#and can develop in wildly different ways now while still remaining the same in some regards

[archferret]

Spark the Electric Jester is the weirdest series for me to have developed a hyperfixation on but I guess it's because all the concepts it's putting forward nail my interests right on the nose even if its execution of said concepts is lacking. There are 3 female characters 1 is a one off miniboss 1 is dead and 1 is the main villian and all 3 are somehow less developed than their male counterparts.

BUT THE POTENTIAL....

[anghraine]

Academia update: unusually, I'm loving the class I'm teaching (Shakespeare!) and my students continue to be (mostly) fantastic.

They're starting work on their group performances—which isn't about how good they are as actors, but what their groups can bring to the scene they choose to perform or, alternatively, what they can pull out of the original scene (essentially, what do they have to say about it and what approach are they taking in order to say that?). A group that's always especially enthusiastic in class paused from a discussion of puppet designs for their group's performance (I am very curious, and delighted, about their Puppet Macbeth plan) to ask if the limited modern language they can add for clarification can include expletives. They very obviously lit up when I said "yes, they can be part of your group's artistic vision" and were like, "this class rules."

(One of them has stayed after a couple of times to excitedly tell me that this is their FAVORITE class and they are NEVER going to miss a day unless they get the PLAGUE, despite struggling with Shakespeare's language. <3)

Today, attendance was fairly low because of some local event, and quite a few students left early, which is always disappointing, though at least they waited until the lecture introducing Othello was over. But five stayed to the very end; when they realized it was just them, I laughed and said they were truly the merry band of brothers of the class, and one of them was like, "Obviously we're the true Shakespeare lovers." However, one of them actually is not into the actual plays, and asked if the remaining quintet could pause their in-class work to have an impromptu discussion about how Shakespeare was relevant to their lives in 2024, since she couldn't see it but clearly the others could. And she did want to see it.

I thought that was an awesome idea, actually, since she wasn't being an asshole about it, and while she was asking me, she was also interested in what the others thought. Before I said anything except "sure, that sounds interesting" the other students started taking turns explaining what they found relevant and engaging about Shakespeare's plays thus far. They had pretty wildly different perspectives—one was interested in Shakespeare primarily because she's a poet and really fascinated by all the ways he uses verse and prose and form in general to both obscure and evoke deeper meanings that can at first be hidden or mysterious. She's part of a group of poets that's actually currently trying to write Shakespearean sonnets with other poet friends to stretch their artistic muscles. Another one thinks that there's basically something to be gained or learned about people from almost any text, no matter how remote it seems from our own experiences, and Shakespeare in particular shows a lot of very familiar dynamics in terms of people even though the language is hard and the culture strange. Someone else talked about the importance of history in understanding the present and how intertwined literature of the past is with the past itself.

Later on, I ended up talking about how, while culture has changed a lot since Shakespeare's time (mostly for the better, in some ways for the worse), and while culture has a powerful effect on us—people are still people. Understanding people is always valuable. Shakespeare's characters are very human in ways that can be very recognizable despite the different contexts. They feel a lot of the same things we do and they deal with similar problems, although they might express their feelings, relationships, and concerns in different terms than people do now.

The jokes men make about other men growing horns, for instance, show up all the time when male characters are having masculinity issues in early modern drama or challenging other men's masculinity. This was a reference to a trope about men developing horns if their wives cheated on them—it's a barely euphemistic way to accuse other men of being cuckolds. And like, men playing masculinity games by calling other men cucks and fixating on their sexual prowess and irresistible allure and claims over women are not unfamiliar behaviors at all.

We also talked about how modern people don't always express their racism in the exact same ways that characters do in Othello (though sometimes not all that differently!), but honestly there's plenty of overlap between the ways Iago, Roderigo etc work to frame him as bestial and how many people today, esp white people, conceptualize Black men and particularly relationships between Black men and white women. There's a lot of pointed emphasis on Desdemona's whiteness and how Othello must have bewitched her by witchcraft!!! only for the truth to be revealed that she fell in love with him because she genuinely likes him and finds him far more interesting and cool and endearing than Roderigo, and Shakespeare works overtime to humanize Othello and make him compelling and intriguing. (We'd talked a bit about how Shakespeare substantially alters his source material with regard to Othello's characterization and the general takeaway from his marriage to Desdemona.)

We talked about Viola in Twelfth Night as well—there's this idea that genderfuckery (not the term I used lol) is some brand new invention and yet the first few years of the 1600s produce Genderfuckery: The Play in which even those who feel most intensely about one twin or the other cannot tell them apart when gender is "supposed" to be an absolute clearly visible binary.

We also ended up talking about the relevance of aspects of Shakespeare's plays that may not be directly present in our everyday lives, but which influenced more familiar tropes or social issues.

Anyway, though this was initially a bit dispiriting, it ended up being a really cool impromptu conversation and I still came away thinking, hey, teaching Shakespeare is super awesome. Grad school had kind of convinced me that I don't like teaching and am not at all good at it, but not being eternally stuck in composition hell makes a big difference.

[justavulcan]

Make Your Tieflings Fiendish (3)

The final part of the project, for now.  Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes gave us a huge assortment of fiends to work with, so what if your grandparent was one of them?  I’m leaving off the demon lords and unique or archdevils on the basis of their being unique individuals, but that still leaves an absolute bestiary’s worth.  So, what if your fiendish grandparent was a…

 Akilith Demon? You’re either weedy and thin or absolutely massive, bulky like you grew to fill the space around you. Your skin looks greenish and mossy somehow, and always seems to glisten with a thin sheen of sweat that leaves a sharp chemical smell in the air.  If you’re lucky you’re proportioned like the mortal side; if not, your limbs might be different lengths as though they grew until they couldn’t fit.  Your eyes are likely stark red, and you may have a useless extra one or two spotted about.

 Armanite Demon? You might be easily mistaken for a centaur; if you are, your lower body is tawny and hardy, and your hooves seep with something dark and ichorous; you may or may not leave a trail wherever you trot.  If you haven’t your grandparent’s hindquarters, your legs are certainly still equine, powerful and muscled through the thigh and ending in a dark hoof.  Your horns curve out from your temples and back to meet near the crown of your head.

 Bulezau Demon? Your face is likely goatlike, with some mix of long pointed ears, horizontal pupils, a thick ruff about your neck, and a billy’s beard and horns.  You’re wiry no matter your strength, and your cloven hooved feet find natural purchase on sheer surfaces.  If you got the worst of your grandparent, you’re given to taking ill, and often show the marks of some illness or other- boils, scars, pox marks, and other such features mar your greyish, pallid skin.

 Dybbuk Demon? You’ve the look of a rotting corpse about you, or worse show your grandparent’s true face.  If you’ve the corpse, you look dead walking, bloated or shriveled to nothing like a body well on its way to decomposition, with the coloration to match.  If you were less lucky, you look like your grandparent in their own form- a ghastly pallor tints your skin, which might even be translucent to show the working parts beneath.  Your hair is long and grows thin and tangled, forming natural dreadlocks or tendrils. You’re far too flexible in either case, with hypermobile joints all over your body.

 Maurezhi Demon?  Your skin hangs slightly loose on your frame, as if it were too large for you.  While this is strange to look upon at rest, you can pull and contort it into shape, giving you a fair range of flexibility with your features.  Your teeth are hard to hide, though; stout, bone-cracking things, and too many for your mortal parent’s side to account.

 Molydeus Demon? You tower over your mortal parents’ kind, with skin the red of fresh blood or new red earth, and you’re solidly built, thick through the trunk, thighs, and shoulders.  Below the neck, you’ve little hair; above it, your face is nearly hidden behind a thick gray wolf’s coat of fur, and you might even have the snout and nose to go with it.  The beginnings of a second head sprouts from one collarbone- either the barest peek of a snake’s snout, or the whole first foot of a serpent body, long enough to wear tied as a necklace and withered to uselessness.

 Nabassu Demon? Your inky-black skin is scaly and lustrous like an oil slick.  Glowing yellow eyes and short horned nubs leave little doubt of your heritage, and your shoulders are thick with the muscle to support the vestigial wings or remains thereof.  You have a hunger in you for something hard to name, and demons and some other tieflings feel a momentary chill looking upon your face.

 Rutterkin Demon? You were a mistake, and you look it. While your body isn’t as twisted, random, and nonsensical as your ancestor’s, it’s still just wrong to look at- arms with extra joints, mismatched limbs, odd lumps and twists in your skin and bone, and misplaced fingers, teeth, nails, and non-functioning eyes tell the tale of your abyssal heritage loudly.  You grow little hair, and your skin varies wildly in color across your body, as if your sculptor couldn’t decide what would be the most fitting tone.

 Sibriex Demon? Your head is the best-developed part of you, and that’s not a good thing.  Your mouth is uneven, your nose crooked, and your eyes heterochromatic if they’re not even more distinctly differentiated by mismatched size, shape, or pupil type.  Bloated and misshapen, you bear the marks on your flesh of chains that you’ve never worn. Boils, spurs, discolorations, and random patches of thick, coarse hair litter your whole body randomly, and below the neck your body feels like an afterthought, added on after the artist’s work was done on your head.  Fused fingers and toes, uneven limb lengths, loose flaps of skin, misplaced bits of nail or scale, and a generally varying skin color mean that even if you have siblings of the same ancestor, you look little alike.

 Wastrilith Demon? Your most striking feature are the spined fins sprouting from your head like a lionfish in place of hair.  They’re scattered across your body, down your spine especially and perhaps at your elbows and knees.  Your skin is hairless, scaly and a sick lavender-maroon shade, and your hands have thick yellow nails that run to claws if you’re not careful to keep them trimmed.  You might have webbed hands or fused fingers.  You’re built long and lithe, with bulky back muscles and shoulders that make you a natural swimmer.

 Abishai Devil? You could be mistaken for chromatic dragonborn, but your arms are too long, almost to your knees, and you’re far too lean to be a full-blood dragonborn.  You have bulky back muscles as though you were meant to have wings, but if you do, they’re useless for flight, and mostly get in the way.  Your tail, if you have one, is long and active.  Rather than proper hair, you might have a head full of tendrils forming a messy mop about your shoulders.

 Amnizu Devil? Your rubbery pea-soup green skin is the greatest mark of your ancestry.  Your mouth is perhaps a bit wide for your mortal parent’s side, and you can’t grow any hair at all, but otherwise you could easily be mistaken for any other mortal. It’s your bearing that sets you apart- you radiate authority like someone in a position of power, and your demeanor seems effortlessly, seemingly supernaturally charming.

 Merregon Devil? You’re built like a soldier, tall and sturdy with a straight spine and dark gray skin.  Your face is oddly ill-defined, as though someone didn’t care to give you real facial features, but it sits well because you have an instinctive urge to cover your face.  Your voice is soft and may be ill-used- your grandparent’s blood leaves you with a distinctly nonverbal tendency for communication.

 Narzugon Devil? You were born to the saddle, and your body tells the story ably.  You’re small and light like a jockey, and you likely have bow legs and have since you were born.  Your skin is an ashen color and your eyes the red of flame, and if you’ve a tail or horns, they’re stubby and ill-defined.  When you ride, you draw the eye, a subtle hint of your grandparent’s command.

 Nupperibo Devil?  Your grandparent did you few favors by managing to reproduce.  Your head is tiny in proportion to your body, and you have the kind of broad, clumsy bone structure that makes it difficult to move.  Flies and other buzzing insects find you appealing, and so you are constantly bothered by them.  You’re nearsighted, hard of hearing, or both, but your senses of smell and taste are sharp as a blade, which helps you fill your endless hunger.

 Orthon Devil?  You are built like a barrel, with a thick torso and matching arms and legs- indeed, you are almost as wide as you are tall, with thick, elephantine legs and arms like tree trunks.  Your skin is ashen or sallow but basically a normal human skin tone, and you grow little hair.  Your most dominating facial feature is your tusks- your lower canines are long enough to protrude from your jaw when your mouth is closed, and you have an underbite.

 Howler?  Your face is fairly skeletal; naturally lighter skin covers your face, making your eyes and mouth stand out.  Your eyes are like as not black through the sclera and red in the iris.  Your throat is a dark, sullen red and you may even have a throat pouch you can use to make your voice really boom or carry.  The rest of you is top-heavy, with stout shoulders, a narrow waist, powerful thighs, and a short, naked tail it’s best to wear wrapped around your waist. You’ve no hair, but may have a line of thin spines from the crown of your head down your back.

 Canoloth Yugoloth? Your features are fairly bestial, from back-bent knees like a dog’s to a distinct snout and thick jaw full of stout, sharp teeth.  Your most distinct feature is your tongue, which is at least a foot long and is covered in small thorny protrusions; your sense of taste is supernaturally acute. Your skin is stark crimson, a muddy yellow, or somewhere in between.  Built like a bulldog, with a thick neck, stout shoulders, and barrel-like body, you’re not large so much as you are wide, almost as wide as tall.

 Dhergoloth Yugoloth? You have more arms than you ought to. Not working ones, mind, your fiendish blood doesn’t run strong enough for that, so arms three through five are an encumbrance rather than a blessing, and must be worn under clothes or lopped off to keep them out of the way.  Your shoulders and torso are oddly shaped to account for the extras, sort of a lumpy, squashed pentagram.  Your skin’s an olive-green color and faintly iridescent if not chitinous.  While you’ve no horns and little hair, hiding your pure red compound eyes is a challenge. Thankfully you probably didn’t end up with mandibles.

 Hydroloth Yugoloth? Your skin is pebbled and rough like a toad’s, and that same look marks your face, which is wide and set on a neck that seems too short and wide.  The effect overall is that you have no neck, and your wide mouth and broadly-set eyes add to the toad-like look.  Your fingers and toes are webbed and long, and your thighs are thick as tree trunks to spur long jumps.  Your memory is excellent, bordering on photographic, and you sometimes wake from dreams of lying on the bottom of a dark river, feeling comforted.

 Merrenoloth Yugoloth? You’re a gaunt one, and pale too.  Your face is sunken, with hollow cheeks, deep-set eyes, and drawn lips, giving you a profoundly skeletal look.  If you grow hair, it’s only around the sides, never on the top of your head, although a long but thin moustache or beard grows naturally.  You never get seasick, and the feel of planks under your feet, swaying gently with current or tide, feels more natural than the motionlessness of solid ground.

 Oinoloth Yugoloth? Your skin, already an unhealthy bruise color, is often pocked with boils or buboes, which while harmless to you are unsettling to others.  You otherwise always seem ill somehow, with a persistent cough, constant sweat, or low fever.  You have horns that curl out and forward slightly from your temples, and your nails are long and a natural crimson color- they also grow like weeds, forcing you to chew or clip them constantly.

 Yagnoloth Yugoloth? You’re distinctly lopsided to look at- the fact of the matter is that one arm is much larger and stronger than the other.  Curiously, it’s not the one you use for writing- that hand is small and delicate, slender for fine work like writing contracts.  Whatever the case, your shoulder and pectoral on the larger side are similarly bulkier, which may lend your torso a bit of an unnatural twist.

 See the original post here and the second post here.

[h50europe]

Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.

[primasveraas-writing]

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

-

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

-

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

[potter-imagines]

Library Confessions (George Weasley)

Summary:  george fluff?? maybe like some sort of best friends to lovers kinda deal?

Notes: I've been wanting to write George for a while so I was excited to make this !! hope you enjoy x

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

It was a flurry and cold winter day, the kind of day when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. The frigid air, the slippery ground and the sheet of white covering the once green grass. All signs winter was here and cold times were ahead. Even in the highlands of Scotland, the winters were ferosus and unforgiving. Seeing as it was your seventh, and final, year at Hogwarts, most would assume you’d have adapted to the cold by now, but that wasn’t the case. Although as much as you despised the freezing temperature, the pulsating tick of your headache preferred the cold over the thunderous noise back inside.

The Gryffindor common room was too rambunctious- wild, uncontrolled for your desires tonight. It was Friday and tomorrow was the highly anticipated day trip to Hogsmeade. Students were understandable thrilled and you would have loved to join in, but the throbbing pain and stress of school on your shoulders masked your fun. The migraines were brought on by school, but also the idea that you would not get to join your friends tomorrow.

Your feet carried you further from the common room, the rowdy noise fading with every step. If the weight of homework wasn’t so heavy on your shoulders, the party would’ve been in your plans. You tried to stay as long as you could but after about twenty minutes, and three Weasley fireworks being set off, you decided a breath of fresh air sounded delightful.

Your best friends, Fred and George Weasley, were the cause of this chaos. They were fully sober yet drunk off the energy of the room. When you had left, Fred and Lee were orchestrating a tournament of pumpkin juice pong, and George was sitting on the scarlet couch talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. His eyes darted to you every few seconds. Sometimes he would hold the gaze, or send you a wink, but most of the times he snapped his head back to the golden trio, pretending his attention was elsewhere.

It made your heart thump against the bones of your chest. You were sure if he had been sitting beside you he’d surely hear it, loud and clear. A deep pink blush spread across your cheeks at the thought of George. You had been close friends with the twins since you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express and sat in the same cabinet as them. Through the years, the bond grew stronger yet developed differently with each twin. Fred was like an annoying, overbearing, proactive big brother and George, well, the affection you felt for George was not in a brotherly way. 

Since your third year, you started noticing subtle things about him. Like how he arched his eyebrows when he spoke, or when he’d bite his lip when taking notes. He also had a tendency to eat his dessert first, if you got him laughing enough he’d accidentally let out a tiny snort and he always stood to your left when you walked to class together. When winter came, George was always shedding his clothes in order to keep you warm. Fred would complain that you knew it was snowing, therefore it’s your fault for being cold, but never George. Not to say that Fred is cruel, he can be a gentleman when he chooses but your relationship was more sibling bickering and competition. But George had always been a bit, sweeter than Fred.

Most wrote the twins off as one person but the differences between the twins was written out in neon signs, in your eyes. Maybe it was because you were closer to the twins than most, besides Lee. They were both your best friends, but they treated you in polar opposite ways. If Fred ever tried to cuddle you in his bed, you were sure you’d ‘Stupefy’ him into oblivion. When George did it, you could hardly croak a breath with all the rockets exploding in your heart.

