#but she's iconic and i have fond memories of her! so here

[kaworusbetterthanme]

My childhood hero <3 the first female french super-hero, Fantômette! She's the main character of 50+ children's books, and she saves her city from all sorts of villains with her many skills.

[tackykachowch]

Silco was set up to be Fishbones from the start

Disclaimer: I won't take season 2 into account At All, because it can't work with setups and payoffs even if its life depends on it.

Alrighty. As we've seen Season 1 paid a lot of attention to set up canon things from LoL into the show as naturally and logically as possible, and at least from my point of view, it handled the job with flying colors. Jayce's hammer, Vi's gauntlets, Vander/Warwick etc, nothing felt out of place. But how does Silco fit into this at all? Let's get down to business to defeat the huns

First of all, what even is Fishbones? In the canon of LoL, it's one of if not the most iconic weapon Jinx has. And it is not only a weapon to her, but a loyal and "beloved" companion, as it's described in one of her skins. She constantly talks to it, and in contrast to her chaotic and impulsive nature, Fishbones is very pragmatic and calm. Sounds like a certain someone, doesn't it? But let's not get ahead of ourselves.

But how does Silco go from being Jinx's father to one of her weapons? There are a lot of points that support that actually, I was surprised myself ngl.

- Silco is the only character in the entire series who is directly and tightly connected to water and underwater creatures. Silco was "reborn" in the water when Vander tried to kill him, the first office he had was placed under the water, with a huge observational window. Silco is also fond of underwater creatures, and while other people call and see them as monsters, Silco pays no attention to it, as he thinks that there's "a monster inside all of us". And here's Fishbones, who is designed after a shark, arguably the most famous "underwater monster". But what is more interesting is that it debuted is the finale of season 1, which is titled "The monster you created". Quite a throughline there.

- Silco was the reason behind Fishbones' creation in the first place. While it does seem that it all started with Jinx, who stole the hex gemstone on the Progress Day, we also need to remember WHY she did it. She did it to impress Silco specifically, to make him to be proud of her. This want was triggered by her screwing up the smuggling mission earlier that day, and while Silco didn't scold her for it much and only advised her to rest for a bit, she saw this as him thinking that she's weak. So, after all of this Silco asks Jinx to make a weapon with the use of gemstone. Not necessarily to use it against Piltover, but to have it as a wild card if his plans go wrong. Jinx agrees and attempts to reverse engineer it, but it triggers her memories when she killed Mylo and Claggor with her bomb, so she tells Silco that she can't do it. He then goes to the river he was nearly killed in with her, and "baptises" her to help her let go of her fear of pain. This seemed to have worked, at least for a little while, because she managed to finish the weapon. So, in conclusion: Fishbones' creation was triggered by Jinx's want to impress Silco, and he helped her with its creation on every step of the way.

- this point is somewhat meta, but I'll use it anyway. In previously mentioned episode 9 Silco tells Jinx that everybody around them betrays them, and they have only each other to love and lean on. He says, quote: "Everyone betrays us, Jinx. Vander, her. It's only us". At the same time, in LoL Jinx says this line to Fishbones: "It's just you and me, Fishbones!". Well.....it's certainly a callback if I've seen one. Like- it's not even funny. They couldn't have written this line on accident.

- now onto the most interesting part for me personally. We all now that there are no accidents in animation, like. At all. Even if there are this is extremely rare, as every frame is created intentionally. Now, we do now that there are quite. A few discrepancies between writers and animators of arcane, but I don't think this applies in this particular case. Now onto the actual point. So, in the finale of season 1 Jinx kills Silco, and it's shown to us like this.

He's turned with right side ("human") of his face to the camera, while the left side ("monster") side is hidden.

As Jinx fires Fishbones at the council

It's positioned with its right side to the camera, which alignes with Silco's "monster eye". Also, Fishbone's eye has a black scar pattern around its eye, which again, resembles Silco's damadged eye. That could mean that Silco is once again "reborn", and now continues to live on in the monster Jinx created.

And here comes the most awesome part in all of this. When Silco adopts Powder, he hugs her and tells her

Do you see how the frame is positioned? Exactly. It is exactly the same framing scene with Jinx and Fishbones has. And, most importantly, when Jinx pulls the trigger, we hear the exactly same line on the background: "We will show them all". It simultaneously shows: that Jinx's attack on the council is her way of dealing with grief of killing Silco; her way of honoring Silco's fight against Piltover; and a direct transition of Silco into Fishbones. Although he's dead in body, but Jinx's memories of him and his voice now continue to live in Fishbones, her new eternal companion.

I am at awe with the fundamental work that's been done with this setup, and although s2 never followed up on this, I still can get enjoyment from the clear intent creators put here originally.

[itsaship-literally]

𝘽𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙡𝙚𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙚𝙨: 𝘼 𝙃𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮

Reposted

There are many names for the ship and friendship of the dynamic duo known simply by their names: Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz.

In the beginning, they were considered a horror-comedy icon. She is strange and unusual. She wants to die and be part of the land of the recently deceased. He is wild. A pure chaos machine who lives up to his side of the deal. He knows the ins and outs of the hereafter and wants to get the fuck out. For good.

Lo and behold! The trope of a quid pro quo marriage. He gets out. Her friends are saved from an unknown doom.

Then marketing took over. Merchandise! Toys! And ultimately a cartoon. Who would be the star of Beetlejuice: The Animated Series.

Well, Beetlejuice, of course. And why not make it friendly to the kid's world by taking the youngest character and making her more vulnerable and spooktacular? They could have carried the show without a Lydia but they chose not to do this.

They chose the one girl in the movie he tried to marry: deal or no deal. The girl was in a wedding dress and instead of making them enemies... They make them friends. Friends who share and anniversary, terms of endearments, and blatant flirtations.

Thus, the first shippers were born—a bunch of kids who saw two chaotic characters who were perfectly balanced with each other. We grew up, and so OUR IDEA of Lydia grew with us. Granted, a few of us are freaky and wanna jump the ghost, but rarely will you see a shipper want to split up the duo.

Now for the names; Beetlejuice x Lydia, Beetlyds, Beetz and Deetz, Beetz, Beej and Lyds, Beetle and Babes and now, unintentionally, Beetlebabes.

Ironically this was not the intended name for the ship. We (as in my friends and I) called ourselves Beetle Babes. As in We are the Babes. Fans, mostly ladies, who love to obsess over a ghost from an old 80’s franchise.

The second meaning came naturally because, Didn't BJ call Lydia ”Babes”? Yes, he did in almost every episode. Lyds, Babes, Lydia. Three names he uses for her his best friend.

So Beetlebabes became an easy identifyer for the crew. And it became a standard name for shippers when the new fans came in, but I bet you didn't know that some OG Beetlebabes only Friend-Ship them? And some Relation-Shippers don't like smut or sexual content of any kind.

Beetlebabes are Kids, Teens, and Adults. They are students, parents, CSA survivors, therapists, cooks, homemakers, artists, animators, and filmmakers. They are strangers on the street who don’t even know the musical came to be and only remember the deadly duo through fond memories of two close pals who, for all we knew, were living out their impromptu wedding in the only way they know how.

Now, as I update this, we have a new movie in which Beetlejuice and Lydia are once again affianced. BJ refers to her as the love of his life, bringing more shippers into the fold.

So here we are, The Beetlebabes. We ship the gal who wants death and the ghost who wants life. The balance. The dichotomy. The polar opposites.

This has been the revisit of the history of Beetlebabes. I hope you all are enjoying your time in the fandom and you all have my best wishes to stay happy, healthy, and creative.

Keep being awesome, Babes! 🖤

[snarky-wallflower]

Guided To His Place

Word Count: 1584 AO3 Inspired by my friend @its-short-for-jackalope's art, which can be found here! Also by my friend @midnightnautilus, whose ficlet can be found here. I found Samuel's arc truly beautiful, and as much as I'm devastated he's gone? I wanted to write my own send off to him, as someone who deeply related to him. I hope you all enjoy it.

Samuel Stratford lies in the grass, the softness of it comforting his back. It's twilight, sweet and true all around him. A peace settles in him, as he looks up at the stars. Shining, brilliant and bright, reminders of home. The stars are familiar, even in this strange place. Shining starlight, up in the sky once more. This place, the end. The place he appeared, once he awakened from his final choice.

He's wandered throughout it as much as he can - recognizing the Paper Stand, the Township, even the Ellen Austin and Lincoln Island. Places he loved, places he made an impact. A place where his story unfolded, now a place for him to walk and discover.

Their echoes.  Now, he rests. It's a strange sensation, being alone. He doesn't know if he'll ever grow used to it. He spots familiarity up in that glimmering cacophony of stars, and feels his shoulders relax. He glows the same as those stars now, golden and warm against the cool night. 

Above him is the Sagitta. Rose, Samuel, Margaret and John. The closest he has come to seeing his friends, his sister. Those stars Rose had named after the four of them, up in the sky. Separated, unable to reunite. Above him, the Satellite, shining out protectively into the dark. A guiding light home. That beauty he laid so many bricks to help create, helping to bring people home.

It's not the true stars or Satellite, of course. But it's still a reminder that his friends are out there, finding their way. He thinks that's still something real, in a way.

A cloak of grief and love covers his heart, as a lump forms in his throat. It's a strange mixture, those feelings, yet they still hold true. He's cried so much since he made his choice. Even now, they start to softly drip down his cheeks, as he thinks of teasing Rose at the Paper Stand, quietly talking with John about the weight of a legacy, of rejoicing with Margaret as she turned that wood to gold, so incredibly proud of her. Masterpieces of memories, fortunate to have ever have made them. They fill him with pride and fondness, rippling through his veins like that starlight across the sky, the love he holds tight to his chest.

John, the man who started as an icon, who became someone Samuel could speak to about his fears of not being enough. Who understood Samuel when he said he still had so far to go. Who Samuel watched choose creativity, becoming more wild and free.

Margaret, his friend, that one who enchanted him with what lived inside her. Her quiet resolve, her determination to find her answers, her own kind of masterpiece. One who he found trust with again, who forgave him for what he had done. Who he spoke and spoke with, trying to build back that original connection once more. Helping her find her way. 

Rose, the one he would have been lost without. The one person Samuel thinks he knows better than he knows himself. The bravest, the best person he knows. Her sheer resolve to make her own legacy, to accomplish whatever she set her mind to. The first person he ever dreamed with, who was the one who reached out with him to find a world that was more than this. 

Memories are what he has in this after, and he thinks of them often. Living in the echoes he made with those he loved so dearly.

There's a peace in his choice, though. Samuel knows it was the only choice he ever could have made. His friends will go on without him. His life was worth them getting to live, to continue their journeys. He acted like the man in his dreams, accomplished great things in the end. There is no greater thing he could have done than make sure that the family he built in brick carried on. 

But, still... "I miss you." His voice is quiet. He misses them so badly that it aches. He could write and write and write, and it would still never come close to capturing the loss that he carries with him now.

But they must go on without him. This is what sacrifice means. It's a sacrifice he cannot ever bring himself to regret. Not when it means that those he loves--John, Margaret, Rose--live on. He did this for them. He would do this for them over and over. He wasn't afraid at the end, no longer needed direction. He knew what needed to happen. In no universe would he have held back from what needed to be done. He saved them, making his final impact.  "I love you." It's easy, to say those words. Reliving those memories, that started all with his notebook. Those connections--those people he holds so dear. His hand reaches out to the stars. Connecting the four of them with his finger, holding their memories and stories in his mind. He's always been a storyteller, after all--that certainly will not stop now. He tells their stories, if only to himself. A fond smile crosses his face, as he feels warm air swoop across his face. He can almost picture them beside him--but only just. 

The world is silent.

It's only Samuel and the stars, at the end of infinity.

A quiet sigh leaves Samuel's mouth, feeling that kaleidoscope of stars all around.

This is a moment, all his own.

Then, a buzz, just above him. He draws his head up, to see an intricately carved box, humming with its own sort of blue-green glow. It's mahogany, the buttons and knobs near the top standing proud and strong. It's near his height, mere inches shorter. He lets out a laugh, recognizing the radio--for that is what she's called--that first and only other being here. He moves to get a better look at her, the other storyteller here. He'd like to call her a peer.  MAIA.  Elation and fear runs through him, as he realises what's happening. "Oh." She does not often call. There's only one reason she's come to his side. "It's time, isn't it?" MAIA lets out a short buzz. An affirmation.  Samuel breathes in. Breathes out. He gets to his feet, feeling the grass shift around him. He rolls back his shoulders, steadying himself.

Once on his feet, he places a hand on MAIA's top.  "Take me there?"  

She lets out another buzz, and-- In a flash, Samuel's no longer in the grass. Instead, he stands in a small room. Marigold-yellow wallpaper covers every wall. A green, plush chair is in one side of the room, with MAIA now rests next to that chair. On her top, now, a vase of roses. Soft blue carpet covers the floor, as a small table holds issues of what he knows to be the Sun. He picks one up and idly flips through it, laughing at the words he wrote with Rose in what feels like so long ago. His journal, a recreation of it, sits besides one of those issues. Trinkets, some he thinks Rose would have loved, strewn across the room.

