren over the one we saw in 139, even if it was a little over-the-top. It's perfectly fine to prefer one over the other, I'm just going to try to explain myself the best I can without coming across as harsh or unprofessional.

Eren is drawn in these panels to be a stone-faced, determined and unstoppable force who will "keep moving forward until his enemies are destroyed." This is the Eren that many people grew most familiar with throughout the series, despite his occasional breakdowns, but something about the way it was executed just felt a little too overdramatic and exaggerated. For me, the contrast between this Eren and the Eren we were presented with in 139 is too jarring. It came across to me as the fandom's idealized version of Eren, the "chad" Eren if you will, rather than Isayama's portrayal of Eren who is cold and determined, but has also been experiencing stunted mental growth ever since the day he saw his mother get eaten; side note: I know that Eren himself was responsible for his mother's death, but that's a discussion for a later time. Not only that, but the "keep moving forward" line starts to get overused at this point. We already heard Eren say this a number of times before 137 where this first fanmade chapter takes place, so I didn't find it necessary to include that at the end, but it seemed to be the writers' way of trying to reinforce Eren's ultimate goal.

Regarding the rest of the chapter, young Eren asks older Eren what Ymir is still waiting for after he showed her that she's not alone. 19yo Eren proceeds to explain that while he was able to make her feel something again, she still needs somebody to free her. He shows his younger self all of the visions from PATHS that he's seen so far, ranging from past events to alternate realities to things that couldn't be changed no matter what. Now there is only one path left that he strives toward. The one that he believes will grant him and his people freedom. This next line is the one that stood out to me the most throughout this fanmade chapter. Still talking to kid Eren, adult Eren says, "When you wake up, you will forget what you learned, but not what you felt here. This will all feel just like a long dream." Only when he kisses Historia's hand will it all come back to him. This line more clearly explains why Eren woke up crying in chapter 1, but couldn't remember why. Then he circles back to how he intends to carry out his own plan to end the cycle of hatred once and for all. Despite his efforts along the way, he couldn't change the flow of PATHS and save the friends he lost or prevent certain events from happening altogether, so he had to accept that sacrifices had to be made. In this case, he will have to literally sacrifice the world, much to Armin's horror.

To wrap this up, I'm going to finish comparing this to the canon 137, but since the first part of this project only covers the PATHS portion of it, that's where I'll stop as well. To save a little but of time, I'm just gonna be lazy and copy the first part of a quick overview of the chapter I found as part of the wiki:

So clearly, canon 137 starts off focusing a lot more on Armin and Zeke's differing philosophies and does not provide any further insight into Eren's ultimate motives like this one does, at least not yet. Armin and Eren are bound to face off soon in this fanmade version, but it looks to me like this time the writers are planning on flipping the outcome and having Eren come out victorious instead, especially when I remember the name of this project and what it's based on. I guess that means that in a way, I already know what's ultimately going to happen throughout the rest of this project. Whether it's going to be considered superior to the actual ending is going to depend on if its executed properly. I could very well be wrong about some of this, though. I want to give it a fair shot since these people have clearly put a lot of hard work and passion into this, so I will refrain from further judgement until we get the full picture. On a side note, I just want to say that the artwork is beautiful so far and I commend every artist responsible for their efforts. I also liked the song choice at the beginning and thought it set the mood pretty well.

Thank you to everyone who read the whole thing. This took me far longer to write than it should have because I'm not always good at expressing myself in a way that does not come across as confusing or contradictory. I will continue to share my thoughts as more content is released, which by the looks of it could be any day now.

[alittlefrenchtree]

Aaaand we're back at it and things are getting serious.

SPOILERS DUNE (Book II : MUAD'DIB, Chapters 10-11)

Chapter 10:

For a unknown reason this,

has become "twenty kilometers" in the french translation. So it's not as big as I thought but it's still quite big.

So the apparent goal of the Fremen is to plant trees (how ironic for a Timmy movie 😁) but they have to do it secretly because... Because with trees there wouldn't be as much spice and people who control Arrakis don't want that? I'm trying to simplify a hypothesis here so I can start caring a bit more about the political plot of Dune. I don't know if it's true.

Did I already wonder if Arrakis was Earth? What is left of it anyway. With all that water deep underground, that could mean something but I haven't really paid attention to details for that theory.

I'm less interested to the first part of the quote, which feels quite common than by the second and the importance it give to individuals. I'm not sure what I think about it yet, but it's interesting. Tell me more, Stilgar.

I'm starting to like this guy.

Ok, I don't know if we didn't talk about this yet or if we did and I already forgot,

but I haven't paid attention to the words used to talk about the prophecy and if it ever mentions a boy or if it's a genderless word every time like child or offspring. I don't remember ever seeing anything about a boy? Because this Bene Gesserit is going to have another kid. And based on how much Star Wars is "inspired" of Dune, do I have to consider that the Chosen One is not the one we expected but someone else from his family? Will Paul go full dark side and is the young sister going to bring balance to the Force? We'll see.

There is something mentioned in this chapter and in the next one that intrigue me a lot:

and this:

I wonder if it's because on something on Arrakis, like the Spice or if someone purposely did something. And if so, who?

So. We need to talk about the end of this chapter. It is part of the answer I was looking for, isn't it? I think?

I really feel like these last couple of pages are a gift celebrating all of my birthdays at the same time so I couldn't be happier. I'm not sure it's going to be the most interesting thing to read but I'm going to try to rephrase all that it says about prescience to sort my thoughts out and be sure I have understood everything.

So first, future in the Dune universe is not predefined timelines set in stone. Paul sees some of them, maybe too much of them for them to all be intelligible for him (yet?) but there are too many, each of them able to sprout from the tiniest changes, including one I hadn't considered before but that is very clever. Which is that, every time Paul accesses to prescience, he makes the future shifts by this very access to prescience.

But, even more amazing amazingness:

Quantum mechanics!! Remember when I was obsessed with it a few months back? Now I have the perfect excuse to make time to read about quantum mechanics again 😍 I'm so happy 😭

Edit: couldn't help myself and start reading about Heisenberg indeterminacy and omg it's amazing and it's even more amazing used it at a way to illustrate prescience. For those who understand French and are interested, I recommend this short and easy access video. But is exactly what's happening with Paul. Future reacts to him like quantum particles react to light. Why are quantum mechanics always so amazing? 😭

But let's go back a few lines above because:

First, Herbert was brillant for using the lexical field of water to talk about Paul's visions of the future. I mean it says it all by itself, isn't it? And secondly, am I supposed to read there that the blind spots of prescience are directly born from fear and that the litany is here to make the blindness go away or, to make the subject survive through blindness or am I not? Like when it says Fear is a mind killer, it isn't just a way of speaking, a psychological thing but a way of saying Fear makes you lose your prescience capacity?

And,

I absolutely love to see stillness making a comeback with an image close that what I have in mind. I can't wait to see what it will look like on screen. Given what I saw of Villeneuve's work already and the second Dune trailer, I trust him completely with this part. The inspiration is going to be amazing, the fan arts are going to be amazing, everything is going to be amazing.

I love and admire Herbert a lot for what he has done here with the end of this chapter and prescience in general. Trying to explain how a brain can apprehend concepts and principles that are too big, beyond everything that can normally be grasped by a human mind. Feeling the brain expands as it tries. Accept concepts that are opposite, contradictory even and still both true. It's really the kind of things I was expecting when I start reading so I'm very happy to see it deliver (and i need even more of it).

