#i don't own everything on here - it is meant as a checklist of what i need in the kitchen and so also what should i buy next.

[kxowledge]

kitchen equipment: a guide

[hussyknee]

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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[melonteee]

I enjoyed OPLA and really did like some of the changes they made but now that it's marinated in my brain a bit. It's hard out here being a Sanji enjoyer fr

I feel like it didn't really show his sensitivity and vulnerability. You said something about Baratie arc feeling like a checklist and GOD yeah it really felt like that :'D I always forget the Mihawk fight happened there honestly and am disappointed that parts of the episodes were dedicated to tension between Nami, Luffy and Zoro about the duel rather than... you know... blorbo from my shows

He really did feel like a side character to his own story cause some of the most memorable things about him were completely missed or skimmed over. I h8 that he just talks about the All Blue and it's not that goofy smile from the animanga. Also that he doesn't watch the fight or have this moment of "wait, my dream is worth fighting for". It's kinda said to our face that "he doesn't leave cause he owes Zeff" but I don't feel it the same way I do in the animanga. I have so many weird feelings cause I love some aspects to OPLA. But as a Sanji fan, I'm sad that he's kinda barely in it? And that what they left in were just surface level observations about him: "he's a chef who fights and flirts" um, where's that self-loathing and self-destructive kindness huh??

At least he calls Zoro mosshead once though and I got the joy of replaying that scene in different languages and now know what "mosshead" is in a plethora of languages.

...also have you seen the YOUTOOZ figures for OPLA cause I'm haunted

I just...everyone was stripped of character but Sanji and Usopp were especially so ruined I really do not understand it. Like I'm sorry, using Sanji's pain and trauma as a lesson for Luffy IS a despicable way to frame it, even worse with Luffy not even ACKNOWLEDGING IT??

One's pain in One Piece does not exist to teach any other characters a lesson, Sanji starving on a rock for 2 months does not exist so he can just tell Luffy how hard it is to be a captain. Which doesn't even make SENSE because Zeff wasn't even SANJI'S CAPTAIN AT THE DAMN TIME. NOR HAS HE EVER BEEN?

I feel crazy because everyone seems very lukewarm on it, and maybe I am just insanely attached to Sanji and feel greatly touched by his story, but is using a character's original written trauma as a plot device for ANOTHER character not insulting? Is there ANY respect for Sanji's 2 months of hell there? There's a damn good reason Sanji's story existed to be his OWN and not a motivational speech for LUFFY??

Imagine if Zoro was like "My best friend died, changing the course of my life and putting me through a grief so heavy I now carry her dream with me. Sometimes death of a loved one is an inevitable factor" and Luffy's like "L+ratio+I would kill MY best friend for Sanji" LIKE...WHA....

This is pure insanity I feel like I'm being shot left and right with everything I hear, like I'm glad people are enjoying bits and pieces, truly, but the flaws and disrespect of original character are just so apparent they're doing my head in - especially with how tons of people are choosing to just ignore it.

They tried to give Luffy this weird Water 7 moment, where he had to learn how to be a captain, but this script failed to consider Luffy had to learn that HIMSELF of his OWN circumstances and decisions with Usopp. Yes he was helped by Zoro in Water 7, but Zoro didn't suddenly just trauma dump about how awful a past he had for Luffy to go "Cool. ANYWAYS!" LIKE I JUST...REALLY? Am I crazy or overly biased or what because god damn I'm just jaw dropped at all of this fhgkd

The Baratie is meant to be Luffy witnessing SANJI'S character, and learning of SANJI'S personality and morals - with Sanji then being inspired from Luffy. Where was that? Where was any of that? Why was Sanji's kindness, stubbornness and self-sacrifice side-lined for a character we've been with LONGER at that point to get a bigger spotlight? It's so weird I don't GET IIIIT DFGHJKD

HOWEVER, yes I have seen the merchandise and it scared me KHDFGJKD sorry for that I...truly had a lot of thoughts hhh

[sansloii]

Dakota was right; convincing the kingdom's advisors that her idea had merit was a little difficult. During the mock deliberation the queen had guided her, through, she thought they'd worked through all the ins and outs of of her plan…but the group she posed it to was rather thorough in their questioning. Whatever experience ( and patience ) she had accrued dipping her whole heart into the kingdom's diplomatic ties were very much tested with that meeting. Though she would've liked it to end so much sooner than it did, part of her was glad that they had drawn it put for as long as they did. It took them a little bit to get them on board with her plan; with no input from Dakota, she was sure she'd have to keep pushing for the event. However, once that was all said and done, the small meeting quickly moved on to a secondary planning stage that discussed much more than “We could” or “We should”.

Planning a meeting between potential allies, though intricate and delicate in its own right, was vastly than what she'd chosen to undertake. And when she steps out of the meeting room — her sister in tow — she feels like her head is spinning a little bit. Perhaps that much was written plainly on her face because not a moment later, she can feel a hand falling to rest on her arm. It offers a little tug and she obliges it, allowing the queen to guide her off to the side when out of view of the rest of the court ( as well as whoever else was lingering following the meeting ).

“Are you alright?” She asks softly, “…I know it was a lot of information but parts of it are things you'll never need to remember.”

At first, Cassandra nods and tries to offer some sort of confirmation that she's fine. However, she hesitates right before she speaks, brows rising with a little tilt of her head and a shrug of her shoulders.

“It's…. It's a lot.” she confesses, “…but it's okay. I'll have plenty of time to go over all of it on the way to Brecaea. Even if I don't need to know all of it, it'd be usefully to know little details of everything.”

To that, Dakota's brow arches. “Are you certain about that? The capital of Brecaea is not very far by airship, you know. If *that's the means by which you want toget there…"

“Did you just say I didn't need to know to know everything?”

“Attempting to cram it all in on one ride and missing a thing or two here and there is not what I meant… We're not leaving right now so. let's have them draw up something of a checklist for us so you're not panicking on the way over.”

To that, the princess pouts. “Who's saying I would panic?”

“Frantically trying to remember every single little thing that we covered in this meeting would constitute panicking, Cassie… even if your expression is the most focused I've ever seen it.”

“If you want to ask for that list, I'll let you request it from our advisors. After that, try to relax and let everything we went over just… sink in. Okay? We can leave for Brecaea either tomorrow or the day after that, though I'd recommend the the day after just so we can make sure that word reaches them before we arrive.”

“…Let's leave the day after. I'll handle that as well.”

Dakota smiles. “It's all yours.”

[somsesh]

Kochi Bienalle, 2023

I always look forward to visiting Kochi Bienalle because my art consumption is usually not much, and it just feels good to take time off to walk around and look at art for a few days at a stretch. However, the Bienalle this time felt a little timid when it came to seeing installation art and video work. Video work is anyway a difficult space to be in as a spectator because a chunk of the work requires you to have plenty of time and dedication to engage with. But on the other hand, the artist too at times falls short of checking their boundaries of self-indulgence and aims away from what makes art effective. What makes an art piece effective? The answer definitely doesn't lie in the verbose artist statements for me. I find them difficult to read, and by the end of the very first paragraph, you start skipping words and jump onto the floating mammoth issues of gender, caste, consciousness, etc. I am not against art being an inquiry into the larger issues, but the art itself needs to have some gateways of open spaces where the audience can find some rope for grasping at interpretations. If the art is obscure (I understand that art is subjective), then it becomes a tough glass to see through. I have been mulling over this thought of creating a checklist on what makes art effective?

01. Scale is a big agent in playing with altering perspective. It tries to question how you are looking at a subject, and it feels like a good starting point to let the reader/spectator/ audience walk into what the art is about.

02. Let the art borrow something from the shared understanding and knowledge of the commoners. If all your metaphors are too close to your own, then there is no doorway for others to enter it.

03. This is a rule I try to follow personally for illustration or any idea for that matter, but I don't see why it can't be applied to Art too. Try not to layer too many thoughts/metaphors/ideas in one single piece. The art then becomes a raw, watered-down attempt where you are grasping for too many meanings and not holding onto a single one.

04. It's okay for art to be an enquiry of the medium and not have a larger problem to address. Sometimes you are just intrigued by the play of the medium itself and any other imposition of a question feels like a burden.

05. Write simply and effectively what your piece is about as an artist. Stick to a single or at most two paragraphs. The larger bodies of text can be looked at later in a booklet if somebody is eager to know more. To see three or four paragraphs of text for every single piece becomes tiring for the reader.

06. It could have been a book. Not every piece is meant to be an exhibit. A research project output has to go through translations where it's not occupying exhibition space as just raw material. It needs to be synthesised and then put together in a way that lets the spectator grasp the larger picture first before jumping into the micro details.

07. Lastly, engaging with so much art in a short span is not a doable feat. Maybe it's a futile attempt to alter anything when the audience in general is quick to move on from one piece to the other. But the question still arises and is worth pondering over as to what is then an effective display of an art piece when put together with so many other pieces.

I am a nobody in the art world and I am pretty sure art connoisseur will roll their eyes if they ever read this. But I genuinely feel that maybe it's worth understanding whether an art exhibition is purely for the artist or it's for the spectator too.

I chanced upon a few exhibitions happening outside the umbrella of the Bienalle, and some of the work actually felt honest and a genuine attempt because it spoke to you directly without being verbose.

I took plenty of photos on my phone too as a goofy attempt to spot peculiarities found in the bylanes of Fort Kochi. Dumping it here as reference material for the future.

Not everything can be written off about the Bienalle though. I found the photography work quite strong this time around, maybe because I am being more observant of the craft and what makes a photo good. The work of photographers I really appreciated this Bienalle were - Shahidul Alam, Madiha Aijaz, Palani Kumar, Paribartana Mohanty, Nishad Ummer, and Ishan Tankha.

I was relatively new to photography and experimentation, in those days, meant special effects, filters, darkroom tricks. There was something more substantial though. In trying to use black and white infra red film, I learnt an important skill. The ability to pre-visualise. Quite apart from the fact that I used an opaque filter to take this photograph and couldn't see through the shutter as I pressed it. The image that I wanted to create was very different from the scene that was in front of my lens. I was learning to see as my camera and film see. I called the picture, which I'd taken in Kew Garden in London, the 'Floating Forest' and it has stayed one of my favourite images. Shortly afterwards many of the trees in Kew Garden were felled by a massive storm.

The work of Amol K Patil resonated strongly with how close it went to show the spirit of angst and rebellion through clever tweaks of the medium.

Here's just an assorted dump (alas, the tumblr image limit) of photos of exhibits I really found appealing.