The fragrance of frosted pine and butterscotch wafted through the nipping air as you approached the north entrance of the castle. Winter was finally here. The beauty of Hogwarts shined most bright during this time of the year. Snow crunched under the weight of your foot while you trudged through the courtyard taking advantage of the short cut. With the overwhelming school work piling by the second, slipping into the library didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You had two papers, a research project for Magical Creatures, and an exam in Potions. Not to mention you were expected to memorize and perfect a list of disarming and protection spells before Defense Against the Dark Arts by Tuesday.

Lost in your own stress, you hardly noticed your feet carrying you into the large doors of the library. The lighting was low and the attendance was even dimmer. A few Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws were scattered around the room. Madam Pince nodded her head at your arrival then returned to her work behind the main desk.

Sliding into an empty table, you started to situate yourself. A stack of parchment was already waiting next to a clean quill and glass container of ink. It wasn’t hard to find the necessary textbooks and you returned back to your seat rather quickly.

A good twenty minutes had passed before your ears perked up at the sound of Madam Pince scolding a student. You didn’t have a clean view of her desk but you assumed a group had gotten too loud for her liking. Turning back to your book you faced away from the main entrance of the library. Eyes scanning the textbook, a new presence creeping up behind you went unnoticed. As you flipped to the next page in the advanced potions book, a grasp clamped down on either shoulder and a pair of lips hovered dangerously close to your ear. The unexpected warmth created a jolt on energy through your body. You practically flung out of your chair in surprise, whipping around to face your attacker. The initial glare and scowl soon washed away as your eyes met a familiar pair of warm, chocolate orbs.

George Weasley had a devilish grin, proudly basking in your shock. Not giving you a second to refuse his arrival, George pulled the wooden chair besides you out and sat in it. Throwing his arm across your shoulder, he smiled innocently at you.

“And what might you be doing in here on this eventful Friday evening, hm?”

Still reeling in shock, you placed your hand over your heart in hopes to calm down from the scare. Wildly glaring up at George, you yelled in a hush tone,

“George! You nearly gave me a heart attack- what’re you doing here?” You smacked his chest with a thud, though George remained unphased. His eyes squinted down at you while he shot back,

“Pretty sure I asked you first, love.” He said smugly. A large maroon and gold sweater adorned his frame, paired with dark washed jeans. You could smell the signature scent of pine and cinnamon that wafted wherever he followed. Folding your book on the table top, you glared playfully at the ginger.

“What else is there to do in a library besides studying?” The smart reply caused a twinkle in George’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning as his witty side took control. His fingers tightened around the blades of your shoulder, dragging you a tad closer to him.

“Plenty of things-” An instant smack came as you knocked his side once more. George chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by the flusterness taking over your features. Motioning towards the stack of parchment and mountain high pile of lengthy textbooks, you shook your head.

“I’ve got a lot of work due this coming week, so figured I’d get a head start.”

“Ah, you weren’t enjoying the party.” He declared knowingly. George typically never left your side during house parties. The anxiousness and suffocation of the noise that crept into your veins was always capped by the feeling of his arm around your shoulder protectively. Although tonight, George ran to the Golden Trio the moment the function began, leaving you alone in the corner with Dean and Seamus. You were friends with the boys but George was the only one who could make you feel relaxed and him being busy, escaping the party seemed like the best option.

Leaning into your chair, a heavy sigh fell from your parted lips at the recollection of tonight. “Not really I suppose. I don’t know… not in the partying mood tonight.” You admitted softly. George’s face furrowed immediately, concerned painting his features boldly. The dim lighting of the library all but hid the gleam of worry in his eyes.

“What’s got you stressed, darling?”

Scoffing at the question you picked up your book and started flipping through the pages again. For starters, you couldn’t decide where was the best place to start when it came to all your worries. There was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who returned last school year, the fact that the twins were planning on leaving early to open their shop (which they asked you to help run once you finished with school), home stress, school work, your feelings for George, trying to figure out your plans for after Hogwarts, and so much more. The weight of the world was crashing down on you and for the first time, you felt like allowing it to crumble you.

“You mean besides the school work I’m drowning in and the ever looming fear of being murdered by the Dark Lord himself? Eh, not much.” The sarcastic reply was all too familiar to George. Having spent the last seven years glued to your side, he started to pick up on your antics. Like your constant need to use sarcasm to hide your genuine fears. He studied you for a moment, searching for any hint on what really had you worked up.

Reaching his hand out, George plucked the potions book from your hands and started surveying it. He tilted the book upside down, pretending to read the text. Scrunching his brows, the fiery twin feigned comprehension of the material, a small ‘oohh’ and ‘hm’ falling from his lips as he did so. His silly antics caused you to giggle as he threw the book back to the table.

“Why’re you doing homework on a Friday night, anyhow? You’ve got all tomorrow morning and all day Sunday for that!”

“Technically have all day tomorrow as well-” George stopped you short as he cut into the conversation stubbornly.

“No, we’re all going to Hogsmeade and I already claimed your spot next to me at The Three Broomsticks!” He resembled a pouty child as he huffed besides you. Flipping the page of your textbook, your mouth bunched in the corner, guilt entering your bloodstream.

“I’m really sorry, Georgie. If my grades slip any further- my mum’ll have my head on a stick! Besides, I didn’t figure it would be that big of a deal, everyone else is going so I’m sure my absence will not be noticed.” Your laugh was meant to cover the tang of honest hurt, although you hoped it would slip past him. Of course, George noticed everything when it came to you and seeing you down was definitely not something he felt okay with ignoring.

“But I’ll notice- just like I did tonight.” He added with a point of the finger. It was true, George always seemed to notice when you were missing. He also always seemed to know where you were when you did sneak away.

“Thanks…” Trailing off, you glanced over to George. The honey like orbs were already examining your features. You assumed he must’ve picked up on the sadness dripping through your pores because the next thing you knew, George was offering up his entire Saturday.

“You want me to stay back with you?” Your head snapped in his direction immediately. With a bugged stare, you shook your head feverishly.

“What- no! You and Fred practically countdown the days until we get to go to Hogsmeade. I know how bad you wanna go, don’t skip out ‘cause of me.”

“We do have another trip next month so I can just wait to go until then. I’m sure Hogsmeade will still be flourishing by then. C’mon, you know you want me to stay back. You’ll bore yourself to death without me around!”

“You’d just be staying back because you feel bad-” George interrupted you, face reading bewilderment at your accusation.

“No, I’d be staying back because I want to. Y/n, when have I ever hung out with someone I don't want to be around- besides Percy seeing as I’m obligated to share a home with him. I want to spend time with you, that’s why I look forward to Hogsmeade trips. Get to spend time with you outside of the castle. So if you’re not there, I’m just gonna be miserable, love. Which means, I better just stay back with you.” A mischievous smirk rose to his lips as he finished his spiel, crossing his arms across his chest. The material of his sweater bunched around his fold and you admired Molly’s handiwork. Pressing your finger into his chest, you gave George a playful shove. He reached out for the table top to sturdy himself as he chuckled. Batting your lashes you teasingly cooed,

“Sounds like someone can’t get enough of me.” Not missing a beat, George rested his elbow on the tabletop. His chin was planted in his palm as he leered dreamily.

“Thought we already established that.” He winked over to you. Lifting up your heavy book, you sheltered your blushing cheeks behind the pages. Your forehead pressed deeply into the pages as you folded the covers around your heated face.

“You joke too much.” Mumbling into the book, you were taken aback when a hand abruptly snatched the book from your fingertips. You watched as the book went above your head, then settled in George’s hand. He snapped the cover shut between his hands, an echoing ‘snap’ invading the library. The peppermint lingering on his breath smacked against your lips. George ran his finger over the title page, then tossed it to the side. As the book slammed on the counter, he turned his head back to you.

“Never about my feelings towards you, though.” He stated seriously. Your brows pulled together in a stern line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your furrowed gaze rested heavily upon him.

“I just… really like spending time with you. Like just the two of us.” As he finished speaking, you watched cautiously as George’s hand sneaked over to land on top of yours. His palm was warm on top of yours. After a few seconds, he flipped your hand over so it was set inside his. That comfort feeling bursted in your chest under the weight of his eyes. It was funny how the simplest of actions from him could cause a firework extravaganza in your chest. The tension in your throat was increasing.

“I do, too, Georgie. You’re very sweet.” You smiled awkwardly, the bashfulness overcoming every cell in your body. When Fred complimented you or was too kind, it made you suspicious. Usually he buttered you up before a prank, so you never fully trusted his words but George? George was too gentle to ever set you up or put you in harms way.

“Y/n… there was actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you- well something I was gonna ask you tomorrow but seeing as you’re not going, might as well as you now.” The mumble was a notch above audible. You watched on as he fumbled with his hands, twiddling his thumbs nervously. His anxiousness was contagious as you soon felt uneasy as well. Your mind raced in worry as you wondered what was clouding his mind. As if it was second nature, your hand moved out in reaction to his worrisome state to snake his hand into your own. Softening your piercing stare, you squeezed his hand tightly.

“What’s wrong, George?”

His attention was shifted to your locked hands. It wasn’t the first time you held his hand, although it was the first time you were knocked off balance by the wave of electricity streaming down your spine from the touch. Based on his reaction, you figured George felt it too.

“Uh, would you ever want to, like, go on a date? I um, I’ve really liked you for quite some time now and I keep trying to ask you but I get nervous cause… I just needed to tell you myself before Fred does it for me.”

“Tell me now if this is a prank, George Weasley.” The sternness in your voice was something George only heard on occasion. He knew not to joke when it came to your heart so he was taken aback by your words, though understood why. You saw the confusion stirring in his brain before he settled your worries.

“It’s not a prank, love, I swear on my life. I would never lie about my feelings, that I can promise.”

“Tomorrow?” You looked up, eyes peeking over to your side. George had hardly moved and stared blankly at you. It was if his brain had hit a wall and was lagging in processing. The candle on the table flickered, orange and red shadows flashing across his face. Even in the shadows the razor sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones popped.

“Huh?” He croaked.

Catching a Weasley twin off guard was not a common thing and George appeared baffled. Hands folded in your lap, you could feel the small shake to his grasp. In an odd way, you felt a surge of confidence knowing you had the power to make George blush. Tightening your hand around his own, you roamed the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.

“Could we go on a date tomorrow? After I finished at least two of my papers- could we go on a date then?” It was hard to shake the electric shock tingling through your bones. Never before had you basked in eyes as beautiful as his. His eyes reminded you of a pool of whiskey and shades of chestnut. When the light flashed, a honey, caramel tint soaked his orbs. Simply calling them ‘brown’ eyes did no justice.

Your voice brought a large smile to George’s lips like he won the lottery. The glistening gleam brighten the dim corner of the library. You could feel your breathing become inconsistent once again at the sight. Nodding his head, you watched with a smile as his sandy, ginger hair danced in tune.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Does uh, does that mean you like me too?”

Leaning back in your seat, you started to think back on all your years at Hogwarts. There wasn’t an exact moment you fell for him- it didn’t happen all at once. It was born as a crush, your heart leaping at the sight of the handsome boy your first year. When you started hanging out with the twins, you immediately grew close with them by the third week. Since then, you only got closer with the twins although it was undeniable that there was always a more intense gravitational pull you felt towards George. Not that Fred hadn’t pointed out the obvious connection between his twin and you numerous times. He enjoyed harassing George and yourself a bit too much.

Shrugging your shoulder in uncertainty, you admitted,

“Honestly it’s been so long I can’t remember when I first started liking you. I mean I’ve had a crush on you since first year and… I’ve always found you to be the funniest, most handsome guy I’ve ever met.” You paused your word vomit to take in George’s expression for a sign. Glancing up, you noticed he was far closer to you than he was before. The tip of his nose faintly brushing against your own. Your eyes enlarged in seconds at the lack of space between you two. “What’re you doing?”

A gulp echoed through George. His teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip, tugging at the skin in an attempt to calm his nerves. You viewed in curiosity as his eyes darted from your lips, to your eyes, then to the floor, then back to your lips again. Your suspicions were confirmed as George locked his peer into your own. His face read seriousness as he asked you gravely,

“Are you going to slap me if I kiss you? I’ve seen you knock the daylights out of Fred for trying to. Mum says you need to take a girl out before you kiss ‘em for real so I wanna do it somewhat right. Y’know, be a gentleman and such.” 

Your cheeks flared red instantly, eyes planted to the floor. George had always been sweet but you never expected him to be this sweet. There was nothing more in the world that you desired than finally getting to kiss George Weasley, but it was an incredible kind of him to take your own feelings into thought before acting. You pressed your lips together tightly, exceeding all your effort into suppressing the bashful smile threatening to breakthrough. It took everything inside to contain your excitement and nerves at his proposal.

George broke your messy train of thought as the sensation of his hand against your skin registered. His slim fingers brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, then wrapped around the side of your cheek. Like two magnets matching up, you melted into his touch. Finally drawing your gaze back up, you placed the palm of your hand against George’s chest, grasping a light fist of his sweater for stability. The height difference wasn’t immense, but enough that you needed some sort of control to keep on your feet.

“How proper of you, Mr. Weasley. Yes, I would really like that.”

Leaning into his hand, you met George’s gaze as you slowly moved towards each other. Meeting in the middle, you were nearly knocked off your feet by the force of his embrace. Your lips connected like a perfectly mapped constellation. His kiss was warm and fulfilling, yet constantly left you wanting more. It was undeniable he had practice before, his lips moved far too calm for this to be his first.

You practically melted in his arms, kissing him softly. Your lips danced for a moment until you steadied your hand on his cheek, holding his face. You needed that sense of control, wanted to feel the hold you had under George. Taking the first leap, you dragged your wet tongue along the smoothness of his bottom lip. A tiny, almost inaudible groan fell from his mouth. You deepended the embrace momentarily, then pulled away to press one lasting kiss to his puckered lips. George giggled in reaction, a cherry red blush painting his cheeks.

“You’re adorable.” George ‘booped’ the tip of your nose when he finished speaking. You laughed at his action then extending your finger, you placed a similar tap to his nose and teased him,

“Stop talking about yourself, George.” Although before you could fully retreat your hand, George’s own wrapped around your fingers. In one swift motion he lifted your hand to his face, then pressed his lips to the back of your hand. As he raised his head, his arm was quick to wrap around your shoulder, jerking your chair towards George as a result. His fingers clutched your upper arm loving. 

That smug smile was plastered across his face again, pleasantly pleased with the peach glow tinting your cheeks. Feeling the heat rising you dove to cover your cheeks in the sleeves of his sweater. George accepted your full embrace, arms moving to circle your body entirely. Suddenly a light bulb popped in his mind as he released his grip slightly to glance down at you.

“Maybe if I help you with some of your paper tonight, we’ll have more time for our date tomorrow!” The excitement in his voice was by far the sweetest sound you’d heard. You smiled back at him and nodded in agreement.

“Sure but I do the writing- I don’t trust you enough for that. Your handwriting resembles that of a child.” You laughed at your own jab while George gave you a deadpan look, clearly unable to form a comeback. He’d say so himself that his print was what the Muggles would call ‘chicken scratch’, a phrase you taught George. When George first learned to write with a quill and ink, he had a tendency to smear the ink a smudge as he scribbled away faster than the speed of light. Molly would scold George as the side of his hand would be stained a deep black shade and his paper was hardly legible.

“Rude but, understandable.” George commented. It was sweet of him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he truly wanted to spend his Friday night stuck in the library. Raising your eyebrow to the boy, you gave him a questionable look.

“Wait, don’t you have a party you should be getting back to?” Arm still enclosed around your frame, George gave you a squeeze. A mischievous smirk now covered his lips as he confessed the truth. 

“What do you mean? I only threw that party with Fred so I could spend the night around you- maybe impress you with my wicked dance moves.”

Giving him a pointed look, your chest erupted with a fit of giggles. A memory popped into your mind of the first time you got the chance to view a drunk George Weasley putting on a ‘show’ for you. Sober George was a decent dancer but drunk George was on a different level of skill. The liquid courage had left George regretting a lot of nights and quite a bit of scenarios that came as a result. 

Although dancing drunk with you was never a regret of his. Especially when the two of you went to the Yule Ball together as ‘friends’. Mummers followed your every move as you waltzed with George, students gossiping about George and yourself. Not that you paid attention to anyone but George- there wasn’t a chance given to! You didn’t spend a single second resting on your feet as George had you dancing until the band was packing up. He spun, twisted, lifted, and twirling you all night long. When a slow song finally came on, the prankster king put his gentleman side on full display. It was by far one of the best nights of your life, one you still had yet to stop daydreaming over. Poking his side, you smirked teasingly at the boy.

“Georgie, darling, I’ve seen them before. You’d have a better chance sending yourself to the infirmary than impressing me with your ‘moves’. I haven’t forgotten the Yule Ball last year. My head was spinning for a month!” You laughed together at the reminiscence. George was just as mesmerized by the night as you, maybe a tad more so. For those few hours of pure bliss, George had never felt more complete. Seeing you all dressed up and glowing from head to toe- the image was captured in his mind forever. He never understood the term ‘speechless’ until he saw you walking down the stairs in search of him. He replayed that moment over and over again for a year now. Rubbing your shoulders lovingly, George leaned his head on top of yours.

“Aw, c’mon! You loved it! Twirling around like a beautiful ballerina in your dress. You looked breathtaking- everyone was staring at you. Can’t blame them, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you either.” His words made your insides feel fuzzy, kinda like the sleeve of his sweater. That of which your fingers were absentmindedly petting. George smiled down at the quirk, he loved every antic of yours.

Shaking your head, you pulled the book back that George had discarded. After all, you still had a stack of unwritten essays to get working on. You popped open the top of the ink container. George unraveled his arm from your shoulder to wrap lightly around your waist.

“Stop making me blush.” Crimson flooded your s/c cheeks, far too flustered to meet George’s eyes. That confidence from early had flown away just as sudden as it came. A sprout of warmth came as George’s finger pressed against the side of your jaw, turning your face. Sweetly, and silently, he requested your gaze to which you obliged.