MAIA starts to hum, a signal. She's picking up on the next story to share.  He's almost nervous.

But why should he be?

They know where to find me. 

Samuel feels a swell of pride, of trust in his friends.  There's agony in no longer being there for them, of course. He thinks he will always feel that pain. There is a part of him that is terrified to listen, to hear exactly what his choice did to his family. That is terrified to hear Rose's grief, the final Stratford still on Earth. His sister, without him. 

But they will persevere.

They always have, and he knows they are strong enough to keep on moving. Margaret, with her quiet inner strength and belief. John with his understanding of the weight of a legacy. Rose, who has survived so much already, his sister who he knows better than anyone else. His harbour in a storm, who will now live on without him. She has people other than him to lean on now, and he prays that will be enough.  They will be enough for each other. They have each other, even without him. They've built their family - and Samuel knows that it will hold fast against the shadows ahead. 

He had always been the storyteller before. The one who wanted so badly to convert passion to action. But now? 

"Tell me how it ends?" 

MAIA buzzes, a unspoken of course. So, Samuel settles in, sitting in the comfortable chair beside her. He can feel warmth exuding from him, something ghostly and true. He leans in, placing his hand on his cheek.  "Rose, Margaret, John..." he muses, "l know you can do this. You're capable of everything. You were worth the world. Protect each other, for me?" He knows they cannot hear him. But he says it anyways, keeping them in his heart. Speaking out to the stars.

A voice starts to play through MAIA's speaker, the blue-golden glow shining across the room, a mixture of Samuel and MAIA's combined light. A sweet tune sounds off before it, a opening of a curtain. Their stories go on, even without him. Samuel smiles.  He's ready. "Somewhere between the comforts of the familiar and the precipice of the unknown, an orchestra performs a score written in stardust..."

[chilahh16]

"I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime."

What would you do when you lost the very person that stood beside you all throughout everything? When things became shitty and the world seems to grapple you into failure anytime it gets.

Charles Leclerc was lost. The world seems to spin in black and white - toying with him as it continue its motion. The he now found no real happiness in the times where a smile and laugh should be there. He's a way into the dark and cannot find a light to guide him back.

He was no fool to not know when it all started - when everything came crashing down; and when he felt drowned. Who was he to forget when almost everyone that witness their story has yet to let go, and when everything reminded him of her. That beyond the talks of Formula 1, people still whisper of her name, the kindness, the warmth, and being the iconic woman that she is.

Everything's still etched in his memories. 2019 was a year where his hard work has paid off - all the sweat and tears poured in order to win on that fateful day was worth it. But it was her who made it all complete. Y/n L/n did not only cry for him as his car blazed along the finish line, she cheered for him loudly, repeating his name again and again as she jump in exhilaration. She yelled the words " He did it", "He's a race winner", and " He won, my Charles won". She ran towards parc ferme alongside his team exuberating elation and pride as he triumph. And as he exit his car, he ran towards them, hugging his team with her in it as they bask in his glory. But it was not the highlight of his win, it was when she guide his face-covered helmet toward her and kissed the place where his lips would be. They stood there, envelop in a bubble, as the circuit cheered for him. All Charles felt at that time was the pure burst of love he has for Y/n. He relish in the feel of her touch as her hands found their place on either side of his neck. It was not visible to others but Y/n saw the tears that ran down his cheeks as he stood victorious on that day's race. His eyes spoke volumes of what his quivering lips cannot and she smiled for him, understanding what he would like to convey.

" You're a race winner, Char. I am so proud of you." she whispered amongst the loud cheers but Charles heard her, causing his smile to widen.

" Thanks to you. I am here because you're with me. So, thank you for sticking by my side." he uttered though muffled by his racing helmet but, Y/n did not mind. She'll hear every single words coming from him as she finds his voice a cacophony of melody that somehow lulls her soul to calm.

" Go up there, Champ. Claim that top step." she urged as someone called Charles to the cool down room.

The hesitation was evident on those forest green orbs of his as he cling on her - hands tightly holding her in place. Gripping her waist and settling his face in the crook of her neck like his life depended on it. Y/n chuckled before she kissed the forehead of his helmet.

" I'll stay here so you can see me. You'll hear my voice cheering for you from that top step. Now go. You still have a trophy to get."

Reluctantly Charles let go as the determination in her eyes says everything. He walked backwards toward the room, eyes staring deep into hers as their distance widen. Even when the congratulatory pats and cheers echoed around him, his eyes never stray as he mouthed his declaration of love which she smiled at - his antics never failing to amuse her, before a fond look settled in her feature, answering him with utmost honesty and love.

' And I love you.'

It was after the celebrations that he was made aware of how proud and happy Y/n is of him winning. His teammates had teased him all throughout the night of how lucky he was. That no other driver has their woman jumping and cheering so loud that it can be heard from the grandstand. Charles can only smile and laugh to their stories but it was when Arthur showed him a video of Y/n hyping up and jumping inside his garage as he neared the finish line that he placed credit to the truthfulness of his teams statement. He truly is lucky to have her. And seeing how she is with everyone, doubled the love he has for the woman. He believed in God but is not one to pray. However, in that moment as he watched her walk towards him, an endearing smile set on her lips, he prayed that she'll stay beside him, always.

As he raced in his home circuit for the 6th time, it was her face that he sees. The conversations that they had before echoed in his mind as he pushed the car to its limit. To every turn, memories of her came and when he speed past the finish line, he saw her jumping proudly for him as her hands waved in the air knowing that he triumph not only in any race but in his home race. He exit his car and a wild smile showed as he raised his arms, further solidifying that he indeed won. He ran to his team clad in red and that is when his smile fell.

No longer was there a woman waiting beyond the barrier shouting his name and yelling as she proudly relish in his victory. No longer was there a kiss on his helmet nor the familiar warmth that came only with her. His first win in his home country did not taste as sweet as he had imagined before. Try as it may, she no longer stand beside him. A new figure occupied her space and no matter what he reasoned himself, he envy her. It is Y/n's rightful place, always has, always will be. But what is he to do?

The kiss he earned that day felt bitter as much as he would like to love it.

Charles indeed was right when he said he was stupid. Because looking at the now, he wish more than anything to once again hear her proudly cheer his name, see her jumping and exude happiness upon seeing him. He would of given anything just to get her back and see her with him as he came as the victor but, it has already been lost. That even attempting to follow her and get her back would prolly incur her wrath. Was it selfish to want her to be angry just so he could see and feel her again? Because he does not know what to do anymore. He had lost the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with. He had lost her. Lost her to death.

And as he stands on the top step that day, he let himself cry and crumble. With the country's anthem on the background, he remember his days with her. And as he raised the winner's trophy, his eyes did not linger on the people below, he stared through the sky hoping, praying that she can see him that day. It was a first that people of the world saw the vulnerability in Charles. Everyone know even without uttering anything. The win was for Herve and Jules but, it was Y/n's as well. It was hers and so much more.

Everyone realized, it may be that their love was fleeting but, it was a love of a lifetime. Hence, Charles will love her even when death parted them in this life. He'll continue loving her until they are together again. Because no matter what, she is for him as he is for her. Always.

[fujimomozane]

"A Star Reborn" Part 1 & 2

Summary: Magister Merlin reappears after being gone for a decade, and is immedtely thrust into a task- to put out the fire in Ryeham and find the arsonist at fault. Coupled with memory loss, fainting, and a sickening sense of deja vu, it's no easy task!

Note: This an intro to my version of Merlin before I post other stuff. This is also available to read on AO3, I have the exact same username as here! It might be easier to read there.

-----

Part 1- You're Finally Awake! (2700 words)

  It was the third time that Magister Merlin had vanished for years and then reappeared in the Mystical House.

  It had happened in the early morning. Dolly was only waking up, while Hammie had been studying locating spells all night and was busy finalizing one. Chippy had gone off into Ryeham.

  Hammie went into the Magister's room every so often to retrieve his research, but at times, she went in just to sit on his bed and stare at the wall. Some nights she thought she heard his voice.

  For the past ten years, she had hoped Magister Merlin would return after having vanished for the fourth time. 

  Twenty years ago he had left Ryeham to travel all over the world. 

  Thirty, he had woken up for the third time thirty years ago, after disappearing for even more than... how long? Hammie couldn't quite remember. It must've been decades. 

  She had a hard time keeping up with the dates. Keeping a journal helped with that. 

  All she knew for certain was that she missed Merlin to a degree she hadn't thought possible. It never got easier waiting for him. It was like a constant state of withdrawal.

  But when a thud came from Merlin's room, no one was in it.

  Dolly and Hammie entered it with broom and staff raised. Red flashed in the dark, and a burning smell lingered in the room; it was warm and deep like a wildfire. 

  And on the table, Merlin laid his head, his glasses askew and his horns not poking out from his hair. He was dressed suspiciously plainly, there was no way he would've dawned something like that on his own. He had a penchant for eccentric fashion.

  His iconic hat, which originated the tradition of mage hats, sat next to him. The branch sprouting from its top and most of the tassels that once hung off of it were missing, leaving three red tassels behind, and three Esperian coins on the other side, each hanging by a red thread. Red thread was a charm and warded off evil. 

  The lack of embellishments on the hat left it puny, and the warm magic that the Magister radiated was weak. 

  At least Hammie wouldn't need that locating spell anymore. Instead, she'd begin working on a memory recovery spell the next night...

  Hammie rushed to him, checking for any injuries, and finding none, she sighed in relief. Her sigh made Merlin stir. His hair, once floor-length, ended at his waist. Hammie would need time to get used to his new look.

  "Magister Merlin? Magister, please wake up," Dolly called, hovering over the Magister like a lamp over a book. 

  "Mirael... be quiet, my dear, I am rather busy," he mumbled. Dolly blanched. Besides having red hair, Dolly was not Mirael or anything like her. Mirael was Merlin's student in the past. Hammie wasn't much fond of her. The girl was troublesome.

  Merlin raised his head, his lips downturned and brows drawn into a knot above his barely-ajar eyes. His voice, that strange androgynous tenor, was raspy and stilted from sleep. "Did I not tell you... to stop playing with fire?"

  Hammie was awestruck. She knew she'd see her Magister again. Yet, it felt unreal, like the being before her was not the Magister, but a mirage, an oasis in the desert she'd been treading for a decade. 

  She didn't expect to see the Magister like this, depleted, perplexed, and mumbling to himself like an old man. She should've expected it. 

  "Hey, Magister. You're finally awake!" Hammie squealed, reaching up to grab Merlin's arm. 

  The only thing that mattered was that her favorite person in the world was finally back. 

  Where the fuck am I?   Was not a graceful thought to have upon waking up from what felt like being murdered. 

  Looking around, he was met with a dim, warm room made largely of dark wood and furnished with it. Everything oozed luxury. 

  The second thing he thought was Who are you? as a white hamster pulled on his arm. Some redhead, perhaps a maid, was gawking at him. 

  "Do I know you?" he said, creaky as an old door. He hadn't spoken in ages. 

  "Magister Merlin, it's me, your familiar, Hammie! Your second familiar, Chippy, went to Ryeham. And that's Dolly. She takes care of the Mystical House," said the hamster. 

  A talking hamster seemed entirely normal to him. 

  "I am Magister Merlin?"    

  "You're Magister Merlin Starhawk, a renowned mage known across the world! Everyone knows who you are." The hamster, Hammie, stepped back, her eyes, like two blueberries, looking up at him with much hope. 

  It hit him who he was. Yes, he was a mage, and a good one at that, and his name was Merlin, and Magister was a magely, esteemed title. Starhawk was a surname. 

  With each new trigger, a memory hit him. Hammie and Chippy were his familiars that he created, Hammie a mage, Chippy a knight.  He didn't know how exactly he got them but Merlin had had them for... forever. 

  Dolly had been in the Mystical House for a while, too, and the House itself could move on account of being an enchanted house sitting upon... some creature. 

  "Why does it seem like this has happened before?" Merlin pressed his fingers into his forehead in an attempt to wring the headache out of his skull. 

  "Because it has. We can explain things later- do you need anything? Water, perhaps?" 

Merlin nodded. Dolly scuttered off. 

  Hammie walked to the window, her walk a little funny on account of her small legs. She gasped. Anxiety sparked in Merlin's chest, cold and common; he was anxious often. 

  "There's smoke coming from Ryeham! And you know what they say about smoke," Hammie said. 

  "Where there is smoke there is a fool smoking a pipe inside my house?" Merlin joked, not thinking before speaking. His body didn't feel entirely his. The joke felt oddly personal- someone had done that more than once, but he couldn't remember who. 

  "... You certainly have a way with words, Magister. I'm just glad you're here. But no, where there's smoke, there's fire! Chippy might be there. We should check on him." 

  Merlin rose from his chair and immediately dropped as fuzz overtook his vision and hearing. It sounded like he was underwater. 

  For a moment, his every sense was shut off. Dolly caught him, and he had not felt the impact of hitting the floor, which he certainly had. Pain radiated in his legs.

