#bad end heroic collection

[threepandas]

Bad End: Heroic Collection

New Haven wasn't a major metropolis. Some big city like Delhi or Tokyo, Jakarta and the like. It was big for the area. A major hub for commerce and crime on a local scale. But Nationally? INTERNATIONALLY? Not even close. No matter WHAT the great ambitions that haunted the Mayor, late at night, may tell you.

So, really, there was NO fucking reason for any A Listers to be here.

NONE.

Our biggest exports were fancy fucking jams and that one fashion line I couldn't pronounce. We had honest to God Jam festivals in the fall. It was a circuit, Mayor gave out awards. There were pies. Firestrike always ate himself sick. Agent always laughed at him. I... Fuck, my head was ringing. I'd hit that last building HARD. Was pretty sure I tasted blood. Not... not sure if that was because I busted something in my mouth or...

Over my comms, I could hear my teammates fighting. Trying to hail the Alliance. If we could... could just hold on...

Long enough for the major players to GET here?

Then what? I had to wonder. Staring at a burning bus in front of me. It was half way lodged through Mrs. Brahimi's shop. Please, God, let her and the workers have got out all right. I'd been there just this morning. She made me those stuffed flatbread things. Said I was still too skinny. Should rest more.

I use the twist remains of a book return to lever myself to my feet. Book..? Oh. I'm by the library. Which..? Fuck. Main one. That's city hall.

Smoke rises around the city I've lived in all my life. Fires everywhere. I'm supposed... supposed to be a hero. But I can barely stand. Feel sick as the world sways. My body is one big bruise. Gotta... gotta keep fighting. Helping. Save people.

In the distance, I can hear screams.

I'm coming. I promise. I'm coming!

I make my screaming body move. Stumble. Catch myself. Then keep going. The hiss and spit in my ear tells me that my communicator is probably half broken. I don't try it, in case that breaks it the rest of the way. Wrench doors from half crushed cars to free trapped civilians. Lever wreckage, hold it with trembling limbs, so people can crawl to safety. Run. Please, god, RUN!

We aren't strong enough.

He's here, The Collective.

A hivemind super threat. Alien supposedly. So far above my team's pay grade we know basically nothing. The kind of thing we were expected to never realistically see. We're nobody's. Fuck it, we're HAPPY being nobody's. It meant we got to go home each night. Didn't face The Horrors. Like him.

He CONSUMES.

Hungry. Trying to fill some void that's never going to fill. Supposedly a planet eater. Gutting worlds for resources, materials, to continue his own expansion. Now fixated on Earth for it's continued refusal to die. For its defiance. Some A+ sort of monster, to our high C rank. At best.

Fuck... we dealt with HUMANS. Fought gimmicks and tech. Little fish in our little pond. Now this tsunami was bringing the ocean to US and it was all we could do, to swim and survive.

I leaned against a half smashed car. Braced myself against it, more then anything, then started pulling pot shots. I... I was gonna black out soon. With a concussion like this? Probably wasn't gonna be waking up. Especially if those THINGS found me before a friendly did.

All across the city I called home, The Collective had Drones tearing the place apart.

They'd almost be pretty. Tall, elegant, androgynous lookin, supermodel twinks in battle armor. Drones apparently covered their lower face. I'd know the "commander" by their uncovered face and "use of adornments". Useful! Except they could fucking SWITCH on command, so you have to take out ALL of them.

Because they weren't a collection of different soldiers.

THEY weren't a THEY. That? Was a fucking HE. Singular.

You don't consider each of your individual cell as people. Each follicle of hair. Why would HE? God damn it. It was like fighting a giant. Against Gods. They just kept coming. And my ammo? Was not endless.

Worse. The drones had stopped looking. I don't know WHAT they had been searching for. But now? They started to converge on me. On city hall. Fuck. I... I couldn't even really stand anymore. My vision was blurring. I knew for a FACT my shots were shit. But dense as they were crowding? It seemed enough. Kept them back.

Three cartridges left.

Two.

Only one more...

The Alliance was coming. Half my team had gone silent. I could hear tears in the voice of Tech, back in the office. They had our life signs. Built into our armor. I could only imagine what mine looked like. Prayed, like I hadn't since I was a kid, that the others were just unconscious. Safe somewhere.

Someplace this nightmare couldn't reach them.

I doubted I was that lucky.

Tech was begging me to hold on. Giving me ETAs. And... And I was out of bullets. The block half full of Drones. I had escrima sticks. A fucking tazer. It would have to do. Sticks came out, as I swayed to my feet. No longer letting the car behind me hold my weight. What's a little... let's say, hundred or so, on one? Eh?

Bring your friends. Let's make it a fair fight.

I'll go easy on you.

Bravado until the end. Remember, never know who's watching. You are a symbol. Before you are a man, you are their HERO. Don't you DARE let them down. Even if you die. Especially when you die. B.. Bravado until the end. Plaste on a smirk and say a one-liner, we got hope to shoulder.

I took down about three Drones... I think... before the rest swarm me.

Feel hands pinning my arms. My torso. Everything. A weak point between the panels is ripped open. High grade military fabrics doing jack shit against their impossible strength. The distinct pinch tug of a needle in my skin. Cold spreading. The sudden exhaustion of a powerful sedative. I... am gone.

Time... is blurry.

Now and Then running together in my senses. My brain. The concussion doesn't help. Or... or didn't? It feels... gone? Gone-ing? Oh... look, sky. Clouds. Pretty. Wasn't I standing? I am standing. No... no being dragged. Chair? Not chair. Stairs? Carried. Pretty window..... where am I? Fuzzy. Bluzzy fuzzy purple beans~ he he he~ oh! Those are the... watch'ma call it! Gucci chairs! That rich lady had! Neat. Plurble.

Ouch! Why'd you pi...?

My mouth is dry as sand. But suddenly? I am hyper aware. The floating drift of my mind VIOLENTLY gone, replaced by alerted and focus. Drones surround me in a vaguely familiar hallway. Shit. I think it's that rich designer's place. My helmet is off, but my mask is still in place, thank god. The Drones stand far to close for my liking. Their many eyes, amused.

So glad to entertain, you Fuck.

I am frog marched down the hall. Damn near dragged. They were too smart to restrain me with my own cuffs, unfortunately. So my hands are bound behind my back with something tight I can't get a good feel off. Bastard secured it to my belt, too. Great.

The Collective's "Face" is surrounded by what must be every jewel in the city. Piled high in some vague sorting pattern I refuse to even try and comprehend. He's trying on rings. One on every finger, to see what matches his skin tone. Looks good. Already, he has a pearl stud and some earrings he's decided he likes. He looks up as I'm dragged in, and I realize immediately what one of "a few other differences" between him and the Drones are...

It's the EYES,

They GLOWED.

Metallic almost. Nearly neon. They reflected the light in a way the Drones simply did not. It made their face... horrificly predatory. Made for WATCHING, somehow. Unnerving and haughty. Beautiful still, but uncomfortable to be near.

Sitting up on a table that basicly swallows the room, dead center like a show piece on display, with one long leg tossed over the other and no fucking shirt on? The Face looks almost carefully, artfully, staged. To maximize some "haughty yet coy, alien prince who maybe wants to fuck you" shtick.

Does... Does he not realize I'm NOT one of the usual opponents? I mean. Flattered at the "join me! The Darkside has sex and cookies!" set up. Always fun. Classic, really. But, like? I would be... at BEST... a solidly MID goon.

Also "NO".

Gonna preemptively throw that out there. Maybe some expletives for flavor. Suggest someplace sunless to shove it. SOLID "No". Good try, though.

Around me, the Drones are shaking with silent laughter. Staring down at me, their pale eyes dancing with amusement. It's creepy as hell. Unnerving to be the center of attention like this. For this many eyes, utterly in synch, to surround and watch my every twitch. Act fascinated and amused, like I'm some little animal performing tricks.

The Face hasn't dropped his Seduction to the Darkside routine. If anything, he seems delighted by the defiance. Which... yeah, that tracks. It's why he's harrasing out planet to begin with. That one's definitely on me. So, better question? Not that I'm not glad and all? Why the FUCK am I not dead.

"And lose my HERO? Perish the thought~" drawles The Collective, the posture light and lazy, even as something dangerous threaded itself through their tone. It sounded... possessive. But that couldn't be right. "I would NEVER do such a thing! In fact, we are going to have to be far more careful with that little processor of yours. Far too fragile. Just the one, too. Horrifying, really."

Thanks. Just what every guy loves to really make 'im feels special. Insults.

Fucker.

More laughter from all around me. I grit my teeth. Come oooon, Alliance. Where the hell ARE you guys!? Could REALLY use a rescue! The hands holding me still are drifting. Fucking handsy. Damn near stroking even as they hold me immobile. They're looking for the clasps and buckles on my armor. Have already found the obvious ones. Fingers oh so casually drifting over, to grip, flex, and tear them apart.

I do NOT like how loose my armor is starting to feel. Barely able to hold on. Protect me. Limited as that protection may be. I think I'm developing a horrifying empathy for clams. Crustaceans in general. Anything that gets slowly pried from the safety of it's shell, too certain doom.

The Face casually tosses the rings he was playing with aside. Tens of thousands of dollars bouncing off to God only knows where. He slides from the table to stand. Shit. He's huge.

The androgynous twink supermodel thing he has going on? Fucking LIES. Twists your perception of how, EXACTLY, strong the Face body IS. He clears seven feet easily, is muscled in that distinctly "never see me coming until it's too late" sort of way all the ninja types are.

The tattoos. It's the FUCKING tattoos! They give the illusion that he's slimmer then he actually is.

It HIDES MUSCLE MASS.

I can't tell if that's vanity or strategy and I hate it. Glare as he sashays towards me. Hips rolling in that elegant catwalk strut. I'm forced to my knees. Because of course I am. How ELSE will the bastard loom and gloat? Though really, weak as I currently feel, it's more that the Drones holding me up? Stop doing that. My knees more or less just give up on their own.

"Like what you see? You're staring so intently~" He mocks. If he were being genuine, I'd call it teasing. Flirtatious. But I know better. "It IS a pretty body, isn't it? I worked hard on it, you know. All sort of fun little details~ Might honestly be one of my favorites. If you're good for me, I'll let you explore it~"

THERE it is.

Darkside. Sex and cookies. Sign up today. Fuck you and not in the fun way. Keep your hands to yourself, Collective. You're not convincing me. You could tell me the sky was blue, and I'd make three presentations with a PowerPoint, on why you were a liar. No, still No, and a hefty fuck off No for spice.

Three steps away. Two steps. One.

A man that tall and dangerous? Frankly did NOT need heels. Figures he'd wear them anyway. Sharp enough to kill a man. Right infront of my folded knees. I refuse to look up. No more fucking games. Did have to wonder, though, if those pants... if they even WERE pants? Were painted on or not. Very tight. Looked vaguely metal yet leather.

Shit.

Fingers, splayed wide as they run themselves through my sweaty and probably bloodstained hair. Couldn't have been nice to touch. Wrong angle and just a touch too big to be a Drone. Light as a lover, sweet almost, soothing. Before it inevitably tightens, gripping the strands. Honestly not as hard as I expected, didn't even hurt.

Still, my head is forced back.

Back and back and back, forced to arch my spine, hang awkwardly at some forty-five degree angle. My thighs and abs already screaming. A Drone grabs the back of my armor and, with an almost casual yank, my chest plate is violently snapped free. Both tossed to the floor away from us.

"There we are~" the Face hums down at me, eyes nearly hypnotic in how the light moved from within, grin full of sharp and deadly teeth. "No more of that ugly thing in the way. I much prefer this~"

"Tell me, Little Hero, do you remember? Becoming mine."

No, I certainly do fucking not. What the HELL is he-!? From behind the Face a Drone steps. Dressed differently to the others. Casual clothes. Like... actual street clothes. If they weren't GREEN I never would been able too-...

In horror, I watch as the pigment of the Drones skin melts away to a middling average. So utterly nondescript a blend of ethnicities that it's genuinely hard to place, but won't stand out no matter where he goes in the city.

I... I had seen that face.

SAVED that man.

Thought he was CUTE! T..Thought WE were having some sort of MEET CUTE! Oh God. That was at the festival. I was out of costume. Saved him from getting crushed. Then my teammates handled everything before I could slip away. So I just... stayed. Showed the cute tourist the festivities.

We ate FANCY JAMS, YOU FUCK!

I pined our that cute tourist for WEEKS. Was UNBEARABLE. Tech threatened to shove me off a roof! Oh my god.

Laughter.

Dozens of mouths, laughing in perfect sync. The noise layered and bouncing strangely around the room. Deeper then it should be, higher as it swings. Like a radio or voice modulator that someone is messing with. A momentary loss of control. My anger fizzles out to fear. Oh... oh yeah...

I forgot I was fucked.

At.. at least I know why?

A step forward. Past too close and now basically in my lap. A foot on either side of my knees. I try not to think exactly where my face would be pressed if I wasn't dragged back, to hang near painfully arched, so he could lean down and I could be forced to make eye contact. That way lay madness.

He moved his other hand to my face, cupping it. Dragging his thumb possessively across my mouth. He hummed, pleased.

He pressed closer, sliding down my front to his knees, straddling my lap. REALLY hoped that WAS, in fact, a weapon in your pocket there, buddy. Because I am not liking the handsy direction this is going, nor have I come to terms with my meet cute being a monstrous planet killing warlord. Not feeling sexy, my guy.

....okay, a LITTLE sexy, but that is hormones and we ignore those.

Fuuuuuck, wandering haaaaands! Now would be a GOOD TIME for door kicking rescues! I do NOT want to learn anything new about myself today! I want to go HOME. Sleep forever, maybe! Have a burrito the size of my head! Oh god. Think unsexy thoughts. Math. Sad puppies! Sad puppies doing MATH!

The Collective had dragged me upright. Pressed my face right up against their Face's bare skin. All I could smell was expensive cologne and man. Warm skin. Oh god, I am so gay. This is hell and I am very, VERY gay. If evil, why sexy hot hot hot? Hormones are making very convincing arguments. Horny brain says let's make terrible life choices.

No! Nooooo. Stop it, Me! We are fucking better then this! God damn it, you trainwreck, you are a ROLE MODEL! Act like one! (But horny...) (NO!!!)

God I was never going to mock the fuckers who hesitates at the "sex n cookies" speech again. Persuasive mother FUCKER!

"Aah~" he sighed contentedly, far too close to a moan for my sanity's liking. Hands having finally found the hidden zippers of my undersuit. Slowly dragging it open. "You are FAR too cute~♡"

"I can't wait to get you off this worthless little rock. Back to ME. I'll have so many WAYS to take care of you~ Backups and rudimentary supports we can set up, at least until I get you something proper."

Horrifying. Deeply Horrifying. REALLY never wanted to know what terrified and horny felt like, but here we are. Distantly, I hear thunder. There's no clouds. A flash of red through the skies. Green followed by metallic purple. Oh thank fuck. Keep his attention. Just... just keep his attention.

"We'll use me as a base. Keep you in stasis. Away from all these ugly, dangerous things~! Just you and me. Perfect. BETTER. Infinite and beautiful. I'll make all sort of bodies just for you to play with. Even let you keep this one! If you want. It'll be a precious memory for us, of where you began. How we met."

A mouth on mine. I can't breathe. Can't escape the arms wrapped around me. My protests do little more then waste oxygen. I feel light headed. Come one, team Alliance! He's here! HE'S HERE!!!

"You're going to be MINE, little Hero. I finally figured it out. What I was missing. It was YOU~♡! My beloved, delicate, little thing~. I'm going to take SUCH good care of you."

"Forever~"

[essektheylyss]

Matt has such an interesting comment in Cooldown, of "It's wonderful and wild and against the usual format of TTRPG narrative to start so bad and slowly climb towards more calm and hope." Because I actually disagree if we consider this statement to the letter, but I also think it hits on the exact point of Divergence.

The thing about the fantasy TTRPG narrative, as Matt is referencing it, is that it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with hope. It has to do with power and agency, and action, but it doesn't necessarily have to involve hope. I do think it involves a striving toward peace, because that is theoretically a goal of war, and D&D and the fantasy TTRPGs that have arisen in that legacy are based upon war games.

And this story isn't actually pushing against that format. It's simply reframing it, telling the story not of the battle won but what comes after, that we so rarely stick around to see. This is the end of someone's epic story, that we've arrived in at the eleventh hour: as the gods and their armies depart from this plane after an age of war, attempting to keep the rest of the world from total annihilation, and leaving it—as is so often the case in the wake of war, real and imagined—in ruin. It's the same story, but to put it simply, we so rarely see what grows in its wake.

The Divergence party are not the typical TTRPG heroes, and it's entirely possible they may never become those heroes. They may remain people, perhaps above average but fundamentally still people, who step up and rebuild, as someone must after the heroes collect accolades or leave in mourning or try to live in the peace they have, ostensibly, won, regardless of whether they have put in the work to make that peace a place worth living in.

The people left, as these characters were left in the abandoned walls of Rybad-Kol, have little choice but to put in that work, but they have chosen to do so regardless, and that alone is what makes them heroic in this new age.

[mtchee]

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Tamaki Amajiki] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

As your schools decide to team up for a term long integration project, you're eager to prove your worth as an aspiring young hero. LOUD AND PROUD! That's who you are! So when you're paired with none other than one of U.A's Big Three, Tamaki Amajiki, your heart shatters when he flinches away from you before you can even utter a word. He gives you a brief, stammered apology--and that's when you realise that maybe, just maybe, your dearly fated had been a cruel mistake. Your own soulmate is terrified of you without even knowing you. So perhaps, it's for the best that you pipe down and let him find someone else to better suit his needs.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, tamaki is a sweetheart, [name] is outgoing and loud, minor angst, fluff!!!, mentions of two non-canon side characters, smitten [name], anxious but doting tamaki, ugh [name] and tamaki are so cute smh, idk how i feel abt the ending i hope it's okay T-T

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[3.2k]

"U.A, HERE WE COME!"

"Shut up, [name]," One of your classmates, Kaori, scrunches his nose at you disdainfully, "you're the reason no one talks to us."

"What..."

Karina, his sister, snorts while you deflate, "It's okay to be excited, [name]. Ignore him. Let's show U.A what we're made of!" She fist pump the air to distract you, and it evidently works when you copy her with a happy whoop.

All third-year hero course students have been gathered to battle ground A and B where they would mingle with the other school's class.

One of the teachers, Miss Midnight, claps her hands and swiftly garners the attention of each student.

"Alright, everybody~" She grins widely with lidded eyes, "time to pair you off with a new buddy! Don't be shy now~ We'll be calling out your names and pitting you against another duo. Now-"

You bound your way over to a tall, spiky eared U.A. student who stands with hunched shoulders and a lowered head once your name is called. Just moments prior you saw him with two others, a broad set blond and a pretty aqua toned girl, both of whom nudged him in your direction before heading to their own partners.

Oh! How cool! He's one of the big three in U.A!

Excitement courses through you at the prospect of working with him, after all, you're not bad yourself!

Taking ground beside him, you stick out a hand and take in a breath before your heroic introduction--when he flinches away at your sudden movement.

A squeak escapes him and he quickly puts more distance between you. Before you can even blink, he's bowed sharply by the waist, murmuring trembling apologies at how your loudness had startled him--but the ringing in your ears has long since drowned him out.

Your wide smile sits stiff on your lips, features frozen as a cold wave drenches you at the feeling of your soul words tingling on your right shoulder.

He's... I-I scared him..? Your heart shatters at the realisation that in your boister, he's never once lifted his head to look at you, and you notice him trembling ever so slightly.

I'm... my soulmate's scared of me..? And then a hopeful thought crosses your mind, oh! I'll just be quiet then! Then he'll like me, right?!

Instead of replying to his flurry of apologies, you take a step back as to respect his space and bring your outstretched hand down to your side. You mimick his bow, smile softening as to not seem so overbearing.

When your shadow moves, Amajiki shakily glances up, eyes wobbling when you stand upright again and make an effort to give him a small, hurried wave, as though restraining your energy.

Ah! Yes! He's looking at me now! You positively beam, aura brightening tenfold and he looks panicked, swiftly diverting his anxious gaze. R-Right, you sweatdrop to yourself, keep it toned down...

"You're so quiet, it's weird," Kaori deadpans, eyeing you skeptically from across the lunch table as he sips through the straw of his milk box.

You look up from your half bitten chicken katsu sandwhich, cheeks buldging with food, "you fink sho?"

He grimaces at you, disgusted, "chew your food first, scrub."

You pay him mind, chewing thoroughly and swallowing before speaking again, "I met my soulmate today! He doesn't like loud things though, so I'm practicing."

"Practicing..?"

Karina gasps, dropping her chopsticks in her udon, "Wait--you met your soulmate!?" You bark a laugh at her incredulous look, the noise loud and reverberating.

"Yeah!" Feeling giddy, you take another big, aggressive bite of your sandwhich to quell it, "he's shoooooo cute!"

"I said chew, you neaderthal!" Kaori pegs his empty milk box at you, at his wits end with your brash manner. His sister retaliates by throwing her full one at him, and he yelps, barely dodging it and it goes scattering across the floor behind him.