Chapter 11:

I was talking about religion vs propaganda last time and how maybe it wasn't that different for some aspects but... Bene Gesserit are religious people aren't they? I mean Jessica does pray. I don't know what or who she prays but she believes in the power of it.

"If I could only pray -- truly pray."

And by this truly pray, I suspect it's not only a matter of belief but the prayer does have real power. I'm-- confused about what kind of beliefs BG has given (more or less willingly) to Fremen (and probably other people around the universe as well). Is the religion only based on Bene Gesserit's powers? Is it a religion they believe in themselves? And for what purpose? Only create safe places for themselves or something else?

I also wonder why Chani is helping Paul so much as well? The guy just show up from nowhere and she already gives him tips to help him kill one of her people. It's weird.

Of course there are so many parts of the fight that made me go omg I can't wait to see Timmy play this. Gimme the fighting machine trained since the day he was born.

The after-fight is really interesting:

"Jessica stared at her son. Paul's were bright. He breathed heavily, permitting the ministration to his body rather than helping them."

🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

This kid is going to be the death of me, isn't he? But Jessica bringing him down right after is kind of funny. From a semi-god to a child in one quick mental slap of his mother 😁

I've already talked about the tiny jumping mouse Muad'dib but it's really amazing. I wasn't expecting that at all. I'm guessing the mouse will have a bigger purpose at some point? No sure. What I'm really wondering is if I should expect Paul to go full Anakin on me? Wait. Oh. OH. Jessica is the one bringing him down so he doesn't grow so full of himself for killing opposants but what if she's gone? What if she dies, like Anakin's mom and, like for Anakin, the mom's death is one of the first steps leading the son to dark side? Damn. We see there are several futures where people walking behind Paul or the Atreides and setting worlds of fire (and not planting trees, obviously). It goes without saying that I would love, love to see Timmy plays a character who go dark side. Not sure if it will be the case here, but it could be interesting.

Ok, it's already long enough with only two chapters so I'm going to stop this for now. I have to read first anyway. See ya! 🌖💛

[rudra-writes]

Why am I writing this character?

A while ago, I was questioned why I would choose to write a fan fiction for a character many people found repugnant. It was difficult for me to respond to that question, because my reasons for doing so are personal and complex, and I feel are best answered in the writing itself.

To answer this question without requiring someone to read my story, I’ve chosen to write this post. (There will be story spoilers for Final Fantasy XIV's Stormblood expansion, also mentions of physical and verbal abuse and trauma.)

When I first saw the character of Grynewaht, I didn’t think much of him at all. He was inferred to be stupid and crude, and he clearly had a hate-on for the Warrior of Light (player character). He was widely thought to be ugly - he certainly wasn’t beautified like many of the other npcs in the game.

His English voice actor also hammed him up, complete with a bellicose belly laugh that put most Saturday morning cartoon villains to shame.

Furthermore, he was played off of Yotsuyu, who I found to be an unlikable, grating character due to the (similarly cartoonish) level of cruelty she imposes on others.

I barely gave these characters a second thought. Until I watched two scenes that made me rethink what I was seeing.

The first was the scene where Yotsuyu forces Grynewaht to beat Gosetsu, who is their captive at this point in the story. Grynewaht utters a couple of lines that could very easily be overlooked.

Most people (including myself, when I first saw this scene) seem to respond emotionally to his snarled promise of vengeance upon the player character. But there’s more that’s shown, but not told: Grynewaht doesn’t want to beat Gosetsu. He doesn’t relish the act of beating someone who’s defenseless. He does it only because Yotsuyu bullies him into it.

The second scene was this one.

Zenos (the commanding officer to both of these characters) cruelly pulls on Yotsuyu’s hair, and tells her if she loses control of Doma, her life is forfeit. The moment Zenos leaves the room, Grynewaht immediately asks if she’s okay, then offers to help her to her feet.

The scene is set up to be humorous, as instead of accepting his help, Yotsuyu slaps him so hard he���s sprawled out on the floor afterward. However, it doesn’t change the fact that Grynewaht is suggested to care about Yotsuyu’s well-being. Being that Grynewaht is implied to be too dense to attempt games of pandering, I believe the concern he shows in this scene is genuine.

Did Grynewaht care? Could this loutish, comic relief character actually have a heart? It was this intriguing question that prompted me to explore a story where this was, in fact, the case.

As I began my story, and expressed my interest in the characters to my friend @autumnslance​, she helpfully passed me some lore-related information from the first Encyclopaedia Eorzea book. One of them gave me a missing piece of info that suddenly made Grynewaht’s character painfully clear.

He was 20 years old. He was the equivalent of a minor.

Taken in this light, the character’s actions make more sense. He’s a strapping young roe lad from Ilsabard who joined the Garlean army to gain citizenship. He’s not particularly smart, but he is very strong, and it’s this sheer might that allows him to become a captain - a feat that was probably very difficult for him to achieve, given the Garlean prejudice towards non-Garlean races.

I also have a theory that he doesn’t understand what the Warrior of Light is. All he sees is another warrior, no different from many he’s defeated on the battlefield before. Thus, he can’t comprehend why the player character is able to win, again and again.

Further, the player character strips him of his captaincy, resulting in him being demoted to playing bodyguard to a woman who emotionally and physically abuses him, and forces him to do things that are psychologically painful for him. It’s natural he would resent the player character for causing this.

I believe the point of Grynewaht’s story arc in the game is to demonstrate the cruelty and dehumanization of the Garlean Empire, even to its own people, which seems to be a recurring theme of the Stormblood expansion. So while Grynewaht isn’t a good person, the same way I couldn’t call Yotsuyu a good person, I believe they’re both meant to be depicted as victims of the Empire.

Yotsuyu herself is an abuse survivor, which is explored in her in-game story arc. I personally didn’t really like how her arc went for a variety of reasons (a friend described it as a glorification of trauma).

My story explores the concept of these two characters, who are both heavily flawed in their own ways, unexpectedly forming a bond, and then helping each other rise above their grief and internal blockages. Yotsuyu makes the decision to stop abusing Grynewaht in my story, which was important to me because I strongly disliked watching her abuse him. Trust is slowly exchanged, and the seeds of character growth are planted.

My goal with this fic is to tell my own version of Yotsuyu’s story arc, in a way that shows compassion for both her character, and Grynewaht.

If you’re one of the people who’s been reading along… Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I’ve invested a huge number of hours, tears, and love into this story, and these characters who I used to not like at all have become very dear to me.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Gentle Blade Part 15

Part 14 here

Oh ho ho. I've been waiting for this moment in this story for a looong time.

TWs: mentions of torture, self blame (if I miss any plz let me know!)

Tag List: @tears-and-lilies

******

Leera was made to walk back to her cell, still escorted, of course. Her lips had been cut, not her legs, so there was no reason she couldn't walk except for the fact she had been lying down for quite some time. Her legs were filled with lead, and they cramped, but if she was being forced to walk- like she was- she would manage.

The stairs were the most difficult thing. It was hard for Leera to know if she lifted her foot enough until she was catching herself on unsteady arms several steps above her.

Rennera paid no mind to her. That was typical of the queen. If she wasn't torturing Leera, she wanted nothing to do with her. At least she didn't ask Leera to apologize to the dead king again. The assassin tried not to think what would have happened if she'd been forced to apologize again. Her lips hurt enough that she'd hardly have been able to speak, but if they hadn't been, what would have happened when she apologized incorrectly?

