#he assumes something big just died and it's his soul and the honor of the italian people

[aurantiumred]

my immediate thought was of leo doing a horrible italian accent and scrambling to find a toothpick he can shove in his mouth (commit to the bit)

Aaaaaaaalllrighty everyone!!!!!! It's TIME!!!!!!! Let's fucking gooooooo!!!!!!! I am sososososososo excited to share @lost-trio-week with you all!!!! It's going to be SO much fun and I am thrilled beyond words! People's wonderful creations are already rolling in and I love each and every one of them SO much!!! YAYAYAYAYYAYAY!!!!

So, without any more delay, I'd like to present my day one fic: We Are Not Shining Stars (We Are Who We Are)

(CW: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse)

"Now, I’m gonna find your file. Seeing as someone won’t even tell me when his birthday is, I at least want that much. Assuming you didn’t delete it already, that is.” Eventually, Piper found his file and started her deep-dive, obviously disappointed at the barren field of information before her. She started reading off things about Leo that he obviously already knew (apparently, his birthday made him a Cancer. He didn’t know what that meant, really, but it was bitingly ironic) while Leo gasped in mock shock over her revelations and tinkered with a little wind-up toy. Then Piper got quiet for a moment, and giggled out her little mischievous giggle, which immediately put Leo on high alert. He squinted at her suspiciously. “What’d you find?” “Something weird,” she reported, still giggling. “They have the wrong name down for you on one of these documents.” He rolled his eyes, and looked back at his project, expecting her to come up with some dumb little nickname that would stick for about a week before they both got bored of it. “Yeah? And what name do they have?” “Emilio.” *** Piper learns a secret she was never meant to know. Lost Trio Week 2024 - Day One: Wilderness/Nicknames

Part 2 of Carry On (Wilderness School Fics)

To say that Dylan was a pain was more than a little bit of an understatement. You’d think that being in a school as big as Wilderness would have meant that you wouldn’t really cross paths with any one particular person too often, but Dylan somehow managed to surpass all expectations. He wasn’t actually in too many of Piper and Leo’s classes, but he found a way to bump into them in the halls almost every period, and he certainly made an effort to be as awful as possible in the little time he had with them.

His worst offense, by far, was the history class he shared with the both of them. Piper and Leo sat next to one another, like they did in every class they shared, and Dylan had made himself right at home in the desk directly behind them.  Considering his penchant for running his mouth, especially about Piper, and the teacher’s disinterest in stopping him, especially when it was about Piper, it was clear that Piper and Leo would have to take matters into their own hands. Leo had originally suggested tricking the teacher into abandoning him next time they went on a field trip, but Piper had given him one of those looks and he’d begrudgingly agreed to a solution that didn’t involve bodily harm. Again. 

The solution had come one afternoon when they were hanging out in the library and Leo had poked around for a bit on one of the computers he definitely wasn’t allowed on, then asked Piper if she had any grades she wanted him to change for her.

She squinted at him, then at his computer screen. “Wait, are you hacked into the school’s computer system? How’d you do that? Don’t you need to use, like, a super computer or something?”

Leo decided that going over all of her incorrect ideas about what “hacking” meant was probably a waste of time, so he just shrugged. “Just the grade books. The actual interesting stuff like personal records and junk is only really accessible on an admin computer. I mean, I could get to it from here, but it would require a lot of work.”

She arched her eyebrows at him. “And how, exactly, do you know that?” Instead of answering, he just winked and tapped the side of his nose, so she rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Don’t tell me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it!” he chirped back at her.

After a moment, she gave him a curious look. “Can you change schedules from what you have there?”

Leo shook his head. “Nah, that’s all gonna be on that main system. This one is specifically easy to get into because the teachers need to be able to access it from home. There’s no need for them to access schedules and stuff, so that’s gonna be more secure.”

“Do you–” She cut herself off and thought for a moment while she sucked her teeth. “Do you think we could use that to get rid of Dylan?”

“What? You mean like mobster ‘Ay, let’s get ridda this guy’ or–”

“No, I just mean, like… changing his schedule? Just swap his math and history so we don’t have to deal with him any more.”

Leo hummed in thought. “What about P.E.? You wanna swap him out of that class, too?”

Piper weighed her options very carefully before shaking her head. “Nah. If it’s just the one class, that could be, like, a system error or something. If we go around changing a bunch of his classes, people might look into it. Besides, I think Coach Hedge hates Dylan, so we don’t really have to deal with him, so long as he’s around.”

Leo nodded in agreement. Hedge claimed that it was just because Dylan was on the track team and he needed to be in top form, but any time Dylan even tried to talk to Piper and Leo during PE, Hedge popped up out of thin air, blowing on his whistle until he was purple, and ordering Dylan to run another two laps. “Alright. Well, we’re gonna have to break into the headmaster’s office. I might be able to do it if we can only get access to the front desk, but it will be harder.”

“Wanna do it Thursday?” Piper suggested. “Mr. Thomas is supposed to be on hall monitor duty that night.”

Leo agreed, and together they started plotting. Leo was once again struck dumb by the breathtaking lack of security at this particular correctional facility. Sure, they had some of the harshest, meanest punishments they could get away with before someone (rightfully) accused them of child abuse, but they apparently had little to no interest in trying to stop anyone from breaking the rules. There weren’t even proper security guards, though most of the teachers were armed with school-supplied hand tasers. Instead, the night watch was taken on by a series of teachers all taking their turns to roam the halls until the sun rose up over the far distant horizon. Mr. Thomas was a wry, skittish sort of man that really had no business surviving in a place like this, but still managed to have the longest tenure of almost any of the staff. Still, he struggled to stay awake during his own lessons, dry-erase marker hanging limply in one hand and coffee cup clutched desperately in the other, so it was no surprise to anyone that he often “rested his eyes” when it was his turn to patrol the halls. Students weren’t supposed to know the rotation schedule, but, well. Piper certainly had her ways.

That Thursday night, Leo picked the lock on their dorm room door, and they silently crept through the many empty halls of Wilderness School, all the way down to the first floor where the headmaster’s office was. Breaking into those rooms had been even easier than breaking out of their dorm, so before too long Leo was sat in front of Dylan’s daily schedule, and with a few clicks Dylan’s 10:00 math class was swapped with his 2:00 history class, and emails were sent out to both teachers and student alerting them of the “sudden but necessary” change. 

“You said this has everyone’s personal records on it, right?” Piper asked, peering over his shoulder once he was done. He nodded and she grinned at him. “Cool. I wanna check yours out. I’m gonna find out what you’re hiding, Valdez.”

Leo scoffed loudly and rolled away, giving her free reign. “Be my guest. You’re not gonna find anything interesting.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You ran away six times, and you think there’s nothing interesting in your file?”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrected, grinning like a shark. “I just said you wouldn’t find it.”

She laughed at him, the sound bright and loud in the cramped office. “Whatever. Get out of my way; I wanna do some snooping.”

Leo got up and offered the chair to her, bowing obnoxiously. “Your throne, my lady.”

“Why thank you, my good sir,” she replied, equally obnoxious, as she took her seat. “Now, I’m gonna find your file. Seeing as someone won’t even tell me when his birthday is, I at least want that much. Assuming you didn’t delete it already, that is.”

Leo shrugged. He hadn’t gotten rid of stuff like his birthday and social security number from his file, but he didn’t really think that mattered all that much. He got rid of the important things, like why he’d gone into the foster system to begin with, or why he’d been removed from some of those awful places before he even had the chance to run away. Anything that mattered. Anything that tied him back to that little house in Texas and the choking smoke of a burning warehouse. He was past all that now. Keep moving forward, a gnarled old lady’s voice said in the back of his mind. Be quick and be clever, but always keep moving. He figured the past couldn’t catch him if he never let it exist in the first place. 

Eventually, Piper found his file and started her deep-dive, obviously disappointed at the barren field of information before her. She started reading off things about Leo that he obviously already knew (apparently, his birthday made him a Cancer. He didn’t know what that meant, really, but it was bitingly ironic) while Leo gasped in mock shock over her revelations and tinkered with a little wind-up toy he’d been working on. 

Then Piper got quiet for a moment, and giggled out her little mischievous giggle, which immediately put Leo on high alert. He squinted at her suspiciously. “Pipes? What’d you find?”

“Something weird,” she reported, still giggling. “They have the wrong name down for you on one of these documents.”

He rolled his eyes, and looked back at his project, expecting her to come up with some dumb little nickname that would stick for about a week before they both got bored of it. “Yeah? And what name do they have?”

“Emilio.”

 Immediately, the world stood still. He was four years old and that name was being sung to him while he clapped his hands in front of a fire truck birthday cake. He was five years old, laughing hysterically as he ran away from the mess he’d made and the sound of that name shouted after him on its own laugh. He was six years old and he was being told that all the teachers and kids at school were going to call him Leo, but he would always know what name was on his heart. He was seven years old and that name was sitting warm on his shoulders as stories about what an amazing life he would get to live were told to him in hushed whispers. He was eight years old and that name was being tapped out in Morse Code as his mamá told him how much she loved him for the very last time. 

“Don’t say that name,” he snapped. “Don’t ever say that name in front of me again, do you understand?”

Piper reared back, clearly startled. Her gaze flicked over Leo’s face, but he just continued to scowl death at her. He’d had this fight before, and he’d won it every time. He wasn’t afraid to have it again, even if he didn’t want to. She narrowed her eyes at him and very obviously sucked her teeth, preparing her interrogation.

Then she shrugged, turned back to the computer, and continued casually clicking around. “Okay. Hey, did you know that Macy’s middle name is Lucille? It’s like her parents wanted her to cause problems.”

Leo felt a bit like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse, and if he hadn't been sitting down, he probably would have fallen on his butt. “What?”

“Yeah,” she said casually. “I mean, Lucille is a fine enough name, I guess, but it’s a really shitty middle name. Especially combined with Macy. Macy Lucille Milton. Bleh.”

“You’re just saying that because you hate her,” Leo said automatically. He shook his head. “I don’t mean that. I went all Incredible Hulk on you because you said some random name and your response is ‘okay?’”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Do you… want me to get all bent out of shape about it?”

“Uh, no. I guess not,” Leo stammered. “I just… was expecting you to?”

Piper shrugged. “We all have our secrets.” She offered him one of those grins he knew so well and a handshake. “You don’t quiz me about my relationship with my mom, and I pretend that the school didn’t mess up your file. Deal?”

“I– Yeah, deal,” Leo agreed, shaking her hand. He still felt a bit like he’d been spun around one too many times, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins from where he’d been geared up for a fight. 

She gave him a real smile then, all the playfulness gone and replaced with gentle, cautious affection. “Cool. Now show me how to send emails to the teachers from this account. I’ve got an idea.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up and a grin curled over his mouth. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Not until you show me how to get to the email.”

They stayed in the office for probably longer than was advisable, only cutting the mission of mischief short when Mr. Thomas shuffled by, apparently having napped for long enough. They crept back to their dorm, and when they were back safely behind their locked door, they broke out into giggles, beyond pleased with themselves. 

“Ugh, I’m so gonna sleep through English tomorrow,” Piper whined, flinging herself on the bed. 

“You say that like you wouldn’t have slept through it after a full night’s sleep,” Leo accused, picking one of her socks up off the floor and throwing it at her. Piper let out some comically loud snores to avoid answering him, and he rolled his eyes, climbing into his own bed. 

Unbidden, the name came to the front of his mind. Piper hadn’t said it right. She’d pronounced it fine, but it still sounded wrong in her mouth. Her accent rounded out weird parts, and her tone had that nasally Valley Girl kick to it. That name was supposed to be said with a warm, rich voice. It was supposed to sound like laughter and feel like being wrapped up in a hug. It wasn’t supposed to be a slap in the face. 

He still felt a little bad about snapping at Piper, though. She didn’t know, couldn’t know. She’d been joking around one second, only for Leo to flip a switch on her out of nowhere. He could perfectly picture the way she’d stared at him in wide-eyed shock, and how her features had been tinged with the slightest bit of hurt. He wouldn’t have been able to really fault her if she’d been angry with him, demanding answers, but she hadn’t. She just shrugged and accepted it, more than happy to meet Leo where he was at.  She always did that. It didn’t matter how much Leo snarled at her or how bristly and defensive he got, she always stepped back and opened her arms, ready to give Leo the space he needed to go running back to her when he was ready. He curled up in a little ball and pressed his forehead to his knees. “Piper?”

“Yeah, Leo?” she replied immediately, every ounce of the exhaustion she’d been complaining about moments before gone. 

He pressed closer to his knees. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he felt Piper crawl into the bed next to him and press up against his side. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it.”

“No you don’t. There’s literally no way for you to get it.”

“Okay, I don’t get it,” she conceded. “Not really. But I get that it upset you, and I get that you don’t wanna talk about why. And that’s all I really need to get, I think.”

Leo chewed his bottom lip until he thought it would bleed. “Leo’s a nickname my mom gave me to tell the teachers and kids at school instead of using my real name.”

“Yeah?” Piper prompted gently. “Do you like it?”

Leo shrugged. “It’s not bad. It never felt quite right though.”

“Then how come you use it?” Leo squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep, heaving breath, and Piper started gently stroking his back. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

He knew he didn’t have to. Piper wouldn’t push. She never pushed. Which is exactly why she was the one person on the planet he wanted to tell everything to.

“My mom was the last person who used my real name,” he said quietly. “Everyone else called me Leo, but she used my full name every time.”

Piper hummed softly, and he could hear the gentle smile in her voice when she said, “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah. I’m–” He cut himself off with a little choking noise, and Piper pressed that much closer. “I’m scared I’m gonna forget what it sounded like coming from her if other people use it.”

“Leo,” Piper breathed before finally wrapping him up in a hug. He clung to her, fists clenched in the back of her dumb Hello Kitty shirt. He didn’t cry, not really, but he did tremble from head to toe as she held him. After a moment, her voice whispered in his ear, “You may not like the name Leo, but I do. It’s the name of my best friend.”

Leo chuckled softly in the crook of her neck. “Yeah? I guess it’s not all bad, then.”

Piper didn’t say that name right. There was no one on Earth who could anymore. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all. She said Leo right. When she said Leo, it sounded like a smirk curling over lips and peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches shared when no one would even look at him. It sounded like stupid pranks and stolen Pokemon games and staying up past curfew to watch the stars. It sounded like the sort of kindness and acceptance he thought he’d never deserve again. 

It sounded like his name. 

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Chapter Twenty-Three: The Greatest Sin

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut

Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Past Child Abuse

Words: 10.3k

Summary: “Part of The Way, is to raise your children in a certain manner, to love the Resol’nare and abide by it everyday. Those born, never stray. Being born a Mandalorian means your soul will always remain one. No one ever says it, but many see it as the highest honor of life.”

“What happens if they leave or break?”

“It’s the greatest sin that can be committed.”

Starlight Masterlist Here

Read Chapter Twenty-Two Here

Read on AO3 Here

Not until they’ve exited hyperspace some hours later, traveling sublight, when Lumina can count the passing stars one by one, do they strike noteworthy conversation. 

“I have a question,” she says, leaned against the cockpits entrance. The child has just been put to rest in their bed—his bed—their bed, and Din—Din. Din. Din. Din.

Maker, the name has been a blast of repetition since it’s utterance.

Din, has taken over control of the ship again. Din sits in the same creaking chair he always does. Din pilots the ship without his gloves while she’s lost hers to the rocks of Daro. Din has callouses on his hands and scratchy stubble on his jaw.

Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. Din. Din—

“Ask away,” he says, staring forward.

She can’t remember what she was going to say. Something about the kid. Probably. It’s always about the kid…

His hands are rough and warm and nothing like hers. They have years of life over her and years of labor and maintenance and destruction and they have no experience in gentleness.

He’s not a gentle man. He’s not gentle at all but he’s kind and he’s sweet and fuck he nearly died four hours ago and sits like nothing happened at all. He’s trained to kill, or hurt at the very least. And he’s the kindest man in the galaxy.

He could hurt her if he really wanted to. He could do a lot to her and she’d allow it. Just to feel what it was like.

She should talk. She was the one to prompt conversation after all. She needs to say something before Din turns around and looks at her and she melts. She still has some semblance of a reputation to uphold after all.

“If you were hunting me, how would you find me?”

The longer he takes to answer, the more Lumina assumes it’s out of simple refusal. The stubborn bastard he is, of course he wouldn’t answer. A) If it ever happened there’s no reason to give away strategy. B) It’s not exactly a pleasant topic, in fact she’s halfway kicking herself for even asking and—

“If I were hunting you?” he repeats. “I wouldn’t.” She’s a bit dumbfounded. The man who prided himself on being the greatest bounty hunter in the guild and he… wouldn’t? 

“You realize if I ever got caught for anything I’ve ever done, my reward money would be pretty fucking big right?” 

“I know.” He flips some switches on the control panel, as careless as he possibly can be when the ship is running off one engine and sounding like it’ll die at any moment.

“And you… wouldn’t care?”

“No.”

“But—“ 

“I know you Lumina, even if you tell yourself I don’t. I’ll know you forever at this point.” 

“Meaning?” 

“You can’t ask me how I would hunt you.” He sighs, turning. Fuck. “That’s a trick question. You’re confrontational when you have to be. If there was ever a bounty on your head, and I took it, you’d find me first.” The moment for a snarky response passes in silence. “Taking a puck on you only means putting a hit on myself. Knowing who you are, I would never take your puck to begin with.” 

“But if you did?” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“But if you did.” 

His sigh is almost palpable. “Every quarry I’ve ever had has tried to hide,” he says eventually. “Every single one of them. The smartest ones go to Hoth or someplace crowded like Coruscant, where it would take me weeks to find them.” 

“Two extremes.”

Din nods. “They want to be a pain in my ass, if the planet won’t kill me they think I’ll get tired of looking and give up.” 

“But you don’t.”

“I’ve never had a quarry I couldn’t catch. But you? You wouldn’t be a pain in my ass because you wanted to hide or get away with it. You’d do it because you’d think it was fun, you’d make it a game. You want me to chase you, because you know anyone else who took your puck you could take care of them the moment they even thought of pointing a blaster at you.” 

“But you…” 

“But me? You actually see me as a challenge, or a threat I haven’t decided yet. Either way I scare you just as much as you scare me. You have a complex about men larger than you, which in your case, is everyone. Not to mention your deal with people holding titles. I still don’t understand that all the way. If you ever found out a Mandalorian covered in pure beskar was after you?” His eyes behind the visor rake her body, head tilting. “I think you’d be happy. You could prove yourself to whoever it was that made you think you had something to prove to begin with. So the real question is: How would you hunt me?” 

Her head nods from side to side, fingers tapping the metal doorway. “You’re shiny,” she says. “It’s to your detriment. The easy thing to do would be to lead you back to Coruscant. Underworld. You’re practically a walking disco ball. It wouldn’t take long for you to get jumped either.” 

“You wouldn’t do that though.”

“No, it’s too boring. Too easy. If I’m going to kill a Mandalorian I want to be the one to kill him.”

“You’d go somewhere to give me the advantage.”

“There’s no fun in it if I win right away, which I would. What do you think I would do?”

“We work in different ways,” Din says. “I don’t mind doing things in public, if I have to shoot someone in a Cantina I will. You’re not like that. You like to make it intimate, you’re scared of getting caught. I’m not. Even if you could kill a Mandalorian,” he says, ignoring her previous comment, “You would keep it a secret. You also like working in the dark, so I’d have to wait until night. Maybe I would find you on Endor, someplace dense with something that isn’t people, but there’s still enough for you to use the environment to your advantage. Either way, I’d need you to let me find you.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“It’s my job. It’s yours too. You’re not selfish, you’d make it as much fun for me as it would be for you.”

“You like when people can overpower you, especially when you don’t expect it. Thats why you enjoyed it so much when we first met. It turns you on a little, even if you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

They sit in their silence for just a moment, Din shifts in his seat. “C’mere.” Lumina walks to him, sitting in his lap. His arms wrap around her, her head back on his shoulder. His hands, his hands rest on her waist, firm against her softer tunic. “There is something I can’t figure out.”

“What’s that?”

“How do you do it? Get away with everything? I’ve never heard of you, no one has. Reports on your kills have no idea how you do it, and never know it’s the same person. I’ve heard of Fennec Shand, how she was the best assassin but you—” 

Lumina cuts him in a laugh. “Fennec’s problem was she let her name be known. You always knew it was her when someone died, she has a style, we all do. Her’s just got her caught. She was only so great because people knew she existed. There’s no honor in fame in my line of work. Eventually it fucked her over. Besides, she specialized in the Mid Rim. I didn’t care where I went as long as who I was going after was worth my time.”

“I was checking reports when we…” Separated. Broke up. “…Those people on Ord Mantell, the Black Sun member, Corellia… There’s never enough evidence on how they die, or evidence conflicts, and no one cares to figure it out. Life moves on.” 

Lumina hums, eyes shutting with a breath.

“This is the Way.”

---

When Lumina wakes, her head is against Din’s shoulder, neck stiff on the pauldron. His breath falls steady under her, the smallest snores barely recognizable by modulation. Everything is blurry and her senses are fuzzy, but his words can’t help but echo.

“I know you Lumina…”

In the haunting’s of her mind grows a word ancient and long forgotten. Her memories serve well as archives, filtered through every moment of her life. Trapped to never forget. But this she cannot place. In consciousness it blooms to her as a summer flower. Beautiful and bright.

Kar’taylir.

Familiar enough to the word Boba Fett had given her all those years ago, it’s inconspicuous and flies under the radar. Her bare fingers graze the buttons Din touched and memories of moments prior eclipse.

“I’ll know you forever.”

There is no origin for the new words circling her mind. It feels before her, before her before. Before her taking, before her betrayal, before her despair rotted her mind. Old, old and long dead it stands, yet clouded in the fog of childish wonder. 

The Force works in mysterious ways and is just another anomaly she’ll live in torturous servitude towards. Visions of the past are always more clear than the future, the rare thing of terror it is. But she can’t distinguish the placing of this one. She can’t tell if it’s her memory to begin with, or a projection from someone else. If she focuses she can make out the whispers of two figures, covered in smoke in loving embrace they speak to each other. She’s unable to host translation, and words are mumbled, but it carries a familiar belonging deep in her soul.

Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.

“Din, Din,” she mumbles, words slurred. “Din I have another quest…”

Sleep comes quick, submitting her to unconsciousness.

---

“It’ll be a rough landing, but as long as the other engine doesn’t burn out we won’t fry to a crisp,” The Mandalorian says over his shoulder. “How’s it looking back there?”

“Like a horrible idea,” Lumina mutters, crouched near the back wall. “I can’t believe I’m letting him do this.”

“Don’t have much of a choice. The navigational systems need a hard reset to ping out to base. The Razor Crest is undetectable right now. If we don’t get clearance to land, we get N.R. on our ass. Does he have the wire?” 

“He has a wire.”

Alarms blare throughout the cockpit, red buttons flashing.

“Not the right one,” Mando sighs, turning off the sirens. “Hey…” Moving beside Lumina, his head takes the place of hers in the space of the walls opening. The child sits, a babbling rant to himself inside the mess of circuitry, wires gripped in his hands. “Did you get the wire out? The red wire.”

Grogu yanks a blue cord from the circuit board, turning to his father with confused coo.

“No, no, no. No, the red one.”

“Did you ever think that maybe he can’t see colors?” Lumina asks.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to, this is a stupid idea. He’s gonna get hurt.”

“He won’t get hurt. Hey, kid, show me the red wire. The red one.”

By some miracle he listens and Lumina rolls her eyes at the smug look burned under the helmet.

“Yes, good. Now, you’re going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes in the board.”

“You’re going to be the reason I start drinking.”

“Lumina—“

“Not helping, I know.”

“Put the red wire where the blue wire goes, in the board, okay? But don’t let them touch. You see where you took the blue one off? Yes, now put the red one—No, don’t put the blue one back. Put the red one where the blue one was. And put the blue one where the red one was.”

“Have you even bothered to teach him colors?”

“Lu—Kid, be careful. They’re oppositely charged, so keep them away from each other. Make sure you hold them apart from—“

“I’m just saying. You taught me Mando’a colors when he was there. You could at least try that out.”

“I’m not talking to the kid in Mando’a he’s lost enough as is—No, hold them apart—“ The child screeches, and lights flash from inside. Crackling electricity causes even Lumina to flinch.

“Oh,” Mando sighs, defeated. “Are you okay?”

Grogu coughs, little whines his only answer.

“Din!” Lumina scolds, shoving him aside.

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

“Worth a shot, he—baby c’mere.” Hands reaching inside, the Child toddles with coughed whines. “My poor baby,” she coos, lifting him out. “Say: Daddy’s stupid, he should never be in charge again,” she mocks, waving his fist. “Don’t look at me like that, it was your idea.”

“He’s fine, you’re overreacting.”

“He electrocuted himself.”

“And he lives to tell the tale. We still need the systems turned back on.”

“How about you focus on feeding your kid, and I worry about the systems?”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t do much worse than you. Go, it’s nearly lunch time for this one. Go, go.”

Alone in the cockpit, Lumina looks at the child. “I can’t believe he thinks he’s the smart one.”

At least the kid laughs.

“Okay,” she sighs, holding him up to the hole. “Reach out through the Force. Picture the board in your mind, you just saw it so that should be easy. Now lift up the blue wire…”

Nothing.

“Uh… Kebiin. The kebiin wire.” Slowly, it hovers in the air, steady pants falling from the child. The worst satisfaction is the kind that she can’t rub in Mando’s stupid silver face. “Good, good. Okay, put that one where the other one was.”

Click.

“Good boy! Now do the same thing, but for the other wire. Pick it up, and put it where the kebiin one was.”

Click. 