"We were talking!" She hisses before turning back to you with sparkles in her eyes, "really!? Ohmygod, what's he like?!"

You barely open your mouth before someone interrupts.

"Hey there!" The large blond from before stands at the end of your table with a wave in greeting. A sheepish smile sits in his face at having disturbed your conversation, "hah! Sorry, mind if we joined you for lunch?"

"Hi, Mirio!" Karina smiles back, "sure! The more the merrier." She ignores her twin brother's protesting grumbles, "[name], this is Mirio, he's my collaboration partner this term."

Behind the broad blond pokes out a recognisable head of wavy aquamarine hair, and Kaori grumbles even more, sinking low into his seat with a grumpy frown.

"Oh, hey! Kaori!" The girl gasps happily, bounding over to steal the seat beside him, "what a coincidence, huh?" She giggles.

The dark haired male rolls his eyes, "More like a curse..."

She turns to you, ignorant to his brooding, "Hihi~ I'm Nejire Hado! How cool! Kaori and I were partnered up too! Oh, and that's Tamaki Amijiki!"

When a familiar head of indigo hair is forcibly thrust into the centre of attention, your face erupts with warmth and an ecstatic smile quickly crosses your lips. You perk up in your seat with a gasp, though you swiftly silence yourself and instead give an aggresively friendly wave.

The elf eared student only really glances up at the table briefly before his nerves get the best of him, and his back hunches lower. He sends an acknowledging nod in your direction though, and your heart skips a beat.

Karina looks at you worriedly at your sudden silence, though your excitement is extremely palpable. She can practically see the giddy flowers dancing around you. Kaori couldn't care less.

"Oh, [name], do you already know Amijiki-san?" You nod frantically, and that's when it clicks for her. Karina's mouth drops and the looks between you and the former, and her eyebrows raise in understanding.

"A-Ah..! He's your project partner?"

"Wow! What a coincidence, huh?" Mirio gasps, bouyed by the revelation, "we promise to do our very best!"

"Us too!" Karina fist pumps the air, you copying with a happy mhmph! Nejire giggles, leaning in to participate while Amajiki trembles in the corner.

Kaori rolls his eyes at the amount of sunshine in the group, "riiiight..."

Over the following weeks, your school and U.A. continue to work together, occasionally switching partners in combat training to simulate on-sight collaboration with other heroes you'd meet on field.

Though for the majority, you worked with Amajiki. He's strong, incredibly so.

His usual demeanour would've had you underestimating him if you hadn't been paying attention. But particularly since he was your soulmate, you knew he was powerful from the get go. You want to be just as strong.

You like being around Amijiki; he's quiet, but he's very observant. He doesn't really talk to you all that much outside of training, though sometimes you tail him around break time and he doesn't seem to mind.

That, or he's too scared to tell you off.

Hm.

He cares though! Like that one time where you were sparring Mirio, you were awed by the the power of his quirk--the power that he gave his quirk, and simultaneously overwhelmed by it. You were fired up from the challenge, determination burning in your eyes, and you spent the remainder of the day pushing yourself.

That same energy pushed you throughout that week, and by the end of it, you were burning yourself out. You didn't let it stop you though, testing the limits of both your quirk and physical capabilities even when others retired for the day.

You hardly gave your bruises the time to heal, only slapping on a salve when you let yourself have a water break before getting back to it again.

In-class training had you beaming beside him as you worked together, though he noticed you tanking too much all at once.

Eventually, he mustered up the courage to look you in the eyes with a fearsome glare and sat you down with some mineral water and tasty snacks from his vest. Then he deflated and apologised in a panic before scurrying off to get Recovery Girl to see you before you moved.

You repaid him in a flurry of grateful bows and a bag of some of your favourite treats that you forcefully thrust into his hands before running off.

You never directly spoke to him, knowing you often had a hard time controlling your volume. So, you settled for vast, obvious movements--like a big game of charades.

You made sure to keep this up at lunchtimes too, where you'd talk boisterously with the twins before immediately silencing yourself as soon as Amajiki came into your sights. And you'd always greet him with an elated smile and a frantic wave.

Mirio and Nejire are quick to catch on to your switch ups, where you happily explain: "Amajiki-kun doesn't like a lot of loud noises, so I've been practicing on quieting down."

They looked rather confused while you hummed, unbothered, and then excused yourself to brush up on your training. You didn't think anything of it, they're his friends after all! Of course he doesn't mind them being loud.

Besides, he's warming up to you now! Just, slowly.

Very slowly.

By the end of the term, most of your energy has dwindled, and the signature light in your eyes has hazed over.

You've immersed yourself in your training, tossing yourself into the throes of it all with minimum breaks as a means to extend your limits. With every new task, you volunteer to be the first. When there's a new optional training segment, you're up at the crack of dawn, rearing to go.

Your drive has always been phenominal, but it's gotten dangerously extensive.

"[name]?" Mirio and Amajiki spot you on training ground B way before the day's classes even begin. You perk up at the sound of your name, seeing them in turn and grinning widely, waving them an obnoxious greeting.

Mirio smiles back, though Amajiki's brows crinkle upward worriedly.

"The day's barely started yet, you know? You're here early."

You can't help but give Mirio a sheepish grin and a shrug, your skin glossed over with a thin layer of sweat from exertion.

"...Have.. have you eaten yet?" Amajiki's quiet question has your gaze snapping towards him; he doesn't flinch away this time. You beam inwardly at that.

You give a polite shake of your head, no, and then wave off their looks of concern with a fluid gesture of your hand--you'll pick up something later.

Everyone notices you dozing at lunchtime, your presence not as exuberant as usual. Your motions aren't quite as energetic, and sometimes you stare off into space with glazed eyes. Kaori chalks it up to an off day, and Karina reluctantly agrees.

But then the pattern continues, and your light seems to dim while your silence grows dull.

You look... sad.

It's nothing you won't be able to get over though! At least, that's what you're trying to convince yourself. Gradually, over weeks of silent pining, you've come to realise that--maybe, it's useless after all.

Since meeting Amajiki, you've done everything you could think of to get him to like you a little more.

While before you were loud, you're quiet now!

And everyone likes friendly people, you don't see yourself as someone mean, so you've made sure to be as approachable as possible.

He often startles at your sudden movements, so you've taken to bottling your energy and restraining your movements to more gentle, fluid motions.

Sometimes, when you smile a bit too brightly, you noticed he'd turn around or look away, so instead, you'd cover your mouth and crinkle your eyes--that way, he'd still know that you're happy without having to see such an uncomfortably wide smile.

Oh, and he'd get all red and uncomfy when you subconsciously lean into his space, stumbling over his words with a trembling frown, so you try and place yourself away now--you know he likes his own space.

But... he still doesn't seem to like you all that much.

Maybe the whole soulmate thing was a mistake this time around. He still looks away when you smile at him, and he turns away and shakes even when you sit across from him.

Amajiki will talk to you during training, but only really because he has to since you're partners.

You must just not be his kind of person, you think. You've always been told that you're a bit too much, so, you guess they're not really wrong.

Wow, you must look so silly following after him like a puppy, when he's clearly trying to keep his distance.

Amajiki is shy and quiet; he's determined, but thoughtful. He's powerful, but gentle.

While you're loud and shameless; excitable, but stubborn. You're kind, but impulsive.

Amajiki is everything that you're not, and you see that now. Despite your will to change, you'll never be what he needs. You think, he'll want someone who's more subtle. Headstrong, but understanding. He'd like someone who can stand strong, but isn't overbearing--someone who can calm his nerves and help him see the positive in things with a gentle tone.

You respect Amajiki. It's why you still refer to him so formally while the others have given you permission to call them by their given names. He hadn't given you explicit consent to either, so you suppose it makes sense anyway.

There's only a couple weeks left in the term.

You don't mind staying silent now, there's nothing to say. The light in your eyes isn't the same anymore, and any remainder of your energy only trickles into your presence.

You like listening to Amajiki talk. He doesn't say a lot, but when he does you like to listen. That's a perk to your silence, you suppose. If you were still as loud, you probably wouldn't hear him.

"Um, [name]..?" Amajiki tugs you aside after conjoined training in one of your remaining weeks, "a-are you okay? It's just, you've been... kind of quiet, recently..."

Quiet? That's a good thing, right? You perk up hopefully, though it shatters just as quick as it comes. When you look up, Amajiki's features a curved into a frown.

Right, nevermind. Don't be so stupid. You make sure not to look him in the eyes when you give him a carefully placed smile--not too wide, so it won't scare him away, but not too subtle so you look ungrateful--and nod your head softly.

"You-..-you used to talk a lot, y-you know," his shaky voice stops you in your tracks after you turned to head to your next session, "at least, you did more before I showed..."

Your brows pinch in concern at the hitch in his voice, and you look back to see him with a bowed head, nervously clutching the fabric of his hero costume. His shoulders are tense, trembling with the urge to run, but he steels himself.

"U-Um..." and then he glances up, eyes connecting with yours and he forces himself to stay. His pupils dilate, and he gasps sharply, lips thinning. He swallows anxiously, and then furrows his brows in determination.

"If I've done something to offend you, I-I'm so sorry..! But... I'm..-w-we're all really worried about you." Amajiki bows his head, resolve wavering and he's unable to retain eye contact, "and... I'm really worried about you... it's just, you haven't been the same, fo-for a while."

Oh. Your heart drops, so it really was all for nothing. You hum softly, looking off to the side dejectedly before deciding well, it doesn't matter anyway.

"I like you, Amajiki-kun," Your words have him snapping his head up, eyes impossibly wide while his left calf tingles, "um, I'm not... speaking too loud, am I?"

Your voice rings like a melody to his ears despite your nervous tone. At his stunned silence, your heart pangs painfully inside your chest, and you swallow thickly. Your head lowers, "sorry... I shouldn't have said anything."

"What?" The sharpness of his tone startles you, and when you look up again, shocked, and he looks just as surprised. He carries on nontheless, softer, though with an unusual firmness.

"You... why shouldn't you have said anything?" Amajiki looks pained as he repeats your words, "do you... you don't want--"

"No!" You interrupt, wide eyed at his doubt, "I-I just mean that, it'd be easier that way. And you wouldn't have to deal with such a noisy soulmate, and you could find someone you'd like-"

"W-Who are you to determine who I like?" He stands straighter now, his voice holding a certain finality that you find hard to refute.

I'm your soulmate! Is what you find you want to say, but the words die in your mouth at the hypocrisy of it.

Amajiki's gaze is fierce and unwavering, and you feel both honoured and fearful. This may be the longest he's looked at you for.

"You've known for so long, an-and were willing to leave me after this? Without me knowing?" He takes in a shaky breath, fist whitening with a grip exuding both his frustration and worry.

"You're my soulmate... m-my soulmate," he sounds awed at the fact, "...I've been waiting to hear your voice--for months, you know," his voice cracks, and it seems his courage has started to dissipate as his shoulders shrink. His cheeks flush pink from his admittance.

"I... You've been so friendly since we were partnered up. And, y-you get along so well with everyone... I got scared that you wouldn't like me because I was too... too quiet for you."

Your world stops at that. He thought what?

"I-I mean," he panics, "you were always laughing with your friends, an-and then we started hanging out and you didn't say much but you were always smiling, and then whenever you looked at me it'd make me too nervous, and when I get nervous I'm kinda sweaty so I look away. B-But then you started covering your smile, and I didn't know why, and then I felt bad because I wasn't seeing it anymore, and you started overexerting yourself so I got even more worried and then--"

"Amajiki-kun-" A bright smile had crept onto your face during his panicked ramble, and a familar red hue bursts onto his cheeks and he clenches his eyes shut. God, it's so obvious now!

"--and you don't even call me by my name," he almost seems to whine, pulling down the hood of his costume to hide. He starts trembling again, and you can't help but gasp before cooing at him.

"You want me to call you by your name?" Your eyes sparkle, and suddenly your light have been rejuvenated, "Tamaki?"

The male stiffens before slowly nodding, peeking out from beneath his hood with lidded eyes and wobbly lips. He can only make eye contact briefly before shying away--and it seems all your worries were for naught.

When you squeal and beam, clapping your hands excitedly, Tamaki can't help but smile. At the cost of enduring the attention your volume brings, he'd be more than happy to listen to you gush and spew about whatever.

Where he was once intimidated by your light, he now bathes in its warmth. And where you were once silenced by your own trepeditions, you now burst at the seams with unrestrained energy.

While you are loud, Tamaki is quiet; he likes to listen when you talk, and you are his voice when he cannot find his own.

Fate had not been mistaken.

It had just taken some fine tuning before you reached the perfect volume.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

little izuku & cg/big brother hitoshi headcanons !!

— request by @dragon-queen21 —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

💚 - izuku has been regressing since middle school and he usually regresses to an age range of 2-4. he’s quiet and incredibly self sufficient after years of raising himself under a working single mother. even while regressed, he maintains a journal where he meticulously logs things and data collects about what he likes and doesn’t like. he has a system and it works for him. when he starts training for, and starts attending, ua, his regression gets knocked to the back burner while he focuses on everything else happening in his life. it basically leads to a year of him burning out and impurely regressing because he keeps putting it off.

💜 - hitoshi finds out about it when he joins the hero course and moves into the dorms. he’s a chronic night owl and while you’re not supposed to leave your dorm room after lights out, that’s a guideline at best and aizawa has too much favoritism to actually punish him for being out and awake at three in the morning. he finds izuku huddled up in the commons, crying after a nightmare, and genuinely stands there awkwardly for like thirty seconds before sighing and deciding that the better thing to do is to comfort him. of course, this leads to a lap full of his sobbing classmate/rival and a VERY awkward conversation in the morning where izuku spends two hours writing a super long text explaining age regression and apologizing for his behavior and hitoshi just responds with “ok 👍”

💚 - it leads to a never-ending cycle of little izuku seeking hitoshi out constantly since he’s the only one that knows about his regression and then big izuku furiously apologizing in the morning, swearing that it won’t happen again (and it always goes). little izu is very attached to hitoshi— he views hitoshi as this insanely rad older kid (you know, like a little brother would) and hitoshi is really uncomfortable with the attention but it’s like… a pleased discomfort. he’s never had anyone treat him like he’s the coolest thing ever so he just rolls with it. eventually, hitoshi tells him to stop apologizing after the fact because he doesn’t hate hanging around a baby that looks at him like he’s the literal definition of awesomeness and that leads to them having their first ACTUAL conversation about it.

💜 - they’re both autistic but in very different ways so their dynamic struggles just as much as it works. Izuku is very understimulated all the time (especially while small) so he’s constantly talking, stimming, and seeking out things to do. hitoshi, meanwhile, is insanely easy to overstimulate but he knows that if he says anything about it, izuku will shut down and never speak again just to make him comfortable and that’s not what he wants. the solution is a truly incredible amount of parallel play while they listen to hitoshi’s safe playlists music or while hitoshi wears noise canceling headphones (that one usually only happens when he puts on a show/movie for izuku or has had a really bad day). sometimes hitoshi will use little izuku to help him study because the kid’s literal special interest is heroics, he’s got an insane memory, and hitoshi has neither of those things so going over study cards with izuku or making up games quizzing him is both fun and beneficial for hitoshi’s grades.

💚 - hitoshi struggles a lot with physical affection while izuku is very tactile. it leads to a lot of back and forth where they try to figure out the middle ground or ways of signaling when something’s okay. hitoshi is fine with hand holding (as long as he has sleeves that can cover his hands or he’s wearing gloves) and he can cuddle in small doses, so that’s 95% of what izuku initiates. he’s always holding hitoshi’s hand and he’s very sweet and considerate about making sure that hitoshi’s okay with it (to the degree that hitoshi has to constantly remind izuku that he, hitoshi, is the older one who should do all the worrying). in return, hitoshi gives izuku a lot of large stuffed animals wearing his shirts (or cologne for smaller things) so izuku has something to cuddle with still. izuku’s favorite is this really dumb looking stuffed crow that’s wearing yellow rain boots and a yellow bucket hat that hitoshi offhandedly won him during a festival (could be school festival or the class deciding to go out for the weekend). hitoshi has no idea why he likes it so much but izuku is obsessed with it.

💜 - because of izuku’s excessive cataloging, it’s actually really easy for hitoshi to take care of him. they weren’t really friends prior to this point so most of what he learns about izuku comes from his journals. he learns his favorite food, his favorite toys, his favorite movies and tv shows, his favorite sensory objects, and what he enjoys doing; and, for the most part, a lot of this stuff either overlaps with izuku when he’s big or he states in his journals where his interests deviate and his theories for why that might be. it gets to a point where hitoshi will overhear someone asking about what izuku might like for his birthday or a holiday and he’s just able to answer despite the fact that he and izuku rarely hang out around other people so practically no one (except iida, uraraka, and bakugou) know that they’re even friends. it also means that hitoshi knows about izuku’s triggers and a lot of the traumas that he’s experienced. there’s a lot that izuku purposefully redacts when he lets hitoshi read his journals, but there’s still a lot there that makes hitoshi realize that they really aren’t that different after all.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I just got the best idea! Vampire villain with a strong moral code who refuses to feed on blood, making themselves weak with hunger. Hero notices and purposefully cuts their finger on villain's fang to get them to eat🤍

The villain had never thought they could be overpowered by a human. It was terrifying to say the least.

Once the blood was in their mouth and the hero's hand off their throat, the villain started to suck on the hero's finger involuntarily. The instinct was ancient, something older than the vampire themselves. They had forgotten how good fresh blood tasted.

However, they could collect themselves pretty quickly.

"You're stupid," the vampire whispered. "You had a perfect physical advantage. You could have killed me..."

"Take more," the hero said, pushing their finger into the villain's mouth quick enough to make them gag. This time, the villain grabbed their enemy's wrist and nearly pushed them off their hips.

"I'm good," they said through gritted teeth. The vampire didn't really enjoy it when the hero was so adamant about absolutely everything they did. The hero always found a way to get what they wanted. They were a pain in their ass. Annoying and heroic.

"You're still pale," the hero said. "Interesting..."

They pushed the villain's chin up and managed to slip one finger under the villain's upper lip, lifting it to examine the villain's fangs as if they were a doctor.

"I am a vampire," the villain reminded them. "Sunlight doesn't turn me to ashes but the sunburns are out of this world."

"And you are sure you are fine?" the hero asked. They turned the villain's head to the right and then to the left, continuing their examination. Christ, they even put their hand on the villain's chest to search for a heartbeat.

"I'm great, just - get off, will you?" The hero stood up but the villain still needed a moment. They feared they would pass out again if they stood up.

They looked around the room but there was nothing. No furniture. Just a door that looked like it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

What a joke.

"You know," the hero said, hands on their hips, "this is actually quite interesting. I certainly didn't expect my dear nemesis to end up in the same cell as me. I guess they wanted you to eat me. A little grotesque if you ask me."

"But not too far-fetched," the villain said. They pushed themselves up but ended up leaning against the wall. "Hunger turns everyone into an animal."

"You still don't look too good," the hero said. Once again, they kneeled beside the villain. Their hand raked through the villain's hair and stopped on their forehead.

The villain didn't know why the hero was always so touchy. They never crossed any boundaries and the villain actually welcomed those soft hands on them, but still...it was strange. Strange to feel someone's warm skin on theirs like this.

"How much blood do you usually drink?"

"God, I don't know...I'm trying to quit." The hero stared at them. The silence was uncomfortable and the villain didn't know if they had said something wrong.

Then the hero huffed.

"And you say I'm the stupid one." They rolled their eyes. "So, severe undernourishment, I guess. That's why you're so weak."

"Ey, I am alright-"

"Which makes this even more baffling. What is an undernourished vampire doing in a supervillain facility?"

"What is an annoying hero doing here?"

"Saving a dumb vampire, apparently."

"Ugh. I was experimented on," the villain said. The hero had probably saved their life. That was something the villain certainly did not want to think about. Gosh, the hero was so annoying with their caring nature and their stupid curiousness. When they looked at the hero, though, they looked horrified. "No, all of it was voluntary. I got some money for it in return. Nothing bad, really."

"I got caught when I tried to steal some documents. They weren't that nice to me." The hero lifted their shirt and the villain saw two giant fresh bruises. The hero's ribs were definitely damaged.

"Shit..." the villain mumbled. "Scoot over. Are you okay?"

They let their fingers ghost over the hero's skin. Unsurprisingly, the hero flinched and threw their head back, cursing quietly.

"Looks broken. We need to get you out of here," the villain said.

"Wait, the experiments...they knew you were trying to quit with the blood?" the hero asked. They let their shirt fall down again but the villain couldn't help but think about the bruises.

Their own injuries healed pretty quickly. But they had totally forgotten that this would take days, maybe even weeks for the hero to get better. Humans were so fragile. They feared the hero could fall apart any second.

"...yeah, they encouraged it even."

"Great," the hero said. "This is the next phase of their experiments, then."

The villain stared at them. They thought they were on rather good terms with the company.

"Wait, you don't mean..."

