#inaccurate accurate scene

[ofbardsandmen]

greetings fellow genshin enthusiasts and fanatics!! once again, i'm generously presenting and offering my most beloved mondstadt character spotify playlists, free of charge and yours to consume, if you will.

[stripesysheaven]

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[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[anneapocalypse]

Not gonna lie, analysis of Minfilia that rests on a reading of her as some kind of hiring manager at a company really doesn't sit right with me, not just because it lends itself to some particularly uncharitable readings of Minfilia, but because it seems to me like a pretty inaccurate reading of what the Scions actually are in ARR.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are the union of the Circle of Knowing, a group of activist academics who accurately predicted the apocalypse but failed to prevent it and lost their beloved mentor in the process, and the Path of the Twelve, a group for Echo-bearers to help them better understand and make use of their gift--all doing their best to pick up the pieces and protect the realm in the wake of said apocalypse. Minfilia, formerly the leader of the Path of the Twelve, has now been thrust into the position of leadership over both at the late Louisoix's behest. The Scions in ARR aren't a company, they're an activist group, and in ARR still a very small one without the massive web of political connections they fall into later. They don't have a lot of financial resources. They're largely working quietly and behind the scenes. They have a secret code phrase to identify friends of the organization. Being recruited into this group in ARR is closer to being recruited into a resistance cell than being interviewed for a formal job.

Minfilia's role prior to the Calamity was as the leader of a support group for people experiencing a frightening, isolating, and as-yet poorly-understood phenomenon, a group where they could find others like them, understand what's happening to them, and learn how to use their gift for good. And to some extent, this is still a part of her role. The Warrior of Light is brought in because they were witnessed experiencing the Echo, and Minfilia is reaching out to them as a fellow Echo-bearer. I think it's a mistake to interpret her words and actions without that context, particularly her expressed hope that this most recent Echo-bearer she's invited into her group will find something like family there. I mean, listen to the joy with which she says, "I too possess the Echo." She's telling the WoL that they're not alone, that there is a name and an explanation for what they've been experiencing, that they can find others like themselves here. Yes, she's also asking for their help. But this is a pretty far cry from a job interview. However flawed the Scions may be as an organization, I can only see Minfilia's overtures here as offered in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie. And framing that as her trying to build loyalty she can exploit in a corporate manner feels extremely ungenerous given what we know of her character.

I don't want to sound like I'm here to defend the Scions in ARR against any and all criticism--I've discussed my own in the past, from their concerning tendency toward self-sacrifice to the attitude they develop toward the WoL (which is kind of up for interpretation based on your character's relationship to them but which can come across as a cavalier attitude toward the WoL's safety, taking advantage of their unique abilities, etc). In particular, the Scions' experience as a small activist organization, and Minfilia's particular experience as Echo support group leader, has ill-prepared any of them to be thrust into an international spotlight following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon. The attack on the Waking Sands has already revealed the weaknesses in their opsec, and certain scenes in the ARR patch quests reveal something of a power struggle between Minfilia and Alphinaud--one which Alphinaud ultimately wins, because Minfilia lacks the kind of confidence in her position to stand against the force of his personality, and she, like most of the other Scions, starts to fall into the trap of seeing Alphinaud as the second coming of Louisoix and lets him push her around accordingly. Minfilia is simply not equipped or prepared to lead the kind of organization the Scions are turning into. (Urianger, incidentally is one of the few who seems to notice this and remark on it, but also seems to feel that he can't directly object.) The cracks begin to show, and then it all falls apart, and when the Scions finally begin to put themselves back together post-Heavensward, I think they all understand that they can't go back, that what they rebuild will be something new. Over the next few expacs I think we see them developing a new group identity, recognizing that that old model no longer serves them and doing their best to adapt to constantly changing circumstances.

The Scions in ARR have plenty of problems, but they're not a for-profit company and they're also not the same organization as the Scions of later expacs. I think that context needs to be taken into account when interpreting their actions, especially those of their leader.