  "I think I fainted," Merlin muttered. His head was ready to burst from pressure. When he was sitting, the pressure and fuzz ebbed enough for him to be coherent. 

  Deja vu prickled at his fingertips and permeated the air. Everything from the way he fell to the way Hammie rushed to him felt like it had happened before. It left his stomach hollow, saddling him with the strangest sensations he couldn't pinpoint, not in his body or mind.

  "You've had issues with fainting before. It has never been this bad." Hammie tipped her little head up at him.

  Dolly brought water just in time. 

  "Let me get ready, and then we can retrieve Chippy." 

  Merlin stared at his face reflected in the mirror in the bathroom attached to his bedroom. 

  He was gaunt in the cheeks, his face passing for thirty or so, with not many scars or wrinkles. His face had a few off-colored marks. He picked his skin, didn't he? 

  His eyes were yellow like a hawk's. Was that the reason for his name? 

  His eyes were harrowingly tired, the stark black brows above nothing like his silver hair, and his silver hair nothing like his relatively youthful appearance. When pulled and released it it bounced back into a loose curl. Such a texture was bothersome to upkeep and often ended up nest-like. 

  That explained the endless bottles on the wall-mounted shelves and stained bathtub. Alchemical and potion knowledge often translated to chemical knowledge. The number of potions and ingredients in his bathroom would impress any alchemist.

  Not much about himself bothered Merlin. His shorter height, marked as "165" centimeters on the wall (did he leave that in case he forgot?), was advantageous, and his lean build was surprisingly muscular for a mage, acquired from years of carrying the world on his back. 

  And carrying oversized hamsters. 

  The only things besides his magically bound chest that he found disagreeable were his ears, as short as a human's and pointed. He ran a finger along them and down to his three earrings. He could move his ears well. On his forehead were two imperceptible bumps where horns would eventually grow. 

  What was he? Some sort of... 

  Hammie knocked on the door, and he asked her what he was. 

  A treesprite and a human, apparently. He couldn't for the life of him recall his parents despite Hammie's words. It seemed that not all of his memory fell into place so easily.

  Merlin concluded that he was a strange creature in every way possible and impossible. 

  He put on a glamor to hide his ears and horns. He knew that these traits of his must be hidden from others. 

  And while he was on it, he threw in a disguise. Being the most known mage in the world must have meant that everyone would recognize him. 

  That would be a bother, wouldn't it? He put on some actual clothes that weren't the pitiful tunic he woke up in, putting on some robe that was magely enough. 

  He put on his hat, and the final addition to his outfit was to change his eyes to an ocean blue, and his long, grey hair to be short and pink. The two gold bands on his hair didn't want to budge, so he was forced to leave them.

  The only thing of his that remained was his hat and the wiseness in his eyes. 

  Ryeham was gorgeous...

  Except for the putrid smog. 

  Finding a hamster familiar wasn't that hard. He was the only non-human around, the cream plume on his helmet bobbing around like a question mark, begging to be caught by a cat. 

  "Magister Merlin!" He shouted, his mouth falling open. "You're back! I can't believe it!" 

  "Trust me, I am as shocked as you are, Chippy. We're here because of the smoke." Hammie kept up with Merlin easily. Granted, Merlin was walking at the speed of a turtle with a limp.

  "There's a big fire up ahead," Chippy pointed behind himself. The surrounding houses were backlit by orange.

  "We came just in time, then." 

  When they reached the fire, there were troops with stars on their shields. Merlin somehow found that worthwhile to notice. 

  In the center of the group stood a large, familiar man. He had a brunette beard and shortly cropped hair that had begun to grey.

  They were surrounded by fire elementals, and Merlin didn't know how he knew that. That's how it was going to be, nothing was going to make sense to him, all the information that went into him an absurd soup in his brain, sloshing around, whatever was left of his previous memories deep down in that soup.

  What Merlin did know was that he had to help. It was another decision he made without a second thought, leaping into battle by casting a shield on himself and his familiars and raining down stars onto the fire elementals. They sizzled as magic zipped through them. 

  The biggest man yelled "Everyone! Go search for survivors, and leave this to me!" to the troops. Judging by his stature and demeanor, he must've been a commander of some kind. 

  The troops scattered. Merlin's familiars provided much-needed support to him as he was casting spells with mere flourishes of his hand while the soldiers hacked through elementals. 

  There were more throughout the village, but they weren't around long before Merlin snuffed them out. 

  The commander turned to Merlin. 

  "Magister?" he asked, blinking like he was sure he was hallucinating, or seeing a ghost, a possibility with how pale Merlin was. 

  Merlin went stiff.

  "You're back. I wouldn't have recognized you without Chippy or that hat of yours. Where have you been all these years? Ah, you can tell me later. How about you dispel your disguise so I can see my old friend again?"

  Merlin had no idea who this man was, and his warm, welcoming tone and open arms confused the abyss out of Merlin. He pursed his lips in silence. 

  "I regret to inform you that he's forgotten everything like the other times we told you about. He doesn't remember who you are," Chippy said, wiping at his eyes.

  "I have not a clue." Merlin shrugged. The fire was dying down. The screams? Not so much. The village would've been beautiful with its golden fields and cozy houses if not for the ruckus and impending doom.

  "I see, Chippy. That's why you're so surprised to see me. I'm happy to reintroduce myself." The man had kind eyes despite his imposing nature. Merlin didn't like looking people in the eyes, but with him, it wasn't uncomfortable. 

  "I am Hogan, the former leader of the Heroic Order of the Lightbearer Empire and the current magistrate of Holistone." 

  Merlin felt that deja vu upon hearing Holistone . He tried to grab the memory, but it sank quicker than he could reach out. He'd need a stronger trigger to remember what that was. Perhaps a town? 

  "We were friends for years before you disappeared. I hoped one day you'd return. I'd love to chat, but this is no time for idly standing by. Look at these fire elementals." 

  Hogan gestured to the the elementals appearing ahead of them. Merlin frowned.

  "They don't belong in Ryeham. How could they just appear out of nowhere?" 

  "They must have been summoned, perhaps by a mage," Merlin blurted out. 

  "It seems my instincts were right... This fire was no accident." 

  "An accident of this scale would lend itself to something truly improbable. It may be the doing of an arsonist, mage or not," Merlin said. 

  They went ahead, Merlin continuing to put out the fire elementals as they went until they reached the houses where the fire had started. Their tops were blackened and hollow, the fire emanating a suffocating heat, turning half the village into an oven. 

  "It began on the roof," Merlin said to himself. The roofs were hay and wooden. It was easy to start a fire in such a place. 

  The goal of putting out the fire was delayed by a hoard of bandits arriving from the other side. They were all rugged and clad in messily cobbled-together armor, a rushed job, or just a cheap one. 

  They might've thought cornering them into the fire was a good tactic. 

  Yet, their faces grew harrowed when Merlin threw fire at them. 

  Merlin put out the flames that might've spread. There was no chance of the affected homes being saved- they were engulfed in the fire, and so he let them burn.

  More bandits came in from all directions, surrounding the villagers, who were forced to hide behind fences and in the houses they could reach without having a bow and arrow pointed at them. Merlin's heart beat feverishly. 

  The amount of bandits greatly outnumbered the troops. 

  When the fight turned against Merlin, he thought it over. That would be a pitifully foolish end to a life that had essentially just begun. How had he gotten into so much trouble after only coming to? Was it always going to be so? 

  Someone to his left hit a bandit's sword right out of his hand. The person's speed and agility were immaculate, and with them, the fight went quicker and better than expected. 

  Merlin could finally work his magic with finesse and not haphazardly throw fire. 

  Was it an effective tactic? Certainly. But it was like throwing rocks as opposed to shooting arrows. 

  When it was over, and the bandits had retreated in fear of the mage who could envelop them in vines and the swordsman who moved like a shadow, Merlin could see who had fought at his side. 

  The sight was a pleasant surprise.

Part 2- Bad Things Happen in Good Towns (2600 words)

  "Valen! You just got here now?" Hogan snapped. "Were you deep in your cups again?" 

  Merlin would've thanked "Valen" for salvaging the situation if Merlin wasn't stunned and catching his breath as though he had run for his life. Had his body always been so fragile? 

  "That's not fair... I ran into a bunch of fire elementals on my way here. Those guys were really annoying," Valen said. His voice was light, bright, and aloof.

  "Anyway, looks pretty grim here... I didn't expect the fire to be this big. This is not normal, General." He didn't spare Merlin a glance, while Merlin stared at the guy intensely enough to start another fire. 

  He had umber hair with a similar hair texture to Merlin, a dueling scar on his left cheek, and his eyes were lavender purple. The top of Merlin's head reached his shoulders, and Merlin had to tilt his head up to see his face and not his smooth neck, exposed from a white shirt and framed by fur. 

  He did not know this man and felt no familiarity or deja vu towards him; the lack of such feelings was refreshing. He wasn't bad to look at with the red reflecting off the side of his face like a dramatic sunset. 

  The image of a fierce warrior did not particularly match Valen's demeanor, but the muscularity of his arms gave his profession away. 

  "That's right! We think it's arson. The culprit is likely a mage!" Chippy piped up. 

  Valen leaned down to Chippy like one would to a child. 

  "Whoa! A talking hamster. You're a familiar, aren't you?" He smiled, the corners of his mouth not quite lining up. 

  "In that case, this gentleman with the General must be a mage. I've gotta say picking a hamster as your familiar is rather... unique." 

  Merlin did not want to be acknowledged in such a way. He turned his gaze to the man's belt, bristling, detecting a hint of mocking in his tone. Merlin knew the decision to have Hammie and Chippy as his familiars was a personal one. 

  Memory loss and mysteries be damned, Merlin was ready to fight the pretty boy with his bare hands for Chippy and Hammie! Hogan reflected a similar disdain. 

  "I'd normally overlook your banter, Valen. But in front of this Magister, you'd better watch your words." 

  Valen was visibly taken aback. 

  "I've never seen the General so defensive. Well, great Magister, I'm Valen of the Heroic Order. How would you like me to address you?" 

  Merlin desperately searched for something to latch onto as a fake name while avoiding Valen's expectant gaze and perfect face.

  Smog? Devastated villager? Crying child? Glimmerblooms, no! His eyes were caught by a fox painted on one of the villager's houses. 

  "Magister Vulpin," Merlin stammered. He could've chosen a worse name. "Magister Smog" did have a certain ring to it, though.

  "Vulpin... Hm, an interesting name. I'll make sure to remember it." He offered a bow, and Merlin sighed in relief. "Forgive my rudeness earlier. I'll be sure to make it up to you once this fire has been dealt with."

  "Um, no... It's nothing." Merlin shook his head and flushed at his awkwardness. Every word was a tongue twister, and his tongue had become more twisted than a rope.

  The fire, having eaten the two houses, no longer crackled deafeningly, and the smog could begin to lift. The winds would sweep it away soon enough. But first, the winds carried chatter from the other side of the smoldering remains. 

  "Hogan, I shall go see what the hubbub is about, if you do not mind." Merlin folded his now pink hands into his sleeves. He should have worn something lighter. 

  "Go ahead, and take Valen with you. Just in case." 

  Valen's sour face showed he wasn't thrilled at the command.

  Behind the remains of the houses stood a woman with hair the same color as the flames. It reached her ankles. It must be uncomfortable to walk with that cape of hair trailing behind you, I cannot imagine having to take care of it, Merlin thought. 

  Her black dress was graceful, as black as soot, and she stood out from the villagers like Merlin did. She was not from Ryeham. 

  The familiarity that hit Merlin at the sight of her was strong enough to make him collapse. It was sickening.

  "Are you more interested in accusing me of starting the fire than being useful?" the woman with a hat shaped like Merlin's said. She had a star on her chest. She looked a bit like Merlin, and not in the way most mages did.

  Her floral perfume dominated over the charred stench. 

  "I saw ya casting a spell with m'own eyes!" a furious villager shouted. 

  "A spell to quench the fire, my dear. I'm just trying to help. You could be a little more grateful, you know." 

  "The Scarlet Sorceress is as beautiful as her fire is dangerous. That's what the rumors say..." The villager crossed his arms, a woman behind him standing with a pitchfork. As if a pitchfork could defend them against a mage. 

  "I'll take that as a compliment. If this was my fire, you would all be cinders by now." 

  Merlin could listen to her voice all day. Not like he wanted to. With the way she spoke to the villagers, she struck him as blunt and careless. 

  Merlin would never. Probably never, he wasn't quite sure yet. 

  "The Scarlet Sorceress?" Chippy squinted at her. "I've... heard of her!" 

  The sorceress ignored the insults from the villagers, her eyes flicking to Chippy. 

  And then, to Merlin. 

  They both shared a glance that wasn't their first, or even second, and then her eyes moved to his hat. Her gaze was striking along with her face. 

  "You're..." she said, her sky-blue eyes wide and her vermillion lips twisted. "Nevermind. You reminded me of someone. The cards were right, this morning is awful, and I should not have gone out." 