It doesn't matter, Leera thought, because it didn't happen. She was happy to still have a voice in her mind. That was one thing the queen couldn't take. Leera couldn't talk to Sir Guard, but she could talk to herself. It was entertainment enough, right? Sir Guard only ever confused her anyways.

Yes, yes this was a good topic to think about. Sir Guard and the mystery he shrouded himself in. He was a specimen of curiosity to Leera. Most people she figured out easily; Sir Guard was not one of them. Although maybe she did know him. He admitted he was a prince. Leera just wouldn't accept that. It simply didn't make much sense. She thought about him, all of him that she knew.

First, Leera started, then was interrupted as she tripped on the last stair leading to the door at the top. Leera nearly fell into the queen, but Sir Guard thankfully jerked her back before it could happen. He wouldn't have done so with the extra guard behind him, but thankfully that guard remained downstairs to clean up. Leera tried to think he meant he was cleaning the dagger he used to split her lips dozens of times.

Leera continued walking, as well as thinking. First, he found me in the woods. She recalled that day too vaguely; it made her upset that she could remember it so barely. Either way, what she did remember was what he had said to her after he captured her. 'You may scream when I take you back to Her Majesty'. It was such a horrible thing to say, and Leera wondered how she ever came to enjoy his presence, to feel safe in it. That was one thing she couldn't deny now at least. The assassin felt warmer when he was near.

She thought harder. He'd collared her, walked her like a rabid mutt. Leera had asked him if he realized who he was working for. She remembered him calling her scum, but she also remembered how difficult of a time he had saying it. But then moments later-

Leera's body quaked as her foot fell down onto a step. She shook her head. How had they already passed the throne room without her realizing? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered when she was the queen's prisoner. What significance was there walking in a throne room when it only meant she was walking from her cell to a torture chamber or vice versa? It didn't.

But, the assassin soon realized, it does matter when the queen no longer walks in front of me. Leera walked herself now. She was alone, besides Sir Guard behind her, but he was invisible behind her back. To walk again, with no one in front of her, it was nice. It was freeing, even if it wasn't total freedom.

"Are you opening the door on your own or will you allow me to be a gentleman?"

Leera almost laughed. She wasn't sure how allowing a man to open a cell door was considered being a gentleman, but still she stepped aside and allowed Sir Guard to open the door.

He seemed to know what she was thinking, for he commented, "If it makes you feel better, I'm stuck in here with you. No key. We both leave at the queen's demand." Something seemed to strike him for a moment. He didn't move, but Leera could just barely spot his features tightening into what she only imagined was confusion. Moments later, Sir Guard shook his head and stepped aside with a soft apology.

The assassin stepped in, automatically walking to her typical spot of rest, the center of the right wall. She sat beside her various unused restraints, ranging from ropes and chains to collars and metal prongs stained with blood. Leera knew she could sit anywhere, or even move the items of restriction, but they reminded her of her strength. At one point, she cried at each of those things being used. She didn't now. Some might have considered her broken, and the assassin would have agreed, but broken didn't mean weak. So, she sat by her restraints.

It was difficult to pick her thoughts up where they left off before she came into the second staircase. She had been thinking of Sir Guard, but what about him at what point in time? Where had she left off in her memories? Leera closed her eyes until she could recall the last moment of her investigation.

Scream for the queen.

Collar.

Scum.

And then he admitted he hated the queen. That's where she stopped thinking.

Leera picked the thoughts back up and continued. She wanted nothing more than to figure out who Sir Guard was.

Why did he return Leera to the queen if he hated her?

Because he wanted to live, he'd told her. But what did that mean? How did returning the assassin mean life? Sir Guard was stuck here, with only the name 'Sir Guard' and 'my future king' used to identify him. He wasn't a guard, Leera knew that much. He seemed to have no interest in the job when he took it, and even now...

How did he ever come to care for Leera? Why had he gone from growling voice and shoving her to the ground to catching her before she fell? He was acting. He was pretending to be someone in order to ensure both of their safeties, but...Leera shook her head.

"You're thinking," Sir Guard said.

The assassin shook her head for a second time and rolled her eyes as if to say 'No kidding'. Then she held a finger up, a motion telling him to give her a few more moments for herself.

Who was Sir Guard? Why was he hiding his identity?

One small piece of her screamed, He's a prince! You already know it! But what was his business being here? He certainly wasn't the prince of this land, if he was one at all.

So the question was, assuming he told the truth, why was the prince of another land here after the death of the king? Was he hoping the queen would be poorer off and he could just swoop in and take control? Didn't he have a throne and crown at home to claim? And if he were a prince, why had he taken Leera into the queen? He hated Rennera; that much was obvious, but that just made it more confusing as to why he would have claimed to be a bounty hunter for Her Majesty. Why claim to do favours for someone you hated?

To gain entry, Leera concluded. Maybe he's not a prince, but a spy instead. A spy for a prince. Sir Guard's prince must want to take over the queen's kingdom. After the king was assassinated and word spread, the next obstacle became how to rid the queen. With the assassin caught, the prince couldn't find someone to hire to kill.

Now again more questions rose. Now that Sir Guard found Leera, what was the next step in his plan? He brought Leera back to gain entry, but how did that help anything? Unless Leera was in good condition, she couldn't do anything, couldn't help.

Maybe the spy's goal was to grow closer to the queen. He could learn her weaknesses and then it wouldn't matter whether Leera was okay or not. His kingdom could strike without an assassin.

What would his plan have been if he hadn't stumbled upon Leera in the woods?

There were too many gaps in the assassin's theory, but it was the most solid one she'd come up with so far. Sir Guard wasn't a bounty hunter, a guard, or a prince like he claimed; he was a spy.

Leera slapped the stone floor once, then twice to get Sir Guard's attention. He looked to her without pause. The assassin supposed he did have good posture, looked like he could be a guard, a general, even a king. But that was part of being a spy, wasn't it? Being able to impersonate anyone in order to gain information?

She pointed at him, them pointed at her own eye. Are you a spy? she was asking, but he didn't understand. She repeated the action. He still didn't comprehend.

The assassin sighed. If the floor were dirt, she could draw the question out with a finger. Instead, she opened her mouth despite having swollen lips. "Arr- oo-"

Sir Guard held up a hand. "Don't hurt yourself."

I wouldn't have to if you understood simple hand signs.

Leera moved on. She shrugged, then acted as if she were putting a crown on. After that, she took two fingers and walked them across the floor. Her eyes met Sir Guard's.

His face went nearly blank. He blinked and gave a small, frustrated laugh. "This would be so much easier if you could...well, talk." Leera hummed before he continued. "I'm just going to take a wild guess and answer with," he paused, trying to formulate a response. "The queen is preparing for her meeting. She said they will be here within two days. The majority of those involved began the trek here after the queen left. They probably want this to be over as quickly as possible."

The assassin gave a quizzical look. Pinched brows, squinted eyes, would-have-been pursed lips.

He elaborated. "The queen didn't put up a great show at her last meeting. She requested an audience here so she could show them the assassin who killed her husband."

You're telling me she called for a meeting in an enemy kingdom to tell them she would be taking over. Then she got flustered and told them that she had something to show them. And they agreed?

"It's best not to question a scary rumour," Sir Guard remarked, though he obviously didn't hear the assassin's question. He read her, as he always did. That's what spies do. "If someone told the kings and generals she liked to sprinkle sugar on her steak, they might call it odd and move on. But if someone tells them a woman hanged her already dead husband, they remain weary, and rightfully so."