“But you look so beautiful when you do, darling. Now stop distracting me- we have a paper to write, in case you’ve forgotten, love.” His lips darted forward and soon enough, his enticing lips kissed your reddening cheeks. George smirked teasingly, reaching the feathered quill out to brush against your nose. You lightly smacked it away, giggling at him as you did.

“You’re the one distracting me-” The squeal was silenced by George as he pretended to ignore your words as he continued to tease you. Pressing his finger against your lips, George purred,

“Hush, we’ve got work to do so I can take you out tomorrow, love.”

“Fine but don’t forget Georgie, I’m doing the writing.” Narrowing your playful glare, you spoke sternly. It was a sort of game you played- going back and forth with one another. Although finally that teasing crossed the line of flirting to something real. In a way, it almost felt fake. Like all those years of waiting hadn’t really paid off, you were just asleep in your dorm room, dreaming this all up.

The touch of George’s arm leaving your waist cold was enough to question; however the radiating sensation of his hand slipping into yours was confirmation it was real. The chaste kiss he left on the back on your hand still buzzed. Despite the lack of lighting, every handsome feature was distinct from his blazing locks to the scatter of freckles dotting his face. Giving you a sly wink George flirted,

“Ah, I love a woman who takes control.”

For the next hour and a half, far in the corner, behind rows of bookshelves and torches to light to way, George and yourself attempted to write your essay. The first hour consisted of stolen kisses, stolen looks, and George constantly stealing your book from your hands. He made it nearly impossible to the point you threatened to cancel your study date, which shaped him up immediately. 

The last half and hour George read to you different pages from your stack of books until you got a good jump on the paper. You were feeling hopeful until Madam Pince had announced the library would be closing for the night. In a matter of seconds, George’s hand was clamped around your wrist, attempting to drag you out. You managed to scoop your school supplies together and tuck them away in your bag before allowing him to escort you back to the common room. You just hoped your study date tomorrow would consist of some actual study. If not, it’s a good thing you have all of Sunday.

[the-l-spacer]

Ooo fic requests,,, how abouttt madeleine convincing espresso to take a day off to relax?

ao3

He really should have seen them sooner. The signs, pointing to the fact that something is amiss with Espresso. But as Madeleine sweeps up the stairs to the mage’s laboratory, situated two floors above Sparkling’s juice bar, he remains blissfully unaware of the uncharacteristic quiet of the stairwell, devoid of the usual distant crackling of electricity. He doesn’t notice that the hum of equipment, the bubbling and hissing of wildly coloured chemicals in little vials, the telltale scratch-scratch-scratch of Espresso’s quill on parchment, are absent as well.

Instead, he hums the chorus line of an old Republic cantata that had snuck into his head that morning. He balances the freshly-made scones, jam and cream in the crook of his right arm, the flasks of tea (for him) and coffee (for his boyfriend) in his left. And as he clears the last flight of steps, he certainly doesn’t register the musty smell of the room he stands outside, the scent of dust and stale coffee souring the air, as he bursts through the door, announcing heartily,

“Espresso! The hero of the hour has come to relieve you of your workaholism… with breakfast!” He brandishes the gifts — procured from the market that very morning — like they’re his sword and shield, flashes his trademark grin, and…

….and then he goes quiet.

Espresso sits (or rather, slumps) at his messy desk, head resting in both his hands. His carefully gelled up hair now falling in disheveled locks across his face. Slowly, thin fingers shift slightly to reveal a single, bloodshot eye, that regards the knight with disdain.

“Of course,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “As if things couldn’t get any worse, you show up.”

Madeleine blinks at the unexpected hurt the comment brings him. Yes, their early relationship was full of such... quips from Espresso, but more than half the time, Madeleine had deserved them. Now, after time spent trying to improve himself, stepping back to let others take the spotlight once in a while, not tying his worth to the adoration of the public (that was still a work in progress), he thought he’d gotten better. To hear his boyfriend say those same, biting words that characterised their interactions months prior, when all he’d done was say hello?

Something isn’t right.

“Well, that is to say, your work ethic is something I admire, of course, but you do tend to neglect yourself because of it.” Madeleine pads towards the desk, tries to find an uncluttered spot to set their breakfast down. “Hence, scones! Tear yourself away for a bit and eat them with me?”

Espresso’s finger twitches, and quite suddenly, Madeleine is sent stumbling back, a crackling magical barrier shooting up around the mage. “Leave, Knight-Commander,” Espresso says, “I’m in no mood to entertain your bumbling.”

Carefully, Madeleine sets down the packages on the floor. “Espresso. Are you well? Something about you seems… off, today.”

The Coffee mage, still unmoving at his desk, scoffs lightly. “Off? I’m fine. I was perfectly fine before you came along to distract me.”

Madeleine chances a glance around the room, at the crumpled up papers scattered across the floor, the dustbins filled with strange, foul-smelling goop, cups of half-drunk coffee set across every available surface.

“I do not think so,” he responds, gently as he can. “Something is troubling you, that much is clear. Let me help, Espresso.”

Espresso’s fists slam on the table, and the mage’s head snaps up, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’re not some white knight in shining armour, and you’re not a savior,” he snarls, “so stop trying to be one and leave. Me. Alone!” The barrier around him turns into a wave of Coffee Magic that sweeps across the lab, engulfing Madeleine in momentary pain.

Then, the room is silent once again.

Madeleine regards Espresso, head back in his hands. “Are you done?”

“Leave.”

He takes a breath, composes his next words, and speaks. “It’s true that I am none of those things, you’ve made that abundantly clear in the time we’ve known each other.” No response from Espresso, but for a slight exhalation of breath he chooses to interpret as amusement. He continues. “But I am your boyfriend. And while I may not be a saviour, I’m not foolish enough to let that stop me from caring about you. If caring means leaving you alone, then so be it. But I’ve left you alone for weeks now, and seeing you this way…”

He trails off, looking Espresso up and down. His robe had been long discarded, in favour of rumpled shirtsleeves, stained and singed, and the mage looks more exhausted than usual, if that is even possible.

“… So let me care about you. Please.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Espresso deflates, curling in, head falling from his hands to rest on the desk’s edge with a dull thud. His next words come slightly muffled from beneath the table.

“I’m sorry, it-”, They both wince at the rough, sarcastic tone. Espresso takes a shuddering breath, and Madeleine’s chest aches when he sees Espresso’s slight frame shake with the effort. He tries again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. It’s just. It's been-” his voice hitches. “It’s been a long day.”

And Madeleine is crouched at his side in an instant, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Espresso sighs, and leans against him.

“It’s the research grant for the Parfaedia Institute,” the words tumble out of him, “I have to develop a new spell, submit successful results as proof. Next year’s funding hinges on it but. But I-”

Madeleine leans on his shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.

“No, it’s… it’s nothing. Just that none of my experiments have worked so far. I thought that if I simply buckled down and focused, everything would fall into place, like it had in the past. But the deadline is a week away and I’m no closer to a completed paper than I was a month ago. I.” Espresso shuts his eyes, fighting against the rising tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.”

Wordlessly, Madeleine straightens up, opens his arms.

Espresso gets out of his seat, wincing as blood rushes to his legs, and stumbles into his boyfriend’s embrace, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away.

“Madeleine, I need a day off, don’t I?” Espresso mutters, defeated, into his chest.”

The paladin chuckles. “I think you just might.”

“Had coffee an hour ago though. Probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, even if I tried.”

Madeleine breaks away gently. “How about some breakfast, to start? These scones aren’t going to eat themselves.”

For the first time in weeks, Espresso cracks a small smile. “Let me get cleaned up first?”

“Of course.”

“And Madeleine?” Espresso looks up at the knight.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry about earlier, truly. And… thank you.”

Madeleine smiles, too, and presses a soft kiss to Espresso’s forehead.

“Already forgiven, and thank you. For letting me take care of you.”

-

Later, they take breakfast together (slightly cold, but neither of them mind). Then, Madeleine takes Espresso’s hand, and pulls him out of his dark laboratory, to the sunlit Kingdom beyond.

If he was someone different, perhaps Madeleine would have pointed out the metaphor. But he’s far too busy trying to win a stuffed jelly horse for his boyfriend (currently riding a carousel bemusedly) to notice. Probably for the best, anyways.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Take Me to Your Leader.”

I hope you guys are all having a great week, and I hope you enjoy the read.

Captain Kell sat in his room's boots up on the small desk space as he watched the news report filtering in from over the feed.

“Early this morning the chairwoman of the UN has announced a state of emergency and launched a formal investigation into the attempted assassination of the GA’s Admiral Vir. This all comes in response to the announcement by UN president late last night  that they were unable to identify connections to any internal terrorist organizations after a woman was caught attempting to assassinate the Admiral during one of his speeches two months ago. The failed assassination was thanks to 25 year old marine Angle Ramirez who dove in front of the bullet for his commanding officer, and is now (as his family claims) fully healed and back to work. Since the incident, GA and UNSC leaders alike have encouraged Admiral Vir to stay away from earth as much as possible and remain on his ship until further notice.  At a request from one of our journalists yesterday morning, he agreed to a statement from his ship the Omen.”

There was a flickering on the screen as a face appeared  on the news feed. It was, somewhat from a distance, and the lens seems grainy from radiation interference, but the man seen was tall and blond and had one green eye though he was wearing an eyepatch. Captain kell thought he looked a little more lean than the admiral, but it was hard to tell with all the distortion.

When the man began to speak there was something missing in the voice as well, but it would hardly be noticeable.

There was a knock at his door and he quickly threw his feet down from the desk walking over to throw the door open and step outside into the hall. Angelo was waiting for him there and without saying a word the two of them walked down the long hallway and to the planning room.

Mace was still discussing with some of the other men and women there., and Geea and Beatrice were still loitering at the back.

Captain Kell couldn’t keep the distaste from his thoughts as he looked at the two of them. There was a prime example of toxic love if he had ever seen it. The two were clearly partnered or, at the very least, dating, but he had never seen two people who enjoyed pissing each other off as much as they did. WIth them there was plenty of jealousy and mistrust to go around. And as for Geea’s views on Drev religion, well they were backwards to say the least.

He had seem the same sort of fanaticism in certain shamed drev generals after the war, radical, and suicidal almost in nature.

She had no real idea what the meaning of the new law was.

As soon as he walked in the two women turned to look up at him, their arms crossed over their chests. Beatrice was playing with some big ass knives like that was likely to impress anyone, but really all he saw was some crazy asshole whose parents probably didn’t give her enough attention when she was a kid.

He sad down at the table.

Geea leaned forward expectantly.

“Setting course/”

He turned his head to look up at her, “Yes, setting course to whatever cesspit of corruption spawned you.”

Geea pulled back, “Excuse me, but we hired you for a job, not for insults.” One of her hands reached for the weapons on her belt, but Noble stepped forward spear at the ready. He was a good foot taller than she was, and he knew for a fact he was probably a better warrior. He had a natural talent for it.

He leaned back in his seat, “You hired me for a job and now expect me to fling my dead corpse at the Omen like my ship is going to be able to handle that.” he shook his head, “You hired me which means we are going to do this MY way, which means we are going to do it quiet, and we are going to do it proper. That means NONE of this comes back on me. If we show up at the omen right now and bust down their doors, we are going to get atomized by two platoons of marines and an entire clan of Drev. LEts not also forget that the Admiral Isn’t exactly going to be easy to just kill.” Captain Kell waved a hand wildly, “He has a fucking Drev SAINT on his crew, that is hardly something I think I want to deal with.” he shook his head, “No no, this is going to take me a lot longer to plan, and it is going to require a lot more material that I don’t already have.”

Geea bristled in impatience and indignation.

“I am not going to throw my life away for this mission, and if you want to push that, than I will throw you out of the airlock faster than you can say, “please captain, please I was just being a whiny little bitch.” The room was silent around Geaa’s seething, but he paid her no mind. She didn’t exactly scare him.

She was a minor player in the black market at best, and the way she moved told him she was no great shakes as a warrior either. Probably used to fighting humans so developed a habit of using brute force to overcome them with her height. As for Beatrice, he had a feeling that she made up for skill mostly in unpredictability and sheer fury.

Anyone can look scary if they scream real loud and flail their knives at you.

The way their crew behaved was enough to tell him as  much. No one on the ship really respected them, and Geea ruled mostly out of ear, her men were not as loyal to her as she thought they might be, and he had a feeling that, for the right price, he could buy them off if he wanted.

He rested his palms flat against the table before him, “You understand if I am going to do this I am going to need all the right equipment. You want the man gone but I want it to look like some freak disappearance The last thing my crew needs is the long arm of the GA down on our heads.” he shook his head, “No we need to do this strategically, and we need to do this quietly, and we are going to start by getting the tech we need to pull this off without being seen.”

He turned to look at the two of them, “I am assuming that you two know where I can get those sorts of things…. Under the radar.”

Geea crossed her arms over her chest, “And YOU don’t. You are a pirate after all.”

“Yeah, I generally tend to STEAL from other people and sell it to middle men. I don’t generally tend to buy any of the goods.”

Geea  stood, waiting for a long moment before finally uncurling her hands in annoyance, “Fine, Fine, but we make this quick.”

He nodded his head once and motioned her to continue on following her up and to the bridge where he watched her set a course.

He tried to make it look like he wasn’t watching her, but in the back of his mind he was quickly memorizing the coordinates that he saw appearing on screen. Granted he did have a bot installed that should copy it for him, but you can never trust technology to do exactly what you expect it to do.

When she was done, he moved forward and slid into the Captain’s chair, familiar with the machine as he prepared it for a warp sequence.

Despite him being very familiar with this ship, more than one time he found himself accidentally reaching for controls that weren’t there. He cursed his muscle memory, though he forced the ship into doing what he wanted, alerting the crew to the imminent warp before he could accidentally kill one of them by sheer freak accident.

Geea watched him from behind.

He knew she didn’t much like him.

That was fine by him. She wasn’t exactly the kind of person that he would want to be liked by.

They came out of warp a few moments later with a hard lurch through the internal dampeners were doing their job to avoid smearing him across the front windscreen like window pizza.

She walked up to stand beside him and rested her hand of the chair, the gesture reminded him of someone else, and it felt wrong to have her do it, though he tried not to show his discomfort.

“Just beyond that asteroid.”

Captain Kell raised an eyebrow. This was all very interesting. Here he was thinking they would end up back on Noctopolis, for he had been sure that that was the hub of all pirate activity in the universe, but he guessed not. As they came around another asteroid, his eyes fell on a large chunk of rock that must have been over ten miles wide in his shi[s estimation, and from here he could already see the hive of docking ports and extending protrusions built into the rock.

He blinked in awe at the glittering blue lights and the hive of activity surrounding the massive asteroid.

Ships flew in and out through open docking bays landing here and there on extending arms. Good were moved by silent crane arms through space as add ons were constantly being made by men in space suits scurrying over the rock. The palace was…. Amazing at the same time it was an absolute disaster of engineering. You would never see something like tat made by the GA or UNSC, but from here he could see plenty of influence from all parties.

As they flew closer, they were absolutely dwarfed by the massive rock, and it’s protruding arms. All around him he saw human building techniques, and Tesraki logos stamped on almost everything as they moved forward. Massive viewing screens were all around them doing advertisements on things would would never have seen on a location run by UNSC or GA interference.

The one to his right was some sort of bootleg pill for weightloss, while, on the other side, someone was advertising some kind of flamethrower. The screen above that was giving the specs for the newest design in railgun technology.

His eyes were wide as he stared at all of it, and his heart began to race fast inside his chest.

Now THIS was awesome.

Being a space pirate sure did have its perks.

Over the radio feed static rolled in and out as the broadcasts from the different advertisements tried to pick up his frequency.

But one voice came in clear and crisp above all others, “Unknown aircraft. Identify yourself.”

“This is the Infinity requesting docking.”

There was a momentary pause over the other end of the line, as their ship was likely scanned before, “Docking permission granted, please proceed to hanger E docking space 6.”

He did as ordered, flying his ship down to the entrance of the docking bay, where he was ordered to slow, and then a large mechanical hand grabbed them around the hull and pulled them further into the asteroid.

They were dragged inside a ways, though he could definitely have flown in himself, and eventually sat down on E6. 

There was a sharp jolt as they made connection with the airlock, and he stood rom his spot, turning and walking past Geea and towards the cargo bay where his men were waiting. He looked at them each in turn, making slow eye contact with them.

“You know what to do?”

There was a nod as they recognized the true words behind his eye contact, and they quickly moved into pairs of two discussing which piece of “equipment” they were looking for.  It likely wouldn’t take them long, but he didn’t expect that part of their mission to take that long anyway.

Following after them, he was accompanied by Geea, Beatrice and Noble as they walked out into the tube and finally, into the absolutely massive atrium of the hidden Pirate city.

He had to stop, he just couldn’t help it, it was like nothing he had ever seen before, and his mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the massive room full of people and billboards and holograms. There were railed transports on the floor, and there were vendors selling strange food at every turn. It might have been any normal metropolitan area if it weren’t for the sort of advertisements for weapons, and strange illegal creams.

There was one place that was advertising body modifications….. With a ten percent discount if you got the limb removed with them as well.

On another wall someone was advertising a new mechanical eye. The technology hadn’t been released to the public yet, but the features…. Well the features were amazing. He found himself dragged in and rendered mostly stunned. They had him hooked by the first demonstration.

He wanted a cool new mechanical eye.

But Geea grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, “Aren’t we supposed to be doing something.”

Angrily he frowned and held up a hand turning on her with his eyes narrowed.

He prodded her in the chest in a show of dominance towards her. Letting her know that he wasn’t afraid of being insulted or intimidated by someone  like her. To him she was nothing.

“Look, I’m not stupid. I know that this genius little assasination attempt wasn’t your idea, so right here and right now, you better take me to the asshole who set you up for this is you can color me gone. I don’t work through third parties.” He prodded her in the chest again with one finer, “I don’t trust them.”

The Drev stared down at him with absolute rage and consternation.

“Don’t touch me.” She hissed.

He prodded her again, “Just try and stop me.”