[brightonpages]

Ashes (Index) Chapter 2 Part 11

It was time. Garrett had reached the end of his second year, and was meant to decide whether he was going to stay, or go back to his old life. It wasn't a challenging question, as Garrett had no life to go back to.

Instead of asking himself where he was going to be, he asked himself who he was going to be. Committing himself to this life meant deciding what kind of Mage he was going to be. He was done hiding in the shadows. He had certainly grown talented enough to stand out, easily making up the distance between himself and the other Legacies. He still remained with the same group, and hadn’t managed to earn respect as a Legacy. Now that basic training was over, he was ready to become someone else.

Over the past two years, he had learned one vital detail about being a Legacy: It wasn't just good for bragging rights, and better treatment. It was also a ticket to a seat on the Council.

He was aware that they had branded him a murderer, but he hoped that two years of keeping his head down had made them forget. Because if his life here was going to mean anything, he was going to need one of those seats.

When Garrett Warren Bailey thought of the past two years of his life, the one thing that still stuck with him was the beginning: Agents bursting into his house, the collar around his neck, cuffs around his wrists. Being scared, alone, and named a murderer. If he was on the Council, he could change everything. He could make their world better. Safer. If he was in control, maybe he could create the home he never had. Making Agents face consequences for their own incompetence wouldn’t be about revenge, but about bettering their society.

Lionel was the one who asked him about his choice. Apparently this required a conversation as well, even though that was true for everyone. His assumption was that they wanted to know that people were making the right choice and for the right reasons.

The line of questioning made it obvious, although Lionel did a decent job of not sounding like he was following a checklist.

“I assume you have decided to stay.”

“Why would you assume that?” Garrett smiled, although he wasn’t sure what for. It had become a habit, a way to hide and disarm at the same time.

“Well, you have really applied yourself. You’ve made friends. You’ve grown into this place.”

“I’m a survivor,” Garrett said. “I adapt.”

Lionel smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “Sorry, but that’s not the impression I got two years ago.”

Garrett ran his hand through his hair and laughed dryly. He could recognize now that he’d been a mess, but in his defense he had just had just killed someone and had his life uprooted.

“Right.”

“So, you don’t want to stay?”

Garrett shook his head, but it wasn’t a no. “You know,” he said. “Warren still hasn’t talked to me.”

“He will.”

“Yeah? Have I earned the right to be his son yet?”

“Garrett.” Lionel crossed his legs and sighed. “Mages aren’t necessarily the best parents. When everything is a power play, unfortunately the children tend to suffer.”

"Are you saying I'm better off?" He couldn’t imagine a world where distant parents were worse than what he had gotten instead. He could have survived absence. At least he would have had a roof over his head. At least he would have been fed. At least he would have had stability.

"No.“ Lionel knew most of his story, and he couldn’t imagine he would have accepted the trade-off either. ”No, I'm saying that you would never have been a priority to them, so you can't expect to be one now. But they need you. To carry on the name, the legacy. So he will talk to you. Maybe he's just waiting for you to make your decision."

"Wait," Garrett said. "Can I even leave?"

"Of course you can leave."

"You just said he needs me. I'm the heir, right? Whatever the fuck that means. So am I allowed to leave?"

"You want to stay, don't you? So there's no need to think about the alternative."

"That sounds suspiciously like a no."

"Garrett. Do you want to leave?"

“No. I want to stay. I have to stay, but I…” He bit down on his lip to stop himself from finishing that sentence. Lionel knew more about him that anyone else, and he seemed to understand him, sort of, but there were truths he didn’t want to say out loud.

“You’re afraid,” Lionel said, “of what being a Bailey means.”

“Maybe,” Garrett admitted. “Maybe. It just sounds like a lot of pressure, and I don’t know if I should expect to endure it more or less, since they gave me up. I’ve seen the other Legacies, and yes, they are mostly arrogant and insufferable, but they’re also full of cracks from the pressure they put themselves under.”

Lionel leaned forward in his chair, like an offering of closeness, but he didn’t reach out. “I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t know why your parents gave you up. I can only tell you to live the life you want. You might feel like staying is playing into their hands, but ultimately it’s your choice, Garrett.”

He looked down at his hands. He was fiddling. His heart was beating hard against his ribs. He took a breath. Then another. Lionel said nothing, even though Garrett felt it was obvious. Panic. Anxiety. Maybe it was the Bailey name that was causing it. Knowing who his father was, and having to face that fact.

Now, Lionel’s fingers crept onto his knee. The touch was feather-light and gentle, but it was there to remind him of the present moment. “One last time, Garrett: What do you want?”

He looked up, and met Lionel’s eyes.

“I want to be a Mage.”

[beileil]

🤡🤲 and 🛠️ for the emoji ask? (Feel free to swap out or skip any if they don’t vibe with you … I feel like I may have asked one of these before).

Have you asked me one of these before? Hm. I mean I've shared snippets of WIPs, but I'll try to pick a different one. Anyway thank you for the ask! These are fun.

---

🤡 What’s a line, scene, or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

It's tough to pick just one here, because I think I'm the funniest person ever and laugh at my own jokes like a dumbass. XD My funniest fic is How to Seduce Your Sensei in 7 Days, and while a few people have commented on specific lines they liked, I may have been the only person with a dark enough sense of humor to have laughed at this line in particular:

[Context: Genos is searching for advice on how to seduce Saitama, and has stumbled across the OPM universe's equivalent of Yahoo! Answers.]

User yakety-snax wrote: ‘Make him food! The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!’

That was not biologically accurate (the quickest way to a man’s heart was to break his sternum), but Genos understood what they meant.

---

🛠️ What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

Google Docs, if I'm at home. I don't use it at the office, because I work for a government agency and technically everything I do online can be monitored. (I doubt our IT cares, but "why were you writing slash fic instead of finishing your inspection checklist" is a conversation I never want to have.) If I'm at the office and want to write, I scribble on scrap paper with a pen like a disgruntled 19th century novelist. Occasionally I will write on Google Docs on my phone, but that is not efficient.

---

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Sure! Let me just, um, try to find one I haven't already shared. Okay! This is from a WIP I have titled Outclassed, which was originally going to be for Day 7 of Atoia Week 2022, before the story got waaaay out of hand. (It's 10,000 words now because I have no control.) Background: It's a high school AU that mainly revolves around Kamikaze (the chemistry teacher) and Iaian (the new history teacher who he is crushing on). Most of the characters are teachers, but the few canon teenagers are students (and some of the younger kids like Zenko, Tareo, and Isamu are aged up slightly to be freshman). Anyway, here's a snippet featuring the Shitty Teen Squad being brats to Kamikaze. (Putting it under a cut so this post doesn't get too long, or in case people don't like Atomic Samurai/Iaian.)

“Oh hey Mr. K.”

“Badd. Garou. This is not your class.”

“Can we hang out here instead of bio?” asked Garou, who was lounging with one arm over the back of the desk.

“Sure, if you did the homework I assigned.”

“Psh. Of course we did.” Badd leaned back in the desk and put his feet up on the one in front of him. “Genos ‘s got it. The three of us did it as a team, ya know?”

Kamikaze pulled the desk from under his feet, causing Badd to lose his balance and nearly fall out of his chair. Garou snickered.

“You know, I’m having flashbacks to your sophomore year when Genos did all the work and you two—” He gestured between Badd and Garou. “–claimed it was a ‘team effort’.”

“It was!” Garou insisted.

“It was not,” Genos quietly countered, not even looking up from his notebook.

Kamikaze sighed. “Come on, you two. Bell’s about to ring. Get to your own class.” He hoisted his bag onto the front counter.

“Come on, man!” Badd protested. “You get to sit in on your boyfriend’s class all the time! Why can’t we hang out with our friend?”

Kamikaze froze. “My what.”

“Zenko says you sit in the back of Mr. Iaian’s class and stare at him dreamily,” he emphasized the last word in a ridiculous sing-song voice.

He and Garou broke out laughing. Even Genos was grinning.

Kamikaze stammered. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. He refused to let these punks get to him. “Get out. Of my classroom.”

Garou and Badd continued laughing, but they did acquiesce to his request and leave the room.

Kamikaze glanced back at Genos as he unpacked his bag onto the front counter.

“Why do you hang around those two idiots?” he asked.

“Every court needs its jesters,” the teen replied in monotone.

That might have been the best thing that Genos had ever said to him.

[caelestiale]

This Messy Life

You see, we only have this life. This one messy life. You and I both seem to get caught up on what we've done and haven't done, who we hurt and who we haven't hurt, how we've betrayed our very own selves. And maybe just like me, you have spent nights crying and crying, banging your head against the wall and pleading yourself to just change. Just like me, you might have made it as if you need to be a whole different person, but in this one messy life we only have ourselves. And what I've come to understand is I must love myself in my worst and at my best. In the times where I feel like I'm the worst human on this planet is when I should showcase so much love for myself. For we only have this one messy life, let's use it to better ourselves, to love ourselves and be the best version of ourselves. And it's so so hard, and it takes a lifetime so why do you and I both fixate on every little thing and yes it's easier said than done but let's try and take everything on with ease. Like the trees, flowers and leaves who don't critique themselves for being too dirty, for not growing at the same rate or being prettier than the next. In this messy life let's try and start loving our own selves and enjoying our own company and it's so hard but it will get easier day by day and it's nothing but progress. In this messy life, it's so so hard to just forgot about your past and if you're anything like me, you might have tried to bury it behind for it to only follow you like a shadow everywhere you went. You might think of the way you acted one time, of a shameful thing you did, the way you tore yourself and another person you loved to pieces. And I know, yes it hurts to the core of your being and might send shivers to your bones but it will get better I promise you. Just stick around to see yourself understanding your bad traits and ways to change them, but in this messy life do not think you have to change yourself, no you're a beautiful human but it's fine to change traits and heck! It's so hard, you'd think I'd change by now but it's so hard and I'm working on it and it takes time. But I promise you, you and I both will get there. And you might relapse and act in such a way but forgive yourself, tell yourself it's all you are used to and you will find new ways to cope. To you and I both, in this messy life not everything needs to be figured out. Someone who used to be a large part of me once told me, "life is hard, it's not easy but how dare you even think of doubting it". And at the time I didn't think of it as much but now. It's a line that gets me up each morning, for we only have this one messy life. How dare we doubt it? Life is beautiful and it's meant to be lived. Trust me, have some faith in life and in yourself, you and I both are going to be working so hard to better ourselves and our lives we will get through this. Forgive yourself and that's so hard, and let's try to be our very own best friends. This is such a struggle and you might feel like there's so much to do, but with grace and through faith we will get there. Remember, beautiful human. There is no checklist you have to cover or a perfect version of you, you must be. For we are ever changing and just like the weather we also change as humans, experiences shape us and pain changes us. I am so proud of you, and also myself for being here and for staying strong. We got this!!