“Good job Bug!” Lumina laughs. Kissing his whiskered head, the Razor Crest’s control board springs with life. “You did so good! Your dad’s gonna be so proud when he…” The drooping ears of the Child is misery enough. “Don’t worry,” she mumbles. “He’ll find out soon.”

Whether she wants him to or not.

He will. 

---

“Baby don’t slurp, it’s rude,” Lumina says. They sit as they always do, or rather in what has become their normal. Somehow. Din—Maker, it’s impossible to think there’s finally a proper name to the slab of walking metal—and Lumina with their backs together, Grogu in her lap.

The helmet is completely off and at their sides like a fourth seat at their horribly deformed table. The bone broth they drink from is lukewarm at best, the depressingly tepid liquid sliding down her throat.

“How’d you get the Nav System fixed?”

“Magic.”

No more questions come.

“How’s your hand?” she asks. 

“Healed.”

“How’s the rest of you?” 

“Sore, but better.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

It was easier before. When they could keep their minds and bodies preoccupied with other activities. Fixing the ship, washing up the kid, needlessly tidying around the ship.

There’s no such luxury now.

They haven’t discussed the… event, so to say, since it occurred. Any of it. How Gideon could have possibly known where they were, Mando’s minute floating in the air, Lumina’s uncanny ability to do… well everything.

Mando’s failed attempt at confession, or what she can only assume would have been confession. Their touching skin. His request for her to remove what now stares directly at her.

How, if not for the cursed grace of the TIE fighters, they would have certainly…

It’s all a bit too much to handle.

The question of Mando’a is out of the parsec at this point.

Across from Lumina, the flowers, or whatever is left of them lay dead and dried up, browned petals lost around the ship, stems have naked and thorns the only evidence of their once life.

It was nice while it lasted.

The facade of normalcy.

Although, her heart does ache when they too will go brown and rot. Then she’ll have nothing. No remembrance of Naboo. Nothing to touch, nothing to keep and hoard with the rest of her knickknacks.

Her collection is starting anew, positive Relena has already taken the step to burn everything in her room in the compound. The little trinkets reminding her of every job she’s done, the stolen glasses from the club to remind her of Neri, the scale brush Sully had given her as a peace offering after her first night.

It’s all gone.

Nevermind that, she thinks, shaking her head of the thoughts. I have what’s important.

The Clone rifle sits with the rest of Din’s weapons in the armory, actually all of her weapons are now with his. Well, aside from the obvious.

Her clothes are officially unpacked from her duffle—and in need of a wash but that was an issue for later—perfectly folded into the crate she called her own.

The Red Axe HoloProjector and member card had been thrown into the disintegrator that morning.

Headscarf and mask hang outside of the bedchamber for easy access. Her hands are cold and feel foreign to herself without gloves. Other tragic issues from this will be sure to appear later.

Her sabers hide in the same location of the electronic picture frame, behind a panel to hollowed space in the alcove.

BREAK FOR EMERGENCIES is etched in her mind whenever she looks at it.

Regardless if she sits with satisfaction or not, the Razor Crest is as much hers as it is Din’s.

Maybe not a home, not yet.

But a place of comfort and safety nonetheless.

The kid is too aware, he always has been. She supposes endless years of trauma would do that. Maker knows she has enough personal evidence to uphold the argument. Either way, he tugs on Lumina’s shirt, empty bowl displayed proudly. Asking for seconds he knows he won’t receive.

“Good job,” she mumbles, patting his head.

He babbles, little understanding coming from hand motions and waving ears. 

You’re lucky you’re cute, she sends through the Force.

It’s apparently the wrong response, seeing as he now frowns, eyes narrowed. Picky little shit. From under his coat, he pulls out the necklace he’s worn since their meeting. A figure of an animals skull made of melted beskar.

“What about it?” she asks aloud.

“What about what?” Din asks in return.

“Nothing. Talking to Bug.”

“Do you… know what he’s saying?”

“No.”

“Then how…”

“Motherly instinct.”

It’s a bullshit excuse. Lumina doubts there’s a drop inside her, but it works.

Grogu holds his pendant out to her, waving expectantly. Patience will need to be a next lesson, if only for her sanity. Her hand settles in front, palm outstretched. He drops it without hesitation.

Cold metal hardly registers against her skin before wordless flashes start.

A human child. Young, no older than ten standard years. No younger than seven. 

Yelling.

Blasters.

Metal.

Bombs.

Fire.

Din dying.

Letting go, everything is dizzy. The air feels thin, smokey. As if she were plucked out of the Razor Crest and directly into the scene of mayhem. Everything is so hot and a lack of oxygen threatens her brain.

“Hey… Din?”

“Yeah?”

“Bug’s necklace. How’d he get it?”

“It was mine,” he says, comforting click of his helmet following. “Then I gave it to him.”

“How did you get it?”

“It was given to me when I was taken in. It’s a symbol of solidarity, loyalty. In the case of the kid… It was given to him so that another one of my kind could care for him. In the event that… I could no longer do it.” 

“So he’s… He’s a Mandalorian? Officially?”

“Not yet. When he comes of age, whenever that may be, he’ll be able to swear the Creed. If that is what he wishes to do. Then, officially, yes. Right now he’s… in limbo.”

“What about other children? If they’re born from a Mandalorian, do they still get a choice?”

“Technically yes. If they wish to leave they can do so. But from birth they are considered to be fully Mandalorian.”

“But they still swear the Creed?”

“Yes, but for them it’s more for show. People like to pretend that there’s equal footing, between Foundlings and those born into it. It’s not like there’s discrimination but… their loyalty would never be in question. Paz was born a Mandalorian, to one of the biggest houses of Mandalore. Everyone treated him better because of it.”

“I thought Mandalorian wasn’t a race?”

“It isn’t. Part of The Way, is to raise your children in a certain manner, to love the Resol’nare and abide by it everyday. Those born, never stray. Being born a Mandalorian means your soul will always remain one. No one ever says it, but many see it as the highest honor of life.”

“What happens if they leave or break?”

“It’s the greatest sin that can be committed.” When he looks at her, metal face to exposed skin, his voice drops to deadly stoicism. “From everything I know, coming back from it is impossible.”

The severity of the hypothetical rises to Lumina’s realization. Despite her own foolish assumption of the ease of conversation, it’s anything but. His aura changes to tension, despite the fact that he will never be effected by punishment, he’s still scared.

“It’s that bad?”

“Lumina, it’s worse than death.”

---

“Hang tight, it’ll be rocky,” Din says, entering Nevarro’s atmosphere. Only running on one engine, turbulence hits harder than preferred, the entire ship leaning one way. 

“You live here?” Lumina asks from behind, kid sat in her lap.

“I spend the most time here.”

“How long will we be staying?”

“Long as it takes to fix my ship.”

A town of stone upon dried volcanic flooring enter into view, a sorrowful sight in the eyes of Lumina. Missing Mustafar in any capacity is a rarity she thought long forgotten by the end of the war. But cracks of what must have been magma ache in her heart.

Landing gear deploys underneath, the setting jostling their bodies. 

“C’mon, they’re waiting.”

“Who’s they?”

“My…” As if contemplating the definition of the word itself, friends, follows in weakened confidence.

They’ve been alone together for so long, it’s almost hard to believe Din has any friends at all. Lumina’s mind has fallen into complacency and self convinced he is as lonely as her. That friends do not exist. Partners. Colleagues. Alliances born of truce or debt. 

Mothers left on Sorgan with nothing but a broken heart and pity for the unfortunate.

Those exist.

But Din is different. Din is a man from teachings of compassion.

Lumina, is not.

“They’ll like you.” He hands Lumina her protections, standing idly with the Child in hand in the midst of her disguise. “I promise.”

“How do you know that?”

A shrug. “Because I like you.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck what they think. And neither should you.”

The short nod only gives way for anxiety to bubble in her gut.

“Stop worrying,” Mando says, foreheads pressed together. “We drop off the bounties, get the ship fixed, and we’re gone.”

 For a Jedi.

“Right,” Lumina swallows.

“Close your eyes.” The kiss is short and sweet, leaving her mask pulled under her chin and an echoing click. “Feel better?”

“Maybe,” she lies, adjusting the cloth.

He doesn’t let go of her chin, gently turning her head from side to side. “You haven’t been wearing your contacts,” he mumbles. “Didn’t have them on once in Naboo either.”

She shrugs, soft smile now hidden. “I don’t like them anymore.”

He kisses her again.

“What’s your name?” he asks through the modulator.

“What?”

“What should I call you here?” 

She stills, looking down to the slow falling gangplank as sunlight streams shine inside.

“Lumina.” 

The walkway ends halfway to the ground. Mando is the first out, reflecting beams of light blinding Lumina who stays cautiously behind.

“We were worried you got stuck in there!” A low and commanding voice says from outside. “Looks like someone could use some repairs.”

Din’s grunt is next, boots hitting dusted ground. “How’s my credit around here?”

“I think something could be arranged. Isn’t that right Marshal?”

Another voice follows, female. A lighter kind as Lumina makes tentative steps into the day. “I’m sure we could work something ou…”

Lumina stands above them all, quiet literally. The four eyes of the strangers burning into her with incredulous shock. She jumps directly off without a flinch at the landing.

It’s worse than Canto Bight. The stares. It’s a million times worse, and if she weren’t so prideful Lumina would shrink on herself right there. Instead she stands a foot away from the Mandalorian with no movement or sound.

“Is something wrong?” Din asks, tight and cold.

The man is the first to move, clearing his throat. “Who’s this Mando?”

“Lumina,” he says with a short nod.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Just Lumina.

The strangers share a look, all too telling to thoughts and intentions. Looks that say we’ll ask later and interesting all at once. 

“I see,” the man says. “I am Magistrate Greef Karga. This here is my partner, Marshal Cara Dune. Welcome to Nevarro.”

At least her silence grants them a chuckle and another shared look. Makes sense.

“About my ship,” Din says.

“Of course. I’ll get my best people on it. Hey fellas!” Karga calls out to two worker aliens. “Let’s fix this mans ship. I want it as good as new.” The child gurgles, diverting attention. “And you,” he coos in laughter. “Come here little one!”

Lumina ignores the flinch in her hand when he’s taken away.

“Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?” Karga asks. “Have you been taking good care of him?” At a coo, his focus is back on the kid. “Yeah? Yeah! He said ‘yeah!’ Oh, yeah,” he laughs, walking away.

Cara Dune gives them a combined half shrug and matching smile. “We should talk.”

---

The walk the busy streets of Nevarro, filled with vendors and children and adults living without grief. A statue in the middle of the square catches eyes, some IG unit perfectly posed.

“Looks like you two have been busy,” Mando says. He walks side by side to the Marshal, a bad choice overall. Lumina’s a wanderer, all it takes is one odd thing to catch her eye or—a freezing wind.

“I myself have been steeped in clerical work,” Karga says ahead. “Marshal Dune here is to be thanked for cleaning up the town.”

Followed by a silent scream…

“Your ships not lookin too good,” Cara says.

“We had a run in,” Mando explains in short. “Lumina’s quite the pilot.”

“Is that so?” Cara muses, looking back. “Well, if knocking out an entire engine is a win, I’d love to know what the real threat was.”

Entering a cantina, the screaming stops and focus is regained. It’s nothing, it has to be nothing.

“I’m sure Mando can catch us all up, after we talk business,” Karga says, motioning inside.

The group settles in a booth in the back corner. The establishment is moderately empty for the morning. Server droids manning the bar, other unfortunates populating Sabbac tables and downing their woes. Lumina settles next to Mando, across from the other two. She’s bouncy, a jittering leg under stone table only settling with Din’s hidden hand.

“You got my bounties?” Karga asks, motioning for drinks.

Four tracking fobs hit the table from Mando’s pocket, three a steady red, one without light. “Couldn’t manage a body for the last one,” he says. “But he’s dead.”

“I’d love to take your word Mando, but rules are rules. Do you have any proof?”

“No.”

“Unfortunately, I can only give you payment for the three.”

“Pay him,” Lumina says.

Eyes, she decides, are the most unsettling things to see. Must be why she can stand Din’s company so well.

“This is guild business,” Karga says. “I’m sure Mando appreciates you sticking up for him, but we have regulations to follow. I can’t just take anyone’s word.” 

“The New Republic places tracking chips into all of their prisoners. If they’re high security it goes into the head, so unless they happen to know a very good surgeon, removal means death. If a prisoner dies through other means the connection is severed since brainwaves are no longer functioning. N.R. hired the guild for this job, contact them and get confirmation. But I’m sure this one hasn’t fully decomposed yet, so if you’d like I’d be happy to personally show you what’s left of his brains on Daro.”

Karga’s narrowing eyes, and Cara’s widening ones aren’t much cause for concern. Din’s head snapped in her direction, however, might be. 

And then he laughs, Karga, Din she figures would never be caught dead laughing in public. It’s counterintuitive to the whole ‘scary Mandalorian’ thing he has going on. He flicks his hand behind them, another pair of workers exiting the building. With the other, credits are placed on the table.

“For four bounties,” he says. “Where’d you pick this one up Mando?”

Breathless he says: “She actually found me.”

Drinks settle between them all, Karga and Cara each taking their own. The other two left untouched.

“How long have you two been… friends?” Cara asks.

“We’re not friends,” they both say, and share a look.

Din’s throat clears, hand squeezing her own. “We’re—“

Its in those milliseconds that panic settles between them. They had, of course, made the agreement to not have anyone know. And an explanation of yes, we are together, no we won’t elaborate is more painful than any other excuse. 

But options are few and far between to explain what she is. His girlfriend? Off the table. Some assassin? Too vague. Red Axe? Too many questions and now, not true. A reluctant nanny? Not believable. 

“—partners.”

Maker he’s worse than she is. 

“Partner generally implies being friends,” Cara says.

“It’s complicated.”

“I guess it is,” she muses. “How’d ya meet?”

“Work,” they both say. 

“Are you a hunter?” Karga asks.

“Something like that,” Lumina says.

“What are you doing sticking around this guy?”

“If you’re going to interrogate us,” Mando sighs, ready to stand, “We can leave, get repairs elsewhere.”

“Now calm down,” Karga chuckles. “You’re always in a rush. I’m only asking your new partner very simple questions. No one is forcing anything.”

“They’re not appreciated.”

“She doesn’t seem to have an issue with them. Lumina, is it? Do you have an issue with my questions?”

Yes.

“No.”

“See,” he laughs. “He’s so dramatic. Mando doesn’t have many friends, or partners. Naturally you can see why I’m curious as to why you’re here.”

“I was a contact in Coruscant,” Lumina says shortly. “We ran into each other again recently. Turns out we share a similar interest.”

In their silence, the collective one that even the kid has somehow become apart of, they stare.

Waiting.

“The Mandalorian wants to find a Jedi. So do I.”

Though it may not have been the greatest answer considering Karga’s jaw tenses and Cara diverts her eyes to anywhere else.

“Mando,” he says, motioning out the booth. “Might we have a word? In private.”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.”

“I believe it would be best if this were between you and I. Please.”

Mando leaves her with a lingering hold and subtle nod. It’s okay he seems to tell her, but the blood rushing to her ears in embarrassment assures her of anything but. 

This was a horrible idea, and the heartbeat sounding in her head blocks clarity from whatever they might be saying in the back room.

“I told you… Dangerous…” Karga’s muffled voice sounds. “Relena…”

It’s a fact she’s known all her life, but hearing it now, from someone else. Someone she doesn’t know. Someone who Mando trusts, as much as Mando is capable of trusting that is.

She’s a threat. She’s dangerous. She’s not wanted.

How do they know? What has he told them? Anything? Or are they all truly baseless accusations? In their months apart has he defamed her? What is there to defame? Her reputation, her story, her mythos, it’s already that of a monster. Of some heartless stolen child raised into a shadowy being. 

She holds the story of tens of hundreds of men with public confusion. And now they hate her too. These strangers. When she’s barely had a moment of conversation. She’s never been given a chance. 

Since when did you deserve fairness? When you went on a massacre on Corellia?

“C’mon,” Cara says, tapping. “I know Mando isn’t much of a talker, but with Karga they could be a while. I’ll give you the grand tour while we wait.”

---

Carasynthia Dune, ex-Rebel shocktrooper, survivor of Alderran, is a watcher. She watches Lumina’s eyes glaze over in the middle of her speech about the IG unit in the square. She watches Lumina flinch when a child runs too close. She watches Lumina’s head tilt and nose scrunch under her mask after a breeze passes by.

She watches the space between Lumina’s steps, how delicate her hard boots land on the dusted stone, how her hand never leaves the blaster on her side.

She watches Lumina’s eyes—the only real thing she can see of the girl—settle under her own, a fiery gaze translated through all the stages of grief in just three seconds. The tear drop tattoo, rested under her left eye, resonates.

If she is a survivor as well, Cara has resolved on letting her bring the topic to discussion.

“So, you and Mando huh?” Cara asks, hands shoved deep in her pockets.

“There’s nothing going on between us.”

“If you say so. But, if there is,” she pauses, head tilted, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I never pegged him for having a type, but you do make the most sense.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re practically his reflection. Dark, quiet, moody, on edge.”

“Oh.”

“How’d you really meet?” She asks, nudging Lumina’s side. “Between us.”

“I was on a job, he got in the way. Tried to kill him on Tatooine.”

“I tried to kill him on Sorgan,” Cara chuckles. “He might have a type after all. Can I ask what you do?”

“I get the feeling you already have an idea.”

She shrugs. “I like to get my information from the source.”

“I was a… contracted gunman.”

“Was?”

“Had a bit of a falling out with my employer recently. Guess I’m independent now.”

“So you’re not…”

“Not anymore. What, you gonna turn me in now Marshal?”

Hands raise in defense. “You haven’t done any wrong here, and N.R. has no jurisdiction either. Besides, I know what it’s like to do things when you don’t have another choice. We all have to survive somehow.”

“Right,” Lumina sighs.

“Hey. Mando trusts you. That’s enough for me.” Another breeze passes, a sharp shiver running down her skin. “I don’t think it’s ever been this cold here,” she chuckles. “I bet they’re done by now, how about we head back—“ Looking around, Lumina is gone from her side, dark shadow nowhere in sight.

She really is Mando’s type.

---

The Force, or rather, what Lumina has been taught of the Force in her short and pathetic twenty something years of life within the galaxy, is a cruel mysticism. While in school in Arkanis, as Inquisitors who were once great Jedi heros now fallen to the dark taught blossoming minds of children, one fact was in constant emphasis.

The Force will free you.

An ironic notion considering the—now in hindsight—blatant slavery of the children Lumina called her peers. The Force, the one thing all the children shared ability to, the one thing keeping them locked underground for decades of their lives, is freeing.

Their meals were nothing more than a glass of water and super-nutrients slid on a beige tray into their cubicle bedrooms an odd number of times a day. They’d all become desensitized to death before they could fully grasp what death even meant. 

But this was all part of the process. This was a step towards freedom.

Submission to the dark side, the correct side, the path of strength and power and rumored immortality, is freedom. Leaving a building of growing minds to pass each day with no regard for others, not even themselves to the point where the death of a peer was nothing more than a shrug and continuation of lessons was freedom.

Because they were so mentally strong—and emotionally stunted—they are free from burden of the regular. They aim for strength and power and victory and look to the Force for rewards. Blessings for the deeds of sin.

Lumina was never good with this not back then. She could never bring herself to want like the other children did. She survived sure, she would do what she was told, saber lessons, Force practice, gymnastics, those came with ease but no true desire. 

The more she thinks about it all, the less Vader’s interest in her makes any sense at all.

Stars, even his cybernetics would cave on themselves if he could see her now. Under his guidance, she improved. She stopped feeling sick after killing—one of the unspoken embarrassments of the incident—she stopped feeling anything at all that wasn’t unbridled rage and annoyance.

Never too much though, Rule of Two and all that. They wouldn’t want their precious Emperor to become aware.

Maybe that’s what Boba was there for. To keep some morality in the girl. To break some crack of light in the blackened ice of her core. He’d been distasteful towards her in the beginning, reasonably no one wants to deal with Sith. That was fine. The more people who didn’t like her, the more cemented she would be in hate.

So had it really been such a surprise when years later, the very person keeping her steady, began to pull her away from the dark? When she would anxiously wait on the platforms of Mustafar for the famed gunship to land for her recovery? When she would laugh and smile and train alongside the bounty hunter?

After the fall of the Jedi—something Lumina prided herself on achieving—or what then was presumed to be the official fall of the Jedi, the Emperor had ordered the execution of all Inquisitors, no longer having a need for their sect. There was little fear for herself, after all, Lumina was not an Inquisitor. But with the Jedi gone her place was lost. What good is a killer with no one to kill?

Vader kept her around regardless, of course he did. In the short time between the end of the Jedi and the beginning of the war, she would dare to say things were good. As good as they could be anyways. She stayed mainly on Mustafar, on rare occasion she would be his companion to Coruscant. But when he was home she would walk beside him just as she did at their union, hands behind her back.

He always chastised her for her admiration of stars. He would tell her that even stars die. That it is the will of the Force, something she was certain was said to him as Anakin. It sounded like some double entendre bullshit a Jedi would say. 

And then the war started. She should’ve seen it coming, her unofficial dismissal from his life. He kept around like a pet with a waving tail whenever he bothered to acknowledge her.

“Keep your face covered when you talk to him from now on,” Boba had said after one of their less exciting missions, now three years into the war.

“Why?”

“You’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. It’s best if he doesn’t recognize you anymore. Things could turn for the worse… be grateful your eyes are different. You’ll never need to hide them.”

Of course it made no sense at the time, it still doesn’t. And the irony strikes her in the gut. Vader raised her after all, for better or for worse. And now, at about twenty standard years of age, this is the advice given?

She hadn’t listened the first time, she never did. He’d never felt so cold in her presence before. He’d never not looked at her for a reason other than dehumanization. But then, it was like he was protecting himself…

Needless to say she never showed her face again until the very end of it.

It’s really no wonder why she’s so okay and protective of Din’s anonymity. Or why, even now, as she walks through the bazar, she’s so captivated by the cold.

It is the will of the Force.

---

“Good morning!” A woman calls to Lumina from her vendor’s stall, hand waving. “Would you be interested in my wares?”

The bazar seems to be as full as ever, not that Lumina would know the difference, bustling white noise steady in the background. The woman stands as the smallest monolith, cloaked in red, brown hair pinned to perfection. 

“Um… no, no thank you I—“

“What’s your name, dear?” she asks. There’s no reason to warrant any conversation with her. And yet... emerald eyes stand alluring.

“Birdy,” Lumina says, taking absentminded steps towards the stall.

“Someone must have clipped your wings,” she snorts.

“Sorry?”

“Would you like to look at my rings?” she asks, a box presented with bronze jewelry. “Your hands are bare, they could use something.”

Lumina’s nose scrunches, fingers closing around her palms.“You wouldn’t happen to sell gloves, would you?” 

“I’m afraid not. Might I recommend you not go around touching things here, it could have devastating effects.”

Lumina’s blood stills, head with a curious tilt. “What did you just say?”

“How about a necklace?” The woman offers next, presenting a wooden stand with hanging pendants. “They could compliment your eyes exquisitely.”

None catch her attention but a necklace of black cording with a silver skull, hanging from a dowel. It’s more scuffed up than the rest which surround, an insignia of the Rebel Alliance, the New Republic… A little dented as well, while the others look pressed with factory precision, this one is almost… handmade.

“How much for that one?” Lumina asks.

“It’s defective,” the woman frowns. “You don’t want it.”

“How much?” The woman forgos an answer, and Lumina reaches for the swinging pendant. In her palm, her hiss is automatic, metal burning her skin.

“I told you not to touch anything,” the woman laughs. In a snap the skull dissipates in a cloud of green smoke, Lumina’s hand left empty and cold. Heart beat freezing.

“You… How are you here?”

A hand finds the small of her back, “Hey,” says the voice of The Mandalorian, crouched by her ear. “What are you doing over here?”

She turns to him, the Child tucked to his side he towers above her. “What?”

“Cara said you ran off on her, did something happen?”

“No, I was just—“ Reality of her location settles in, bazar exchanged for a small back alleyway. The sounds of the town’s center a more distant echo. “I… I guess I didn’t realize how far away I walked.”

“Are you okay?”

Yeah, she mouths, invisible to his eyes. “What happened with your erm, friend?”

“Employer. Did you hear any of it?”

“I tried,” she shrugs, “Cara dragged me out before I could make any sense of it. Was it bad?”

He shrugs now. “Wasn’t great.”

“Should I leave?”

“No,” he says. Quick. Too quick. Like he were expecting the question and the answer was waiting on his tongue, ready for venomous strike. “No. Don’t worry about him.”

“Okay.”

Looking around the cramped alley, Din’s nods are almost methodical. “While we’re here, I want to show you something,” he says, hand held for hers in the buildings shadows.

Her nod is short and tense, a lingering gaze onto the wall which had been the vendor’s stall. On her palm, it’s like the burn mark never existed, her pain as imaginary as the woman. But it finds his own, covered in comforting oil-bathed leather. 

“Lead the way.”

---

He guides her to a winding staircase, steep steps bouncing her down the concrete. The tunnel it leads to is empty and cavernous, metal sewage grates lining the floor.

“You’ve shown me where you’re from,” Din says. “What you came from, what made you… And I can’t take you to Mandalore, or Concordia, or…” Home. “But I can take you here. This was—is, part of where I’m from. Since we were all outcasted, at least, and until—until we were found again.”

“By Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“How many—“

“Enough. Enough to matter, and enough to help our numbers become nearly nonexistent.”

“Did anyone survive?”