She reached for his hand, but he caught her by the wrist and twisted it. He knew the way Drev joints worked, so he knew exactly what NOT to do. She howled in pain and Beatrice moved forward to help, but a spear to her throat by Noble was enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Show me your boss, or your girlfriend becomes a kabob, your choice.”

There was a sharp growl and finally Geea agreed, taking her hand back with some measure of pain and annoyance, “Fine, fine…. Follow me.”

She stalked away grumpily and Noble kept an eye on beatrice as the were led further into the station.

The captain kept his head turning this way and that distracted by the bright and colorful ads, advertising things that he wanted, and some things that he didn’t.

To his surprise, more than once he saw advertisements for Iron eye Knockoffs. He would have dared get a procedure done on this back alley asteroid, but it was still quite shocking. This air of shock continued along with him as he was led down through the darkness and into the tight passages and tunnels of the Asteroid.

Eventually Geea stopped in front of a door and knocked once.

The camera above the door whirred and looked down at them. Geea waved to it and with a hiss it finally opened.

They were led into a small waiting room with pristine little couches as if he was expecting to see a doctor at any moment, but after a few minutes of sitting another door opened and they were allowed through into the next room.

Geea told him to stay put as she was led behind yet another door.

Not to be left Behind, Beatrice followed after, giving him the opportunity to slip over to the door and quickly deploy a small circular camera which used technology unknown to him to see through the door. 

It streamed directly into his fake eye as he closed the real one, and glanced around the room.

He could hear voices, and enhanced the sound of his implants.

“Did you get the assassin.”

“Yes, but there have been some, hiccups.”

“What might that be?”

“He is insisting on meeting his employers.”

The voice seemed almost bored with the idiot pirates, “Then let him meet someone, he doesn’t have to know. Jerah over there will do just fine.”

He turned his fake eye towards the source of the voice falling on some sort of hologram. He quickly looked up just as Geea was turning back towards the door.

He managed to make it up to the person’s face, a Rundi, how str-

Then he froze in shock and disbelief.

Geea reached towards the door, and it was only with a swift movement he was able to pull his camera away in time an leap from the door as she stepped from the room.

He tried to keep the horror and shock on his face in check as he was led into the room to meet his “employer.”

He didn’t care though.

He knew the truth.

There was plenty of evidence on that camera. Evidence that the chairwoman of the GA had ordered his assassination.

[cruelfeline]

One of the aspects of Hordak that strikes me so significantly when compared to other characters is the unexpected, terrifying escalation of his situation. 

We don’t really see this happen with anyone else: generally speaking, our other characters are very much a case of “what you see is what you get.” Adora is perhaps a bit of an exception, seeing as her status as “First Ones gun trigger” is used as a plot twist in season four, but her general background and the overall nature of her situation remain fairly consistent throughout the show. 

Same with Catra. Same with Glimmer and Bow. Mermista, Perfuma, Scorpia, Frosta... everyone else receives a backstory and, barring minute elaborations, stays true to our first impressions of them. Our understanding of who they are and what they are about doesn’t really change.

Hordak is not this way.

Hordak starts off as a pretty standard, one-dimensional evil warlord character. Season one finds him very much delegated to the background, supposedly pulling the strings behind the scenes as other characters have their dramas play out center stage. He is well-designed and frightening, an imposing individual with a stoic personality and a sense of reason and logic that marks him as an effective commander. 

We get no backstory at this point, and the initial impression of the character (at least for me) is “capable evil leader, little to no depth beyond what is absolutely necessary.” And that’s fine. At this point in the story, there’s no suggestion that Hordak will have any sort of role save for serving as an ultimate antagonist for our heroes, so a backstory is largely unnecessary. He appears properly built to provide powerful opposition, and that’s all we need.

This is Hordak’s starting point. It is a serviceable starting point. It is also stunningly different from his end point, and at this stage in the series, there is zero indication that there is going to be any alteration, let alone such a dramatic one.

Seasons two and three see Hordak gaining actual development. Significant development. Development that provides him with a painful, sympathetic reason for waging his war. Suddenly, Hordak is not an all-powerful, untouchable warlord. Suddenly, he is a vulnerable individual with significant physical ailments and resulting emotional trauma. 

His situation has escalated. 

We see now that his body is falling apart, that he is sickly and weak and dependent upon armor and bravado to maintain control over his subordinates. We see that he is not the stoic, omnipotent man presented to us in season one. 

Instead, we learn that he is a manufactured clone with deep emotional wounds linked to past rejection and trauma, that he comes from a society where his illness is scorned enough to earn him rejection and what amounts to a death sentence. We come to understand that he views himself very poorly, and that a significant number of his negative character traits are rooted in shame and fear and a desperate need for validation.

we also learn that he has cute lil ears that can wiggle and droop when he’s sad

To these significant developments we add his budding friendship with Entrapta, and we find that Hordak is very much capable of desiring, forming, and maintaining a positive, affectionate relationship with someone. His character thus becomes even more complex.

Now, something to keep in mind at this point: thanks to revelations provided by his backstory, we can view Hordak as a more vulnerable individual with legitimate feelings and insecurities. That said, there is still a certain dangerous edge to him. At this point in the series, we have been told, by Hordak himself, that he was a top general in a much larger version of the Horde. 

This supposed fact somewhat tempers his vulnerability. We get the sense that, while he is suffering from the shame and subsequent rejection brought on by his disability, his ultimate goal of rejoining his brother still involves a certain level of power. There is this idea that, though he wants validation and acceptance, he is also seeking to regain a position that, theoretically, grants him greater power and authority than the one he holds now. Hence why he doesn’t just settle for conquering and ruling Etheria: being lord of Etheria does not hold a candle to the power granted him by regaining his rank as Horde Prime’s top general.

One can look back at the fandom during late 2019 to fully appreciate this: fanfiction from this time period often features headcanons of particularly accomplished clones holding respected positions in Prime’s empire. High ranking clones have names and titles. They have ships. They have their own planets and their own armies. Even though they serve Prime and are, sadly, purpose-bred clones, they have power and status that provide them with a certain level of agency. 

Essentially, there was the idea that a traditional Horde military structure exists, and Hordak held privilege within it.

So, while Hordak’s situation has escalated in emotional poignancy from “evil warlord wanting to rule the world” to “defective clone seeking validation,” there remains an unsympathetic aspect to it. There is still some degree of potential power-hunger that one can attribute to him. 

This changes, very suddenly and traumatically, in seasons four and five. And this, friends and neighbors, is where I begin to become very emotional.

Our first indication that things are about to wildly change comes during the season four finale. We meet Horde Prime. We see how submissive and terrified Hordak is in his presence. We witness Prime’s distaste not only for the state of him and his failed conquest, but for Hordak daring to take a name.

It is Hordak’s name being a problem that plants the seeds for an upheaval of our preconceived notions regarding a clone’s function in the Galactic Horde. Those seeds germinate abruptly and violently in the next few moments as Prime lifts Hordak by the throat, declares him an abomination, and viciously violates and erases his mind.

And oh, friends and neighbors, now we know that something is wrong. 

We don’t quite know the specifics yet, but we know that there is some sort of discrepancy between what Hordak told us and the truth he has lived. At no point in the narrative did Hordak say anything about names being inappropriate. At no point did he say anything that might have prepared us for the suspiciously religiously-coded language Prime is using. At no point did he say anything to suggest that there was anything wrong with what he was doing beyond trying to compensate for a physical disability.

And then, alongside all of these dark little surprises, there are the hauntingly blank stares of the clones standing besides Prime’s throne.

All of these factors instill a sense of dread that culminates in the chilling reveal of the Galactic Horde’s true nature come season five.

It is a cult. An honest-to-the-gods, played-absolutely-straight religious cult.

The Galactic Horde isn’t a traditional army, or an aggressive nation, or even a standard imperialist empire. It is a cult, with Horde Prime as its god and countless clone acolytes acting as its horrifically willing members.

We never see a top general, or any generals at all. We never see any sort of military hierarchy. We never see clones leading armies, or owning ships, or holding ranks, or commanding anyone or anything.

What we see instead is clones blindly worshiping their Brother. We see them doting on him, sacrificing their own life force to maintain his form. We see them forfeiting control of their bodies to him whenever he feels like using another’s form. We see them chanting the virtue of suffering to achieve purity. We see them blank and emotionless save for religious zealotry, a purpose-bred cohort of completely brainwashed followers. We see that there is no apparent escape from this life, for Prime sees their minds and controls every aspect of their existence, and we see that there is no desire for escape among them, so utterly indoctrinated are they.

We see Hordak reduced to one of these cowl-wearing acolytes: nameless, powerless, ready and willing to endure physical agony in order to forget his shame and relinquish his self to his Brother in the hopes of... well, certainly not of regaining some exalted military rank, or of reclaiming some previously-held status. These things do not exist. Not in this actual religious cult.

Hordak’s true situation is now fully apparent, and it is so far removed from our views of him back in previous seasons: rather than being a calculating warlord, or even a defective clone seeking to regain military glory, Hordak is a manufactured soldier-slave who was born into a religious cult, so indoctrinated and bound to his Brother that he risks his own life in order to win Prime’s love and approval.

Because that’s what this final realization confirms: Hordak was never after any sort of power or prestigious military status. They never existed. Hordak was, in the end, an abused slave trying desperately to win love from his loveless master. He truly was just after validation and affection and a feeling of secure belonging. All things that he was deprived of because he was born a slave-acolyte in a godsforsaken cult. 

And that’s... that’s such a vastly different state of affairs than the one we accepted in season one. It completely rewrites our understanding of Hordak’s power, of his vulnerability, of his true wants and needs and desires. Said understanding shifts from a purely villainous one to one steeped in self-loathing and control and lifelong victimization. It is absolutely shocking to see a character’s circumstances completely transform the way Hordak’s do between the show’s beginning and its finale. It is utterly bewildering to witness this intensity of change.

As I stated at the start: this doesn’t happen to anyone else. Oh, other characters develop and grow and undergo their arcs, sure, but by and large, Catra remains a scrappy catgirl. Adora remains an orphaned heroine. Swift Wind remains a revolutionary winged steed.

Only Hordak undergoes a transformation as dramatic as shifting from “all-powerful conquering warlord” to “defective clone seeking validation... but maybe also galactic power” before finally settling, tearfully and painfully, on “shamed, love-starved cult victim.” Only his situation, his true identity and our understanding of it, escalate so shockingly and to such terrifying levels. 

I’m still not over it. I still cry about it. I still feel light-headed sometimes, knowing that Hordak's circumstances revolve around being born into and abused and thrown away by an actual cult. Even though we're over two months out from SPoP's finale, it's still that emotionally powerful to me, and the shock of the difference between seasons one and five only make it more so.

[imaginaryelle]

I just re-watched THAT scene and a thought hit me: Lan Wangji just stands there watching Wei Wuxian fall from the cliff... Why doesn't he jump onto his sword and swoops down to at least try to save him? Or is he all out of spiritual power? Or does it simply take to long to start and rev the sword? Not saying it's a plothole, I was just wondering...

I mean, I think this is a fair question and I know I’ve seen it discussed elsewhere. I just can’t seem to find the post or remember if any conclusions were reached, so I’m excited to dive into this. As always if anyone has insights or headcanons they want to add on to this, please do.

Because I like pictures, here’s ep 33 Lan Wangji holding his sword and staring in horror as Wei Wuxian falls (what is Jiang Cheng thinking? Who knows.) 

Why isn’t Lan Wangji doing anything? He just stands there for long enough that Jiang Cheng backs away and leaves him on the outcropping, all alone.

Poor guy.

Okay, moving on. I think there are at least two ways to approach this, and one is from the production perspective (since this cliff encounter is a thing that only happens in the drama) and the other is from the in-universe perspective (aka, Doyalist vs Watsonian), so I’m going to look at both.

For the production pov, there’s really only one scene (I think) where we see anyone actually riding a sword in the drama, and it’s when they’re confronting the water demon/abyss in Caiyi (ep 5). At that point there’s no prep time, everyone just jumps up and then steps onto their swords (which is actually even more ridiculous to me than the image had already been in the novel because I thought they were at least riding on the scabbard but no! Riding the bare blade like a skateboard. I love it.)

How majestic.

Lan Xichen is the only graceful and cool person here. The only other sword-riding shot in this scene that shows more of a person’s body than their head and shoulders is when Lan Wangji drags three people into the air at once and we get a brief glimpse of Su She’s feet kicking wildly.

So, based on this scene’s execution and the general scarcity of other sword-flying scenes (even with the Nightless City confrontation, Lan Wangji just flies in with his quqin, no sword under his feet), my out-of-universe theory would be a combination of budget and aesthetic at play. If the production can get by on wire work with super extra long jumps that don’t seem to require actually riding the sword, they will. It’s logistically simpler, and it frankly looks better on screen. It’s also a staple of the entire film genre, whereas this sword thing is not, so the crew and effects people would have more experience with it as well. (In-universe I have a lot of questions about Wei Wuxian’s retained ability to do those jumps. Do they not use spiritual energy? Does he still have spiritual energy, just not a golden core? Is he using resentful energy instead? How does this work?)

From a more story-side view on the production, they’re working against the fact that they changed the plot to add Lan Wangji’s presence at Wei Wuxian’s death and they want to capitalize on that relationship, so having Wei Wuxian knock himself over the edge as he destroys the seal (or something where he steps back as Jiang Cheng rushes him or any other number of possibilities) no longer fits with the emotional beats they’re trying to hit. Also they really need Wei Wuxian to die here for the plot to function. Having Lan Wangji mount a sword and swoop down to try and save him again just adds extra complications and delays the desired outcome of WWX = dead and LWJ = distraught. In that sense, it really does start to look like a plot hole, because it feels like they’re ignoring the capabilities of a character in order to get the result they need. I do think they try to address this, but since multiple people have this question and I personally had to watch the scene more than once while actively thinking about it to notice all the relevant details… the efficacy of those efforts is maybe questionable. (Also like.. why does Jiang Cheng wait three days to go look for Wei Wuxian’s remains? Why is anyone waiting at all? Why is anyone surprised they can’t find a corpse when the visual we get implies Wei Wuxian is falling into lava? There are many, many questions that can be asked here and for a lot of them the out-of-universe answer is probably going to resemble “because the plot/original source material demands it” without much helpful in-universe support.)

In-universe (and probably more pertinent to your question), yeah, Lan Wangji could be low on spiritual power (and upon rewatch, I think he genuinely is). He could be physically exhausted as well as injured, too. For someone who carried three people in two hands 2-3 years ago and canonically has only gotten stronger since, he sure is having trouble pulling one person up over the side of a cliff. And that exhaustion really isn’t outside the realm of possibility, no matter how strong and powerful he is. He just traveled pretty far! If the theories that he found A-Yuan before coming to Nightless City are true (since he’s not injured in those flashbacks), he likely spent a ton of spiritual power even before getting into this battle where he first confronted Wei Wuxian and then started fighting pretty much everyone on the field by himself. Then, in a moment of fear-induced distraction, he gets injured! He’s actively bleeding! So yeah. He could definitely just be physically exhausted.

All that blood loss is not a good sign, and it actually speeds up (visually) as he expends this effort. We can see his arm trembling all throughout this scene, and then his grip slips (thus the face). Even after that he slips again, not losing his grip, but losing the strength to hold himself up at all. In the end he’s literally just lying on the rock depending on gravity to keep him in place and putting everything else he has into holding on to Wei Wuxian. He can’t do more than glare in Jiang Cheng’s general direction and tell him to stop.

Bichen is right there. If he had spiritual power left, I think he’d probably be sending his sword out to block Jiang Cheng’s angle of attack. That, or he needs two hands to accomplish such an action (It doesn’t require hand motions later/in the future, but maybe he develops that skill precisely because of these events). So yes. He’s physically exhausted. He’s spiritually exhausted. But I think there’s more going on here, too: He’s also at the end of his rope emotionally, and that’s how he ends up standing there, horrified and unmoving.

He’s had a rough time recently: Everyone hates his best and only friend/love of his life, and he has to listen to them call for his death/judgement at fancy dinner party meetings on and off for over a year. No one will listen to him when he tries to present a different view. Even his own brother is (not unreasonably) much more concerned about Lan Wangji’s personal safety than what his silence on this issue is costing him emotionally, and his uncle is distinctly unsupportive of the friendship from the beginning.

I think Lan Wangji spends a lot of time questioning his upbringing in those months (we see him actually verbally do so when he’s punished after Wei Wuxian’s death, but I think it starts well before that). What is right and wrong? Who decides it, and how? When does justice and holding people responsible for their actions turn over into unjust persecution? What is true, and what is a lie, and how much does that matter when weighed against social/political/spiritual harmony? These are concepts that are buried pretty deeply in the Lan Sect’s teachings but the world is twisting all of them before his eyes, and I have to think that takes a toll on him. Additionally, just as things start looking up (they let him write the letter to invite Wei Wuxian to Jin Ling’s celebration! They listen to him, other people support his idea!), he has to deal with the facts that:

1) His best friend who he’s in love with just killed a bunch of people, including Jin ZiXuan and some of Lan Wangji’s own Sect brothers.

2) Wei Wuxian is clearly losing control of his resentment-based cultivation path, and is thus personally in danger on a spiritual level, and

3) Everyone now wants to kill Wei Wuxian again, possibly even more than they did before, and anyone who supports Wei Wuxian is an enemy of the entire cultivation world.

Later in the series, Lan Wangji says he regrets that he wasn’t at Wei Wuxian’s side at Nightless City. That he didn’t support him, despite what we see of him trying to help Wei Wuxian find Jiang Yanli and then, after she dies, stop him from killing himself. To me, this could very easily imply that Lan Wangji is still trying to walk a tightrope in those scenes, or perhaps trying to be a bridge. He’s deliberately not choosing a distinct side, because he refuses to hate and reject Wei Wuxian, but he’s also refusing to declare open support. He’s acting entirely on his own, in a balancing act between friendship and love vs his family, his entire life’s teachings, and all of his society. Certainly I find that sort of situation exhausting, and I’ve never had to do it for something so high-stakes or large-scale.

Then there’s the actual cliff scene itself, where he’s visibly desperate. How intense does an emotion have to be for Lan Wangji to so clearly show it?