[wordsandrobots]

Ah, that makes sense. And may I say, the GM looks utterly fabulous with a mono-eye like that.

I suppose that's the point with RfV too, like you say. It's running on what looks cool above all else. Everything else is secondary. On it's own, it's not really worse than any other piece of military apologia in that respect. But since we do have a wider context to compare the dialogue against -- and because this literally invites us to consider said context by cramming Yuri in there -- there's a lot that feels stunted about it as a story.

I don't think there's anything wrong with Zeon soldiers embracing fascistic turns of phrase. That would be entirely in keeping with how Zeon is presented, even alongside the fact that they are humanised -- the point being that it's still people doing these terrible things and therein lies the tragedy. Yet I don't believe RfV cares about doing anything beyond making us sympathetic to its main characters so we'll feel concerned for their safety and sad when then die. Its lack of awareness seems to me to be just narrative convention. I think it equates 'sympathy' with 'morally in the right' purely because that's the level of complexity we have here e.g. not very much.

(Like, I can't even agree with the criticism I've seen that the Federation soldiers are completely dehumanised. They're not. I think what we see of the GM pilots and substitute!Amuro is meant to be humanising for the purposes of the story. But the only effort made is to tick off a checklist of 'tragic war story 101' tropes. Because, again, there's no philosophical core here beyond wouldn't it be cool if...)

If I were going to be catty, I'd say this felt like something written with the fan wiki open so the correct names could be slotted into an utterly generic plot.

*The following contains spoilers for Mobile Suit Gundam: Requiem for Vengeance*

This is a follow-up post to my earlier one covering the first two episodes of Mobile Suit Gundam: Requiem for Vengeance. I’ll link it here but I’ll probably be covering a lot of the same points

I’m also going to completely give the game away right now: I don’t find Requiem for Vengeance to be a good show. Probably the nicest thing I could say is that that the designs are nice. It has some good ideas, it just really mangles the execution.

A lot of these are notes I made as I was watching the episodes, and I specifically rewatched episodes 4 and 6, because I’ve got a lot to say about them relative to everything else.

Characters

Is the only reason they made Iria a mother so they could justify her empathy towards the enemy pilot!? Like motherhood isn’t a necessary component of caring about other humans. You can just do that.

Follow-up: Iria doesn’t really express much affection towards her actual flesh-and-blood child during the show. He’s presumably in Zeon somewhere, but he never appears except in photograph. But her actions at the end of the show….. really don’t help.

Major Ronnay’s odd. Because he kinda feels like the only sensible character/the only character who’s aware of the wider situation - the war’s starting to turn against Zeon, and shifting to shepherding his resources to compensate for disrupted supply lines feels like a good decision at this point, not picking fights with the Earth federation’s newest prototype. Ronnay also marshalls the group’s evacuation from Earth. Yeah, he’s mean to the protagonists, but he’s under a lot of stress and he’s in charge of a worsening was situation. It’s just quite odd to see the only character who indicates a wider understanding of the conflict presented so negatively. That said, it’s not like he’s really immune to the bad acting and dialogue. When talking about dead civilians in episode 4, he sounds more bothered that they died for something so measly, as opposed to the fact that they were innocent people caught up in a war that had nothing to do with them.

I really don’t like Captain Zydoss. He kinda just exists to verbally explain other characters backstories, or to tell other characters that they’re in the right. There’s no real character here. Man straight-up says: “Those soldiers? They were just doing their jobs.” That is not a line I’m really enthused about hearing in a show like this, because it makes me question what the fuck the writers were trying to say here.

I kinda already made a post about this, but I really don’t like Yuri Kellerne in this. The design’s awful, he only shows up to say to the viewers “Yeah, Iria was right, also she’s a cool dude who doesn’t afraid of anything”. He doesn’t really do anything, and it just feels like a “see 08th MS team fans, it’s that character you like!”.

To be honest, I didn’t really have strong opinions on the other characters. There just isn’t a lot there to care about honestly.

Story

Okay, so “War is Hell” just isn’t a theme here. That’s kinda the main problem. There’s no real attempt to humanise the Earth Federation or present them as anything other than largely faceless. I’ve noted before that “War is Hell” is kinda the main thing that makes Gundam work in my opinion, because it’s really noticeable if it isn’t there. It’s just a very by-the-numbers military series. There’s no real “hook” or idea that it’s putting forward. It might’ve helped if Iria’s squad mates had been better characterised, so there’d be a sense of them having actual plans beyond the war. But, ultimately, they die because of the federation’s new mobile suit - not because war is an ultimately horrifying and tragic thing. The presentation just doesn’t line up for me at all.

I do think the emphasis on the watch is good, because it emphasises that time is running out for Zeon. But it never really comes up again after the first two episodes.

The voice work really brings it down, because there’s just no way for the scenes to have any real gravitas or impact when the voices are this poor.

I think another problem is that the opening episode(s) with the Gundam sell it as a threat too well - it effortlessly wiped out Iria’s entire team, as well as numerous other Zaku’s that challenge it while Iria’s scrambling around in recovery. It shrugs off machineguns, bazooka’s, a fuel tanker…… so any attempts by Iria to bring the fight to it just feels utterly stupid, because there’s no real reason it shouldn’t just wipe out another two Zaku’s. The fight in episode 4 is particularly obvious - the Gundam just slowly approaches, it’s doesn’t exhibit any of its trademark speed and never presses the advantage. There’s never a sense that any damage dealt to it is “earned”, it just takes a hit because the plot demands it.

Okay, the dress turning to blood thing was ambitious, and if it had worked would’ve been really cool. But fabric and liquid are hard to animate at the best of times, so one to the other in a show like this was never going to pan out.

You can really tell this was made by former transformers alumni. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, just some of the shots are very transformers-esque.

Wait, doesn’t Iria’s comment about not shooting disembarking pilots directly contradict the actions of the federation forces earlier in the show? Also didn’t she just tell her squadmate to kill him? Oh, getting out of his mobile suit and trying to escape in order to come back in a fresh suit? Oh well, it just wouldn’t be sporting to kill him now, better let him go.

“I wasn’t aiming to take out the pilot! This is our best chance to take out the Gundam!” “At what price, lieutenant?” I dunno, two enemy combatants that were just trying to kill you? And have killed your allies? In a warzone? Seems like an odd time to develop a conscience, Iria. It’s not necessarily off-brand for Gundam, but it’s just so hackneyed. Iria recognises the Gm pilot and later the Gundam pilot as human exclusively, but the infantry and tank gunners were apparently fair game.

Follow-up: Iria also randomly spares a Guntank in episode 6. A Guntank that could very easily shoot down Zeon HLV’s that Iria is currently defending. I feel like that was unwise.

To be clear here, I’m not criticising the decision to have Iria spare characters, I’m criticising the decision to present it in this way - it causes Iria to come off as hypocritical and careless to ignore active threats, and the rationale of why she’s sparing them never comes up.

The URMC guy helps the cast attack the enemy (such as in episode 4). Doesn’t that kinda spit in the face of his neutrality?

Oh hey, I was so busy talking about the poor character writing that I almost forgot to mention the false flag operation. Y’know, that thing that is illegal under wartime law? That the characters commit when they dress up as Federation forces in order to steal the GMs? Yeah, that. Like, I know it’s par for the course in shows like this (like 0080), but it still feels odd to see it presented in such a heroic fashion. It just would’ve felt better if the characters had acknowledged that it was a sketchy/desperate thing to do (like 0080), rather than playing it completely straight.

It kinda feels like they came up with the title first, and then introduced elements to fit with it - Iria being a violinist just feels very vestigial, and vengeance…… either isn’t a theme or it’s badly executed enough that I didn’t notice it (characters talk about it a lot, but not to any real purpose).

Okay, the combination of character animation, voice work dialogue and the fact that Iria probably has a concussion makes the fact that Iria decides to pilot her Zaku in episode 6 (unintentionally) really funny. Because she’s giving this big dramatic speech with swelling music, but it genuinely just feels like this is the shock and concussion talking, so I just expect her to step on to the truck and fall flat on her face.

We can swear now, great, good for us. That isn’t an excuse for the dialogue to be as bad as it is.

Alright, I fully fell off on episode 6. I’m sorry, it crosses the line from plain old regular bad to hilariously bad for me. It’s like the hyper-realistic faces coupled with the absolutely terrible animation and voice acting just blends together into something completely farcical.

“Machineguns are not effective, aim for the treads” *continues firing*. Also, did they just forget that guntanks have missile launchers?

There’s kind of no real sense of flow to the fights either. Everything moves as fast as it needs to. Stopping stock-still in the middle of a combat zone is a death sentence, so it’s really noticeable how frequently Requiem for Vengeance stops fights so its characters can have dramatic conversations. This is very, very noticeable in episode 6.

Wait hang on. Iria: “The Earth Federation’s Won, We’re just trying to retreat, please let us go” Gundam Pilot: “Then surrender, if we let you terrorists go you’ll just attack us again later” Iria then proceeds to not surrender. Furthermore, Zeon is withdrawing military personnel and war material like mobile suits, which they will use against the Earth Federation in the last months of the war. Isn’t the Gundam pilot completely in the right here? But the presentation of the scene seems to be trying to put Iria in the right. But what the Gundam pilot’s saying is correct. Zeon did start the war, and will continue attacking the Earth. So it feels like the narrative is presenting the Gundam pilot as being in the wrong simply by their nature as a child soldier thrust into this war. They didn’t have a choice, they need Iria (who’s a mother, by the way) to tell them they have a choice. The narrative places the fact that they’re a mother and child over the fact that they share a common humanity. It’s such a stupid choice.

“Zeon forces were driven completely out of Europe and Asia” that’s a funny way of saying “we were driven off the entire Earth”.

Other stuff (mostly Setting and Visuals)

I do like the little Zaku ears, they’re nice.

So why is the character covered in highly identifiable Zeon tattoos considered for an infiltration? Just a note.

The mobile suits are pretty dang gorgeous.

The Gundam pilot has a Nintendo switch.

Sooooo…… no mention of why they’re going to Odessa? No reason that might be relevant to anything?

I will probably do a small post on Loum. Because this is gonna annoy me.