[spread-the-influence]

i can see post-fluence like 10-20 years down the line reviewing like. parasite based horror. and just being like “this is so inaccurate i had a parasite take over my life once and it was nothing like this”. and never elaborating to anyone ever.

oh my god i'm loving the thought of her in the future just having this blog where she reviews horror movies and people are captivated by it because it always has something wild in it

like imagine reading a post and you're hit with lines like

" the movie was good but it bothered me how inaccurate the dismemberment scene is . "

" the human body doesn't really do that . like i also had my intestines ripped out of my body once and that didn't happen . "

" one of , if not , the most accurate parasite horror movie i've seen . has the mind control , hivemind thinking , and the weird crawly feeling you get from your spine to your skull . 9/10 . bumping it down by one point because there's no washing machines involved . "

[blamebrampton]

Books talk to each other. Mostly because practically every writer is also a voracious reader, but also because books arise out of times and places and we share a lot of our worlds these days. So it’s unsurprising that several novels I have hugely enjoyed over the past few years share the theme of the antiheroine who is past all giving of the fucks. Naomi Novik’s powerful dark sorceress kept on her own tight leash in the Scholomance books was a joy to follow; Xiran Jay Zhao’s Iron Widow slashed her way into my heart and now Sarah Rees Brennan’s Long Live Evil has added to a list of beloved antiheroines that probably started for me with Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair.

Coincidentally, when considering how to describe Long Live Evil without significant spoilers, I realised that it shared several major themes with Vanity Fair. Young woman unfairly treated by fate decides to embrace her slut era to survive a war zone – both very accurate and wildly inaccurate for both. LLE opens with main character Rae in a hospital bed, teasing her sister about a book series they both adore. Rae is taking refuge in the story they have shared over years because it is one of the few things they have left: she is losing her fight against cancer and has been losing parts of her life, family and memory as that fight has progressed.

My personal hospital experiences have all been to do with major traumas rather than illness, which I vastly prefer because if you don’t die in the first couple of days, you usually start mending and you can immediately make plans to make the best of whatever you’ve broken. Rees Brennan, however, famously wrote a very funny, very horrible, ‘Kids, you won’t believe what shenanigans your girl’s been up to now, it’s only stage four Hodgkins lymphoma!’ post on her Tumblr or LJ (someone who has been hit in the head with taxis fewer times than me will doubtless factcheck that in the notes) about seven or eight years ago and then faced the very serious business of trying to live. The hospital scenes are painfully authentic, as are the stories of people who have left Rae as she slipped further out of everyday life.

For Rees Brennan, a loving family and peer group were there to hold her as close as they could. For Rae, only her beloved little sister, Alice, and Time of Iron, their favourite fantasy series, remain. They read the books together, remember adventures cosplaying and watching the musical, they wonder about the final instalment; for Rae it’s a joy she can still share (even if she doesn’t remember as much as she should), for Alice, it’s her two greatest loves. When a strange woman offers a door into the world of the book and a possible magical cure to Rae, she wants it as much as she disbelieves it.

Stepping into Eyam, the land of Time of Iron, Rae finds herself in the body of a villain doomed to die the next day. No worries! She’s thought and fought her way out of worse scraps than this in her past as a head cheerleader, let alone while battling cancer. She can use her knowledge of the plot to change things! If only she remembered more of the books…

Portal fantasies are common enough, but not all play by the same rules. This isn’t Narnia, where the magical world is more real than our own, for Rae, the world of the book is nothing more a tool to get her hands on the cure. She doesn’t need to care about any of these people, they’re not real. Most of them speak in a formal language that relies on the conventions of fantasy literature (there is an ongoing, warm-hearted skewering of all Game of Thrones-esque texts running through both the story and the in-text ‘quotes’ from Time of Iron) and half the characters are known more by their descriptions rather than their names. So she will play the Beauty Dipped in Blood, with her questionable morals, impractical clothes and centre-of-balance-distorting boobs for the weeks that will pass until the cure is available. Whoever she has to shuffle in the plot to secure a place beside that cure, she will shuffle. While she’s not out to kill anyone, it’s not as though they were ever really alive. Not like her. If she has to be the villain to survive, she will be an impeccable one. The people will cheer evil on!