Wei Ying, he says, come back. He knows Wei Wuxian is breaking down. He at the very least guesses that he’s going to do something wild like step off that outcropping, which is why he follows him in the first place. But he has no idea what to do, so he tries the same thing he’s been trying for years: Come with me. Let me help you. This is a bridge, and he’s offering to help Wei Wuxian cross it. But just like every other time he’s tried it since the Sunshot Campaign ended, it doesn’t work.

Note that Lan Wangji actually is flying here, without the sword, so if he doesn’t have any spiritual power when Jiang Cheng shows up, this is probably a last, desperate burst to go with this last, desperate act.

I don’t think he really has a plan here. Not a new one, anyway. This is a still a plea of Let me help you. And, notably, Wei Wuxian doesn’t accept his help.

Not once during this whole scene does Wei Wuxian reach up with his free hand or try to help Lan Wangji help him in any way. He smiles, and he says: Lan Zhan, let me go. Because he doesn’t want a bridge. He doesn’t want to go back. Honestly it’s a pretty explicit and heartbreaking message: Lan Wangji’s offer of help is not enough to make Wei Wuxian want to stay alive. Not right now. He needs more than that. He’s lost too much to believe, right now, that anyone is going to choose him and his side, or that he’s worth that effort. And to be clear, Lan Wangji isn’t even offering that in this situation. Wei Wuxian is one slippery handgrip away from death, and Lan Wangji is still not saying “You, I choose you.” From anything Wei Wuxian can be expected to infer, his offer here is no different than it’s ever been: let me show you the way back to the right path. Let me help you fit back into the world the way you used to. And Wei Wuxian can’t do that; he has no golden core, it’s literally impossible even if the rest of the world would let him try. But at this point he doesn’t want to go back either. He doesn’t even want to try. That world hates him, and willfully misunderstands him, and has taken too many people from him now for it to be worth staying in. He wants to die.

And then Jiang Cheng arrives.

Wei Wuxian’s reaction to his brother’s presence is to smile, say his name, and just–accept his hatred. He closes his eyes and waits for the sword to fall even as Lan Wangji calls for Jiang Cheng to stop. The only time he shows distress between stepping back off the cliff and his actual death is when Jiang Cheng twists his sword and compromises the stability of the outcropping so that Lan Wangji is also in danger.

I think it’s possible that if Jiang Cheng had also reached for him and tried to pull him back up, things might have gone differently. Maybe that would have been enough to alter Wei Wuxian’s thinking. But as it is, when Wei Wuxian falls, he falls with his limbs relaxed and a smile on his face. There’s no flailing and screaming like when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds (in ep 33. There’s some arm-waving in ep 1). And I think that moment of him pushing Lan Wangji back and then letting go, more than anything, is what stops Lan Wangji in his tracks, because Wei Wuxian could have saved himself. He had strength and energy left. Enough to push Lan Wangji up and back and nearly to a standing position. He could have accepted Lan Wangji’s help, easily. But he didn’t, because he wanted to die, despite all the effort and inner turmoil Lan Wangji has gone through on his behalf (most of which Wei Wuxian doesn’t know about but, still).

That’s a pretty serious emotional kick in the head. Lan Wangji cannot ignore, at this point, that even if he did have any physical or spiritual energy left, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to be saved. And that’s when we get this face (actually from ep 1):

He has nothing left. He has at this point spent over a year, maybe two, trying to save someone who, when it came down to the final moment, didn’t want to be saved. There’s nothing more he can do, in this state of exhaustion and despair, and it wouldn’t matter if he tried.

Personally, I think he looks like he’s about to be sick, and I don’t think it’s just the image of Wei Wuxian falling and dying that’s working on him here. It’s also the knowledge that he fucked up. He didn’t do enough, or more accurately, didn’t do the right things, in order to encourage Wei Wuxian to keep fighting for himself or anyone else (I’m not saying this is a healthy or reasonable thought, I just think it’s a thought he’s having). And I think this realization plays directly into how he treats Wei Wuxian when he comes back sixteen years later. He knows that questioning Wei Wuxian on his path of cultivation doesn’t go where he wants it to, so he doesn’t do it. This time is going to be different. He’ll break rules. He’ll drink alcohol. He doesn’t scold Wei Wuxian for making dumb, selfless decisions like transferring the curse mark from Jin Ling’s leg to his own, he just accepts it and expresses concern over Wei Wuxian’s well being. He stops asking if he can help and starts just doing it: Wei Wuxian can’t walk so he’ll carry him. Wei Wuxian needs someone to speak for him, so Lan Wangji will do that, with his brother and with the whole cultivation world. And then we come to this:

This is exactly the same move. Wei Wuxian will protect Lan Wangji, but not himself.

But.

Lan Wangji is no longer trying to be a bridge. He’s not going to hold out his hand for Wei Wuxian to accept or disregard. He’s crossed over to be on Wei Wuxian’s side. And that’s what makes the difference.

[orsuliya]

Guess what, it’s time for more married!Awu/XQ headcanons, part 2 of who knows how many. Beware of the sappiness!

Once it becomes clear that Xiao Qi and Awu have wildly different ideas about educating children, the denizens of Ningshuo Fortress draw a collective breath. Amusingly enough, it never comes to an all out fight like the one people have been expecting… but still a rather interesting time is had by all.

See, there is no doubt that raising a legion of soldiers is as much out of question as raising a glasshouse of tropical flowers… or root vegetables. That much everybody – from Ah Li Ma to Tang Jing who were both asked to consult on the matter – can agree on. The devil lies in the details. Reading and writing is paramount, but is calligraphy really necessary? Sewing is obviously a must for all, but is fanciful embroidery? Every child should be competent with at least one weapon, but ought they also learn to play instruments, even those with no particular talent for it? At least rudimentary drawing is useful all across the board, no argument to be had there.

The problem is not that Awu and Xiao Qi cannot find a compromise in each of those cases – they absolutely can. Or rather they could... if they were not so careful of offending each other. There comes a time when Xiao Qi blurts out that a princely education is no guarantee of a clear mind or an honourable heart… and then spends the next day or two being strangely apologetic. Which Awu certainly notices, for all that she has no idea what might have caused this sudden development. Yeah, that comment didn’t really register, at least not in the way Xiao Qi fears it did. And yes, Zitan is that much of a non-entity in Awu’s mind.

At the same time Awu might have been dancing around certain subjects, loathe to admit that her husband’s writing is sufficient for the purpose, but would absolutely prevent him from pursuing any kind of serious career in civil service. And since they want their kids to have options, maybe they should think about employing a calligraphy master after all.

Don’t worry, they come clear on both issues! What else are their nightly hug-discussions for, if not resolving potentially painful matters in a relaxed, constructive and mutually satisfying manner?

______________________________

Why would Awu be dancing around certain subjects related to Xiao Qi’s level of education? It’s not like he was ever particularly sensitive to such matters as class difference, right? No sign of inferiority complex there, that’s for sure. Well…

When Awu and Xiao Qi were preparing to leave the capital, Asu made an entire production out of his sister’s upcoming departure. Ningshuo, for all that it may be paradise itself – if one listens to the locals – is rather… provincial, right? No decent wine to be had, no silks, golden bathtubs, first-class inks, high-quality perfume or incense and if there is one decent guan to be had out there, then Turnip will eat his own most decorative one!

Not that Turnip ever comes out and says that Ningshuo is his idea of hell, but still. There is a reason why Xiao Qi prefers not to take part in this whole packing rigmarole; he wouldn’t want to distress his brother-in-law too much… or rather more than he already does at court. Awu takes this brotherly care with good humour; Asu is Asu and it’s true that he would never be able to make it in Ningshuo, but they’re very different Wang breeds and she has no doubts that she will absolutely thrive once there.

The thing is that once they settle in Ningshuo, Xiao Qi starts making those little comments. Nothing really overt and really, they’re made in jest more often than not… But it’s concerning all the same. Self-deprecation is not a good look on Awu’s husband! Well, it totally is, but there are much better ones, so it’s time to stage an intervention.

The next time Awu hears that a Princess like her could have never imagined she would be forced to toil in the field, she snaps. Not like they were toiling anyway – marking out the best pastures is hardly a back-breaking work! So what does she do? Well, first she waits until the evening… and then she immobilizes her husband. True, he may still try to get up while she’s in his lap, but this way he would be forced to take her with him! It’s truly diabolical.

As her second step she asks – very seriously – who is always right in their household and is it true that it’s Princess Yuzhang. Prince Yuzhang, unaware that he’s entering a trap and also rather distracted with what’s in his lap, admits that readily enough.

If Princess Yuzhang is always right, declares Awu, and I am Princess Yuzhang, then what I say must be the absolute truth. And what I say is that you are a silly, silly man. There is nobody else that I would ever wish to call my husband and nowhere that I would rather live but here, by your side, building a future for us and our children. Why, I wouldn’t exchange our current life for any crown and I am something on an expert on those.

It works rather well, that’s as much as I will say on the matter.

______________________________

They do end up employing a calligraphy master for the children. And a painting master. And a slew of other masters as some of the kids get older and develop specific talents. Besides, there is nothing that says they need to limit their educational efforts to their own legion. Ningshuo’s population is booming and there is no better time to found a school or twenty for local children.

Of course most established scholars are very used to comfort and not really used to long trips. In short order, Ningshuo becomes the number one destination for young adventurous men of letters, most rather lacking when it comes to illustrious family background. But they are not the only ones interested in moving to Ningshuo: a good number of respectable old masters also decide to do so.

Turnip Wang tries to warn his sister that she’s playing host to a whole host of dangerous free-thinkers, some of them openly critical of this whole idea of monarchy. Oh, the horror! Awu simply looks at her harried sibling with a perfectly straight face and says that she hasn’t noticed any danger other than the danger of having exceedingly eloquent dinner-companions, which sometimes means that food grows cold before anybody even starts on it. Xiao Qi is very pointedly suppressing a smile in the background.

______________________________

Xiao Qi and Awu are that unbearably cheesy married couple who remains staunchingly and embarrassingly in love even after twenty, thirty years of marriage. And they have absolutely no qualms about public displays of affection. Which leads to some rather amusing moments while at court, but that is an entirely different story.

Now, their kids – both bio and adopted – think it’s the bee’s knees that their parental units love each other so much… but could they tone it down? Just a little? Would a tiny smidge of dignity be totally out of question? There is nothing fundamentally wrong with Father picking Mother up… but must he do it in the middle of the courtyard? And let us not even speak of farewell hugs. And the teasing. Oh, the teasing!

It gets much, much worse once the kids grow up and start pairing off. See, only now do they start to realize what some of their parents’ little quirks actually mean. And most of them mean that Awu and Xiao Qi – grey hair and all – are not that far removed from a pair of newly-weds. More that one son-in-law gets absolutely flustered – some into speechlessness – by the ever-powerful hearteyes. For some reason daughters-in-law deal with this situation much better, although approximately every second one develops… certain expectations.

______________________________

Awu and Xiao Qi do not get it on nearly as often as those poor horrified kids might think. That is they do get it on quite a lot! But it’s far from the only way of marital closeness they enjoy.

The first time Awu and Xiao Qi take a bath together establishes a routine that lasts for the rest of their lives. Dressing and undressing is Awu’s time to be petted and made much of, but bathing? Ooooh, that’s a wholly different matter.

That first time they get into a tub together it’s actually Awu who sits behind Xiao Qi and starts washing him. At first he is more than a bit bashful about it and tries to turn the tables on her, but she is relentless. Finally he starts to relax and once Awu gets to washing his hair, his state can only be described as utter contentedness. There might be some neck kisses and soothing scratches to be had as well, both of which only draw him deeper into a dreamlike trance.

After the water grows cold, Awu dresses them both in soft nightime robes and leads Xiao Qi, still pretty out of it, to bed. Not to have sex, mind you. Just to lie down and breathe together, as close to each other – bodily and mentally – as it is even possible. I am not saying that Xiao Qi cries at any point… Well, of course he cries! It is the first time he’s been treated with this kind of overwhelming tenderness; experiencing such absolute depth of care and love for the first time is an earth-shattering experience for a man who had known so little of both in his life.

They take care to repeat this experience at least once a month; after the first several times Awu no longer has to propose taking a bath together. The first time he actually asks? Her heart grows two whole sizes from sheer pride.

[raendown]

Next up in the follower milestone gift fics is for @FollowingTheRivers, prompt word torpid. 

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 1397 Rated: T+ Summary: It wouldn't occur to him until much later just how ready he'd been to trust the one who found him.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Anchor in  the Drift

Maybe, Tobirama thought, if he tried very hard, he could invent a new seal on the spot that would allow him to stand up outside of his own body and carry it to safety. That sounded a great deal like a job for those solid clones he was still working on but not really, that wasn’t entirely what he wanted. What he actually wanted was to close his eyes and just let consciousness swim away from him like it was trying so very hard to do. Unfortunately that was definitely a bad idea at the moment. Very unsafe. Entirely likely to get him killed. 

If only he could muster the energy to care. 

Something grunted nearby and Tobirama gave some thought to a curious hum. Then decided against it. Humming felt like too much effort. The sheer act of living felt like too much effort right now while his head swam wildly between perfect silence and jangling alarm. 

“You’re a hard man to find, Senju.”

Fingers carded through his hair and Tobirama found he was so much more interested in that sensation than any of the other ones he could barely feel anymore anyway. His eyes fell closed and then his eyebrows pinched when that seemed to act as a signal for the fingers to stop. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t meant for them to stop. 

“Uh...alright. So that’s not normal. You good?”

He would be perfectly good if only the fingers would come back to his hair but the very thought of cracking his jaw open to communicate such felt like asking himself to lift a mountain. Instead he whined faintly and hoped that would do. It was hard to remember the last time he’d made any sound even close to a whine over the past decade or more but thankfully whatever or whoever might be attached to those fingers seemed to get the point because a moment later they were there again and Tobirama could only smile happily with his eyes still closed. How nice. 

“Not good. Definitely not good. Look, whatever’s up, you need to live long enough for me to make fun of you for this, okay?” 

Obviously he had no answer for that but as long as he got to enjoy the sensation of being petted like some common housecat he found that he just did not care. Even when the entire weight of his body was suddenly floating, torpid limbs lifted and positioned for him, still he had no thoughts but to admire the pleasant cool sensation of whatever he was being draped across. How lovely just when his body was starting to feel too warm. Clearly the universe had decided to realign itself in order to grant him his every wish. Actually, no, that wasn’t entirely true. The hand in his hair was gone and that was simply unacceptable if he was supposed to be getting everything he wanted. 

For a short time Tobirama drifted, vaguely cognizant of the air rushing past him just a tad too firm to be a pleasant breeze, barely aware that whether his eyes were open or closed the world existed as the same blurry haze. Something might be wrong. It should probably bother him that he couldn’t tell. Mostly the last shreds of his thought processing abilities were taken up by wondering if he’d somehow developed the ability to fly. Now that would be an absolutely fascinating development, one he would need to perform extensive tests on, though just the thought of performing any sort of experiment at the moment made him want to lay down and go to sleep. Was he already laying down? It was hard to tell. 

“Here we go, easy now. Don’t even think about flopping around or something. If you get any more hurt than however much you already are I’ll kill you myself after you’re better.”

Whoever that was they appeared to lack a certain sense of their own irony. Tobirama wanted to laugh but lacked the energy. He settled for mentally composing a rather disjointed speech about how pleasant this person’s voice was, very soothing to listen to. Definitely not helping his urges towards sleep. 

“Tobirama. Can you even fucking hear me?”

“Nnh...”

“Oh thank fuck. You know, I had my own shit to do. I’m tired too. Got my own fucking mission and everything. But no! No, here I am pulling your chestnuts out of the fire and you can’t even roll over to thank me. Fucking hell.” 

It took a few moments of lethargic musing but eventually Tobirama realized he knew that voice. Or, rather, he knew the shape and cadence of those swear words, could have recognized that tone in the soundless vacuum of outer space. Apparently Madara had come to rescue him. That was sweet. It would have been sweeter if he could have done it without the bitching but that was just his way and Tobirama was self aware enough to admit he wouldn't change the man. Well, he was usually pretty self aware. Right at that moment he wasn’t aware of much more than the haze in his veins and the warmth of something tracing along his cheek.

When did they stop moving?

“Back with me again?” Madara’s voice asked him and this time Tobirama found it in himself to hum the affirmative. “Not a single injury on you; this is actual bullshit. I’ve seen all sorts of reactions to chakra exhaustion but this one’s new. You’re more coherent when you’re drunk, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hair.”

“...what?”

“My hair.”

Somewhere above him he could hear the disconnected spluttering that had soothed him off in to dreams more times than anyone could count until finally Madara gave a violent snort. “More words, dumb ass. I don’t know what the hell you’re on about.”

Annoyed, Tobirama reached deep for any remaining tatters of energy. It was just enough to form what he hoped was a very irritated frown. 

“Liked it. Touched my hair. Again.” As soon as the words were out his muscles liquified and his jaw snapped shut, utterly drained. The trained shinobi in the back of his mind piped up at last to note smugly that he had, at least, completed his mission. Unfortunately he’d also run across not one but two squads of resistance on his way out of Lightning Country and fighting when he was already exhausted was never fun. If he tried he could almost recall the way it felt to drain the very last of his chakra and hit the ground in tandem with the man he’d just killed. If Madara hadn’t found him - well, there was really no point in thinking about it. No doubt he’d be getting a lecture on the subject later anyway.

It would be worth it, though, because Madara’s hands were back in his hair and if he had the energy Tobirama would have purred like one of Izuna’s damn cats. Even with the low grumbling diatribe that accompanied the petting it was soothing, grounding. Tobirama couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was being so open about something he enjoyed, a vulnerability neither of them could easily afford even after several years of marriage. 

Time had already lost all meaning so the fact that hours or minutes could have gone by didn’t even occur to him. Consciousness came and went but Tobirama couldn't tell the difference. He definitely noticed when his chakra finally started regenerating itself enough that he fell in to a true sleep, waking probably too many hours later to the rumble of Madara snoring. Which meant he’d fallen asleep sitting up. He only snored when he slept sitting up. It took a shamefully long time for Tobirama to realize he was sprawled out on cold ground with his torso leaning back against the other man’s chest, thick fingers buried in his hair with the sort of grip that spoke of an unwillingness to let go. 