“That I know of, only one other. It was my fault. I was the reason they all had exposed themselves. They risked everything to protect me and the child. And I left. And then I come back, to armor piled like a mass grave.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault,” Lumina says. “They helped you on their own. No one forced them.”

“I still left,” his head shakes, “I could’ve come back sooner. I could have helped them.”

“And you could have died,” Lumina says. “You probably would have died. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be the last one around, but there’s no good in blaming yourself for this. They did for you what I’m sure you would’ve done for them. Besides, you lot are warriors. Dying from bad guys is kinda your thing.”

Deservedly or not, it earns a chuckle on his end. 

Lumina bumps his side, pressing the back of his handplate to the cloth of her mouth. “This is The Way, right?”

“This is the Way.” 

Footsteps echo solid, winding corridors leading to separate rooms with stones of bunk beds and and tables. “The foundlings stayed in here,” Din says. “I guess it’s not any nicer than what you had.”

“They had each other,” Lumina says. “That’s more than what I can say.” Hands are kept to herself, one shoved in her pocket and the other intertwined with Dins. These are not her stories to know, her history to pry on and exploit. “When it happened,” she says,“Do you know if any of them…”

“I assume so.”

“Oh.”

He stills, a twitch of his hand in her own. “You’ve said that the Empire has a history of taking children… Is there a chance any of them were…”

“No,” she says. “I mean, I don’t know for sure. When I… served, it was only a select kind of child that would be wanted. It’s possible, but I don’t think any of them would be of interest, but I’ve been wrong before.”

“I don’t know which I’d prefer,” Din sighs.

“Well, as someone who’s seen the other end of that option. Neither do I.”

They walk in silence for some time, gravity of their reality heavy on each of their conscious.

“So,” Lumina sighs, taking the Child from Din’s arms. “What did you sewer rats do for fun around this place?”

“Well…”

---

Limits: No tricks, pin to win.

Handicaps: Fifteen minute timelimit, no weapons.

A coin flip determined Lumina be stuck with the child. Which, usually would be past annoying, but she’d be crazy to pass up a teaching opportunity like this.

“Your dad is the antithesis of Force Sensitive,” Lumina sighs, crouched by the child, hand planted on the ground. Even his electronics aren’t powerful enough to get a sense of location. Although, there is still something off…

“I can’t get a read on him for the life of me… Do you think it’s the beskar?”

His shrug is the best answer she’ll get.

“This is such shit. He lived here and expects me to find him in fifteen minutes.” 

It doesn’t help that of course this happens after she forces conversation about strategy on hunting each other. Now he has all the advantage and she’s stuck in some stone tunnel with nothing to read or footsteps to…

Thank the Maker that’s exactly what happens, footsteps that is, heard down the echoing tunnel some meters away. 

“And that is called the will of the Force, Bug,” she grins, lifting the Child off the ground. “Usually it fucks me over, but this is great. We’ll find Shiny in no time and I can finally said I beat his ass at something.”

Grogu’s laughter is the best thing she’s ever heard.

---

Well this is… unexpected. Fitting, nothing can ever seem to go her way, but still unexpected. The footsteps guide her south to the end of one of the tunnels. Greeting her and the Child stands a cavern, entrance wide and foreboding. At the center of it’s archway sits a metal skull, an exact replicas of the child’s.

Lumina sets the kid down with caution, glancing around the opening. A powered down furnace sits in the middle on a raised platform, computers and workbenches scatter around the wall, various tools left atop and abandoned. “I swear I heard him come this way,” she mumbles. “Keep an ear out, Bug. I didn’t think your dad could be this tricky.”

Especially after he was the one to limit no tricks.

She walks inside with as gentle of a step of the planet’s surface, making her round of the space. The dizziness returns without prompt, she blinks in quick succession to regain stability. Stars it’s almost impossible to navigate the tunnels in general, the last thing she needs is to have the Mandalorian find her fainted on the ground.

“Bug, I—“

The footsteps from earlier return behind her, each one heavier than the last like a growing sprint.

Lumina doesn’t claim to know a lot, Maker knows Din would agree that she knows much less than she lets on. But she does know Din, maybe as much as he knows her. She’s spent every waking moment with that tin can since their reunion. Everything about him is committed to her memory. His annoyances, his twitching hand at anger, the sound of his run.

That’s not Din.

Lumina grabs the closest item in her reach, a long pair of beskar tongs. She swings them behind her head in time for perfect contact and a shrilling metallic clang. Her head turns slow over her shoulder, eyes blowing wide at the sight of her attacker.

A Mandalorian with a golden spiked helmet, beskar a burnt red, and fur draped over shoulders.

This should be interesting.

Lumina is the first to make a move away from their positioning, tongs swinging away with correlated duck. The Mando, whoever they are, throws a missing strike, slamming into the cabinetry.

Lumina casts a quick overview of, cursing silently at the pair of clawed tongs held in their opposite hand. Just her fucking luck this is when she leaves her sabers on the ship.

No matter, she’s done worse with less and these at least have the length of a saber.

Lumina parries every devastating strike done by the stranger, dancing across the room guided by the Force. Mutual appreciation for the others strength and skill will have to come later. If neither of them are dead that is.

Din’s gonna kill her if she kills the literal last member of his Tribe. Then again, she might be left with no choice. He’d understand right? 

Her only luck at moment is her speed, assisted by the Force she’s able to strike and parry to terrifying precision. Her substitute saber is a proven weapon, silver becoming a flash of protective movement.

Clang after deafening clang calls throughout the tunnels, ringing in Lumina’s ears. 

Where the fuck is the Mandalorian?

Lumina rolls across the concrete ground. Tongs find their place between the attackers legs. Hooked around the back of their leg, Lumina pulls the metal bringing them to their knees. 

A whipcord wraps around Lumina’s standing body, arms now trapped to her side the metal falls from her hands. In a sharp tug, she crashes into the Mandalorian, her Mandalorian, groaning on impact.

“Hey,” she pants. Held by the waist she has no choice but to stare into Din’s visor. “Took you long enough.”

“What the hell is going on?” he seethes.

“Well if it wasn’t obvious that psycho is trying to kill me.”

Only then must he realize the second party in all of this, since his head snaps away from her and to the other still on the ground. Whoever they are, they must be of some importance considering Din drops her in their favor.

“Are you alright?” He asks the other, assisting them to stand.

A feminine voice sounds, rivaling Lumina’s for lack of emotion. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I apologize. I believed the tunnels to be empty, I thought you had left already.”

“Clearly, you thought wrong.”

“Hey Shiny, a little help here?” Lumina grunts on the floor, squirming against the whipcord.

Din’s swear is whispered, passed by his modulator. He rushes to her side, cutting the wire. “Are you okay?” he whispers, a gentle hold on her jaw. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Can’t say much is damaged besides my pride.”

“At least your humor’s still intact.”

Her eyes roll, shaking off the cording. “Who’s the deranged Zabrak?”

---

Din introduces the other Mandalorian as the Tribes armorer. Context of implication is all Lumina has to assume the importance of her position among the covert. A type of matriarch to the others who has perished.

The child toddles inside the cave, beelining directly for Lumina, arms outstretched. She lifts him immediately, body held against her chest.

“It has been many months since the deliverance of your quest,” the Armorer says, now standing above them. “Why is the foundling still in your care?”

“I have…” Din sighs, “Been preoccupied, with other matters.”

The blackened visor of the Armorers eyes drill into Lumina, cold and metallic as the rest of her. “So it seems. Who is this stranger you have brought into our home?”

“This is Lumina, she’s… uh…” Din sits on the stone slab between them and the woman, a subtle nod to Lumina to follow. This she does without argument. The Armorer sits across.

“A distraction.”

“Yes—No, no she’s—she has been assisting me in locating the Jedi. If it weren’t for her I wouldn’t have found other Mandalorian’s…”

“And have you found the Jedi?”

“No. Not yet. I know their location. My ship is in need of intensive repairs at the moment, but as soon as they’re resolved we’ll be going there.”

“Both of you?”

“That was the intention, yes.”

It’s actually kind of cute how blatantly nervous Din is, sat with perfect posture for the first that she’s known him, hands folded in his lap.

“You are quite the skilled fighter,” the Armorer says to her, a rude interruption of her admiration. 

“Oh… thank you.”

“She has Mandalorian training,” Din interjects. “Combat, shooting, she knows all of it.”

“You taught her?” The Armorer asks.

“No,” he says. “But one of our kind assisted in raising her. Called her Ad.”

The head tilt must be a Mandalorian thing, a unified clan confusion. “You are a foundling?” 

“No!” Lumina says through nervous laughter. “No, not at all. I—I don’t claim myself to be one of you. I just… he was more of an uncle to me than a father, I guess. But, no my… father, was busy most of my life, and they were… business associates. He was just stuck babysitting me most of the time.”

Maker she needs better excuses.

“The foundling is close to you,” the Armorer says. “What is your relationship to it?”

What happened to Din not approving of her interrogations?

“I erm… I’m… I—“ Lumina should’ve let her head get smashed in, it would be less painful. “Um… I help um…”

“What is your relationship to Din Djarin?”

Logically, if she were to attack her now the chances of actually getting her head beat would be pretty high…

“We are…” she drags out. “Um… we have a… we’re close.”

“We aren’t married, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Din grunts, voice heard for the first in what feels a millennia. The bite of the word weighs on Lumina’s lungs. 

It seems like a bad time for a ‘actually we were fake married for a bit and then had a very messy divorce’ joke. But it sits on her tongue. He must know it too considering the minuscule head shake he does.

“Tell me,” the Armorer says to Lumina. “Has Din Djarin ever removed his helmet?”

Bile jumps to her throat, body hot in anxiety. “Isn’t that a question you should ask him?”

“And yet, I am asking you. Has Din Djarin ever removed his helmet?”

Lumina’s jaw tenses, gaze diverted to a corner of cobweb. She’s sure his heart stops as well. “Only… when appropriate, and… in privacy. To eat, to bathe, to rest. Things of the sort.” It’s not lying, at least. Not totally. She’ll never know the difference or the truth.

“Have you ever removed his helmet?” She asks, the end of each syllable a jagged piece of stone to her chest.

“No. Never,” Lumina responds immediately. “I would never think of it, nonetheless attempt.”

“Why?”

She nearly laughs from the ludicrous suggestion, a snort smothered behind closed lips. “I respect him. I know the Creed means a big deal to him, I would never jeopardize that.”

The first inkling of an approving nod leaves them both with relief. 

“I wish to see you,” the Armorer says. “Please, remove your covers.”

Any snide remark of the raw irony of it all leaves with another shake of Dins head. Right. Jokes will come later while she wallows in self pity from sheer embarrassment.

So she does, slowly unwrapping the scarf pinned around her hair, she folds the silk gentle in her lap. The mask is last, timid fingers unhooking elastic cloth from her ears, head ducked.

Meeting the Armorer’s visor, no words are spoken for longer than Lumina would like to admit with dignity. All the stranger can manage is the permanent blank stare.

As if looks alone have offended.

Maybe they have.

“I have seen her face before,” the Armorer says finally, standing. She walks to the various desks, storing away tools. “With different eyes.” It’s a collective drop of heart from both Lumina and Din, eyes finally meeting beyond visor. At continued direction towards Din: “You have found no Jedi to train the foundling as of yet?”

“No.”

Then, to Lumina, “Are you aware of the story of Mandalorian Duchess Satine Kryze? Tales speak of her love to a Jedi. It did not end well. Our people do not collide well together.” 

The child squirms against her, whining into the pillow of her breast. Lumina hushes his cries the best she can, a waving hand of calm energy rubbed over his head. “I um…” she stumbles. “I can’t say I am… listen I don’t know who you think I am but—”

“What is your family name?”

She freezes again, nausea building in her throat. Her free hand finds Din’s behind their backs. “I don’t claim my family name.” 

“I’ve heard all I need,” the Armorer dismisses. “Din Djarin, you are free to restock ammunition while you are here. I fear this may be the last we see of another for quite some time. My work here is nearly complete.”

With lasting squeeze he drops Lumina’s hand, leaving for the tables.

“That’s it?” Lumina asks. “You’re just going to say that and not elaborate?”

Not even a glance is spared in her direction with a spoken “By Creed, your matrimony would be forbidden. That is all you need to know.”

Now Din is the one to give pause, head turning over his shoulder. “What?”

“This is the Way,” the Armorer says.

“Are you joking?” Lumina bites in disbelief. Not that she’s ever thought about marrying the Mandalorian, she hasn’t. Not seriously at least, but even this mysticism treaded past absurd. What right does she possibly have over this? “You can’t—For once, I can say I have done nothing wrong. I’m sorry I tried to kill you, but you came after me. I get that I’m an outsider and I don’t fully understand your whole thing,” she says waving a hand.

“Lumina,” Din says.

“No. No, she can’t tell you—Listen lady, we’ve never even talked about getting married, and maybe we never would have; but that doesn’t give you the right to say we can’t and then not explain. I’ve never taken off his helmet, I’ve never seen his face, I help him raise his kid, I fly his ship. I was trained by one of your people, he’s teaching me your language even though it gives me a fucking aneurism—“

“Lumina,” he says again, now by her side. “That’s enough. We can talk about this later, in private. Right now we should go, I’m sure the ship’s ready.”

“I’m not going anywhere until she gives me one good reason we can’t get married.”

There’s no reason to be this upset, not realistically, not after she’s just said they’ve never discussed the damn thing. Yet here she is, blood boiling over a hypothetical impossibility.

The Armorer steps directly towards Lumina. Her right arm swings out, gravity hammer landing below her chin without a flinch. She lifts Lumina’s chin with the tool, guiding her head to turn side to side.

All she says is one word, accented voice laced in poison.

“Dar’manda.”

---

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Lost History

Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

[saanphoenix]

“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

[cinnaminsvga]

🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie​ who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends. 

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter. 

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims. 

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

[beepen]

all I did was buy Hades and play it. now it’s been 3 weeks and 

than and zag are idiots, here’s a thing. i love them. fuck. 

hypnos is a little shit

-----------------------------------------------------

There was something about Death that Zagreus believed should be savored, or rather, handled with great care. He didn’t know much about the ceremonies mortals held for their dead, only that Than had mentioned rituals and burials in the few conversations they’ve had about it. Thanatos wasn’t willing to give more than that, claiming he never had time to stay so long and observe the culture in which mortals laid their dead to rest. He simply followed the calling deep within his chest that led him to whatever unfortunate soul he was to take next, and afterwards, leave.

Zagreus hoped there was more to it, though. Not Than’s work—he hoped it was as simple as he described—but the mortals and how they deal with death. Did they honor it? Did they honor him? Did they understand that death was part of life, that they went hand-in-hand; that death...that Death was beautiful….

And gentle, Zagreus quietly mused, peaking around the corner to the West Hall with a bottle of Nectar carefully cradled in his arms. He didn’t even want to jostle it; it had to be in perfect condition. Nothing short of perfect should ever be gifted to Death Incarnate. It wasn’t a rule or anything, of course, just Zagreus’ own personal belief. It should be, though. It should be a rule. If he wasn’t on such bad terms with his father, he would ask that he make it so.

“You just missed him, Zagreus.”

The familiar voice lured Zagreus’ gaze from the empty spot at the end of the hall to Achilles standing at his usual place, just outside the King’s chambers. He had a knowing look about him, subdued yet piercing in his read of Zagreus’ dejected body language.

“He left moments before you arrived,” he informed, and Zagreus huffed in frustration, straightening from his little sneak position and walking towards the old warrior, still mindful of the bottle curled in his arms.

“You mean to say he left after having seen me emerge from the river.” Zagreus meant for it to be witty, but he couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone. Nonetheless, Achilles gave him a warm smile, albeit more out of pity than anything.

“Perhaps. Although he does have a rather demanding job.”

“Of course.”

Zagreus would have thought himself a narcissist for assuming Thanatos would leave in spite of him rather than because he had a duty to fulfill, but the accusation didn’t transpire simply because Chaos was feeling a little bored. Than had been avoiding him, that much was clear. If it weren’t for his obvious absences over longer-than-usual amounts of time, then it was the way in which he disappeared before Zagreus could get a single word in. Zagreus had known Than long enough to realize when the god was hiding away. And right now, Than was hiding from him.

Sighing, Zagreus loosened his hold on the bottle of Nectar and held it up to Achilles, keeping his gaze on the extravagant marbled floor. If Than was hiding from him, then it was probable he wouldn’t take too kindly to an unwanted gift. And Zagreus didn’t want to pressure him….

“For you,” Zagreus forced out, lifting the bottle higher for Achilles to take. “A token of my appreciation for everything you’ve done for me...you’re more of a father than my own—”

“Zagreus.” The interruption prompted Zag to shift his gaze from the floor to meet Achilles’ fixed stare. “I am honored, truly, but I’ve yet to find the time to drink the one you have already given me. Surely this one belongs to someone else?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to hint at something, trying to help Zagreus understand without outright saying it. The twinkle in his eyes was all-knowing.

“Yes, it was for....” Zagreus stared briefly at the little balcony, where Thanatos would be, if only he were there. He wanted more than anything to somehow find him and ravish him with gifts. Though, that would be too overwhelming for the gentle, moody god—and far too forward. Not to mention impossible, given how Zagreus is practically chained to the Underworld at the moment. There weren’t many places he could travel to in search for him.

Sighing, he shook his head and forced the strange desires to untangle their greedy threads from his heart. He nearly shoved the bottle of Nectar at Achilles.

“First come, first serve,” he joked, waiting for the old warrior to accept the bottle. Achilles didn’t bother even looking at the gift, instead reaching past it to comfort Zag’s shoulder.

“Thanatos will come back—this is his home, afterall.”

“Well, yes. But he won’t come back to me.” Zagreus immediately regretted the words the moment they slipped out, feeling unbearably selfish and exposed to his true feelings that he had, up until now, successfully avoided.. “I mean—that’s not how I meant to say it. It’s just...he’ll be back for you, for Nyx, Meg, and Hypnos, even. But not me. I’m not part of the reason he returns home.”

Not that Zagreus had any right to be. He was trying to leave the place Thanatos called home, for gods’ sake. And without telling him. Than had made it known he was upset about it based on their latest, and perhaps last, confrontation, but Zagreus knew Thanatos hardly revealed even a glimpse of what he truly felt. He couldn’t imagine how hurt Than really was….

Achilles’ grip on his shoulder tightened just barely, laughter twinkling in his eyes. “Prince, you are far too dramatic.” He didn’t elaborate further, almost as if the words were for his own amusement rather than to appease Zagreus’ worries. He backed off, hand slipping from Zagreus’ shoulder, and finally acknowledged the bottle still held up for his taking. “Keep that, and wait for him.”

Zagreus didn’t know what was so funny; the possible end of his friendship with Than was no laughing matter. And he didn’t want to give this bottle to Than anymore, anyway. It was all shaken up.

“Really sir,” Zagreus stepped forward, ready to shove the bottle in Achilles’ embrace if he had to. “It’s yours. I bestow it upon you.”

“I’m fine, dear Prince. In fact, I’m a little offended you would offer me a gift meant for someone else.”

Zagreus balked, interpreting Achilles’ slanted smile to be one of mockery. “Well I’m offended you won’t accept my gift! A gift I quite literally died for, might I add. Besides, I’m only going to offer you more in the future; there’s an abundance of them in Tartarus. Far too many for me to keep but enough for everyone to have multiple. I’m quite certain I will have another by the time Than shows his pretty face. Now, please sir, I demand you take this!”

He couldn’t possibly outstretch his hand farther, but he certainly tried his damned hardest, only for Achilles to cross his arms and shake his head. That slight smirk still adorned his face.

“Forgive me, Prince, but I do not accept your gift.”

Zagreus nearly growled. “Take it! I’ll stand here forever if you don’t!”

“You know as well as I that every soul, shade, and god alike are aware of your inability to stand in one place.”

“I—! I can stand in one place! I’ll do it now!”

It was only a few moments later that Zagreus was seen stomping away from the Great Achilles in humiliated anger, for the old warrior was correct: the Prince could not, for the life of him, stand still.

“Oh, shut up,” Zagreus grumbled, red hot in the face and fire at his heels (literally).

*****

Achilles was not his father, so he would not directly defy him as he did Hades, but he’d be damned if he walked away with a hurt pride and did nothing to make himself feel like a winner. So it was no surprise when he gave the wretched bottle of Nectar to Hypnos, practically announcing it to the entire House as if he were awarding a hero. Hypnos was glad to accept it, feeding off of the Prince’s drama and loudly proclaiming his thanks with a big smile until they were shouting back and forth, like kids playing pretend. That is, until Nyx urged them to be quiet, warning them that Lord Hades would be back any moment and that he did not tolerate the smuggling of Nectar.

And if Nyx heard them, then Achilles most certainly did too, and Zagreus walked back to his chambers with an inflated ego and his pride back in order, ready to tear through his father’s domain once again with the viscous intent to cause problems.

And caused problems, he did. The more chambers Zagreus tore apart, the more he began to think Achilles had purposely infuriated him. He was the one who trained Zag, afterall. He knew how to stir up trouble even better than the Prince himself, and it was a surprise to no one that the old warrior irritated Zagreus enough that the wretches of the Underworld cowered before his wrath.

Zagreus didn’t even know what he was so mad at. He was just riled up, stuck in his thoughts, so distracted he paid no mind to the aches and strains of his body from unconsciously pushing himself. He thought of nothing; just let the time pass and the monsters be slain, allowing his irritation to consume him entirely. It was almost impossible to recall the conversation he had with Meg, if any. The Fury may have said something upon his arrival, but Zagreus was in no position to respond, so they just fought.

Zagreus only acknowledged her defeat after the Lernagon Hydra crumbled to dust. By then he had ripped Asphodel a new one, with little to no recollection of how or when he got to this point.

“Must be a new record,” he mumbled to himself, the first he’d spoken since he jumped out of his window. He never made it this far….

His awareness came back to him, dragging himself down from the clouds he had been lost in. He took a second to catch his breath as he was made aware of how much his body hurt. Drinking from the fountain dulled it somewhat, but, gods, he must have been one hit away from collapsing. He wanted to collapse now, let the Styx consume him and heal him. And perhaps, now that his little fit was over and he had ransacked enough chambers to appease his emotions, apologize to Achilles for how rude he was back at the House. But up next was Elysium, and he had never been there; never was allowed to step foot in there. He wasn’t going to quit without going as far as his body physically allowed.

He didn’t expect Elysium to nearly blind him with its lush plants and sparkling sky, just as he hadn’t expected Asphodel to be so hot. It was far cooler up here, thank the gods, but he had to stay in the first chamber a few moments longer so his eyes could adjust to the brightness. He broke some precious pots too, of course. All of them, actually, and with a conniving grin on his face as he recalled his father yelling at him to stop being an ignoble brat.

Never.

Laughing almost maniacally, Zagreus dashed into the next chamber with newfound vigor, completely aware this time and not shrouded with overwhelming adrenaline. Every hit he suffered hurt more, but his focus allowed him to dodge more often and think properly, and he completed the chamber with only a few more scratches added to the ongoing list of wounds.

He was feeling good, confident. Anxious still, because he had never survived this far and had no idea what awaited him behind the next door, but what was the worst that could happen? Death? Ha.

And as he practically skipped into the next room, the toll of a bell stopped him in his tracks, draining all the warmth from his body as the already green chamber flashed an even greater, colder shade of green. Zagreus, although yielding under the sudden chill, still found himself wrapped in a blanket of familiarity, of something so beautiful he couldn’t find the words to describe it. That alone was enough to keep him from freezing to the bone.

“Thanatos…?” He whispered. He hoped. He dreaded. His heartbeat picked up, and his soul tried to rip itself from his body, drawn to the figure zapping into existence right in front of him. For a split second, wings encased Death’s godly form, dissolving as soon it appeared. A detail that was hardly noticeable, but Zagreus noticed it everytime and wished it lasted longer. He yearned to see those wings again.

“You’re easy to track down,” Than said, in a voice that was soft yet piercing, the pronunciation of every word perfect and clear. It caught Zagreus’ immediate attention, keeping his feet planted where they were. He smiled; he couldn’t help it.

“Aw, you were looking for me?”

And there it was: the slight downward twitch of his lips, the furrow of his brows, and of course, the subtle scrunch of his nose. Teasing Than was the best.

“No,” was Than’s indignant answer, and Zagreus of course didn’t believe him. “It was simply an observation of the debris you’ve left behind. I just happened to be in the area.”

“And you also just so happened to follow the trail, knowing it would lead to me?”

“No—! Ugh.” Flustered, lovingly so, Thanatos wielded his scythe. “Fight or die, Zagreus. Or, perhaps, do nothing, while I do all the work. Like how it's always been.”

Zagreus smirked. Well, he definitely wouldn’t mind sitting back and watching Death annihilate Elysium’s best warriors. He knew the god would make swift work of them. But to miss the opportunity to fight alongside the God of Death? Why, how could he decline such an offer?

Before the first shade could even materialize, Zag was on them, hacking and slashing like his body didn’t scream for him to follow Than’s advice. It was exhilarating, exciting. They worked as a team rather than competitors, Zagreus even pushing enemies into Thanatos’ dark circle of death. Than took notice, stopping to give Zagreus a confused look, before disintegrating three Brightswords at once.

Beautiful. Beautiful.

A few more Brightswords materialized, including a Greatshield and some Chariots, but they met their demise quickly before they could so much as breathe. Not that they needed to breathe; they were dead.

And now you’re deader, Zagreus mused, finishing off the last one while Than, ironically, floated and watched him do the work, perhaps giving him a pity kill. Zagreus didn’t keep track of their last competition and he wasn’t about to now; he’d let Thanatos worry about that. Though, he could estimate that he himself killed about five, while Thanatos...more than that, probably?