"Yup. They really want to see if you'll eat me," the hero said. "Which also means we are definitely under surveillance."

[ro-is-struggling]

The Ballad of Orpheus and Eurydice || Geralt of Rivia x nymph!reader

REQUESTED

Summary: Life was good when Geralt was by her side. They were in love and happy... Until they weren't and she was left alone once again. After spending so much time under his protection, she had forgotten how dangerous the world was for creatures like her. Sad and heartbroken, she was unable to defend herself when the men came for her. Now locked up far away from her forest, she only hoped that her loved protector would come to her rescue.

Warnings: angst (with happy ending), major character death, reader gets imprisoned by a evil dude (I don't know how to tag this lol but I think it’s important to mention that she’s forced to serve him), fluff (it’s not all sad, I promise), forest nymph!reader, fem!reader, let me know if I missed anything!

English is not my first language

Word count: 12.700 (it's a long one)

Notes: A few things to have in mind while reading: It follows the timeline very loosely, and Geralt and Yen's relationship never got to that solid point in s3 cause it's not real love, just the product of Geralt binding their fates together with that wish

She never imagined that her story would end like this, locked in a cold and humid dungeon far away from her forest. Nymphs were not immortal beings —something she had come close to verifying several times in her long years on the continent—, so the idea of her inevitable end was something that she had thought about from time to time. It was not something that haunted her obsessively, but every once in a while her mind would wander to the imagining of the end of her days. 

She lived a quiet life, making sure to be cautious around any unwanted people who passed through her forest. She had no enemies, at least not ones powerful enough to present a real danger to her. So she always imagined that she would die a peaceful death, slowly fading away as her birth tree withered away after having completed its cycle on this earth. If not, she imagined she would die a heroic death as she fought the greedy humans to prevent the destruction of her forest. Both scenarios brought her a sense of comfort in a way, because they showed that she had fulfilled her life's mission, the purpose for which she had been placed on the continent.

She never imagined that the end of her days would actually be so dark and torturous, forced to live in captivity away from her home and everything she loved. She never thought she would miss the feel of the wind on her face, or the warmth of the early morning sun, or the sweet scent of flowers in the spring. She had never imagined herself living anywhere but her forest, but that was an option that had been taken away from her the moment King Elian's men set foot in her home. 

She had heard rumors of his infamous reputation from the mouths of other frightened nymphs. His name inspired terror among magical creatures, who chose to call him The Hunter as if the mere mention of his name was a sign of bad omens. He was known for his obsession with magical creatures and what he did with them after capturing them. Despite what his nickname implied, he did not always chase a magical creature to kill it and display some part of its body as a hunting trophy. No. There was a fate far more horrible and obscure than that, and that was to end up as a piece of his collection, just another exhibit, forced to smile in his presence and perform for his entertainment whenever he wanted it. It was the terrible fate that had unfortunately fallen upon her. 

In the past she had not seen King Elian as a threat. His kingdom was on the other side of the continent and while he used to go on hunting trips when he heard rumors of a creature in his vicinity, he had never ventured this far before. Besides, she was under the protection of one of the continent's fiercest witchers, so she knew no one would dare mess with her. No one who knew Geralt of Rivia would dare to challenge him, and the poor bastards who, out of ignorance or arrogance did, usually didn't live to tell the tale. The bond they had was strong, a love unlike any she had ever experienced in her many years of life, so she never thought there would be a day when she would wake up without him by her side.

"The king requires your presence." A guard announced from her cell door, snapping her out of her thoughts. She rose to her feet reluctantly, stepping up to the bars so he could put the handcuffs on her before unlocking her cell. The dimeritium on her wrists was engraved with the same symbols as the bars of the box in which she spent her days. It was a powerful incantation that weakened her magic so that she could not use her powers to escape. It was painful since the metal burned her skin, but she had learned the hard way not to complain.

The guard led her to the throne room, where the king was shouting directions to the group of servants working on decorating the place, changing the curtains and adding chairs and tables to the sides of the room. She had been there long enough to know that the castle was being prepared for a feast, though she did not know what the celebratory occasion was.

She forced herself to bow when the king's eyes fell upon her figure, though her expression showed how little respect she truly had for him. "Your majesty." She murmured as a learned response as she lowered her gaze to the ground.

"I hope you used your time in the dungeon to reflect on your attitude." His voice was firm, almost as if he was still angry with her for refusing to comply with his demands almost a week ago when he had wanted to use her to entertain the king of the neighboring kingdom who had come to visit. "You have to understand that you belong to me. You are here to serve me and the only reason you are not dead already is that I find you useful. But that can change and it depends entirely on how you behave. Do I make myself clear?"

She clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to avoid causing a scene that would undoubtedly send her straight to the dungeon again. "Yes, my king." She wasn't able to look him in the eye as she spoke as she didn't want to see the satisfaction in his expression. 

"As a demonstration of my great generosity and compassion, I have decided to give you a second chance to prove your loyalty. But do not mistake my mercy for stupidity for this will be your last chance to prove your worth to me. If you say or do anything out of place you will know the sharp blade of my sword."

After she submissively assured him that she understood the seriousness of his words, he explained that he needed her to take care of some of the preparations for the feast in honor of his daughter. During the week the entire kingdom had participated in the celebrations for the girl's fifteenth birthday, an event that would culminate with a grand banquet in the evening. She would be in charge of preparing the floral arrangements that would decorate the entire palace as well as being responsible for the main entertainment since there was nothing to match the singing of a nymph. But in addition, the king put her on a special task. He wanted to give his daughter a beautiful garden with different types of flowers —one for each year of her life—, and she was the perfect person for the job. She accepted without question, not so much because she valued her life or feared reprisals if she refused, but rather because after being locked up for so long she missed being in contact with nature. 

"If it's alright with you, my lord, I would like to start with the garden." She said in the most respectful way possible, explaining that with her powers weakened it was the task that would take the most work.

She was escorted by a group of half a dozen guards, who grabbed her roughly by the arms and dragged her through the castle corridors to the garden. Normally she would have complained about their mistreatment, but it all stopped mattering to her when she felt the gentle breeze hit the skin of her face. It was a wonderful feeling smelling the wet dirt in the air and hearing the birds singing after having spent so much time locked up in the deepest part of the castle. It almost felt like freedom.

Working in the garden awakened a bittersweet feeling in her. On the one hand, it was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived at the castle. Walking barefoot on the grass, feeling the earth between her toes and the flowers growing under her hands was as close to home as she had ever been. It was liberating in a way, putting her powers to good use and connecting with the nature she missed so much. But, on the other hand, it was also a reminder of all that she had lost, the life she would never get back. As much as she loved being outside after so many days locked up, she couldn't help but notice that nothing felt like home. The flowers didn't smell the same, the grass under her feet wasn't as soft, and even the birds didn't sing the same. That wasn't her home. This was not her forest. 

As she buried her hands in the ground, she couldn't help but question what she was doing, and more importantly, why she was doing it. Sure, avoiding further punishment for disobeying the king's orders was a valid motivation, but was it really worth it? Why was she trying to preserve her life when the only future she had was to live locked up there forever? Was dying such a terrible fate when the alternative was imprisonment and slavery? A life away from her home, forced to indulge the whims of a power-hungry monster was no life at all, so why was she there obeying the orders of that disgusting man? 

Then she realized that she still held out hope of escaping. Her spirit wasn't completely crushed and her love for Geralt wasn't entirely gone, so even if it was foolish, she still hoped he would show up to rescue her. They hadn't seen each other for over a year, since that sad day when their story had met an abrupt end after he confessed to her that there was another woman in his life, but she still held out hope of seeing him again. She dreamed of seeing his long white hair move in the air as he skillfully knocked down the guards that separated them and freed her from her confinement. How could she not when he had been her savior on more than one occasion? In fact, that was how they had met.

She was frightened and hurt the first time she saw him, trapped in a cage with symbols carved into the bars. It was a powerful spell that weakened her powers just like the shackles of dimeritium around her wrists. The cage was too small for her, a confined space where she could barely stretch her legs or sit up straight if she wanted to. A group of well-trained men had managed to capture her, taking advantage of her distraction and temporary weakness to lock her up and take her back to their master. She was so terrified that when she heard Geralt's sword clash with that of one of her attackers, she curled up in a corner, her body folding in on itself in an attempt to make herself small and invisible to the group of fighting men. 

She recognized immediately that he was a witcher and that brought her no relief. While his kind generally didn't tend to see nymphs as dangerous monsters —as long as they behaved and didn't do anything to end up on their list, of course— she didn't feel completely safe in the presence of a witcher. She tended to hide on the occasions when one passed through her forest, believing it was best to stay away from people like that just in case. After all, they were monster hunters, a concept that, in her experience, meant something different to each individual and there was no way of knowing for sure if she fell into that category or not. So, even though he had overpowered her captors, she still felt fear when he approached.

Geralt felt that fear as soon as he took a step towards her, it was almost as strong as the power and magic that flowed from her being. Her beauty alone was enough to let him know that she was a nymph of the forest. Behind the earth and blood, hidden in a grimace of terror, were the delicate features that the witcher had only seen in the creatures of her kind that he had encountered in the past. The nymphs had a certain look, a special glow that distinguished them from the rest of the magical beings on the continent. They were also one of the gentlest and most peaceful creatures on the continent, focused only on protecting their homes and turning to violence only as a last defense mechanism. That was why Geralt did not sense a drop of evil in her. And that was also why he set out to free her from her confinement.

Even though her captors lay dead on the ground, she still looked terrified, her eyes glassy with tears and her lower lip trembling as she struggled to hold back a sob. When he approached her, the nymph snuggled further into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest in a protective manner. He raised his hands in the air in an attempt to show her that he was not going to hurt her, walking slowly toward the cage so he could release her. It was then that he noticed the symbols on the bars and the dimeritium shackles, which helped him understand how she had ended up there and why she was so scared. She was in a position of extreme vulnerability without her magic and, despite having saved her, he was a complete stranger who could very well cause her more trouble. So the witcher made an effort to appear friendly and non-threatening.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He told her to try to calm her down, though it wasn't much help. She curled further into the corner of the cage, hugging her legs to her chest and looking up at him with watchful eyes from between her knees.

"I know what you are." She answered him, the fear clear in her voice. "You are a witcher, you kill-"

"Monsters, yes." Geralt spoke for her. "But you are not one of them. You're safe with me." 

At that moment she had no way of knowing what kind of impact those words would have on her life and how genuine they were. She accepted his help because she had no other choice, but time would show her how fortunate she had been to cross paths with Geralt. At first he played hard to get, barely speaking as she nursed his wounds once her powers stabilized. She'd had to resort to using her charms a little to soften that hard exterior of his, but once Geralt began to open up to her, she discovered the man he truly was. 

Geralt tended to lean into rumors about himself and his kind, pretending to be emotionless and not caring about anything or anyone but himself. But that was all an act, a protective shield. In reality he cared. He was capable of feeling emotions as deeply as any other being on the continent. He hated and held grudges, but he also loved and cared for those close to him just as intensely. And once she discovered that, she found it very easy to love him back. 

She was truly safe with him, and in the long years that their love blossomed he did nothing but prove that to her. Geralt was her favorite person in the world. He was her home, her lover, her protector... A love like that was not easily forgotten and no one could blame her for holding out even the slightest hope that he would come for her, that he would somehow sense that she was in danger and rush to her rescue. It had happened in the past, their connection was that strong, so it wasn't an entirely far-fetched idea. It was just... naive of her.

Geralt had been traveling for days. He usually preferred to use alternative paths hidden behind forests or swamps, they were quieter and better for his business. Not many people used them so he didn't run into anyone that would bother him, and it was easy to run into the occasional monster roaming around, so it was a win-win situation for everyone. What he hated, however, was that most of the time it took him twice as long to get to some town where he could rest with minimal comforts and eat a hot meal. 

Had he taken the main road he would probably already be at his destination, drinking in the dark corner of some dingy bar or locked in the room of some cheap inn, and not wandering the forest in search of an animal big enough to satisfy his appetite. He didn't mind being outdoors or having to hunt for his food on the spot —-in fact he was so used to that he almost preferred it—, but this time he was tired and couldn't wait to be anywhere but there. Perhaps that was why when he came across a king and his hunting party he accepted his offer to return to his camp to eat with him without putting up much of a fight. 

Geralt hated royalty and King Elian was no exception. He was arrogant and self-absorbed, just like the vast majority of kings, but there was something else about him that rubbed the witcher the wrong way. He tried to decline his offer at first, but he was unwilling to take no for an answer.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist. My camp is not far from here and my tent is big and warm. I have more than enough food and I would love to hear some of your stories while we eat." The king insisted, pressing Geralt to accept his offer. "My men don't make for good company and I'm bored. I'm sure a witcher like you has been involved in a good share of adventures that make for fascinating stories."

In any other circumstances, Geralt would have found a way to escape from there. The last thing he wanted was to be used as the personal entertainment of an arrogant king. But this time he decided not to resist too much. He attributed it to his tiredness, he had been traveling for a long time and at least it wouldn't be a sacrifice in vain since he could at least get food in exchange for entertaining him for a while. But perhaps there was something more than that playing a role there. Fate itself had crossed their paths for a reason, even though he didn't know it yet.

"It's not as interesting or glorious as one might think." Geralt said with honesty. 

In his experience there were two types of opinions regarding his people and what they did for a living. There were the people who despised them for what they were and believed they were no different than the monsters they killed and there were those who found them fascinating and longed to go on adventures like the ones they often experienced. To him both opinions were bullshit. He wasn't a monster, he didn't kill for pleasure or for fun as many people believed, but neither was he some kind of hero whose life was worthy of being immortalized in songs and poems. He was just a man who did what he knew best to survive, just like all witchers and all beings on the continent. He and his kind did not deserve hatred, but neither did they deserve to be crowned with laurels. They deserved to be left in peace, nothing more, nothing less.

"I have to say I'm grateful for the work you and your kind does." The king continued speaking without acknowledging Geralt's words. It was as if he was not there, his words were of little value to the king when they did not say exactly what he wanted to hear from him. "These creatures are dangerous and can't be left alone to live amongst us. Although some are fascinating creatures if given proper care and purpose."

Geralt looked at the monarch with a frown, unsure of what he meant by that. He said nothing, however, just remained silent for most of their journey to the camp, while trying to get a better read on the man beyond the typical arrogance of all of his kind. There was something about him that he did not like, something that caused a feeling that other kings and nobles did not. It was something more than his simple unpleasant personality, but he could not figure out what it was.

"You should come to my kingdom sometime." King Elian offered as they finally reached what appeared to be the camp where he and his hunting party had set up their base. "I have a collection of creatures I'm sure you would love to see."

The witcher halted his walk, looking at the king with narrowed eyes. "A collection?"

"Oh yes! I have the biggest collection of magical creatures in the whole continent." He admitted as if it was something to be proud of. "I have some pretty rare ones I'm sure you and your people would love to study. You're more than welcome to come over anytime! After all, we are all on the same side."

Geralt did not like the way the king referred to magical creatures and hated that he equated himself with witchers and the work they did. They didn't lock up monsters to brag about their large collection to strangers. They didn't see them as objects that gave them some kind of prestige. They saw them as living creatures, sometimes dangerous, sometimes misunderstood. Witchers did not enslave or kill monsters for fun as he seemed to do and Geralt was disgusted that he would even try to imply such a thing.

However, before he could voice his opinion, the king shoved him into his luxurious tent and the servants set a plate of food in front of him. It was filled with meat and potatoes and vegetables so colorful that they must have been freshly picked. It might have been the hunger talking, but it was the most appetizing food he had tasted in a long time. It was indeed fit for a king and Geralt thought it was definitely worth chatting with his host for a while in exchange for a share, especially after tasting the wine.

"It's good, isn't it?" the king asked him, studying his reaction as he lifted the wine glass to his mouth. "I have someone special that takes care of all the plants in the castle so I only eat the best of the best. It's actually one of my creatures. You can meet her, if you want."

Geralt let go of the piece of meat between his fingers and looked at the king with a frown. There was a subtle change in the air that made him instinctively tense, wondering what his host was up to. The king gave him a small smile before gesturing to one of his men, who left the tent without saying a word. The monarch's menacing aura put the witcher on alert, carefully watching his every move while he ate as if trying to predict what he would do next. His attitude had changed in a matter of seconds. Geralt couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but there was something about the way he looked back at him that put him on edge. It was almost as if he was waiting for something to happen —as if he knew something was going to happen—, the glow of anticipation clear in his eyes. 

He didn't understand his attitude, at least not until the guard returned to the tent. Only he wasn't alone, but was carrying a girl on his arm who was shuffling her bare feet across the ground hesitantly, as if she really didn't want to be there. Her eyes were downcast and her long hair was tangled over her face, so that Geralt could not see her features. Her dress, which seemed to have been a beautiful piece of art at one time, was now dirty and worn, with the fabric torn to shreds on some sides. Her hands were bound together at her wrists, trapped by shackles of dimeritium that marked her condition of slavery. It was a sad sight that became horrifying when Geralt smelled the scent of flowers in the air.

His heart stopped as his nostrils were assaulted with the sweet smell of cherry blossom that he knew and had come to love. The world around him stopped as he was struck with the horrible realization of what was happening. He did not need to see the face of the captured young woman to know it was her. It was enough to feel her energy in the tent as he breathed in her characteristic sweet scent. 

Geralt jumped to his feet, hand gripping his sword as he entered a state of desperation. He wasn't thinking, he couldn't, he had been reduced to his most primitive instincts by seeing her there in that condition. She was weak and injured in a way that Geralt had never seen, her glow and warm, positive energy almost completely extinguished after being tortured for who knows how long. However, when her eyes met his, he noticed a slight glimmer of joy and hope. That only further increased his desire to protect her, the murderous urge growing inside him and urging him to crush anyone who stood between them.

"Let her go!" Geralt demanded firmly, turning his eyes away from his former lover to look the king in the eyes. 

He was furious and desperate, it was evident in his voice and in the hard expression on his face. Anyone would have given in to his demands if he looked at them with those murderous eyes, but King Elian did not flinch. He didn't seem to care that Geralt was pointing his sword at him or that he looked ready to take on an army on his own, he continued to eat as if nothing was happening while the tent filled with guards ready to defend him.

"Please, sit down. You barely touched your food." The monarch spoke in a calm, casual tone. But Geralt did not move, he stood his ground, sword held high and hate-filled eyes fixed on him. "Fate is its a curious thing, don't you agree? This invisible force pushing us to the right path so we might fulfill our destiny, making every little interaction, every little decision, integral... Take this as an example. This morning when I woke up I didn't think that I was going to cross paths with you and yet here we are."

"Let. Her. Go." Geralt interrupted the king's unimportant ramblings, pausing slightly at each word to emphasize his anger. He didn't care what the man had to say, he would slice him through with his sword right there if it weren't for the fact that his sweet nymph was bound and surrounded by guards who wouldn't hesitate to hurt her before he could get to her. "I won't ask again. Next time it will be my sword doing the talking."

"I don't want to fight you, Geralt. If anything, I want to thank you for helping me fulfill my destiny, my purpose of becoming the biggest collector of magical creatures in the continent... You see, if it weren't for you, I could never have captured a forest nymph as powerful as her. I admit that you ruined my plans the first time when you attacked my men, but in the end it was thanks to you that I was able to get my hands on her."

"What are you talking about?" the witcher asked, confused. It could be the adrenaline coursing through his veins and drowning out his thoughts —or the fact that his heart was beating so fast that it was pounding in his ears muffling all other sounds—, but the king wasn't making much sense to him. They had never crossed paths before, and if they had, he would never have helped him in something so horrible.

"I could never have caught her while she was under your protection. But when you left... well, let's just say she was withering away little by little, weakening day by day until she got to the point where she couldn't defend herself when my men came for her."

Geralt froze in place as the king's words echoed in his head. It was a lot of information to process and he was in no condition to do so. If he wasn't so devastated he might have reacted to the implication that the king had been watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike after he had saved her from his men the day they had met. But at that moment he could only concentrate on the feelings of guilt and regret that came over him. 

When he left, he never thought about the consequences his decision might have. He never thought about how his departure would affect her or if she would be okay. He knew she would be sad and hurt, just as it hurt him to have to leave her, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. So he focused on moving on, hoping she would too, without stopping to consider the consequences. He thought about her a lot in the time they spent apart —when he lay awake at night, admiring the stars and the nocturnal sounds of the woods; or as he dressed quietly after spending a night with Yennefer—, but in his mind he always pictured her happy. She was strong and had lived many years alone on the continent before their paths crossed, so he was sure that their breakup would not destroy her. He was sure that she would find a way to get back on her feet and that it would be better for the both of them to stay apart. 

Now he realized that was just an excuse. He was being selfish, protecting himself and running away from reality so as not to face it because it hurted him. It hurted to know that he was hurting her. It hurted that he fell in love with another woman behind her back. It hurted to have to leave her after all they had been through together, the love they shared, the moments of vulnerability and intimacy that had brought them together. It hurted because he had failed her, because he couldn't keep his promise to be with her forever. So he completely disappeared from her life, making excuses to justify his behavior and convince himself that he was doing the right thing even though he knew deep down that he wasn't. He ran away like a coward and she ended up paying the price for it.