Obviously, little goes to plan. Rae’s illness has taught her cruelty, but she hasn’t forgotten what it is to be kind. Even as she manipulates her role into ongoing main character, she realises that’s not how anyone gets a happy ending. That’s not how she can live with herself. As she comes to think of the other people in the story as real, they become more so, both in how we read them and in how they impact the story. Rae remembers what it is like to make friends, which she never meant to, but, oh, the luxury after years of watching people slip away!

As in previous novel In Other Lands, Rees Brennan has a long list of fantasy tropes to embrace and undermine, and her deft touch with humour is as evident as ever here, but her publishers call this her first adult novel and there is a shift in tone from her previous works. Anger is more real and lasting. Consequences are more significant. Understanding is reached for, even if it’s bitter. One of my favourite things is that she lets her female characters rage, but never judges those who can’t, whether because they’re too powerless or just too tired, and her male characters are allowed to be people if they choose to be — which all but the most vainglorious do.

I hadn’t paid much attention beyond checking the release date for the book, so didn’t realise it was the first in a series. For me, it worked perfectly as a standalone novel, even with the unended threads, which would have perfectly balanced Rae’s unfinished life. That said, I am very happy to know we will spend more time with these characters in the future. I want more. I do want to know if there is a hope for Rae, if this is the fever dream of a fading life, if this is the story Alice has told to ease her sister from the world or something else. There are a dozen characters I hope for, at least three happy endings that would bring joy. But don’t wait for the next books: sink your teeth into this one and believe what it says about the importance of listening to stories rather than just falling in love with characters. Though if you find yourself cheering on Rae, or her servant Emer, the elusive Eric, Horrible Hortensia or almost any of the others, I am the last person who will judge you.

[endiness]

not to go off on this again (and because of a bullshit clickbait article from screenrant as if that isn't their entire business model in the first place) but it's still so fucking mindboggling to me just how much henry cavill was able to brainwash people. like, the idea that he was the one that made the show and he was the only good thing about it and the only good casting choice when he was very noticeably the worst actor on the entire show and meanwhile the rest of the cast is extremely talented and easily acted circles around him. not to mention that he has all the charisma of a black hole sucking all of the chemistry out of the room.

and the whole idea that he is some uber fan of the franchise and the only person on the entire show that knows anything about the source material and cares about it which is also always said in conjunction with the idea that he's the one who made the show. when he didn't even know that the books existed, he only read them once after lauren told him about them, he's only played tw3 (and not even the dlc for it), and by his own admission he didn't do any research for the role. and then meanwhile you've got joey who wrote a whole ass song in ~24 hours and showed up in costume with a lute to audition and who's read the entire series at least 3 times as of 2023; therica, whose books are all annotated and she tries to go back and reread the series before each season and even goes on youtube to watch video essays to refresh her memories; cassie, who has a binder full of notes on philippa and her backstory and everything; and many, many other cast members who've done a lot of research into the books and their characters and the universe and the franchise. but somehow henry cavill is the massive superfan. because he said that a lot in interviews. while never actually giving any examples of that beyond, like, having said he played tw3 for a ton of hours. (which, duh, 'cause a playthrough of that game can easily clock in at +100 hours.)