With the last warrior slayed, Elysium was quiet and peaceful once more, as Zagreus imagined it would be if he was sentenced to live his eternal life here. He took this opportunity to gather and absorb the dark energy a few enemies dropped, thinking about Nyx’s gift when he felt eyes watching him.

Goosebumps riddling his skin, he turned towards Thanatos, who continued staring a moment longer before offering his hand. Zagreus, confused, tilted his head and waited for an explanation. Upon receiving nothing except for Than’s unreadable expression, he took the invitation and shuffled closer.

“Your reward,” Thanatos mumbled, yet it was clear as day. Energy popped in his upturned palm, the remnants clinging to Zagreus’ skin and melting into the tissue, the bones. Zagreus watched a few scratches heal themselves. His body still ached, but his vitality grew stronger, like he could withstand more.

“Centaur heart,” Zagreus muttered, and he tilted his head back, traveling up Than’s floating form before stopping at a pair of two golden orbs. “Why?”

“It was a tie.”

“Oh.”

Zagreus was suspicious, but he didn’t speak on it. If Thanatos wanted him to stay home, like everyone else apparently, then he wouldn’t have given him something to keep his body going unless it was well-earned. Death was honorable like that.

“Ah,” Than cleared his throat, and standing this close Zagreus could see the beginnings of discoloration dusted across his cheeks. “My brother—Hypnos, that is—gave me a bottle of Nectar a little bit ago.”

Zagreus didn’t react to the random statement at first. He wondered why Thanatos was telling him, but also, how Hypnos could have gotten another bottle himself. The God of Sleep didn’t travel nearly as much as his older twin, or even Zagreus for that matter. Though, Zag supposed maybe he didn’t really know where Hypnos went when he wasn’t dozing off by the entrance to the River Styx. He always assumed the god was off sleeping somewhere more comfortably. Or maybe—

Wait. Zagreus frowned. He sensed something was amiss; something wasn’t right. The bottle, the one he gave Hypnos just before his most recent escape...he wouldn’t...couldn’t have…?

His eyes widened. No. Nonono—

“He said it was from you, Zagreus. That you asked he give it to me...as a gift.”

For the second time that day—or night, whatever—Zagreus found himself sputtering with disbelief. Irritation, embarrassment, anger, betrayal, amongst other feelings he refused to acknowledge—he couldn’t sort out which ones he felt the most.

“That—” he tried, but the words were locked in his throat, clogged together so he could hardly talk, hardly breathe. How dare Hypnos give away a gift Zagreus had given him. And how dare he thus give that same gift to Thanatos, lying in his name on top of it all!

“Zag?”

The nickname made Zagreus flinch and want to wilt away, perhaps turn into a butterfly and hide in Than’s chiton forever. At least until Than eventually ran into Hypnos, where Zagreus would then use the element of surprise to strangle the sleepy god. But to hear Than call him by his childhood nickname rather than cruelly addressing him as ‘Zagreus’ enveloped the Prince with so much nostalgia and belonging it ached. What was the point of rewarding Zagreus a centaur heart if he was only going to wound him like this moments after?!

“I...Than.” The exchange of nicknames felt natural, but Zagreus was ashamed. It was enough to zap him out of his momentary panic, and he briefly locked eyes with Death before taking in not only the concerned tilt of his brow, but also the specks of flustered gold alighting his face. Than was...flattered, to say the least. Zagreus wasn’t so oblivious he couldn’t figure out that much. But it wasn’t because of his doing; not really. He could go along with it, pretend that it was, but. That wasn’t right. Death should be honored. This was not honorable.

Upon the sigh Zagreus released from his emotionally-constricted lungs were everything he had managed to feel in less than a second after the reveal of Hypnos’ betrayal. Whatever the reason for it, Zagreus wouldn’t accept the benefits of it, if any. He wouldn’t accept the outcome if it wasn’t truthful.

“Thanatos,” he began, the name not as sweet on his tongue, “That gift...was for Hypnos, not you. I never asked him to hand it off to you.”

The look on Than’s face was hard to read at first—perhaps a mixture of confusion and horror—but Zagreus hated it. Desperately did he wish to replace it with the bashfulness from before. That feeling he had felt earlier, to bask Thanatos in gifts, was back full force.

“You mean to say…” Than’s voice trailed off before his expression hardened. “This is a prank, then.”

“No! Of course not. Not by me, at least.” When Than didn’t look convinced, Zagreus stepped closer, reaching for his dark Chiton but pulling back when he noticed Than’s shoulders stiffen. “I swear, Thanatos, on my father’s name. I gave him the bottle and that was it. Maybe...maybe there was a miscommunication? Or perhaps he overheard—”

He stopped himself there, looking past Thanatos at nothing in particular. Maybe Hypnos overheard his back and forth with Achilles? He was right around the corner, afterall. And if Nyx could hear Hypnos and Zagreus, then Hypnos would have no problem eavesdropping on the happenings of the West Hall. If that’s the case, maybe Hypnos believed he was doing a favor by giving the bottle to its original intent?

“Overheard what, Zagreus?”

With another sigh, Zagreus gave up. “Okay. The Nectar was for you.” Before Thanatos could process the words, Zagreus rushed the next sentences out, fearing the god would think it was all a joke again. “Originally! It was intended for you, at first, but you weren’t at the House. You—you’re rarely at the House, and it’s clear you’ve been avoiding me as of late, so. And the bottle, it was shaken up. I couldn’t just give something like that to you! I wasn’t sure you would even accept a gift from me anyway so I tried to give it to Achilles but he wouldn’t accept it because he said it wasn’t for him even though I was obviously giving it to him and we may have argued about it loud enough for Hypnos to hear but he didn’t say anything about it when—”

Zagreus, whose words were starting to blend together as he quickly rambled his explanation of things, abruptly stopped when something small and hard was thrusted against his chest. He was nearly pushed back from the force of it, and he scrambled to hold onto the object when Thanatos pulled his hand back. Confused, Zagreus stared down at his hands.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Zagreus had to force himself to look away from what appeared to be a butterfly, mesmerized by the intricate designs he could briefly make out before giving Thanatos his attention once more. He wasn’t looking at him, rather, his head was turned to the side, arms crossed with his scythe cradled between the bulge of his biceps. Dust of gold once again sparkled the soft glow of his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t worry about giving me anything, Zagreus. I’ve no interest in the little souvenirs you find in your futile attempts to escape this place.” Slightly, he cocked his head, fixing his golden stare on the small artefact held gently in Zagreus’ grasp. “But if you insist...you’ll have no choice but to hold onto that.”

A flash of green, a schlink, and Zagreus was alone in Elysium.

Than’s swift exits always left a hole in his chest, but this time he didn’t bother dwelling on it, the weight of the butterfly in his hands keeping his heart full and healthy and...happy. His fingers smoothed over the coolness of it, its subtle ridges and edges a fine testament to the workmanship it must have taken to create something so beautiful. And the colors—shades of purples and grays with a green tint on the outer rims of the design, giving the butterfly a glowing effect—reminded Zagreus so much of Thanatos, and the beauty of Death.

The Prince’s tendency to ramble, although grating to the ears of most in the House of Hades, seems to have avoided what would have been a terrible rift between the likes of Life and Death, courtesy of a telltale lie; but the Prince’s desire to strangle the God of Sleep still stands as is.

Blood trickled to the tips of Zagreus’ ears. “What are you talking—? Ugh, just shut up!”

[brazenautomaton]

Fixing Afterlives: The Maw, First Visit

So our Shadowlands journey starts with the Maw. You know what? People hate this scenario now because you can’t skip it and have to go through it on every character, but the first time through, this is actually really good. You’re kicking in the gates of Hell with a platoon of Death Knights and then everything goes tits-up and you don’t have a beachhead and you’re lost and wandering and there are awful, awful things everywhere and you’re hiding and isolated and need to learn how to escape. You just need the option to skip it on your alts.

Plus the aesthetics of the Maw are great. They sell what it is -- the hostile architecture, sinister crystal formations, the way everything seems swept and shaped by a windstream of souls. We’ve seen plenty of environments that look like a Hell of flames. This is a Hell of pure suffering. Pain is what lives here. Pain is all that enters and pain is all that is produced. It’s only after you went farming Stygia for a while that the pain gets inflicted on you.

So we assemble the crew, get the exposition while we put together the Helm of Domination, get given a portal stone to establish a beachhead, and we bust in to find the four captives: Anduin, Jaina, Baine, Thrall. We rally the Death Knights into enough of a formation to make it in and find the evidence of Jaina, and I like that, I like how you track her by the huge formations of ice -- it shows you her power and the mark she leaves. Finding her is mostly the same although her dialogue is less generic and content-free (from now on assume I apply this caveat to all dialogue). She’s more confused and disoriented and even though she’s fighting it’s with a resignation that she knows it won’t work and she’s starting to think she’s only hurting herself by trying. She acts like she has been there for years. But you say you and the DKs are here to save her and she follows against her better judgment and agrees to try and find Thrall, who she struggles to remember, but seems to be trying very hard to be able to remember.

Then the Mawsworn Kyrian show up and laugh about her hopelessness, and you fight them. And they kill the shit out of you. 

More and more and more of them keep coming and they’re level 60 when you’re level 50 and if you do some bullshit to survive eventually one of them will grab you by the neck to Silence you, lift you into the air, and do the ol’ Val’Kyr Special and fatally drop you. You unavoidably die.

This is necessary early to establish what dying in the Shadowlands means. Play a special graphic effect when the player dies, something more drawn out and grasping. Play a sound effect appropriate to race/gender of the PC of them struggling against great pain and gasping. Then you appear next to a Spirit Healer (yes normally in the Maw you just respawn alive so you have to pick up your Stygia like in Dark Souls, we’ll explain the discrepancy later), a Mawsworn Spirit Healer, who says “No. Your suffering will not end. The Maw claims you.” and then starts to chase you the fuck down with a bunch of shades. You need to run, as a ghost, to claw your way back into your body. Obviously, if the shades catch you, you get dragged back to the start and the Spirit Healer fucks with you a bit. 

Your body has been dragged over to the area where Jaina and the rest are hiding; they fled while you were being merced. Jaina sees you stir. And she says “I’m sorry, champion. Death is no respite here. It is so hard to fight the pull… I struggle to even remember my body when I try to return.”

Jaina has been brutally killed over a dozen times. This is not her first rodeo. This is not her first escape attempt. This is not the first time she’s killed that particular Mawsworn tormenter whose name I don’t recall. It doesn’t end. It never ends. She doesn’t know why she tries any more, when she knows it will fail and she will die and suffer and claw her way back to her flesh and every time it gets harder and harder. All it buys her is the ability to offer futile resistance and maybe that isn’t even worth it.

Mood: established.

From there it goes mostly the same. You try to pump the shades for info about how to escape and they don’t know, they can’t know, they can’t even want to escape. The info you get is a memory of spitefully hating someone who fled to the waystone. You rescue your buddies. You see the Jailer fuck up Baine, only instead of giving him a spirit poison, he fucking snaps the dude like a Kit-Kat and drops his lifeless corpse, and you drag it to safety. You don’t need to find a poison dagger to counteract the spirit poison; you need to keep him safe and clear a path for his spirit to flee back to his body. Thus reinforcing what the danger here is and how it’s different and what they fear.

And while you do this, at some point, you run into Sylvanas. Maybe she just walks up to you while you’re all collected around Baine trying to help him revive. Since the Jailer won’t be saying “it’s not like you won anything b-b-baka, it was just a temporary setback,” you need to establish that feeling that he views your victories as completely meaningless. Sylvanas knows you’re here saving Baine. So does the Jailer. It does not matter. You cannot accomplish anything. 

Thrall kills her dead. She just gets back up. She has an escort for her soul to go back to her body. “How many times are you going to try that before you learn it’s futile? Come now, Thrall. I know you’re smarter than this. I know you respected me more than this.”

And then stuff like “How could you do this, Sylvanas? How could you betray the Horde?” Thrall is incredibly angry and offended at her. He thought he knew her. “Neither of us had any illusions you were not a monster, Banshee Queen. But I trusted you anyway because I knew you wanted what was best for your people. You were a monster, but a loyal one. How can you now turn your back on what little principle you had?” Sylvanas is hurt by this, but she doesn’t linger on it.

Jaina, however, is desperately trying to flatter her. Do this to sell the kind of impact this has had on Jaina, and what this suffering drives her to. “Please, Sylvanas. I know you were my enemy but you were an honorable one. It isn’t too late. Someone as cunning as you must know that this will end in ruin. I promise… I promise… I will surrender if you let me return. Kul Tiras will become servants of the Forsaken. Just, just let them live… please, you could rule our world, not slaughter it…”

Jaina breaks down in tears. Yes, she just tried to surrender her people to the enemy for mercy. Jaina is breaking. All of them will. The Maw is a Bad Place and makes them give up hope. That’s how we sell the threat. Not by making the enemies bigger or spikier, showing how they have broken these heroes. Less screaming anger. More pain.

Sylvanas scoffs at her offer. “It doesn’t matter where your people’s loyalty lies, Lord Admiral.” And then she says the phrase that will become a motif: “Nobody escapes the Maw.” She leaves. She doesn’t care what you do. It doesn’t matter.

But you have to still hold on to that sliver of hope that maybe the waystone is a way out. So you get Baine up and you sneak past this big-ass Maw army that can fuck 31 flavors of your day up. The jailer notices you and sends out a force to stop you at the waystone, and he repeats the phrase when he sends out the order: “Nobody escapes the Maw.”

So there’s the event, you fight off the army while the waystone charges, the army gets bigger and bigger, the charge meter gets stuck at 90%, you go to kick it and it teleports you to Oribos.

The mob descends on the other captives. Sylvanas and the Jailer look completely unconcerned with your escape. After having clearly seen you physically leave the Maw, Sylvanas brushes it off with “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Dun-DUNNN! Cutscene end.

You appear in Oribos. The Protectors stop you because you stink like the Maw and what the hell dude, yada yada. This is when you get a tour of the city, here’s the profession trainers, the bank, the transmog. Only secondary details need to be changed here. One, this is an instanced version of the city where no other players exist (you are the first one there, nobody else is). Two, Lich King Bolvar (hashtag #notmylichking) arrives from Azeroth and says SOMETHING to justify other players coming from the Maw but being less important than you. Something like, he saw what you did, there are other adventurers from Azeroth still in the Maw, his DKs are hunkering down in defensive positions and will try to make their way to the Waystone once it cools off because you already activated it, since you are the more special one, and there might be a chance that a couple others might have an echo of your power because they have had similar adventures. You are the True Maw Walker, and the context of the massively multiplayer element is “for your story, all those other guys have shitty Maw Walker powers that only work once you opened the pickle jar for them.” They can’t bring passengers, either.

Third, not the most importantly but yes the most importantly, if you are Forsaken or a Death Knight or Mechagnome or whatever you get a special dialogue where you say “Why do you keep calling me a ‘living mortal’? I’m not alive. I’m undead / a machine / maybe something else like maybe I missed the fact that vulpera are made of rocks and string.”

So Tal-Inara or whoever can be like “Oh, THAT’S what that is. Something was odd about you, mortal, that I couldn’t quite place. I call you ‘living’ because your soul is still tethered to a body. To us in the Shadowlands, to be bound in a vessel like this is far more important than the nature of the vessel itself.” That’s why people keep calling you “living”, to them you’re easy to mistake for one.

Kyrian in the Maw is disturbing news, and also WEIRD, because as Tal-Inara reminds us, “Nobody escapes the Maw.” Why would the Kyrian go down there when they can’t come back? It is terrible but not unheard of for mortals to try and speak to the Jailer but they never GO there because they can’t get out. And yet Sylvanas just walked in there? And he is mustering armies? Better go to Bastion and find out what is up. Let’s crank open this gateway, and...

[starlight-ascension]

The girls as Power Quotes

Nagisa: “You could sooner divert a river from its course than deny my nature” 

Honoka: “You will be reduced down to a single atom once I am done with you”

Hikari: “I see now that the circumstances of one’s birth are irrelevant: it’s what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.” 

Nozomi: “Impudent of you to assume I will meet a mortal end” 

Rin: “I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me” 

Urara: “Each comment is a prayer, bringing me closer to emerging from my cursed plane. Thank you for heralding the apocalypse this old god brings.” 

Komachi: “Every man’s heart one day beats its final beat. His lungs breathe their final breath. And if what that man did in his life makes the blood pulse in the body of others and makes them bleed deeper in something that’s larger than life, than his essence, his spirit, will be immortalized by the storytellers.” 

Karen: “The words of prophets are written on the subway walls” 

Kurumi: “In a world of blood and chaos, rabbits must hunt as wolves” 

Love: “Tonight you spoke with the devil. The devil looked a lot like you.” 

Miki: “Your boos mean nothing. I’ve seen what makes you cheer.” 

Inori: “No pet is perfect, it becomes perfect when you accept it for what it is.” 

Setsuna: “Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters” 

Tsubomi: “No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle” 

Erika: “Do you think God stays in heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he’s created?” 

Itsuki: “I will seize destiny by the throat and force it into the shape of my choosing” 

Yuri: “God gave me depression because if my ambitions went unchecked I would have bested him in hand-to-hand combat by age 16” 

Hibiki: “Bury me shallow, I’ll be back” 

Kanade: “I hope your gods forgive you because we surely won’t”

Ellen: “I am a monument to all your sins” 

Ako: “The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor. What an injustice.”

Miyuki: “There’s no light at the end of this tunnel, so it’s a good thing we brought matches” 

Akane: “If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight just like I always have”

Yayoi: “There is not enough time to make all the things one’s imagination can conjure” 

Nao: “All these moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain” 

Reika: “Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars that you won.” 

Ayumi: “Our paths may have crossed briefly but you still had the misfortune of knowing me” 

Mana: “Whenever you look at another creator or an artist that you respect, you’re only seeing what took them a long time of work and doubt to push through. You never see the struggle behind it. So you think you’re the only one struggling, when in fact, everyone goes through it.” 

Rikka: “Take this gift, for the gods surely won’t” 

Alice: “The anger in your heart warms you now, but will leave you cold in your grave.” 

Makoto: “I’ve been through hell and I’ll come out singing” 

Aguri: “You kneel before my throne unaware that it was born on lies” 

Regina: “What is better: to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort” 

Megumi: “This is hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods” 

Hime: “I thought there were no heroes left in the world” 

Yuko: “To feel sorrow is to deserve peace” 

Iona: “God may judge you but his sins outnumber your own” 

Haruka: “All knowledge is ultimately based on that which we cannot prove. Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?” 

Minami: “What the fuck is that, ‘act my age’? The ocean is old as fuck, it will still drown your ass with vigor.”

Kirara: “If you don’t like what I’m doing you can try to stop me, but given that not even God has succeeded yet I don’t fancy your odds” 

Twilight: “You are alone, child. There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people. These ancients are just the beginning. I will command a great and terrible army, and we will sail to a billion worlds. We will sail until every light has been extinguished. You are strong, child, but I am beyond strength. I am the end, and I have come for you.” 

(yeah i did twilight instead of towa because this quote is incredibly badass and only fits a villain) 

Mirai: “Do I look like the kind of woman who dies?” 

Liko: “God is dead and soon we will follow” 

Kotoha: “To become god is the loneliest achievement of them all” 

Ichika: “Dude, sucking at something is the first step towards being sort of good at something” 

Himari: “What are you gonna do with that big bat? Gonna hit me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt. Better kill me in one shot.” 

Aoi: “I will face god and walk backwards into hell” 

Yukari: “I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering, and tonight I intend to make you very wise.” 

Akira: “Too many people have opinions on things they know nothing about. And the more ignorant they are, the more opinions they have.”

Ciel: “My body may be a temple but I am the God to whom it is devoted. Do not presume to tell me how I may decorate my altar.” 

Hana: “Violence for violence is the rule of beasts” 

Saaya: “People say ‘phase’ as if impermanence means insignificance. Show me a permanent state of the self.”

Homare: “Do not let my origin story become yours” 

Emiru: “You can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding.” 

Ruru: “One day you’ll decompose and I’ll be there to watch it happen” 

Hikaru: “No curse of mine shall befall you from my dying breath” 

Lala: “Pick a god and pray” 

Elena: “One day you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled” 

Madoka: “My father taught me as a child that if you shoot for the moon and miss, the cold vaccuum of space will suck out your eyeballs. Failure is not an option. Go kill them.” 

Yuni: “What are you going to buy in your lifetime that’s worth more to you than your own humanity” 

Nodoka: “I’ll do whatever you want” “Then perish” 

Chiyu: “You know what they say about healers and poisoners: similar skill set, very different philosophies”. 

Hinata: “The version of me you created in your mind is not my responsibility” 

Asumi: “There is no point being grown up if you can’t be childish sometimes” 

[geckosong]

Anime Recommendations

Here lies even more shows that are worth watching

Demon Slayer (2019)

A family is attacked by demons and only two members survive - Tanjiro and his sister Nezuko, who is turning into a demon slowly. Tanjiro sets out to become a demon slayer to avenge his family and cure his sister.

My Rating: 8/10

Death Parade (2015)

After death, there is no heaven or hell, only a bar that stands between reincarnation and oblivion. There the attendant will, one after another, challenge pairs of the recently deceased to a random game in which their fate of either ascending into reincarnation or falling into the void will be wagered. Whether it's bowling, darts, air hockey, or anything in between, each person's true nature will be revealed in a ghastly parade of death and memories, dancing to the whims of the bar's master. Welcome to Quindecim, where Decim, arbiter of the afterlife, awaits! Death Parade expands upon the original one-shot intended to train young animators. It follows yet more people receiving judgment—until a strange, black-haired guest causes Decim to begin questioning his own rulings.

My Rating: 8/10

Noragami (2014)

In times of need, if you look in the right place, you just may see a strange telephone number scrawled in red. If you call this number, you will hear a young man introduce himself as the God Yato. Yato is a minor deity and a self-proclaimed "Delivery God," who dreams of having millions of worshippers. Without a single shrine dedicated to his name, however, his goals are far from being realized. He spends his days doing odd jobs for five yen apiece, until his weapon partner becomes fed up with her useless master and deserts him. Just as things seem to be looking grim for the god, his fortune changes when a middle school girl, Hiyori Iki, supposedly saves Yato from a car accident, taking the hit for him. Remarkably, she survives, but the event has caused her soul to become loose and hence able to leave her body. Hiyori demands that Yato return her to normal, but upon learning that he needs a new partner to do so, reluctantly agrees to help him find one. And with Hiyori's help, Yato's luck may finally be turning around.

My Rating: 9/10

Yona of the Dawn (2014-2015)

Princess Yona lives a life of luxury and ease, completely sheltered from the problems of the seemingly peaceful Kingdom of Kouka; however, the sudden murder of the king and betrayal of her beloved cousin Su-won places Yona's life in mortal peril. Forced to escape only with Son Hak, who is both her childhood friend and bodyguard, the naïve princess soon discovers that Kouka is not the idyllic place she envisioned it to be. Poverty, strife, and corruption run rampant, making reclaiming the throne nothing more than a wishful fantasy given the kingdom's current state. With only a mysterious legend to guide her, Yona must discover a way to restore Kouka to its former glory while being pursued relentlessly by the forces of the new King of Kouka.

My Rating: 8/10

Haikyu! (2014-Present)

Inspired after watching a volleyball ace nicknamed "Little Giant" in action, small-statured Shouyou Hinata revives the volleyball club at his middle school. The newly-formed team even makes it to a tournament; however, their first match turns out to be their last when they are brutally squashed by the "King of the Court," Tobio Kageyama. Hinata vows to surpass Kageyama, and so after graduating from middle school, he joins Karasuno High School's volleyball team—only to find that his sworn rival, Kageyama, is now his teammate. Thanks to his short height, Hinata struggles to find his role on the team, even with his superior jumping power. Surprisingly, Kageyama has his own problems that only Hinata can help with, and learning to work together appears to be the only way for the team to be successful.

My Rating: 9/10

The Devil is a Part-Timer (2013)

Striking fear into the hearts of mortals, the Demon Lord Satan begins to conquer the land of Ente Isla with his vast demon armies. However, while embarking on this brutal quest to take over the continent, his efforts are foiled by the hero Emilia, forcing Satan to make his swift retreat through a dimensional portal only to land in the human world. Along with his loyal general Alsiel, the demon finds himself stranded in modern-day Tokyo and vows to return and complete his subjugation of Ente Isla—that is, if they can find a way back! Powerless in a world without magic, Satan assumes the guise of a human named Sadao Maou and begins working at MgRonald's—a local fast-food restaurant—to make ends meet. He soon realizes that his goal of conquering Ente Isla is just not enough as he grows determined to climb the corporate ladder and become the ruler of Earth, one satisfied customer at a time!

My Rating: 9/10

The Promised Neverland (2019-Present)

Surrounded by a forest and a gated entrance, the Grace Field House is inhabited by orphans happily living together as one big family, looked after by their "Mama," Isabella. Although they are required to take tests daily, the children are free to spend their time as they see fit, usually playing outside, as long as they do not venture too far from the orphanage—a rule they are expected to follow no matter what. However, all good times must come to an end, as every few months, a child is adopted and sent to live with their new family... never to be heard from again. However, the three oldest siblings have their suspicions about what is actually happening at the orphanage, and they are about to discover the cruel fate that awaits the children living at Grace Field, including the twisted nature of their beloved Mama.