  She turned on her heel and stormed off, bellowing "I'm leaving, don't stop me." 

  A little boy with a stick and a bird on his head stopped her by blocking her way. Merlin debated slinking away while everyone was distracted. He had helped enough, no? The fire was gone... and he could find that knight again some other day.

  "You're not going anywhere, Scarlet Sorceress! All my wares are gone! I demand compensation!" he protested. 

  A fire flickered to life in her hand.

  "Get out of my way, young man. I'm not known for my patience." 

  "Don't you dare try to get away with this! I'll make sure you're held responsi-" 

  The sorceress put a hand to her ear and shushed the boy. 

  "Quiet. Something isn't right. The wind... it's suddenly loud."   

  Merlin knew exactly what she meant. There was a hiss in the air, a hiss that became booming as a whirlwind of a wind elemental formed in the ruins of the house. 

  Merlin didn't envy whoever owned the house. 

  Normal attacks didn't harm the elemental, and the woman's fire only strengthened it. 

  Merlin knew that that was no way to deal with such a creature. So, he began drawing up as much magic as he could to seal the elemental away.

  Amid the sealing spell, he turned to the Sorceress, her eyes even wider than when she first saw him, with a sadness in that blue. With each push of his magic pressure and fuzz built in his head and eyes.

  "Do I... know you?" he asked weakly just as the fuzz overwhelmed his senses, sending him under a blanket of nothingness. 

  He'd taken out himself along with the elemental. He didn't even get to hear the woman respond. 

  He knew that they'd meet again. 

  Merlin screamed at the sight of Valen, not because he was scary, but because waking up in some man's arms was incredibly concerning. He had only met Valen a bit ago. What business did Valen have embracing Merlin?! 

  "Calm down! Calm down! Oh, Dura, I think I'm deaf now," he plugged his ear. Merlin scampered away. 

  He blushed bright red when he realized he had fallen off some bench near a windmill. The grass and surrounding area were ruddy, carrying a fresh, non-smog-filled scent of soil and hay.

  "I... I apologize. You startled me. Where am I?" Merlin stayed on the ground for fear of messing up more than he already had or fainting. Farmers in the fields were already looking at him funny.

  "We're still in Ryeham, I was told to take you here after you fainted. How are you feeling?" 

  His face showed genuine concern. 

  Take him here? Valen carried Merlin here? Oh dear. Those arms of his weren't just for show.

  Merlin got off the ground, dusting himself off. His legs were wobbly as he plopped down next to Valen to not eat some dirt for breakfast. 

  "I am... fine, I suppose. Are you worried?" 

  He raised a full brow. "You defeated that huge wind elemental alone, but you fainted before I could applaud." Merlin huffed a laugh. "Anyone with a heart would worry about you." 

  "You passed out for a while. General Hogan and his men returned to Holistone. He ordered me to stay here and look after you." 

  That Hogan cares about me, huh? I wonder what I did with him in the past. 

  " Before he left, he told me to make sure that when you woke up, your memory was alright. What a strange request... Do you often forget things?" 

  Merlin shrugged. "I do not remember if this has happened before. It possibly has, but I remember everything that just happened. There was that redheaded woman..." 

  "The suspect, Mirael. She's been taken to Holistone for questioning. You're a Magister, so perhaps you've heard of her, or maybe you know her, because she rushed to you when you passed out. She was identified as the culprit by young master Rowan." 

  "Rowan?" Who was that? Ugh, he would have to ask that tens of times in the days to come.

  "That kid with the huge bag and the duck on his head. He's Rowan, the second son of the wealthiest man in the Empire and head of the Mithril Consortium. General Hogan took him for questioning, too." 

   "Do you know Mirael?" Valen leaned on his fist. 

  "Potentially. Possibly. Probably." She sure knew Merlin. And when he asked, he passed out just after. 

  "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a strange one, Magister Vulpin." 

  Merlin sighed. That was undeniable. Being called a fake name felt strange, but, guess what, familiar.

  Chippy and Hammie had returned from walking circles across the windmill, running up to the Magister and clambering to get up on the bench. Only Hammie managed as Chippy's armor was too heavy. 

  "Magister! You're conscious again." 

  "Chippy checked the village. It's free of bandits and elementals of any kind," Hammie reassured Merlin was a pat on his leg. 

  "The General is waiting for us in Holistone. We should go meet him if you feel better!" Chippy hauled his sword over his shoulder. 

  Merlin hummed to distract from how long it took him to answer. "We can set off now." 

  "There might be enemies on the road, Magister Vulpin. I'll go with you." Valen rose, standing pompously. 

  Merlin decided that he liked Valen. Despite the slightly mocking tone in his voice and that undercurrent of high-society pompousness, the deja vu plaguing Merlin disappeared around Valen, putting the mage at ease. 

  The hamsters reflected that attitude. That was a good omen. 

  "Although, you might not need my protection," Valen tossed his hair, smirking. "If you could handle that thing you can handle a little trouble. I've never seen magic like yours." 

  "Of course! The Magister is the Me-"

  "Yes, yes, thank you, Chippy," Merlin cut him off like an axe. "Even though I am capable, I do faint quite often, and it would be a travesty if I did not have someone to look out for me. Your help would be much appreciated, Sir Valen." 

  Valen's smug expression turned surprised by Merlin's politeness. He offered Merlin a hand, and he took it, getting up carefully. 

  "Do you always talk like that?" Valen asked.

  "Talk like what? I speak rather normally. Do you dislike it, Sir, or is it, perhaps, grating?" Merlin looked up at Valen. He laughed.

  "Nothing. I like it, sounds..." Valen was visibly holding back some comment in fear of offending Merlin, Merlin could tell by the way he pursed his lips and glanced away.

  "... Courtly?" 

  Merlin put his hands on his hips.

  "Are you afraid of me?" 

  Valen groaned. "Of General Hogan. He's never asked me to treat even the stuffiest of nobles so carefully, so I'm rightfully cautious. You must be a big deal." 

  "Do not fret, I do not bite." 

  Valen quirked a brow and flashed a grin. "Really?" 

  A wind picked up, allowing Merlin to divert from the topic. He cleared his throat. 

  "Is it cold, or is it just me?" Merlin hugged himself. 

  "It's not just you, Magister," Valen said as they passed by seemingly endless wheat fields. 

  "It is said that Merlin's ward has long protected Ryeham. It's the only reason that people can actually live here. 

  "But recently, Ryeham's been getting colder. It's almost snowed the past few days. We've come with the Magister to investigate this change in weather," Hammie explained. Valen listened intently. He was keeping his strides shorter to not leave Merlin in the dust. 

  Merlin, the Magister, had not been aware that he was there to investigate anything besides the fire. 

  "My apologies, Miss Hamster, I never got your name."

  "Yes, we should be introduced. You are Valen. I am Hammie." 

  "Are all your familiars hamsters, Magister?"

  Merlin had forgotten that he was part of the conversation. Processing that he had been spoken to, he owlishly turned his head to Valen. 

  "Yes," Merlin said, leaving no room for silly comments. 

  Hammie made the most intimidating face she could manage. 

  "Chippy told me that General Hogan ordered you to protect the Magister. You must know that serving the Magister is an honor,but it's no easy feat. I've got my eye on you. I hope you'll become a competent retainer." Hammie folded her hands skeptically, giving Valen a once-over.

  "Apologies again, but I have to correct you. I'm a knight, not someone's retainer ," Valen said with a hint of offense. "Protecting Magister Vulpin is just my current task. It's not a lifelong post."

  If he kept yapping in the wrong direction his current task might last only a few more moments before he takes a permanent vacation, Merlin thought. 

  "Unless... your Magister is someone like the great Merlin, then I may consider it." 

  Merlin's stomach was light, nearly empty, at the words. He couldn't say anything. Not a peep! Do not tell him who you are, Merlin! Do not fall for the trap! 

  "Did I hear that right? Well, the Magister is... OW!" Chippy flinched in pain. "Why did you step on my foot, Hammie?!" 

  Merlin said everything left unsaid when he side-eyed Chippy.

  "Oh, sorry... I got distracted and didn't see where I was going." Hammie fluttered her eyelashes. 

  "Once you've spent some time together, you'll realize that although the Magister isn't Merlin, he's just as powerful! He's... exactly like Merlin, but he's not," Hammie said, losing steam at the end. 

  Merlin grimaced. "You don't have to flatter me." And nearly give out my identity. I could have done that myself, you know. 

  Valen had already seen a sliver of what Merlin could do. With such displays, Merlin couldn't keep things under wraps for long. 

  "I'll have to wait and see." 

  So, they headed to Holistone, Valen eager to find out more about the mage and warm up from the uncharitable weather, Merlin set on figuring out the fire, restoring his memory, and proving himself to the knight; the hamsters were just happy to have their Magister back. 

  And the rest? The rest is history.

-----

Note: Thank you for reading!

[theflyindutchwoman]

Nice try. That was clearly a test. And you should know better than to test the master.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.10 - The List

The way this scene encapsulates the richness of Tim and Lucy's relationship is absolutely brilliant. The allusion to the Tim Tests from their early days… the showcase of the dynamic they've developed over time… the reminder of how well they know one another… the dresses that intimate the moments where their friendship was veering into something more… All of these little details are intricately retelling their journey, from colleagues to partners to friends… to this new chapter. And not only is this a really good way to introduce it, it also feels like a promise that their romance is simply one more facet to their bond… that they're still going to be them. At its core, this scene is a love letter to the characters and their story.

The montage of Tim and Lucy figuring out what to wear is perfect. Her adorable expressions and his grumpy ones contrast each other wonderfully… and depict their personality so well. But this goes beyond that. Lucy's dresses, the ones she wore on previous occasions, also tell a story. Of how they got here. The green dress symbolises the very beginning, when they started to recognise their attraction to each other. It was still in the early stages, still tentative. But it's truly where it started to blossom. And then bloomed with that double date, where they were in their own bubble, forgetting their respective dates, and with that dance where they were completely at home in other's arms. It recounts their journey in a very subtle and poetic way. It is also a glimpse into their state of mind, on how nervous they are, worrying about what to wear… On how important this is for them. This new step between them is so exciting… and scary. Neither of them want to ruin what they already have. It's not just a first date : this is supposed to be their last first date. And that's nerve-racking.

It's only natural then that Tim would resort to calling Lucy. Every time he has to step outside his comfort zone, she is the one he turns to. They can ground each other like no one else can. Their romance doesn't change that, as underlined by that phone call. Their classic banter takes over immediately… with Lucy who can't help but tease him. Right down to her fond eyeroll, the one she often has with Tim. A reminder of the dynamic they've nurtured since her rookie days. Just like the reference to the Tim Tests… There's even a hint of what the future holds for them, with this little preview of a Lucy Lesson.

Tim asking her what she is going to wear so he can match is so precious. He's never cared about any of that before. But he told her she was worth the effort and he meant it. But the best part of this scene (for me) has to be his reaction when Lucy mentions the green dress. The fact that he knows which dress she is talking about right away and lights up at the memory… You know a dress made an impression when a man can remember it and gets flustered about it. And in some way, it is a confirmation that Angela's wedding was when he started to realise that there might be something more to his relationship with Lucy. When he let his mind wander, if only for a few hours. Lucy changing her mind right after hanging up is so cute… and so her. And as much as I love her iconic green dress, I like that she didn't wear it for their very first date. If each dress tells a story, then this new chapter needed one we had never seen before. And somehow, I doubt that Tim had any complaints about this one either.

[brucebocchi]

Ranking every new anime I watched in 2023, Pt. 3: #10-6

hey, i just started a ko-fi for my writing and possible other creative outlets. this post will also be available there, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i'm currently between jobs. the tumblr version of part 1 can be found here and part 2 here.

I didn't mean to drag this out quite so much, but I ended up writing a TON for the top 10, so for the sake of everyone's attention spans (and so I can buy some time to finish my top two) I broke it up into two more posts.

​ALSO! I've embedded a link to each show's OP in the title of each entry. I wanted to give more of a visual element to each show outside of the header images, plus there have been some incredible OPs this year. I've gone back and edited them into the prior posts as well.

10. Trigun Stampede

It’s funny, I had fond memories of watching Trigun on Adult Swim in my adolescence, to the point where I used to count it among my all-time favorite anime for a while, but I didn't realize until this year that I hadn't actually sat down and watched it from beginning to end. It’s honestly a very uneven watch, and it’s clearly split into two parts: The first, a dieselpunk western revolving around a mysterious goofball with a big-ass gun and a bounty on his head, and the second a slightly more somber revenge quest as he is forced to survive his way past a rogues gallery while vowing not to take any lives. Still, it was a hit among western anime fans for a reason, and it was formative to me even back when I thought anime was kinda cringe.