The witcher's eyes searched the nymph's, hoping to find in them the answers to the questions he had not asked, some indication that the king was not lying. She escaped his gaze, feeling embarrassed and extremely vulnerable. But eventually their gazes met and Geralt knew the mistake he had made. He should have been there for her. He should have helped her when they came for her. He should have searched for her all over the continent once he noticed her disappearance. He should have protected her, just as he always had. He had failed her twice, but he would not let there be a third.

Geralt carried out his threat without hesitation, lashing out at the nearest soldiers in an effort to reach her. The clinking sound of clashing swords and the groans of his opponents were all that echoed in his mind, focusing on his enemy to keep his head cool and ensure victory. They were no threat to him. They were well trained and knew how to move around very well, but he was a witcher with decades of experience and unmatched reflexes and skills. He had defeated them once in the past and he would do it again now without breaking a sweat.

At least that's what he thought before he heard the voice of the young nymph in the distance calling out for him.

“Geralt!” She exclaimed his name for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Her sweet voice traveled through the air, piercing through the sound of metal and the grunts of pain until it reached his ears. She managed to get his attention immediately as he recognized the hint of fear in it. As he buried his sword in his opponent, his eyes snapped up to her, searching for her in the crowd following the sound of her voice. 

When he finally found her, Geralt's heart sank as he discovered the reason for the fear in her voice. The king had his hands around her, holding her tightly against his body. His left hand was wrapped around her torso, restricting her movement, while his right hand wielded a silver dagger against her neck. The metal gleamed in the dim light, revealing the sharp edge that burned the girl's skin. Desperate, Geralt tried to lunge at the monarch, but he stopped him with a click of his tongue.

"One more step and she dies." He assured, firmly. Geralt noticed the honesty in his voice, so he stayed in place and slowly lowered his sword —though he did not drop it—, a desperate attempt to buy time to think of a plan to get out of there with her by his side.

"You don't have to do this." Geralt tried to reason with him even though he knew it was in vain. He didn't see her as more than an object, just another piece in his long collection of creatures, so it was safe to assume he didn't value her life very much. But still, Geralt didn't have much choice so he tried anyway.

"She has been nothing but trouble since the moment she arrived at the castle, isn't that right, darling?" The king grumbled, lowering his head just slightly so he could mutter the last question against the young nymph's ear. "Crying all day, disobeying my orders, upsetting the other creatures... and now your friend over here kills half my men after I feed him and show him my generosity."

"If we present so much trouble to you, why don't you let us go? I'll take her with me and I promise you won't hear from us ever again."

"You are ungrateful brats." The king continued speaking, completely ignoring Geralt's words. "You think you are special, important, and therefore above it all... but you are not. Your actions have consequences and I am the one who decides what they are... You do not deserve my generosity or my mercy."

Geralt didn't have time to think about the hypocrisy in the monarch's words because before he could process them his eyes watched in horror as he slid the blade of the dagger across his beloved's neck. Blood began to gush violently from the wound, the thick, sticky liquid sliding down the young woman's delicate skin, turning everything red. He screamed her name, his sword slipping from his fingers and crashing to the floor with a muffled sound. He ran towards her, completely forgetting the guards he was fighting moments before. He only cared about her.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion, as if his feet were twice as heavy and dragging them along the ground was more difficult than usual. Everyone around him seemed to slow down, the men around him, the gentle breeze of the wind... everything but her. He watched her collapse to the ground, blood covering her chest as she struggled to keep breathing. But he couldn't reach her. All he wanted to do was hold her in his arms one more time, but it was as if an abyss was keeping them apart. It felt as if fate was mocking him, punishing him for his mistakes by allowing him to be there with her, but not letting him do anything to save her. 

He tried to stop the bleeding as he knelt beside her —placing his hands on her neck and feeling the blood gushing from the wound—, but it was too late. She was pale and weak, all the magic in the world could not have saved her at that moment. There were tears in her eyes, in those beautiful green orbs that were fading with each passing second. She was scared, Geralt could see it in her expression. She didn't want to go, but she knew there was nothing else to do now.

"I'm here, I'm here." Geralt whispered in the calmest, most comforting tone he was capable of uttering at that moment. He swallowed his anger and pain, holding back tears so he could give her some peace. He cradled her face in his hands, fingers caressing the skin of her cheeks delicately as if he were afraid of breaking it. "It's going to be okay... you're going to be okay. I will fix this."

She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but instead of sound only blood came out. Geralt caressed her gently, feeling the tears rolling down her cheeks. She clutched her hand around his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. She was begging him to understand her, to read in her eyes her thoughts as he had done so many times in the past. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand her, although in hindsight it should have been obvious to him. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, to assure him that none of it was his fault and that no matter what had happened between them, he would own her heart forever. 

"I love you. I always will."

Geralt saw the reassurance in her face as the warmth of love enveloped her in her last moments. She gave him the faintest of smiles, an almost invisible sign of the peace his words had brought her. And then her grip on his arm weakened, her hand dropping to the floor as life left her body. Suddenly, that subtle smile, now permanently carved into her expression, was all he had left of her, of her life and the love they shared. 

Geralt did not fight when the soldiers dragged him and tied him to a tree to leave him there to die while they escaped, he did not have the strength to do so. He was numb to the world around him, consumed by grief. The sound of the king and his men preparing to leave sounded muffled and distant, as if they were far away from him. And in a way they were, for his mind was not one with his body, but far away. He was focused on the slowly withering body of his beloved, on the fear as she called his name and the terror in her eyes as the edge of the dagger sealed her fate. He could only think of her and all the time they had lost and could never get back, feeling the guilt slowly consuming him as her body transformed into a pile of pink petals.

Geralt admired her face in the dim glow of the candlelight, thinking about how beautiful she looked tangled in the sheets beside him. Her hair spread across the pillow like a halo around her head and her smooth skin was covered with a light layer of sweat that gave her an almost ethereal glow. It felt like an illusion, a trick of his mind. He found it hard to believe he had someone like her lying next to him, looking at him with love in her eyes. 

It wasn't just her beauty. No. It was the peace her mere presence awakened in him and the void he felt in his chest when they were apart. It was the way he dreamed of her and her caresses every night he went to bed alone and how his longing disappeared when he felt her warmth against him as their bodies melted into one. It was the way her kisses made him feel like he was home, safe and away from the complications of the world outside the little paradise that was her forest. It was much more than physical attraction, more than the effects of her nymph charm, as he had initially thought. It was love. Pure, honest love, like he had never felt before. He was in love with her, and while he hadn't put it into words yet, he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Her fingers aroused a warm tingle as they caressed his cheek. Geralt leaned into it, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the magic of the moment. It was amazing how such a subtle act, such a light touch, was able bring out so many emotions in him. It was something only she could do, a clear demonstration of how deep his feelings for her were.

However, when Geralt opened his eyes again, he didn't find the special glow he usually saw in them at intimate moments like this. She was looking straight at him, but it was as if she was looking right through him, as if her mind was lost in her thoughts. Something was bothering her, that much was clear in the green tint of her eyes. Her mouth would open slightly, almost in an imperceptible movement, only to close seconds later, as if there was something she wanted to tell him but couldn't quite bring herself to say. So he decided to ask her about it. 

"What's wrong?" Geralt voice was low and raspy with sleep, looking at her with a slight frown in confusion. There was a moment of silence before she answered. Her eyes never left his, but her hand slowly slid from his cheek to rest on his bare chest.

"I'm afraid of losing you." She eventually said, her voice almost a whisper. "You travel across the continent, meet all kinds of people... I'm afraid one day you will get bored of me... find someone better and leave me forever."

Geralt could not believe his ears. It was ridiculous to him that she could have such a fear of abandonment when he felt the way he did. If only she knew how happy being with her made him... If only he could somehow transfer his emotions to her so that she could feel his heart race when they kissed, or experience the peace that filled him inside every night when he lay down next to her... If only she knew, she wouldn't be having those kinds of thoughts. So, he took her hand in his and pressed it against the left side of his chest, right over where his heart was beating with love for her. She needed to know that she was the only one who had a permanent place there. She was the only one he loved and he doubted that would ever change.

"Believe me when I tell you that there is no force on this continent that can keep me away from you." He spoke in a soft voice and watched as her eyes lit up full of illusion. "I love you, forever and always."

He sealed his promise with a kiss, showing her with his lips how serious he was about it. He loved her and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to be with her for the rest of his life, sharing intimate moments like this one and protecting her from any evil that might come her way. He felt complete with her and could not imagine how miserable his life would be without her by his side.

Geralt allowed himself to get lost in the passion of the moment, fingers tracing trails over his beloved's bare skin as he melted into the kiss. It was different this time, more intimate and charged with all the emotions that were left unsaid —it was their special way of communicating, one kiss and they knew what was going through each other's minds. The comforting warmth of love filled his heart, leaving him in a state of total bliss as she whispered sweet nothings against his lips. He was happy in a way he could not remember ever being before, in a way he knew he could only be with her. 

But suddenly that comforting warmth that flooded his insides was replaced by a paralyzing cold, an emptiness that pressed against his chest and took his breath away. Geralt could no longer feel his beloved's lips against his. He could no longer smell the flowery scent her soft skin radiated or feel the warmth of her body. He was trapped in a black void, in emptiness itself, all alone. And in the distance he could hear his name being called.

Geralt

Geralt

Geralt

It was a cry for help, the voice of terror of someone who had been confronted with their own mortality. The voice trembled with fear, certain of the fatal fate that awaited them. Geralt could not escape its shrieks, no matter how hard he tried. It was his own personal hell, a void where he was forced to confront his pain, his guilt, and to listen again and again to his beloved's voice filled with terror as she spoke his name for the last time.

Geralt woke up tangled in the sheets, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and breathing fast due to his nightmare. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling as he tried to pull himself together. His beloved's voice was still ringing in his ears, only that with every waking second it became more and more distant until it became an almost unintelligible whisper. Anguish and guilt weighed heavy on his chest, but he was used to that by now. The emptiness inside him had accompanied him every moment of his life since that unfortunate day. He could not escape the pain and regret he felt, it haunted him even when he closed his eyes at night. He could not even enjoy the peaceful ignorance in the mornings, when one's mind is too sleepy to process life's tragedies, because his nightmares would remind him of every painful detail of that day so that he could not rest.

At a time like this, when life had become so overwhelming that he was unable to sleep, he usually reached out to her. With her gentle touch and sweet voice she was always able to calm his tormented self, wash away the anger and frustration and replace it with love and calmness. But now she was gone and he didn't know how to go on. He missed her more than he thought it was possible to miss anyone. He missed the melodious sound of her laughter and the light in her eyes when she was happy. He missed waking up next to her in the mornings, feeling the warmth of her body enveloping him as she whispered good morning to him, her voice hoarse from sleep. He wished he could once again feel the soft caress of her lips on his and hear her say she loved him one more time. 

There was nothing Geralt wasn't willing to do to have her back with him, to be able to tell her how much he loved her and how he regretted leaving her. He had been an idiot to have given in to his desires for Yennefer. He should never have gotten involved with her, he should have let her own greed and obsession destroy her that day. He should have saved Jaskier and moved on with his life, after all Yennefer's problems were of no concern to him. But he could not resist his need to intervene, acting like a knight in shining armor instead of what he really was: a witcher. He made an impulsive decision, binding their destinies with magic and unknowingly triggering the death of his beloved. For if only he had been with her, if only he had stayed by her side to protect her as he had promised, he was sure things would be very different. She would still be alive and he would not be so miserable.

But Geralt was determined to make things right. He refused to let her die because of his mistakes. And looking at the cherry blossom tree growing outside his window, he knew the time was getting closer.

"I will fix this." He spoke to the tree, stroking the trunk with his hand as he sucked in a long breath of air. It smelled like her, a sweet scent mixed with the aroma of wood and wet earth. It ached and comforted him in equal amounts. "I will bring you back to me and I will keep my promise to you this time."

Geralt knew she was gone, but her essence was still alive in that tree. Born from the pink petals in which her body had withered when she died, it grew stronger with each day, keeping a fragment of her alive. Of course it was not her, but for now he was happy to make promises to the wind that its branches generated, clinging to the sweet scent of its flowers as the only sign that his words were well received by her. It was all he had, all he had left of her, and for now that was enough. He still wasn't sure how he would fulfill his promises or even where to begin. But he was sure of one thing, and that was that his love for her was stronger than fate itself and there was no force on the continent that could stop him from keeping his promise this time.

The solution to his dilemma presented itself almost by accident. And it came from the place Geralt least expected. He had spent the last few months visiting every library he had access to, reading every book and consulting with every expert he knew in his desperate search to find a way to bring his beloved back to life. But in the end, it was Jaskier who presented him with a solution in the form of a song. 

They were traveling on a back road after a successful job. The bard had offered to accompany him under the excuse that he needed new inspirations, but Geralt knew he was doing it because he didn't want to leave him alone. Jaskier knew the pain he felt and being the good friend he was he wanted to accompany him in mourning. Geralt appreciated him even if he didn't have the strength to say it in words. His light-hearted comments and meaningless ramblings were exactly what he needed to distract his tormented mind. Even his spontaneous singing at the worst possible moment cheered him up instead of irritating him as usual. Anything to help him concentrate on something else was welcomed.

They had been walking for hours, hoping to reach the next town before dark and sleep in a comfortable bed in a warm room and not in the middle of the forest again. They were quiet, only the chirping of birds and the sound of leaves crunching under their feet echoed in the air. They had run out of things to talk about an hour ago and Jaskier was starting to get bored. So he did what he always did when he found himself in that situation, sing. Only this time Geralt didn't recognize the verses as one of his own original songs. It was one he had not heard him sing before, so he paid attention.

It told the story of a young man that had managed to win the heart of a forest nymph with his beautiful singing. The connection they shared was so strong that they married shortly after meeting, in the same place where they first saw each other. Happiness and love filled their days for a few long and joyful months. That was until fate, jealous and bitter, stood in the way of their happiness. So, one morning, after being bitten by a snake, the young nymph died. Her beloved fell into a state of despair when he heard the tragic news. Unable to accept that his wife had been taken from his life without warning, he descended into the depths of the underworld to plead for her soul. The song narrated the difficulties of his journey and the perseverance with which he had faced each difficulty until he reached the lord of the underworld himself, to whom he tearfully begged for the return of his wife. The emotion in his words was such that he managed to move Hades, who gave in to his prayers. Although he imposed a condition: that he would not turn around to see his wife's soul following his steps until he left the underworld.

The story did not end well since the young man had been too eager and had turned to see his beloved before she was completely above ground. But Geralt didn't care about that somber detail. His attention was focused on the young man and his journey to the underworld, not only because he felt somehow connected to the emotions of sadness and despair he felt, but also because he was fairly certain he could recreate his heroic efforts.

"Are you crazy?" was Jaskier's reaction to hearing Geralt's idea, his voice raised in a tone of surprise and concern. "Haven't you heard the end of the song? Things go wrong! He doesn't get his wife back!"

“I know, but I don’t care.”

“Geralt, the story it’s just a myth… a tragic love story that one could say is a cautionary tale! You’re not supposed to follow in his footsteps, you’re supposed to learn to live with the grief, process your emotions and eventually move on… Look, I know this is hard for you. I miss her too… What happened to her wasn’t fair, but it wasn't your fault either. Blindly following the words of a myth is not going to change anything.”

“But it’s not a myth, not all of it at least.” Geralt recognized that the love story of the young man and the forest nymph might be an invention, but he knew of the existence of a door to the underworld. It was hidden and required great power and extensive knowledge of magic to be opened, but it was real. And fortunately for him, he knew one of the most powerful and skilled mages on the continent. Though convincing her to help him would not be an easy task given how things had ended between them.

"Why should I help you?" Yennefer said with annoyance in her voice when he showed up unannounced to ask for her help. It was clear that she did not enjoy the witcher's surprise visit and was not shy about showing it. "And more importantly, why are you asking for my help with something like this? I thought you of all people would know how dangerous opening the doors of the underworld is."

"Why do you care?" Geralt answered her with another question. To be honest, he didn't think the difficulties in getting her help would come from a moral issue. Yennefer was not the type of mage who cared too much about such things. "Are you in this or not?"

"That depends... what's in it for me? I hope you know I'm not going to waste my energy in helping you out of the goodness of my heart, not after all the shit you did." Geralt smiled at her remark, surprised that it had taken her so long to once again blurt out her complaints about him saving her life. She was still angry at him for linking their destinies with the wish to the Djinn and at this point he doubted she would ever get over it. 

"You get the once in a lifetime chance to traverse the underworld and possibly get knowledge beyond anyone's comprehension." He simply stated.

Yennefer was silent for a moment, watching Geralt intently, violet eyes piercing his yellow orbs. It alerted him to strengthen his mental shield to keep her from entering his thoughts. 

"When you live as long as I have, once in a lifetime opportunities start losing power and meaning."

"I'm offering you an opportunity to explore the unexplored and that's your answer? This could have all the answers you've spent years looking for and you're not interested?"

"Oh I'm interested, I just can't understand why Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher who prides in his indifference and ability to not intervene, would be interested in opening the gates to the underworld?"

"I have my reasons and they are not of your concern. Are you going to help me or not?"

Yennfer was silent for a moment, considering her options. And then, she smiled at him, and he knew he could count on her help.

Preparing for such an adventure was difficult. It was the first time in his life that Geralt did not know what to expect. He had no idea what he was going to encounter once they crossed the gates to the world of the dead. He didn't know what kind of obstacles he would encounter on the journey or if he would even accomplish his task. But he had to try. Even if it was the last thing he did, he owed it to her. 

It was difficult to prepare for the uncertain, so he tried to imagine all possible scenarios and prepare accordingly. He tried to be as meticulous as possible, but he knew it was impossible to stay on top of everything. What he never imagined, however, was that trouble would come from Yennefer's end. He always saw her as such a powerful and determined individual that he did not take into consideration that her energy could wear out and her magic could be consumed. Geralt had no way of really knowing how demanding the spell to open the gates of the underworld would be. He knew it was not something that just anyone could do, but he thought Yennefer could handle it without much trouble. He had never seen magic like hers. And what she lacked in skill, she made up for in stubbornness, so he thought that with her by his side things would not be so difficult.

However, the moment they took a step into the world of the dead, Yennefer fell weakly into the witcher's arms. She muttered something about having spent her energy and how the nature of the place did not allow her to pull herself together. Geralt suggested that she stay outside, after all, this wasn't her fight and she didn't have to risk so much for him. And at that instant, as if the walls were listening to them, the doors closed, leaving only one possible path.

The place was cold and dark, like a cave hidden deep in a mountain. There was not so much as a ray of sunlight, the little light that illuminated their way came from torches distributed along the stone walls. The air was heavy, stale, and it was hard to breathe. It was clear that this was no place for the living, but Geralt continued on his way despite the difficulties. He took Yennefer by the waist, letting her wrap one arm around his shoulders so she could walk, and followed the straight path that the torches seemed to indicate. At the end of the tunnel he came to a large river, and on the shore rested a boat. Inside it stood a hooded figure, long black robes covered its entire body in a way that Geralt could not see its face when it turned to look at them, only a void lost inside the hood.

"He's been waiting for you." The figure spoke, stepping aside so they could board the boat. Geralt hesitated, thinking back to all the catastrophic scenarios he had imagined in preparation for this moment. Surely that had to be a trap, things couldn't be that simple, could they?

"He wants to speak to you, Geralt of Rivia." The figure spoke again as it noticed the hesitation in the witcher's attitude. "He sent me to find you and ensure your safe passage through these waters." He did not trust it, but Yennefer pushed him into the boat with what little strength she had, so he had no other choice.

The dark figure did not utter another word. It went about its task in complete silence, paddling in the waters of oblivion until it brought them close to shore. It did not help them down once they reached their destination, nor did it open its mouth to give them directions. Just pointed a long, skeletal finger toward the horizon and set off the same way it had come. 

A dark, dead forest loomed before them. Long, thin tree trunks, nearly leafless branches and shabby bushes decorated the path. Everything seemed to be in shades of black and gray, though that was probably due to the lack of sun. In the distance a structure could be seen, a castle whose colors matched the rest of the landscape. Although the neat and polished appearance of its exterior contrasted with the disheveled and dead environment around it. It was clear that that was where they should go, so Geralt took Yennefer in his arms once more and set off on his way. 

There was not much distance separating them from the castle, but the witcher felt as if he had spent an eternity walking. And yet, at the same time, when he reached the large wooden gates, he was amazed to have reached his destination so quickly.  His perception of time was totally altered, affected by the atmosphere of the place.  Time did not flow there in the same way as it did on the surface. It was as if it was both stopped and accelerated all at once, as if each step took hours and at the same time a couple of seconds. It was more than the absence of sunlight confusing his perception. It was the way things worked in that place, a world separate from the one lying on the surface that he was not supposed to access.