My Rating: 8/10

Toradora (2008-2009)

Ryuuji Takasu is a gentle high school student with a love for housework; but in contrast to his kind nature, he has an intimidating face that often gets him labeled as a delinquent. On the other hand is Taiga Aisaka, a small, doll-like student, who is anything but a cute and fragile girl. Equipped with a wooden katana and feisty personality, Taiga is known throughout the school as the "Palmtop Tiger." One day, an embarrassing mistake causes the two students to cross paths. Ryuuji discovers that Taiga actually has a sweet side: she has a crush on the popular vice president, Yuusaku Kitamura, who happens to be his best friend. But things only get crazier when Ryuuji reveals that he has a crush on Minori Kushieda—Taiga's best friend! Toradora! is a romantic comedy that follows this odd duo as they embark on a quest to help each other with their respective crushes, forming an unlikely alliance in the process.

My Rating: 9/10

Hypnosis Microphone: Division Rap Battle - Rhyme Anima (2020)

In a world overtaken by war and conflict, "Hypnosis Microphones"—devices through which a user channels lyrics that can affect the listener's brain and even cause physical damage—were introduced to the masses by the Party of Words. Revolutionizing warfare, Hypnosis Mics have transformed words and music into the sole weapons used by gangsters, terrorists, and the military, with physical weapons having been banned from use. As a result of swooping in during the chaos, the all-female Party of Words rules over the Japanese government. Women in Japan now live in Chuuouku, while men battle over surrounding territories outside the ward through rap battles. With intentions unknown, the Party of Words begins to gather the former members of the now-disbanded legendary rap crew The Dirty Dawg to fight not for territory or war, but for their respective crew's pride and honor in the greatest rap battle of all time. The first Division Rap Battle is about to commence, and practice isn't something these rappers are going to need.

My Rating: 6/10

Kamisama Kiss (2012)

High schooler Nanami Momozono has quite a few problems of late, beginning with her absentee father being in such extreme debt that they lose everything. Downtrodden and homeless, she runs into a man being harassed by a dog. After helping him, she explains her situation, and to her surprise, he offers her his home in gratitude. But when she discovers that said home is a rundown shrine, she tries to leave; however, she is caught by two shrine spirits and a fox familiar named Tomoe. They mistake her for the man Nanami rescued—the land god of the shrine, Mikage. Realizing that Mikage must have sent her there as a replacement god, Tomoe leaves abruptly, refusing to serve a human. Rather than going back to being homeless, Nanami immerses herself in her divine duties. But if she must keep things running smoothly, she will need the help of a certain hot-headed fox. In her fumbling attempt to seek out Tomoe, she lands in trouble and ends up sealing a contract with him. Now the two must traverse the path of godhood together as god and familiar; but it will not be easy, for new threats arise in the form of a youkai who wants to devour the girl, a snake that wants to marry her, and Nanami's own unexpected feelings for her new familiar.

My Rating: 7/10

My Roommate is a Cat (2019)

Subaru Mikazuki is a 23-year-old mystery novel author, major introvert, and an awkwardly shy person. He would much rather stay home to read a book than go outside and interact with others. Further exacerbating this life of solitude, his parents tragically died in an accident many years ago, leaving him alone in the world. One day, while giving offerings at his parents' grave, Subaru runs into a small black and white cat named Haru, which he ends up taking home with him. Subaru, however, has never taken care of anyone else in his life—can he even take care of a cat? Haru is grateful toward Subaru, as he gives her all the food she wants—a luxury for a cat who is used to a rough life on the streets. But she notices that Subaru can't even seem to take care of himself! Will she be okay with this dunce?

My Rating: 7/10

[tsuisou-no-despair]

Higurashi TEN (Role Swap AU) - 34 Random Facts

Well, I'm slightly stuck with the question arcs, so instead I'm just going to write up and throw out a whole bundle of random facts about the world, its characters, and things that have or could happen. Hopefully this will lead to something clicking into place for me, and hopefully you'll like it, too.

Kei, Reina, and Mion still use a bat, nata, and taser, respectively, as their main weapons, though Mion's been forbidden from using the taser by Oryou. Hanyuu uses the ritual hoe and swords in about equal measure. Miyoko uses whatever's on hand to frightening effect.

Shion thrives at St. Lucia; however, she is pulled out of the school by her family after Oryou decides that Mion's twin would be better utilized if she was right on hand...

Miyoko does the Joseph Joestar "your next line is..." thing, which almost always works like a charm. (It doesn't work on Satoko or Bernkastel, but the former plays along when she's not in the black outfit)

Hanyuu's horns aren't initially broken, but by the end of the series, they have their signature crack.

Tomitake is a much more common sight in Hinamizawa than he was in the original universe, being a resident of Okinomiya who frequently visits. He's also quite well-liked, mostly because he's there to fix just about anything that breaks.

Rumiko was the original user of Rena's signature nata, as well as the person who first converted the van in the dump into a hiding place.

Satoko finds the contents of the Saiguiden fascinating but ultimately disappointing; she expected something more directly tied to Hinamizawa Syndrome's origins.

Irie almost always manages to get clear of Hinamizawa before Emergency Procedure #3105 is executed; however, he's usually dead in under 24 hours due to his escape catching Tokyo's attention.

Both Ooishi and Akasaka are hated by the Sonozaki family but the former much more so, to the point where Ooishi schedules his visits to Okinomiya when the Sonozakis will be looking elsewhere, such as on festival nights.

Rina targets Kei's dad in the loops where she doesn't die. Kei's mom does not take it well - to the point where she goes L5, in some cases.

Mion's "feelings" for Satoshi are primarily a result of Satoshi being just that nice and caring and good-hearted. It helps that she's enamored with a saintly image of him that's only grown more pure since his absence.

When Miyoko bothers to start telling people about how she's lost in time loops, their reactions are mostly in the vein of "oh, that explains so much".

Bernkastel can be heard by people who are deep in the throes of Hinamizawa Syndrome; naturally, she uses this to fuck with people for kicks.

Okonogi takes the role of the clinic's head after Satoko dies/disappears. He's regarded exclusively with suspicion - if he wasn't only filling the role until the GHD triggers, he'd probably get run out of town within a month.

Rumiko regularly made Miyoko curry after learning that Teppei and Tamae were denying her food; this led to Rumiko taking her curry very seriously because it represented the only "acceptable" way for her to help Miyoko.

Officially, Tatsuyoshi Sonozaki and his wife (Naeko) are Mion and Shion's parents. In reality, Akane is their mother, and whether or not Tatsuyoshi is the father is strictly a matter between him and Akane.

All of the locations from the original universe are present and more or less unchanged, along with a few new "sets" such as Akasaka's apartment.

Satoko has an alternate version of her "Tokyo" outfit that includes a mask that resembles an inverted Eye of Providence. She wears this when acting in Hinamizawa after her death, claiming that she needs to hide her identity due to being known in the village. (Okonogi thinks that doesn't matter in the slightest and that Satoko is trying too hard to be "cool", and he isn't wrong... except that it's managed to keep Miyoko from realizing who it is throughout the loops)

Beyond mahjong, Akasaka, Satoshi, Irie and Tomitake were fast friends. Their name for the quartet is the "Soul Brothers" - thankfully, it's a more serious (and infinitely less horny-focused) group than in arcs like (ugh) Batsukowashi-hen. (Kei still becomes an honorary Soul Brother in some arcs, though)

While she's reasonably familiar with a gun and a bow, Shion's real weapon is her contacts: her stay at St. Lucia (and Rika-in-Gou levels of popularity while there) means she has a slew of St. Lucia-ites (with powerful fathers) who would bend over backward for her.

Akane and Satoko are the two most skilled individual fighters in Higurashi TEN - who wins in a fight between the two is generally decided by who screws up first, but this is usually Akane getting blindsided by a trap unless she's warned. (They fight in more fragments than you'd expect - Akane Kasai is the most dangerous person in Hinamizawa and Satoko knows it.)

Miyoko starts her loops at the same point every time - the morning after the festival in 1982. This is mostly to dodge the abuse from Tamae - the fact that people assume her changed personality is because she's escaped an abusive home is icing on the cake.

The official reason for the Clinic "studying" Hanyuu was that they were researching the effects of her horns' growth pressing on her brain and monitoring the brain tumor-like symptoms (hearing voices, delusions of being Oyashiro-sama reborn, etc.) that it caused; this was all a fabrication hiding the research done on Hanyuu as Queen Carrier. Satoshi was disgusted by this facade and eventually told the Furudes that Hanyuu's brain was fine, leading to them pulling Hanyuu out (and Satoko murdering them as a result).

Irie occasionally mediates the Games Club's punishment games, sometimes getting dragged into it himself. He's a stalwart protector defender of the young club members' honor, making whatever sacrifices he has to in order to make sure that they're not forced into perverted situations or outfits.

Rumiko may or may not have had feelings for Mion, which Mion subconsciously returned; Mion's quietly put two and two together in the months following her disappearance, and it's had a palpable effect on her relationship with Reina.

Ooishi lives in Kakiuchi City and is a part of its police department, and he's not the only former Hinamizawa resident on its force - there's a bright young detective named Natsumi Kimiyoshi who I've heard interesting stories about, though I don't know much about her...

While he's still capable of being the "Magician of Words", Kei's charisma is heavily tempered by the restrained, somewhat cold wall he's put up around his emotions for "everyone's own good".

After all that looping, Miyoko's trauma response to Teppei moving back in and forcing himself to be her caretaker is anger moreso than shutting down. More than a few loops have ended with Teppei killing her after she was too insolent (or too creepy) for him to put up with.

Yukie was a reporter who was extremely critical of the anti-dam protests, especially after the kidnapping occurred. At least some of the antipathy towards Akasaka is due to being Yukie's husband.

When the seeds of distrust aren't sown, Reina's empathy is one of her most powerful tools, making her able to stand up to just about anyone in Hinamizawa and reach out a hand to them. (Sometimes this leads to getting a baseball bat to the head, but hey, she tried.)

Hanyuu can hear Bernkastel at lower levels of Hinamizawa Syndrome than anyone else in the village, and seems to be cognizant of her presence even when she's at L1/L2. The exact details of Hanyuu and Bern's rapport are known only to them.

Miyoko and Hanyuu are closer to each other than they are to anyone else, but there's still a big ugly wall between them due to Hanyuu's quasi-divinity butting up against Miyoko's hatred of any and all gods. Tearing that wall down is an important part of Miyoko's character development.

Irie had (has?) Satoshi's blessing to try and win Satoko's heart; according to Satoshi, Satoko's not entirely against the idea of a relationship. Satoshi also made sure that Irie didn't cross any lines when going after her; after Satoshi disappeared, Irie ceased his attempts until Satoko herself encouraged him.

Everyone is wearing different outfits - the new ones are more or less the same pieces of clothing as the original "position" but with the color palette and general feel of the character filling the slot. For example, Reina's casual outfit starts as Keiichi's - a vest, undershirt, and shorts (and no hat) - but then is adjusted to fit Rena's style and is given a white, light blue, and purple palette. My attempts at mocking up Reina and Mion's designs are below.

[jenniferstolzer]

Babylon 5 rewatch Episode 2.22: The Fall of Night

Babylon 5 is at the center of not one but three conflicts as John Sheridan agrees to shelter a wounded Narn cruiser. The Centauri don’t like this. Earth doesn’t like this. The Shadows don’t like this. But Sheridan has a strong moral compass and what he doesn’t like is how much the institutions around him are willing to sacrifice in the name of forging some kind of cursory peace.

Things I liked about The Fall of Nighit

1, Lennier and Vir’s friendship. If you ask me Vir, could be friends with literally anyone. He’s such an understanding soul. Lennier is by nature a little judgey. More closed off. So when they sit down next to each other and discover how much they have in common both of them look at each other like “hello what” and automatically agree to meet again. But even this exchange is done almost like spies meeting and I don’t think we stop to think about that very often. These are the attaches of two ambassadors for two of the most powerful races in the galaxy… they could very well be exchanging state secrets instead of expressing solidarity for their equally frustrating jobs.

2,  The Centauri are apparently willing to put their ships on autopilot and black out from g forces if it means when they come to they’ll be in a better firing position. This seems extremely reckless and VERY Centauri. It is the spacebattle equivalent of the hair. Big. Flashy. Not well thought through.

3, In the wake of the mass driver bombing, Sheridan gives Londo an opportunity to speak and Londo is like “NOPE” and jets before he says something that’s going to get him and his whole race in more trouble than they already are. Garibaldi then reads Londo like a literal book, delivering one of my favorite analyses of the character. Everyone thought Londo was a clown, indulging in opulence, going into debt at the casino, drinking himself to a stupor in public, but Garibaldi was his friend and knows that Londo’s not dumb, he’s actually very smart and his mind moves really fast. His error is in his judgment and priorities and he’s currently in waters he did not expect to tread. He’s scared, and he’s going to keep darting in and out of cover until he feels like he has a handle on things or he gets picked off by a hunter, whichever comes first. Also a very classic JMS line “He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt.” Hunt for that or similar lines in other JMS stuff, he loves that line.

4, The ache of watching McCarthysim at work is very effective. Zach knows the guys he’s ratting on don’t deserve to be ratted on and even says so. “They’re just fooling around” but we can tell by the level of interest and tone of the Nightwatch captian’s voice that they’re gonna get blackballed. Zach can’t deny that they said what they said, but can tell that ratting them out is the wrong thing to do. In the end he relents with a bunch of qualifications but the Nightwatch doesn’t want qualifications. They want names. Thank you for your service.

5, I love that the guy there to ally with the Centauri is from the Ministry of Peace. So poignant. They’ll get peace all right, by paying off the aggressors.  

6, When the Narn ship was coming under threat by the Centauri warship, Sheridan opened a line to Londo just to spit in his face and hang up. It was amazing. Also during this crisis, Sheridan whips out a law book to smack the Nightwatch guy back in his hole. Sinclair would be proud.

7, Watching B5 come under attack is so emotionally stirring. Even on a rewatch, I don’t want to see it hurt.

8, We have arrived! The scene where Kosh reveals himself. I love that G’Kar is hiding in the plants – like he’s not a huge gecko man who people are going to notice. I also love how plaintiff his voice is, thinking if he speaks on Sheridan’s behalf it’ll help him in the political shitshow he’s currently in. I mean he’s issuing this apology for helping a Narn ship and G’Kar is very very very grateful for that. Also B5 blew up a Centauri warship so he’s pretty grateful for that too, I mean come on… I like that B5 has like a standard subway system in the middle of it and that they let the Puppet Friends ride. I miss the puppet friends. I love that the rotational gravity system means there’s a weightless portion in the center of hydroponics and that we used that to our advantage in this story. Also the vorlons in their native form play on the perception of the lesser races. They are light beings, and humans see them as angels. The rest of the races see them as prophets or gods, but none of these perceptions are perfect. We see wings and white robes and think Angel, but Kosh didn’t appear like a rennaissance painting. He’s got a butterfly look to him, too. The face he wears is a facsimile of a human not an exact human. He’s not perfect, we’re just in awe. Love that.

9 And finally a lot has been said about why Londo doesn’t see anything when Kosh appears. He’s been touched by the Shadows, so he can’t be converted by the Vorlons b/c we’re playing a game of Othello today I guess. Maybe because he doesn’t actually believe in his pantheon of gods so he doesn’t have any deities to witness. Maybe he’s lying because what he saw was his own greed and vanity. The general consensus is the first – that he’s incapable of seeing the light because he’s in the dark. For a fresh take on it, let’s look at the Vorlons through this lens. Kosh said before that if he revealed himself everyone would know him… I take this as being a side effect of being Vorlon. Vorlons are a feeling not an image. Like Magenta. Magenta’s not a real color, it exists on the color wheel because something has to connect red and purple on the color spectrum… but the spectrum of visible light is actually a straight line. The wavelengths for red and purple are far from touching, but our brains can perceive when they’re both present, so Magenta occurs. It’s imaginary, but we see it for real with our eyes. That’s Vorlons. Perhaps Londo saw a shapeless light thing in the sky, perhaps that’s what Vorlons really are… or perhaps they have no visible representation at all until they hit our brains. Our eyeballs behold something, but our brains have to construct it out of pieces. When the rest of the galaxy looked at Kosh they used the color wheel to construct him, but Londo was only given the wavelengths. He saw nothing, because nothing was there to see. I really wish there was another Centauri there to be like “I saw the goddess Li welcoming me to her arms!” and Londo’s over there like “I’m the problem” instead of not really answering that question. Maybe it’s answered in season 3, I don’t know. Did Vir see anyone up there? He must have been on break.

What I like Less about 22

1, So here’s where I’m going to talk about Keffer. I know the origin story…. that he was an unwelcome addition to the cast added per network request, but who the hell is he other than that? I think its remarkable how he slips right out of my head the minute he is off camera. We know he’s a pilot, that he was close to Carlos (whose story/death you may recall I was laughing at in a previous episode because its significance ALSO came out of nowhere), and that he made friends with the GROPOS grunts (who we incidentally learned to care about enough in that one episode that we were sad when they died…. Awkward considering Keffer’s contribution to this episode…) Honestly the most interesting thing about him is that he’s got an old-timey fighter pilot scarf he wears and he believes in ghosts and I bet you all forgot about the ghosts. Honestly, the most interesting thing about Keffer is how he’s a lesson in how not to write an interesting character – and no shade on JMS for that, I know he did it on purpose. Significant things happening to a character does not automatically make them a strong character. Keffer experienced loss, came face to face with the shadows, got in fights… a lot of stuff happened to him, but he was almost always the only named character in those scenes. We cared about the GROPOS because they cared about each other and we responded to that. Keffer was there to play cabbage head and ask questions. He’s not tight with any of our main cast who we’ve had tons more time to grow attached to, and dies for plot reasons without leaving an impact with his loss. Heck, you can see the value of interpersonal relationships on character development in action when the show used a shoehorn to try and force some in in context to Carlos a second and a half before he died. We had him drinking at the bar with command staff suddenly, we had him die as a result of a flight mission Sheridan was part of to make Sheridan feel guilty about it. Everyone was standing around going like “No, Not Ramirez” and if you recall on my previous episode writeup I was LAUGHING at how tortured this sudden human connection was. Keffer could have been made interesting. Follow me on this.

My treatment on how to make Keffer interesting:

Let’s say Keffer was introduced as an old friend of one of our characters – Fraknlin let’s say. He was a friend from the Minbari War days that helped him sneak behind enemy lines. Perhaps he was complicit in the covering up and destruction of Franklin’s notes on Minbari anatomy. As a result, the two hang out in medbay sometimes, talking about old times and comparing the current war to the one they fought together. We learn that Keffer has a fire for justice. Hates bullies. Sees the strong as absolute defenders of the weak and that any stronger race picking on a weaker one is a bigger coward than the unvierse can hold. Then when Carlos gets killed by the ghost he starts researching what it could be. Kosh and Delenn tell him to stay out of it. The audience assumes he’s going to uncover something and bring Franklin and other characters into Delenn and Sheridan’s confidence about the shadows through curiosity and honor, but we’re learning through the episodes that the Shadows are IMMENSELY powerful and have no patience for flies. When he breaks off from his squad to go have a looksee at what he suspects led to his personal friend Carlos’s death, we know this is going to kill him. He ignores the warnings of those who have more awareness and dies to bring back evidence of the Shadows to the station. Sheridan recognizes how Keffer’s curiosity and sense of judgment led to recklessness, something Sheridan himself is prone to. He vows not to let Keffer die in vain, but also states that the proof he got has changed everything… and that Sheridan would have done the same. Killing your men in the name of a mission is never the goal but there’s a line everyone crosses when the safety of the universe is at stake and sometimes things are worth dying for. Franklin walks into medbay, casts a look to the counter where Keffer used to sit all those nights, and turns away.

But that’s not what happen. Keffer’s dead now and I don’t miss him. Glad he emailed the Shadows to ISN five nanoseconds before he died.

Babylon 5 is now the last best hope for victory because sometimes peace is another word for surrender and because secrets have a way of getting out. On to season 3!

[whywishesarehorses]

Inside the Famous—and Deadly—Omak Stampede

This article was written by Allison Williams, published in the August 2017 issue of Seattle Met, and reformatted here for your enjoyment.

This one is text heavy and long, so it is hidden under a read more.

Thursday

Eighteen horses form an imperfect line on a hot August night, their 18 jockeys clad in jeans. Here on a sandy bluff in the small town of Omak, four hours east of Seattle and several worlds away, riders and spectators alike move with nervous energy, anxious for the race to start. One jockey wears a helmet topped with a pink mohawk, another with a GoPro camera. One horse, sponsored by a local marijuana dispensary, sports painted pot leaves on its rump. Wispy white eagle feathers hang from others, emblems of the Native American heritage the men share.

A summer carnival glows below, neon outlines of rides called the Orbiter and the Fireball, metal towers that came into town on tractor trailers. Farther into the Okanogan Highlands, a casino twinkles alone on Indian Reservation land. It’s August 11, 2016, and even an hour past sunset the air holds onto most of the heat from the 90-degree day.

A “whoooop!” erupts from the gathered crowd as the animals sidestep and bob their heads behind the chalk starting line. His race number bright across his chest, 18-year-old Scott Abrahamson eyes the sandy dirt in front of the line, groomed like a golf course sand trap. His long bubblegum-pink sleeves mean he’s easy to spot even in the shadows where floodlights don’t reach, and his helmet blinks with battery-operated toy devil horns. He’s surrounded by both champions—Loren Marchand with seven titles, Tyler Peasley with three—and nervous high schoolers in their first race.

At the crack of a gun, the horses charge. Their riders lean forward as hooves pound the sandy flat, at least for the first hundred feet. The crowd cheers as soon as the pistol sounds, cries and hoots blossoming into the dark.

Then 18 horses go off a cliff.

The riders shift in their saddles as their mounts fly down an incline steeper than a ski jump. The best jockeys, the veterans, barely lean back coming off the hill, reins clasped in the left hand and riding crops in the right. Others grasp a bar they’ve rigged on the back of their saddles they call the “oh shit handle.”

The spectators’ cries reach full pitch when the pack is halfway to the waterway at the base of the hill, a thick ribbon of black that flows left to right. The horses plunge into the inky Okanogan River en masse, hooves hitting the shallow bottom, and all but one charge across to the opposite bank. The stadium on the far side is lit up like a Friday-night football game, floodlights bright atop red, white, and blue bleachers, and Scott and his hot-pink sleeves emerge first in the dirt oval, just 45 seconds into the race. As they cross the finish line, Peasley is right on his tail.

Fifteen horses follow, minus the one that tumbled in the river. A crew attends to the downed horse from the deck of a small drift boat; while the stadium roars, a veterinarian surveys the animal and notes that it’s already gone, likely drowned.

Back atop the hill, Colville tribal elders watch through binoculars before one spots something in the sandy dirt, an eagle feather dislodged by the chaos. They circle the downed quill, addressing the spirit it represents, the eagle that travels in both worlds, before one of the elders lifts the feather to return it to its owner.

This is the World Famous Suicide Race.

There will be four races total during Omak Stampede, always the second weekend in August. Each race awards five points to the first-place finisher, four to the second, and so on; the overall winner clinches the King of the Hill title on Sunday, and $40,000 in prize money is distributed. It’s the highlight of this Central Washington town’s year, a tradition that draws thousands of spectators—and animal-rights protesters.

Omak straddles the border of the Colville Reservation, home of almost every racer, horse owner, and trainer. The contest is a rite of passage, they say, a proving ground for men—and even a few women—coming of age more than a century after actual horseback warfare. Beyond the turgid flow of the Okanogan River through town, the reservation sprawls over 1.4 million acres of highlands, brittle with brown grass in late summer. There the Native American communities are plagued by poverty and unemployment.

If the Suicide Race was a small-town Friday-night football game, teenaged Scott Abrahamson would be its star quarterback. He’s an ace student, focused and polite, with technical internships and honor rolls to his name, but this weekend he’s a jockey with a King of the Hill title to defend. All eyes are on him.

Friday

He gets sick before every big race. “Everything hits me and my body,” Scott says. “I can barely walk.” His cousin calls it good luck; Scotty puking means they’re going to do well.

In the hours before Friday’s race, the second of four, Scott’s prepping in the triangular Owners and Jockey’s paddock in the middle of the fairgrounds. By 5pm, Omak veterinarian Jai Tuttle holds court at one end of the dusty enclosure, near standing fans that muster a little manufactured breeze. As they wait to parade their horses for Doc Tuttle, owners angle water hoses over the animals’ backs.

Everyone older than Scott calls him Scotty. This year’s printed program, in the roster of winners dating back to 1935, calls him that. After he won in 2015, he became small-town famous, no longer just the good kid who excelled at basketball and wrestling. People holler, “Go Scotty” at him all weekend.

His father was famous too. That’s what happens when you win the Suicide Race; Leroy Abrahamson took the title in 2002, but was best known for his prowess in the Indian Relay, a more widespread style of racing where one jockey hops from horse to horse. Leroy, Scott has heard, would flit from one mount to the next with only a single foot brushing the ground.

Scott doesn’t remember his first time in a saddle but assumes it was before he could walk, though he largely gave it up in elementary school, when his parents split. His father was the horse guy; his mother was all about school. So he became a standout student in Coulee Dam, a reservation town in the shadow of the 50-story hydroelectric giant. When his father died in 2009, he was drawn back to horses.

“I’m sorta doing all this for him,” Scott says, hesitant. His mother wasn’t wild about the racing, but he didn’t falter at school, scoring an engineering internship with the Bureau of Reclamation. Slight and muscular, his five-foot-nine stature is too tall for a throughbred jockey but about average for this race. His hair is short and straight, spiking around his head like a halo, and he likes to hide his eyes behind sunglasses.

The summer he was 16, after his sophomore year of high school, Scott entered his first Suicide Race. Atop a small gelding named Kinky, he fell as they crested the top of the hill on the Thursday race, flipping over the horse’s shoulder. On Friday the pair wrecked in the water.