and speaking of the idea that he just cares SO much about the source material and that's why he ragequit the show because the writers weren't following the books closely enough, likE. he is the one who made geralt's characterization book inaccurate in s1 because he would cut his lines and either just say nothing or grunt instead. (and he also gave his scene partners zero indication he was going to do this and just left them hanging and wondering what was going on and if he was actually going to say his lines and put them into the position of having to improvise and take his lines just to move the plot forward.) and the only reason why he suddenly started to advocate for a more book accurate geralt come s2 is because he got dunked on by reddit for his performance in s1. (which he also took virtually no responsibility for whatsoever and just passed all of the blame off onto the writers for HIS acting choices. wait, that's not entirely accurate. he also blamed yennefer and ciri's prominence on geralt's lack of dialogue even though ciri's scenes were the ones that were cut in s1. yennefer's, too, btw.) he also fucked up geralt and jaskier's friendship by cutting his lines in s1 (and imo there is a lot of implication that the things he was cutting in their scenes was actual affirmation on geralt's side of things that he actually cares about jaskier) and by his own admission, he didn't want to play them as being all buddy-buddy with each other. and his refusal to play geralt struggling with fatherhood and with any negative character traits in s2 led to the domino effect of eskel's death (which in itself led to vesemir trying to create new witchers and lambert's harsher attitude toward ciri), yennefer's betrayal, and voleth meir being the big bad of the season. he also cut a sex scene between geralt and yennefer in s2 because he didn't think it would be in character of them to have sex after reuniting (lolwut) and he cut a scene between geralt and triss of even them just platonically finding comfort in each other (that's what happens in the books.) but yeah, HE just cares about the source material SO MUCH. that's why everything he had a hand in went against the books.

(not to mention that the thing he was clashing with lauren over was that he was not the main character (ciri is the main character of the main books, btw) but rather co-lead with two women and he was mad that the show heavily revolves around women (the books heavily revolve around women) instead of men.) (in s2 interviews, he goes on about how important men being three dimensional characters is to him as if women being three dimensional characters on the show somehow means that men can't be. which is ironic of him to say anyway, tbh, considering he didn't want geralt to be a three dimensional character. as three dimensional characters have flaws. and he didn't want geralt to have any.) (oh, and just to mention but when talking about how violent men can be three dimensional and caring, henry cavill lists who men can be caring towards: other men, family, children. weird he doesn't mention women at all. i'm sure that's not an indication of anything especially when it's said by someone who's a self-professed nerd, lorebuff, redditor, and gamer. because they're always known for non-rancid takes about women. especially when they've already gotten flack for their "i'm afraid to flirt because i'll be accused of being a rapist" #metoo takes. 💅)

(also, just with the conspiracy theory that henry cavill ragequit the show because it wasn't following the books closely enough. like, that is just a conspiracy theory though. the only "proof" there ever was of it was henry cavill going on about how important adhering to the source material is to him. except everything he had a hand in went against the books, so that can't be true. and the thing he and lauren were clashing over was how he was not the main character (geralt is not the main character) and the prominence of women in the series (the women in the books drive the plot forward in massive ways). so that can't be true. and s3 was the closest adaption of the books anyway, so yeah. that really can't be true. and the only other thing that's "proof" is the rumor that the writers hate the source material. which was started by henry cavill's buddy, a writer who was fired from the show for allegedly being emotionally, physically, and sexually abusive. so i'm sure his word is totally trustworthy and he wouldn't have a vested interest in lying and creating a rumor to incite the fanbase against his former co-workers whom he was allegedly fired for mistreating in the first place. (btw, witin the past year, the same writer was fired again for allegedly the same kind of reasons.) also, i'm sure it's jut a coincidence how that rumor, which was started by henry cavill's friend, to disparage the show and the writers dropped about a week before henry cavill announced he was no longer going to be on the show. like, it definitely couldn't've been a coordinated effort between them or anything.) (psst, the rumor that hc was fired for being sexist actually has the most evidence supporting it. js.)