But if she acted poorly in front of them, doesn't that discredit the rumours enough?

"She stumbled over her words, but she didn't fret in throwing a knife at an eastern general who spoke over her. Dinner ended shortly after and she left with no words but when she expected to see them again."

So she redeemed herself and now intends to over-redeem herself. She's trying to create a security blanket.

Sir Guard slid down the wall until he sat. He took a deep breath before saying, "I made mistake. Several. But I really messed up this time."

Again, Leera could only look confusedly at him. She hoped he was deciding to be less secretive.

He laughed again. He did that when he was aggravated. "She gave me a room earlier, before she...with you..."

Leera's eyes widened.

"No. No, nothing happened. Didn't even try to kiss me. Thankfully." The last word was gruff. "It wasn't a reward like she said it would be. I'm realizing this now." He sighed, put his head in his hands. "It was a test."

"Wha-mm." She groaned in anger. As much as her lips hurt, Leera still managed to forget it hurt badly enough that she couldn't talk. She hated it. Speaking to herself wasn't enough when Sir Guard was in the room.

"We're both prisoners now," he explained. "I never thought about the door," Sir Guard threw his head in the direction of the metal bars. "being locked while I was in it until I told you I had no key. Not that I ever had one before, but-" He shook his head and gave a big exhale. "I never had a choice before. My one and only job was to guard you. Now, though, now she's given me the option to be her king. I was supposed to take that opportunity. I have no choice now." His attention snapped to the assassin. "Not that I would ever marry her, but if I would have at least pretended that was my intention. Gods, I screwed everything up. And I'd tell Dogars, but he didn't even know-"

"Uh- ince?" The prince? Leera recognized the name as the the prince from Sir Guard's story. The prince, Dogars, was the one who hired a- wait. Dogars hired an assassin to kill an enemy king. Had Leera met with a prince? If she did, she didn't know they were a prince. Or maybe she did. The assassin made it a point to forget everyone she did business with, whether that meant the person who hired her or the person she was hired to kill.

Sir Guard's head dropped. "Still haven't accepted the fact yet, have you?"

The assassin shook her head.

"I hired you, Leera. I'm the prince in the story who hired a killer."

She swallowed. Breaths rushed in and out of from between her cracked lips as her head shook back and forth. It was the first time he ever used her name.

"You've recognized my guilt and I know you've wondered at why I feel guilty. It's you," he said.

It was becoming harder and harder to deny him. He was staring right at her, eyes unwaivering. She held a hand out, gesturing for him to come closer.

He obeyed, scooting so close that their knees almost touched. Now his gaze bounced. Sir Guard looked at the assassin's hands, which hovered in the air, waiting to be held, and then he looked to her eyes. When she nodded at her hands, he reached out as well and grabbed them lightly. Her hands were cold, but not freezing. They both felt hot, then.

Leera watched his eyes. Tell me again. Tell me everything.

"I-" Sir Guard didn't even know what to say. He tried to tell her he was a prince before. Not when she first guessed it because it was too soon, but when he felt comfortable enough he told her very blatantly what and who he was. She didn't believe it. Why would that change now? He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm here now, as I am, to make up for what I did. I- was foolish and I didn't think ahead. I know what living as a royal is like. I should have known how the queen would respond, how she would have to, but I didn't foresee it. I was so anxious to do what my people thought I should do that I simply didn't think. I-"

His head snapped in the direction of the door. He thought he heard something, like a door opening, or even boots on a set of steps. It must have been his nerves.

He continued. "I hired you to kill the king because I was afraid to do it myself. The thought of killing a man- good or bad- terrified me. So, when I heard there was an assassin roaming the lands, I had my best friend- emissary- track your movements. Furthermore, when I heard you would be stopping in the very kingdom I was in charge of taking down, I went there myself. I only knew you by your hood. You only knew me by the rags I wore. The people with me were trusted friends, disguised all the same to be villagers as I was."

Leera's hands were progressively heating, palms sweating, fingers feeling as swollen as her lips. Sir Guard's hands felt cooler now. The assassin couldn't tell if it was she who grew hotter, or he who grew colder. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps as she was genuinely listening, he was finally unloading all that he held back.

Both were experiencing something they needed since they had been imprisoned. Sir Guard was feeling relief; he was finally releasing all that he held in. Leera was feeling certainty; she was finally believing her guard, and he wasn't what she thought. He was no spy. He was the Prince himself.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long silence. "You being here is my fault. I should have been stronger than I am. I should have been able to do it myself. I should have been the one to have a scar on my face from a nail. Should have been the one collared and chained and humiliated. Should have been the one strapped down on a table and had my lips carved to say the queen's name. I'm the one who should have been her property-"

The assassin didn't know it was Rennera's name which was carved. The queen must have changed her mind mid torture session.

"-That's why I'm here. I deserve to be here. And you know what?" His hands were heating up again and there was a sniffle in his voice. Leera didn't dare look in his eyes. She wouldn't be able to stand the tears there. "I'm glad I screwed up this last time. Maybe staying down here with you will mean she'll turn her attention on me. She'll hurt me instead of you. It's what I deserve."

Leera felt her nose and eyes stinging. If her lips weren't so pained, she'd have sucked them into her mouth to prevent the spillage coming from the upper half of her face. A part of her always knew he was a prince, from the moment he told the story she asked for.

'Are you the prince from that story you told?' she'd asked him one day.

And he had replied 'Of course not. My name isn't Dogars.'

Dogars was his friend. He only used the name to cover up his own. It was there all along, even before he straight out admitted he was the prince. And she knew it. She just refused to accept it. Gods, Leera couldn't believe it. Hired by a prince to kill a king, now being praised by one as well.

She wanted so desperately to tell him, "This isn't your fault. This is my job. Please, please don't blame yourself for my life choice." She squeezed his hands, waited for him to look at her so they could take in one another's tears. He didn't deserve this. The fact that he said he did was what made him so innocent. Thank goodness she couldn't speak because for the first time, she thought, "I love you, Sir Guard. I've never been so glad to be in this cell because it means I have was given the opportunity to love you."

******

Part 16 here

[nonchalantdanger]

Lost Souls Wandering

“I have a theory that all artists are lost souls wandering their way back to Paris” -- Atticus.

Heh, I think I’m clever. Arras is won by the French, and we spend a final night in Arras with our characters. This is where my and @theimpossiblescheme‘s AU canon’s diverge a bit, but PLEASE go read Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today. 

In which there is revelry, Roxane finds her way, and an unexpected ally appears:

To give credit where credit is due, the Gascony cadets do nothing by halves. They marched to war with grins, accepted death with a proud upward tilt of their chins, and now they celebrate their victory and toast their lost comrades with songs and wine and drunken dancing. De Guiche has already issued the news that they are to return to Paris in the morning, and the Spanish had retreated far enough that no fear of an ambush could worry them.  

Roxane is enthralled by the raucous ongoings of the camp around her; she has been toasted as a goddess of war by nearly all of the men able to stand and walk over to her — and a few more besides — her hand kissed to tingling, and her cheeks near-cramped from smiling. Even so, none of the joy echoing around her can match the comparatively quiet delight that has brightened Cyrano’s adamantine blue eyes to the most saturated of azures. Like chips of lapis-lazuli set within his smile-creased face, Roxane finds herself admiring their gem-like glint from her place seated at his side. Occasionally, he catches her scrutiny, his grin widens, and it takes every willful bone in her body to refrain from leaning over to kiss him again. 