“I flipped over and everybody ran me over,” he says. “Everyone says it happens so fast, but when I was in it, it was like slow motion.” Finally, on Saturday, they made it through the entire race, galloping past the finish line in the stadium. Then Sunday the pair wrecked again.

A new horse was in order. His trainer, George Marchand, is a giant within the Suicide Race world and holder of three titles. He’d lost his own father at 14 and rode against Leroy Abrahamson 15 years ago, so he guided Scott, this time to a nighttime ride on a quarter horse–thoroughbred mix named Eagle Boy. The butterscotch-colored gelding was only about five years younger than the rider.

“It was pitch black and dusty,” remembers Scott. The hills of the reservation are dotted with brush and ponderosa pine, but he could make out little from his saddle. They were on top of a hill, he knew that, and that George had taken off.

He gave Eagle Boy his head as they sped over the uneven terrain. “We were jumping trees and dodging trees,” recalls Scott, but they moved as a unit. “I was like dang—he trusts me.” Matching horse to rider is alchemy.

In 2015, in his second year racing and only 17 years old, Scott on Eagle Boy tied for first overall with six-time victor Loren Marchand, George’s nephew. With a wide grin stretched across his face, the rising high school senior played rock-paper-scissors with his cochamp for a King of the Hill prize bridle.

The name World Famous Suicide Race might be a bit of hyperbole, but the race is nothing if not infamous. It emerged in scrappy Omak where a Great Depression population boom—all the way to 2,500 souls—launched an annual rodeo in 1933. As publicity chairman, furniture store owner Claire Pentz proposed a dramatic steeplechase to draw spectators, inspired by mountain races across the reservation at Keller, where riders charged a dry channel in the Sanpoil River. He knew how to sell it: He gave his 1935 creation a catchy name.

The World Famous Suicide Race ran every summer, the marquee event at the four-day Omak Stampede rodeo. Dynasties were born when the inaugural race’s third-place finisher, Alex Dick, won regularly through 1965. There have been seven Marchand riders over the years, six Abrahamsons, nearly a dozen named Pakootas. The unofficial motto, one that appears on winners’ belt buckles, is “Wimps Need Not Apply.”

The 210-foot hill, most say, is a 62-degree slope. Or it’s 54.7 degrees, as measured by a race official in 1993. Others say it’s more like 30. Regardless, it’s terrifying. From the top, the hill feels as steep as a hard ski run; a black diamond, but not a double black. Scrambling up on foot, you might use your hands.

The stampede and race remain intertwined, but in 1999 the Colville Tribes boycotted to protest a change to their camping space on the fairgrounds. The Stampede lost attendance and revenue, and the following year a deal was struck: The tribes got more control over the race organization, and the encampment got its park space.

Family ties bind many of the owners, trainers, and jockeys, and while a few aren’t Native American at all, they’re the exception. This is the biggest sporting event in the region, the Super Bowl of north-central Washington. “This is the only time we get to play cowboys and Indians,” jokes one organizer, Ernie Williams.

Doc Tuttle is fairly new to the race gig, but between her ease with fidgety horses and no-nonsense demeanor, the veterinarian exudes authority. One by one she clears the horses for Friday’s race, directing owners to walk each thousand-pound animal in a figure eight as her eyes stay trained on forelegs and haunches, scrutinizing for swollen tendons or joints.

No one can pretend the Suicide Race isn’t controversial. As early as 1939, the protests started; Humane Society president Glen McLeod succeeded in canceling a mountain race in nearby Hunters, then traveled to Omak and Keller hoping to do the same. “Why, even the riders call it a ‘suicide race,’ ” McLeod told The Seattle Daily Times before a similar trip in 1941.

Animal rights groups started keeping a tally of dead horses in 1983, with one count now at 22. “The reality is that the race is viewed as part of the Omak Stampede rodeo, and rodeos are protected under state law,” says Seattle Humane Society spokesman Dan Paul, but points out that rapid shifts in public sentiment swiftly made SeaWorld orca shows and circus elephant acts extinct.

People for Ethical Treatment of Animals has run letter-writing campaigns. In 1993, the Northwest’s PAWS, or Progressive Animal Welfare Society, tried a more robust tactic, filing a lawsuit that alleged organizers harm horses for profit, but a Superior Court judge threw out the case. In 1996, a PAWS member sued the Okanogan County Sheriff’s Office and the rodeo for roughing him up when he videotaped a horse being euthanized; the suit settled for $64,500.

For the organizers, the response is simple: The race is merely an extension of their horse-infused culture. Every rider points out that they ride similar hills during wild-horse roundups and cattle work.

Horses have to pass three checks before they’re allowed entry into the race: the vet examination, a swim test, and what’s called a hill test, where horses must round the top of Suicide Hill without hesitation.

Tuttle isn’t from the reservation; she isn’t originally from Omak. But even as an outsider, the one who has to put horses down if they’re hurt, she doesn’t think it’s inhumane.

“These guys use horses that love it,” she says; the horses are bred to it and run steep hills regularly on the remote corners of the reservation. She rarely has to disqualify a horse because owners who spot lameness usually scratch. “It does hold a real special place in the Native culture. It does.” And that horse Thursday night that likely drowned? She considers it. “He was doing what he loved and he had a quick and honorable death.”

Friday night’s race is classic and clean; no bad wrecks. As always, the riders reach the starting line by crossing the river on the Highway 97 bridge, closed to traffic. Hooves clomp on the asphalt as the parade passes a road sign that reads, “Tribal Code Laws Apply.” There are no rules to apply in the Suicide Race once the gun is fired; riders can whip each other, pull each other’s reins. No helmets required. No wimps.

The results echo the previous night: Scott Abrahamson and Eagle Boy come in first, Tyler Peasley on Spade in second. When Scott wins, he raises his right hand above his head, palm out, fingers outstretched. His father’s gesture.

Scott was only four when Leroy won the Suicide Race. “Everyone said he was one of the greats,” he says. “It’s kinda hard to fill his shoes.” Instead he fills his horns. He wears Leroy’s blinking red devil headpiece, the kind of bauble most 18-year-olds would don at a Halloween party.

Scott’s idols were the riders who won in the late 2000s, including the 30-year-old three-time champion who came in second to him during this weekend’s first two races. As a kid he’d run down hills playing at Suicide Race, imaginary whip flying, yelling, “I’m Tyler Peasley!” After his 2015 win, Scott noticed something: “The kids run around saying they’re me.”

It’s after 10pm when the racehorses have completed their cooldown laps and have been loaded into trailers for the ride home. Scott accompanies George Marchand to Omak Lake, 15 miles out of town, to let Eagle Boy soak before bed.

Saturday

Saturday night’s Suicide Race is the biggest. The 7,700-seat arena is packed, and lines form at every fun house and stomach-destroying ride in the carnival outside. Booths hawk curly fries, cotton candy, and foot-longs, though the longest lines are reliably at a taco truck.

But that’s not the whole Omak Stampede. On the east side of the arena, a mirror festival, maybe even larger: the Indian Encampment. Rows of teepees surround a round pavilion for dancing and drum performances, with RVs and tents beyond that. Spectators bring their own camp chairs to supplement the few bleachers. Booths sell jewelry, T-shirts, and dream catchers, and while some of the food is the same—nothing is as universal as curly fries—more signs are handwritten, and many vend Indian tacos and huckleberry lemonade.

Before the rodeo begins, the arena’s industrial speakers blast pop country songs over every acre. The festivities begin with a series of anthems and processions, recognizing the neighboring nations of Canada and the Colville Tribes. During the ride-in, dozens of rodeo queens from around the West shoot into the center oval on horseback, one by one, decked in every shade of sparkle.

The announcer introduces each event, then banters with the rodeo clown when things get slow or a bull rider needs a moment to limp off the dirt. The Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association produces the classic rodeo events, ones with more white riders than Native: bull riding, steer wrestling, team roping, barrel racing. Specialty acts bridge the competitive sports: trick riders and one blonde woman who does a kind of partner dance with an unbridled palomino horse to the blaring sounds of a country song called “Free.” It ends with the horse placing its blond head in her lap.

The Suicide Race is the final blockbuster event. Spectators wade up to their knees into the Okanogan River just upstream of the race crossing, bare feet on slimy rocks. Signs still note that video recording is prohibited, but they’re roundly ignored in the age of cell phones.

Despite the shocking name, the only rider death since anyone’s kept close records was one who drowned on his way to the starting line—though there are plenty of close calls. In 2002, the year Leroy Abrahamson took home the title, racer Naomie Peasley took a tumble so bad she fractured her skull. She recovered, but not before flatlining twice in the medic helicopter.

In its anti–Suicide Race materials, PAWS airs a common criticism of the race: its authenticity. “Organizers currently contend that the Suicide Race has roots in Native American tradition but, in fact, an Anglo conceived the race as a publicity stunt,” reads its statement. Detractors hang on that detail, its origins with furniture salesman Claire Pentz.

To riders and trainers, though, Pentz is irrelevant, and they point to the deep roots of horse culture. For Scott, the point of the race is clear: “Showing that a young man is becoming a warrior, becoming a man.”

The race, the encampment—it’s the tribes’ biggest invitation into their world. “There’s more that people don’t see behind these walls, about Indian life...sweat lodges, medicine,” adds Aaron Carden, a retired racer who now teaches Native language on the reservation. Of the borders around that world, he says, “It’s not our fence to keep people out. It’s the fence white men built to keep us out of the area they took.”

The race wasn’t the only thing “created” by a white man; the very invention of a Colville Tribes unit is recent. Long before that, before statehood, before Manifest Destiny, before Lewis and Clark white-privileged their way across the American West, the Okanogan Highlands tribes lived nomadic lives, picking berries and drawing salmon from the massive Columbia River. And racing horses.

First came the incorporation of Washington Territory, then a series of executive orders begun by president Ulysses S. Grant that roped several tribes into three million acres between the Methow Valley and the Columbia River. Others were elbowed into the reservation, linking bands that once stretched from the dusty plains of Washington to the mountains of British Columbia. One chief invited a famous Indian leader, Chief Joseph, and his Nez Perce followers in 1885. With his band, the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation—a patchwork assembly that had no single language or traditional commonality—reached their current 12-tribe size.

Over 125 years the tribes faced what so many other American Indians did—children forced into boarding schools, languages squashed. The federal government forced a cheap buyback of 1.5 million acres, lands still lamented as the lost “North Half.” The Grand Coulee Dam, erected in 1942, blocked spawning salmon with its 550-foot concrete walls; Colville tribal members mourned the loss of Kettle Falls, a historic fishing spot, with a Ceremony of Tears before it was submerged by the dam’s backup.

In the 1960s, the tribes toyed with termination, dissolving the reservation altogether and splitting the lands among its 5,000 members. Reservations had been terminated by the government before, but the Colvilles were the only ones to dare seriously consider it themselves, an unprecedented move of self-governance. Congressional hearings were held but the measure never passed, so the Colville Reservation endured.

The Suicide Race is a separate world from suicide itself, a public health crisis for the Colvilles. Whether spurred by pervasive poverty—reservation unemployment topped 50 percent in 2010—or rampant substance abuse, the suicide rate ballooned to 20 times the national average in 2006. “After that we were in a panic on what we need to do and could do,” says tribal staffer Olivia Wynecoop. Tribal leadership declared a state of emergency, and Wynecoop helped secure grants for education and designating “natural helpers” to be on call for suicide emergencies.

Scott positions Eagle Boy at the western end of the starting line for the Saturday-night race. This isn’t like the starting gate at the Kentucky Derby; horses pace and turn, and the antsy palomino next to him does a sideways prance before the starter pistol goes off. Scott is angry, though later he says he can’t remember why. Trash talk and psych-outs are regular along the starting line, older jockeys trying to ruffle the young ones still gathering their courage.

But three years and one win into the Suicide Race, Scott can ignore the chatter. He and Eagle Boy are still until the gun sounds, then fast to the crest of the hill. Aaron Carden still remembers the feeling 25 years after his first win: “You’re actually flying in the sky. Nobody can take that away from you.”

There’s a commotion, a cloud of dust to Scott’s left, but he’s well in front of the pack as they hit the water. Two strides into the dark water, Eagle Boy stumbles, flinging Scott into the river. His blinking red devil horns disappear under the white churn created by horses on either side. They’re both okay but don’t log a finish.

What Scott couldn’t see was what happened on the top of the hill, to the very first rider off the break. Tyler Peasley, whom Scott idolized as a kid, and who’d placed at Scott’s heels the past two nights, darted off the top of the hill like a raptor after its prey. Peasley’s a little taller than Scott, broader shouldered, and he rides to win. His mount, Spade, got so much air he tucked his back legs underneath him and simply sailed for the first 30 feet of the downward slope.

They were serene in that moment, flying, until Spade’s hooves finally hit the tilted ground again; Peasley pitched over Spade’s front left shoulder before the horse executed a tight somersault. The jockey disappeared under the hooves of the horses behind him and the crowd made a collective, guttural gasp. Peasley’s body didn’t come to a stop until he reached the bottom of the hill.

Sunday

The final race is also the only daytime race of the weekend; for the first time since the trials and runoff races held before the stampede, they’ll be rushing the hill in full daylight.

The mood in the O&J paddock is subdued, but word is going around that Peasley is stable at a nearby hospital. News will later spread that his injuries included a broken pelvis, hip, and ribs, and the racing community fundraises to support his care and gas money for his family to visit him.

Remarkably, Tyler’s horse, Spade, is unhurt from the tumble, ready to race again. His owner lights a bundle of sage and says a few words over the horse before a new jockey takes the saddle.

For the final time in 2016, Scott follows the parade to the top of Suicide Hill. His jeans have a gaping hole in the knee—real wear from hard riding, not a fashion statement—and his wraparound sunglasses are ’80s big. No devil horns for the daytime race, but, as ever, his name is the one most shouted by the crowds: “Come on Scotty,” over and over.

With 10 points already earned, Scott only needs to place to secure the title. Owner and trainer Marchand tells him not to go all out, and when the gun fires, he doesn’t. He holds back his whip, lets Eagle Boy run the race without extra urging. It’s the smart move, the calculated move, no doubt informed by the disastrous night before. But Scott comes to regret holding back.

Not because it doesn’t work. Scott and Eagle Boy place second, netting four more points and easily clinching his first solo all-around title. But for Scott, the kind of driven athlete who hates to give a single inch, playing it safe feels wrong. Now with two titles to his name, only three years in, he says he’ll ride “until I get broken down and can’t do it no more.”

Three days later, Scott will depart his Coulee Dam home and drive five hours to start his freshman year at Washington State University. As an engineering student he will pull a 3.8 GPA his first semester and a 3.9 the second; he’s lined up two years of scholarships so far and hopes he’ll be able to extend to the full undergrad four.

Scott won’t brag about his Suicide win at college, but he’ll drive home every fall weekend for Indian Relay races, another sport that mixes horsemanship with a touch of anarchy. Around the reservation, he doesn’t have to brag about being King of the Hill; everyone already knows. “He’s the Steph Curry of the Suicide Race,” one tribal member says. “Loren and Tyler are the Lebrons.”

The second weekend of August 2017 is already on everyone’s calendar. Scott will be back on Eagle Boy, who he now half owns with George Marchand—a 49 percent share. He now has a streak to defend. By early June, high winter snows have melted to fill the Okanogan River, and ecologists are warning of water flows two or three times normal. Scott guesses that, with the river this high, it’ll be too deep for the horses to simply wade across during the Suicide Race; they’ll have to swim for the first time since, he believes, 2002. The year his father won it all.

But on Sunday night in August 2016, after the King of the Hill awards and the pictures, he’s just a high school kid again. He wanders the Indian Encampment with friends, waits in line for fry bread.

Under the pavilion, dancers spin and step, decked in elaborate feathered headdresses and beaded robes. Some have numbers pinned to their costumes, like marathon runners, to compete. In a drum tent, the songs are a steady thrum of chants and cries, indecipherable to the visitors who stand awkwardly outside the rows of seated tribal members who are at once both audience and participant.

Picture this: a quiet mountain lake, bordered by rocky hills dotted with ponderosa pine. In daytime Omak Lake is seven miles of brilliant turquoise, but now, at night, it’s a black mirror. Two men drive a horse trailer to its shore, unloading an unsaddled Eagle Boy.

It’s one of George Marchand’s secrets to success; the lake minerals soothe the bumps and scrapes along the horse’s legs. In the midst of the annual Perseid meteor shower, the uncloudy Okanogan skies are perfect for spotting streaks of celestial light, but the men don’t look up as they dissect the day’s race.

Scott holds Eagle Boy’s halter from a dock while the horse wades into the water, breaking the lake’s calm. The water hasn’t yet cooled from baking under another 90-plus degree day, and the hills that round the lake keep the night air still. They’ve survived another madcap contest together, earned another W. They’re back on the reservation, back home. In the silence the only sound is the lapping of the lake water against a horse.

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

what do you think will happen to the characters of The Untamed from the point where the show ends? what happens next, do some get married, start families, I wanna hear what you think!

I have heard scraps here and there, apparently MXTX said some stuff on her twitter or weibo or something recently, so I will put those first and in bold!

Wuxian and Wangji

Wangji hands off the position of Excellency, Huaisang ends up with the title.

Wuxian cultivates Mo Xuanyu’s golden core into something terrifyingly powerful. Though he does not by any means stop his demonic cultivation, it gets to the point where Suibian fights on its own while he plays Chenqing.

They “settle down” with the Jingshi of Cloud Recess as their base, but still live a semi-nomadic lifestyle and continue on with the theme of being wherever chaos is.

Wuxian helps train Juniors, but has to scouts-honor pledge their parents he won’t teach them demonic cultivation. Just everything he knows about fighting monsters the normal way.

Wen Ning

Makes a little home for himself not far from the Burial Mounds (so he can keep an eye on the spirits there).

Travels as he wishes.

Often hired to accompany Juniors on Night Hunts as a bit of a bodyguard.

Very much stays in touch with everyone- Wuxian visits frequently but especially each year on the anniversary of the Dafan-Wen massacre to pay his respects.

Eventually ends up with a cultivator (male or female, IDK what Wen Ning has in mind) who is the bubbliest, happiest, most upbeat person in the universe.

Like- at some point his robes have butterflies stitched on the hems. That’s how upbeat this person has to be.

Either fathers or adopts a little girl.

Names her Wen Qing.

Raises her with loving devotion in honor of the sister who raised him.

She becomes a doctor.

Lan Sizhui

Lan for life, but still sticks close to Wen Ning to learn about his Wen heritage.

Pioneers a new form of cultivation (as seen in ‘The Living Dead’) that combines Inquiry and Empathy.

Becomes a force of peace and unity among the cultivation sects.

Eventually succeeds to the role of Excellency (when he’s fairly old and settled down with kids of his own).

Lan Xichen

He settles down with a female cultivator and produces a Lan Clan heir, which also eases some of Wangji’s responsibilities.

Xichen confines himself at Cloud Recess for some time while he processes everything that happened and- despite it all- mourns Jin Guangyao.

((Might be neat if he goes a bit mad and tries to summon Guangyao’s soul via Inquiry and Wuxian has to have the “it’s time to let the dead rest” talk with him)).

Jiang Cheng

Slowly heals the rift between him and Wuxian.

Marries a female cultivator (I don’t think in canon he is gay or bi, from what I understand?) who is the exact opposite of all of his “requirements”. Ends up with someone like a female Wuxian.

Has children of his own, but always treats Jin Ling like a son and big brother to any future children more than a nephew to him and cousin to them.

Jin Ling

Assumes the mantle of Jin Clan Leader, though as Wuxian predicts in the book they will never be as powerful as they once were and it will take generations to remove the stain of Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao.

Goes to Jiang Cheng for advice often, but also tracks down Wei Wuxian maybe more than others would like and learns some tricks.

Paperman. Jin Ling would fucking LOVE Paperman.

Nie Huaisang

At some point assumes the role of Excellency.

IDK if he’s elected or if Wangji hands it over to him.

Eventually people begin to realize the truth, and Nie Huaisang can no longer hide behind his mask.

He faces some difficulties early on. People no longer trust him and suspect the worst.

Huaisang presses on through it. He does what he thinks is right and lets his own clan judge him.

Over time people do come to genuinely respect him.

Is the first Nie Clan Leader to live well into old age and at last breaks the curse of the Nie family.

Dies peacefully surrounded by children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

[duhragonball]

So the only two Terminator movies I hadn’t seen were Salvation and Dark Fate, which was why I bought this box set.  I was looking forward to T4, but wasn’t very impressed with it.   T6, on the other hand, yeah it’s pretty damn good.  But, like T4 and T5, this was also meant to be the first part of a reboot trilogy, and just like T4 and T5, it didn’t perform well enough at the box office to make that plan a reality.  

I don’t know what the future for this series holds.  The Wikipedia article for Dark Fate talks about plans to make a Terminator anime on Netflix, which sounds pretty stupid to me, but I thought that Sarah Connor Chronicles show was a bad idea, and I seem to recall it did okay.  People seem to think there’s money to be made off this franchise, but it feels like each new attempt ends in failure, sort of like how Skynet keeps trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. 

Just to recap...

T1: Kyle Reese travels back in time to protect Sarah Connor from a Terminator, so that her yet-to-be-born son can lead humanity to victory in the Future War.  Ironically, Kyle turns out to be the father of Sarah’s baby.  

T2: Skynet sends another Terminator to kill John Connor, but the Future John sends a reprogrammed Terminator to protect him.   Meanwhile, Sarah Connor is determined to prevent Skynet’s creation.

T3: John Connor thinks the Future War has been prevented, but he can’t quite believe it.   After surviving another Terminator attack, John realizes that Skynet’s rise to power is inevitable, and he reluctantly accepts his fate as the leader of the human resistance.

T4: Fifteen years after Judgment Day, John Connor has to save Kyle Reese from a Skynet plot to wipe out the Resistance.  

T5: Repeated time trips and assassination attempts have left the timeline from 1984 to 2029 unrecognizable.    Skynet captures John Connor in the future and converts him into a T-3000.   This new John is tasked with facilitating the rise of Skynet in 2017, but he is defeated by Sarah Connor, Kyle Reese, and a T-800 sent from the future by an unknown benefactor.

There’s a lot of details that prevent these movies from fitting together into a single storyline, but the broad themes still make for a good meta-narrative.  The first movie introduces Sarah and the central conflict, the second movie introduces John and provides an origin for Skynet.   The third movie depicts the worldwide nuclear strike that marks the beginning of the Future War.   The fourth movie shows us the middle of the Future War.   Finally, the fifth movie depicts the end of the war and the part where Kyle goes back in time to start the cycle again.   Circumstances change from one movie to the next, but you can chalk these up as the result of all the various time travelers.    I mean, a lot of people get killed in these movies, and they sort of act like it doesn’t matter much in the long run, but it could add up in a hurry.  

Knowing all of this about the first five movies, I was really curious to see what the sixth one would even be about, especially with Linda Hamilton returning as an older Sarah Connor.  She was dead in T3 and 4, and T5 recast the role and overhauled the character.  Of course, T6 just sort of pretends those three movies never happened, but even so, what else is there to do with Sarah?

Well, Dark Fate opens with John Connor getting shot in 1998.   In this movie, the effort to prevent Judgment Day in T2 was successful, but Skynet had sent multiple Terminators throughout the 1990s to hunt down John, and they kept looking for him even after Skynet itself ceased to exist.  

It’s a ballsy move, but it’s almost inevitable.   They literally did every other thing there was to do with this story.   It’s not even the first time John has died to a Terminator.   The T-850 in T3 did the honors in 2032, albeit off-screen.   In T5, Skynet decided that it had to team up with John in order to win, so it turned him into a Terminator.   I’m not sure if he was killed in that movie or not, but it might as well have been his death.    But those were future versions of John, and Skynet’s goal was always to kill him before he could defeat it, not after.   And so, T6 decided the only road left was to let the coyote catch the road runner.

So John’s dead and Skynet’s gone, so now what?   Well it turns out there’s another dark future down the road, and this whole formula plays out again.  This time, the bad guy is a “Rev-9″ Terminator, sent to kill Dani Ramos.   But the Rev-9 isn’t working for Skynet, it’s working for Legion, which is just another AI that became self-aware, took control of the world’s defenses, etc.  

Ramos’ protector from the future is a human “augment” named Grace Harper.   She looks cool and kicks ass but she’ll run out of gas if she doesn’t take her augment medicine.   Also, she isn’t powerful enough to beat the Rev-9.   Luckily, Sarah Connor steps in and offers to help, because she’s been hunting Terminators ever since John’s death, and because she knows what it’s like to be in Dani’s shoes. 

Over the years, Sarah’s been getting tips on where new Terminators will show up from a secret informant, and Grace’s orders are to proceed to a particular location if things go poorly, and it turns out that’s the same place where Sarah’s been getting her tips from.  They go there and find an old T-800 named Carl.   Carl’s the one who killed John in 1998, and afterward he had no purpose and no further instructions to follow.  He eventually studied human behavior and developed the AI equivalent of a conscience, then married a human wife and helped her raise her young son.  

Sarah still holds a grudge, but they need Carl’s help to survive, so they all join forces to have a big showdown with the Rev-9.   Grace and Carl sacrifice themselves to help Dani win, and the movie ends with Sarah promising to help Dani prepare for the future that’s to come.  

At first, Sarah assumed that Dani would be the mother of the eventual leader of the resistance against Legion, just as John was fated to lead the resistance against Skynet.  But eventually it comes to light that Dani herself will be the leader who saves the world, and Sarah realizes that she’s the new John.   I guess that’s Sarah’s character arc for this movie.   She loses her own son, spends the next 22 years without a purpose, and then she discovers a new purpose.   It also allows Carl to redeem himself for John’s murder.  Now that he’s grown a soul, he can choose to die for Dani instead of killing for a Skynet that no longer exists.   Grace’s arc is probably weaker than the others, but she initially saw the Rev-9 as a threat that could only be avoided and not defeated, but in the end she stood and fought, so I guess that’s good enough. 