Why, he wondered, were they sitting alone in a dark cave? 

“One of us did something stupid,” he muttered to the silence around them. Madara’s snore jumped in time with whatever he was dreaming about and Tobirama sighed, eyes sliding closed again. “You can tell me about it later.” 

For now he was tired, limbs like molasses, more than happy to lie here without moving for just a few more hours. 

[lady-griffin]

My Next Life as A Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom OP

I personally love the OP for this anime and have watched it multiple times already. Since I saw the first episode before I read the manga, I thought it was just a fun, cute, and creative opening.

Now after reading the Manga, I am very impressed with all they’ve managed to pack in, so I thought I would break it down bit by bit.

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW

Part 1

The OP opens with chains of roses appearing and disappearing and Mandela-like designs on the side. This appears to be the overall aesthetic of the otome game Fortune Lover. The world Katarina lives in now is the world of Fortune Lover.

Next, we see the Start Menu screen for Fortune Lover. With “New Game” highlighted in a different color than the other two options. 

A player is picking a new game for Fortune Lover – which is adept as we could argue that this is Katarina’s completely new start of “playing the game.”

Then the Start Menu is disrupted by bright colors in static waves – indicating that there had been a “glitch” or something has changed within the game world.

It’s safe to say that Katarina gaining her past life memories is said ‘glitch’, but if there was any doubt, we get a quick image of the villainess Katarina Claes – or how she appears in the game.

The story we are about to embark on is not the same as the one in Fortune Lover, the original villainess character has now become front and center, influencing the characters of the world and changing the original timeline, so to speak.

Part 2

We are then introduced to the main cast characters in quick flashes and in the order that Katarina officially meets them. In these quick introductions, we get a slight hint of their different personalities.

I included the quick shot of Game Katarina with her villainous face, showing the contrast in how Game Katarina appears vs. how the non-game versions of all her friends appear.

Geordo Stuart – Confident 

Keith Claes – Nervous and panicked

Mary Hunt – Friendly and endearing

Alan Stuart – A tsundere

Sophia Ascart – Shy

Nicol Ascart – Reserve

Maria Campbell – Sweet and kind

Now we know that we are being shown the real characters and not the game versions, because of Keith. As Game Keith was a confident, playboy and the Keith we see is not that at all (and thank goodness).

Part 3

We see Yong Katarina walking confidently with two different and separate backgrounds rotating behind her.

In the first walk, Young Katarina is outside and wearing her work clothes and carrying a hoe, likely her favorite one as we get a separate close-up shot of it.

In the background there are lettuce heads, carrots, bushes and trees rotating behind Katarina.

This little walk shows that Katarina not only works in a field/garden, but enjoys the work as well as being outside in general. Another aspect of Katarina is her love and skill of climbing trees and the trees in the background are a hint at this.

In the second walk, Young Katarina is inside her family home wearing her day-to-day blue dress. She is carrying around the fake snakes that she has made in order to scare Geordo. The snakes are Katarina’s diversion plan in case Geordo attacks her, which he does do in the game’s bad ending of his route. 

Rotating behind her are candelabras and battle axes.

I’m not sure if the candelabras represent anything specific – I don’t recall there being significance to them. Overall, I think they just represent the wealth and aristocracy of the main characters.

The battle axes on the other hand represent when Katarina took an axe to Keith’s door and broke it down when she was child, saving him from the loneliness that was swallowing him whole. 

That is one of the major changes she does to the game’s original timeline as she completely reroutes Keith’s path to a happier one.

Part 4

Young Katarina grips one of the fake snakes she was holding and it makes a funny face that transitions into Katarina’s own scared and funny face as she is confronted with her angry mother.

On her mother’s sides we see Katarina’s father trying to calm her mother down and Anne being exasperated with Katarina’s antics.

These are the three most important adult and authority figures in Katarina’s life.

Her father is a doting and loving man. While he is aware of his daughter’s eccentricities, he is pretty okay with them, especially when compared to his wife. He has little hearts next to him, representing his overall loving nature to both his wife and daughter.

Katarina’s mother is less adoring. In the scene, she goes from a calm angry expression to berserk as she berates her daughter for her unladylike behavior and interests.

Given this quick shot of Katarina’s mother, we see how Katarina’s own ‘villainess’ face while just a mechanic in the game, in the actual world it is clearly inherited from her mother. 

Next, we have Katarina climbing up a tree. This is one of Katarina’s favorite hobbies and a skill she is very proud of and one that she inherited from her former past life.

It’s also a nice detail that the battle axe, fake snakes and Katarina’s tree climbing come before and after Katarina’s mother goes berserk. As all three of these items are directly related to a time Katarina got in trouble with her mother.

Part 5

We get a still image of some delicious looking Macaroons and then we see a Young Katarina having a great time stuffing her face with said Macaroons, as she stands behind a table with other delicious looking treats in front of her.

She eats so much that she upsets her stomach/has to immediately go to the bathroom – a common problem for Katarina in her youth.

Katarina has a big love for food, sweets in particular. It’s often a way the other characters have endear themselves to her and her gluttony is also seen as one of her unladylike qualities.

Part 6

Katarina and Maria are sitting opposite of one another in a large spinning tea cup, surrounded by other tea cups and rose petals. 

This seems to show their relationship as ‘opposites.’ 

In addition, how important Maria is to Katarina’s life and her overall fate – since Maria is the heroine of Fortune Lover and her choice of romance in the game, leads Katarina to different degrees of doom in the game. 

The two spinning in a tea cup could also represent the spinning of their roles. 

Katarina is the heroine of My Next Life as a Villainess and while not the villain by any means, Maria for Katarina does represent a potential danger, especially in Katarina’s mind.

I also think that the tea cups represent Sirius Dieke, as tea is an important aspect to his overall character and he is a threat to both Maria and Katarina.

The fact that Maria and Katarina are sitting together in a tea cup could represent how in both their stories (particularly in the game) they are the heroine and villain.

Again, for the actual story that’s not the case. Maria is far from a villain, but Katarina does view Maria and her actions as potential threats to her well-being.

However, their hero/villain dynamic as romantic rivals, is completely dwarfed by the very real danger of the much worse threat that is Sirius.

Part 7

We get a glimpse into Katarina’s head and the council of her different sides.

From Left to Right we have

Studious Katarina Timid Katarina Chairmen Katarina Brave Katarina Happy Katarina

We see them every now and again, particularly when it comes to Katarina deciding what she should do to avoid doom flags (her being killed) or how to make the best of doom flags (her being exiled).

They are all as ridiculous and oblivious as the real Katarina. 

While their contingency plans for how to deal with the endings/doom flags aren’t bad, Katarina becomes so focus on them that she misses the obvious fact that she doesn’t actually need contingency plans. 

Part 8

Next, we have what is my personal favorite part, the sequence of Katarina and her friends from children to teenagers, which shows Katarina’s relationships with each of them.  

Geordo and Katarina - Engaged 

Both Geordo and Katarina appear in their childhood and present day-to-day outfits. They also appear to be on a stage, with the curtains revealing them to the audience and the wood panels and strung up stars behind them.

They bow and curtesy to one other before they start to dance, but instead of dancing Young Katarina wildly spins Geordo around. Representing, how Katarina kept throwing Geordo off and surprising him in their younger days.

As Geordo spins around to the front of the camera, the two become teenagers and are dancing properly. Geordo leans in for a kiss and Katarina looks surprised by this, before she is pulled away.

The transition of them from children to teenagers, exemplifies Geordo’s feelings for Katarina and how they’ve developed over the years and of course her own obliviousness to them.

Katarina is not even aware of the possibility that Geordo could be in love with her (let alone that he is), mostly because Game Geordo did not care for Game Katarina and Game Katarina only really cared about her status as his fiancée. 

This dancing scene likely comes from Katarina’s 15th birthday party, where the two danced together and Geordo kisses Katarina on the neck, as he wanted to get it through to Katarina that he’s not breaking off their engagement for the very simple reason that he loves her.

Keith and Katarina - Siblings

Keith is wearing his childhood and present day-to-day outfits, while Katarina is wearing her work uniform.

Before Geordo can even kiss Katarina she is pulled away by Keith.

This is not necessarily a specific scene from the Manga, but it definitely shows the dynamic between the three. 

Geordo flirting with Katarina and Keith desperately trying to separate the two, while Katarina remains oblivious to what is actually going on. While Keith states he does this because he wants to protect his big sister, everyone except Katarina knows that’s not the case and it’s just simple jealousy.

Young Keith spins Katarina around and she jumps on him and they soon run off together with him being carried on her back.  

Young Keith is surprised by this, showing his hesitation in the beginning with being close to someone out of fear that he might hurt them, but nonetheless Katarina both in the story and OP bulldozes through that hesitation with gusto and enthusiasm.

This also just shows Katarina’s genuine excitement in having a younger brother.

As they run off screen the two transition into teenagers and Katarina is now on Keith’s back.

Keith is happier than he was as a kid, showing how much Katarina has changed his life for better. As they run, Keith appears to trip and the two of them fall down.

Possibly indicating how Katarina’s wilder and less than ladylike antics (being carried on her brother’s back and running around the house) can often bring Keith down with her.

Though Keith is the more responsible one of the two and often emulates their mother in disapproving of Katarina’s choices and actions – he does, for the most part, go along with her antics. 

Keith is definitely frazzled as they fall down, and in the story, he is very much frazzled by Katarina both in her eccentricities and his romantic feelings for her.

Alan and Katarina - Friends/Future Bother & Sister-In-Law

Alan is wearing his childhood and present day-to-day outfits, while Katarina is wearing her tree-climbing outfit and an unknown dress (I couldn’t place it from the Manga).

A Young Katarina falls from above and lands on a tree branch next to Alan. As Alan begins to yell at her, Katarina just continues jumping down and Alan looks on in surprise (and perhaps a bit in fear).

Alan and Katarina’s friendship, begins with Alan having a hostile attitude towards her as he thought she was seducing his fiancée (technically he wasn’t wrong) and also due to his competitive nature and need to prove himself, in general. 

They had multiple tree-climbing contests as children, which Katarina always won without much effort.

Katarina jumping off the branch away from Alan, seemingly not caring as he yells at her, is possibly a representation of Katarina’s confidence in her skill as a tree-climber.

As Young Katarina drops to the ground, a teenage Katarina lands in Alan’s arms and while she looks sheepishly at him, she seems overall happy that he caught her.  

Alan slightly blushes and turns his head away from Katarina, as he is the tsundere of the romantic options. 

In addition, Alan can often be flabbergasted and flustered by Katarina’s less than ladylike manners and overall frankness – best example comes from her 15th Birthday party.

Alan’s blush and him looking away from Katarina, could also reflect how Alan is not aware of his own romantic feelings for Katarina until later in the story.

Mary and Katarina - Best Friends 

Mary is wearing her childhood and present day-to-day outfits, while Katarina is wearing the dress she wore when she first met Mary and her 15th Birthday party dress.

The scene of Katarina in Alan’s arms and them both slightly blushing transitions to a Young Mary upset by this scene and she runs off to be comforted by Katarina and or to tell her that she would absolutely catch her if she fell from a tree too.

Mary can be quite jealous of others, especially when they are the focus of Katarina’s attention and or vying for her attention and Alan is no exception, despite being Mary’s own fiancée.

For example, in the manga it’s revealed Mary has been keeping Alan in the dark about his own feelings for Katarina, so she wouldn’t have any more rivals.

It’s also significant that they appear in Katarina’s field, as their love for gardening/farming is what brought them together as friends in the first place.

As Mary runs to Katarina, the two become teenagers and dance together and Katarina gives the audience a friendly wink and Mary is blushing slightly as she dances with Katarina, showing that this is more than just a platonic dance for Mary. 

Mary and Katarina’s dance, like Geordo and Katarina’s dance, is also from Katarina’s 15th birthday party. The two danced together on the balcony away from the rest of the party as Mary wanted to dance with Katarina, but couldn’t as it was against high society rules. 

This scene is just a quick show of Katarina and Mary’s friendship and Mary’s feelings for Katarina. 

Nicol and Katarina - Friends

Nicol is wearing his childhood and present day-to-day outfits, while Katarina seems to be wearing two different dresses that I can’t place from the Manga.

As teenage Katarina and Mary pull away from the camera, it is now Young Katarina and Nicol who are holding hands. 

The camera spins around the two and they become teenagers. Nicol smiles at Katarina, unlocking his full charm on her and Katarina is left dazed and dizzy.

Their relationship is not as well developed as some of the others in the story.

Katarina likes Nicol and enjoys his company as a friend and of course Nicol has fallen for Katarina due to her overall kindness, compassion, and friendship with his sister Sophia.

Because of Nicol’s more reserved nature though and the fact that Katarina is engaged to Geordo, he doesn’t act on his feelings in the same way Geordo and Keith do.

When he does though, he is very direct and Katarina is usually left dazed and a bit flustered. However, because she’s so dazed by him, Katarina doesn’t realize what Nicol has just said to her - meaning she’s still oblivious about his feelings. 

Sophia and Katarina - Best Friends 

Sophia is wearing his childhood and present day-to-day outfits, while Katarina is wearing her pajamas.   

A dazed Katarina becomes a young and dizzy Katarina who falls on a couch next to Sophia in what is likely the Ascart Library. 

Sophia moves closer to Katarina so they can read a book together. As the book pushes forward, we see an extremely quick glace of the cover – showing the Devilishly Charming Earl character from one of their favorite romance books.

As the book is pulled to the bottom, Katarina and Sophia have transitioned into teenagers and are still eagerly reading the book together. Showing the basis of their friendship - their mutual love of love stories and reading in general - is still going strong. 

This is the most friendship-based sequence.

Even though Sophia also wants to be able to be with Katarina forever (like the others), her feelings seem to be less romantically inclined than the others.

Sophia treasures their friendship a great deal, but she often leaves Nicol and Katarina alone together, as she tries to give her brother a proper shot at confessing his feelings to Katarina.

Part 9

Next, we see Maria presenting a strawberry cake to Katarina and Katarina eagerly turning to Maria in excitement. Maria looks a bit confused and embarassed(?) most likely because Katarina is lavishing her with praise and attention. 

Maria does not have a past to present transition scene with Katarina as they meet when they are teenagers.

This scene’s setting is most likely Maria’s home kitchen, as Katarina is wearing her merchant’s daughter disguise – which she wears in the Manga when she ends up visiting Maria at her home during their summer vacation.

The strawberries on the cake are cut into hearts, this is possibly just a cute design or possibly an indication that Maria also falls for Katarina. 

On top of the cake is a flag, flags are important to Katarina’s story as she is actively trying to destroy the Destruction Flags that lead to her doom.

The flag being just a small decorative piece could be nothing, but it might signify that while Maria is technically tied to Katarina’s doomed endings, that’s not really a factor anymore.

Do to the fact that Katarina’s actions for the past seven years, before Maria even enters the story, have been successfully destroying her doomed flags – by having good and loving relationships with the other characters (mainly Geordo and Keith - whose routes were once guarantede destruction for Katarina).

Now Katarina is not aware of that and still sees doom befalling her especially (in her mind) when it comes to whom Maria will choose to confess her feelings to. But nonetheless that doesn’t stop Katarina from befriending Maria and the two becoming genuine friends.

This scene once more shows that Katarina is always happy to receive sweets. Furthermore, Maria and Katarina’s friendship grows out of Maria baking her homemade sweets for Katarina (among other things).

Part 10

We are next introduced to A-Chan, Katarina’s best friend from her previous life. 

A-Chan is reading from a strategy book for Fortune Lover. A-Chan would often spoil the game for Katarina which she didn’t appreciate at the time, but now she is very thankful for the extra information she has about the world she now inhabits.

Next, we see a large image of a pixelated game flag.

We can easily presume this is a Destruction Flag, which are essentially bad checkpoints (for Katarina) that lead to a specific path in the game for the player.

Basically, they are choices (or scenes/characters) throughout the game that decide whether or not the player receives the good or bad ending. And since the majority of the endings of the actual game are bad to awful for Katarina, all the check points or flags are destructive to her and her life. 

The one big flag transitions into multiple smaller, pixelated flags. Which could represent all the different flags Katarina is trying to avoid or destroy.

It’s a nice detail that the flags are pixelated as they are a simple mechanic from the game itself. That detail could also indicate that while the flags have great importance in the game, in Katarina’s actual life, the majority of them aren’t a factor in deciding her future due to her own choices and the choices of the other characters.

But Katarina has yet to learn that.

Part 11

We are introduced to the final character, Sirius Dieke, the President of the Student Council. He appears to be in the Student Council chambers, in front of his own desk, with piles of paper on it.

Sirius is the 5th and secret love-interest in the game Fortune Lover and he has the darkest story of the romantic game-targets and just in general.

It’s very telling that he also appears in multiple small squares like the Destruction Flags did in the scene right before he appears.

As he really is the only true Destruction Flag and path for Katarina.

Part 12

Next, we see two school-girls standing together on a beach watching either a sunset or a sunrise. 

This is Katarina from her previous life and her best friend A-chan. While the sunset/sunrise could just be there to be a pretty image, one could take away a deeper meaning, particularly with the idea that it’s both a sunset and a sunrise.  

As their lives have ended in their previous lives (sunset) they get to live new lives in their reincarnated forms of Katarina Claes and Sophia Ascart (sunrise). 

This idea is potentially reflected in the waves crashing onto the shore, then returning back to the ocean, only to crash again on the shore (similar to the idea of reincarnation).

We get a close up of their hands as A-Chan grips Katarina’s hand and she returns to the gesture. Their friendship is an extremely important element of the story. As A-Chan comes to Katarina’s aid in her time of need, showing that their friendship transcends time and worlds.

And this is a very compelling idea, because while romance is certainly a major element in the story, friendship is even bigger. 

Katarina has changed every one of her friends’ lives not because they fell in love with her (like the game’s setup) but because Katarina was kind and befriended them with sincerity and true kindness (causing everyone to fall for her).