Can the Gouf’s fly in this? It’s really throwing me. Because they shouldn’t be able to, but it looks really cool? Maybe they just didn’t want to model Gouf flight types.

Yes, Requiem for Vengeance, I enjoyed the Gouf Custom in 08th MS team as well. Can I please have literally any other mobile suit. (Yeah, it’s cool, but it’s not cool enough to carry your entire show).

Follow-up: it feels like the writers wanted to emphasise that the Gouf Custom in 08th ms team could totally have beaten the Gundam if it had needed to. Like yeah, but that’s not important. The point of that scene (in 08th Ms Team) isn’t some kind of dick-measuring of mobile suits, it’s to emphasise Norris Packard’s character and skill, that he made those decisions in service to the wider objective (and to iterate on Ramba Ral and Amuro’s relationship from 0079). It’s not there to demonstrate how strong the Gouf is. I mean, yeah they want you to buy the models, but come on.

In case the ratio of criticism-to-praise above didn’t give it away, I really didn’t like Requiem for Vengeance. It just fails to engage with the theme I consider central to Gundam: “War is hell”. It also doesn’t really humanise any of the opposing side, which while not a deal-breaker, certainly doesn’t help its position. There just really isn’t a lot of character on display here, so there’s little to distract from the bad dialogue, stiff animation and near-comedically poor line deliveries. The human animation and writing really kill the series for me, since they just cripple the shows ability to deliver any kind of impact on its points. Then again, when its points are “The Earth Federation is just SO MEAN you guys”, it’s probably best the delivery’s as poor as it is. I don’t really know what the shows trying to say but it certainly doesn’t seem to be “War is bad”.

It feels like the writers were able to grasp gundam’s thesis of “child soldiers are bad”, but took that to be “people who use child soldiers are bad”, not “the circumstances that war creates will eventually cause children to take up arms for a cause they don’t fully understand, leaving them to have short miserable live of perpetuating the harm they have suffered upon others, as just one part of the horror that war visits upon its victims”. This is emphasised by the ending, which is pretty shit. Despite the opportunity to return home and retire, like multiple other Zeon aces did. Iria instead fucks off and joins the Zeon remnant in Africa, while stating that many of the other soldiers there “don’t have a home to return to, are consumed by hatred or yearning only for a glorious death on the battlefeild”. THEN WHY ARE YOU THERE. Why are you perpetuating the conflict by throwing in with remnant groups? How the hell is this supposed to prevent child soldiers from happening? Go home.

Plus, the way Zeon’s presented here seems kind of…… dishonest. Like it’s not incorrect or canon-breaking, it just seems to skirt around a lot of details in order to paint Zeon as, for want of a better term, “less evil”. So, we have characters mention The Battle of Loum, without mentioning what Loum was. We have characters note the worsening war situation, without engaging with why Zeon’s on the back foot. The characters retreat back up into space, but it isn’t stated what they’re retreating from. You’d expect someone to mention the actual wider war situation. I know they’re soldiers, and they’re likely fed a steady diet of Zeon propaganda - but then why not let us see that propaganda, note how the characters engage with it. Do they agree, disagree? Do they take it as gospel, accept that the principality is covering up some things or rage that it’s blatant lies? How does Zeon, the nation, its leaders and its governance affect these characters? The choice to completely ignore it seems wrongheaded and, as above, dishonest. There’s no hint of Zeon’s fractious command structure here, that the upper brass are too consumed by infighting to heed the wider war situation. There’s no mention of Garma Zabi, late commander of the Earth Attack Force, who presumably the characters would have a lot of opinions on. Requiem for Vengeance doesn’t exactly paper over Zeon’s failings, it just doesn’t mention them. I find it interesting that of the “big three” Zeon Earth Commanders (Garma Zabi, Yuri Kellerne, and M’Quve) we only see Yuri, who’s arguably the softest of the three. Like, M’Quve is right there, you guys. There’s even a Tony Takezaki illustration that could be used as a basis to adapt his design to the new style:

And M’Quve would have been the perfect opportunity to showcase Zeon’s fractious upper command. So his omission just feels glaring (much like the illustration). Major Ronnay’s perhaps the closest to being a member of Zeon High Command, but he’s essentially the stock “Commander whose orders the protagonist disregards” archetype. I *could* describe him as the most humanised out of the cast, but that feels like I’m reaching. There is Joshua Stein (the commander in the first episode, who originally calls the Red Wolves in), but he feels more genuinely incompetent, rather than saying anything meaningful about Zeon as a whole - his failings are more personal, rather than symptoms of a wider problem with Zeon Command (and in any case he’s only got around three scenes, so it’s difficult to glean anything from him).

Slight follow-up, but we’re also not told anything about the Battle of Odessa. I noted in my posts in the run-up to the release of Requiem for Vengeance that it takes place shortly before the Battle of Odessa, which was the big turnaround for Zeon’s fortunes on Earth, leading to a mass retreat back up into space. This is a *big thing* in the wider war, because it is where the Federation finally gets its momentum (and mobile suits) going and essentially forces Zeon into the back foot, a position they never really recover from. For all the series loves to bang on about Loum, it never mentions Odessa. Part of this is excusable - Zeon would likely downplay its loss as Odessa to keep morale high, and the characters may not have received accurate reports yet, but I’d just like someone to mention it - “seems Odessa didn’t go to plan” or just something like that. Because it’s the whole reason they’re retreating in the last few episodes and no-one says anything.

I’d ordinarily be pretty easy on the whole “Zeon’s War for Independence” thing, since it’s an example of how the populace of Zeon was motivated to fight, but it’s a lie. It’s a lie told to justify the One Year War (and subsequent acts of spacenoid aggression). Like, there’s no problem with the characters believing the lie, but presenting it completely straight feels off. Like, if there was just one instance where it was acknowledged that maybe we shouldn’t trust the motivation of the guys who declared war and dress like space nazi’s, then cool, but the series doubles down on this impression by Iria’s statement at the end that the war didn’t really end as far as she’s concerned. Again, no problem with Iria believing that, by all accounts that’s how a lot of Zeon Remnant Groups saw the situation but it just reads oddly when talking about the One Year War. It kinda makes the series feel like in-universe propaganda or revisionist history, because at no point does it acknowledge that maybe Iria isn’t that reliable of a narrator.

Iria: “and so, to prevent more children from becoming child soldiers, I became a deadbeat mom.”

So yeah, Mobile Suit Gundam: Requiem for Vengeance - the mechanical design and opening’s pretty nice, but they really can’t carry the rest of the show and over time the dull plot, uninteresting characters and awful voice acting really just sap away any initial goodwill I possessed. The fact that it seems utterly unwilling to engage with *why* the war happened and *why* Zeon lost is particularly irritating, since (by its nature as a Zeon-focused show) it’s in the perfect position to talk about those questions.

[advernia]

HOW WILL YOU SPEND THIS WEEKEND?

ONE —

Clipboard and checklist, check. A pitcher of water and a glass beside it, check. Pen and markers, check. Satisfied that everything was in order, Azul nods and reaches inside the large box set on the counter. He takes out the first thing his fingers take a hold of and voila - he takes out a transparent circular bottle, made of glass and inside an amber-hued powder sparkles under the light.

Taking off the bottle's cork, Azul takes a sniff of it briefly, a faint sweet smell tingling his nose. Putting the cork aside, he now brings the bottle's mouth closer to his nose.

Sweet indeed, he supposes, but there's something else stronger to the scent - spice-like, even, if he had to put a word for it. The scent tickles his nose in an unaversive manner despite its potent fragrance, and it carried an earthy quality to it as well. Breathing it in, if he wasn't imagining things, also brought a warmth to his nostrils as well.

"Rajan cinnamon, perhaps," Azul mutters to himself, setting the bottle on the counter and returning the cork back to its mouth. He skims over the checklist, finds the section on cinnamon quickly. "Its warming quality appears to be quite potent, but this should be better tested through actual cooking than tasting the powder itself..."

TWO —

Sebek is staring.

Epel's not really sure what was worse: the weight of Sebek's gaze, or a Sebek with nothing to say. Maybe the latter, Epel decides. Sebek stood out as someone that always had something to say and was definitely not shy about voicing it out. By voicing though, it meant booming at maximum volume possible.

Was that effective communication? Who knows - Sebek's lack of an indoor voice didn't seem to bother Sebek himself and his Diasomnia dorm mates seem to be living with that fact too, so maybe it was okay. Probably keeps them on their toes. Like a human alarm clock or megaphone or... something.

Anyway. A guy like that not talking? Definitely weird. But Epel wasn't here to talk to Sebek, and he'd imagine it goes vice-versa.

Finally done with scooping up a small bag of what he needs, Epel stands up and ties the bag securely before keeping it at an arm's length. Sevens bless him if this would stick on him - Vil would definitely go full madman and Epel would never hear the end of it even past dinnertime.

The mere thought of Vil's scolding tone sends a shiver down Epel's spine, distracts him long enough not to notice that Sebek had approached and was now just a few steps behind him.

"Epel Felmier," Sebek says, "what exactly do you need that horse manure for?"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

THREE —

"Are you faring well over there, Chevalier des Roses?"

"I thought I told you to... you know what? Never mind."

"Ah, no need to hesitate! Do you find difficulty in reaching the highest shelves? If so, I can lend you the stepladder as I am done with my own share of the shelves."

"Hm... If you don't mind, then sure - I'll take the stepladder."

"Certainly! Do wait a moment and... here you go."

"Thanks. I've realized it only now, but... cleaning the Alchemy Lab is quite a chore without any magic."

"A fair observation! This lab carries a great amount of varied specialized equipment and an impressive array of materials, be it from mineral to herb to liquid and so on and so forth... it is no wonder that cleaning such a place would require both intensive and thorough effort!"

"You know all the stuff here is fragile and you still carry out your experiments?"

"But Chevalier des Roses! A surge of creativity now and then for the Science Club can encourage our newest members to also try their hand at the wonders of creation rather than simply following traditional manuals and heeding the usual instruction, don't you agree?"

"... That sounds nice, but how about we start by teaching the freshmen on how not to make things explode and not to get punished for making mistakes instead?"

FOUR —

"I don't know who - ah, wait, wait..."

Putting a finger to the pause button, Cater picks off the pencil tangled onto his hair and scrawls something on the sheet in front of him. Should he try something a little higher, or go along with the original tune? He could go a little higher, but if he did... he writes a few more notes before settling the pencil back onto his hair, then he reaches for his phone set on a stand on his desk.

Pushing the seeker a good twenty seconds back, he breathes in before pressing play again.