Their fire is set a little away from the epicenter of merriment, a quieter refuge for the senior cadets — Cyrano and Le Bret — herself, and De Guiche. A singed hat marks the space in between she and the Comte, its bright peacock plumage marking it as the late Captain Castel-Jaloux’s; he would have joined their circle had he survived. 

Roxane is surprised at De Guiche’s presence; by her observation, between his decision to remain with the Gascons during the Spanish assault and the valiant fighting he must have done in the battle, the Comte had discarded his haughty arrogance, replacing it with a small, warm smile and the resigned chagrin of a man who has earned — not purchased — genuine respect from those who do not give it lightly. Cyrano’s distaste for De Guiche has similarly bled into a cool detente since the end of the fighting. To Roxane it is fascinating to see the two, previously so at-odds, sitting with only the pleasant crackling of the fire between them. 

Le Bret shifts in his seat, and Roxane hears the crack of his bones across the flames. 

Cyrano chuckles. “You are getting old, my friend.” 

“Hush.” Le Bret punches him none-too-lightly in his uninjured arm. “Your mouth threatens to be as big as your other appendage.” 

Any other man who would make such an implication as Le Bret would have had his guts ribboned on Cyrano’s blade, but the older cadet — and Cyrano’s oldest friend, besides Roxane herself — seems blessed with a rare leeway. Cyrano laughs, takes the blow with remarkable good humor, and helps Le Bret to his feet when the latter announces his goal to obtain more wine before the rest of the company drinks it all. He limps away, favoring his good leg heavily. Cyrano returns to his place just out of Roxane’s reach. 

De Guiche, who had stiffened upon the reference to Cyrano’s nose — no doubt remembering his unfortunate companion Valvert’s encounter with the aforementioned feature — relaxes once more, but only for a moment. Something piques his scrutiny; curiosity shifting in his dark gaze. His eyes sweep around the fire, marking the carefully maintained space between Cyrano and Roxane, and the riotous celebrations happening around them. His brows draw together and his eyes narrow further the longer he looks about. Roxane does not know what he is searching for, until De Guiche’s gaze once more returns to flicker between she and Cyrano and the empty space to her right.

Christian, after escorting her to the physician’s tent and confessing the details of his and Cyrano’s ruse, had not been beside her for even a passing moment. He had been gone, off to find the wounded and identify the dead, when Roxane and Cyrano had reentered the world following the revelation of their feelings for each other. He and Cyrano had exchanged words out of her hearing, and parted amicably, but Cyrano has not seen fit to relay the details of his sentiments yet. Roxanne knows he is safe — she had seen him moving about the camp, stumbling between a few other men nought an hour ago — but to be a man’s wife and not be beside him is strange and anomalous. Too strange. Too anomalous.

De Guiche’s slitted eyes fall on her. His look is careful, not triumphant; he is not a man who has just discovered a way to undo the woman who spurned him, nor does he look at her like she is the rack upon which he will torture Cyrano. Roxane, worryingly, does not know what to expect.

The Comte motions an idle hand to the space of their campfire. “Madame...I would have expected your husband not to leave your side...” He does not phrase it as a question, and his gaze flickers deliberately to de Bergerac. 

Cyrano, while not privy to the progression of De Guiche’s earlier piecing-together, does not miss the expectant and realizing tone of the Comte’s query. He bristles from his casual slouch with such violent quickness Roxane’s immediate, half-conscious instinct is to reach out and seize his hand where it rests on the log between them to prevent him from doing anything irreparably rash in her defense. She knows she all but gives the change between them away by doing so; for all that she was affectionate with him before, there is a weight to her motion, an honesty of the love she feels for him that she is sure sounds in the air like a bell. More damningly, Cyrano stills at her touch; the enormity of his regard, to stifle his ferociousness at her silent behest, is not lost on Roxane either. 

The Comte, ever one for self-preservation, recognizes Cyrano’s murderous intent for what it is. He pales and lifts his hands appeasingly despite his vastly superior tactical position;. “Peace, de Bergerac. I mean neither you nor Roxane any harm.” 

Cyrano sneers like he did at the Theatre de Bourgogne. It is an unpleasant baring of teeth. The detente is shattered, and Roxane fears that he will cut himself on the pieces. “You blithely ordered us to our deaths earlier this eve. Forgive me if I am disinclined to take you at your word.” 

Many a more battle-tried man has cowered in the face of Cyrano’s particularly fearsome growling; to Roxane’s surprise, De Guiche pulls his shoulders back and continues in a mild, unthreatening tone. he could ruin them both with a few words. Half a day ago, he would not have hesitated, but now he speaks reasonably. “As I said before we all nearly perished in this godforsaken mud, I shan’t leave a lady undefended.”

Cyrano bristles further; his scoff of derision is loud and rough. To Roxane, it is clear that he takes umbrage at the insinuation he would not be defense enough for her. The Comte intuits the same; pointedly, he looks to where Roxane still grips Cyrano’s hand. “It is her husband’s place to defend her, not yours, de Bergerac.” 

Cyrano flinches when he hadn’t under the slap of Valvert’s glove. De Guiche’s unsubtle rejoinder strikes true, and Roxane is too slow to anchor Cyrano’s hand in hers before he pales and withdraws it. 

De Guiche observes the interaction with interest, wisely tempered by caution. “Despite you both having duped me, I do still possess the power of sight; you have been exchanging glances I can only describe as love-struck since the end of the battle. Christian has avoided keeping company with either of you, his ostensible wife and his closest friend. What has transpired?”

Cyrano, unexpectedly cowed, is silent and still. Roxane, all at once, is inconsolably furious — she cannot stand seeing her love so off-kilter, cannot stand De Guiche’s presumptuous inquiry, cannot stand that Christian had not thought to maintain the ruse, and that she was such a fool. A breath; she fashions her anger into a mental blade like the one she’d carried during the siege and turns it on De Guiche. 

“You have never been deserving of my secrets, monsieur. You are too bold to ask for them so soon after attempting to ruin my happiness.”

De Guiche concedes with graceful shame. “You are not wrong, I am not too proud to say. As for why I ask...” he hesitates, shifting to include Cyrano in his address, “I am also not too proud to admit my life was in your hands today, de Bergerac, and I find it returned, and myself the debtor.” He gestures aimlessly, “I wish to help the both of you.” 

“You assume we need it.” The guttural notes of Cyrano’s ire have faded, but there is still an edge, and his eyes are a sharp, wary blue. Roxane nearly looks to the heavens at the impetuous nerve of him, so bold as to be brash. God, she loves him, and yet she wants to shake him by his ash-smudged collar. She feels De Guiche’s gaze fall solely on her, and she sighs her acknowledgement that his point has merit. 

“You might.” The Comte mutters softly. “You cannot fight all of Parisian high society, nor stop the insidious talk with the force of your wit. Worse still, you are not the vulnerable one.”