Part 13

Finally, we are at the end. 

The OP ends with the main cast bowing to the audience on a stage, possibly the same stage Katarina and Geordo danced on, but with the curtains now closed.

Sophia and Mary do more traditional lady courtesies and Mary does a bow like a commoner.

While the guys and Katarina do a slightly exaggerated bow.

This possibly shows Katarina’w significant ties to the guys as she has inadvertently become the main love interest. This could also indicate that Katarina has also technically become one of them – in the fact that Maria, the original main character, who was supposed to fall in love with one of the guys, actually falls for and adores Katarina.

In a similar sense, the two other rival female characters of Mary and Sophia don’t fall for Alan and Nicol, but instead fall for Katarina.

Or it could also just be a sign that Katarina is more of a tomboy than the other girls.

Either way the main cast bows to the audience, signally the end of their show/performance that they just put on for us.

Quick Summary

My Next Life as a Villainess Opening is packed with so much detail, symbolism and deeper meanings and that it is just astounding in itself. 

Not only does it do all of that, but the OP still remains a fun, creative and enjoyable introduction to each episode with a catchy song. 

A slight nitpick from me, is that I wish some of the scene transitions were smoother. For many of them it looks quite smooth and flows very nicely, for other it just cuts to a new scene very quickly. Again, this just a nitpick.

Overall, this opening is just amazing in my humble opinion and seems to have almost everything one could ask for in an Anime Opening.

I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes that might remain here. 

[breakingsomething]

Dawn Station - Pilot

Basic summary: Video game developer Jack Mcloughlin is finally releasing a new game after a ten year hiatus.

Content warnings: Murder, dismemberment, body horror

It comes as a shock to everyone, including you, when Jack Mcloughlin announces the release of a new game at the start of the second week of October.

There are several reasons why this is such a big deal. One: Jack Mcloughlin has been making games since he was twenty seven, and has released only five of them in the thirty years he's been doing it. Two: Jack Mcloughlin is world renowned for his fantastic horror games, all done in wildly different styles, but still notably his own. Three: Jack Mcloughlin has not, up til now, so much as mentioned working on a new game. The only social media site he's fully active on is Twitter - which you check regularly for any updates - and before the release of his last game, Ehrmann Lab, he had left a series of cryptic clues for two months leading up to the announcement. Those had been probably the most fun two months you'd ever had in your life, and even helped you make new friends. But this time around, there is no warning. The trailer is dropped at Purina Expo, one of the biggest American gaming conventions of the year. You were incredibly lucky to be able to snag tickets. Usually, this convention is where the hottest games that would be coming out the following year would be announced, trailers would be played, and developers would discuss - so everyone there on October 10th is shocked to not only be the first to see the trailer, but to hear from the man himself. Jack Mcloughlin takes the stage, gleefully announcing the release of Dawn Station on October 31st this year.

Now, the release of a new game from Septic Games - Mcloughlin's own software company, which he founded after his second game's release - is a big enough deal. But this… this is something else. Mcloughlin explains it before the reveal of the trailer, and you listen with great excitement.

"Dawn Station," says the man, practically bouncing across the stage with glee and shouting into his mic with a hoarse Irish accent. "is a feat of modern gaming. Now, I understand that when you play games, it can get boring to replay them later on after you've finished, because - well, you know how it goes! You know all the twists and turns, all the jumpscares, all the fights, all the spooks. But what if I told you that there was a way you could play where things were different each time?"

Behind the man, on a large screen, an image comes up. This is the first promo image for the new game to be shown to the people. The image is of a tilted hallway in what looks like a complex, broken down space station, overgrown with unusual plants that glow and spark. In the centre of the image is an astronaut. His helmet is on the floor, blood soaked. His face is half in shadow. All that can be seen is curly olive hair and neon green eyes - two on his face, and one embedded in his neck. The suit itself is torn, ripped open with a mouth and a dripping tongue where the being's stomach should be. A torch is on the ground behind him, attempting to cast light on the room. The words "Dawn Station" come up in solid, bright green font next to the being's face.

"This is Dawn Station!" cries the developer, over the many excited murmurs of the crowd. "The first ever virtual reality game with a fully developed artificial intelligence antagonist! An antagonist who learns from the players movements and choices, who grows and changes based off of what you do. You control the game, now more than ever! He's clever, he's learning, he knows where you are, and his objective is to kill the player - introducing... Alien X, otherwise known as… the Anti!"

Everyone cheers. Mcloughlin steps aside, a beam splitting his pale face, and allows the room to darken, and the trailer to play.

You're in awe. The trailer shows that you play as a character named Drew Oliver, an astronaut in their mid twenties who's aboard the Dawn Space Station, which has fallen to the planet you seemed to have been monitoring - the Othohiri 5RM. The game seems to revolve around attempting to explore the little bits of the planet that you can while repairing the ship and dealing with your descent into madness, all the while being chased down by the Alien X, a shapeshifting monstrosity who's eager to end your life before you can finish your goals. After watching it… well, everyone is absolutely blown away, especially you. This is unlike anything Mcloughlin had ever produced, especially to this scale. It's no wonder he hadn't produced a game in ten years if this was what he had been working on. You're practically vibrating with excitement at the breathtakingly beautiful scenery and realistic yet perfectly stylistic graphics, and the 8D sound design that seems to echo from all around you. It's incredible. The second you get back to your hotel room that night, you're one of the first to preorder the game.

Your week at the convention ends, and you go back home, counting down the days to the game's release. However, even more exciting things are happening. On Twitter, a few of your favourite youtubers are acting rather cryptic. KrisDoesGAMEZ and rrroadblock, two streamers you like, retweet Mcloughlin's announcement tweet with eye emojis and promises of the game being good. DUSSST, visualthursday and BroAverage make their own posts about it. PeachCheerio and TheSkinnerr upload short update videos promising exciting things to come.

On October 15th, it happens - ten youtubers each upload an early access demo of Dawn Station, having been chosen and given the code to play it by Mcloughlin himself. You don't watch the videos because you want to play the game yourself with no spoilers, but from what you've seen, it's fucking amazing. Critics are already calling it the game of the decade. The internet is thriving, and a few people have already cosplayed Drew, the main character. Your best friend uploads a joking cosplay of the Anti and walks around town with it on. He gets over a thousand likes and teases you about being too good for you now that he's internet famous. You're living for all of this.

On October 16th, youtuber PeachCheerio is murdered in his own home.

Everyone is shocked, rightfully. Here is a man who had streamed just the day before, chatting with his members and looking at Dawn Station memes on Twitch. Today, he was discovered by his girlfriend in his own home. Leaked police reports tell you that the man, whose real name was Ronald Murphy, had been messily dismembered, his organs removed, half of them missing. You're in shock. He was one of your favourite streamers, and maybe it's silly to mourn someone you've never met, but you're deeply, deeply saddened by the news.

However, it doesn't stop there. The very next day, youtuber DUSSST - or Louise Greendale - is found the same way Ronald had been. Louise's girlfriend apparently called the police in hysterics before panic tweeting about the incident. The posts were taken down an hour later. The screenshots of what she'd said trend of Twitter and Tumblr anyway.

This is when the conspiracy theories arrive. Two youtubers dead in two days, both brutally taken apart and missing organs? Some people mock the theorists for it. Who had even said Louise had been killed the same way as Ronald, anyway? That is, until more apparent police reports are leaked revealing the details of Louise's death. The internet goes wild. The Los Angeles police department posts a video begging whoever's causing the leaks to stop, to think about the families of the deceased. All this does is prove that they're true. This video, too, is later taken down.

You log off in disgust. Some people have no fucking shame.

Things heat up the next day, on October 18th, when user rrroadblock, or Aryan Jha, dies as well. The death is covered up for the first few hours afterwards, but eventually is leaked in the same manner as the last two murders. This time, the theorists are no longer labeled as crazy. In fact, everyone's getting in on this mystery now. Three popular youtubers dead now, each found in bloody states in their own homes, three days apart? No one knows what's happening, but that doesn't stop people from guessing. And while you refuse to involve yourself in any of this, you also find yourself wondering who or what - not what, of course it's not a what, that's just ridiculous - who is killing all of these people.

Day four. The internet is silent, waiting. And yes, sure enough, youtuber KrisDoesGAMEZ, or Kris Velvet, is dead.

This time, someone realizes something that makes everyone pause. Each of the dead youtubers are all the ones who were given the free demo of Dawn Station, and are even dying in the order that they played it in. Everyone goes insane. Even you're suspicious - of what, exactly, you don't know, because why would someone murder someone else so brutally over a video game? Despite that, this can't be a coincidence. People place bets on whether youtuber ducksontheroof, or Donna Campbell, is going to be the next one to be found dead. Donna herself makes a statement on her Instagram, expressing disgust at all the people who were spreading such information around. She then deactivated all her socials apart from her YouTube. The people who had been making bets were shamed, and you have to log off yet again. This is getting to be too much.

You stay offline until nearly four pm the next day. Your friend calls you up to give you the news, but you already know what they're going to say. Let me guess, you start, voice flat and tired. Donna Campbell's dead.

They confirm it. You don't know what to say.

Her family put out a statement asking people not to theorize about her death. People do it anyway. Reports state that the remaining five youtubers who had played Dawn Station, along with, surprisingly, Jack Mcloughlin himself, had been taken into police custody. For protection, you assume. Once again, the internet goes insane. This proves their theories about the game connecting all the deaths, and a silent dread and buzz of twisted excitement hangs over everyone. You're just disgusted. People are treating this like some kind of murder mystery game, like this isn't real, actual lives.

Two days pass without news. At the end of the second day, there's yet another leak. Youtubers Doomandgloom - Persephone Henry - and TheSkinnerr - Rodney Pratt - are dead. You're just numb. You're just so fucking numb.

This reveal, of course, inspires yet another debate. If the youtubers had been under police protection, how had they died? Had the police seen anything? Why hadn't the leak said anything about it? Who was killing all these people in so little time, how hadn't they been caught? Had, really, no one seen anything at all?

There are now three youtubers left who'd played the game. Hothothotstanley, or Stanley McIver, visualthursday, or Khia Herrera, and BroAverage, or Chase Brody. You met Stanley McIver, once, at a convention in London three years ago. You have a picture on your memory board of you standing in the convention hall, him with his arm around your shoulder, you with a grin and sparkle in your eye. You can see the picture from your bed. You turn away from it.

However, the next day is a surprise to everyone. A video is uploaded to someone's Twitter - a full, uncensored video of the murder of Stanley McIver inside the government safe house he and the others had seemingly been kept in. The video is immediately taken down and the Twitter deleted, but everyone has seen it. Including you. The video is… horrifying. Of course it is. Why did you watch it? But you do manage to see who it is that killed him. Everyone on the internet does. And this - this video, that's maybe five minutes long - is enough to make everyone go silent.

The killer looks exactly like the Anti from Dawn Station.

No one knows quite what to make of this.

Even less so when Jack Mcloughlin dies the next day.

He's murdered. Same way as all the rest of them, in police custody. Now this is enough to shock everyone into mourning silence. Only a few pricks are left, and their accounts, channels and blogs are swiftly deactivated. Nine deaths in nine days. Nine deaths. Nine. Jack Mcloughlin.

The next day, Khia Herrera - well, you know.

Chase Brody is the last one left alive. You never watched his channel that much - he's really into horror, and is known for his Walking Dead playthrough and his Undertale Genocide run - but you still already feel a strange sense of loss. A sort of emptiness. Something churns in your stomach that you don't understand. There's a lot that you don't understand.

The release of Dawn Station is cancelled.

You spend the night at a friend's house, and just bawl for hours. You shouldn't be so upset, you shouldn't! You never knew any of these people! But fuck, there's something about seeing all these people who you'd been watching online for so long, who have given you so many happy days, so many laughs and inside jokes… just die. How had this happened? Who was it who was doing this?

Your friend sadly suggests it's some sick Jack Mcloughlin hater who decided it'd be fun to cosplay as his newest character and kill people to scare everyone. But while you outwardly agree, you internally know it's not true. Because every time you watch that video, every time you watch Stanley die - and you watch it a lot, just trying to make yourself feel something, even if it's just sick - you can tell the person isn't human. You know that's ridiculous, of course. But there's something about its eyes. Its face. It glances up at the camera and makes eye contact, and grins with too many white, jagged teeth, like an anglerfish. The eye in its throat sees you too. It glows. You shudder every time, watching it shake with glitches and laughter.

You're scared. You feel sick and dizzy and you lock your doors out of fear. You stay inside and open Tumblr, Twitter and Instagram again.

Poor Chase Brody, says the internet. They're already mourning. Already accepted his death. Poor, poor Chase Brody.

You hope he's ok, wherever he is.

[keshetchai]

 dafyomilimerick

Nice explanation, except for the one thing that pokes a hole in it-- mixed wool and linen were MANDATED for the High Priest (Ex. 39:29) (the purple red and blue were wool). If it was prohibited because it's a bad fabric, why wouldn't it be prohibited for everyone?

oh okay there IS a specific verse. i wasn’t sure - someone else mentioned it. but i did think on this and i have more questions actually:

1.) is this an english translation issue, or is it assumed it’s wool threads?

sefaria has the verses as:

They made the tunics of fine linen, of woven work, for Aaron and his sons; and the headdress of fine linen, and the decorated turbans of fine linen, and the linen breeches of fine twisted linen; and sashes of fine twisted linen, blue, purple, and crimson yarns, done in embroidery—as the LORD had commanded Moses.

sefaria had a quoting commentary link (because my question now is from whence do we derive that yarns are wool?):

Rabbeinu Bahya, Shemot 28:6:3

   It is well to remember that the three garments (breastplate, ephod and belt) were made of a mixture of linen and wool even though the Torah had specifically issued a prohibition to the Israelites to wear any garment which combined these two materials (Deut. 22,11). Priests (only during the time they performed service in the Temple) were exempt from this prohibition. This is why the Torah wrote specifically in connection with the ephod: “they shall make the ephod of gold, blue wool, purple and scarlet wool and twisted linen.” In connection with the breastplate in verse 15 the Torah describes the very same materials again and in the same sequence. In Exodus 39,29 the Torah describes the belt as being made of “twisted linen, blue wool, purple wool and scarlet wool” (no golden thread).    The word תכלת describes wool dyed the colour of the sky; the word ארגמן describes wool dyed a purple colour, whereas the word תולעת שני describes wool dyed a scarlet colour. The expression שש  describes a kind of fabric made of linen.

I disagree with some of the above, unless the hebrew really does make it clear in a way I am not understanding that ALL of those things were a wool-linen mix. 

From what I see there’s no wool-specific word used, just an argument those imply wool in the color words, and even if the colors of the yarns are just implied wool in the hebrew I would have to understand the hebrew grammatical structure. because to me, it says one of two things:

1) the sashes were fine linen and wool (sensible. smallest piece of clothing, not actually worn against your skin because linsey-woolsy is coarse and uncomfortable, and we’re told the fabric is fine linen). my argument stands on the basis of this is the minimal amount of laundry-issues this could cause. 

2.) it actually doesn’t say that linen and wool are woven together, it says that what are possibly wool threads (not yarn) are used for embroidery, unless the grammar is substantially different somehow, which is NOT weaving! genuinely to my understanding, the issue is mixing wool and linen -- as in spinning them together, or weaving using linen weft and wool warp, or wool warp and linen weft. That would be my assumption - I could be wrong, but if you told me to weave some fabric and said  "You shall not wear a mixture of wool and linen together.” AND also clarified that wearing a shirt of wool and pants of linen was fine, then I would go, ok, I will not weave linen and wool together. Makes total sense. 

weaving linen and wool into ONE yarn sounds like a total headache, and weaving one as warp and one as weft is usually not...the best fabric outcome. doubly so if we’re arguing the kohanim wore it. it’d be...weird, especially since everything else is “fine linen.”

BUT say it’s bronze age, and I need to embroider many many patterns in beautiful colors, and you said “Okay you have to embroider on linen.” I would be like great, okay, just need thread.” And yarn embroidery thread makes total sense. That’s TOTALLY different! linen is a great embroidery surface, and wool is a decent embroidery thread!

Jewish encyclopedia seems to back me up:

Ornamental needlework on cloth, more frequently on linen, often executed in variegated colors and designs. Among the Egyptians and Assyro-Babylonians this art was highly developed, and Biblical texts make mention of the fact. The mantle that tempted Achan (Josh. vii. 21, 24) was of Babylonian make, i.e., according to Josephus ("Ant." v. 1, § 10), embroidered in gold. Ezekiel speaks of embroidered byssus from Egypt (Ezek. xxvii. 7). If the chapters of Exodus relating the preparations for the Tabernacle and its erection are contemporaneous with the events narrated, proof is established that the Hebrews at an early period of their history had attained a high degree of skill in the embroiderer's craft. Wilkinson ("Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians," ii. 166) sees adaptations of Egyptian models in the hangings of the Tabernacle (Ex. xxvi. 36, xxvii. 16, xxxvi. 37, xxxviii. 18) and in Aaron's coat and girdle (Ex. xxviii. 39, xxxix. 29). [...]

In Hebrew three words are employed to connote the craft and the finished product: (1) "Tashbeẓ" and its derivative forms are used exclusively in Exodus (xxviii. 4) in connection with sacerdotal garments

why does that work? because linen is easy to keep taut for embroidering, and it won’t stretch wildly out of shape because it’s not elastic, and it’s durable! this is a great embroidery surface! and wool is a great thread. it will cover a lot of surface quickly (here’s an example). 

actually certain types of wool thread on linen embroidered eventually becomes a known technique of “crewel” embroidery, using worsted wool embroidery thread.  the most famous early example of crewel technique specifically is the Bayeux Tapestry -- which actually, famously, is NOT a tapestry, but an embroidery. (tapestry means the design is woven in, the Bayeux Tapestry’s designs are surface embroidered wool thread on linen. this is the ‘famous’ example of gendered art. calling it a tapestry is misleading because in medieval europe, male craftspeople wove tapestries, but women were the ones who embroidered.)

so embroidery of wool on linen, i will argue, does not constitute the mixing of linen-wool, because they remain both linen and wool separately and do not generally cause the same issues of washing unless it’s a full surface embroidery. 