A tune flows into the room as soon as he does, absent of vocals.

"My hands were shaking in my pockets, but now I'll take you by the hand and lead you away — "

Hm, not bad. Another visit to the pause button, then he runs the lyrics right by him again, going around in different tunes. "My hands were shaking in pockets... mm, my hands were shaking in my pockets... My hands were shaking in my pockets... oh."

Pencil out of his hair, he puts down a review of the three pitches he just tested. First one: too high. Second: same as the original. Third: lower than usual, but feels easier to sing. Cater rereads the notes he had just written, then he grins.

"Alrighty~ we're making good progress!"

1: no dupe lmao! here's everyone's context:

azul -> a thorough analysis of some... generously donated resources.

epel -> gotta fertilize 'em plants... (see: epel lab coat card)

rook -> to an endeavor most rewarding!

cater -> practice, practice, practice! (see: lilia ceremonial robes card)

[hinatastinygiant]

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Cherry Blossoms

checklist masterlist

After finally arriving at Hiyoriyama Park, you and Suga step out of his car on your respective sides. As you look around, you find a young girl pulling her father by his hand as they run up towards the entrance of the park.

"Come on, daddy," she giggles as she drags him along. "I can't wait any longer to see the cherry blossoms you told me about!"

"Alright, alright," he chuckles at her impatience, "I'm coming, I'm just not as fast as you are, darling."

"Oi, Y/N!" Suga's voice then rings in your ear, pulling you from the trance of the father-daughter conversation.

You nod to Suga and begin to walk over to him, but keep your eyes fixated on where you just saw the young girl. To your confusion, both she and her father are gone.

Weird.

"The park's at the top of the hill," Suga remarks. "Let's walk up."

The two of you set foot up the path towards the park at the top of the hill. You find yourself thinking of the girl and her father the whole way.

"I think that I might have been here before with my dad," you admit to Suga, "but I'm not sure."

Suga nods understandingly. "Hopefully you'll remember it when you're at the top. It's pretty nice up there."

You smile and continue your walk beside him. At the top of the hill, your gaze is filled with pink cherry blossom trees. You stop to admire the breathtaking view as Suga gets ahead of you.

"Y/N!" he turns around and calls out to you. "Come over here!"

When he smiles, you can't help but let out your own small grin as you approach him. At his side, you look through a shrine gate and see bright blue water on the other side.

"Woah," is all you're able to breathe out.

I definitely don't remember this.

"This is Kashimamiko Shrine," he nods. "Sometimes fishermen come here to pray for safe passage before going off on their journeys."

"Do you know everything?" you playfully joke.

"Not quite," he smiles, "but I've heard them talk about it before so that's how I found out... Oh, and one day I'm going to take you to a fish market too so add that to your checklist."

"R-right," you agree with him a bit awkwardly.

When Suga looks away from you, your gaze remains on him, studying the expression on his face.

One day he's going to take me there? But I only have less than two months before I leave... not that he knows about that.

Suga, noticing that you're staring at him, looks back at you and scrunches his eyebrows together. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine," you say quickly before looking away, out towards the water.

"Hey, have you added anything to your checklist since I saw it?" he questions seriously.

"No," you continue to look away and fail at attempting to hide your face. "It wasn't really meant to be serious or anything. I just wrote it because I was bored in class."

"I'm sorry," he shakes his head. "I thought it was a list of things you wanted to do before graduation which is, hmm, less than a month away."

"Eh? Gradu- No!" you defend yourself awkwardly. "It was just a list of things I wanted to do... eventually."

You decide not to tell Suga about your move for fear of ruining the moment. Well, that and you preferred not to talk or think about.

"Got it," he nods and leaves the conversation at that.

When he looks away, you let out a sigh of relief. However, you can't help but feel as though he can totally see right through you and knows that something is up.

At least I clarified that I'm not dying so he wasn't thinking that for the past week. God, I was such an idiot for that.

Soon, the sensation of contact on your hand has you flinching away from the touch. Immediately, you look up at Suga and see a bright smile on his face. Although it was against what your brain was telling you, you ease your hand back into his.

"Follow me?" he somehow states as a question before leading you away from where you had been standing.

"Okay," you squeak although he's already got you walking across the park with him.

As he walks with you across the park, he keeps his hand in yours. To you, it seems as though it doesn't bother him in the least, but it's all you are able to think about.

This contact is way too much for me to handle in one day... not that I'm going to complain though.

On your walk through the park, you calm down as you look around to see kids and their families all looking happy and minding their own business. You smile, thinking about how you, too, feel genuinely happy with your new friend right now.

When you reach the other side of the park, Suga stops before a huge rock. As you look up towards the top, Suga begins to climb up it. When he reaches the top, he kneels down and offers you his hand.

"Seriously?"

He only smiles in response. You take a deep breath to gather your courage and begin to climb up the rock carefully. As you reach the top, you grab onto Suga's hand and he steadies you as you step up.

Together, you stand on the top of the rock and look out to see the entire city spread out before you.

"There's Karasuno," Suga comments as he points straight out.

You can just hardly make out the school by squinting. Then, you move on to find another landmark you recognize.

"Oh! There's Dragon Sushi!" you exclaim. "I used to eat there all the time with my parents when I was little!" You smile at the fond memories you had while eating there with the two of them.

Suga doesn't respond and you look over to make sure he's still there. Sure enough he is, already watching you intently.

"You're a creep," you scoff as you look away.

"Am I?" you hear him chuckle. "I was just admiring how beautiful you look when you smile. I hardly ever see you genuinely smile like that."

"Get a life," you scowl.

"So cold, Y/N," he laughs.

He then places a hand on your cheek and turns your face towards him. You try to calm yourself as your cheeks feel as though someone had just set them on fire.

"It was only a compliment, nothing to get worked up over," he remarks with a smirk.

Then, after flashing you the quickest wink you've ever seen, he jumps off the rock.

What an asshole, you think, yet a smile grows on your face as you watch him.

Suga waves to you from below, ushering you down. You jump and luckily land on your feet. The two of you then begin your walk back through the park together again.

checklist masterlist

[ill-rip-myself-apart]

FREAK - FRANK MORRISON X READER

*female reader

*Race Neutral

*TW ; small descriptions of gore, yandereish frank, blood, mentions of murder, mentions of anxiety and severe fear. Minors DNI

The days were winding down quickly, almost taunting you of what's to come. The cold month of February usually brought on the most snow in your little town. The population nothing more than 6000 people, although as the years went on it seemed like the number grew small and smaller. Part of you wondered if your whole town would cease to exist at one point. As if some entity would bring it down.

You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, moving away from the mirror in the bathroom you shared with your uncle. It's design was rather drab and plain, just how Charlie liked it although it'd be weird if it was any other color at this point. You have grown custom to the old scenery within your home. It was comforting.

You grabbed your dirty clothes off the floor, chucking them into wicker basket by the sink, making your way towards the door you were greeted with your uncles face. His bushy brows were raised.

"You'd just take a shower?"

"Yeah I did, don't worry I turned on the fan."

"Good, I don't need the room to be all steamy while I'm taking a shit."

You backed out of the bathroom with a snort, your uncle was always frank. No filter on that mouth of his but it was part of the charm. With a sigh you started heading towards the kitchen. It was just 10 minutes past 9 and the clouds were already in the sky, blocking any and all sunlight that dared shined today. It was never any match for the heavy clouds of rain or it's friends that consist of snow and fog. Chilly temperatures that seeped through your skin and past your bones, hitting you where it hurt most.

You washed your hands at the sink, looking out the window where it showed nothing the endless trees and hills of snow. These trees stretched out for miles, escalating till they reached the top of Ormond. The largest mountain in Canada. Surrounded by a backwater town no one ever heard of.

Every branch was weighed down by the white sparkling powder, it looked beautiful but beyond the shadows something sinister lurked. Creeping by in the dawn of wake, at least that's what the rumor was.

"Tomorrows the 14th, you think your admirer is gonna come again?"

Charlie's tone was nothing short of being playful but to you? The question felt like a itch that couldn't be scratched.

You dreaded thinking about this, cause you asked yourself the same question. Would they come again? Whoever they were and why?

About two years ago, on your birthday you woke up to a rather unsettling sight. It was a cold December morning (just for the sake of the story, pretend your birthday is in December) you looked outside your window from the second story of your house and what you saw was shocking. In the snow was a red heart. Maybe you think it's for someone else but it couldn't be when your name was right underneath it.

Only two questions ran through your head, one, how did this person know your name? And two, what was the red liquid? Was it paint? Food dye? Blood?

You feared the answer to either question but not as much when it happened again on Valentines Day, after that it happened again on your next birthday, same with valentines day. Just your recent birthday is when it seemed to stop, but you couldn't be so sure. It bugged you to no end that this person knew your name, your birthday and where you lived. Everyday felt like a checklist, lock the doors, scout the front yard, look behind your back... This anxiety of being watched was eating you alive and felt like everyone was mocking you. Your uncle somewhat seriously but mainly thought it was just teenage doings. Your friends saw it as a romantic gesture, instead of a threat or personal attack, and the police? They thought you were insane. It was frustrating, no one took you seriously and you starting to doubt everything yourself at this point. Trauma does that to you.

"y/n? You okay kid? You're kinda out of it."

Your eyes darted to your uncles, he stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room. It felt cold and dark, you started tugging on your shirt sleeves. The black fabric brought a certain comfort to your hands. Nodding, you turned to look at him.

"Yeah, no I'm okay. Still waking up a little."

Your voice waivers, he can tell your on edge. You and Charlie had a close bond, so he picked up on your moods rather quickly. His forehead creased, a sympathetic look crossed his features.

"Your still thinking about it, huh?"

You nodded, arms folding over your chest. That feeling of being watched crept back up, you felt exposed.

"Well, maybe it's a kid from your school? I wouldn't assume the worst y/n. That's a bad way of thinking."

He could be right, it'd make the most sense. Maybe you were negative, maybe it was the anxiety you had since you were little, maybe it was the excitement, nothing ever really happens here in Ormond. Deep down this could be just you wanting something more in life. You tried to calming yourself down, a deep sigh rustling out of you.

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I don't know, it just feels weird."

You decided maybe some food will settle your stomach, you went to the cabinet and pulled out some bagels. Ready to start your Saturday the best you could.