[fslurusami]

bringing back this post cuz i keep thinking abt this fic i read weeks ago that mentioned "rubber soles". it is 1907. rubber soles were a fairly recent thing that werent super widely used yet, not used on boots at the time, only more casual shoes. canvas shoes with rubber soles similar to converse were invented in the 1830s but boots with the classic rubber sole on most boots today (vibrams) werent invented until 1937

you can SEE (notably on the covers for volumes 15 and 28) the shoes and boots all of the army members wear have leather soles with blunt hobnails for traction. theyre not even sharp hobnails if youre not open to stabbing a girl in the dick with dirty nails (i am. i was disappointed when i saw they were blunt. but thats beside the point) i found this history stuff out with 5 mins of googling. 2 sources. the covers are right there on the fandom wiki. helpppppp

autistic ppl (me) when there is historically inaccurate + canon inaccurate pornographic fanfiction

[marvelobsessed134]

Just got done spewing some facts under a video supporting Priscilla and her “movie” I thought I’d share them here:

So many people here are uneducated and will blindly believe everything Priscilla says because she’s a woman and it’s edgy to hate on Elvis.

1. Elvis was never actually wanting to date or marry Priscilla he was with an actress very much his age that was back home while he was in Germany. He just saw Prissy as someone to talk to. She has so many issues with her yandere type fan tendencies being obsessive over a man she wasn’t even with in the first place and who didn’t give her a second thought

2. She did NOT hopelessly wait around for Elvis after he left she continued to play several different guys and she did have a very normal high school experience she went to dances and football games

3. Prissy’s father blackmailed Elvis into marrying her. Elvis did NOT want to marry Priscilla

4. Yes, Elvis cheated but not until after Priscilla cheated first with her dance instructor. She’d also call him while she was doing the deed so he could hear

5. Priscilla said herself the chair scene is highly inaccurate. Elvis was angry on the phone with the Colonel and threw a chair to the wall as Priscilla was walking in the room and he immediately apologized and said he didn’t see her come in

6. She constantly changes her story and her book she said herself isn’t accurate because she said if she didn’t make it dramatic enough it wouldn’t sell

7. For those who might say “she’s a child, she can’t do no wrong she didn’t know what she was doing” at 14 I was well aware of shit and what I did. And I know she did too she wasn’t some innocent angel

8. She’s an awful mother to Lisa Marie. Actively dated and let a man around Lisa that had said he had inappropriate feelings for Lisa when she was a child

9. Got with a married man who had a PREGNANT wife. Yes it’s also the man’s fault but she knew damn well he was married and his wife was pregnant

10. She cannot stop talking bs about Elvis cause he’s the only reason she’s relevant. In contrast to one of (what I believe to be) Elvis’ true loves Ann Margaret who only says nice things about him but she also had a career before meeting him

All in all, yes Elvis had some flaws but people spread misinformation about him all the time just like they do with Michael Jackson. Priscilla is no saint, she’s a lying gold digger who only cared about money in the first place. Not to mention she was laughing at Elvis’s funeral so if she truly was “in love” then why would she do such an awful thing by laughing? She continues to use the Presley name even though Elvis told her not to after they divorced and constantly spew lies and drop his name over and over again. She’s told her story countless times, this movie was slander towards a man who cannot defend himself. Like I said Elvis wasn’t a saint either but you need to take off the rose colored glasses and see both sides of the story. Thank you.

[anotherlibrocubicularist]

'The pjo movies may be more inaccurate than the show, but they were good movies.'

is a sentiment I've seen a lot in the pjo fandom. Since the movies were my introduction to the pjo!verse, I do have a special place in my heart for them while still acknowledging their differences in regards to the originals source material (aka the books). I was foolish enough to buy the second book before the first one to read how the story continues, but had to quickly realize just how much the movie differed from the books.

And yes, I am also one of the people, who, for the longest time, held the opinion that I put in the title of this post. Which is why, once the show was announced, I had high hopes for that particular live-action remake of one of my most beloved fictional universes. These hopes have yet to be fulfilled, but I remain hesitantly hopeful for the second season.

However, with the many differences from the books that I saw in the first season of the show, I want to point out some things that, in my opinion, were ADAPTED better (as in: more accurately) in the movies.