Trigun Stampede is far from a faithful reinterpretation of Yasuhiro Nightow’s manga nor of the original Madhouse production. Meryl Stryfe is no longer a jaded veteran insurance adjuster but a much younger muckraking journalist. She’s no longer tailed by the gentle giantess Milly Thompson, but rather following her senpai, the gruff, bleary-eyed Roberto De Niro (the names in Trigun have always rocked). Nicholas D. Wolfwood isn’t an affable priest with a dark past; he’s all dark past now. And Vash the Stampede, now rocking a fuckboy undercut, is less of a mercurial wisecracker with a soft side and more of a reluctant gunman freaking it in a sensitive style. 

Stampede wastes no time differentiating itself from any previous version of Trigun. Vash’s history is no longer a mystery waiting to be uncovered; it’s a driving factor of the plot as his brother Knives seeks revenge on humankind for their use and exploitation of “plants,” an alien race to which the two seem to be connected, as an energy source. This was always an element of the original anime that I felt went unexplored, so it was fascinating to see Stampede dive right in. It’s a great introduction to the story for people who haven’t seen the original, and full of unexpected turns for existing fans. It’s still built on the bones of Trigun as we know it, but it is very much its own thing. 

People made a lot of hay about Vash’s new appearance, but I think it works. The huge pleather trench coat, spiky flat-top, and tiny glasses remain an iconic 90s design, but I believe the 90s is where it belongs. This take on Vash is just as capable but much more self-effacing, tortured, and averse to violence. This is a younger Vash, and it’s clear that his history with Knives is a much fresher wound, rather than the dull, nagging ache in the original. This is a gentler (but no less talented) Vash, so I think the softboy look suits him this time around.

I also spent most of the season quietly insisting to myself that the original version of Meryl is much better (and cuter) than the Stampede variant, and I still stand by that, but the updated version definitely grew on me. I mean, just look at that hat. But it’s clear from the jump that Stampede’s first season is very early in this version of the Trigun story (you may notice that the bounty on Vash’s head is much, much less than the famous 60 billion double-dollars), and Meryl has some growing to do (and presumably a whole lot of professional frustration) before she becomes something like the one we knew and loved around the turn of the 21st Century.

I’m still yet to watch Beastars, but it’s immediately apparent why Studio Orange was entrusted with the Trigun IP. This show looks incredible. This is some of the best CG animation I’ve ever seen outside of a Pixar or Spider-Verse movie. Characters are amazingly expressive and oscillate between naturalistic, weighty movement and cartoony flailing. Action scenes are inventive and dynamic and stand up to even the wildest sakuga. And yet, it still looks like an anime. It still retains the classic 24fps look and even occasionally trades in the CGI for hand-drawn animation for effect. We are long past the botched Berserk revival: This is what CGI anime should look like.

It’s plainly obvious that Trigun has always carried influences from landmark western media like Mad Max and Dune (not to mention Fist of the North Star, but that one always wore its Mad Max influence on its sleeve), so it’s been an unexpected delight to see those influences take a new shape now that both franchises have seen major updates since the last iteration of Trigun went off the air. For all of the alien technology and technicolor glowing lights, Trigun takes place entirely in a desert setting, and it’s impossible to see these chase scenes and not immediately think of Fury Road, or halfway expect to see Villanueve’s take on the Fremen popping out of the dust clouds. 

Stampede is a very welcome entry to a franchise long believed to be well and truly over, and the more eyeballs on Trigun, the better. It’s evident by the end of this season that this take on the story is only just beginning, and it has already taken unexpected departures from the story as we already knew it. I can’t wait to see where it goes from here, but that’s mostly because we have confirmation that Milly will be in the next season. It can’t get here quickly enough.

9. Insomniacs After School

I watched and read a frankly absurd amount of romance-centric anime and manga this year, especially of the slice-of-life variety, to the point where even by the early summer I thought I'd had my fill. I'm overjoyed to say that Insomniacs After School proved me dead wrong.

What a treat this was. It's a simple enough premise: A boy with insomnia is sent on an errand to his high school’s abandoned observatory, where he finds a classmate sleeping because she suffers from insomnia as well. They quickly find out that the observatory is a perfectly quiet environment for the both of them, and that they actually get restful sleep around one another. In order to get away with making use of the area, they resurrect the school’s astronomy club and find a genuine love for astrophotography and, you guessed it, one another.

You couldn’t have picked a more apt studio to adapt this work than Liden Films. Call of the Night made a splash last year for its saturated, vibey nightscapes, and Insomniacs’ gorgeous astral visuals carry that mantle. The nighttime backdrops of the quiet suburbs, wide-open beaches, and lush countryside are nothing short of stunning, and Isaki’s adolescent wonder at the world’s hidden beauties reminded me, and I do not say this lightly, of something Miyazaki would’ve animated.

On a couple of occasions this year, I’ve been able to step back from an anime, take a breath, and simply say “That was beautiful.” Insomniacs gave me one such occasion. Even putting the visuals aside, the story itself is lovely and would have made this the feel-good anime of the year, if not for the next entry on this ranking. I would have more to say, but Insomniacs After School speaks for itself. Give it a shot.

8. Skip and Loafer

There are so many standalone adjectives I could use to describe this one, and most of them are ones that would normally make me want to impulsively run the other way like “comfy,” “feel-good,” “wholesome,” what have you, but I think the most comprehensively I can boil it down to a single word is “lovely.” Everything about it just gives you the warm fuzzies, and almost makes me think that the “I want more stories with no conflict” dorks might actually be onto something.

It’s a simple one: Mitsumi, a dorky teenage go-getter with her entire life planned out, moves to Tokyo from her no-horse beach town to attend one of the country’s best prep schools, but much like everyone who played the first two hours of Persona 5, she quickly gets lost in Shibuya’s subway station on the first day of school. She runs into Sousuke Shima, a laid-back boy from the same school who’s also running late, because that’s, like, what he does, and manages to wrangle him into running to school with her.

Mitsumi quickly draws attention from her classmates, not only from delivering a speech as the incoming class representative (and subsequently barfing all over her teacher), but because she inadvertently made fast friends with the hottest, most popular first-year in the school. This attracts the attention of social climbers and jealous hangers-on, but Mitsumi hardly notices. She’s used to knowing everyone in her school back home, so she wastes no time reaching out and seeing what’s up with anyone who’ll give her the time of day.

A lot of Skip and Loafer revolves around the roles for which we think we’re destined in a controlled social environment like high school, and how easily the preconceptions you have of other people can be shattered if you just get to, like, talk to them for 20 seconds. Mitsumi’s friend group quickly fills itself out with people who wouldn’t give each other so much as a passing glance at first, but come together so naturally that you almost can’t believe they weren’t friends already.

Shima, for his part, also struggles with those preconceptions; for as laid-back as he seems on the surface, he’s a habitual people pleaser and is constantly playing a role. He’s so caught up in the performance that he doesn’t quite know what’s going on half the time or how he really feels about most things. Mitsumi is so naturally magnetic, though, that he does seem to genuinely enjoy his time with her, and vice versa. You can see where this is headed, if the gorgeously-animated dances they do together in the OP weren’t enough of a tell.

Everything about Skip and Loafer is just downright pleasant. Character models are simple and sketchy, the color palette is awash in pastels and neutral tones, and the soundtrack is peppy and whimsical. It’s a warm hug of a series, and at no point does it feel cloying or manipulative. High school slice-of-life is pretty bloated as a genre, and I watched a ton of those this year, but there’s just something so charming and magnetic about Skip and Loafer that instills in me a sort of false nostalgia for the ideal high school experience I never had.

Also: Nao-chan. Exceptional trans representation. We do not get enough of that in anime and she is a breath of fresh fucking air. I would die for her.

7. The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love You

And now for something much less wholesome.

I really don’t seek out harem anime. Tenchi Muyo was formative to me as a tween, and a rewatch last year ended up being a major catalyst in getting me back into anime, but despite it being widely considered the second-ever harem anime, it hasn’t left much of a legacy in the ones that followed. Harem anime from the 00s onward has largely been formulaic wish-fulfillment slop that runs itself in circles as a perpetual money-making machine rather than developing any sort of plot (see: Hina, Love and Girlfriend, Rent-a-). I know I covered Girlfriend Girlfriend earlier, and while that’s nothing like Tenchi either, it does scratch an ever-present itch for stupid, madcap, relentless anime bullshit.

The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, [...] Really Love You, meanwhile, sees that itch and takes a fucking chainsaw to it. To say everything about it is over-the-top would be an understatement: The top is Hyakkano’s floor. This show gives you everything you could ever want in a harem comedy, but to the extreme: It is your dad making you smoke the whole carton. It is Hell’s donut machine, and you are Homer Simpson. Satire is often at its best when it pushes the boundaries of absurdity, and 100 Girlfriends revels in that push like a horny bulldozer. This is not genre subversion, it’s genre explosion.

The headcount isn’t the only wildly outsized element of this series; every single member of the titular harem, each a tick on the checklist of every -dere archetype you can imagine, pushes the slider of each of their character tropes so far to the right it’s breaking the track. The deredere is a ball of deranged horniness, the tsundere betrays her intentions so compulsively that she’s functionally incapable of lying, and the kuudere is so robotically devoted to pure efficiency that it’s salient to mention that her name is literally pronounced “Nano A.I.” If you can think of an anime girl archetype, she is in this (or will be in future seasons), and she is the apotheosis.

And yet, this show still bothers to make each one of them an actual character. Harem anime has such a low bar to clear on that front, yet most entries in the genre still bang their dicks against it. Hyakkano's titular girlfriends, at least the ones introduced in the first season, are actual characters with actual backgrounds, actual motivations, actual growth, and actual reasons to like the protagonist beside the premise. They’re all founded on stock anime tropes, to be sure, but the original manga’s author actually put in the work to give them, you know, personalities. And above almost all else, they actually like each other too! This isn’t exactly a full-on polycule (though two of the girls are prone to making out with each other on occasion), but for as deeply weird as this family unit is on paper, they actually come across as a group of people who love and care for each other rather than everyone cattily jockeying for the same position. 

And not for nothing, but Rentaro is easily one of the best harem protagonists I’ve ever seen, and again, this is coming from a Tenchi Muyo fan. I do enjoy Naoya’s over-the-top earnestness in Girlfriend Girlfriend, but Rentaro is the gigachad version. He is exceedingly patient, kind, and understanding of each of these girls’ unique quirks and qualities and quickly grows to learn to manage them in conflict and help them work through their insecurities, and he loves them back in kind and puts in the work to make equal time for each of them. He doesn’t want to “fix” these girls; he sees them for who they are and proactively does everything in his power to accommodate them. He's like if Tadano from Komi Can’t Communicate actually got the harem he deserved. Putting aside the fact that he’s, y’know, 100-timing his girlfriends, he comes across as just a really good partner.

I also want to be clear: For its rampant, fanservice-laden anime bullshit, this show is genuinely hilarious. It’s not some kind of “how did this shit even get made” trainwreck; it is a comedy first and foremost, and the comedy hits exactly as intended. The comic pacing is buckwild, the visual gags are so rampant that they’re almost difficult to keep up with, and the translators, at least in the version I watched, did an outstanding job of localizing the constant wordplay. It’s also so unapologetic in its horniness that you can’t help but admire it a bit; 100 Girlfriends knows exactly what it’s about, and it dares you to say something.

There’s a very good chance this won’t be for you. 100 Girlfriends is constantly pushing the boundaries of good taste, but never in an offensive way and never truly at its characters’ expense. Geoff Thew calls it the “most 'harem' harem anime,” but I'd argue that it’s the most "anime" anime: It is every trope you’ve ever seen in romcom anime cranked up to a thousand and smushed up against your nose. This shit hits like Panera lemonade. It is peak trash. If you have a tolerance for anime bullshit, this show may very well test that, but I still cannot recommend it enough.

6. Heavenly Delusion

Didn’t think I’d be getting into more than one post-apocalyptic anime this year, but I’d seen this one recommended so many times that I felt this list would be incomplete if I didn’t watch it. Don’t ask me about Pluto.

Heavenly Delusion (Hulu lists it under its Japanese title, Tengoku Daimakyo, for some reason) splits its runtime between two different stories: The first, a pair of young travelers making their way across a ruined Japan in search of nebulous goals neither is sure even exist; the second surrounding a group of adolescents in an unnervingly idyllic walled garden in some sort of school setting. The narrative flips between these two sporadically, rarely ever showing its hand in how they are even remotely connected.

On the post-apocalypse side, we follow Maru and his bodyguard-for-hire, Kiruko, as they trek across the country to deliver Maru to someplace called “Heaven,” while at the same time, Kiruko is in search of a pair of men from their youth. They are often beset by bandits, cults, and most crucially, horrifying monsters called “Man-Eaters,” which Maru has the unique ability to kill. On the school side, we see a group of gender-ambiguous kids in an enclosed space, constantly monitored and kept in a very controlled environment. Everything feels… wrong. Nobody seems entirely human. There is a lingering and seemingly taboo curiosity about what lies outside the walls. I hesitate to say any more.

There is phenomenal human drama in here, and sparks so many conversations about transhumanism and human nature, gender, trauma, community, all things I’m not smart enough to really dive into. But to even address these topics here is to give the game away, and Heavenly Delusion is a story better left unspoiled, even if, a full season in, I’m still not 100% sure what’s going on.