[also gut shabbos early!!]

EDIT WAIT: this feels important to say, and i don’t have any talmudic reference/principle to back my point up BUT: it feels like by instinct embroidery is different from weaving because if i embroider wool thread on linen, i still have wool, and i still have linen. i can, actually, later pick off the surface embroidery, which would result again in me having just linen and just wool. the wool lies on top of the woven linen fabric surface, and does not become mixed. 

BUT, if i spin the fibers together, OR if i weave them, then they cannot be unspun into linen and wool apart, and while you can unweave a part of something, once a weaving is finished the piece is usually washed and dried to interlock the fibers together. it’s really not at all simple to pull them apart anymore, because it becomes closer to a third substance combining the two. 

I feel like there should be an example of how substance 1 and 2 being placed on top of each other, or next to each other but can be separated again is okay; but when substance 1 and 2 become substance 3, it is no longer the same as the first scenario. i just don’t know what proof or example that would be. 

[mattzerella-sticks]

Heart Eyes, Motherfucker (ao3 link)

Izuku knows that where Mei goes, trouble follows. And what Mei creates, will ultimately come back to bite him in the ass. Which is why he's wary when she comes to him, seeking help for an assignment. But when she describes her latest creation - a camera that can capture what a person is thinking - he believes there isn't any reason he should be afraid. By helping her with this, there isn't a way for it to blow up in his face.

That is, until the wrong person's photo is taken, exposing something that he would've liked to keep hidden.

           Izuku gently sets the camera down, careful not to trigger a hidden mechanism that might, quite literally, blow up in his face. The memory of Mei Hatsune’s last gift is still fresh in his mind, how the tiny, innocent earbuds exploded once he connected his phone to them. It sent him to Recovery Girl’s ward, and then for the remainder of the week Izuku couldn’t hear anything. Wariness lessens the blow from Mei’s frown, her disappointment palpable at how he didn’t immediately accept her camera. She’s gotten ahead of herself. “I’m not saying no,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “I just want to know what it is before I do anything.”

           “It’s a camera,” Mei tells him, “It takes pictures.”

           “Is that all?”

           “Well, they’re pretty good pictures…” She taps her chin, eyes spinning wildly as she navigates the labyrinthine puzzle of her thoughts. Her expression shifts, a wide grin that almost splits her face in two like the sun breaking through dark grey and shining bright. “They’re actually better pictures than you’d get from an average camera! After the modifications I made to it –“

           “Yes, modifications!” Izuku interrupts, jumping into the fray before she shifts the conversation elsewhere. “You admit you’ve played around with it?”

           She huffs, a dial shifting inside that changes her mood again. Now, she’s offended. “I don’t play around with tech. I create. I improve. I succeed, Midoriya.”

           “Sorry, sorry…” He chuckles, rubbing his head, “That’s not… what I’m trying to ask is – this is an invention of yours, yes? Is there anything it does besides taking pictures?” Izuku thinks, trying to string together a more thoughtful question then ‘will it blow up?’ “Are there any tactical advantages to the camera?”

           “Of course!” She says, roughly snatching the camera. Izuku flinches, then sighs in relief seeing how it stayed silent despite her brusque movements. “It’s something I’m working on for a class assignment. They want us to create gear that can help heroes proactively take down villains, to keep casualties and damage to a minimum!”

           “And your idea was… a camera?”

           “It’s not just a camera,” she scoffs, holding it up and quickly snapping a picture of Izuku. He blinks, blinded by the flashing light. As he rubs his eyes, he hears the mechanical whirr of a photo being produced. “It uses the latest retinal technology combined with my own, copyrighted, software to capture not just a person’s face… but also what they were thinking of at the moment the photo was taken!” She waves the photo, Izuku’s face becoming clearer and clearer as time passes. “They say the eye is the window to a person’s soul, yes? Well now that really is the case!?” She laughs with shameless glee, drawing other students’ attention towards them in the sort-of-crowded cafeteria. Izuku’s face glows a deep red, especially when he catches sight of his photo.

           It’s his face, but there’s a marked difference between what he expected and what he sees. Instead of green eyes, Izuku finds two bomb-like pupils have replaced his irises, their fuses short and lit. This makes sense, as he thinks about it. Between the seconds her forefinger pressed on the shutter, Izuku’s only thoughts were ‘don’t explode’, chanted repeatedly.

           Mei studies the picture, snorting. “And this is why I want you to have it.”

           “Me?”

           “Every time I take someone’s picture,” she says, handing him the camera again, “they only show bombs!” She produces an immeasurable number of headshots from her pocket, each person’s eyes like Izuku’s. “I keep telling them that it’s not that kind of equipment, but they don’t trust me. I mean, I get it, but how am I supposed to score the highest marks if my experiments keep producing the same result! How can I learn from the data when it’s all the same!”

           Izuku understands her plight, reminded of similar struggles. It’s been forever since he was reminded of his first few days, where no one wanted to spar with him, afraid they might hurt him or encourage Izuku towards injury by using his quirk. Luckily that didn’t last long. If he failed at convincing his classmates at that time, Izuku doubts he would be where he is now. The only way to grow is through constant trial and error, whether human or machine.

           “Okay,” he says, “I’ll help.”

           Mei claps, thanking him while she speeds off and out of the cafeteria. Izuku watches her along with the remaining students, beads of sweat staining his forehead. His gaze trails from Mei’s exit to the camera in his hands. He studies it more closely than earlier, since he’s certain it won’t combust. Izuki then fiddles with the camera, shaking it, and accidentally takes a selfie that nearly blinds his left eye.

           He rubs that blurry eye while the camera prints the next photo, Izuku grabbing it immediately. Waving it around, Izuku uses his right eye to see what his left might express. Mei would be happy if she had stayed, since there’s a small camera that sits in the middle of his iris, and not a bomb. Izuku tucks the photo into his backpack, alongside the camera as he stands. There’s barely anyone in the cafeteria, the stragglers leaving him behind, meaning Izuku has a few minutes to get to class. He races to Aizawa’s room.

           The camera remains hidden for the rest of the day. Izuku dare not show the others yet, waiting for a perfect moment he can snag the most amount of people.

           Today’s weather helps, rain clouds hanging overhead herded all students indoors. After their final class, Izuku and his friends sped down the path to their dorms in a frenzy. All rushing to beat the rain that would inevitably fall.

           Thunder rumbles, announcing what will come. Izuku jumps over the threshold exactly when the first drop hits.

           “Well,” Mina pouts, leaning on a nearby wall, slipping off her shoes, “I guess we’re stuck here for the day.” Everyone nods in agreement, going about their usual ritual, trading in shoes for slippers. They begin moving deeper into the dorms, rumbling with plans for how to spend this rainy day.

           Izuku hurries to the front of the group, bag tight in his arms. “Actually,” he says, loudly enough he interrupts his friends’ conversations, “since we’re all here, I was wondering if you could help me with something – well… help me help Mei with something –“

           “Mei Hatsune?” Iida asks, a sickly pale sheen blanketing his features, “No – no, whatever it is – no.”

           “Iida,” Izuku sighs, “You haven’t even heard what it is I have to say!”

           “I don’t need to!” And, from how the rest of his friends appear similarly distressed, they don’t either.

           He works fast, removing the camera and showing it to them. “It’s nothing too crazy, or dangerous!” he tells them, “She needs pictures of people for a school project.”

           “That sounds… almost normal,” Mina says, stepping to the front of the group, joining Izuki. She snatches the camera from his hands, frowning at Mei’s camera. “Too normal for a support class project.”

           “Well, there’s more to it than that,” he explains, leaning in close and tapping at the lens. “She modified the camera, so that it takes pictures of what a person’s thinking.” He shows them his picture, with the camera reflected in his iris. “I was thinking about the camera when I hit the capture button, and that’s why it’s in my eye!”

           “So, the thoughts are shown in the eyes?” Mina asks. Izuku nods. “Cool…”

           Iida clears his throat, drawing the focus back to him. “If that’s all the camera does,” he starts, tone frigid enough Izuku shivers because of it, “why does Mei need you taking the pictures?”

           “Oh she… doesn’t have enough time,” Izuku laughs, lying, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels slightly bad, but reasons that if he told them of Mei’s problem, it might make some of the others experience similar issues. “I offered to help because, well – it has been a bit of a lull, hasn’t it?”

           “It has,” Mina agrees, looking through the viewfinder at her classmates, “And this is the perfect thing to spice things up!” She crouches low, at eye level with Mineta. “Say cheese!”

           “What -”?

           She slams her forefinger on the shutter, a loud click washing over the group. Mina impatiently pulls the photo free, waving it around with one hand while the other bars Mineta from advancing. His protests are ignored, Mina waiting for the picture to develop. Once it does, her concentration slips. She laughs, Mineta overpowering his limp arm and dashing past her towards the kitchen, overshooting them. “It works!” she announces, showing the others her photo of the smaller hero.

           Izuku steps into view, turning away from the photo in his next breath, cheeks red with shame.

           Mineta awkwardly smiles, a friendly thumb raised and peeking above the border. His eyes, however, were obscured by two pairs of large breasts. Izuku stared at one set, nipples pointed directly forward, and lost his nerve. He wasn’t alone, Iida and Momo equally uncomfortable. The others visibly appear awkward, yet don’t look from Mineta’s face.

           Tsuyu is the only student unfazed. Her head skews to the left as she squints for a better look. “The quality of the photo, kero, it’s amazing. They look almost lifelike.”

           “I think that’s enough,” Uraraka rushes forward, taking the photo of Mineta from Mina. She throws it upwards, steepling her fingers so it will float to the ceiling and stay there. ��Why don’t we see what everyone else is thinking?”

           “Can we wait a few minutes?” Denki laughs, “At least let us burn that image out of our minds.” Everyone joins save Mineta, who flexes his hands on the bumps atop his head, gaze locked on the floating photo. Izuku drags him away from it, following everyone to the kitchen where they can prepare dinner and play with the camera. He makes a note to retrieve the photo later, and to draft an apology for Mei.

           When everyone feels ready, they continue using the camera.

           Izuku will admit, he wasn’t sure if he might succeed in helping Mei. His friends, dependable as always, proved Izuku’s doubts were misguided. Even Iida allowed a few pictures of himself, profiles of his brother or Aizawa swimming in his eyes. “We have that test coming up,” he growls, jabbing at their teacher’s face, “It’s a big one, I want to do well!”

           “You will do well, like always…” Kyoka holds the camera, glancing around the room for the next victim. There’s already a steady pile in the center of the table they commandeered, and a few more pictures floating above them. Mineta thought of little else, apparently. She nudges Denki, who sits beside her, “I’ve got an idea…” She whispers to him, an evil glint shining in her gaze.

           Denki timidly agrees, hesitance a striking feature on his face like the black bolt zigging through his blond hair. He stands, moving a safe distance from everyone else. Izuku watches like the rest of their group, perplexed, until a tiny spark erupts from his palms that soon becomes a storm much like what rages outside their dorm walls. Izuku glances at Kyoka’s excited and expectant face; he understands.

           Kyoka hits the shutter, then bowls over from laughter with how Denki dances in place. Izuku grabs the camera from her, helping develop the photo by shaking it. When it finally bleeds onto the small rectangle, Izuku breathes a laugh out his nose. There’s nothing replacing Denki’s eyes save static common on broken television sets. “Weirdly enough,” Shoto says, stationed behind Izuku at one shoulder, Tsuyu next to him, “I think that’s what he looks like without a camera, too.”

           They take a few more photos, learning a bit more as they go. Izuku brought his notebook out and took notes halfway into their trials, keeping track of observations to give to Mei. Like how the thoughts importance can affect size, proven with how Kyoka’s whole face was eclipsed by her guitar, and – when asked about her grades – two, tiny ‘F’s floated in Mina’s. There were also bugs the class managed to find, one being that the camera couldn’t pick up on invisible people. Toru, unfortunately, was excluded by the nature of her quirk. They tried including her, asking her to think of her face. Momo theorized that, since Toru can see what she looks like, if she thinks about that then everyone can see what she sees. The camera didn’t recognize Toru and failed to capture her thoughts. It did create thoughts for objects with face-like shapes. An accidental click by Shoto caught part of the stove, and because of the dials, the camera treated it like a face and ascribed two cacti-like stickers on them.

           “Who knew science could be so fun!” Denki cheers, showing off the latest photo to the group. Eijiro grins proudly, Crimson Riot’s manly figure posing in his eyes. He was surrounded by stars, another feature they discovered during the process. The camera adds symbols to better express thoughts, giving context to them.

           “I’m glad you feel this way,” Iida says, clapping him on the back, “Maybe you can take this energy and apply it elsewhere in your studies!”

           “…They’re not as fun.”

           Their group starts laughing, except it’s cut short by a slamming door. Everyone’s heads whirl towards the source of the noise. Izuku hears a low, growling string of curses that get louder with each stomp. It’s no surprise when Katsuki rounds the corner, especially since he’s the only one of their class who hadn’t been with them.

           He should have, judging by the damp state of his clothes.

           “Bakugo, woah,” Eijiro jumps up from his seat, “what happened?”

           “Stupid umbrella broke on my way back from the gym,” Katsuki yelled, throwing his smoldering umbrella across the room. “Cheap things… don’t know why my mom insists on buying these if they keep breaking all the time.” He glares at them, dripping onto the floors. “What are you losers doing?”

           “Well, we were –“

           “Forget it, I don’t care.” Katsuki brushes past them, a trail of water left in his wake. He enters the kitchen, still in view, but completely ignoring them as he roots through the fridge.

           “If you don’t care, why ask?” Uraraka mutters, sinking into her seat. She and most of the others return to their own worlds, treating Katsuki with the respect he showed them. A few differ, namely Izuku, Mina, and Eijiro. They continue watching Katsuki move about the kitchen.

           Mina holds the camera now, stroking the shutter button. “He’s obviously interested,” she says, “otherwise why would he ask?”

           Eijiro sighs, scratching at his temple. “Who knows? A lot of what he does, doesn’t make sense half the time. You should know that by now.”

           “If only we knew what he was thinking…” The camera rises instinctively.

           Izuku offers a weak chuckle, forcing the camera down with his hand. “Good luck with that. Kacchan will break the camera before you can even take the photo.”

           “Then I won’t do it,” she huffs, handing the camera off to Eijiro. “Kirishima here will.”

           “Me?”

           “Yeah, you,” Mina says, “Who else besides you would Dyna-meathead even allow in his personal space long enough to snap it?” Izuku agrees with her, absentmindedly nodding along with her rebuttal. “It’ll be easy. Go up to him, ask for a photo, then take it and bring it back here.”

           “But…” Eijiro looks from her to Izuku, “but… what if he breaks the camera?”

           Izuku shrugs, “I think it’s safe to say we have enough photos for Mei to use in her project, even if Kacchan ends up breaking it. Besides, that’s a sort of prototype, she’s looking to make a digital one – and I doubt Mei would send me off with that if she didn’t have copies of what was important.”

           That, and an encouraging smile that would rival All-Might’s, give Eijiro the courage to try. He winks at both him and Mina, scurrying around the counter that divides the dining area from the kitchen and into Katsuki’s bubble of personal space. Katsuki doesn’t flinch, chewing on a protein bar while Eijiro asks him a question. Katsuki yells at Eijiro, calls him an idiot, but doesn’t deny his request. Eijiro beams, holding the camera up and takes the photo. Thanking him, Eijiro returns to the group with both the camera and developing photo.

           “Give me! Give me!” Mina wrangles the photo free from Eijiro’s fingers, bouncing in her seat from the anticipation. The others show muted interest, curiosity piqued once Eijiro succeeded.

           “Damn, it’s just a fucking photo you rejects…” Katsuki joins them, leaning on the counter a fair distance away, “If you get all happy over that then I’m scared for what the future of heroes is gonna look like.”

           “It’s not a simple photo, Bakugo,” Iida tells him, finger raised as if he were giving a lecture, “it’s a special one from a camera modified by a support student. Apparently, it can take pictures of what people are thinking about.”

           “What –“! Katsuki chokes on his protein bar, hacking and disappearing behind the counter. Izuku startles, concerned, about to check on him. Suddenly Mina screams at his side, and Izuku’s attention is diverted.

           “I can’t believe it!” Mina cackles, “Ah! AH! Bakugo, Bakugo… you try and act so tough but you’re just a softy on the inside, aren’t you!”

           Izuku can’t see the photo with how wildly Mina flails, and he is the only one. Everyone else had their own chance to look at the photo, all varying degrees of shock rippling across their faces. Eijiro appears the most affected, shoulders shaking, a hand clutched tight over his heart as he wobbles on his feet. He might faint on the spot but couldn’t look happier about it. Soon Mina calms enough for Izuku to grab the photo from Mina. He sees what’s on it and is struck into the same stupor.

           He cannot see Katsuki’s eyes. They’ve been smothered by two gigantic hearts, cartoonish in their design with how they sparkle and glow. Worse, for Katsuki at least, two faces were nestled at the center of these hearts. On the right eye, Eijiro’s teeth are on full display with a large smile. On Katsuki’s left, Eijiro winks.

           Mina knocks her chair to the floor in her haste, uncaring how it topples. She dances, singing, “Bakugo likes Kiri… Bakugo likes Kiri…” After circling the table, she throws herself onto Izuku’s back, “Midoriya, remind me to thank Mei for giving you that camera!”

           “Mina, I –“

           “Fucking… Deku…”

           Time slows. Izuku inches his head to where he heard what sounded like gravel being dragged against asphalt, and where he feels sparks dust his cheeks. Katsuki recovered at some point, protein bar forgotten in embarrassment and anger. These emotions, needing an outlet, latched onto Mina painting the target on Izuku’s chest. He launched himself over the counter towards him like a lion would its prey. And only in the infinitesimal moment before certain death could Izuku notice his utter doom. He certainly can’t react or defend himself. Izuku, with his brief reprieve that grows shorter and shorter, can only muster a single thought.

           It’s hard to describe. But if someone were to take a photo of his face, with Mei’s camera, they’d see a skull in both his eyes.