The clock had just striked 8 o'clock, by now it was dark out and your uncle wouldn't be home for an another hour so you were left to your own devices. The snow was falling rapidly on the ground, an inch already covering your yard. It looked feathery and light. The cold air perfectly whispy as the wind roared on, leaving the pine trees to shake in their wake. They looked like a puppet show, each tree black as silhouettes, covered by the dark night. It was a new moon tonight, something you could of enjoyed if your fear hadn't been eating you alive.

You really did try to take your mind off of  things but it wasn't easy. Your mind wasn't one to rest, you overthink a lot and this was something that couldn't possibly pass by you or your mind.

Currently you were curled up on the couch, huddled into a ball with a warm blanket, the t.v. was playing in the background but it felt like it was static to you. All you could do was sit and stare, checking windows and the front door every other hour. The darker the night got, the more your anxiety burned. Your stomach felt like a hollow hole, your chest was heavy. Each beat of your heart felt like the seconds ticking by, almost as if it was racing against the clock. All you wanted was this night to be over.

Ten minutes passed and that's when things started happening, you looked to the left of you where one of the large windows sat. Next to an old bookcase that was adorned with nicknacks and thick books, all of which you read through. Your E/C eyes darted to the window and nearly fell out of your seat. You could of swore you saw a figure. Tall and broad shoulders, a gray hood, covered with a Navy blue jacket.

You could practically feel the bile climbing up your throat. It burned at your esophagus, fear had rattled your heart, leaving it to drum against your ribcage. The stuttering of your breath could of been mistaken for how cold you were, but it was fear.

Rushing to the window you plastered your hands against the glass, the cold caused your warm hands to tingle yet you felt like you were on fire. Your skin was hot and flushed, you wanted to rip off your hoodie.

Frantic orbs scanned the perimeter, seeing nothing but the long lines of trees and and darkness. We're you dreaming? Did your anxiety get that bad to the point you were seeing things? Your legs felt jittery, weak almost. Like they buckle at any moment.

Footprints, you could see footprints that tracked in the snow. Leading to the backyard. Quick to connect the dots, the back was a view you could see from your bedroom. Not that it was much different, the area was heavily wooded but that wasn't the only standing factor. The backyard was usually the place your so called "admirer" left their messages. They were here, you had caught them in the act!

Well, not really. Granted you were still in the house, sitting on the floor as your skin ignited with heat. You ripped off the heavy garment before tossing it to the side, left in a black T-shirt with a skirt and stockings, the cold wooden floor was definitely soothing but it didn't help ease any of your fear nor lessen the feeling of nausea twisting in your stomach.

They were here, you knew that much. You weren't crazy, or imagining things. The fear was real, which made it all the more worse.

With a quick dash, you found yourself in the kitchen raiding one of the drawers. Pulling out a rather sharp kitchen knife. You spotted yourself in its reflection. Wide, shakey eyes darted in every possible direction, seeing if they caught up with you in the home. Did they know you were here? Or did they think you were asleep? So many different possibilities ran through your head. It felt like a rush, your brain made everything feel woozy. The bile was practically in your mouth, your heart was burning.

Above every option you thought about, the one that seemed to make the most sense was to go outside. A scratch that you've been dying to itch for so long. Finally you could know who this person might be, with baited breath you tucked your knife into your side, buried in your skirt before grabbing some slip ons, facing the dark truth. Once and for all.

The cold air was like a shockwave. Instantly your skin was covered in goosebumps. A chill sinking into your flesh, hitting you where it hurts the most. But you continued on, across the street was your neighbors house. All the lights were off which meant they had been asleep, pale lights from the street lamps flickered on and off. A few moths circled around each pole. The snow had stopped completely and you felt alone. It was desolate on your street and your not sure how to feel about it.

You found yourself following the trail of Muddy footsteps, whoever this person may be, they definitely weren't clean. The tracks in the snow were large, gritty. They must be wearing boots. That definitely didn't help the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You stopped, there was it was. The red heart in clean white snow. It was splattered almost perfectly. Crimson red deep in icy thickness. The letter "I" Was before the heart and after it was the letter "U". I love you. Underneath it all? There layed your name ever so delicately, as if it was written with care. You swallowed the vomit in your mouth. You felt raw.

There was no mistaking what the color could possibly be. Too thick to be paint and too dark to be food dye. That was blood, the crimson color always ran deep, all of this felt surreal. You had to be dreaming, this wasn't real. You were imagining it all, why would anyone do this? The fear was getting to you, distorting all of your vision. Black dots floated around your vision as your breath slowed. We're you dying? Or are you gonna pass out? You couldn't tell. All you could feel was a blanket of nerves draping over you, collapsing into the snow, your whole body felt light. It was so warm yet so cold, and soft. God was the snow always this soft?

Wait, no you shouldn't fall asleep here. What's that saying? Don't fall asleep in the snow unless you never plan to wake up? But how could anyone resist? You felt ethereal. Like a bunch of morphine had been injected in your system and it was taking it's course.

Before your eyelids were too heavy, all you saw was your vision spinning slowly. The dark sky was perfect in your view, an ocean of stars reflecting with the crystal snow. Every bit of fear had left your body but deep in your psyche you were still scared. The fear was hidden away from the heavy feeling in your body. You were too tired to do anything.

A masked man had came into your view, peering down at you with heavy breathing. The mask had been a simple design, two eyes with a smile. It looked dirty and worn, multiple scratches had craved deep in its plastic interior. A swipe of blood across that mouth. What stood out the most was a tattoo along this persons neck, you feel like you've seen it somewhere. Maybe it was a dream? But before you could figure it out, your eyelids gave out. Only left with hearing the last thing your heard before you slipped into the abyss of darkness was heavy breathing and the sigh of your name.

Authors note ;

So I finally posted something 👉🏻👈🏻🥺, the ending is rather vague so you can imagine how the scenario might of ended, as always if you wish this to be written in either a different gender reader (male, female, non-binary, demis, I mean any and all) or maybe race specific just shoot me a pm! I hope you like it lol, I spent like three days on this and tumblrs formatting is kinda weird compared to wattpad so forgive me if I did this wrong lol.

.

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Eda's Requiem" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

...

...

...HOW IS SEASON TWO SO GOOD?! WE'VE HAD SEVEN EPISODES SO FAR, AND EACH ONE OF THEM WAS A HIT!

Take "Eda's Requiem," for example. It's yet another episode where I have NOTHING bad to say about it! That's two weeks in a row where that happened! HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN?!

HOW!

HOW!

...But anyways, "Eda's Requiem." It's another fantastic episode, and I'm about to dive into explaining how and why. Just keep in mind, it's gonna require spoilers to do so, so be wary of that as you keep reading.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Eda’s Checklist and Grom Photo: Within the first second, "Eda's Requiem" perfectly sets up Eda's central conflict in the episode. Despite spending years being on her own and looking after herself, she now has two kids that she's constantly caring over. Eda can try all she wants to say that she doesn't care, and I bet she has in the past. But given the hard work she's putting into getting King and Luz what they need and having a grom photo of the three of them together pinned in her mirror, it's pretty clear that those two knuckleheads wormed their way into her heart and are never getting out.

Eda’s Worried About King and Luz Leaving: And thus, that's precisely why something like this bothers her so much. Eda inadvertently adopted two rambunctious rapscallions (Yeah, I know. I'll get to it), so the idea of them not being around her anymore is going to be terrifying. That is a situation most parents, especially mothers, can identify with. It’s called empty nest syndrome and it proves just how much Eda loves Luz and King that she can't stand the thought of her babies leaving the nest. It's yet another well-made, wholesome, found-family moment that this series continues to excel at each week, making me extra excited for more like it to come...while also readying myself for heartbreak when one of them eventually does leave Eda.

Eda and Raine’s Music: Ok, I don't know the exact instruments that were played during this episode, but I also don't care because it was all (for lack of a better term) music to my ears. Every time Eda and Raine played resulted in melodies that are so beautiful and filled with so much emotion and feeling that I'm honestly tempted to listen to them again, multiple times, on repeat. Shows rarely do that for me, as background music doesn't always draw me in as much as lyrical songs do. Usually, it takes something so extraordinarily composed to give me the desire to listen again, and that's the case here. So huge congrats to Brad Breek for doing so. Seriously, the man's been killing it this season.

Eda’s Bard Magic Causing Things to Turn to Ash: This was assuredly a surprise side-effect of the curse. The fact that Eda can sort of do magic at all was its own shock. To then reveal that a specific type can do dangerous things to people and environments is...Well, it definitely brings up its own fair share of questions. Like, how can she do this? Will she do it again, one day? And are there other types of spells that can be negatively affected by Eda's curse? We don't get answers for any of these questions, and odds are, we never will. But that's alright with me. Because if a show makes me consider these many possibilities after a brief amount of time, it is a show that has to be doing something right. Even if I don't get the answers I want, the fact that it caused such a reaction makes me less willing to care.

Raine Whispers: Hey, would you look at that. Another fun, interesting, and compelling character added to the list of this shows' other fun, interesting, and compelling characters...how is this series so good at this!?

Joking aside, Raine's pretty good. I like Raine. They could have been this super serious leader who lost all their fun after years apart from Eda, but I'm glad that they're not. There are moments when Raine takes their job as leader of the BATs seriously, as one would, but I still prefer the fact that they kept a jovial nature despite how grim their situation is. It's an admirable trait to have, and it avoids the trope of making leader characters boring just because they're the ones who have to take things seriously.

Oh, and also, Raine's Disney's first non-binary character who has a stake in the plot. This is a tremendous deal, as you don't usually see that many non-binary characters in children's animation, let alone ones that hold importance to the story. So it's pretty cool for the writers to feature Raine, as it helps several kids feel as though they're finally seen and respected. And the fact that Disney of all companies gave the thumbs up is even more impressive. I hear people say that Dana Terrace should have pitched The Owl House to more progressive networks to avoid pushback, and while I absolutely see your point, I'll have to respectfully disagree. Disney is the largest entertainment industry of all time, so if you want to make LGBTQA+ representation normalized, you gotta stop making splashes and start making waves. Because if the same company that made three racist cats in the span of a few years manages to say that being gay is a-ok, then you know there's something wrong with you. Yes, Disney ended up screwing over the show anyway. But for that one moment, when kids felt pride after seeing a character like Raine, then, in the end, it's kind of worth it.

Also, if you're still having issues with more representation like this popping up in kids' shows, then allow me to redirect you to the complaint department.

...I made that post earlier today for this bit. YOU HAVE BETTER APPRECIATED IT!