This show is gorgeous in ways I’m still struggling to articulate. The character designs, animation, lighting, and cinematography are so immaculate that I repeatedly had to remind myself that I wasn't watching a movie. Heavenly Delusion looks like a grungy Shinkai film: Character models are immaculately realized and fluidly animated, the light and shadow effects are some of the best I’ve ever seen in TV animation, and action sequences are visceral and unpredictable. Maybe all I needed to say is that it was made by much of the same Production IG staff in charge of Psycho-Pass.

I want to say as little about what happens as possible, because the mystery is the main draw of Heavenly Delusion, but I feel the need to warn that there is a very dark and sour turn near the end of the season in the form of some strongly implied sexual violence. It was thematically unnecessary, and once that side of things is resolved, everyone just kinda… moves past it. It doesn’t ruin the show, I still recommend it heartily, but be forewarned. I found it upsetting, but more in the “did this REALLY need to be in there?” sense. The mounting tension and slowly-unfolding existential horror in this series are otherwise expertly woven into the narrative, and this part landed with a wet thud.

This is a much longer story than most of the season would have you believe, and it ends with far more questions than answers. One side of the story leaves off with an open end, and the other with a massive cliffhanger, which left me a little cold but with interest piqued for the next season. For what it is right now, though, Heavenly Delusion is a nearly perfect, endlessly thought-provoking mystery and one of the most gorgeously ugly things I’ve seen this year.

[lilac-hecox]

For Anthony's Day! Ian and Anthony celebrating his birthday together for the first time in forever. It's an intimate thing nothing too extravagant but good food and company and maybe a final confession as a birthday gift? Idk just ianthony cuteness

Ian/Anthony (Ianthony) - Sixteen Candles

--

“Have you ever seen the movie Sixteen Candles?” Ian asks. He adjusts his glasses, something he does when he’s a little nervous, that’s something new about him that Anthony has learned. Though, why Ian is nervous, Anthony doesn’t know. It’s just the two of them at Anthony’s place. It’s Anthony’s birthday, but the last thing he wanted was a big party or a lot of attention. Work has been intense lately, both Smosh and his solo channel. Anthony’s been tired, and he can’t say he is exactly thrilled at turning thirty-six years old.

So, when Ian suggested that he and Anthony go and grab dinner at Anthony’s favorite vegan restaurant, Anthony was quick to agree, happy to have a quiet evening with his best friend than a huge party with a lot of people. Most of the time, Ian was who he wanted to spend all his time with anyway. As they had eaten Anthony thought about New York, about missing Ian’s birthday, about calling the waiters over to bring a dessert to Ian and sing to him. Anthony had half-heartedly worried that this was going to be his payback, seven years later, but Ian granted him mercy and didn’t have anyone sing to him. Instead, they laughed together, shared stories, memories, nostalgia for birthdays past.

After the restaurant they ended up at Anthony’s place, intent on watching a movie that Ian had been begging him to watch. Drinking glasses of whiskey, sitting side by side on Anthony’s couch.

“No, is that what you wanted to watch?” Anthony asks, using the remote to begin searching for the title of the movie on the streaming service.

Ian smiles, a soft tilt of his mouth. “Not really, you probably wouldn’t like it. I barely like it.”

“Okay,” Anthony says. Ian’s caught his interest. He never really knows where Ian is going with something, but he’s always eager to follow, to find where his train of thought will lead them, “so, why bring it up?”

Ian leans forward and picks up his glass of alcohol, taking a sip before setting it back down on the coffee table in front of them. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then stands up, from the couch, tilting his head towards the direction of the dining room.

“Follow me,” Ian says, instead of explaining shit.

Anthony stands, following Ian to the dining room of Anthony’s house.

“In the movie,” Ian says, as they walk, “all you really need to know is that there’s a girl and a boy, girl likes boy, boy doesn’t know she exists, then at the very end they find their way to each other.”

“Sounds like most rom coms,” Anthony says.

“Right,” Ian says. Then, they are in the kitchen and Ian stops the two of them in the darkened space, “There’s kind of an iconic scene in the movie. It’s been parodied a lot. All you really need to know is that the girl, it’s her birthday, and the guy surprises her.”

Anthony’s brow furrows. Ian is smiling like an idiot and it makes Anthony smile despite the feeling of nerves rising up inside of him. Ian keeps walking and he leads Anthony into the dining room. The lights are off, but in the center of the long table is a cake, small, professionally decorated.

“How the hell did you manage to set up a cake in here without me knowing?” Anthony asks, turning to look at Ian.

Ian shrugs, “You were in the bathroom, and I made sure to hurry.”

“So,” Anthony says with a laugh, though his heart fills with fondness for his best friend, for what he did. Ian has always been more of a show and less of a tell kind of person. It was like that with the get-well card back in the day, with this cake now, he is less likely to tell Anthony that he cares about him but more likely to show it in small gestures like this, in surprising him with a birthday cake, “you’re saying you set me up my own Sixteen Candles iconic scene?”

Ian nods, his eyes bright, and he fidgets again, nerves peeking through his actions.  

“Except it isn’t the full scene yet. Our actors need to be in place.”

Anthony smiles, glancing at the set-up before he looks back at Ian.

“Alright, direct me.”

Anthony swears he sees the lightest flush of pink color Ian’s cheeks, but it’s hard to tell in the dimness of the room.

“You and I sit on top of the table, legs crossed, across from each other on opposite sides of the cake,” Ian explains, his voice smaller, Anthony knows it from when he is doubting himself and his ideas, when he acts like he isn’t thinking of pure genius.

Anthony nods and tugs at the sleeve of Ian’s jacket, “C’mon then.”

They recreate the scene easily. Anthony on the right side of the cake, Ian on the left, their legs folded so they both fit on top of the long dining room table.

“It is vegan,” Ian says after a moment of silence. Maybe he sees the hint of confusion on Anthony’s face because he waves a hand at the dessert between them, “the cake, I mean.”

“I never had any doubts,” Anthony says. He feels that soft squeeze in his heart. Ian did this for him, put this together for no reason besides that he wanted to, that he wanted to do this for Anthony.

“Finishing touches,” Ian says, fishing into the pocket of his jacket before he pulls out a lighter. It’s then that Anthony notices the long thin candles stuck into the surface of the cake. Not sixteen, not thirty-six either. It’s a strategic smattering of candles, Ian using that filmmaker’s eye to predict the perfect amount.

Ian flicks the lighter to life and lights the candles and then the room glows around them in a hazy orange, light and shadow dancing across Ian’s face as he leans back and settles into his spot, tucking his lighter back into his pocket.

“So, how does the movie end?” Anthony finds himself asking, his voice quieter than it should be, but he can feel an undercurrent of magic in this moment, and he doesn’t want to disrupt it, he wants to live alongside of it, exist in this moment with Ian, no matter where it leads.

Ian glances at him, candlelight caught in his glasses and Anthony can barely see the blue of his eyes, but he knows it’s there.

“I’m going to, um, go a little off script here,” Ian says, and he sounds nervous now.

“I trust you,” Anthony says with a smile, because he does, he always will.

“I’m glad to spend your birthday with you,” Ian says, “just the two of us. It makes me feel like a kid again in some ways, where we’d spend the night with each other on our birthdays, eat cake ‘till we felt sick, and laugh all night.”

Anthony grins at the memory, frosting and Ian’s laugh, and the warmth of knowing you had a constant companion always at your side. He’s missed that feeling these last few birthdays. There were always people, always well-wishes, but never Ian. Never who Anthony wanted to see the most.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Anthony says, his own face feeling warm and his heart feeling full. He feels the damn pinpricks of affection poking at him, threatening to make him tear up and really it is only Ian and their shared memories and history that has this effect on him. “Thank you for this. You’re my best friend.”

Ian nods, “What if…what if I wanted to be more than that now?”

Anthony blinks, feels like he’s been punched, but in a good way. All the air knocked out of his lungs, but something new filling him, like he’s evolved past the need for oxygen.

“What?”

Ian straightens his jacket, “Since we reconnected I…God, man, you know I’m shitty at this right?” Ian laughs and Anthony feels a smile crack across his face even though he can barely breathe in this moment, “I can feel myself falling in love with you.” “Ian,” Anthony says, breathless, surprised. This was the last thing he expected, but it felt like everything he’s ever wanted, but been too afraid to ask for, a wish he’s convinced himself he’ll never get to have. Deep down, he knows it’s true for Ian, for himself too.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way!” Ian says quickly, “I understand it’s-“

“Stop,” Anthony says, and he reaches around the cake, safely avoiding the fire as he takes Ian’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb across the back of Ian’s hand. “I feel it too.”

Ian smiles, shaky, a little breathless of his own.

Anthony keeps rubbing his thumb across the smooth skin of Ian’s hand.

“Will you tell me how the movie ends?” Anthony asks, feeling he already has an idea.

“It ends like any good teenaged romance. The girl gets her movie perfect kiss.”

Anthony smiles, leans in, careful of the candles he can feel the warmth from. Ian mimics the motion, copying him, their faces close together.

“Happy birthday, Anthony,” Ian whispers, Anthony can feel the heat from the words on his face.

“Thank you, Ian.”

Then, they meet in the middle, their lips touching in a movie perfect kiss.

[thatanimewriter]

DEATH’S DOORSTEP.

➳ request: Hello hello, I hope requests are open, if not, just ignore this request.  I can ask for a headcanon, with Death Parade gang or just Decim, where the reader who is Death itself, they are kind, sweet and soft-spoken, they are participating in a game against the one who killed them, imagine death needs to participate in the games of life at least once to feel what it's like when it arrives for humans!  and they only find out when Death wins the game, and reveals that every century Death needs to know what it's like to be human, they never lose the games.  OP Reader Supremacy! Thanks for your attention. (Inspiration taken from Nail Gaiman's Sandman Comics.)

➳ character/s: decim, nona, ginti

➳ warnings: swearing, mentions of death, actual death??, mentions of murder, can be interpreted as romantic or platonic, it’s not really referring to either of them explicitly

➳ notes: DEATH PARADEEEEE! i took chiyuki outta this one just cause it didn’t really make as much sense in this scenario, but our icons are here :))

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 / 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭  / 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 / 𝐰𝐢𝐩 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

──  𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐌.

nothing out of the ordinary here

just another set of clients

where one of them killed the other-

he’s quite surprised how sweet and kind you are

always thanking him for the drink

in return you get a ._. from decim

during the game, you end up playing poker and decim is a lil bit impressed with how smart you are

he finds that even when facing your murderer, you’re still nice???

what the hell is up with that?

he knows your memories because he kinda has to have them

but he’s a lil taken aback at how fast yours came back

more so how graciously you took the win

since figuring out you’re death, he now wants you around way more

he wants to know what you think of different guests and possibly have you help with his judgement

eventually he just grew fond of you anyway, cause you’re so SWEET what is it about you that makes him want to hug you-

he hadn’t seen you before, he’d been working for less than 20 years

so the earlier he got to know you and your beliefs on life, the better

not for any self-serving purposes like being the object of your kindness

not at all...

──  𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐀.

i feel like nona would be the first to catch on before the end of the game

she’s been doin this for a whileee

she’d pick up on anomalies quite fast

not many people enjoy the presence of a killer

but nona found herself enjoying your company a lot more

you were so nice and polite

even to the other competitor for some reason

which she saw no point in

but she did give you the benefit of the doubt considering your memories are erased

and she was right to, because even though you took a while to gain any significant memories back

you DESTROYED the other person, it wasn’t even close

and only until the very end did she realise you knew you were death itself once you came to the elevators to leave

in which you just smiled at her and asked if you could have another drink

she said yes cause honestly, you deserved it after that shit show and winning by a landslide

and that was when she decided to make you a a clavis 2.0

she had yet to meet you, since this only happens every century and she hadn’t been in management the last time you came

so she took the time to get to know you and BASK IN THE TOOTH-ROTTING SWEETNESS

that is you :))

you’re now her new pool buddy in her spare time even if you always win

──  𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈.

“huh?”

head empty, no thoughts

he doesn’t usually get customer dynamics like murderer vs victim

but he did find himself getting a bit angry

because who is this bitch to kill someone so nice as you??

it took a lot not to punch the guy across the bar as they entered

there’s a clear bias here, but he doesn’t let it impact his judgement

is what he thinks

but while watching you guys compete, he’s already vouching for you

secretly screaming in his head when he sees you continue to get ahead of the opponent

just a casual internal dialogue of

“FUCK HIM UPPPPP-”

he gave you a nice NOOGIE for winning and then had you sit with him after the game to have a nice chat

nona did join you guys to discuss business with you and what you’re job would be

which is a massive bonus for ginti, cause he gets to see you a ton >:)))

lots of playing with the cat

and a lot more noogies

also a lot of ginti asking you about how the other games went from previous centuries

and pisses off nona because he always gets you to stay during his appointments-

[clonerightsagenda]

Pick a favorite character for the ask thing

(Ask meme here)

Did you know in my years of doing this ask meme, no one has asked about my beloved Hera? Possibly bc I talk about her so much already. Jokes on everyone, we are doing it again

First impression

I have told this story many times, but I was white knuckling it through the whole podcast terrified that she would get her memories deleted. To be entirely fair that was a rejected season 3 concept.