Percy Jackson (at least in terms of his knowledge of greek mythology or rather, his lack thereof and his physical appearance aside from his age)

Percy's relationship with Grover (in the movies there are several instances where Grover fulfills his role of 'protector' and is genuinely seen as Percy's ride-or-die, much unlike the relationship I saw on the show. This is especially important for the second season where Grover forms an empathy link with his most trusted friend to communicate his whereabouts and the show just doesn't give me the vibe where they're close enough for Grover to risk forming that link.

Sally Jackson (yes, her character is mostly wish-fulfillment for neurodivergent kids who wish for their parents' unconditional love without snapping at them or mishandling parenting situations, but as a formerly neurodivergent child now adult, I loved this character so much and the 'realism' I saw with show!Sally was just dissatisfying)

Gabe Ugliano (movie!Gabe is every bit as awful as he was in the books even to the manhunt he instigated by doing an interview on tv, show!Gabe is honestly a let-down)

Sally and Gabe's relationship (no elaboration needed, I think)

Grover (movie!Grover is more accurate to how satyrs are depicted in mythology, at least when it comes to his horniness. And yes, that's not more accurate to the books but if people can go around and praise show!Hades for being closer to real mythology!Hades then I can do the same with Grover. Also how the movies disguised his hooves with giving him crutches was far superior)

Hades (yes, the movie portrayal was not close to the books, but his angerand frustration was depicted really well; the show has him act way too chill and that just has me worried for continuity's sake)

The lotus casino scene (and basically every moment where they had to figure out the threat before defeating it, also the movie scene was entertaining as hell)

The deadline plotline (them missing it was stupid, nough said)

Poseidon (he and Percy had a difficult relationship at the beginning, book!Poseidon would probably not have bowed to Zeus to protect Percy like he did in the show when he forfeited)

The Gods in the throne room on Olympus (in the final scene of the movies they were all tall and ready for battle, makes sense since they readied themselves for a war that was literally about to start. What did we get in the show? They looked way too casual and ordinary for being about to start a world threatening war.)

Feel free to add when you think I've missed things or comment whatever so long as it's constructive and polite.

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

are: Rust and EDC, on rewatching, I noticed that 2012 Rust uses Crash’s wallet chain, and possibly the same style of work boots (trying to trace the brand on these rn lol). I always thought the chain was interesting bc it’s the only super recognizable Crash thing that seems to carry over.

Sorry, anon. I forgot about this and then I didn't forget about this and then I read too much about it and then I concluded that I had nothing to add because you got it all in the ask--it is (apparently) the only visual cue Rust retains from Crash, and it is a Crash cue.

And that will be obvious to some of you--but it was not obvious to me, a person who arguably has "special interest: men" and "special interest: masculine accessories" written down on her character sheet somewhere, probably under a headline that says "penalties to charisma." Why was this not obvious to me? Why did I react with derision, when first faced with Rust looking all hot with his wallet chain on?

I refer you to this Vogue article from 2016, which (inaccurately) states that wallet chains are (were) back and also (inaccurately) states:

Blame the resurgence of the wallet chain on Vetements: For Fall 2016, the label gave the accessory a cheeky mall-goth makeover

To me, the wallet chain has always been a mall goth staple. But that is because my toxic trait is that I truly, truly believe that if I had been born in a slightly earlier time, I would have been so good at being an authentic 90s goth at the club.

(It pains me, it pains me to think of how Crash era Rust could so plausibly be at the (goth) club. Like, Rust wouldn't be, is the problem. But he could have been, so easily, and the overlap between biker scene and leather scene and goth has always been significant.)

(Crash era club setting BDSM fic set to Nine Inch Nails WHEN)

But reading anything in Vogue always reminds me that I, personally, might be full of shit, given that my frame of reference is such a thin slice of humanity, so I set out to answer the question of: do bikers actually wear wallet chains?

To do this, I did what anyone concerned with journalistic integrity and not leaving her own house would do: I read old forum posts from the early 2000s. And here I learned that it's not a wallet chain, in the parlance, but a biker wallet, and really the biker wallet is originally a trucker (as in semis) wallet.