It is Roxane’s turn to take umbrage, and this time she does not intend to give it back. “Do not presume to tell me my own weaknesses, Comte. I am all too aware of my position as a prize to be won, irrevocably tarnished the moment I capitulate. You not so long ago cajoled, begged, nearly forced your infatuation upon me. The Cadets were sent to war because of your sour vindictiveness upon falling short in your pursuit.” She nearly snarls in her fury, but she sighs it away, “Loathe as I am to admit it, you are not nearly the worst carrion gossip who would feed on the corpse of my good reputation.” She waves an airy hand at De Guiche, whose gaze had fallen to his boots at her mention of his campaign to bed her — At the same moment, Cyrano’s gaze had glinted dangerously silver — and De Guiche’s conscience-stricken features rise level with Roxane’s once more. She prompts him, “Pray tell, how you might help, Comte.”

De Guiche hesitates. He seems to take her charge with utter seriousness. Roxane’s regard for his political mind rises, barely; De Guiche, at the very least, knows that if he makes any genuine attempt to tarnish her, Cyrano will kill him, son-in-law to the Cardinal or no. 

For all that he is formidable, Cyrano would be hard-pressed to reach De Guiche before Roxane cut him down herself. 

“I…” De Guiche clears his throat officiously. “How many know that you and Christian wed?”

Roxane laughs lowly, “The entire camp, seeing as I kissed him in front of all of them. Called him husband. Little did I know the man who’d inspired me to cross a war zone was Cyrano.” 

De Guiche winces at the bitter irony in her tone, but Roxane can see that he is intrigued. “Forgive me if I pry: I do not have the fully story. I may be better equipped to manipulate the situation in your favor if I could…know how you came to be…so utterly in love.” He says the last quietly. Roxane is surprised to register hollow longing in the words, a wistfulness she did not expect from such a shrewd man as De Guiche. For all his wooing of her, she’d never expected him to treasure tender emotions past their usefulness in manipulation. She feels a smidge of regret for misjudging yet another person in her life, at least in that small way. 

She looks to Cyrano; it is primarily his tale to tell. His eyes are shocking in their cerulean shade, and there is a vulnerability in them that, if abused, could tear him apart. For all that his body and soul is steeled, his heart, Roxane realizes, has always been fragile. She wishes she had known; she would have protected it better. Maybe then he wouldn’t be looking at her now with such trepidation, such too-shy hopefulness. His resolve solidifies. He tips his head to her, then to the ground. He huffs a fortifying breath, then begins. 

De Guiche listens attentively as Cyrano relays their tale. He begins at the theatre, with the burst of joy at being seen. He glosses over the despair caused by Roxane’s desires, but then moves into the part of the story she does not know herself. Cyrano’s artful words illustrate the grand scheme to woo her, the melding of two men into one, an author of divine prose and sublime turns of phrase with the face of a Grecian hero. De Guiche frowns at Cyrano like he is seeing a different man in the cloak of a de Bergerac, nonplussed at the self-consciousness, the crippling doubt that stayed his words from ever leaving the pages signed by another’s name. Roxane cannot stop tears from falling down her face. She wipes them away before Cyrano can see. 

She tells her part too. It takes less time, but its importance can’t be overlooked, as she describes Christian’s honesty and Cyrano’s admittance. Their ardent revelations to each other. Their lack of foresight, in terms of their reputations. She falters as her words run up to the present; Cyrano’s hilt-calloused hand enfolds both of hers where they rest in her lap. It soothes her to feel the strength in him. 

When she looks up, De Guiche’s eyes have fallen to their joined hands. He looks moved. The way he subtly swipes a knuckle under his eyes speaks to it. 

After a moment, he smiles. It is a surprisingly kind expression on such a saturnine countenance. “You are both…unspeakably lucky to have found each other.” His gaze darkens, “I will not jeopardize that. I swear on my…recently reclaimed honor…” He has the wherewithal to jest lightly at his own expense, and a line of tension across Cyrano’s shoulders relaxes by a fraction. 

“Nothing is yet dire. I have some…influence in certain circles that could smooth this over.”

De Guiche explains a potential plan. It involves quietly annulling the oaths Roxane and Christian made to each other, and explaining to the Cadets the truth, up until the point where they were married, and skipping to the reveal that Christian had asked Cyrano to continue writing the letters. Cyrano takes that upon himself; the Cadets respect the sanctity of the Guard House like few other places, and if he swears them to secrecy there, they will keep it on pain of a solid, inescapable pummeling. 

Roxane swears to speak to Christian; they still have words that need exchanging, if only to resolve any festering hurt and misunderstanding. 

Then De Guiche continues unexpectedly. “When you arrange the wedding…I should like…I would offer to cover any expenses you incur, for the ceremony.” He wrings his hands; Roxane has never seen him squirm before now. “I can also be your official witness, and speak to the sanctity of the vows in society.”

It is a gracious offer. Cyrano’s formidable nose wrinkles with suspicion for the first time in hours. He says what Roxane is thinking, “Such favors usually accrue a cost. What do you want from us?”

“Nothing, truly.” De Guiche sighs when Cyrano’s eyes narrow to chips of sapphire. “I swear it. I meant it, before, when I said I owed you my life, Cyrano. I also owe you an apology, Madame de Robin, for my uncouth behavior before.” He bows shallowly from his seat.

Roxane feels something close to relief wash cool through her chest for the first time in days. She allows herself a small smile. “You are forgiven, Comte, but I expect an extraordinarily extravagant wedding present.”

“Of course.” De Guiche, gratifyingly, is pale with relief too. She wonders at her luck — her near misfortune — of causing a Comte, a cadet, and a veritable hero to be afraid of her. She would like to get used to it. 

She thinks Cyrano’s awe enough as she looks to him again. Gently, as if seeing the force of her regard in her eyes, he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles. For all that Cyrano de Bergerac is a force of nature, he tempers her. 

De Guiche clears his throat. “I… think I will follow Le Bret’s example.” It is an unsubtle escape to leave them alone. Roxane cares very little. 

Despite how many details they must coordinate and futures they must discuss, neither she nor Cyrano speak. He shifts close enough for her to pillow her head on his shoulder, her arms folded through the crook of his, and they regard the fire and the brightening stars on their last night in Arras. 

Paris, and a life together, awaits them.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I hugely appreciate how educated you are with your education in the Classics (at either Oxford or Cambridge I think) but I ask with sincere respect how does any of it inform your privileged life in this day and age? It’s easy to say how much we should value our European traditions and heritage it is quite another to live it out don’t you agree? What do you personally get from it?

This is a very relevant question and I apologise if I have stalled in answering it as I was busy with work and life to formulate a worthy reply. But your question is an important one indeed for anyone who harkens to the past as a guide for the present and the future.

I won’t waste space here and tick box all the purely academic reasons why the Classical world is still relevant for us today. I think you can find that in easy to read books and articles written by eminent Classicists who do an admirable service in making the Classical World come alive for the general public (Mary Beard, Bettany Hughes, Emily Wilson, Edith Hall, Peter Jones, Bernard Knox, Robin Lane Fox, Paul Cartledge, and Donald Kagan amongst others that come to mind). But it’s an uphill battle to be sure.

Classics - at least in United Kingdom - has been regressively marginalised with each passing generation starting from school up to university entry. It has an image problem. Few pay much attention to scholars of Latin and Greek. The impression is that Classicists are snobbish and is the education of privileged elitists who master languages that are not spoken. They learn to write them only to read them better. They slap your hands when you write a Latin word common in Sallust or Livy, rather than in Cicero. There is some truth to that sadly. To a large extent Classicists themselves have not been a good advertisement for why anyone should appreciate let alone study the classical world.