The man who appeared in front of them when the doors opened on their own was imposing, but far less frightening than Geralt expected. It was enough to look into his eyes to know that he was the person in charge of the place. Power shone in his eyes in the same way the witcher had seen it in the kings in the world of the living. And yet, there was something unique about them, something that made it clear that he was no mere mortal. Geralt knew better than to challenge him, though he wasn't sure his emotions would allow him to be cautious if things didn't go as he hoped.

"I've been waiting for you, witcher." the god said in a loud, clear voice. "I'm surprised it took you this long to find me."

Geralt was not pleased to learn that he had been waiting for him. He had imagined it might be a possibility, but he thought the god would use that knowledge to stop him. The fact that he welcomed him without trials or difficulties, sending his people to look for him and opening the doors of his home to him without hesitation, made him suspicious.  For all he knew, it could all be a trap.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, witcher! I have far more important things to do than to set you up." The god spoke as if reading his thoughts. 

"You knew I was coming?" Geralt managed to say and the god nodded.

"And most importantly, I know why you are here. I knew you were going to find your way here the second she came in."

The mere mention of his beloved in the conversation had Geralt's heart racing, a gesture of both love and anxiety. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him, watching him with furrowed brows as she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. She knew of his former lover, the forest nymph he had abandoned after their destinies were linked, and he had no doubt that she would understand what was happening in just a second, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to have her back.

"So, I'm assuming you know why I'm here."

"I do, yes. And I will not be opposing to your wishes, Geralt of Rivia. I knew from the first moment that this was not her time and I am willing to give her another chance to live out her destiny without surprise interruptions from magic... However, I do have one condition."

"And you say it was not a trap..."

"It is not! It is just a simple... exchange."

"An exchange of what?"

The god paused, taking his moment to answer.

"Souls are complex things, Geralt. Very powerful, very strong... I can't just let one walk out of here."

"Why not? You have plenty here."

"It's a matter of balance, I don't expect you to understand that. But, if you want your dear nymph back, you'll have to give me a soul in return."

Geralt was silent for a moment, carefully analyzing his situation. After all the work it had taken him to get there, he didn't plan to leave empty-handed. But he also didn't want to condemn an innocent soul who had nothing to do with his mistakes. So he knew exactly what he had to do.

"Fine," the witcher agreed. "Take me then. My soul for hers, it's only fair."

Yennefer tugged on his arm, ready to argue with him —thinking he was acting like an idiot by offering his life as if it was nothing—, but was interrupted before she could open her mouth by the laughter of the god in front of them.

"It's a nice gesture, but your soul isn't nearly powerful enough. It's better than an ordinary human’s soul, I'll give you that, but she's a nymph. Do you have any idea how much energy her soul contains?"

"Then name your price." Geralt said. He wasn't necessarily going to give in to his demands, but he figured it didn't hurt to learn what the god's wishes were.

"To be honest, I don't think you can get a soul of such power... however, you do have access to one that is quite close." Geralt didn't like the suggestive tone in the god's voice. And he liked it even less when his eyes fell on Yennefer as he finished the sentence.

"No!" The witcher declared as he understood the intentions behind those words. He had brought Yennefer with him to help him open the portal and nothing else. He refused to sacrifice one more life. No one else had to suffer because of his stupid decisions.

"She wouldn't suffer." The god spoke after glancing at Geralt's thoughts. "She doesn't even have to be dead, she just has to stay here with me."

"I don’t care. We're not doing this."

"Why don't you let her decide?" The god said, resting his eyes on Yennefer's violet ones. "It is a good deal. You get your lover back and she gets-"

"She gets imprisoned here forever." Geralt interrupted and the god looked at him wearily.

"She gets to be the most powerful madge in history, sitting by my side ruling the underworld... isn't that what you always wanted, Yennefer of Vengerberg, to have power beyond imaginable? What's more powerful than deciding between life and death?"

Geralt snorted at such words, finding the god's tricks very ineffective. But when he looked back at Yennefer, she had a look in her eyes that made him doubt. "You're not seriously considering his proposal, aren't you?" he approached her, speaking in a lower tone of voice so as not to be heard by the god.

"If we leave now then we traveled this far for nothing. Don't you want to get her back?"

"No if it means hurting innocent people. You have nothing to do with this."

"Except I do since the moment you made that srupid wish."

"I didn't save your life then just to leave you here now."

"You're not leaving me, I'm choosing to stay."

"You don't have to do this, Yennefer." Geralt's voice became softer. She seemed quite sure of her decision and he knew it would not be easy to persuade her otherwise, but he had to try. He didn't like the idea of leaving her behind, of sacrificing her in favor of his own happiness. 

"Oh, please! I'm not doing this just for you. I usually don't like to waste my time and energy just to end up empty handed. I came here because, as you said, it was an opportunity to find the answers I've been looking for. So why don't you worry about you and let me worry about myself?"

Yennefer rolled her eyes. And while she wasn't lying and really had interests of her own in that place, Geralt really was a big part of the reason she wanted to accept the god's offer. There was something in his eyes, the sparkle of true love, that shone every time he thought of his departed lover. It was something she had never noticed in his eyes when he looked at her. It was clear that what they had was real, it softened her hardened and withering heart, and gave her hope that love was real. Though of course, she would never admit that to Geralt. 

The witcher growled under his breath, clenching his jaw. Even though part of him didn't like the idea of leaving Yennefer behind, he couldn't help but feel somewhat relieved to hear those words. If she wanted to stay there for her own selfish reasons, then accepting the god's proposal was much easier on his conscience. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked her once more, giving her one last chance to back out. 

Yennefer shrugged. "I lived a long time among the living, had my good share of adventures... maybe it's time to try my luck in the underworld. "

That answer was good enough for Geralt. He accepted the god's proposal, exchanging Yennefer's soul for that of his beloved nymph. She would stay in the underworld with him and in return Geralt would get a second chance with his lover. The god instructed him to return home and assured him that when he arrived, her soul would already be back in her birth tree.

As he made his way back, the thought that the god was tricking him crossed his mind. He realized that he really had nothing to assure him that he would keep his word. For all he knew, this could have been a strange move by the god to get to Yennefer and her powers for some reason he did not know. Perhaps he was being used as a pawn in a larger chess game that he did not know he was part of. Perhaps he had unleashed a terrible evil upon the continent without realizing it.

But then he felt it. 

The sweet scent of flowers assaulted his nostrils the moment he set foot in the forest. It was strong, much stronger than it had been in a long time. He noticed then that everything looked greener and more alive, every flower, bush and plant glowing in the warm sunlight in a way that they didn't when he left. Even the birds seemed to sing louder and more cheerfully. 

Geralt ran to the cherry blossom tree he had been tending for what had felt like an eternity. His heart was racing with every step he took, not from the physical effort, but from the anticipation. The hope of seeing her again was what had kept him sane since that horrible day he had lost her. All this time he had thought it was impossible, an illusion that only served to keep him on his feet until the pain subsided. But now it was a reality, and he had so many emotions swirling inside him that he didn't know exactly what to feel.

Suddenly, his eyes came upon a figure on the horizon. It was partially blocked by the rays of sunlight that kept him from seeing clearly, so he picked up his pace to get closer. Little by little the figure revealed itself in front of him, until it became clear to him that the one who was walking around the forest, picking flowers and petting the animals, was her. 

She looked as beautiful as he remembered her, with her long hair blowing in the wind and a sweet smile on her face. It was as if time had never passed, as if that horrible day and the pain that her death had unleashed had been just a bad dream. It was as if he had never lost her.

Geralt stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell on hers, paralyzed by the emotions coursing through him. All this time he had dreamed of this moment and now that he had her only a few feet away he didn't know how to react. His eyes blurred with tears, but he caught a glimpse of his beloved's figure running to him before he felt the warmth of her body in his arms. He held her tighter than he ever had, pulling her against his chest as a way of both making sure she was real and that she couldn't pull away from him.

"You came for me." She muttered, melting into the embrace. Her memory was somewhat fuzzy, but she remembered clearly the moment when the blade of the dagger had caressed her neck. She remembered how it had felt and the horror in Geralt's eyes as she fell into his arms, taking her last breaths. She remembered his words of comfort and his promise to make things right, as if he actually could. She still didn't understand how she was back there, but she knew it was Geralt she had to thank for her second chance at life. Somehow, he had found a way to bring her back, she was sure of that.

"I'll always come back for you." 

The kiss they shared was unlike any other. It was passionate and desperate, yet soft and tender. It was charged with all the emotions that had been left unsaid between them, sadness, regret, longing, but, above all, love. They felt that spark the moment their lips brushed, just like in the old days. Geralt hadn't realized how much he had missed feeling her soft lips on his until that moment. He allowed himself to get lost in the joy he felt, letting the warmth of her body against his slowly remove the traces of sadness and pain that had haunted him all this time.

They remained in each other's arms for a long time, enjoying the moment they had both been longing for so long. It was just him, her and the chirping of birds in the trees. Breathing in the floral scent of her hair, Geralt knew that the gray days were behind him. Gone were the guilt and the pain, the sleepless nights and the cold mornings without his beloved. She was back by his side, just as she always should have been. And he was more than happy for the new beginning he had with her. A new chance to make things right, to honor his word and keep his promise, just as he should have done from the beginning. He was ashamed that he had had to lose her to realize how big his mistake had been, but now that he had her back he wasn't going to let her go. His love had proven to be stronger than everything, even death itself.

[dasnercaret]

how ISAT makes you feel like going home

so one of my friends said to me "the first time i played (isat) was when i was home sick, i felt like it had curative properties. analyse that mr playstyle 😎" and i took it as a fucking challenge. i've never written an (tumblr-posted) analysis essay before and i'm going into this with a bunch of haphazardly folded ideas and NO OUTLINE fuck it we ball

so to begin with: DORMONT.

isat, as a whole, is extremely a traditional rpg setup. which unfortunately i know little to nothing about, so forgive me in advance if i put my foot in my mouth regarding traditional rpg mechanics. but like many games, you start at a home base, at home. and the whole vibes of the place honestly serve to only emphasize the safe / at home / storybook atmosphere isat cultivates. you wake up in a field, sleepy and tired. your dear friend mirabelle leans over you and tells you to wake up, because you're going to beat the king tomorrow! and you laugh and you're sleepy but eventually you start playing. eventually, you push yourself up and wander around and meet the townsfolk and your party.

now, the player doesn't know the party. they've just opened the game! they don't know these characters. siffrin does though, and it shows in the interactions he has with each one of them. mirabelle teases siffrin about the quality of his nap. isabeau puns with siffrin. odile smiles at him. bonnie... looks away, because of backstory you don't have yet, because you're leaping into this story at its very end. but siffrin knows.

(...)

siffrin knows. which informs his narration, of course, and overall it gives the sense of - you're watching a story already known, with characters who already love each other. like walking into a family home midway through a dinner party, to know and be known in turn.

(you know where you are. you're home!)

siffrin provides some exposition of course, enough to catch the player up and let them know the basics of the world you've set foot into. these people are here because they have natural ties, connections to the land they've been born or raised in or are travelling through. you all are here to defeat the king, who is the epitome of a traditional storybook villain, the big bad evil you defeat at the end of the fairytale. he's just the generically evil guy, with no focus given to the atrocities he must have committed and been willing to commit in order to get where he is. there's no need to be scared of him, not really. (yet.) he's evil, but in the way a storybook villain is evil. all the sharp edges defanged, sanded away, all the humanity and dimensionality and violence inherent in his character compressed into a set of scribbles on the page, words on a screen. it's not personal. it's not.... scary. not to you, and not to siffrin, who's already been floating above it all.

(the rest is under a cut! spoilers for The Entire Rest Of The Game)

similarly, the exposition is in the form of little childlike drawings, emphasizing the same nostalgia it draws on - fairytales, fables, those stories where the heroes collect the magic sword and slay the dragon and save the princess. you know these stories, consciously or not. you love these stories, (probably), and it all serves to emphasize the familiarity with which you step into dormont. heroic stories are extremely common in the stories we love today, from the old classic prince charming to (somewhat) more modern legend of zelda, and no doubt many people picking up isat have a similar passing familiarity with the overarching story of rpgs. (i in fact was the exception, but that's a whole other essay)

the townspeople definitely do not help this vibe as well. they are practically one and all kind, steady people, precisely the sort of common folk you'd want to save in a story where nothing hurts and everyone is safe and loved. they're happy to gift you a flower or a pan au chocolat and cheer you on in your quest, certain of your victory and at least certain of their continued happiness even if you fail. simple, easy, familiar, comforting in the way redwall is comforting or an old set of childhood fairytales is comforting. there's no real judgement, no anger at you for potentially failing and (almost) none of the gross ugly real emotions that would be present in a more 'realistic' story. simple, easy, familiar, comforting.

(You like knowing what happens next!)

so. i think we all know that isat at its core is a game about homesickness. god's sakes mal du pays is literally right there. the central conflict of this game, beneath the overlaying fluff of an rpg archetype and an evil to defeat, is about siffrin not being able to go home while the rest of his party get to do so. and even at this very early stage (approximately act 1 and i would argue a bit into act 2) you can start to see the cracks. siffrin is shown alone, tagging along with the party because he had "nothing else to do" (read: nowhere else to go.) he laughs and pals and jokes with the party, but like before, like always, he merely mirrors them. he makes puns with isabeau because isabeau likes puns, and siffrin liked making him laugh so much so that he adopted puns into a part of his personality. he comforts mirabelle about her future, jokes with odile about her research, and always, always, avoids talking about himself. when they ask where he's going to go after their journey is over, his answer is always a mirror of their own - pilgrimage, research, travel, comedy. when he makes a wish at the favor tree, there's no option to wish for himself.

because the thing is, right. siffrin never thinks of himself. the only options instead are to wish for his family - his home, his only living and real connections in his life, the people surrounding him that really make dormont feel like a real home and not just another friendly place in vaugaurde he's passing through. cause the townsfolk are nice, sure, they're friendly, sure, but - they don't know him. they're not important enough for him to literally rewrite his personality for them. it's his party instead, that he laughs and jokes with and is known with, even if superficially. he wants to be allowed to go home, to stay home. he's been homeless both literally and figuratively for so long that he's beyond desperate to be allowed to keep what little he's found for himself.

(You want to stay with them!)

except - what happens when you beat the game? what happens when you finish the rpg, when you reach the end of the book, when you grow up and leave this set of children's fairytales behind?

you put it down, right? you go home, right? you go back to your home, you go back to travelling, you go back to your family.

what do you do when you don't get to go home? when dormont and the clocktower and the house are the closest you will ever get to home, are the last moment you will ever have being home before it's ripped away from you forever? (ripped away from you just like before - )

you'd want to stay, right? forever and ever and ever?

siffrin is a character who has a very bad time letting go. just like the king, he wants to have, desperately, enough to kill himself a hundred times over for it. and, through the timeloop, he can pull you, the player, and himself and his hapless party along through the timeloop, repeating the same two comforting days over and over and over and over.

and perhaps after a few loops of settling in you, too, can understand why he would want to do this. it's nice, isn't it? knowing what will happen? knowing that these people will always love you? knowing that you can always get the flower, always get the drawing, always get the pan au chocolat, always beat the tutorial kid and get the jackpot? that the townsfolk will always smile at you, that your party - your family, your home - will never know what you've done?

it's not enough, isn't it?

(Dormont, unchanging! Dormont, stagnating!)

no matter how hard siffrin tries to cling to the past turned present to stave off his inevitable future, he is still human. under the fairytale setting and pretty lights, even under his own desire to stay with them, he needs that human connection. he needs something to change, to give way. needs to be seen, to be known, to be loved for himself and not because he's learned the perfect pretty words and actions to trick them into loving him. you, the player, the person driving siffrin, can understand this frustration perfectly as well - you need something to change. you need something to give way, because you can't keep doing this. because you can't hear the same lines over and over and over anymore. you can't do the same thing over and over anymore. you're not happy. siffrin's not happy. something needs to change.

i finished isat over the course of about four days, playing about 12-14 hours per day. during that time, i experienced possibly the most deeply intensely felt emotion i have ever experienced. to this day when i look back on my first playthrough of isat, the sheer depth and fury of that emotion takes my breath away.

and it was frustration. just like siffrin, i was trapped. i couldn't look away, because i loved these characters, because i loved their story, because i wanted them to keep going and going and living and i wanted to keep living alongside them. but i couldn't keep going like this. i couldn't do the same thing over and over and over. i needed something to change, but both siffrin and i were desperately, agonizingly trapped in the same few days. the same places, the same faces, the same lines said rote until i was zoning out through every dialogue interaction, only pausing when i needed to make sure that i hadn't missed something new.

because i loved these characters. i loved how homely they felt. i loved them, i loved them, i -

needed them to be real. to change, to grow, to have their future returned to them. i needed to see them go home, not trapped in this same endless time-frozen loop. i had been trapped at home too long, and the cabin fever was eating me alive. my desire to be allowed to keep playing (to stay in the timeloop) was duking it out with my desire to see them change beyond what they were allowed to change in the span of just two days. i wanted to see bonnie grow up, to see isabeau change into someone else, to see odile come to terms with her half-vaugardian nature, to see mirabelle learn to accept her sexuality (or lack thereof). i wanted them to remember us as family.

ah, isat, absolute king of getting in my head and making me think like siffrin.

back to dormont. in the end, dormont only changes permanently in act 6, after the time loop breaks. the only time the townsfolk ever change, ever coherently move to different places and act differently (act 5 is similar, but i would argue that's because siffrin changes, dormont still doesn't really meaningfully change) is after the loops.

and it's fitting, isn't it? by this point in the game, you could recite dormont backwards and forwards. but by this point in the game, you are well aware that you need to give them back a future. their future. the one they wished for in the first place. they've been trapped in their fairy tale wonderland for long enough. they deserve to go home, truly home, to go forward and live their lives and keep moving on. to allow them to change, to grow.

to allow yourself to change, to grow. to allow yourself to go home, to admit that you want to keep your home you have now, to keep the family you've built from blood and death and tears and stars.

(You want to stay with them!)

to leave dormont. to leave this fairytale behind, and keep living.

[allforone-appreciation]

Come One. Come All!

Us in the AFO Network Server have come to you all with a fun event that anyone can join!

We have an event for all to enjoy it is time for you to get your creative juices flowing for the Demon Lord! For our first event we will focus on the many worlds of evil and mischief!

The Event starts from August 11 - August 17th! Since it our first event this is a simple one for anyone to come and enjoy!

Make sure to Tag your Post on Tumblr as #AFOSummerEvent2024 we will also have a Collection on AO3 AFO Summer Event: Villain Succession 2024 where the prompts also are so do post your stories here as well if you have an account~!

It is a week of stories about how good it is to be bad. Enough to make a Demon Lord proud~! Below is the prompts, quotes, and treats to help the creative minds for each day so you can go wild there are only a few rules. We will of course accept stories and art over a month after the event so you will have more then enough time to write or draw what you desire.

Now Remember:

The Villain or Monsters of the story must be victorious, and if you are writing a usually heroic character they must either become the monster or fall from grace in some way. This is an event for people's worst attributes after all. You only need to use one prompt for each day so don't stress trying to put everything in the story. You can interpret that in any way you like as long as you keep to the theme of villains/monsters. So let have our own happy ending.

[mirai-e-jump]

Animage February 2025 Issue ft. Shoji Kohei Interview (translation below)

Publication: January 9, 2025

That man, is Vram

Shouma and Hanto discover that they're both transforming into Kamen Riders. Making her exit is Siita, second daughter of the Stomach Family, the biggest enemy to Shouma and his friends. As thrilling developments unfold each week, a new Kamen Rider has joined the fray in "Kamen Rider Gavv." His name, is Vram. Known as Lage 9, he's a Granute who's been employed by Stomach Inc and can transform into a Kamen Rider.

Shouma, born between a human and a Granute, transforms into Gavv. Then came Valen, who the human Hanto transforms into. Many fans may have predicted that the one to transform into the tertiary Rider would be a Granute. However, the "man" known as Lage 9 is more than just an enemy to fight. While he pretends to not be interested in the reward of dark sweets, when he negotiates with Nyelv, who approached him with a secret job behind president Lango's back, it becomes apparent that he has his own agenda, but what are his true intentions?

Before Granute Lage 9, Shoji Kohei-san passionately played the role of Crystaria Takamichi (KiramaiSilver) in "Mashin Sentai Kiramager." A complete departure from his role as a powerful and lively man, it'll be interesting to see how he'll play the role of a lazy and mysterious monster!

-Working together to express Vram's sense of strength-

"It's not often that a person who plays a hero in the Super Sentai series then goes onto playing the role of a Kamen Rider, so we were surprised when we first heard the news."

Shoji: I was surprised that coincidences like these could happen. I worked together with Kudo Mio on Kiramager, where she played KiramaiPink after appearing in "Kamen Rider Ghost," but I never dreamed that I'd be in a situation where I'd play a transforming hero and then a character who Henshins, and not just as a minor character, but as a regular.

"We also thought it was interesting that just like KiramaiSilver in Kiramager, you made your entrance with this role during the middle of the story."

Shoji: Yeah, it feels like some kind of fate.