Day of Unity is meant to be a Secret: At least, that's what I got when Raine stumbled over their own words. So if it's true, then I wonder why? Why does Belos want to keep the most critical change in the Boiling Isles a secret? Does he want to make it a surprise for his grateful subjects, or does he not want to spread worry and fear amongst the wild witches? It has to be something big if he doesn't want his followers to even say the words "Day of Unity." Whatever reason he has, we most likely won't know until the future. A future that I grow more and more afraid of each week.

Hooty Eating Echo Mouse: My heart sank in that brief moment when I thought that Hooty intensely screwed Luz over in getting back home. But looking back...it is pretty funny.

Just the suddenness of Hooty eating the poor creature that Luz desperately tried to earn its trust is priceless in how shocking it was. And also, Luz's expression.

That was the look of a young girl who immediately shoved her hand down an owl demon's throat the second the scene cut away. The Owl House may not always be a hit in the comedy department, but scenes like this prove that when it's funny, it is hilarious.

Luz and King Entering the Grand Prix: Not much to discuss here. It's just a cute subplot that adds frivolity to the intensity of what's going on through Eda and Raine's story. But I will say that I love how both stories occasionally interconnect with each other through the many moments of Eda being worried about King wanting to leave to find his father and avoiding any conversation about it. It helps both plotlines feel like they belong together, without being something like "Through the Looking Glass Ruins," whereas both stories could have been in their own episode. Which is neat.

How Bard Magic Works: I really love how this season is diving into how the other magic types work. More specifically, the ones that seem a little vague. I mean, stuff like healing, potions, and plants are easy to figure out, but what does it mean when a witch's talents are construction, beast keeping, and bard magic? We've been getting a lot of clearing up lately, with bard magic looking like a witch can control their environments and enemies through the power of music. Which is fair. Music is pretty powerful in the metaphorical sense, and I actually love that it's powerful in the literal sense when in the Boiling Isles.

The BATs: Not much to comment on these three either. The BATs have the potential to have an entertaining dynamic, but they do very little in this episode that I can't say much other than I hope they make a return in the future. But I will make this claim: Amber is my favorite. I'm sorry, but her screaming "You're not our mom!" to then go, "Bye, mommy Eda" is just too precious for me not to love.

I'm a simple man who falls for cute s**t. Leave me alone.

Raeda (RainexEda): Well, EdaxCamila, you were a fun crack ship while it lasted, but I'm afraid that this is now goodbye. The current canon has provided an incredibly adorable and believable relationship that I would be a monster not to support with my whole bi-heart. It's been real.

Ok, back in serious mode: I love these two together. Eda and Raine are grown-ups, and they still act all flustered near each other as if they were still Luz and Amity's age. It's definitive proof that you're never too old to get flustered near a crush, and seeing them interact adds a sense of wholesomeness when seeing them together as well as heartbreak when they're forced apart. Plus, we get confirmation that Eda's LGBTQA+! Whether she's bi, pan, or whatever, now that we know Eda can catch feelings for someone like Raine, it's yet another case that The Owl House is the most important series to the community. Because having the main character be queer is fantastic in its own right. But having the same apply to the motherly mentor figure? That's is an extra bit of normalization that anybody would be willing to appreciate.

Unique Guard Designs: Not many fans are going to appreciate this, primarily compared to everything else this episode does perfectly. For me, I actually like that you see a few Coven Guards looking differently from the others, as it helps make them less like clones and makes it seem like anybody of any body type could be a part of the coven.

Gus Looking Uninterested when Presenting Grand Prix with his Dad: I am positive that you didn't notice this (I didn't even notice it until someone else pointed it out), but there's something to dissect here. It hints that perhaps Gus isn't as interested in his father's field of work as one might think. If he did, he would look a lot less bored and much more excited to be helping Perry Porter present the race. It could just be the race itself, but judging from Gus' expression, it really seems like the kid would prefer to be anywhere but there. And why would he have that reaction to a race that his best friend is competing in? To me, this seems like an inkling of what Gus' relationship with Perry could be, which may not actually get time to shine, what with how little wiggle room the series has now (Thanks Disney). Regardless, it is interesting to notice, and it will certainly have fans thinking for a while.

Bump Being Smug of Luz Being in the Lead: That's it. Principal Bump looking smug as his human student is beating the students of his rivals is yet another moment that proves why Bump is easily the best cartoon principal.

Darius: First of all, this guy is f**king fabulous, and I love him. *Snaps*

Second, he is definitive proof that you do NOT want to f**k around with Coven Leaders. Lilith may have had her intimidating moments, but none of them compare to the guy who can turn himself into an abomination monster where only magic that hasn't existed before can take him down. It's genuinely scary to see Darius lose control, and I fear for the day when Luz inevitably ends up in his crosshairs.

With that said, Darius' still a ton of fun! He may be threatening, but he's just a flamboyant guy that hates the idea of getting his outfit the tiniest bit dirty. And I love that. I love that these Coven Heads have actual personalities instead of being generically evil. I consider it preferable to make villains entertaining rather than blatantly scary as I'll remember the personalities first and the villainous acts last.

Eberwolf: But this one's my favorite. I told you: I'm a simple man who gets easily swayed by cute s**t. And Eber? I mean, just look at her:

She's just a cute widdle rascal! I just want to pinch her cheeks, give her a belly rub, and--

...Eberwolf is not a cute widdle rascal. She is a strong, independent woman, and I will respect her as such from this moment forward...lest I feel her wrath.

That is all. Let's move on.

Eda and Raine Attempting a Final Performance: This was the best scene of the episode. It looked gorgeous, it shows the dedication Eda and Raine have for stopping Belos, and it says so much through so little. Go back and look at how Eda and Raine regard one another when performing Eda's requiem. Through their expressions and a few short words, you know they understand that if they complete the song/spell, they probably won't make it in the end. And yet, they don't care. They both know bad stuff will happen if Belos wins, so Eda and Raine put everything to the side, both their feelings for one another and the people they leave behind if it means putting an end to a tyrant. That level of dedication...Words can't fully describe how powerful that is.

Raine Sacrificing Themselves Instead: But in the end, Raine can't do it. Not when they know the life that Eda has and the people she'll be leaving behind. It's an extra bit of nobleness to the character seeing that Raine refuses to take away a woman from two kids who need her the most. A tad bit selfish, sure, knowing what Belos has planned. But when it comes to love, the romantic, familial, or platonic, the best decisions aren't always the logical ones.

Eda Crying: Luz crying tears me up, but seeing Eda cry is a whole different level of heartbreak. Like Lilith, Eda has her emotions locked up tight, with the closest she came to weeping were those two tears in "Young Blood, Old Souls." In "Eda's Requiem," she cries but almost quickly stops herself. As if she knows that doing so isn't going to save Raine. That is...even worse than seeing Luz break down after losing Eda. The fact that Eda refuses to give herself time to mourn losing someone she loved is tragic because crying is the most natural way of showing grief. Turning that off isn't healthy, and seeing her do it with little resistance is sad to me. It's sad to see a character I love can easily shut off all emotions despite how badly she may want to embrace them. It's one of those moments that, again, by doing so little, it shows so much.

“No one watches Crystal Balls anymore. It’s all about streaming.”: Oof. Even I felt that burn towards cable.

King’s Message: King's message was the pick-me-up I needed after the heart-wrenching sadness this episode put me through a few minutes ago. Seeing King say who he is and listing all the things he loves is nothing short of adorable. On top of that, I adore that Eda willingly recorded the whole thing. She may not want King to leave, but that doesn't mean she'll sabotage the one thing he wants. Especially not after Raine gave up everything so Eda could be with her kids. The opening scene may prove how much Eda cares about a rascal like King, but this heartwarmingly sweet moment reveals just how far she'll go to make him happy.

King’s Dad Reveal: ...ok, I'll be honest, I did not think we'd get that reveal this soon. Dumb of me to say, considering the number of times I've said that these writers don't waste time getting to the s**t, I know. But still, it's pretty cool knowing that King's dad is alive and well, added with the fact that we've got a fair idea of what he looks like. At this point, it's only a matter of time before we see him figure out where the Clawthorne residence is and witness the tear-jerking moments that will follow.

King Changing his Name to King Clawthorne: Not the official adoption I was expecting Eda to make...but DANG IT, is it still diabetes-inducing levels of sweetness!

Personally, I feel like the main reason why Eda breaks down this time is not only because she shouldn't be worried about King leaving her life, but also because Raine's sacrifice wasn't in vain. Her kids really do need Eda because no matter how far apart they'll be, she will always be a part of their life...dang it, I'm going to cry too!

What those Coven patches really do: Well...that was horrifying to see.

...Writers, if you kill off the best non-binary character in animation (it's a short list, I know), we are going to have PROBLEMS!

IN CONCLUSION

"Eda's Requiem" is--surprise surprise--another A+. The emotions hit hard, the representation hits harder, Raine is a fantastic addition to the cast, and it was all surprisingly cute at times. Season Two is currently on a hot streak, constantly winning with every episode that's come out so far. When a bad episode does eventually show up (IT'S GONNA HAPPEN!), I'll be sure to sing my requiem then. For now, I'm just gonna enjoy the ride.

[battlemaiden13]

If you don't mind a supper indulgent and specific scenario, how would the Papyruses comfort a so/crush that was really struggling with this pandemic? It started in the middle of their first semester at a new college which they transfered to during their freshmen year, which essentially killed their chances of making any friends, and forced them into online learning which is the worst way for them to learn, causing their grades to suffer. Add on top of that their family's high risk status and their anxiety over not knowing what to major in and doubting all their choices and you get them sitting in the kitchen at 2 am baking way too many cakes that they've been living off of for the past several months. (Sorry, i need to vent a little and as I said, I have no friends...)

13: Of course sweetie. I hope everything is getting better and you are staying safe

Papyrus -Seeing how stressed you are makes him super worried about you. He spends a lot of time thinking about what he can do to help you, even just a little, before deciding to use his organisational skills to help. He sits down with you and the two of you create a bullet point journal, a calendar, timetable and day planner to help you through the tough cycle of online learning. He’s never experienced it before so he isn’t sure if it will help but he wants to try something. Since monsters are allowed out he starts doing everything for your at risk family members so that they can stay safe and hopefully ease your worries just that bit more. He’s putting his all into helping you anyway he can think of and is always there when you need to talk. He’s also more than happy to just sit in your office while you study so you have someone watching you if that would help.