At one end those educated in the Classics can come across as encouraging elitism, snobbish pedantry and a sniffy social superiority and at the other end those not versed in Classics but through Hollywood (any sword and sandal film like Gladiator etc) and PC white washed TV series (BBC’s Troy is a good example) have formed a romantic attachment to the ‘heroic’ past by having blue pilled themselves into escapism. Both extremes makes Classics a fetish rather than a guide for life through the beauty and power of the language and culture of the singular Greeks and Romans.

The study of Classics can become the proverbial dog who can dance on two legs, but for what practical purpose? There is the rub. Classics, at its best, offers the historical, philological, and literary foundation and discipline to apply a critical method to every general aspect of learning - and living.

I was fortunate that I had Classicists - both within my family and also my teachers - who were cultured and had led such interesting lives and were able to marry their Classicist mind to their life experiences (often through the experience of war). So learning European languages was not just to get one’s head around arid esoteric articles by 19th-century Frenchmen on the Athenian banking system or Demosthenes’ use of praeteritio and apophasis, but also to appreciate the genius of Dante,Voltaire and Goethe. Classics should never just be about philology though because it can result in a life mostly missed.

Perhaps others might call it privileged but I consider my childhood blessed because I was surrounded by family members who were educated in the Classics - more rare than one might suppose. Through my great aunts and grandmother they instilled the discipline that the mastery of Latin and Greek fuelled the ability to speak and write good English -- and why the latter mattered as much or more than the former.

By the time I left both Cambridge and Oxford behind, I could cite passage numbers in Greek texts of what Thucydides and Plutarch thought of Nicias. But it was only when I went through Sandhurst to pass out as a commissioned army officer did it truly jump off the page and become alive for me.

Moreover having had long fire side conversations with both my grandfather and father - both Oxbridge educated Classicists and both served in distant different types of wars as swashbuckling officers - did I use that learning to understand why for example was Nicias such a laughably mediocre general of the Peloponnesian War. And this was essentially the practical point of reading Thucydides and Plutarch about Nicias in the first place.

I spent many hours in my down time during my service in Afghanistan between missions re-reading dog earred favourite Classicist texts. I began to see the ghosts of the Greeks in the characters of those with whom I was serving. Some began to resemble Sophoclean characters - especially the less well-known ‘losers’ like Ajax and Philoctetes - the sort of tragic heroes whom we root for but the odds are against them - think of any American Western film or the more pathological Tarantino films. Like Sophocles I saw majestic characters (some special forces operators) out of place in a modernising world who would rather perish than change - but in a context where their sacrifice schools the lesser around them about what the old breed was about and what was being lost.

A running thread from a childhood spent in many other countries - from South Asia to the Far East - to the present day is learning to appreciate our landscape as the Ancient world did. The cultivation of curiosity of cultures was seeded in childhood. Respecting and even admiring other cultures - Indian, Iranian, Chinese and Japanese primarily come to mind - led me to appreciate and treasure my own cultural heritage and traditions. The DNA of both the Roman and Greek world went far and wide and so teasing out their fingerprints was fun. In northern Pakistan, we came across ‘Alexander’s children’ - children with blonde and blue eyes who were said to be descended from Alexander the Great’s time in Afghanistan and India - and wandering around the banks of the Jhelum river imagining how Alexander beat his respected foe (later ally) King Porus at the Battle of Hydaspes in 326BC.

These days despite having a busy corporate career I help support running a French vineyard managed foremost by two exceptional cousins and their French partners. As such the Classics still resonate in how I look at the land beyond the vineyard - bridges, roads, towers, walls  - and imagine the Greeks not with ink and papyrus but as men of action, farmers and hoplites, in a rough climate on poor soils. I suddenly envision them pruning and plowing in Laureion, the Oropos, and Acharnae, more like the rugged local farmers with whom come harvest time I roll my sleeves up and get my hands dirty in the vineyards than as the professors in elbow patches who had claimed them.

Knowing and learning about the Classical roots of our Western heritage isn’t just a question of culture it’s also about what personally motivates us in life and how that determines how we make consequential choices in life.

I live in fear of one Greek word  ‘akrasia’. Ancient Greek philosophers coined the term to explain the lack of motivation in life. Most of the philosophical conundrums explored by contemporary philosophers were already explored in Ancient Greece. In fact, Ancient Greek philosophers laid the solid foundation for all philosophical approaches that appeared throughout history: theories of Kant, Hegel or Nietzsche would never exist without Socrates, Plato or Aristotle.

Among the many problems that baffled the Ancient Greeks, one of them gets quite a lot of attention today. Why don’t we always do what’s best for us? Why do we abandon good decisions in favour of bad ones? Why can’t we follow through on our plans and ideas?

Many people would say that the answer is simply laziness or decision fatigue, but Ancient Greek philosophers believed that the problem lay much deeper, in human nature itself. ‘Akrasia’ describes a state of acting against one’s better judgement or a lack of will that prevents one from doing the right thing. Plato believed that akrasia is not an issue in itself, because people always choose the solution they think is the best for them, and sometimes it accidentally happens that they choose the bad solution because of poor judgement. On the other hand, Aristotle disagreed with this explanation and argued that the fault in the human process of reasoning is not responsible for akrasia. He believed that the answer lies in the human tendency to desire, which is often far stronger than reason.

As with almost all philosophical concepts, a consensus has never been reached and akrasia remains open to interpretation. But its practical consequences are all too real in today’s world. Motivation is what makes us unpredictable and persistent, and the life circumstances of the modern world often make motivation disappear.

Today - regardless how old or young one is - many are more and more tempted to exchange a long-term goal for an immediately available pleasure in all its forms from the emotional band aid of porn from a lifeless relationship (or a lack of one) to escaping loneliness for the false intimacy of social media friendship. The lack of motivation can cause us to reduce ourselves to someone else’s standards when we know we can be or do better. 

The Greeks felt that the way you think and feel about yourself, including your beliefs and expectations about what is possible for you, determines everything that happens to you. When you change the quality of your thinking, you change the quality of your life. I’ve been deeply influenced by Aristotle’s idea that virtue is a habit, something you practice and get better at, rather than something that comes naturally. “The control of the appetites by right reason,” is how he defined it. Another way to reframe this is to say, “Virtue is knowing what you really want,” and then building the intellectual, spiritual, and moral muscle to go after it.

To be cultured - as opposed to be merely educated - is how you put what you’ve learned to work in your own life, seeing the world around you more deeply because of the historical, literary, artistic and philosophical resonances that current experiences evoke. This is the privilege of being cultured. For me Classical stories come often to my mind, and some times provide guides to action (much as Plutarch intended his histories of famous men to be guides to morality and action). The classics then are a part of my mental toolset and the context I think with some of the time. I see that as the real blessing in my life.

Thanks for your question.

[mst3kproject]

The Manster

Who has two thumbs and is back on terra firma with working wifi?  This MSTie!

As for my chosen subject this week… I don’t think I have to justify this one.  It’s called The Manster, as in a portmanteau of man and monster.  It was directed by a guy who mostly made cheap-ass jungle movies, and stars a bunch of embarrassed actors who don’t know how they ended up here.  It’s old and it’s dumb and it’s often pretty funny though never on purpose, and the perfect stinger moment comes very early in the film… you’ll know it when you see it.