"What kind of impression do you have of the Kamen Rider series?"

Shoji: Compared to Sentai, I have the impression that the human drama is played out more seriously. I've been watching Gavv's broadcast so far with the feeling of, "How can they do this much with a Sunday morning program?!"

"Lage 9 acts exactly like a typical enemy, doing things like collecting large amounts of Human Presses, so we couldn't believe that he was a character who'd transform into a Kamen Rider."

Shoji: I was alittle surprised by that too (laughs). In the original materials I received, all I knew about his character was his purpose in life and his general beliefs, which would be revealed in the future. When it comes to the scenes where he performs his evil tasks, I think it's easier for children to understand it if he looks like a bad person, as it also makes it clear as to why he's doing it, so I'm trying to play the role in a way that makes me appear as evil as possible.

"He made his first appearance in episode 12 for a short time in his Granute form, with Shoji-san only appearing through his voice performance."

Shoji: Until he appeared in his human form, he'd been putting on an act in front of Stomach Inc, so I wanted to make sure he appeared weak. From there until he transforms into a Kamen Rider at the end of episode 17, I wanted to make my performance as natural as possible, and to create an intense contrast with his fighting appearance.

"Starting from episode 18, he'll finally play an active role as Kamen Rider Vram."

Shoji: When talking about strong characters, I think there are many different types you could go with, but together with Vram's Suit Actor Eitoku-san and the production team, we're expressing him as the type who can "switch on and off." Eitoku-san doesn't make any exaggerated movements or heroic poses in his performance, and he'll wait until the last moment before suddenly moving, so even during post recording, I'm conscious of creating a difference between when he is and isn't putting in alot of energy.

"What was your impression of Vram's visuals using a pudding motif?"

Shoji: It was more poppin than I had envisioned (laughs). The vivid yellow color is eye catching, too flashy and cute for him to be an enemy, and I also like the pieces of pudding being applied to various parts of his body, such as his ears, shoulders and back. It's the same for Gavv and Valen, but I think the nice thing about Gavv's production is that while its story runs heavy, the Kamen Riders are colorful and poppin.

"How do you communicate with Eitoku-san?"

Shoji: Currently, I feel that we're on the same page and can have everyday conversations when we meet (laughs), but in the beginning, we didn't know how to approach each other, so we'd just confirm and adjust things one by one. We'd be like, "What'd you do in this scene?" or, "I think this is the emotion that's coming from the scene." Before Vram made his entrance, Eitoku-san and I have been performing Lage 9 together since his Granute form appeared. When done well, the effects of our synergy can expand upon this great role alot better than if we were to perform it alone, but on the other hand, if we're both looking to go in different directions, it can make the viewers feel that something's out of place. While thinking about how we should handle our emotions, I hope we can continue to trust each other and perform together.

-The difference between Rider and Sentai's storytelling-

"Shoji-san, please tell us your impressions of Shouma's Chinen Hidekazu-san and Hanto's Hino Yusuke-san."

Shoji: Chinen's a kid who's like a sponge. Even without lighting, his eyes are sparkling, and it makes me wonder if me and the other five appeared like that on the outside four years ago (laughs). Hino's career in the entertainment industry is longer than mine, and I feel that he has the desire to greatly expand upon the important role of Kamen Rider that he's obtained with his own hands, and that he wants to improve the entire set. I haven't actually said this to him, but he's a kind person. Our job isn't just to put on a good performance and create good scenes, it's also about making the finished footage look good. Chinen and Sachika's Miyabe Nozomi have yet to build up their acting careers, so there are times where they struggle on set. I'd like to give them advice, but it's something I also have to think about for myself, so I'm watching over them from a slightly detached position. I feel that Hino's advice, which varies in subtle ways depending on the person he's directing it to, has had a positive effect on Chinen, the others, and the entire set……I might be praising him abit too much (laughs).

"(laughs). You must feel that the atmosphere on Gavv's set is good then, huh?"

Shoji: That's right. I'm a main cast member with five years of experience as an actor, and especially on Kamen Rider's side, it's like I'm a veteran entering a younger set, where everyone has the ambition to take a big step forward as actors from this production. I hope that this will be a turning point in my career where I'll be able to grow, and I'm thinking about how I can give back to the set using the experience I've gained so far.

"What do you feel is the same or different between working on set for the Super Sentai series and Kamen Rider series?"

Shoji: What they share in common is that the scripts are written in parallel to watching our performances and the finished footage, which allows the actors to grow alongside their characters. As someone involved, I enjoy the fact that Chinen and the others look more appealing now than when I first met them, and I think that's the most interesting part tokusatsu fans who have loved the series for so many years want to see most. I think what's different is that Super Sentai has stories for each character, but they also work as a group and have storylines that are usually resolved in an episode, while each person in Kamen Rider has their own storyline that lasts the entire show. I was together with the Kiramager members pretty much all the time (laughs). In Gavv's case, it'll be interesting to see how Gavv and Valen, who are fighting together, deal with their opponent Vram, and how their relationship will change in the process. I'm excited to perform as well.

"What did you learn from your experience on Kiramager that you've been incorporating into Gavv?"

Shoji: I feel that I've been able to make use of my knowledge in post recording and how I behave on set. When I first started doing post recording for Kiramager, I struggled with it so much, that I finally recorded a single episode after what felt like countless hours of recording. What was great for all of us was that we were able to record while surrounded by Voice Actors such as Minase Inori-san, Sugita Tomokazu-san, and Nakamura Yuichi-san, all of whom are active at the very front of the industry. Suzumura Kenichi-san still contacts me every now and then, and Inada Tetsu-san comes over when I call him (laughs), so we're very close friends. I learned alot about how to approach the performance with just my voice, so I think it's one of my assets. Normal dramas are filmed and finished in about 2-3 months, and while staff members join and leave within Super Sentai and Kamen Rider, they're always involved in the same productions, so their sets are abit unique. With the main premise being what Chinen, the lead actor, wants to do, I try to come up with ways of improving the atmosphere on set, while also thinking about whether to give him a push or run with him.

"Please tell us what we should pay attention to in future episodes."

Shoji: First would be the action performed by Kamen Rider Vram. As a viewer, I really enjoy the battle scenes that Action Director Fujita Satoshi's been putting alot of thought into, and now that Gavv and Valen are being joined by Vram, you'll get to see three different fighting styles. I hope you enjoy his interesting visuals, as well as how he uses his weapon. And then, the type of fate Lage 9 carries on his back will become clearer as his character develops, so I hope that you'll watch each week's broadcast with anticipation. _

Double Riders from the tertiary Rider's point of view.

From Lage 9's perspective, they both serve as obstacles who get in the way of his objective, nothing more and nothing less. He happens to wear a suit that looks similar to theirs, but he's taken the stance to eliminate them since he's been ordered to do so by those above him. As for myself, I view both of them as heroic, but it's interesting to see how the things they both carry overlap, such as the feelings of guilt Shouma has towards Hanto. I think it's because there are some nuanced elements that you end up wondering, "What kind of person is this guy?" or "Maybe there's another side to him." I feel that that's what makes them so appealing within the story. (-Shoji)

[threepandas]

⋆˚✿˖°New Master Post!⋆˚✿˖° \(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)/

MHA:

Hawks: 1

Hawks-Bird4Bird: 1 2 3 4 5

AFO: 1 2 3 4

Aizawa: 1 1 extended

Yamada: 1

Izuku: Your Biggest Fan: 1 2 3

Dabi: 1

DC:

Batfam: 1

Star Wars:

The Vode's List: 1 1.5 2 3

Counting Down: 1 2 3

KHR:

Sun Burnt: 1 2 3

Bad End:

Hidden Heir: 1 2

Happy Hunting: 1

Kept Safe: 1

Chosen: 1 2 3 4 5

Bunker: 1

Into The Light: 1

Cold War: 1

Restructuring: 1

Soldier A: 1

Superior: 1

Command: 1

Prey: 1

Mama Mine: 1

Eve: 1 2

Cultivation: 1

Out In The Cold: 1

Preserve Us: 1

The Nunnery: 1

Toxic: 1

Heroic Collection: 1

For Us: 1

Traps: 1

Stolen: 1

Knights End: 1

Royal Red: 1

Kuro Ryuko: 1

Union: 1

Screen Demons: 1

We Are: 1

Nobody's Here: 1

Winter's Victory: 1

Witness: 1

Jester~Jester!: 1

After The War: 1 2

Royal Weddings: 1

No Good Turn: 1

Poisoned Cups: 1

No Question: 1

My Faithful: 1

Games Played: 1

Loyalties: 1

Actions Speak: 1

Century Demons: 1

In Bad Faith: 1

Trust: 1

Lost At Star Sea: 1

Golden Cassandra: 1

War Bride: 1

Hoarding Dragons: 1

Snake Bride: 1

Earth Shaker: 1

Wildfire Widow: 1

Happy Wife: 1

Classic Deals: 1

[sgiandubh]

Sunday sounds:  ¡Chao, pescao!

Bad news travel fast, irrespective of time zones. We were having lunch, when I (very uncharacteristically) saw Shipper Mom bursting into tears while checking her phone.

Ya se fue la Mamita. Mommy just left us.

La Mamita was one of our best family friends and the reason I could write here that I did have a Chilean grandma. She was one of the most fascinating women I have ever met, a heroic, larger than life, luminous presence in the darkest of times. Her family has long been a part of ours, by immediate choice and she firmly maintained she had not one, but two daughters - one of which was Shipper Mom.

They met in the most improbable of places, on the swimming pool deck of one of those hotels that catered for foreign visitors lured by Gerovital's promise of everlasting youth, circa 1985. Freshly divorced, my mother was immediately demoted to the most menial of foreign trade jobs - being a tour guide. She was still grieving her son's suspected assassination in a freak military plane crash, following General Leigh's dismissal by Pinochet, in July 1978. The Romanian tour guide was intrigued by the deep, heavy silence surrounding this mysterious señora. A conversation started, which ended only today.

She adopted us. We adopted her family as if it were ours - and, after all these years, it IS. She came and stayed with us every other summer ever since and until about five years ago, bribing her way around the secret police honchos with cigarettes and Colombian coffee packs, poking fun at the brutal interrogations ("¿Y qué creen esos cretinos que soy yo, Mata Hari?"/ And what do those cretins think I am, Mata Hari?) . She knew all our secrets, took care of our broken hearts ("no llames más a este asco de hombre, no vale la pena" /"stop calling this disgusting guy, he's not worth it"), made us better people. She taught me how to use makeup ("hazlo como una señora, mijita"/ do it like a lady, baby) and, while we first started communicating in English, I suddenly found myself answering her in Spanish.

When we finally, suddenly became free, hers was the first international phone call to cross the clogged lines: 'take the first flight to Santiago and if things fizzle, we'll ransom you. You already have a house and a family in Ñuñoa'. And we did. La casita del tren, where her husband, whom everyone called the Colonel, kept their wonderful toy train collection, patiently assembled during his long diplomatic career. And who else could ever regale us with stories of being wined and dined by a very young Jackie and John, in Georgetown, when she was a very young diplobride of a much older, doting husband? And who else could remember waltzing along with Ike ('I didn't like Ike, but I had no choice'), circa 1956?

Today, it was my turn to tell MT, her daughter and what I consider to be my aunt, to take the first flight to Bucharest and come stay with us for as long as she wants. That is what family is all about.

Eso es para ti, mami. Porque, como tú me enseñaste, el amor es más fuerte:

[ariainstars]

Why Can’t the Star Wars Franchise Renew Itself?

„Shame is a soul eating emotion.“ (Carl Gustav Jung)

Growing up with Japanese anime I learned that being a hero is not about being perfect. The heroes I knew looked cool, were smart and brave and anything you could wish for, but also human: they were tormented, traumatized, struggling, they often doubted themselves and they sometimes cried (yes, the guys too). When I was first confronted with the Western idea of heroism I was appalled; to this day, I can’t fathom what is even supposed to be heroic about a guy like James Bond. Western heroes are usually just as terrible as the villains, except that for some reason they happen to be on the right side. The way they appear is more important than what they do. Franchises like Terminator, Mission Impossible, Batman etc. always portray the “hero” as untouchable, seemingly unbeatable even in the most dangerous situations and, most of all: impassive.

These days, new stories are being told. With new heroes. Except that said heroes are still quite the same as above, only now they’re more often female.

Is it an improvement when heroes are portrayed as being complete a**holes, with an aura of perfection and untouchability? No.

It always was ridiculous.

It always was awful.

It always was immoral.

But hardly anyone seemed to care as long as it was the guys being tough. Now that females are often portrayed doing and appearing the same, being a cool a**hole has become a caricature. Most people hate it. But the problem is that portraying alleged “heroes” like that was wrong in the first place.

The Prequels

The prequels were so disputed that Goerge Lucas himself confessed that he had sold the rights to the saga because he didn’t want to be exposed to that pressure any more. Ahmed Best, who played Jar Jar, was mobbed to the point where he considered suicide. Jake Lloyd, who portrayed little Anakin, suffers from schizophrenia to this day.

Were the movies really that bad? No. But for the first time after having spent the years since 1977 believing that the Jedi were the wisest and strongest men of their time, fans were let down being confronted with their many mistakes.

No hero had his chance to shine in the prequels: Obi-Wan killed Maul and later Grievous, but we knew very little about both him and the two of them them, so there was no real conflict. Young Anakin Skywalker was all too human, and quickly got apostrophized as a “whiny brat.” The very idea that the iconic villain Darth Vader once was a kind-hearted little boy and then an ardent young man was considered shocking to say the least.

The Classics

Luke is a simple farmboy when the saga starts, young, good at heart but also impulsive and naïve. He is hardly aware of his powers. In the second movie he’s more mature, but still impetuous and reckless. It’s only in the third instalment that he’s calm and collected: he’s a Jedi now, as the title says.

Let me ask a bold question.

Would there have been the vicious uproar we have witnessed, had The Last Jedi picked Luke up where he was in the first two movies, before he became a Jedi?

I daresay, no.

Because to the Jedi stans Luke is first and foremost a Jedi. And that is what they get wrong.

Jedi stans love Luke the Jedi, not Luke the person.

Luke’s strength was exactly that he did not act like the other Jedi: he followed his heart instead of their maxims. Had he acted like a Jedi, like Obi-Wan and Yoda expected him to, he would have killed his own father and spent the rest of his life hating himself. Luke is a team player, it’s one of his greatest strengths ever since the first movie. He’s the one who brings people together and reunites his family. No Jedi is like that, on the contrary, in the prequels we learn that they’re discouraged from bonding with other people.

Luke is the central character of the classic movies because he’s so human and likeable. All three classic movies have a scene towards the end where he’s about to die (ironically, he is the “damsel in distress”), and someone rushes to the rescue - Han in the first movie, Leia in the second, Vader in the third. Do they save him because they are interested in his Jedi qualities? No. They do because they care for him; because, each in his own way, they are his family. The Skywalker saga, core of the Star Wars lore, is a hymn to the power of love, the story of a family.

Hardcore fans can pick apart any and every photogram of The Last Jedi and rant about how awful it is, never getting one inch closer to what is actually irking them too much: their own, misguided conviction that The Jedi Are the Good no matter what.

Pride, male pride in particular can be oversensitive, and apparently many guys don’t grow beyond the mental stage of adolescents, who are particularly vulnerable. Listening to Jedi stans one would think that the Disney studios are producing new Star Wars content with the deliberate intention of hurting their feelings and laughing into the face of their ideals. Unfortunately, many of them also have successful platforms on social media.

The Sequels

In Return of the Jedi (the only movie where for all intents and purposes Luke looks and acts like a Jedi, and the title says it), he lashes out towards Vader when he threatens to corrupt Leia if he won’t succeed with him; and when he realizes that Vader can feel him in his mind, he says “I shouldn’t have come, I’m endangering the whole mission”. This fits perfectly to a Luke who debates killing his nephew - and that time he didn’t even strike - and who, once the damage is done, closes himself off the Force and retires to a deserted place before he can do any more harm. But ever since The Last Jedi, Jedi stans rave that “their hero” Luke Skywalker would never have behaved like that and that the movie was a slap in the face of everything he ever stood for. Why?

Jedi stans expected Luke to be the hero and central figure of the sequel: to be adult at last, wise, self-controlled, powerful, in other words the perfect Jedi. After the events on the second Death Star, Luke was not celebrated; no one even knew that Vader had saved him. In the final scene he had a vision of his father, now looking healed and serene, together with Yoda and Obi-Wan. No one else saw that, not even his sister. So, a lot of fans were waiting for Luke to have his big moment at last.

Instead, they saw a disillusioned hermit who had to admit that he pushed his own nephew, albeit not on purpose, to the Dark Side. Luke was portrayed as a man who still had hope and strength even when he had seen his whole life’s work literally go up in smoke; who admitted his faults, apologized, and in the end gave his life to still make the best of the situation. That is what true heroism looks like. But it’s not what an average action moviegoer wants to see: to them, a hero looks cool and masculine, not mature.

Many Jedi stans felt that Rey was taking the shine from Luke, pushing him aside. But far from usurping his place, Rey said to Luke “I need someone to show me my place in all this”. She clearly didn’t want to fill in his place. But to them, it felt like they were watching a James Bond movie where Bond suddenly doubts himself and steps aside to make way for someone who normally would only be a Bond girl.

Rey is one of the most controversial characters of the sequels, allegedly because she’s a Mary Sue or a feminist fantasy who didn’t earn all that she achieved. But in the classics Luke was also good at things we never or hardly had seen him training or learning before. In The Empire Strikes Back, he pulled his sabre into his hand only by the force of his will, called out to Leia in his mind, challenged Vader by pulling out his weapon, all of it acting on instinct; he hadn’t trained at a Jedi temple for decades.

The sequels were the story of the third generation of the Skywalker family, and one of its main mistakes, the way I see it today, is that they focus too much on Rey. She is Ben’s other half in the Force, as we learn later on, but still: the scion of the Skywalker family is he, he is the one who changes deeply, while she doesn’t. But we hardly learn anything about his past, or about his thoughts. All we see is Rey’s perspective.

I like Kylo Ren / Ben Solo because he’s a complex character, well-written and interpreted, but not only for that. I understood him so well on a personal level. I know what it means to be so isolated and abused that the moment someone shows you only a glimpse of kindness you fall in love to the point you would do anything for that person. Rey did not know what she wanted, or what the Force wanted her to do. She only told Ben “not to go this way”. He saved her life twice, once as Kylo (when he killed Snoke) and once as Ben (when he gave her his remaining life force). If she had known what she wanted apart from staying alive, or if she had known the will of the Force, I do not doubt that he would have done anything for her. But she didn’t.

Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022)

“From my point of view, the Jedi are evil!” Anakin Skywalker in Revenge of the Sith

Obi-Wan proved that Anakin was right a few minutes later: he ended the duel with Anakin cutting off his legs and leaving him to burn in the lava - a Jedi does not soil his hands through a coup de grace. Obi-Wan did not manage to save Anakin in the moment of his greatest need, and he did not have mercy. Padme was about to take Anakin with her, which would at least have spared the galaxy the worst. Being the perfect Jedi, of course Obi-Wan had to interfere, setting the seal on Anakin’s fate. At the beginning of the same movie Anakin killed Count Dooku who was kneeling handless in front of him; and it was also said that Anakin had saved Obi-Wans’s life ten times over.

Obi-Wan he did not learn from his mistakes: twenty years later he tried to push the naïve Luke to patricide, so that is own hands would, again, not get dirty. Obi-Wan recurrently appeared to Luke as a Jedi spirit; but in The Empire Strikes Back when the traumatized young man, having learned the truth, repeated over and over, „Ben, why didn’t you tell me?” he was silent. When they did meet again, he shirked his responsibility, loading again the burden of his faults onto the well-meaning Luke.

Was Obi-Wan a good Jedi? From their perspective, undoubtedly. But I would not call him a compassionate human being. Obi-Wan knew that if Anakin tripped over a line, he as his master would be responsible. And Yoda refused to help Obi-Wan with the training of the powerful boy, fearing him although he said himself that fear is the way to the Dark Side, and in Revenge of the Sith he practically ordered Obi-Wan to kill him.

Obi-Wan was always the first to draw the weapon. In A New Hope, he cut off the arm of a guy at a bar who was merely annoying. In Revenge of the Sith, he attacked General Grievous showing up behind him, challenging to an uncalled-for fight. He had neither himself nor anyone else to protect right then. During his duel with Anakin / Vader in Obi-Wan Kenobi, he also was the first to draw his weapons.

Obi-Wan never questioned himself, his choices and actions. Even when dead, he justified his blatant lie to Luke saying that the truth is only a point of view. He never felt guilty or admitted defeat and wrong choices.

Not until the miniseries Obi-Wan Kenobi, where was alone, traumatized, regretful, and bonding with little Leia. Owen said clearly him that he did not want him to train Luke because of the way he had trained his father.

Human at last! The last thing Jedi stans want him to be like. He even did what a Jedi actually ought to do, giving Reva spiritual advice. Of course, another Star Wars character who was accused of having been “character assassinated”.