Edge -What he does might seem strict but it actually helps you a lot and gives you a routine that you quickly fall into helping you with the difficulty of online learning. He sets up a planner for you, cooks you proper meals and creates a timetable that he expects you to follow and he will be checking up on you constantly to make sure you are sticking to it. You have daily checklists to complete and he even helps you plan when to do assignments and will proofread them for you. He helps you a lot with the Collage thing and even allows allotted times for you to facetime or talk to family members. He is cooking you proper meals and helps you a lot. You feel like you should be thanking him only to be surprised when he gives you a gift to congratulate you on all your hard work and improved grades. He doesn’t think you need to figure out your major right this second but he is here for you whenever you want to talk.

Orange -He thinks that one of the hardest things about studying online is finding the motivation to log on and do the work so he suggests a reward system. The two of you create a reward system and when you meet certain goals he gets or does something for you. Of course this really only helps with one of your problems here and he doesn’t really know what else he can do. He offers to go to the stores for your family members so that they can stay inside and asks if you’d like him to cook you meals so that you can have one less thing to stress about. As for your major he does his own research into what you might like and comes back with ideas for you. He’s happy to talk out pros and cons and if you want he even offers to help you with school work. He’s pretty awkward about offering his help only because he’s not entirely sure if what he is doing is helping or not. He feels bad that he can’t do more but he is always there when you need him to be.

Syrup -He was super excited when the lockdown happened only because he assumed that meant the two of you could spend a whole lot of time together. This of course changes quickly when he sees how stressed you are and he just wants to help. He gets you gifts and all the cuddles you want but it isn’t really helping. He suggests you take the year off, collage is giving you more stress than it should at the moment and he has enough that you never need to work again if you wanted so you don’t need to go to college anyway. Taking some time away would also give you more chances to decide on a major. Although he doesn’t offer your family help he does offer it to you and if you ask him to do anything he will do it, no questions asked. Of course if you don’t want to quit he can also just threaten and/or kill your professors or hack the system to get you a better grade.

[robynthomsonnapierfilm]

Film Adaption - workbook part 2

'Everything Julie Likes'

1. Finding Our Feet (meeting with Charlie/shot list/storyboard)

After getting sorted into our groups and officialising our group members' roles (Myself as director, Charlie as writer/cinematographer, Alyssa as sound recorder/sound editor, Alexander as sound editor/sound recorder, Laura as producer/production design) for Film Adaption (I chose Charlie's film, 'Everything Julie Likes'), Charlie and I had a couple of one on one meetings and chats about the direction we wanted 'Everything Julie Likes' to take. We spent time discussing Charlie's shot ideas - to which I gave my feedback - and plans of a shotlist, characters, and the general tone Charlie had in mind when first writing the script, so that I could accurately portray what she visualised her script as the film's director. One of the main things we wanted to get across in the film is the focus on Julie. Since it's made clear through the dialogue that Dave isn't overly present in her life, we wanted this to come across through the visuals of the film too. This would be done through close ups on Julie, and then whenever Dave is on screen he is only ever seen from behind, close ups on parts of him that don't show his face clearly, etc.

Here is the shot list I roughly jotted down during our first ever meeting together, and then the official shot list that was produced after these discussions:

2. finding Our Film (casting call/location scout)

Once we had a good idea of the skeleton of the film, we all got to work on finding our actors and location. Charlie and I had spoken a bit about how we pictured the characters - Julie and Dave - and so I passed that information onto Laura, who then made a casting call for our group to make public on social media and various casting groups on Facebook. This process was rather tedious as it took a while for people to get back to us, and then when they did.... very very veryyy slow replies... typical. We took to asking around the Napier acting students (including Alexander's own brother!), but that too deemed unsuccessful. in the end, we cast two of our course mates - Jagoda and Luke - as our Julie and Dave, but we had absolutely no complaints as their performances turned out really great.

Next on our list was finding a location. At this point, the top things on our checklist of what we were looking for in a location was a window with bright natural light, and a bed. Unfortunately due to COVID-19 we were unable to scout around for the perfect flat, but my bedroom in my flat luckily fit the description well enough. I sent various videos and pictures to our film's group chat so everyone could get an idea of the space. We all agreed it would work well, and so there we had it - our location was found.

3. the news of filming in uni/script changes

Unfortunately, right as we were sorting things out for our film, the class received an email bearing the news that - due to COVID-19 rules - we were no longer allowed to film in whatever location we wanted. Instead, we were now limited to one of two Merchiston campus classrooms available for filming. This meant we had to act quickly to change the script, shot list, story board, etc. to accompany these sudden changes in our plans.

Our original plan to shoot in a bedroom with both of the actors in bed was obviously no longer appropriate for the COVID-19 guidelines, and so we worked around how this could work in a classroom. We decided to have it set at a table instead, with far more focus on Julie than in the original script. Charlie got to work with editing the script, and we all got to work on planning how we could dress an Napier classroom to look like a realistic room in a family home.

We were also no faced with the task of creating natural light, as we no longer had my bedroom window to work with and this lighting was what we'd wanted from the start. We were sent some video tutorials on how to create cucoloris from our lecturers, and this (along with the use of sheers to dim harsh light) would be our best bet for mimicking the look of natural light shining through a window.

4. set dressing/Pinterest board

During the group meetings we had to prepare for this change, we had discussions of what we wanted our set to look like. This involved talk of colour palettes, who was able to provide what furniture, and thoughts of what Julie and Dave were like as people and the type of home they may live in.

We made it clear from the start that we wanted the flat to look lived in and slightly messy, as Julie is struggling quite a bit when we meet her in Charlie's script. This meant we sourced empty bottles, food containers, and various nick-nacks to complete this look, and by bringing our own stuff from home it would look as realistic as possible. To help give us ideas for making the room look realistic (and since none of us have ever built a room from the ground up before), I made a Pinterest board of various images to give us inspiration:

However, we decided some of the images looked too 'aesthetically pleasing' and not naturally messy enough, so we only picked up on small details i.e. the string of hanging pictures, layered books.

We also spoke about our desired colour palette for the film, and came to the conclusion that a muted tone would be best. We didn't want anything that would take too much attention away from the actors, as this film is very performance based. More so, we had to think about the characters Julie and Dave, and how they would realistically decorate their home. Since Julie's story is based around the fact there isn't much colour in her life anymore, any bright or statement decor just didn't feel right for her. Therefore, we settled on a muted coral type colour for the wallpaper, and a subtler approach to decoration.

5. shopping trip/making cookies to stand in for our new lack of window

To prepare for our shoot, Alyssa, Laura and I spent a day going to B&Q and various other shops to gather everything we needed to dress out film's set. This day turned out to be super fun!

Before heading off, Laura had made a list of everything we needed to buy ahead of time so that we wouldn't forget anything (including some items we may have already had at home):

In the end, it turned out so successfully and within the day we had pretty much everything we needed. While in B&Q, I would take pictures of all the wallpapers I thought were best, and would send them back to the group chat to get a second opinion from the rest of the group before making a final decision. Of course... the one wallpaper that was completely sold out was the most perfect out of the whole batch, but luckily we found it in the B&Q on the other side of Edinburgh - there's always something...

One of the other main things on our list was cardboard to make cucoloris/'cookies' for our window lighting, which a friendly Tesco employee gave away to us for free.

That night I got to work making them. Once I got the hang of it, they were easy enough to complete, and so I made 3 different variations of a window shape for us to try out on the prep day to see which one looked most realistically like a window.

6. prep day

The majority of our prep day was spent setting up the room. This involved sticking up the many sheets of wallpaper and decorating the table. The main struggle with the wallpaper was getting it to lie flat against the wall, as there was a rim of sockets that stuck out and ran around the entire room, making the paper slightly lumpy. We tried our best to get it to stick in a way that didn't look so obviously makeshift on camera and - although it may not have looked 100% perfect - I think Laura and Alexander did a good job of sticking it to the wall despite the confinements the room gave us.

Setting up the table consisted of continually replacing and shifting various objects until we reached that perfect 'natural', 'lived in' look for Julie's home.

Here is a before and after of the room (photo credit to Charlie!):

During this set dressing, Charlie did her job as the cinematographer and set up the camera and lighting, ready for the next day of filming.

She spent some time playing around with the lighting to see what worked best, and through a mix of gels and sheers - we had our perfect morning sun glow through the cucoloris. Switch out gels, and there was our night time lighting.

7. shoot day

Throughout shoot day, we did end up running slightly behind. However I think our rigorous planning, Laura's tight schedule, and our great team meant we managed to get back on top of things. Once we got into the swing of it, we were getting through shots at a comfortable speed, and once I's gotten into the grove of directing the actors, Jagoda and Luke did an excellent job of staying consistent with their performances throughout the day.

Our most ambitious shot of the day was the dolly shot, which we had left to the very end to give us all the time we needed at the end of the day for rehearsals and multiple takes. This dolly shot was to go along with a short monologue heard on a radio we see in shot, and so in order to make the editing easier for Alexander, I would call out the lines the way I wanted them to be read in post-production, as Charlie worked the camera. This did take us a few shots as we wanted to experiment with the speed at which we pushed the camera in - along with trying out how it looked with a focus pull. Kieran recommended we do an ambitious shot like this earlier in the shoot day incase we are pushed for time at the end of the day, so I will definitely bare this in mind for future shoots incase we fail to get back on schedule like we were able to on this shoot.

Overall, the shoot went really successfully! We covered everything we needed in good time, but worked well enough that we were capable of experimenting and making subtle changes throughout the day when need be.

8. edit/sound edit/colour grade

From this point, the film was then handed over to Alexander to edit the footage. He would send each draft to our group's google drive, which we would each watch and then have a Zoom meeting to give feedback. He did a good job of taking in any notes I had and soon enough we had picture lock.

Them, it was Alyssa's turn to edit sound. Before she began, her and I had a chat about some things I wanted - for example, during the montage of Julie scratching the cards I really wanted the sound to build, layering more scratching sounds to create a truly overwhelming feeling. After her first draft of the sound edit, she showed it to me and we called to talk about any feedback I had. Much like Alexander, she was really efficient with taking on feedback and made an excellent job of the sound.

After both picture and sound were locked, Charlie took on the task of colour grading.

9. my experience

Going into this project as a first time director, I was extremely nervous. I was scared I'd let down Charlie's script or that I wouldn't communicate to the actor's well enough or just that I may not do the project justice in general. I do still have a lot to learn and while my first time won't be perfect, I am still happy with how 'Everything Julie Likes' turned out. Everyone in this group was extremely hard working, creative, and worked super well as a team - I'm proud of what we managed to achieve despite all the last minute changes we had to face :)

10. the crit

[megabeautifulsongstudentme-blog]

THIRTEEN Athletics Facts That Even The absolute most Hardcore Supporters Don't understand.

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