Impression now

I love her! Favorite AI character of all time. Chronic pain solidarity.

Favorite moment

I have many favorite moments, but what's coming to mind now based on some of my other responses to this prompt is that Hera delivers the only "I love you" aimed at people who are physically present. Minkowski says it in a message to her husband, Eiffel says it in a recording to his daughter, but iirc Hera is the only one to say it live, and it's platonic and to the group, which I Just Think Is Neat. (Iconically aro podcast w359 strikes again.) Also the whole quote is "I love you guys, but you need to get it through your heads that what goes for you doesn't go for me" which really gets back to one of the show's points that love isn't enough. You can genuinely care for someone and want the best for them and still fuck up, still hurt them, still not fully understand what they're going through. But you still have to communicate and you still have to try.

Idea for a story

Currently working on a PGW fic where the crew swings by the Hermes on their way back to Earth to rescue that station's AI and Hera has to work through her feelings about facing someone who was in the same situation as she was but did not come out on top. Rn she is being unfair about it.

Hera’s equally on edge. “The collar program is still running, she might not have that much processing power. But be ready in case she tries something. She’d better not try anything.” “It’s not her fault, is it?” he asks, surprised by the viciousness in her tone. “I beat a collar program.” “Didn’t Dr. Maxwell help you a lot, though?” Hera doesn’t like talking about Dr. Maxwell. “I don’t care,” she says instead. “She shouldn’t have let Dr. Pryce make her hurt them. Just because she couldn’t stop Dr. Pryce from taking her crew away from her doesn’t mean she gets to take mine away from me.”

Unpopular opinion

You mean besides my post that got me vagueblogged about? Here's another one: I don't think Hera would want or enjoy a human/humanoid body. The one time she's limited to a single source of visual input, her response is "it's weird; I don't like it". She's proud of being able to see colors our skull-gelatin can't comprehend, even if she's sorry she can't share them with anyone. She enjoys being a AI mother program when she's on a functioning system like the Sol. Yes she envisions herself as present with the crew in parts of Memoria, and there's an implication she's given herself a humansona, but my interpretation of that was that she wants to be treated as one of them, and unfortunately most of the crew's approach to treating her as a person is trying to treat her like a human. She's not wrong to think they'd relate to her better if she looked like them. (Is that not the same principle the Listeners used?) Maxwell was able to meet with her on her level, but as much as the other crewmembers care about her, they don't understand Hera in the same way. Downloading her into an android body feels like an accommodation for their benefit rather than trying to find a way for her to thrive on her own terms. Smarthouse Hera forever.

(For the record when her VA was asked if Hera would like being human her response was 'she'd try it for a day to see what it's like but she wouldn't want to stay that way'. Seems reasonable to me.)

Favorite relationship

As most followers know I am very fond of her (non-romantic!!) friendship with Eiffel. They've got a lot in common! They fuck up with each other but then do better! They were both sent up there knowing they were disposable and then decide to care about each other on purpose. However most followers also know that in my last few relistens I've been thinking a lot about her overlaps with Lovelace - how they are both surveillance tools that entities use to try to hurt other people, and they both overcome that. Hera is extending non-human solidarity but she wants to be recognized as a non-human person and Lovelace would really prefer to be viewed as human, thanks. There's tension there.

Favorite headcanon

I've posted before that I think she retains some of Pryce and Eiffel's memories which has funny, sad, and interesting implications. Among these I think she kept override codes Pryce can use on AIs so she can fight that kind of thing off in the future, and something that will come up in that Hermes fic is her deciding whether she's willing to use those on someone else. Stay tuned.

[cellarfulofnose]

winds of the old days

Joan’s 1987 memoir has such a distinctive and compelling narrative style, I couldn’t help imagining how she would tell certain chapters of history—if indeed, as this blog hopes, they happened.

Chalk it up to the little slice of religion I have left in me, or the fact that I know you’d despise it—I’ll never use the word ‘idol’ when referring to you. There were those who worshipped you, sure. But to many more, you were a stand-in for something. The Catholics have a word for that; another four-letter kind, of which you were so fond. Icon. Your image was a movement. And why not? Talk about an iconic silhouette. In terms of instant recognition, your outline is up there with the likes of Mickey Mouse. I still have trouble saying for sure whether (in the unfortunate event that someone could not see the color of your eyes) it was the hair or the nose that bore your trademark. I’m inclined to say it was the latter. On his famous poster, Von Schmidt covered one and bared the other in stark, hawkish profile. 

Don’t hear this as making fun—I’ve had several good, long looks at myself and I know the futility of the pot calling the kettle aquiline. As far as I or anybody else was concerned, the nose was and still is a good thing. You carried your music in there, giving life to a sound that many have tried to replicate and gotten nowhere close. Like your electric-socket hair, it was charming, if not as keen as some. You had next to no sense of smell, though that’s not to say it wasn’t a sensitive nose. We could have practiced meteorology without a barometer, the way your sinuses could gauge the slightest change of atmosphere. I remember how the little house in Woodstock would fill with your snoring. 

Only Mimi seemed to worry about your frequent episodes of sinusitis as broader indicators of your overall health. One night we met her and Dick for dinner at a new, trendy little café. She was bedecked in feathers and looked gorgeous and regal as a peacock, but you must have ventured a hair too close when saying hello. Somehow a few feathers managed to fly up your nose; not more than a few ostriches’ worth. The conversation went something like this.

“So, you rode the Triumph here?” Mimi began, while we waited for our food.

“Atchoo!”

“How does it handle on the main road? I’ve only seen you drive the backwoods...”

“Ah-choo! Ah-choo!”

“You should think about getting a sidecar,” said Dick. “Then you’ll be able to take your doggie bag home.”

“Ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo!”

I tucked a cloth napkin into your shaking hands. Amid stares from the waitress and the other diners, you blew your nose like a ship’s foghorn. When you stumbled off to the restroom, Mimi leaned across the table and asked me how long you’d had the flu, and what I thought I was doing by dragging you out of bed like this. I argued that there was nothing wrong with you that a few breaths of fresh air, followed by a BLT with avocado, wouldn’t fix, and we swiveled into a discussion about your eating habits that had almost reached its climax when you returned from the restroom, looking like someone had tracked you inside between the tread of their boots. I’m not sure Mimi believed me that you weren’t sick, but our food arrived and there wasn’t occasion to discuss it again.

All right, Bob, you got me where you want me. I promised I wouldn’t make fun, but there is one memory that never fails to make me laugh—not out of ridicule or schadenfreude but genuine joy. Be a sport and indulge me this once. In 1965, we were rehearsing in my dressing room. You were three-quarters of the way through one of the harmonica solos in Times They Are A-Changin’ when those little reeds let off the most elephantine squeak I’d ever heard outside of a zoo. You stopped mid-phrase, as if you’d surprised even yourself. “Improvising variations on a theme?” I asked, rubbing my sore left ear.

“Aw, fuck off,” you huffed, bending the hinges to unbridle yourself. As the harmonica separated from your face, I saw that it was tethered to you by a silvery string of mucus, which you hurriedly wiped away, sniffling like a broken faucet.

“Oh, it was a sneeze.” Part of me had always wondered what sneezing directly into a harmonica would sound like.

“You know, you got a great bedside manner. Shoulda bin a fuckin’ nurse. Ah...ah...achoo!”

This time, you sprayed only me, not your harmonica. “Bless you,” I said resolutely. You never did it on stage, that I was aware of. But sometimes when I hear the harmonica really wail, I remember that rehearsal. I wonder if you remember it. Only heaven nose.

[sangria-and-guinness-shenanigans]

Sunday, Dec 29, 2024 | Madrid, Spain

Welp, after several days of relatively smooth sailing, we finally went off the rails. We had a delicious breakfast at a nearby café, so we were off to a good start. But…

…We were immediately stymied because we had trouble figuring out transportation to a suburb/town-ish area outside of the city. In our confusion, I left my credit card on a bus seat and realized almost as soon as the bus pulled away so…. you can imagine how the rest of the day went.

Despite that kerfuffle, we made it to Alcalá de Henares, a beautiful historic town where Miguel de Cervantes, author of Don Quixote, was born. This was a must-see for me because I took a class devoted to Don Quixote during my first year at Smith and really fell in love with the book. The 16th century house where he was born and lived in his childhood is now a museum set up to look like how a moderately wealthy family like his would have lived, plus a few small Cervantes-specific exhibits. I have such fond memories of his writing that the house felt somehow very comforting and familiar.

It turns out that there were a bunch of other historic sites and museums in the area we could have visited, but the hours/days didn’t line up. Still, very cool to know that one of the oldest continually operating hospitals in the world is next door to Cervantes’ house and offers (very limited) tours! The town also had a small Christmas/Three Kings/Reyes Magos parade while we were there with these awesome larger-than-life puppets!

We did get to walk around the historic area, a garden, did some window shopping, and read lots of interpretive signage. Here’s Anna with remnants very old sewage system (it made us think of Ben Franklin’s privy pit in Philly, if you know you know).

We picked up some snacks and got the train back to the city. We got off near Berkana, the gay bookstore from yesterday, so we went back to see if Mili Hernandez (lesbian icon) was working there. She was!!! So we bought the children’s book she wrote and I got to thank her for the work she does. I told her we’re from Philly and of course she knew Philly’s gay bookstore, Giovanni’s Room. After a somewhat mixed-up day, it felt good to be back at Berkana :)

We made a chill ramen dinner in the hostel kitchen, rested, and did some financial logistics after my credit card fiasco. Then, since we deserved a treat after a day of trials and tribulations, we went out and split a bottle of wine at the CUTEST bar near our hostel. Twas a much-needed and well-enjoyed bottle of wine!!

[lokisgoodgirl]

Here's a love note for @lokisprettygirl ❤️

The consistency of her uploads, the number of fics, and the sheer amount she manages to write and post just 🤯🤯🤯 I don't know how she does it, but I love her for it ❤️ and I'll always have the biggest soft spot in my heart for bluey 💙🩵💙

YESSSS! Oh my gosh - YES I am SO happy to see this Love Note for the fabulous @lokisprettygirl ✨💕✨ Her creativity is boundless, iconic, legendary... and I love that she's made her own worlds in her fics that so many people love and treasure. For one person to have so many intricate and thoughtful headcanons is just...awe-inspiring. @lokischambermaid has told me about the fond memories she has of some of those series by LPG and I think sometimes writers can underestimate just how much their creativity can soothe and give an escape to those who read it. You're amazing @lokisprettygirl 👑💕

Thanks so much for sending this wonderful note @sinsandguilt💕

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter Seven: Nvwatohiyadv & Saoirse

Summary: If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

A/N: An update? After all this time? I'm just as shocked. I'm trying my hardest to keep up, but I have so many papers and projects due this semester that updates may be a little infrequent for the next few weeks.

Also a massive thank you to the wonderful @latibvles for supplying the name of Zenie's first kiss 🫶🏼You are so beloved And for those of you who like chapter titles, nvwatohiyadv is the Cherokee word for liberty, while saoirse is Irish for freedom - just trying to combine both parts of Zenie's heritage

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, religious trauma, period typical attitudes and terms in regards to race, homophobia, improper binding techniques, language, brief mention of vomit

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @mrs-murder-daddy @lieutenant-speirs

August 1943, New York

Most of them are spilling their alcohol soaked guts onto the docks with retches that hurt to listen to. The few of them that didn’t partake in the guzzling of whiskey the night before are strong stomached until they step onto the SS Samaria, and then they too are sick to their stomachs.

Hardly any of them have ever been on a ship before, and it’s taking them a while to get their sea legs. Funny, how they can fling themselves out of perfectly good airplanes, hurling themselves toward a cold and unforgiving ground, but a ship against the rocking of the waves is what makes most of them feel ill.

But something else is getting to Zenie. Not the usual nerves that send a chill down her spine whenever she spares the occasional moment to be anxious about the possibility of being found out. This is something else. It’s almost like homesickness, or tender feelings for the place she’s about to leave behind.

Life jackets on, they all pack together on the deck as the Samaria leaves New York. She’s short enough that she manages to claim a place by the rail without anyone complaining that they can’t see. After all, just like her, everyone is vying for a peek of Lady Liberty herself.

She’s beautiful. Tall. Elegant. Set against the hazy backdrop of orange sky and mist rising from the waters around her, she’s more of a figure, looming larger than life as they sail by.

Zenie has only met her paternal grandparents a handful of times, but now a memory of her grandfather’s voice whispers to her in his thick accent. “. . . I looked out across the water, and there she was. Her torch guided the ship like a lighthouse, pullin’ us in. All my doubts about leavin’ Ireland left me then. How could I be nervous, with such a lass watchin’ over me?”

Guilt turns into a rock in her stomach. Her father’s parents worked hard to get out of Ireland, to get themselves and their descendants to America. And here she is, willingly going back to the place that they fled.