As for myself, Obi-Wan Kenobi was the first and only where that I actually liked a character who I had until then felt to be narrow-minded, haughty and largely responsible for Anakin’s damnation and the downfall of the republic.

Was Moses Ingram attacked for her portrayal of Reva because she’s a woman of colour? No, it was because Obi-Wan was not portrayed as Jedi stans wanted to see him. The actress was mobbed because they needed someone to project their hatred on. It’s true that her character could have been written better, but any fool must know that it wasn’t the actresses’ fault.

The Acolyte (2024)

“The Jedi live in a dream. A dream they believe everyone shares. If you attack a Jedi with a weapon you will fail… But an acolyte kills without a weapon. An acolyte kills the dream.” (The Stranger)

„The majority of my colleagues can’t imagine a galaxy without the Jedi. And I can understand why. When you’re looking up to heroes, you don’t have to face what’s right in front of you.“

„I think the Jedi are a massive system of unchecked power posing as a religion. A delusional cult that claims to control the uncontrollable. You project an image of goodness and restraint. But it’s only a matter of time before one of you snaps. And when, not if that happens, who will be strong enough to stop him?”

(Senator Rayencourt to Master Vernestra)

Did anyone at Disney Lucasfilm honestly think that this kind of show would be accepted by Jedi stans, who make up the majority of the fans - or at least a group that is very loud in their disapproval? If it “simply” was a bad tv show, fans would shrug it off and move on. I haven’t met such an amount of online vitriol since The Last Jedi, and it’s not difficult to see why: because the precious Jedi were shown as arrogant fools who believe they mean well but are too narrow-minded and stuck-up to see the errors in their ways.

„The Force does not belong to the Jedi.” (Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi)

Some in the galaxy far, far away call it The Thread. And use it their own way. Both ways might be wrong. Osha is raised by two very different mentalities and finds both don’t suit her, so she joins The Stranger who is also looking to find his own path. Whether they will or not we won’t know unfortunately, since the show’s second season was cancelled. (At least for now.)

Is Master Sol a bad person? No. He’s fallible and believes that the lies he told Osha are justified. So are the other Jedi that travel to Brendok with him. What makes Jedi stans hate them is that they don’t defeat the Stranger; and that Sol and Torbin actually feel guilty for what they did to Mae, Osha and their family. Vernestra on the other hand lies to the Jedi Council to make sure they won’t find out what happened.

Sol took Osha away from everything she had known by destroying, in the process, her home, her past and her family, and letting her live in a lie for the next sixteen years. Sol knew that she was too old to be trained, and taking her as his padawan he set her up for failure. Even when she left the Jedi order, failing the tests, he didn’t tell her the truth. Osha was condemned to loneliness, her only friend being Pip, a mechanical device. She could go back neither to Brendok nor to the Jedi, and being Force sensitive, she belonged nowhere until she met the Stranger.

Sol certainly was kind to her while he trained her, but for all the wrong reasons. He said that he “felt that Osha was meant to be his padawan”. What does that mean? Osha failed the tests and Sol knew she was already too old for training. He even said he loved her at one point. My take is that Sol felt lonely and wanted to raise her as his daughter, he did not care that much about Osha becoming a Jedi nor not. Osha was right confronting him about what he had done to her, her sister and her entire coven, allegedly knowing what was best for her. She didn’t have to go as far as to kill him, I found that it did a lot to make her character unlikeable. Osha effectively “killed the past”, the way Ben Solo had wanted to. However: if it’s immoral to kill your father figure, it is equally immoral, if not much worse, of said father figure to wipe out your family and its entire civilization with it just to get a hold on you because you have the same power as he.

Impossible!! A Real Jedi would never do that! That’s why Jedi stans hate on the show and will pick on every small detail where they believe they find a flaw. The actual flaw is their headcanon that the Jedi can’t be the problem. Watching the saga, you see that they were very much a problem. But woe if you speak up; your will get your head ripped off.

The Acolyte isn’t a female fantasy, as haters claim. The strongest and most impressive character is the Stranger. Mae is his first pupil, but she doesn’t connect with him on a personal level, she only learns fighting from him; in the end, this makes her regress to childhood (the Stranger deleting her memory and she finding herself helpless in the Jedi order the way her sister had been sixteen years earlier). So? It appears that just wanting to be a strong female character is the wrong way, which is certainly not feministic.

The Stranger, despite his black clothes and mask, is not a real villain: when you watch him fight you see that he defends himself, he never attacks first. Despite their Code, again we see Jedi draw their weapons first, attack from behind or eight against one. He rightly points out to Osha that Yord had arrested her for a crime she did not commit and that both Jecki and Sol, whom she saw as her friends, would never commit fully to her.

Another popular criticism is that the Stranger allegedly has “seduced” Osha to the Dark Side. But the Stranger is a mixed creature the way Osha is, neither good nor evil; he kills in defence or self-defence, and when he criticizes the ways of the Jedi he has a point. I liked that they were starting on a new way together, all the more because I had been so disappointed that the sequels didn’t show us the much-needed and announced Balance in the Force. When both Anakin and his grandson Ben came back to the Light side, it swallowed them whole, causing their death.

The Acolyte is a metaphor for growing up. Osha learned two ways of using the Force - first with (mother) Aniseya, then with Sol (father figure). The Stranger understands her doubts because he’s been through the same. Osha understands him better after putting on his helmet. In the final scene, both turn their backs on the past.

The Broom Boy: a Metaphor for the Future

The final scene of The Last Jedi with the Force-sensitive slave boy sweeping on open space which looks very much like a theatre stage, and then looks up to the stars dreaming of being a Jedi, was clear: “Free the stage, it’s time for us, the children.” There has hardly been a Star Wars show until now where there wasn’t a child in a central role.

Since the prequels, Star Wars made a point of showing that the Jedi are very bad at dealing with children. Anakin was taken away from his mother at age nine, shouldered with the prediction “You are the Chosen One”, and his emotional development was stunted because he was not allowed to go through the stages of being a normal child and teenager. Remember Attack of the Clones, where we see children playing around with light sabres - deadly weapons - like they were toys? Or Revenge of the Sith, where we see even smaller children, all with their light sabre tucked into their belts? It looks tragic. The scene where Anakin kills the children is a painful metacommentary on how a good person with a gun is no match against a bad person with a gun.

Sol: „She was just a child.”

The Stranger: „You brought her here.”

In The Acolyte, Torbin and Jecki are heartbreaking examples of two Jedi padawans not allowed to be the teenagers they actually are. Jedi stans call Torbin “whiny”, but they overlook that his behaviour is normal for any teenager forced to be away from home for weeks on end on a trip he didn’t choose to make. Jecki has more self-control, but it doesn’t help her: she gets killed. The Stranger rightly points out that they both should never have come along on a risky mission to a planet with wholly unknown dangers. Jedi stans despise Torbin, because he’s supposed to be proud to be part of the Jedi since it gives him the possibility to look cool and fight all the bad guys in sight. Ironically, Torbin is the only member of the group of Jedi on Brendok who feels that something dreadful is about to happen and wants to go away. And years later, he is the only Jedi who admits to Mae that he feels guilty for what they did to Osha and her covert believing “they were doing the right thing”. To Jedi fans, it’s a slap in the face of everything they believe in.

Luke did not learn his ideals from the Jedi, he learned them at home with two simple farmers who neither were Force-sensitive nor knew the ways of the Jedi. Had he been raised like his father, all his power wouldn’t have helped him. Why do the Jedi insist that at a certain age you’re too old to be trained? I daresay because you have to start with brainwashing very early, before a person’s character is formed and its ideals in place.

The Mandalorian always allows Grogu to be a child. He keeps him close because that’s where’s he’s safest; he does look for safe places where he could leave him and is ready to make the sacrifice to give him up, but Sorgan proves not to be the right place and later on Ossus, Grogu chooses to leave Luke on his own accord. And as soon as he is with Mando, he shows his playful side again. Grogu needs that! It’s healthy, because a child needs to be a child, no matter how powerful it is. But Jedi stans only think that it must be a great honour to be trained to be a hero from childhood on, never considering that it’s unfulfilling and frustrating at best, and traumatizing at worst.

It’s not a coincidence that family is the core theme of the Skywalker saga. Children who grow up feeling loved and protected develop well. That’s a wise message, and The Bad Batch, Obi-Wan Kenobi or The Mandalorian made a good point of it. But still: until now it didn’t lead anywhere. None of the Force-sensitive children we saw until now pointed to a new and better new Jedi Order, or anything else of that sort.

Star Wars Bigotry: Jedi stans and masculinity

The sequels were unclear as to who the villain was, so was The Acolyte, and Jedi stans rave about how they suck. In my opinion they’re interesting exactly because the good guys sometimes do wrong and the bad guys sometimes are right. Of course, anyone who’s adamant that a good story, in particular a good Star Wars story, has to be Good Guys against Bad Guys with the Jedi being the good guys will never accept that.

The Jedi worshippers are many, and they are the most vicious among the SW fandom. Woe if you dare to criticize their Flawless Heroes with shiny light sabres who make things float. They will pretend that „wokeism“, feminism, blackwashing etc. are the problem. But that’s not true. Most of them don’t mind strong female characters, queer or black characters whatsoever as long as the show they appear in would actually focus on showing off the Jedi as heroes. They usually like The Mandalorian, Rogue One, Andor, or The Bad Batch: because the Jedi hardly appear there. Or if they do, like in The Mandalorian season 2, The Book of Boba Fett or Ahsoka, they kick ass. In The Force Awakens Han Solo, also a very popular character, got killed, and no one hated on that movie, on the contrary, most fans loved it. But hey, Han is not a Jedi. He can die a seemingly senseless death.

The Book of Boba Fett was mediocre at best. But it wasn’t hated. On the contrary, a lot of fans loved episode 6 because they finally saw a young Luke as a Jedi master making frogs float (argh!). The Jedi taught their pupils to suppress their feelings and to live without attachments, an attitude that proved fatal. Yet Jedi stans love the idea, probably because of the age-old adage of the lonesome cowboy who is too cool and aloof to care for anyone. They loved seeing Luke as an adult Jedi master alone and cut off from the very people who had been his life and purpose until then. He trained Grogu but didn’t play with him, didn’t allow him to be a child. It was the contrary of everything the character ever stood for - family, friendship, team spirit, loyalty. Of course that was not seen as “character assassination”, apparently that’s exactly what they wanted to see.

Many Star Wars fans believe that Luke Skywalker and the Jedi stand in for certain values, which they claim as their own. If you believe that Star Wars is about Good vs. Evil and that the Jedi are the heroes who always triumph, of course you will be disappointed by the new stories. The studios are not deliberately harming the franchise, it’s the fans who want the saga to fit their worldview.

Bigotry has many forms, it doesn’t only mean despising and not wanting to understand people from another race, religion, orientation etc. Bigotry is the firm conviction of being Good, and supporting who also is “Good”, whatever category those good people are supposed to belong to. A bigot is a stern denier of his own sins and inner darkness. Either you’re with him or against him. Bigoted people are capable of fighting tooth and nail against perceived “enemies” who threaten their ideal of the “goodness” they believe in and think they belong to. A perfect person does not go wrong, of course. Ever. Their perfection prevents them from questioning themselves. A lot of fans don’t even watch the pieces of media they criticize at all, but hate on them anyway because their influencers tell them they suck. Bullies do not care who they attack. They feel frustrated, they believe that their ideal of “real masculinity” is under attack, they can’t handle their feeling of shame, and take it out on who is or seems most vulnerable - women, people of colour, non-binary people etc.

“Wokeism” is Not the Problem

After the hatred coming from the fans who disapproved hotly of The Last Jedi, instead of finishing the narrative threads it had set up, it was plainly ignored in favour of a pure action movie, flat and disappointing. The Rise of Skywalker ended not only the trilogy but the entire saga in a way that I can only call disgraceful. On both sides, hardly anyone really liked it. But was it hated? No, because the Jedi were portrayed as the heroes, with even one ridiculous scene where the ghost of Luke appears to Rey telling her how wrong he had been when he was still alive.

Just for comparison: very many fans of Joker didn’t understand the movie’s point as well. Todd Philips answered with the sequel Folie à deux, which is a logical continuation of the first movie and boldly challenges the audience see their wrong interpretation. The reviews are mixed - as with The Last Jedi, apparently you can only love or hate that movie -, but Folie à deux is, first of all, a good movie. In time, when the controversy has calmed down, it will be remembered as an excellent piece of art. The Rise of Skywalker is just embarrassing, and there’s no way it can age well.

Toxic fans who flooded social media with hate after The Last Jedi and sent death threats or tearful resentment to the studios caused the production of the flattest, most low-quality and uninteresting movie Star Wars has ever seen, obviously patched together to “amend” for what didn’t need to be amended for in the first place.

Star Wars’ strength is constant weaving between Good and Evil, good guys showing dark sides and bad guys having a point, interacting and learning from one another instead of killing each other. It could be a dream for movie studios and authors, because it offers such rich tapestry for storytelling: the possibilities seem endless. But every time anyone dares to criticize Jedi or to show that an alleged Bad Guy still has a bright spot in his heart, and that he might have his reason for turning his back on the Jedi, Jedi stans cry out to heaven as if an inconceivable blasphemy had occurred.

If you like the sequels, you’re an idiot “Reylo” who believes she can fix the bad guy. Kylo Ren alias Ben Solo was the most deep, complex and fascinating character of the sequels, who went through a deep and compelling transformation. And no, he was not fixed by a woman’s love. But if you understood him and hoped for him to come back to the Light, you just “don’t get it that he’s the villainTM who wants to seduce the girl to become evil”.

Same thing with The Acolyte of course, because there’s a scene where we see the non-Jedi-not-quite-Sith taking off his clothes. Of course the Stranger was “evil”; he wanted an acolyte, i.e. he did not want to be alone. What kind of guy is that, who does not embrace his loneliness?! The Strager - a guy - was he coolest character of all in The Acolyte and the only “relationship” we saw there was one between man and woman. But if you like that show you’re apostrophized as woke (which is still a mild word), because the author is a lesbian and the actress portraying the protagonist identifies as non-binary. That is neither true nor does queerness have anything to do with the show’s quality.

Luke exposed himself both body and soul to the Emperor, first almost falling to the Dark Side himself and then almost dying in the process, because he wanted to “fix” the Bad Guy, aka his father. And he actually did.

In The Bad Batch, the character of Crosshair goes from belonging to the heroes to betraying them and then going back again. In the last season his relationship with Omega is evenly balanced, they break free from imprisonment together. It’s one of the show’s best parts. But they are no Jedi, so that show is not hated on.

Jedi stans expect Star Wars to “stick to its roots”, i.e. tell stories where morals are as clearly cut as in A New Hope. They don’t consider that that expectation was already beyond all hope when The Empire Strikes Back came out, with its infamous key scene and all its implications, including the failure and hypocrisy of the Jedi.

Action movies have taught spectators that real heroism is defined by the “license to kill”, i.e. the good guy believes he has the right to kill anyone who stands in his way. Jedi stans love the idea that Jedi are the good guys because, not having attachments, apparently that gives them the right and to decide who must be sacrificed by them “for the greater good”. I would like to see them in a situation where someone, maybe even someone they love, tells them “Oh well, now I’m going to sacrifice you for the greater good.” It’s absurd and unbelievably cruel to pretend that such an attitude has anything to do with good morals. If anything, it ought to be the victim who decides that they’re sacrificing their lives, not some Jedi or other hero who allegedly has the right to decide over life and death.

Luke Skywalker sacrificed himself over and over. He did debate to kill his nephew, but it was only a brief moment of panic on his side, he didn’t go through with it, and afterwards he felt so ashamed he exiled himself. Luke’s trademark characteristic was his compassion; we never saw a Jedi act out of compassion, they only talked about it. And believing that having no attachments because it gives you the licence to sacrifice someone “for the greater good” is everything but compassionate. But even the greatest Jedi and Luke stans don’t see any contradiction there.

The classic trilogy’s topics were Hope, Love and Faith (the Force representing and tying together all three). The prequels had very little of all of that, because they’re the story of a tragedy and a massive failure; but what fans who like them apparently have learned from the prequels it’s that it must be great to be a Jedi, lonely and aloof and the master over life and death. Who wants Hope, Love and Faith instead of cool heroes killing everybody who stands in the way of what they decide is right?

The Fandom Menace

Fans who admire “heroes” like Batman, James Bond, Rambo etc. believe that the main characteristics of a male hero is a stoic appearance. A mentor who actually questions and doubts himself and feels guilty when he did wrong like Luke in the sequels, or a Byronic antihero like his nephew who, despite all he did, deep down still longs to be saved by love, is automatically branded a loser; or, in any case, certainly not seen as a role model.

Star Wars is largely followed by action fans, who want to be flooded with testosterones once they sit down to watch something, and who would rather die than accept their - or one of their male hero’s - vulnerable side. The classics were well-accepted because of Darth Vader, Han Solo and the likes; the hot-headed, boyish Luke was an unusual choice for a protagonist which, at least for the first two movies, would have been much more criticized if he hadn’t been balanced out by the movies’ more “masculine” counterparts. The Last Jedi would hardly have caused such an uproar if there had been just one protagonist adhering to the pattern of the “real man”. Luke was too disillusioned, Ben too sensitive, Poe was downgraded by Leia and held back by Holdo, Finn first reprimanded and then saved by Rose. No wonder action movie fans hated it. Luke’s green milk in The Last Jedi must have caused a million of meltdowns among Jedi stans, mostly male ones, who felt that their hero had been character-assassinated and totally missing the point.

Do the Jedi stans really expect a white male straight character as the lead? No. Most of them for instance were fine with Jyn Erso being the protagonist of Rogue One. But in that movie, there was no Jedi. When the sequels, Obi-Wan Kenobi or The Acolyte came out, they were upset because non-white, non-male, non-straight characters seemed to take the place of who ought to be the protagonist. Jedi stans want a story where they can be on the side of the “good guys”, follow them sitting comfortably on their couch or in a theatre seat, identify with them and pump their fist in the air when “their side has won”. A lot of them do appreciate more complex stories like Andor; but their untouchable Jedi do not appear there, so there is nothing to hate on.

Star Wars stories without Jedi are often beloved, in particular if there’s a strong male lead. But then please, what is Star Wars if you only can tell stories that go without the galaxy’s particular magic? Since Star Wars is not a typical action franchise but an epic fairy tale and a metacommentary rich in symbolism, philosophy and psychology, there are also many intellectuals who love it, or hopelessly romantic souls like me. Except that fans who can actually enjoy Star Wars even when it’s not about the alleged Jedi superheroes, will most probably not send death threats to the studios and believe that “everything will be better once these producers are gone.”

Where Do We Go from Here

Star Wars stories only develop when the characters know what they want, not what they want to avoid. The Force’s will remains mysterious. Even the alleged Chosen One didn’t know it. After The Last Jedi, I naively assumed that the better times when the Jedi actually did the will of the Force and the galaxy was at peace was during the time when the temple of Ahch-To was built; that we would learn more about it and that new Force users would find back to these better times. Seven years after having seen the Force Balance mosaic on the floor of the Jedi temple, I’m still waiting in vain for one or more Force users to actually discover and share said balance. Or for the galaxy’s population to finally realize that the Force is in everyone and that even if you can’t control it, you’re still part of it and that gives you the responsibility to work for a better world, instead of hoping for some Jedi to come and save the day.

If the Force wants Balance, as is said in the prequels, then the Jedi must be just as wrong as the Sith, because the Force does not want to be used either way. Qui-Gon already foresaw it in Episode I. If Anakin did bring Balance through his children, that balance did not live long. And his grandson died after having known it only for a very limited time. All three generations of Skywalkers did not pass it on.

The unpardonable fault, in the eyes of Jedi stans, is not diversity the way it’s often mistakenly interpreted; it’s the Disney studios portraying the Jedi Order, Luke, Boba, Obi-Wan etc. as human. To them, that’s simply bad writing; they identify with the allegedly Good Guys and now believe it’s up to them to put up a fight against the Bad Guys who make their heroes allegedly look like fools, i.e. who dare to take them from their pedestal by criticizing or humanizing them. It was the Jedi stans who built said pedestal. It wasn’t George Lucas or the Disney studios.

Most Jedi stans do not mind strong female, black, diverse characters etc.; as long as everyone stays in sidelines while the Jedi or some other male hero take the shine. Heated Star Wars discussions usually start with one side accusing the other of being misogynistic, homophobic etc. and the other side claiming that the responsible people at the studios are using the franchise to shove their “woke” agenda down their throats.

Dear Disney Lucasfilm studios: please finally give Jedi stans what they want - a tv show or movie trilogy that caters to them. Set it a few hundred years before the fall of the Republic, endow their precious Jedi with all imaginable virtues, let them make things float and have cool light sabre battles destroying some faceless, boring Bad Guy and then take off into the sunset. Tell these kinds of stories for the next decade, and maybe the Fandom Menace will finally be appeased. Choose a diverse cast if you want: Jedi stans will hardly care. If a Star Wars show had Jedi for protagonists and these would be the infallible, all-wise, imperturbable superheroes their stans take them for, they won’t mind if these Jedi were black, Asian, female, lesbians or non-binary, with a few white straight people sprinkled throughout. They will swallow it hook, line and sinker.