More importantly to me, though, is that T6 serves as an answer to the previous film.   Skynet was obsessed with John Connor, like he was the only thing that allowed humanity to defeat it.    So in T5, Skynet decided that if it could just convert John to its side, it would be unbeatable.    That always struck me as silly, because without John Connor, someone else would have stepped in to fill the void.  And T6 demonstrates this by introducing Dani.   Legion and Skynet might as well be the same idea, but even without John Connor, there’s another human leader who can rise to the occasion.   And if something happened to Dani, someone else would step up, and so on.   

Skynet thought it could win the war by defeating John, but it’s reasoning was flawed: it had to defeat what John represents, and there isn’t a Terminator powerful enough to do that.   As long as it kept pursuing the man, it would never succeed.  It would have to kill every human to achieve the victory it craves, but it couldn’t seem to make that work either.

So with that conclusion reached, I really don’t see where else this franchise can go.    They could do a movie about Sarah and Dani fighting more Terminators, but that would just be a retread of the previous movies.  And the outcome is already understood to be pointless.  Either Dani will prevent Legion’s creation in the present-day, or she’ll tough it out and win the Future War in the 2040′s.  We know that’s inevitable, or Legion wouldn’t have sent a Terminator back in time in the first place. 

This reminds me a lot of my initial thoughts after seeing Genisys in 2015.   It seemed like Skynet was getting increasingly desperate to find away to avoid losing the war.   It couldn’t beat the humans on the ground, and time travel never seemed to help, and hijacking John Connor didn’t help either.    Now we see that killing John would make no difference either.  So it seems like the only option left would be for “The Machines” to sue for peace, or accept defeat.    I’m not sure that would make for a very good movie.  

That might be the only major flaw I see in T6.   The action’s great, and I never got bored watching it, and the story is compelling, and it’s a great sendoff for Arnold Schwarzenegger if he ever stops coming back for more of these movies.   But it’s also kind of redundant.   This movie just reinforces lessons already learned in previous movies.  

I really hope this is the last one.  I suspect that a lot of the themes that made T1 and T2 so successful have been superseded by other franchises.  You can get a lot of the same gonzo action sequences out of an Iron Man or Captain America movie, and the threat of “technology gone too far” isn’t exactly novel anymore.  There was a scene in T6 where Dani’s brother lost his job to a robot, and that seemed downright quaint.    They were doing stories about that in the 80s.   T6 does some thought-provoking stuff with the Border Patrol and their detention facilities, but I’m not sure we need a Terminator movie to cover that ground.   I’m not saying the Terminator movies aren’t allowed to get into social justice topics.   It’s been doing that for decades.   But it’s hardly unique in that respect.   By now, the question James Cameron and the others need to be asking is “What problem would a new Terminator movie solve?”  It’s not going to be a financial success, and critics probably won’t like it.   So what are we going for here?  I’m not sure there’s been a good answer in a long time.

[headoverjojo]

This can be difficult (sorry TTT_TTT), but ... can you associate each member (or whoever you want XD) of the Squadra and Bruno's gang with a yokai (mythological monster, but specific to Japan, China, Korea , etc)?

Hiiiii :3 It’s so late, I’m sorry ç.ç Since we’re STILL in spoopy time -no, I won’t ring the silver bells until November 15th- let’s go with this short list! I’ve opted to do it just for the Squadra! Hhhh you have no idea how freaking much I’ve loved this opinion ask, I adore Japanese folklore, lol

So! I’ve associated Risotto to Tengu, in particular to Karasutengu. Tengu are ancient and famous youkai, and, in particular, Karasutengu are masters of bushido and martial arts, and can change their appearance. Risotto is really skilled in fighting and has a certain sense of honor, so I found Karasutengu particularly fitting!

Then, I think that Prosciutto would be a Hyakume. Literally, Hyakume means “One hundred eyes” (Hyaku = 100 and Me = eyes) and well... this time I went more with an aesthetic factor, seeing The Grateful Dead’s design! Hyakume aren’t particularly violent and aggressive and rely mostly on their terrifying appearance to scare humans away. While Prosciutto isn’t particularly shy and doesn’t avoid fighting, I think that he too relies on his stand to win and/or get away easily, more than on his own fighting skills!

And then there’s Pesci, whom I’ve associated to a Kappa! A bit banal, maybe, but c’mon, it fits! Kappa are humanoid river youkai, and they live in ponds, rivers, streams. They aren’t big -and, at least in the anime, Pesci isn’t that big and tall-, but they are stronger than an adult human, so better not underestimate them! Kappa’s main feature is a sort of dish shaped cavity on their head which has to always be filled with water. If the water spills or dries, the Kappa visibly weakens, stopping to move or even dying! Kappa aren’t evil; they can even befriend humans and other youkai -can you imagine Hyakume!Prosciutto and Kappa!Pesci?- and are even seen as river gods!

Then it comes Formaggio, and I think he’d be a Bakeneko! Bakeneko are cats that, due to size or old age, became youkai. The wiser and older a Bakeneko gets, the longer its tail becomes -it’s like Kitsune’s tails-. Bakeneko walks on two legs and they get bigger and bigger, reaching even a human size and, sometimes, even assuming their master’s form, if they eat them. Maybe Bakeneko!Formaggio eat his owner assuming his form? Who knows!

And here it comes Melone! I’ve associated him to a Tanuki! Why so? Well, Tanuki, like Kitsune, are masters of shaping form, and have a jovial and playful nature, often playing tricks to human. I personally see Melone, when he’s not working, not as a pervy, but as a sarcastic and playful man, so I found Tanuki very fitting!

Speaking of Kitsune, I’ve associated Illuso right to Kitsune! Kitsune are one, if not the first, of the most known youkai in the world. Kitsune, as Tanuki, are masters of shaping form, and they are able to use the “fox fire”, called kitsunebi, which is an illusionary fire, a sort of “fuoco fatuo”. Illuso wouldn’t be holy Kitsune, one of the gods’ messagers -in particular god Inari’s messagers-, but a wild kitsune, so a trickster, a ball of furry and sassy magic. Kitsune are also really intelligent -as Illuso, in my opinion- and as they get older and more powerful, they grow more tails, up to nine.

Finally! Ghiaccio, whom I think would be a good Oni! Oni are a sort of ogres, souls of wicked humans turned into youkai. Oni are bringers of disasters and also punishers of the ones who fell into Hell; they are strong, angry, violent. I think that this behaviour fits Ghiaccio’s angry behaviour! 

Extra! Sorbetto and Gelato would be perfect Yurei. Yurei are ghosts, especially vengeaful ghosts; they’re souls of people often died in a violent way who have still something that tie them to this world. They’re tied to the place where they died or where they’re buried, or to their killers or loved ones. To dispel a Yurei, it’s necessary to untie what keeps them into this world -it may be killing their murders, or giving their message to their loved ones, or finding their bodies-. I think that Sorbetto and Gelato would be tied to their killers, Cioccolata and Secco, bringing misfortune and agony for the rest of their lifes, getting, in this way, a late revenge.

Aaaaand here it is! Phew, it was long :,D I apologise for various mistakes, I’ve written it in a rush! And I hope you’ll find this answer interesting :3 

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

VLD S8 – The Purpose of Lance’s Altean Markings, Allura’s Canonically Inconsistent “Death,” and Voltron’s Mysterious Interstellar Road Trip in the End: Are Things Really As They Seem?

Hello dear ones, I received asks to follow up on my previous post about Allura’s capability to live a very long life if she hadn’t died in s8. I’d mentioned in this post that Alfor had connected Allura’s life force to the indestructible Voltron, and that this had significant implications for Lance’s strange Altean marks and Allura’s “death” in s8. So this is me, attempting to follow up on those requests! 

Let’s start with those strange marks. It seems like a lot of us who have watched Voltron: Legendary Defender season 8 scratched our heads over Lance receiving Altean marks at all:

This event happens when Allura and the paladins are standing in the “connected consciousness of all existence”—which is this…Mother-Brain realm for every consciousness that ever existed ever. Allura is preparing to sacrifice herself alongside Honerva, because they both have to give of their energy to regenerate the fallen multiverse. Honerva is already accepting of this and already interacting with her dead family whose minds and forms are preserved within the Mother-Brain space. It seems, even so, Honerva is still alive because she hasn’t yet completed the foretold Wild Sacrifice Move of Ultimate Alchemy alongside Allura: 

The Big Boom of Life happens after this point, so there’s something fascinatingly screwy about this realm. The typical separations between the Living and the Death are just…totally meaningless. We’re actively seeing a living Honerva physically interact with the minds and forms of her fallen son and husband. And if this Mother-Brain location truly preserves the consciousness of all existence, then I suppose it actually makes sense to me that Allura and Honerva could still be alive themselves while also being able to interact with the Dead who are preserved within this realm…

But Allura—she turns to the paladins and tells them that they’re all about to experience a massive fragmentation from her. It seems pretty heavily suggested that she’s going to die. In doing so, she kisses Lance and then gives him Altean marks: 

And the first question I have is….whyyyy the marks? What the heck was that for? Because I think it’s really weird that she’d just give Lance the most visually identifying mark for her own species. At least, I think it’s weird on the surface. The more important question may lie within Allura’s motives...and that gets into some much larger implications for ways to view those marks and the show’s ending. Some of the theories I’ve seen about those marks:

Theory 1: Lance as Trans-Species to Preserve Allura’s Species and/or Allura Giving Lance Some Unknown Gift/Power

I want to bring this up because it appears to be a largely accepted theory that I’m now heavily questioning. I’m not sure who first vocalized this understanding of canon, but Neko Chicana offers the theory in their Youtube video “Why did Lance get Altean markings!?” The theory is that in Allura’s last-minute panic about dying, she was trying to ensure The Chosen Altean vibes got passed down. This would mean that Allura infused Lance with deep Altean powers to inherently change him from being human into being a trans-species human/Altean.

But I struggle with this interpretation, because…she already had an entire colony of Alteans, many of whom clearly were presenting with high quintessence sensitivity and would have been even potentially fit for Oriande. And it’s not like Lance was going to know how to apply alchemy without learning it anyway.

In terms of the transformation itself, it’s incredibly superficial. It’s a face-lift and that’s it, as Lance never exhibits any other features of a standard Altean. And not just from a visual perspective, but also from a physiological one. He definitely is not shown suddenly freaking out over having alchemy powers. He isn’t shown connecting with anything on the astral plane. I would even posit that he appears to be aging right alongside his fellow humans, given his more adult/less baby-face facial structure in the epilogue, just like everyone else:

This article here seems to contain a similar level of skepticism about a genuinely trans-species Lance. 

And what would even be the point of converting Lance to have a token visage of Alteans, if Allura knows that his true heart and soul lies with his human family? Just by Allura’s reaction of disgust to his rounded ears in season 1, it seems pretty obvious that other Alteans would see him as “other.” If anything, a trans-species interpretation overly complicates the show here and generally can’t provide a self-contained, meaningful reason for its existence at all. 

Theory Two: The Markings as a Token of a Lost Lover/Remembrances

Another suggestion has been that Allura gives Lance such markings just as…a reminder? Of herself? But I don’t feel this at all makes sense with seven previous seasons of her character behavior.

Allura is shown consistently trying to sacrifice herself and her things at all costs, without anything in return or demanding that people remember her. She did it in season 1 to regenerate a Balmera, knowing full well she could die. But we don’t see her asking Coran to sing a pretty song for her. She sacrifices herself again for Shiro, by tossing him out of the way of Galran soldiers, without even begging that he come back for her. She sacrifices herself in Oriande to the White Lion. She sacrifices her crown in season 7 to stabilize Shiro. She even gives up her dresses and her station as a princess in order to better fit in with the humans in season 7. It’s not inherent in Allura’s character to demand anything in return for her sacrifices, much less that she be remembered for them. As a matter of fact, she’s very particular about ensuring that other people get recognized for their actions, and she’ll often place her own good work as part of a “whole” accomplished by the many. Here’s an example from season 6, episode 1:

So here we see her raising up other people and their contributions rather than demanding some offering or worship for her actions.

Princess Allura doesn’t even hold a grudge for Keith being accepted as Black Paladin or Lance as Red Paladin in s3, despite the fact that she secretly cried over it.

So, Allura wanting anything in return for what she sacrifices, or trying to intentionally drag down someone’s spirit for her own comfort, is not inherent to her character. If anything in s8, Allura consistently seems to want the paladins to move on without her:

In response to the emotional distress of the other paladins, she doesn’t give them an everlasting token to memorialize herself, but instead gives encouragement for the future:

And even Shiro! He warns her that she’s about to become the multiverse’s most anonymous hero:

And Allura’s response to this?

So Princess Allura went into this s8 self-sacrifice, fully expecting that the paladins would keep her actions totally secret. She was completely and utterly prepared to accept the very reality that Lotor had threatened her with in season 6:

So literally the only reason in s8 that anyone remembers Princess Allura…is because the paladins choose to honor her memory despite her stated sentiments against it:

So…all of this is to say, I don’t think it makes sense to assume that suddenly, Allura would want to forever keep Lance from moving on. She’s literally handed them her blessing to move on, and suggested that they even hide what she’s done. It’s the paladins who choose to remember her. So I think there’s a lot of evidence to suggest against an interpretation where Allura was intentionally trying to mark Lance to be her forever-doomed lost love. It’s completely inconsistent with other surrounding details about who Allura is.

I think there’s instead evidence to suggest a new theory about these marks. And if anyone’s suggested this before, please feel free to jump in, lol. I’m like, 1.5 years behind the times here, although I did find this article that also would seem to support the theory: 

Theory Three: Lance’s Altean Marks as a Tactical Homing/Location Beacon, Strengthened by His and Allura’s Shared Bonds With Blue Lion

Before she casually walks off to her alleged death, Allura tells Lance, “I’ll always be with you.” And then she gives him the Altean marks:

While I think this “I’ll always be with you” statement has some classic lessen the hurt of impending death vibes, Allura herself actually states she’ll always be with him. How certain are we that she’s not being actually serious? That this isn’t an intentional decision to ensure some kind of ongoing link?

So backing up here, we know from previous seasons that Altean markings can glow, unlike the rest of their body. They appear to glow in response to external stimuli. For example, in season 5, Allura and Lotor’s markings glow because they are within the vicinity of Oriande and have a deep well of quintessence within them. And this glowy activity is discriminatory, because Coran’s marks don’t glow:

Lance’s own markings initially glow when activated by Allura:

So for Lance’s markings to glow at all, that means something is happening. It means that an all-new, external stimulus is making those markings react, and that the magic of it is active. And that Lance is now housing enough magic to react.

That article I linked to earlier suggests that perhaps Allura intended to use the marks as….a communicative link with Lance. However, in a full year since Allura’s disappearance, we see no evidence that Lance has been talking to a mysterious spirit!Allura. He seems pretty depressed, and everyone seems largely accepting of the concept that Allura is dead and also is incapable of interaction.

In which case, if you did have a link to a supposedly dead person, even if you wanted to keep it secret, wouldn’t you at least look a little more…happy? That they’re not actually gone? So something’s a little screwy there too, that makes me think Lance wasn’t in some kind of interdimensional communication with Allura.

But I do think Lance’s markings, and how they glow in response to external power sources in the final episode, suggest something about Allura’s state of being.

So let’s jump in. We know that Allura’s life force is inherently tied to Voltron:

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post of mine: Right in season 1, episode 1, Coran admits that Alfor has done some pretty wild alchemy. He physically connected Allura’s essence with the essence of Voltron—the single source of self-regenerating, infinite quintessence throughout the whole of the entire universe.

I don’t know if a person’s life force being personally connected to Voltron would confer physical immortality, but I do think there’s a lot of evidence to suggest that as long as Voltron exists, Allura’s essence would be preserved within it. And as we saw in season 6, Shiro was capable of interacting with other paladins despite his physical death, because Black Lion had preserved his essence….

All of this backstory and worldbuilding means at the very least that Allura was also capable of linking some part of her quintessence to Lance as well. And that, even if she hypothetically didn’t have a body on the material plane, that she would be very active on the astral one.

So why specifically Altean marks, then?

This isn’t the first time in the show that strangely powerful bonds have been made by the touching of faces and the transfer of energy around Altean marks. As a matter of fact, we might have even seen Alfor actively bind Allura’s life-force with Voltron, right here:

In which case, Allura was simply mimicking the work of her father as she knew it, but on a much smaller scale. Because she knew from her father that it was possible to bond life-forces, and for some reason, that alchemy trick appears to involve the face or else something to do with Altean markings.

So therefore, the activation of this marking “link” and alchemical bond might help to explain why Lance actually appears to be smiling with tears in his eyes when the Voltron lions fly away:

But why even Lance specifically?? What about all the other paladins she’s made connections? What makes Lance so totally special?

It might not be unintentional that, out of all the lions possible, the one to respond to some unknown activator one year later—with massive amounts of quintessence in the bond—is Blue Lion.

Notice that while the other lions are in flight, none of them are glowing like Blue Lion. There’s something inherently special about Blue Lion right now, especially given that it’s not even the leader of the pack.

In this scene, we see the paladins rushing out per all the ruckus. Lance’s markings start to glow:

And then the lions powerfully surge off on their merry, totally unexplained way:

So…in looking back at this, it’s interesting that Lance’s marks are shown glowing in ONLY two instances: 1) When Allura first activates them, and 2) When the marks themselves mysterious activate again in response to Blue Lion glowing outrageously blue, and the lions soaring off into space as well…

Is it a mistake that Lance just so happens to be the only other living Blue Paladin in the universe?

Allura’s life force might have been connected to the full of Voltron, but season 3 shows that her communicative/mental connection to it is through Blue Lion alone. Because Black Lion certainly had nothing to say to her, at the very least.

So Allura’s life force is connected to Voltron…Blue Lion responds to an unknown source of massive, pure quintessence, and then Voltron follows…Lance’s markings start to glow....

Could it be that in order to even re-locate Voltron and the paladins again in the larger scheme of the multiverse, Allura needed Lance’s connection to Blue Lion as well? To keep Allura in spiritual/mental communion with Voltron and with that universe?

With Allura gone and the Atlas portion of Voltron totally missing from Voltron, there’s the hint that possibly the Lion Musical Chairs event has undone itself and reconfigured once more. Blue Lion has re-accepted Lance, with Keith and Shiro piloting Red and Black. The lineup in the screenshot below would suggest that Shiro’s the one in Red this time, resulting in an interesting addition to the Keith and Shiro relationship arc. It suggests that Shiro is now back on the team as an established paladin, as the right hand of the Black Paladin, and is actively supporting Keith’s ongoing growth as a leader:

But if Blue Lion were Allura’s only true connection to “speak” with and interact with Voltron on a material plane, then it would make sense that she would intentionally connect her own life-force to the last Blue Paladin.

Lance, out of all of the paladins and with respect to this lineup shown here, is the only one who would be even remotely capable of ensuring this link in their universe (notwithstanding as well that canonically, Allura was in a romantic relationship with him, which might have something to do with this too, idk).

So what does this mean for Allura’s state of being? What’s exactly happening in this moment? Why do the lions leave their paladins? Is everything truly so pointless and nihilistic?

So Lance’s markings and the exit of the Voltron lions result in what I feel are two interpretations of the entire end of Voltron. And I think one is potentially more consistent with the overall show than the other:

Theory One: Allura Really Died/Shed Her Physical Body/Was Lost to the Material Plane After a Year of Hard Work

So, we do have evidence that the work to restore the full of the multiverse began pretty quickly, and that there was an explosive event to jumpstart it:

We otherwise have no evidence to support that this image meant the work (to restore every thread and all things within the threads) was DONE. Yet. It may have taken an entire year to regenerate the multiverse, which would explain the Voltron lions suddenly reacting strangely after that span of time. If we assume that Allura really died, then this would suggest that—with the overarching multiverses finally totally restored—her energy is spent up. She’s physically dying. And per the extinguishing of her own life force, Voltron….somehow can’t exist on the material plane without her? Because let’s not forget, the whole mecha is connected to her life force. So this interpretation would suggest that in her dying/being unable to remain on the material plane, Voltron itself has to die as well. This could explain why at the end here, they activate to go be with Allura and team in the shiny afterlife party in the Mother-Brain dimension. Lance may be crying here because he feels or recognizes the last of Allura’s energy slipping away. And it’s possible I was misinterpreting his smile earlier, because it’s, idk, maybe a sob.

And there does seem to be some canon support for a potentially permanent break between Allura and the material plane, as well as for why Voltron would leave:

But I’m really struggling to understand the deathy interpretation of these events at the end of s8, from SEVERAL angles, haha.

Strike One:

This scene would appear to blatantly and outrageously contradict previous show worldbuilding. To accept a “death” interpretation, one must also accept that s8 completely rewrites the inherent properties and behavior of quintessence, as well as show details that Alteans/Altean technologies more consistently function as conduits/capacitors of external energy sources rather than as massive batteries by themselves. The true batteries, even into season 7 with Shiro and Atlas, appear to be becoming from sources external to the power-wielder. This reality largely relieves the personal cost of any alchemical action/draining oneself, just so long as you have a powerful enough battery. In which case, given the resources and deep knowledge available to Allura and Honerva even in this apocalyptic moment, any action resulting in physical death feels...unearned.

If you’re interested in more specifically about this, I have a few other posts looking at these basic worldbuilding details:

Question on Quintessence and General Worldbuilding in     VLD S8

The Search for the “Bluest Quintessence” and S6 - The Most     Unnecessary Conspiracy In VLD?

It’s entirely possible I could be missing some information that would reconcile the s8 worldbuilding contradictions about quintessence and Altean energy back to the previous seven seasons. I suppose it’s possible that this s8 regeneration trick resulted in Allura and Honerva being physically unable to handle the amount of power they were conducting. But just after casually re-watching the show, I heavily question whether this is possible or consistent with everything else, haha.

Strike Two:

The concept of Voltron not being needed in a peaceful universe is nonsensical. So this show is telling me that a gigantic mecha capable of massive construction projects and space anomaly protection services couldn’t reorganize its paladins or get new ones, and transition to a new day job? Because Voltron has to exist in a combat theater only? This is wildly myopic, especially considering that Voltron already has a team of five who could pilot it again via a little game of musical chairs…and even the final lineup shown would suggest that Shiro had already taken over Red. I guess if the Galra aren’t attacking?? This must mean that there won’t be any civilizations in need of help or in need of being protected from imminent natural disasters?? At the very least, a new day job would be an incredibly meaningful way to convert Voltron from a war machine to a champion of the people. And it would still give the paladins a reason to come back together as a team and to exercise the bonds they’ve forged together as defenders of the universe.

Strike Three:

After this s8 scene, and even assuming Allura has physically died, Voltron existed before Allura got linked to it. And it existed as a largely infinite and indestructible source of energy. Even if Allura did die, the loss of her personal quintessence was of no account to its existence. The worldbuilding of Voltron as a mecha suggests it didn’t need her to continue existing on the material plane like it had existed before their alchemical link from Alfor. And even if she’d died, taking Voltron’s life-force with her away from the material plane, then why in the world wouldn’t Voltron just…totally power down? Become completely inert with the lights fading from its eyes? But then, oh wait, according to the last seven seasons, Voltron is supposed to be indestructible and constantly self-regenerating even when temporarily drained, so how could it power down forever? Even the concept that Voltron could physically destroy/remove itself from the material world to fully join Allura on the astral plane is an oxymoron.

And even if Allura’s life force was fading out and the Voltron lions are dying too, how in the world could Lance’s Altean markings suddenly even manage to glow in response to an active and powerful external stimulus? And why would the lions themselves suddenly be lighting up and capable of expending massive amounts of energy on a sudden, random interstellar space trip?

Even if the Lions themselves longed to reunite with its dead creator or its missing piece per their Allurian life-force link (despite them clearly not caring when Alfor died or when Allura got put in stasis 10k years ago), this show would have me believe that Voltron wanted to die or give up? And...for what? To lounge about in an afterlife Cabana for Retired Mechas, sipping quintessence drinks while the universe experiences ongoing natural physical disasters or anomalies that could endanger entire galaxies? What if more trans-reality comets fell from the sky? They appear to not be an isolated incident, and where there’s one, there’s usually more…What if that causes more rifts to open? And let’s just assume for a moment that those two comets are the only two trans-reality comets in the multiverse. I guess we can all sleep tight tonight because Voltron is unconcerned that the universe still has several weak stitches between it and the quintessence field, where dark entities and rift creatures roam? Lol, what?

Lotor even confirms these weaknesses in season 4:

“Zarkon believed Alfor’s plan to blow up Daibazaal and destroy the rift between realities actually worked. No one comprehended that the experiments of my mother, Honerva, could never be undone.”

Lotor’s statement here would suggest that after everything that’s happened, it might be even easier to break open rifts. But okay cool, time for Voltron’s retirement/death, I guess. Just leave a peaceful universe to be one day swallowed up and destroyed by shadow rift creatures, dark entities, apocalyptic comets, and natural disasters…

Everything about the Allura/Voltron death theory doesn’t make sense to me and raises more questions than answers. So let’s look at another way of viewing this ending!

Theory Two: Allura Didn’t Die At All—She Just Finished Working for the Year And Needs a Ride Home

The fact that Voltron survives and is activated into movement by an external source of massive, pure quintessence suggests that Allura is likely NOT dead and is STILL ALIVE. In this case, the astronomical undertaking of regenerating a multiverse still took a full year to complete. We do know there’s no major time slippage between the paladin’s universe and the Universal Consciousness realm, because the paladins were seen right back in the heart of establishing/confirming peace when they returned to their universe. And again, s8 also shows people being able to interact on the border between the Living and the Dead, so Allura simply existing within this realm should not be enough to kill her. Because life and death are largely meaningless concepts in this space where all consciousnesses are preserved.