And now the fine lady watches Zenie as she goes in the opposite direction – leaving America for Europe. If the statue were real, she might recognize something of her Irish grandparents in Zenie and offer her the same strength that she did them so long ago.

What about her other grandparents? The ones who are one hundred percent all-American, whose parents and their parents and the ones before them had been in America since time immemorial. Lady Liberty never welcomed them – they were already here.

It’s silly, really, to wonder whether or not a statue could afford some fondness or sense of protection on a person, but Zenie can’t help but wonder if the figure protects her and her liberties, too, when the world seems so keen on keeping those rights away from her and other Indians.

No. A statue can’t protect anyone, or their liberties. Not really. It’s Zenie and these men and all the other people fighting this war that are protecting those freedoms. The statue is just a reminder of what is often overlooked; it gives an icon to an ideal. If anything, the statue doesn’t represent some omnipresent force that welcomed her grandparents when they immigrated, but rather regular people and their beliefs. The statue only exists because someone believed in something enough to give the world a giant reminder of it.

Well then, what does Zenie believe in?

The lady looming over the water must have some sort of answer. Just as she welcomed Granda into America so long ago, she now watches Zenie leave it – both McGlamery’s traveling towards something that they believe in, though their journeys go in opposite directions.

Go, the godlike figure on the island seems to tell her. Go forth and protect and defend what I represent. For people like your Irish grandfather, who believed in liberty. And people like your Cherokee Granny, who hardly got to see it.

Lady Liberty is stuck in place. Zenie knows what that feels like. But she’s not immobile now. She unstuck herself because of feelings of suffocating in one place. Now she keeps going because she believes in what she’s doing. She believes that she’s a part of something that’s good.

How could she feel guilty with such a lass watching over her?

The longer that they’re on the ship, the more grateful Zenie becomes that she’s not in the Navy, or the Marines, or the Coast Guard. Or any sort of sailor, actually, carrying her secret or not. It’s hot and crowded and miserable. The men stink and personal space is quickly becoming a foreign concept. Her large feet trip her up on the ladders several times, and the only thing that keeps her from tumbling down and crashing onto the decks are the quick hands of her friends that fly out to catch her by the arm.

Toye claps her on the back once after helping her stay upright. She hopes that he mistakes her wince as one of relief and not her dread that he might feel her bandages.

If anything, her secret is only making her experience aboard the Samaria more miserable than everyone else’s. The farther down into the ship they go, the hotter and more crowded it becomes. The binding around her chest makes it harder to breathe, and even though the men all have a few beads of sweat along their hairlines, she feels like she’s glistening with it. All she can do is hope that by some miracle, the ship will reach her destination faster than anticipated, because the second that Zenie sees the hammocks packed together to provide them with a place to sleep, she has a feeling that she won’t be doing much of that – not when the mercury is so high and the oxygen so scarce.

If her feet don’t floor her in this crowded place, the realization that hits her does: where will she change? Clean up? Relieve herself? They’ll toss her out to sea before the ship even sets sail.

“You look like shit, Tommy Boy,” Bill deadpans.

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, I’m bein’ serious. Have a cigarette or somethin’.”

“Maybe you should find Doc Roe,” Luz suggests. He slings his pack over his shoulder and sighs up at the racks above them, resolving himself to climb up to the top where there are still a few that are unoccupied. “If anyone wants to offer a trade, now’s your last chance.”

Toye makes a show of stretching out on his rack, which is close to the ground. “I’m good.”

Bill flips open his lighter and holds it to the end of his cigarette. “Same here.”

Finding Gene is probably her best option. He’ll have some sort of suggestion; he always knows what to do. But right now the boat is hot and she’s exhausted.

A vague memory of a church sermon from her childhood flashes through her mind. The pastor, his booming voice like a canon as it echoed off the walls of the church, lecturing the congregation about the fires of Hell that awaited them if they strayed from the flock. He gave the lecture so many times that she could be remembering any given Sunday of her childhood. As a young girl, the danger of the Underworld seemed to lurk right beneath her feet, the ground threatening to split open and reveal lapping flames that would swallow her up if she so much as fidgeted during the service. The Sunday after she had her first kiss – with that pretty Lucy Jordan from out of town, with the pretty hair and the soft lips – she sweated in her family’s pew as she awaited the inferno to take her. When nothing happened, the fire and brimstone didn’t seem quite so threatening, or even all that real.

The heat generated from the bodies all tightly packed around her does make her wonder, though, if this is what the nether regions of the afterlife feel like. At least she’s surrounded by friends. The thought makes her chuckle to herself as she plops down on a rack. She removes a cigarette from the mostly untouched pack in her pocket, nicks Bill’s lighter, and fills her lungs with the smoke, hoping it will help her nerves.

She glances around, chuckling again as she picks up pieces of scattered conversations from the men. If this is what Hell feels like, at least it’s not as lonely as all those days back home in her room.

Yeah, she thinks. Not too bad. 

“My brother’s in North Africa,” Bill’s voice draws her out of her thoughts. “He says it’s hot.”

“Really?” Malarkey snarks from behind him. “It’s hot in Africa?”

“Shuddup.” Malarkey’s hard expression melts as he laughs. Bill rolls his eyes. “Point is, it don’t matter where we go. Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to ya.”

Or woman. Lady. Lass. Dame. Whatever slang term Philadelphians use for girls.

Would they trust her, if they knew her secret and then found themselves next to her on a battlefield? Eugene would; he had said she was brave. If there’s anyone I would trust in combat, it’s someone as fearless as you.

Maybe someone else on the ship is fearless in the same way that she allegedly is. Maybe they share the same secret. That’s a nice thought. She would trust these men – these fellas – if the bullets were flying, but if they knew the truth, they would probably never trust her again.

“Long as he’s a paratrooper,” Toye says.

Zenie might not be a man, but she is a paratrooper. She went through the same training as everyone else here.

“Oh yeah? And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” Luz asks as he hauls himself up the racks. Looks like he couldn’t convince anyone to trade spots with him.

Above them, someone else’s voice sounds off with a response that she misses over the din of whoever is above her shifting his weight, making the rack squeak. Another thing that reminds her of Sundays in church: learning to tune things out. She doesn’t need to get her feelings hurt by listening to them talk about who they do or do not trust – because while Tommy falls into one category, Zenie most likely falls pretty firmly into the other.

The next thing that she knows, the rack beside her is shifting as Bill stands, and then the people around her fall quiet as Liebgott’s voice fills the space. “I’m a Jew.”

“Congratulations.” She can’t see him, but Zenie can hear the smug smirk on Bill’s face when he responds, “Now get your nose outta my face.”

He deserves it, friend or not, when Liebgott swings at him. He should know better than to say something like that, and she’s planning on telling him so when she jumps up to help the others hold the two men apart.

A sharp pain blooms in her chest, sending her stumbling back into the racks. A gasp escapes from her lips. No one notices – they’re all too busy trying to keep the first Easy Company casualties from occurring before the ship reaches England.

She’s never been hit in the breast before. And now someone’s elbow has just jabbed her there, managing to hurt even through the bandages.

That’s it. She’s got to solve this problem.

It’s a miracle that she doesn’t get jabbed again as she pushes through the throng of bodies. The miracle balances itself out with the fact that she doesn’t see Gene anywhere among them, and no one seems to know where he is when she throws the question out to them. Instead she finds –

“Tommy!” McClung yells above the rest of the voices that swirl around them. In a second, he’s pushed through the crowd and caught up to her, Popeye and Shifty right behind him. “Where’re you off to?”

“Any of y’all seen Doc Roe?”

“No.” Popeye tilts his head. “Are you as sick as ol’ Shifty Boy here from all that whiskey?”

“Just eat somethin’,” Shifty suggests with a nod. “A couple of those donuts from the Red Cross girls had me right as rain.”

Popeye claps him on the back and flashes her a winning grin. “He learned that from me.”

“No, it’s –“ She offers a vague, sweeping gesture with her arm. The heat. The tight space. The lack of privacy. “I just need some air.”

“We were goin’ up top, anyways. We’ll come with you!”

It’s easier to push through the crowd when she’s got three friends helping her clear people out of the way. Earl pushes through the crowd like it’s nothing. Popeye calls out greetings to people as he goes. Zenie scans everyone’s faces, looking for Gene, reassuring herself with the thought that he’ll know what to do and he’ll come up with a plan for how to handle all this bandage business.

“Fuckin’ ridge runners,” someone scoffs as they force their way through the crowd.

At her sides, her hands immediately ball themselves into fists. She scowls, looking around for whoever might have said it. Cobb is sitting on a rack nearby, and she’s willing to bet the comment was thrown from his direction.

“Hey.” A gentle hand places itself on her shoulder and urges her forward from behind. “Just ignore him. Been enough fights on this boat for one day.”

“But –“ She feels herself deflate under Shifty’s touch. He’s right; they’ve been called worse.

The salt on the breeze is unlike any kind of wind that she felt back at home. During the more pleasant times of year, mountain breezes feel friendly and teasing as they play with her hair and snap flags on their posts. The wind from the sea that greets them abovedeck carries a sense of adventure. It’s powerful – powerful enough to carry them somewhere new.

It fills her lungs and whispers to something in her soul. All those days of sitting in her bedroom feeling suffocated and sorry for herself. Now she’s the farthest away from home that she’s ever been, and (as long as she’s not crammed in the bowls of the ship with the other men) she can breathe.

“Feelin’ better?” Shifty asks. His hand hasn’t left her shoulder. Zenie finds that she doesn’t really want him to remove it.

“Much.”

Earl gestures to all the space around them. “Look at this! This is way better than being trapped belowdecks.”

“Well, it’s a long way to England. We can probably spend as much time up here as we want.” I know I will be, Zenie doesn’t add as she relishes in the cool breeze and the sound of the waves.

“We oughtta sleep out here,” Popeye says. “Better than sweatin’ for hours at a time and listenin’ to everyone snore and complain about the heat.”

Shifty nods in agreement. “We oughtta.”

So they do.

The first night of the voyage, they return to their racks with everyone else. Zenie stays awake all night, listening to people pant in the heat, grimacing every time a rack squeaks as someone shifts their weight. Some people manage to doze, but she spends the next day groggy and vows that she’ll take Popeye’s suggestion. Her friends don’t take much convincing.

“Like camping.” They’re all sprawled out on the deck, hoping that any non-coms or officers that catch them won’t send them back below. The waves slapping against the side of the boat are loud but soothing. In the growing darkness, Zenie can just make out Shifty’s smile. He’s in his element. The others agree, and she doesn’t admit that no one has ever actually taken her camping before.

Instead she’s intent to just be there, the ocean sounds sending that thrum of adventure running through her core as it carries her far, far away from that noble statue back in New York. Far away from the loneliness of her room and straight into the next leg of her adventure. Surrounded by friends.

Not too bad.

[emergentharmonies-localgroup]

Blog run by @transgenderfivepebbles

General Information

Little if any art, for now at least. As much as I'd love to, I'm not an efficient artist, and any substantial amount of traffic would make drawing for every ask take all day :(

All out-of-character text will be marked with [OOC] at the beginning of each paragraph.

Asks are public transmissions, i.e. visible to all characters, by default. Private transmissions should be explicitly marked.

The header is a screenshot by rainworldhourly on Twitter, from Aether Ridge by Kaeporo. All art, including the icon, is original.

Rules and Guidelines

Be a decent person in general. Should go without saying

You may ask about canon characters or OCs that have been previously mentioned. Including your own OC in an ask is fine, too! Just don't expect us to know everything about them '^^

I've seen this happen on other blogs before, so no magic anons or anything of the sort, please! Just simple messages, images are welcome, though.

Sparkle on! Don't forget to be yourself!

Characters are a bit to cover, so below the cut:

Characters

Reflections of Song [ROS] (they/them)

The group senior(s), two puppets in a single large can. Both open for conversation.

Dawn (she/they)

The more chatty of the two. She once managed the eastern side of the duo's (very large!) city, but has since taken up historical archiving as a pastime. They're fond of the memories, and it's fun to see what the folks up there used to be up to!

Dusk (he/it)

Past manager of the city's western industrial region. Talented bioengineer and geneticist, sequencing genomes for many purposed organisms for maintenance and repair. Loves every minute of it. No one knows why, except possibly himself.

Entangled in Promises [EIP] (he/him)

Second oldest, only slightly younger than Reflections. He's not too serious, having abandoned his original purpose long ago, and although enigmatic at times, he's got plenty of stories to tell, and all the time in the world.

Nascent Sparks [NS] (he/they)

Youngest of the local group. They once dedicated themself to the Great Problem before moving onto better, more fun things, like talking to his friends and designing creatures! He loves good company, and will be glad to answer your questions or just talk about anything.

Two Ashen Bells [TAB] (she/her)

She won't answer you. She hasn't spoken to anyone in dozens of cycles, and there's no way she'll start now, for someone she doesn't even know.

…But I suppose you could always try.

———

That's all for now! Hope you enjoy your time here :)