In the meantime, please finish the stories that you enchanted us other fans with, which are actually epic and magical and centred around human connection and personal development. As far as possible, please leave the Jedi out of there. And no story where there isn’t at least one male character taking the lead and getting his chance to shine if you don’t want the fans to be at your throats again.

Thank you.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 70 – American Psycho by Brett Easton Ellis

I’m honestly not sure I ever would have gotten around to reading this on my own, but ended up buying it through the ‘blind date with a book’ thing a bookstore in New York was doing when I was visiting (incredible gimmick, for the record). The fact that it then took me a solid three months to actually finish probably tells you something about how genuinely difficult a read I found it. Not in the sense of being bad, but just legitimately difficult to stomach at points. Overall I’d call it a real triumph of literature.

Not that anyone doesn’t already know, but; the book is spent inside the head of Patrick Bateman, high-flying wall street trader and Harvard blueblood at the close of the Reagan era. Also a serial killer. The story is told as a series of more or less disconnected vignettes, jumping from dinner conversations at one exclusive bar or club or another to the brutal torture and murder of a sex worker to several pages of incredibly vapid pontification on Nina Simone’s discography. The story vaguely tracks Bateman growing ever-more alienated and out of control as the year goes on, but there’s very much not any real single narrative or cathartic climax here. - most stuff just happens (stuff that’s either incredibly tedious or utterly nauseating by turns but still just, stuff).

So yeah this is an intensely literary work (obviously), a word I’m here using to mean one that is as much about the form and style of the writing as about the actual events portrayed. Bateman is a monster, but more than that he’s just an utterly boring and tedious husk of a man, traits which are exaggerated to the point of being fascinating– if you told this story in conventional third person narration without all the weird asides, it would be a) like half as long and b) totally worthless. The tonal whiplash of going from an incredibly visceral depiction of Bateman cutting out the eyes of a homeless man to six (utterly insipid) pages on the merits of The Doors is the selling point here (well actually I think Ellis goes back to that specific well probably one time too many, but in general I mean).

Bateman is a tedious, unstable monster, but as far as the book has an obvious thesis it’s that he differs from the rest of his social milieu only in degree. A symptom of a fundamentally rotten society, not a heroic devil among sheep. The book’s climax, such as it is, involved Bateman getting into a drug-fueled gunfight with the NYPD, shooting multiple people in the middle of the street, and then stumbling home and leaving a rambling confession to every crime on his lawyer’s answering machine – but despite very clearly wanting and trying to get caught and face some sort of consequence or justice, people just refuse to believe that someone like him is capable of anything like that. (It’s not, it must be said, an especially subtle book).

There is, as far as I can recall, not a single character who gets enough screentime to give an idea of their personality who I’d call likeable. Sympathetic, sure, but that’s mostly because it’s pretty much impossible not to sympathize with someone getting horrifically tortured and torn apart (at one point a starving rat is involved). The upper crust of New York yuppie-dom is portrayed as shallow and vapid, casually bigoted towards quite literally everyone who isn’t identical to them, status-obsessed to the point of only being able to understand the world as a collection of markers of class and coolness, and totally incapable of real human connection. Bateman is a monster not because of any freak abnormality, but just because he takes all of that a few steps further than his coworkers.

The book is totally serious and straight-faced in its presentation, and absolutely never acknowledges any of the running gags that are kept up through it. Which shows impressive restraint, and also means that none of them exactly have a payoff or a punchline – it’s just a feature of the world that all the expensive meals at trendy restaurants everyone competes for tables at sound disgusting when you think about them for a moment, or that the whole class of wall street trader guy are so entirely interchangeable that ostensible close friends and coworkers constantly mistake each other for other traders and no one particularly cares. Or – and I’m taking this on faith because fuck knows I’ve got no idea what any of the brands people are wearing are – that the ruinously expensive outfits everyone spends so very much time and money on for every engagement all clash comically if you actually looked up what the different pieces looked like. The book’s in no way really a comedy, so the jokes sit a bit oddly, but they’re still overall pretty funny, at least to me.

I like to think I have something of a strong stomach for unpleasant material in books, but this was the first work of fiction that I had genuine trouble reading for content reasons in I can’t even remember. I’m not sure it’s exactly right to call the violence pornographic in a general sense, but as far as American Psycho goes the register and tone Bateman uses to describe fucking a woman and torturing her to death are basically identical (and told in similarly explicit detail), and all of Bateman’s sexual fantasies are more or less explicitly just porn scenes he wants to recreate, so. Regardless, the result’s pretty alienating in both cases – his internal monologue never really feels anything but detached and almost bored as he relays what he does, sound exactly as vapid and alienated as when he is carefully listing the exact brands and designers every person he ever interacts with is wearing at all times, or arguing over dinner reservations for hours on end with his friends and lovers (though both those terms probably deserve heavy airquotes around them). He legitimately sounds considerably more engaged when talking about arguing over sartorial etiquette. It all adds up to a really strong alienating effect.

Anyways, speaking of sex and violence – perhaps because my main exposure to the story before this was tumblr making memes out of scenes from the movie, but I was pretty shocked by just how explicitly awful Patrick is ‘on screen’. The horrible murder, sure, but also just the casual and frequent use of racist and homophobic slurs, the pathological misogyny, the total breakdown he has at the idea of a gay man being attracted to him and thinking he might reciprocate – all of these are entirely in character for an asshole Wall Street ‘80s Guy even if he wasn’t a serial killer, but it’s still oddly shocking at first to see it so thoroughly represented on the page. It makes how comparatively soft-pedaled the bigotry and just, awfulness, of villains in a lot of more modern books stand out a lot more, I suppose? I have read a lot of books that are in some sense About queerness and/or racism in the last year, and no one in any of them holds a candle to good old Patrick Bateman.

Part of that is just the book being so intensely of its time, I suppose. The New York of this book is very much one of the late ‘80s, incredible wealth living side by side with social rot and decay, crippling poverty everywhere and a society that has to a great degree just stopped caring. Absolutely none of which Bateman or any of his peers care one bit about, of course – they’re too busy showing off the latest walkmans and record players, going to the newest clubs, and just generally enjoying all the fruits of Reagan’s America. Recent history has made the fact that Bateman’s personal idol is Donald Trump almost too on the nose to be interesting, but in 1991 I’m sure it was a bit more subtle in how telling it was.

Anyway, yeah, horrifying and exhausting read, triumph of literature, my god did Easton Ellis hate America (this is a compliment). Now time to go watch the movie!

[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter thirteen

chapter thirteen: he said this

chapter summary: Yunho recounts how mingi, after heroically standing up to dangerous drug dealers, casually drops a flirty line that leaves everyone in shock

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 928

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho, same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

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author's note: look guys dont hate me okay i know this chapter isnt even 1k words long but i decided to split chapter 13 into 2 because i have a MASSIVE writers block and i just cant write right now since it takes me hours to come up with anything. but i felt super bad because i know youve all been waiting for an update for like 14+ days and i also got a lot of new readers from twitter (follow me if you dont already!!) so the pressure is on!!

anywaaaays, stopping the excuses, here’s a short update and TOMORROW chapter 14 following what happened in this one is coooming!

also, if you want more of my content, thoughts, or other stuff, follow me on X

“…You what?”

Yunho swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “…Yeeeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Jisung suddenly shot up from where he was sitting, dramatically waving his hands in the air. “Wait, wait, wait—” he gasped. “When you texted me, it didn’t sound so serious! But Yunho—THIS? THIS is big news! OMFG, YUNHO!” He grabbed his head like he was physically holding his brain together. “You cannot just drop all of this on me at once! I have so many questions—”

Seonghwa cut him off, raising a hand. “Jisung, let him finish the story first,” he said firmly. “I bet he’ll answer all your questions anyway.” He turned back to Yunho with an encouraging nod. “Please continue.”

Hongjoong, who had been listening with narrowed eyes, suddenly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, please,” he added. “So, what happened to Mingi? Why was he bleeding and everything?”

Yunho sighed, rubbing his temples as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Well… he wasn’t really talking at first,” he admitted. “But then he told me that he got into a fight with some guys from his past—said they were trying to sell drugs to some underage kids. He stepped in to stop them.”

Seonghwa gasped, his hand flying to his chest. “Oh god, that’s horrible.”

Yunho nodded. “Yeah… and apparently, he wasn’t alone at first. There were two other people with him, but they bailed the second things got ugly. So, in the end, it was just him against, like, five to seven guys.”

Jisung whistled lowly. “Damn. This is probably the first time I actually feel sorry for Mingi.”

Hongjoong, however, had gone eerily quiet, his expression unreadable. Then, after a few beats, he let out a sigh and muttered, “I know who you’re talking about.”

The entire room went still.

Seonghwa’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

Yunho blinked. “You do?”

Jisung looked like he was about to pass out from shock. “Hold on, what?”

Hongjoong chuckled at their reactions, shaking his head. “Ah, don’t worry. I don’t know what they look like, but as I’ve already said, I know a lot of people. Not as many as Mingi, but I’ve lived around here for a long time. So yeah, I know who you’re talking about. And yeah… they’re total jackasses.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I remember one time they sold LSD to a friend of a friend when she was only seventeen. She ended up in the hospital.” His jaw clenched. “She almost didn’t survive because she didn’t know how much she could take. She nearly overdosed.”

Seonghwa’s hand flew to his mouth, eyes wide in horror.

Yunho’s stomach twisted. “…Wow, Hongjoong, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Hongjoong shook his head. “It’s in the past, but hearing you say Mingi actually stood up against them? Damn. Points for him, honestly.” His lips twitched slightly. “Warms my heart in a way.”

Yunho exhaled. “Yeah… it made me look at Mingi in another light too. It was really hero-like of him, in my eyes. Except for the part when he told me he used to do drugs as well. That’s how he knows them.”

Jisung hummed. “Oh?”

“He told me he quit, though,” Yunho continued. “Now he only smokes weed, cigarettes, or drinks.”

Jisung let out a dreamy sigh. “That’s hot.”

Seonghwa nearly choked. “JISUNG?!”

“What?” Jisung shrugged dramatically. “Mingi is hot as hell. And just imagine him with a blunt, all high and —uuuuuugh.” He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “Guhhughuhguhguhguh.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. “You need to hook up with someone ASAP. You’re very much sex-deprived.”

Jisung gasped. “Excuse me?!”

“Not an insult, just a fact,” Hongjoong said, waving him off. Then, he turned back to Yunho. “Anyway—please continue. We keep interrupting you.”

Yunho exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeeeah… actually, while you’re at it—after a while, Mingi just casually drops, ‘Really, don’t take it personally. I mean it when I say I like having you around.’”

Seonghwa let out a soft aww, but Jisung was already gripping his seat.

“And I didn’t know what to say,” Yunho admitted. “So I just kinda nodded and kept focusing on his wounds. But then—then—Mingi suddenly goes, ‘And you’re actually pretty cute.’”

Jisung choked. “WHAT.”

Yunho nodded, still looking bewildered. “Yeah. And then he smirked at me and said, ‘I like your kind.’”

A second of silence.

And then—

“OMFG NDFGIUWEHFQÉÍEADSFIPSEQJFÚOASDJWFOEQADS.” Jisung practically screamed, flailing so hard his chair nearly tipped over. “YUNHO. YOU ARE SO STUPID. OMG. ARE YOU SHITTING ME. WHAT FANFICTION IS THIS. I AM GONNA DIE.”

Seonghwa’s hands flew to his mouth in shock, eyes as wide as saucers. “Mingi said that? To you?”

Hongjoong just stared. “Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.”

Jisung wasn’t even processing them anymore. He was pacing back and forth, full-on malfunctioning. “I SWEAR TO GOD. I SWEAR TO GOD, YUNHO. YOU ARE ACTUALLY DENSE. HOW ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS SO CALMLY.”

Yunho blinked. “I mean… what?”

“YOU DIDN’T—!!” Jisung clutched his head like he was about to pass out. “YUNHO. HE CALLED YOU CUTE. AND SAID HE LIKES YOUR KIND. YOU. YOUR KIND.”

Hongjoong exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is insane. Mingi is flirting with you and you just sat there nodding like an NPC.”

Yunho looked at them, still confused, flopping back. “Wait… what do you mean, flirting?”

Seonghwa grinned, shaking his head. “Oh my god, Yunho. You’re in so deep.”

Jisung gripped his heart. “This is the best day of my LIFE. Nothing can top this!”

previous chapter | next chapter

[longwuzhere]

Some cool Easter eggs I caught watching My Adventures with Superman that I want to show to people so they can be in on it with comic book readers

My episode 1 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 2 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 3 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 4 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 5 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 6 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 7 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here and here

My episode 8 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 9 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

(SPOILERS if you haven't seen the show yet):

We start things off with Jor-El and Clark meeting and like the last time, Jor-El speaking in Kryptonese much like how Jor-El in the comics did in Man of Steel #6 (1986)...

as seen in this panel (W&P: John Byrne, I: Dick Giordano, C: Tony Zuiko, L: John Costanza) where Clark meets a ghostly projection of his father at night speaking Krypton's native tongue to him. BTW Man of Steel (1986) is a fantastic read. Highly recommend finding it at your local comic shop.

After Lois, Jimmy and Clark get promoted from interns to reporters at the Daily Planet we see the three of them will be having Thanksgiving with the Kents. Ma Kent shows Lois the newspaper she framed that all three of them wrote much like how her comic book counterpart made a scrap book out of the newspaper headlines of Clark's various heroic adventures in Man of Steel #1 (1986) as seen here in the panel (W&P: John Byrne, I: Dick Giordano, C: Tony Zuiko, L: John Costanza).

The camera then moves and see see kid Clark and the things he did back then. The baseball photo kinda reminds me of this fantastic moment in Batman/Superman #3 (2013) by Greg Pak, Yildiray Cinar, Matt Lackey and John Kalisz, and Rob Leigh:

On Earth-2 Clark and Bruce met as young kids after the car, Alfred drove broke down and both had some fun playing baseball. It's a very cute flashback that highlights no matter where in the multiverse, a Superman-Batman friendship is constant.

Lois's father shows up to the Thanksgiving dinner and I got double confirmation now that it is General Sam Lane. I talked more about his deal here.

Later in the episode we have the awkward parents and their children who are dating each other moment and General Lane here asks if Clark was in the military. In one non-canon series, Superman Year One by Frank Miller and John Romita Jr., Clark signs up for the military after high school. Kind of a weird miniseries, not the best Superman comic, not the worst at least.

Things go from bad to worse when the area where Clark landed activates thanks to the presence of Kryptonite from the League of Lois Lanes sphere that held it and we see that symbol on the robots that the giant ship sends and on this person at the end of the episode. If you know your DC universe, that symbol belongs to Brainiac and we can conclude that the one with the symbol on their head is Brainiac as well.

Brainiac makes his first appearance in Action Comics #242 (1958) (cover art by Curt Swan and Stan Kaye). At this point Brainiac was a "twelve level" intellect alien who shrunk cities for his collection to help repopulate his dead planet, one of the cities is Krypton's capital city, Kandor. Several retcons later we learn that Brainiac is a robot created by the Computer Tyrants of Colu, Brainiac's home planet to spy and conquer worlds. The Brainiac that has a closer connection to Clark and his Kryptonian people kinda like what MAwS is doing was in Superman the Animated Series...

where Krypton was very depended on their AI, Brainiac who then screwed them all over when the planet was about to explode and saved his metal ass and has then became a thorn at Superman's side in the cartoon ever since. MAwS is doing something similar as we see Brainiac's symbol on the robots that were deployed from the ship and the very robotic looking body Brainiac has at the end of the episode.

As we see Clark try to stop the portal and ship, he breaks into the hull and battles the robots in it. As he's getting pummeled, AI Jor-El helps neutralize the robots. It's kinda the same idea that what Man of Steel (the movie) was trying to go for when Lois was on Zod's ship and AI Jor-El was helping her navigate throughout the place. As I said before in the last post, Shin Ultraman is a better Superman movie (and a highly recommend watching) than what Zack Snyder was trying to do in Man of Steel.

We wrap up episode 10 with the Kents, Lois, and Jimmy enjoying a Thanksgiving dinner and we see that Jonathan was able to get the turkey to temperature so Clark heats it more with his heat vision. Superman sometimes does this do heat very mundane things like coffee as seen in this panel of Super Sons #9 (2017) (W: Peter Tomasi, P&I: Jorge Jimenez, C: Alejandro Sanchez, L: Rob Leigh). Highly recommend reading Super Sons and watching the animated movie too!

Congrats to Jimmy on selling Flamebird for $5.6 million. I talk more about flamebird here. Missed opportunity to have it be $5.2 million cuz DC's love of the number 52, but whatever.

The final scene of the episode gives us this moment where Brainiac tells this Kryptonian Warrior a planet they can conquer. The warrior then states that Earth will kneel. The most infamous Kryptonian that likes to mention conquered people kneeling is General Zod and so this character here might be Zod. No confirmation yet but I'm like 99% sure. When we get a confirmation, I'll talk more about Zod later.

And with that we are done with season 1 of My Adventures with Superman and if you made it this far be sure to check out my other easter eggs post:

My episode 1 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 2 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 3 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 4 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 5 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 6 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 7 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here and here

My episode 8 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My episode 9 easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

[lizbethborden]

…..what do you mean by “full death cult” re Bushnell? I just saw a big outpouring of grief and support for a man who made a p passionate political statement. Was it really that extreme? Are people who are culturally Xian not allowed to express support for such a thing?

I disagree with the idea that he made "a p passionate political statement." He committed suicide. Suicide is not a statement; it is not an abstract. He took his own life in an extremely painful and very public way. In taking his own life, he accomplished nothing apart from killing himself. He saved appx 0 people. He did not end the conflict. He didn't even get us closer to ending the conflict. He can't do anything to further the cause now because he's dead. And now he can't exactly undo any harms he perpetrated while in his active, chosen career in the US military, either.

I do not think this is something that should be given "support." I do not think death is a good thing for anyone. I disagree fundamentally with the premise that suicide is a valuable, heroic act. The response of Tumblr/online leftist communities to his death was deeply offensive on this level. Moreover, this response from online leftists was actually irresponsible, for reasons I'll detail below.

Are you familiar with the idea of "suicide contagion"? It is a demonstrated and documented phenomenon that occurs when suicide is widely publicized, discussed, and talked about in certain ways: other people are then inspired to, themselves, commit suicide. This is a bad thing. In fact, it is an awful thing. Multiple public health organizations recommend the following to prevent suicide contagion. I will note the corresponding failures of the response to Aaron Bushnell's suicide for each bullet point.

Avoid discussion of the location and method of suicide. / His suicide was discussed in detail and video was widely disseminated.

Avoid presenting the act of suicide as an acceptable or common response to a hardship. / Referring to his act as a "political statement", as you and others have done, implies that it is a reasonable and acceptable response to geopolitical circumstances.

Avoid glamorizing or romanticizing the suicide or person who has committed suicide. / He was and is discussed as a valorous, courageous hero for the cause.

Avoid engaging repetitive, ongoing, and excessive reporting of the suicide. / Details, information, and materials about Bushnell and his suicide were widely circulated over and over again.

On every level, online leftists failed. They flopped. They fucked up. Not only did they mythicize and poeticize an act that is the least mythical, least poetic thing on earth--an act that took a human being away from their loved ones, that prevented Bushnell from ever doing good in this world again--they did so in ways that would encourage others with suicidal ideation to kill themselves too. The message that was sent to every person struggling with suicidal thoughts was "yes, do it, kill yourself, you'll be a hero after you die." It is a demonstrated sociological fact that this leads to more death.

To turn to the Xtian part of your question. Christianity has a tradition of positive suffering in which suffering = expiation of sin. Not only does it have a long, long, long tradition of martyrs, it has this message embedded in the New Testament itself. Christ suffered under torture and torment and finally died via execution in order to expiate the sins of mankind. This is called the Passion narrative, which is why I included the rude little crack about people weeping "Passion-ately." These ideas about suffering and value have seeped into secular culture due to Christian dominance in the Western world.

The narrative around Bushnell's death slots nicely into the pre-existing Christian formation of the Christ or hero or martyr who dies for our sins (our collective guilt/fear/sorrow/anger surrounding the genocide in Gaza). The worship of death in the culturally-Christian framework, joined with the worship of death in the form of "supporting" it as a valid, desirable, and useful political action, combined to create what I called, in that post, a "death cult."

I disagree with the fundamental assumption that suffering is good and can solve problems. I do not believe that suicide and suffering are the solutions to anything. I have been personally touched by suicide. Luckily the person in question survived multiple attempts to take their own life, but that experience was enough to make me grasp that this is real. Suicide is real. Death is real. It is not a fandom moment to make fanart of, nor is it a comforting myth, like a martyrdom story, to reassure us that our political sins will be absolved. The response to Bushnell's death offended me on the basis of my moral and ethical values. Just that.