So we have Dr. Robert Suzuki, who lives on top of a volcano.  When people have ‘Dr’ in front of their names and live in isolation with a bunch of blinky light machines, that’s usually a pretty good clue that they’re mad scientists. Tragically our hero, Larry Stanford, is not that observant (Larry’s obliviousness would have been a constant target for Mike and the bots and he would have deserved all of it).  He’s a reporter who wants an interview about Suzuki’s theories on the causes of mutations, but too bad for him, he arrives just as the mad doctor has run out of family members to experiment on.  Under the influence of Suzuki’s injections he’s soon devolving into an animalistic frat-boy, drinking, carousing, and murdering… oh, and he’s growing a second head. Will that be a problem?

So basically this is a werewolf movie with a fake mustache on… or perhaps a Jekyll and Hyde movie of sorts, as discussed in the denouement.  It wants to explore the dichotomy of good and evil in every one of us, using the very silly device of a two-headed man.  I have to say, I understand the metaphor, but it wasn’t put to nearly good enough use.  The movie would have been ten times more fun if we’d gotten to see Larry and his second head arguing over whether or not they’re going to kill somebody.  Not better, mind you, just more fun.

As far as just being a movie goes, The Manster is better than a lot of things I’ve watched for this blog.  The characters have names and look different enough that you can tell them apart, the story makes sense on its own terms and everything that happens is relevant to the plot.  Photography is honestly pretty good and the actors are competent.  All this happens to be in the service of a really silly story with awful special effects (I love Larry’s rubbery second head bouncing as he runs) but it’s engaging enough that you want to keep watching.

What I really like about The Manster, however, is that it offers a lot to analyze.  I’m not sure much of it is intentional.  The Jekyll and Hyde side of the story is elucidated in an ending speech, as Larry’s friend Ian tries to reassure Mrs. Stanford.  He says there was good and evil in Larry, and they’ll just have to wait and see which side wins.  This is not a very satisfying ending, really.  We’ve just seen Larry’s evil side plummet to its death into a volcanic crater… and the surviving good side is under arrest as a serial killer.  Dr. Suzuki and his assistant, the only people who could testify that Larry was not responsible for his actions, are both dead.  This guy’s going to jail.

The really interesting thing in the movie, though, is one that comes up by accident.  Dr. Suzuki’s work is on evolution – his theory is that cosmic rays can induce mutations, producing new species more or less overnight (this is called ‘macromutation’ or ‘the hopeful monster theory’, and lurked on the edges of the mainstream in the 40’s and 50’s) and he hopes to induce the same effect chemically.  When he tries, however, his efforts invariably produce monsters.  Emiko, his wife and former research partner, turns into something resembling the closet monster from The Brain that Wouldn’t Die.  Kenji, his brother, turns into a yeti, and a similar fate awaits Larry.  These mutants cannot understand human speech, and their behaviour is irrational and violent.

This implies a couple of things.  We hear vague mentions of Dr. Suzuki experimenting on fungi, but his heart is mostly in his human experiments.  That tells us that his goal is to speed up the evolution of humanity, and one presumes that this is intended to improve us somehow. Of course, this is not how evolution works.  Evolution does not make things better – this is why biologists have mostly dropped the descriptions primitive and advanced in favour of the more neutral basal and derived.  Dr. Suzuki’s quest is therefore quite misguided, as illustrated by his monsters. In no way could they be considered ‘better’ than humans – in fact, they’re significantly worse at surviving and reproducing (the thing natural selection selects for) than ordinary people are.

There’s another layer here, though.  ‘Evolution makes things better’ is a misconception that’s been around since Darwin, and dates back to even earlier ways of organizing the natural world.  When Linnaeus created the classification system for living things that we’re still saddled with today, he did it under the believe in the Great Chain of Being – the idea that you can order everything that exists into a hierarchy with mold at the bottom and god at the top, and that after god and the angels humans are the best thing that exists (as proved by our being the only creatures able to create classification systems).  It’s an idea that appeals to human vanity and to our need to impose order on the natural world, and it isn’t likely to go away anytime soon.

With that in mind, perhaps there’s another reason Suzuki’s experiments fail.  If you believe that humans are the best living thing around, particularly if you believe we are the image of god on earth, then maybe it’s not possible to improve on us.  Any change you make to people that takes them away from humanity will automatically make them worse.  This idea does appear to be manifest in the fates of Emiko, Kenji, and Larry, all of whom become more apelike, less ‘advanced’, as they change.

In that case, what does The Manster think makes for a good human?  We see a little of Larry before he starts to mutate, so we can compare that with what he becomes.  Rather surprisingly for a movie of this vintage, the fact that Larry is white seems to be pretty incidental.  He is a foreigner in a faraway place, but this serves mostly to drive a wedge between him and his wife Linda.  Except for a couple of rather troubling moments, the film does not present Japan in an exotifying light.  We do see things like a bathhouse and a geisha bar, but these represent Larry’s personal slide into debauchery, rather than the country as a whole.  We also meet normal working people among both the Japanese and the American expat community – reporters, police officers, and even priests.

There’s a very nice bit, actually, where Larry comes upon a Buddhist priest praying, and when he realizes this man doesn’t speak English, Larry takes the opportunity to unburden himself.  It makes him feel better to talk about his moral quandaries aloud, and the fact that the priest doesn’t understand him means he cannot judge him.  This is a very relatable and human moment, one of the best in the movie.

Unfortunately, it also segues into a couple of the most distasteful things in the film.  As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Larry does murder the priest, but before he does, he stares at a particular statue in the shrine – a representation of a three-eyed, fanged being that I am in no position to identify, although it looks a bit like Vajrapani.  Before Larry grows a full second head he sprouts an extra eye in his shoulder, and the implication is that the three-eyed statue draws his attention to the monster within himself. I don’t know much about Buddhism but I do not like the idea of casting another culture’s religious figures as symbols of monstrosity.  The west has done plenty enough of that.

But back to the question of acceptable humanity. We watch Larry get drunk, violent, antisocial, lazy, and promiscuous, which tells us that the ‘good’ man is the opposite of these things: sober, peaceful, friendly, hardworking, and chaste. The film pays particular attention to how Larry relates to women.  The fact that he’s been faithful to his distant wife is established early on, and one of the first symptoms of his devolution is his willingness to discard her.  First he makes out with a couple of girls at the geisha bar, and later he takes Dr. Suzuki’s assistant Terra (who has a tragic backstory but we frustratingly never find out what it entails) as his mistress. On the phone with his wife Linda at the beginning of the film, Larry tells her he loves her and promises to be home soon.  Later, when she comes to Japan searching for him, he shouts at her and makes a show of preferring Terra.

One conversation he has with Linda is particularly revealing.  He tells her he has no desire to settle down in one place and wile away his time drinking coffee and playing bridge when there’s a big wide world out there.  She asks him what about her plans, and he declares he will ‘put her in her place’ and ‘slap her down’.  Since this is when Larry is the opposite of what a good man should be, we can take from it that a good man respects his wife and takes her opinions and needs into account.  For the late fifties, this is actually kind of surprising – I’ve seen films from a decade or two later that were far more backward about this.  So hey, points for that.

All things considered, The Manster is a pretty well-made movie.  It’s dumb and full of clichés, such as the man scientist destroyed by his own creation, the femme fatale who sacrifices herself for the hero because she’s fallen in love with him, theremin music to represent the monster’s appearance, etc etc etc… but it’s competently put together and whether intentionally or no, contains a lot of interesting material. It’s the sort of movie I can watch repeatedly and always find something new in.  Definitely recommended viewing for the 50’s Monster Flick fan, although with the caveat that there is a scene in which one character urges another to commit suicide.