The go to joke, on some slightly less old forums, seems to be that these days, the biker wallet / wallet chain is mostly good for scratching up your paint job.

however.

It seems that back in the day, the wallet chain was in fact an essential piece of kit. Why? Wallet in back pocket, bumpy rides, long roads--apparently losing your wallet because it jostled out of your jeans is a real thing that really happened. The difference seems to be that between now and then, suspensions (i think is the term?) got better and in general, rides are smoother, so it's less of a risk.

I assume there's also the issue of--once the look is diluted enough by people the initial core group thinks of as posers, the object that was formerly a reliable marker of in-group, now useless, becomes uncool.

So anyway, that's some general thoughts on wallet chains. But back to Rust, specifically.

he's so busted and hot here. dishabille. where was I.

We can conclude that the wallet chain, in the 90s, is a pragmatic choice, like almost everything is, where Rust is concerned. We never see Crash riding but we assume, right, that he didn't spend four years infiltrating a biker gang to never be on a dang bike. Period accurate suspensions were apparently shit, and presumably losing your state issued fake ID is a pain in the ass while working UC, so the wallet chain is practical.

So why is 2012 Rust, who drives a pick up, wearing it?

For the same reason he's wearing the same watch for the whole series, I think. It works.

Or is it a hint of some attachment to identity? This is only on my mind due to recent discussions in my DMs, but the idea is tantalizing. What if he likes the wallet chain, just a teensy bit? That seems good or healthy, maybe, that he's got some scrap of preference and attachment going on there.

Or maybe he doesn't, and it's just another way 2012 Rust comes across as frozen in time, like most of those ten years are lost time. Not rugged practicality, not if it ain't broke, don't fix it, but a secret third thing: a resigned it is what it is, the smallest unit of self fulfilling prophecy that time is a flat circle or nothing changes and therefore nothing matters.

Or maybe it's that there ain't much of a difference between Crash and Rust at the end of the day, which is my humbly presented thesis in this half finished fan fic I promise I haven't forgotten about.

re: the boots. I think I have a source on the exact boots, once again due to the insane guys over on reddit. I'll comb through my bookmarks and see if I find it and I will report back...eventually. And then I think I might as well post about the knife and the zippo because the knife, at least, is funny to me and very Rust. Also I need to tag these, I guess?

Rust EDC posts so far:

the ledger // the watch

[sy-on-boy]

(Potentially) new information from the Spy x Family exhibit book!

Okay, I’ve done some digging around and not gonna lie, some information in there has me excited. I can’t read Japanese so I took photos and put them through translate, so it’s not the most accurate, and please take this post with a grain of salt. Here we go!

Translations are more than welcome! Feel free to use these photos and feel free to DM me for clearer photos. I would also love to know what this all means haha. Japanese “raw” text is taken from Google translate and may be inaccurate to what is actually shown in the photos.

✩ The SxF world apparently has no Christmas!

I’ve heard claims of it, and here’s a picture I took.

“遠藤達哉先生 コメント

こちらは冬の休載イラスト です。 電飾一個一個を北斗 神拳ばりに連打して描きま した。 クリスマスっぽい雰 囲気を出していますが、 『SPY×FAMILY』の世界に クリスマスはありません。”

Google translate tells me that there’s no Christmas in the SxF world but he tried to create a Christmas-like atmosphere? Not sure but it would align with other people’s claims.

✩ Yuri apparently had a girlfriend in a rough draft!

This is Endo’s handwriting so the machine can’t recognise the words easily, but I think the woman in the bottom of Yuri’s sheet is his “girlfriend”? And Google translate tells me she’s Yuri’s “weakness” and Twilight might use her against Yuri / take advantage of the girlfriend? This is a very interesting idea that didn’t get used in canon (yet?). I think in canon, Yuri is popular but he’s too devoted to his sister. A new significant other of a prominent character would shake things up. Especially when it comes to Yuri, a member of the SSS.