So, if Allura is alive and just finished her work, then oop, now she’s stuck in the middle of Space Nowhere without a certain ride home. So who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters. Voltron is the only ship that Allura has a deep psychical and life-force link to, so it would be within canonical bounds that if she just helped resurrect the multiverse, then surely one hard-working princess could use Lance’s markings (her own life force) to relocate her own universe, and then use that bond on the material plane to call Voltron from across the universe to come pick her up, lol.

I really like this re-interpretation of canon for several reasons:

One, it feels a lot more consistent with the world-building and the overall tone of the show.

Two, it suggests a much happier ending where canon confirms—sort of like the Iron Giant (1999) ending—that Allura would eventually reunite on the material plane with the paladins.

Three, it suggests that there’s been a full one-year span of time where Allura and Honerva were both working together to restore the universe…while in the presence of and even interacting with Alfor, Zarkon, and Lotor, and probably a billion other dead people they thought were gone forever, but who were preserved in form and mind within the Consciousness of the universe. I feel like there’s just LOADs of possible content someone could get out of this. Did Honerva and Zarkon reunite? Did Alfor get to hug his baby girl again? Did Allura and Lotor have a major heart-to-heart discussion about the Altean colony and his quintessence insanity, and positively reconcile? Which, regardless of however you interpret what Lotor’s accused of, Allura had already…exonerated his motives and turned him into, like, a Joan of Arc figure well before she saw him again. And she even wanted Honerva to honor his memory by doing the right thing:

So there’s some clear signs that Allura and Lotor could have reconciled now that there’s no apparent quintessence insanity or witch shenanigans afoot... And it’s very likely that Allura might have even reconciled with the true, uncorrupted Emperor Zarkon himself:

 And in the meantime, what would the paladins of old be like? Were there other victims of this war who would have found it meaningful to interact in some way to obtain justice for themselves…or to obtain something more??

And this gets into reason four of why I like this re-interpretation of the ending. So canonically, mechas created out of the trans-reality comet are infinitely regenerating and indestructible. So not just Voltron, but also the Honervian/Sincline mecha. This suggests that Allura already had a ride home.

So why would Allura need more ships?

This interpretation has the potential to reverse all the painful deaths that happened throughout the show. The original paladins, the Alteans and Galrans who perished for various reasons...Alfor, Bandor, Lotor, Kova…even deaths we didn’t see.

And in calling Voltron back to her, is Allura maybe…planning to bring some new friends with her too? If she already has the Honervian/Sincline mecha to fly home, why does she need all five lions, anyway? Who would pilot them? Who else is waiting patiently in the celestial mind/heart of the multiverse to return to reality with her?

And reason five, on a simpler and maybe less galaxy-brain note, this interpretation provides a completely different context, however apparently sorrowful, for Allura’s canonical goodbyes:

Allura’s path did end here...at least as a paladin of Voltron. Because that position was temporary anyway. Restoring the multiverse was going to be an ultimate act. And there’s probably nothing after this that Allura could perform to outdo herself in saving things, lol. This is the height of everything she is and has worked for. She intentionally identifies this as her purpose:

“It is my purpose.”

Her action in s8 is the full and total culmination of everything she has learned and grown capable of doing since s1. Everything has been leading up to this. It’s her one chance to undo all the universal pain. And through restoring the multiverse, she’d be restoring balance in her own life too—to reconnect with her fragmented past, to give those from her past a chance to live in the new universe with her….

The other paladins, though—they were still needed in the meantime to confirm peace with the Galran empire, to convert it (however questionably) to a democracy, and to establish relations between Earth and other vast galaxies of people. Allura was not wrong that their paths as paladins had not ended. Because she needed them to ensure their universe would be truly at peace while she was up in the stars, working to restore and reconcile with all that had been lost in painful war.

And all of this would ultimately suggest that she would return to the universe, to the paladins, and probably take back the piece of her life force she’d given Lance that ensured a link with Blue Lion. Because…that homing beacon wouldn’t be needed anymore. Perhaps Allura would even consider decoupling the remainder of her life-force from Voltron, to fully reconcile herself to herself. To finally be whole and just Allura again, idk.

The only major problem with the “Allura is Alive and Bringing Some Friends/Family Home” interpretation is that...lol, the development team for the show doesn’t subscribe to it, at least not in any outward way I’ve heard. Based on their March 28, 2019 interview with Let’s Voltron, the executive producers talk about Allura like she’s dead. They say that they wanted to show sacrifice, the impact of death, and how important it is to honor the memory of the dead:

And we definitely feel it. There is a massive weight of loss and memorial in the finale here. Coran looks just this side of totally broken as he remembers Allura, and he didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. He reiterates just how much Allura means to the people still alive in this universe:

“For some of us she was a diplomat, a teacher, a leader, and a friend. But to those of us around this table, she will always be family.”

The EPs have suggested that, like other shows, there may be ways to resurrect Allura, and there may have been happier endings possible. But again, please see the Theory 1 statements above regarding the massive worldbuilding contradictions when assuming that Allura had to die in the first place.

In which case, hilariously, the EPs have also expressed their interest in creative works that keep going, with plot tensions that require even supposedly dead heroes to return, as in this article here: 

“You can kill Captain America a million times and he’ll always show back up.”

So creator statements are just all over the place regarding the finality of “death” or even of “separation” in this universe. We definitely don’t get a body to prove that Allura is dead. And we also know that canonically, there is a place where the rift between the Dead and Living breaks down. And oh, by the way, Allura just regenerated entire multiverse strands that had been destroyed. So even if it’s not as simple as…holding someone’s hand as they step out of the consciousness realm, what canonical detail or limitation would keep her from resurrecting them herself? It is well within Allura’s canonical range to bring back all of these people without dying herself. 

Conclusion

Regardless of creator intention, the various contradictions in the worldbuilding itself make the angst of Allura’s death, the memorial statue, the lingering pain of the characters (oof, poor Coran and Lance especially), and all the interviews talking about Allura’s death feel excessively unnecessary. And at the same time, I’ve been very fascinated by what one can do with the details about the Consciousness Realm; the inherent properties of comet-based mechas, quintessence, and alchemy; Lance’s strange marks; and even the odd, last-minute Voltron interstellar space trip surging toward the Allura in the stars, with Blue Lion in the lead:

It appears that Allura could be very much alive in the final screenshot of her in the stars. Through Lance and their shared connection via Blue Lion, she’s maintained a homing beacon for her own reality, activated Voltron to complete a massive interstellar trip to come get her and likely several others—and now, she’s faithfully waiting in the Consciousness Realm with everyone, preparing for a family trip back to their resurrected worlds, in their trusty mechas.

I watched s8 on the day it dropped. I was in a daze about all of its wild and painful messaging. I wrote some unhappy metas about the sheer nihilism of this show. It’s taken me, lol, 1.5 years to actually go back and re-watch several episodes at a time. And I don’t believe this interpretation of the ending would fix every problem in Voltron: Legendary Defender. Sometimes, trying to make sense of this show feels like trying to reconcile quantum theory with classical mechanics, haha. So I’m sure one could poke holes in this post. And to even arrive at these conclusions, I had to throw out or reinterpret some of the worldbuilding and scenes, in direct conflict with the stated perspective of the show’s development team.

But even so...I derived most everything for this interpretation from the show itself. And even if the development team didn’t intend this happy ending of resurrections and reconciliations as I’ve suggested…it seems that this finale—at least while I’m thinking about it right now—is canonically possible and an attempt at consistency with the material provided across multiple seasons. It offers resurrections, redemptions, reconciliations...

Its ultimate message even genuinely coincides with the last episode’s title.

The End Is the Beginning.

And I really like that.

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 10: She Sees the World in a New Light

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4272

Warnings: Language

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 9: The Past Comes Back to Haunt Her

It’d been years since you’d actually gone out into the Mortal World and stayed for any amount of time. You used to make trips daily to reap your own souls before Pierce came to work for you and Clint agreed to help you out. But that was during the time of the Ancient Greeks and Romans; way before any of the modern technology came out.

Back then, people went to sleep right as the sun went down. They were quiet, reserved, timid, and shy. You were free to roam the streets of the villages, hardly a soul to join you. You’d enjoyed the silence of the Mortal World.

But now?

You couldn’t believe how much the world had changed.

The city was set ablaze with neon lights and lamps. You could hardly tell that it was nighttime anymore. People bustled around, talking to each other, talking on their phones, or not talking at all. Some walked with friends, others alone, but all were awake and lively. The colors from the street lights and glowing signs bounced off their skin, turning them different shades and making them ethereal and strange. You hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.

Sure, Olympus had mimicked these mortal cities, but there was something unique about the Mortal World that Olympus simply didn’t have. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was beautiful and comforting and it made you happy.

The atmosphere was warm despite the piles of snow on the ground. White fairy lights were strung from lamppost to lamppost. People talked with animated gestures, a smile on everyone's face.

Sipping on your frappuccino, your eyes traveled from person to person, taking in their clothes, their hair, their facial expressions, everything. You were able to gauge what kind of a person they were within moments and garner a bit of insight into their life by mentally scrolling through the registry of souls and taking a peek at their file (that was the good thing about being the Queen of the Underworld—because every single soul was technically your subject, you were able to access every bit of their information).

A hand squeezing yours drew your attention away from the people, and you turned your eyes to the man beside you.

Bucky smiled down at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “You enjoying yourself?”

Pulling your lips away from the rim of your drink, you nodded and smiled up at him. “I haven’t had a night like this in forever. I think I was in my early five hundreds the last time I got to roam the Mortal World. It’s changed so much.”

“It has, hasn’t it?” Bucky took a sip of his latte and looked forward. “I’ve been coming here for decades, and every time I come, I find it astonishing.”

“Here? As in New York?”

“Heh, yeah.” He paused as he slowed to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk, a red stop hand commanding pedestrians to halt. “Steve and I love coming to Brooklyn. We practically grew up here. My mom spent a lot of time here before it got built on, tending crops and stuff. She moved away when the city sprang up, but I still love it here.” A happy sigh escaped his mouth. “It’s a beautiful city. I love coming here, especially in the winter.”

“Do you come here often?”

“At least once a week or so. I’m considered a regular at some shops.”

The stop hand turned into a walking man and you and Bucky followed the crowd across the sidewalk. Your voice quieted as you asked, “Isn’t that dangerous though? Won’t the mortals realize you never age and get suspicious?”

He shrugged. “Some might, but they hardly pay attention enough to realize that I still look the same as I did years ago. And the ones that call me out on it, well they deserve to know the truth.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head. “You told them?”

He laughed. “Relax, (y/n). I don’t tell everyone, only some. I think I’ve maybe told five people the truth in my 1,385 years of existence, and most of them are elderly at that. In fact, you’ll be meeting one of them tonight.” His grin was sly as he tugged you across the street by the hand. “He runs a pastry shop I’ve been dying to take you to. His cinnamon rolls are the absolute best.”

You followed Bucky down the street, eyeing the path ahead warily. “So, he knows about you and what you… are?”

“Yeah. I told him a few years ago when he called me out on not aging.”

“So then he knows you’re the real ‘Persephone,’ as the mortals call you?”

He breathed a laugh. “Yes, he does. And the first words out his mouth were, ‘I knew you were a flower child,’ and the second ones were, ‘Wait, you’re not a lady.’ Gods, it was mortifying to try to explain to him that the myths were wrong and that I was, indeed, not a woman despite the feminine name given to me by the mortals.”

“So am I to assume that he knows about me too?”

Tilting his head from side to side, he pursed his lips in thought. “I think he probably knows you exist, but I’ve never had reason to tell him about Hades, the goddess of the Underworld. I didn’t think it was important or necessary until I befriended you. But I’ll introduce you tonight. He’s a cool guy, and I think you’ll like him.”

Gods, you hoped you would; but you hoped he’d like you more. Mortals were not very hospitable to the gods that resided in the Underworld and dealt with death. They were afraid of you and that made them abrasive, hostile even. The last time you told a mortal you were Hades, she blanched with fear and ordered you (the best she could with her trembling voice) out of her house.

Bucky led you through the city, down another block or two, and stopped outside an old fashioned pastry shop. The red and white awning had faded to a salmon above the store, but the gold lettering that read “Pop’s Pastries” on the window was still crisp and neat as if it had been painted on yesterday. Bright lights illuminated the shop from the inside, casting a glow over the endless display cases of pastries and cakes as well as an elderly man sitting behind the counter on a stool with a book in his hand and reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you in by the hand. A little bell over the door jingled as Bucky pushed the door open and passed through the threshold.

The old man behind the counter looked up, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well well well. Look who it is.” He fit a bookmark in between the pages of his novel and set it down so he could give his undivided attention to the pair of you. “If it isn’t my favorite celestial being. And who is this you’ve brought with you, Persephone?”

Bucky chuckled. “It’s Bucky, not Persephone, Arthur. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t care.” Arthur’s eyes glistened with amusement. “Now answer my question: who’s the pretty lady. A goddess perhaps? She’s pretty enough for it.”

You giggled and shook your head. “I don’t know about pretty, but yes, I am a goddess.”

“Ah-ha! I knew it! Now, which one are you? No no, wait, let me guess.” He leaned back in his chair and eyed you, scrutinizing your entire figure. “You’re… Aphrodite.”

The laugh that tore through your threat was louder than you had intended and you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. “Oh gods. I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. But no, I am not Aphrodite. That name belongs to the lovely Pepper.”

“Artemis then.”

“Nope. That’s Wanda.”

He hesitated. “Hera?”

Your lips curled up in a grimace. “No, that’s my sister’s wife Maria.”

“Your sister’s wife… You mean your sister is Zeus?”

“Carol, actually. But yes, the mortals call her Zeus.”

“So then, if your sister is Zeus, then you’re…” You could see the gears turning in his head.

You smirked. “You’ve got a fifty-fifty shot at this, mister. If you get it wrong, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Alright… My guess is…” He sprinted and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “Oh, lord; you’re wearing black. You are… Hades?”

A smile took over your lips. “Ding ding ding. We have a winner.” Bowing to him with an ounce of flounce, you said, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am (y/n) Aidoneus, the unseen one, eldest daughter of the titans Kronos and Rhea, goddess of the dead and wealth, and Queen of the Underworld, at your service.”

Arthur whistled in appreciation. “Those are some pretty impressive titles, your majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of one of the big three. Just, one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why you hanging around with a minor god like Bucky here?”

“You know, I’ve been asking myself that for weeks.”

“Hey!” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You love me and you know it.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, Springy.”

Arthur snickered, his voice ringing out through the otherwise empty shop. “Oh, to be young and in love. I swear you two act like an old married couple already.”

Your head snapped towards him and you lost even more color if that was even possible. “In what? No no. We’re not… I mean… No. We’re not a thing.”

“Oh, my mistake your highness,” Arthur said. “I only assumed that you were together cause Buck here has never brought anyone here unless they were special to him.”

“We’re just friends, Art,” Bucky said, holding up his hands. “Nothing more, nothing less. Believe me, I just barely got to be friends with her; she almost had my head the first couple times I broke in and she only just gave me the keys to the kingdom.”

“Ah, that is right. You were a little trespasser up until a few months ago, right?”

“Mhmm. He was.” You shot Bucky a glare. “However, I have learned to tolerate his presence in my kingdom. There are still places he’s not allowed to go, but he can come into my house so long as he has my permission first. Now.” You rolled your shoulders back and sauntered over to the display cases of baked goods. “Bucky tells me you have the best cinnamon rolls in the world and I’m curious to see if he’s right.”

Arthur popped off his stool and walked behind the cases, pulling a small plate out of seemingly nowhere. “I sure do. It’s an old family recipe, dating back to when the first cinnamon rolls were created in Sweden. I sell nothing but the best here.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Arthur pulled two cinnamon rolls from behind the case and set them on two small plates that were just the size for the pastries.

Mumbling your thanks, you took your plate over to one of the tables that stood in the vacant shop. You took your seat elegantly, sitting up straight with the posture that only royalty seemed to have. Ever so carefully, so as to not dirty your hands, you wrapped your fingers around the roll and lifted it up to your lips. As soon as the sugary icing touched your tongue, you were hooked. “Oh my gods, this is amazing!”

Arthur bowed his head. “Thank you, milady. I’m glad that they have your seal of approval.” He moved back over to his spot and plucked his book from the counter. “Well, I’ll leave you two youngins to it.  I’ll be in the back reading. Holler if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Arthur!” Bucky sat down at the table across from you and smirked. “So what did I tell you? Best cinnamon rolls in the world, am I right?”

You bobbed your head as you chewed. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.” As you swallowed your bite, you dragged the back of your hand across your face to wipe away the crumbs that had undoubtedly made their home in the corners of your mouth. Smiling down at your roll, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied with your current situation, though a bit saddened. This place—as quaint and lovely as it was—felt like one you should be sharing with a lover. Naturally, the only lover you’ve ever had fell into your mind. You could just barely imagine the naiad sitting in the chair across from you, his brown eyes sparkling as you covered his nose with frosting. It would be the perfect date. You would’ve loved to have brought him here. A mellow sigh left your lips and you murmured, “Gods… Brock would love this.”

“Who’s Brock?”

You blinked. Holy fuck, had you really said that out loud? Welp, shit. Time to roll with this. You gulped. “He’s my… Uh...”

“Boyfriend?” Bucky’s voice was timid, cautious, perhaps a bit scared. He spoke the word like it was bitter on his tongue.

You breathed a laugh. “No. I don’t know what he is to me.” Your lips formed a thin line as you averted your gaze.

His brows furrowed. “How do you mean? How can you not know?”

“Well, our relationship… It’s complicated, you know? Like, we obviously have some sort of feelings for each other. He’s been there for me for centuries and he’s loved me for that long too. But it… It doesn’t feel like love exactly. I don’t know what it is.”

Bucky’s lips pursed, but he let you speak.

And you spoke. You told him about how Brock was the only one who treated you like a queen and goddess in the beginning, going so far as to pledge his undying fidelity to you and vow to serve you with his life. You hesitated as you started to get into your relationship with him, talking about the late nights you spent together with only the vaguest detail. You didn’t know why, but it felt wrong talking about it in front of Bucky, and you were almost ashamed of it. No, scratch that, you were ashamed of it. You felt like it was almost betraying him to admit what you and Brock had done in the dark. But, swallowing the lump in your throat, you continued with your pathetic tale, telling him about how in recent centuries, Brock hardly ever came around anymore unless it was to satisfy his own desires. He never stayed for the morning after or to actually talk to you anymore and it left you confused and hurt.

Bucky listened with solemn interest, staying silent until you finished. He frowned, his brows pinching together and his lips turning down with an agitated air. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Always.”

He took a deep breath before starting bluntly with, “It sounds like he’s a dick.”

You snorted.

“No no no, hear me out! From what you’ve told me, this asshole is using you and doesn’t seem to care about your feelings. All he wants you for is someone who will give him what he wants and someone whom he can just take and take from.” He shook his head with a growl that surprised you. You’d never seen the god of spring so… angry and dark. “He sounds like a dick who only cares about himself and he’s hurting you in the process. He’s using you and it’s not right. Who does he think he is to abuse a literal goddess such as yourself. You don’t deserve that shit. You don’t deserve someone who will use you and leave you. You deserve the world. You deserve all the stars in the heavens. You deserve love—not that fake lust—true love. You deserve someone who will take care of your emotions and treat you with respect and adoration. You deserve someone who will stay with you through thick and thin, treating you as if you’re a precious gem. You deserve someone—”

“Someone like you?” The words were gentle as they escaped your mouth; hopeful, sincere, begging. They surprised you, but their implications that you wanted him surprised you more. How could you imply that? You hadn’t even known each other for a year yet, and you were insinuating that he wanted a romantic relationship with you and you wanted one with him. What the fuck were you thinking?

How could you think such? You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He was just a friend and hardly even that. He’d only been down to your domain a handful of times.

But then again…

Each time had been more blissful and lovely than the last. Sitting with him in the garden… Strolling through Elysium… Picking flowers in the Meadow… Each time he visited drew you closer and closer to his light until you considered him close to your heart.

He turned to you, his astounding blue eyes looking at you with an ounce of surprise and, for a second, you feared you overstepped. But then his gaze turned kind and he smiled a smile so kind, so genuine, and so real that you lost your breath for a second. And he reached for your hands—both of them—and took them in his. His hands dwarfed yours, but they fit together perfectly. Holding one, he brought the other up to cup his face, to hold his cheek. He turned into you and pressed his lips against the palm of your hand.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your skin and it sent shivers down your spine in the best way.

And then his lips moved, and even the slightest twitch was enough to take over your senses. “If you’d have me,” he said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He turned away from your hand to gaze into your eyes. “I know I’m a young god—naive, stupid, innocent to the world—but I also know my feelings. And I do have feelings for you, (y/n). I know that we don’t know each other the best, but that’s the great thing about immortality, right? I have all of eternity to get to know you.”

You gaped at him, your mind on red alert as the meaning of his words kicked in. He wanted a relationship with you. Suddenly, your thoughts went on autopilot.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

He was less than half your age. He was a young god. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you. He doesn’t know what he wants.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

What were you thinking? You’d just met him. You couldn’t possibly be interested in pursuing a relationship. You would be insane. You couldn’t take advantage of him like this, no matter how badly your subconscious wanted him. And even then, he was the god of spring, of life, and you were the goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld. There was no way that those two things mixed. How could they? They were polar opposites.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is…

But what if it wasn’t? What if he wanted you just as bad as you wanted him? What if he wanted to know you like you wanted to know him? What if?

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Maybe there was a reason you felt safe and secure around him. Maybe there was a reason you called him instead of Brock when you had your nightmare. Maybe there was a reason he stayed in your mind, always lurking in the corners no matter the time of day.

This feels right. This feels nice. This feels right.

Your eyes traced his face and your heart hammered in your chest. If you were being honest, you wouldn’t mind trying to pursue something with him. He was kind, sweet, and genuinely wanted to know you. That was more than any other man had been in years.

But there were other factors than just what you and he wanted. What about the age gap? You more than doubled him in age. And then there was also the fact that you were practically ostracised by most of the gods and immortals on Olympus. Would he join you in exile from the others if he associated himself with you? And then what about his mother? She despised you with a passion, and there was no way that she would approve of you two dating. And what about…

Brock…

There were just so many fucking factors to it, way too many for you to work out in one day. You might’ve been a goddess, but that didn’t mean you weren’t without responsibilities that had to come before your love life.

You hung your head, removing your eyes from his body. “Bucky, I just… I don’t know…” you whispered, your voice cracking with strain. “How could we work? How could the world let us work? There’s just so much that needs to be accounted for and I… I just don’t see how it’s possible.”

“So long as we try, so long as we both want it… Anything is possible, really—even us being together.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “The Fates would not have had us meet if it wasn’t.”

You barked a bitter laugh. “The Fates could not be so cruel as to interweave our futures, Bucky,” you said in a shallow whisper. “It’s a curse to be stuck with me.”

“See, you view it as a curse, but I would see it as the greatest blessing they could give me. To be so lucky as to spend all of eternity with you who cares so much about people and who gives so much of herself so selflessly is all that I can ask for. You are so much more than what you give yourself credit for, (y/n). Let me be there to remind you of your value.”

“But what about Brock?”

He sighed and tightened his grip on your hand. “You can let him go. You don’t need him. He’s abusing you, (y/n), I know you can see that too. Just let him go.”

“I… I just… I can’t let him go that easily, Buck.” You hung your head. “I think that, deep down, I know the words you speak are true, but I… He’s been there for me—with me—for hundreds of years; I can’t just let him go. I know I should, but I can’t…” It was toxic, what you had with him; you knew that, but he had planted his weeds so deep in your heart that you could not tear them out so easily.

“What if I helped you?” he asked, his voice lifting an octave as he thought aloud. “I can be there for you, occupying your time so that way you wouldn’t have to see him. I have no obligations or responsibilities other than bringing Spring to the Mortal World once a year, and so I could be down there for you. No one says that you have to cut him from your life all at once; you can do it little by little and I will be there to help you every step of the way.” He bit his lip as he let go of your hand and reached up to hold your cheek.

You closed your eyes at his touch and leaned into him. His hands were worn and smooth and filled with warmth that filled you to your core.

“I can help you, (y/n), but you have to tell me you want this. I won’t make you decide one way or the other; this is your life, you’re in control. I am but a tool for you to use to help you along. You tell me what you want and I will help you make it happen. Okay?”

What you want…

You had virtually everything you could ever want: a kingdom, loving family, millions of subjects who respected you, power, wealth, good friends, the best dog ever, and security. But that wasn’t everything you wanted.

You wanted love. You’d never admitted it before, but you really wanted love. Not the stuff Brock gave you, but real love. If you remember correctly, the Greeks had given a name for the love you craved.

Pragma: long-lasting love.

You knew that you were never going to get that with Brock. You were chasing him down a one-way road that led to a dead end. There was no future of growth for you, no practicality whatsoever, only the same for years, decades, centuries to come. There was nothing more he could offer you, nothing he could give to you that you didn’t already have.

But with Bucky? Gods, there were so many options; he’d already proved to you time after time that he was invested in you and more than willing to stay with you. He’d risked getting flayed alive by his mother and his own safety just to get closer to you. With him, there was a chance that you could find what you wanted. No matter how minuscule the chance was, it was still there; a single thread hanging in the middle of the room that you were going to hold onto and climb until it either turned into rope or disappeared.

You had nothing to lose, so why not take a chance on him?

Next 11: She Takes a Stand