By the way, Yuri’s potential designs are kind of cool. I like the ponytail.

✩ Apparently “Oscar” was one of Twilight’s potential names! + Early Twilight designs

I think we know Yor was originally short for Yorlanda (this is in the upper sheet). There’s a whole list of names beside Twilight and the name Oscar オスカー appeared frequently. There are also more names that I can’t decipher.

✩ Designs of some potential WISE agents! (And early Fiona)

Fiona’s sheet (next to Yuri’s) was titled “WISE spy (female)” and now we have a sheet titled “WISE spy (male)”. Was Fiona a placeholder spy that made it to the main cast? Or will this “male spy” end up having significance too? The two smaller heads at the left are apparently Twilight’s associates. Also, a Melinda sketch. Not gonna lie, the male spy feels kinda cute. Hope he’s not completely scrapped.

✩ Endo’s interview!

I feel like I should put this earlier but I was distracted with the Christmas / Yuri’s potential girlfriend thing. This is at the very end of the book. Apparently Endo was influenced by the invasion of Ukraine in 2022. This interview was apparently taken in March 2023. I think it’s fairly important so I’ll wait for a proper translation before saying anything else.

✩ Comments on Donovan, Melinda, Redacted, and Sylvia!

These two pages are together and I found it significant because Endo discusses the SxF themes. (My notes are not direct translations.) Apparently:

Sylvia’s scene in Mission 20 is Endo’s favourite scene, and he was looking at materials related to war for a long time and wondered if he could make use of it. [JP below]

とてもお気に入りのシーンです。 「SPY×FAMILY」の連載とは関係無し 昔から戦争に関する資料は色々見て いたので、多少はこの作品にも活かせ ているのかなーと。

Donovan’s statement of “in the end, people will never understand each other” (rough paraphrase) is the theme of the work. And Endo wanted to create a feeling of Donovan being the final boss. He didn’t plan on arranging it from the beginning, but he thinks the Desmonds are a good contrast to the Forgers. (Does this mean the Forgers think people will understand each other?) [JP below]

作品のテーマでもあるセリフ ですね。 少しでもドノバンの ラスボス感を醸し出せればい いなーと思いながら描きまし た。最初から意図して配置し たわけではないですが、デス モンド家はフォージャーと 良い対比になっているのかな と思います

The chapters on Twilight’s past coincided with the anime so Endo thought it was a good idea to explore Twilight’s past. [JP below]

アニメが始まるタイミングな のもあって、黄昏〉という人 物を掘り下げる良い機会かな と思い過去編を入れました。 あまり重たくなりすぎないよ うに、でも伝えたいことは最低限伝えられるように、自分 なりにバランスを取って描い たつもりです。

Melinda is described as “friendly” (?) even though she is dignified. A positive description of Melinda… interesting. What’s also interesting is that after she learns that Yor is the mother of the child who got into a fight with Damian, she “shows interest”. Melinda, what do you want with Anya? [JP below]

ダミアンの母で、東国元首相夫人。気品に溢れつ つも、気さくな性格。 ヨルが息子と喧嘩したアー ニャの母親と知り、興味を示している。

I personally think these two pages contain hints about the mystery of the featured characters and would love to know what it means :D

✩ Early Yor and Bond!

There’s a lot more Yor but again the image limit is constricting me. I really like the Bond designs, they’re funny and he’s just a chonky little boi :)

✩ Comments on the panel of Twilight’s head in Yor’s lap!

“珍しいイチャイチャシーンです。 ヨルさん は一年中酔っ払ってればいいのに”

Which apparently means: “a rare flirting (?) scene, I wish Yor was drunk all year long”

?!??! Twiyor?!! Hello!! I cannot resist mentioning this one, this is one of my favourite Twiyor / SxF scenes. Are we gonna get more drunk Yor? More Twiyor? More flirting? I’m excited now.

I’ve reached the image limit, so here’s all for this post for now! Translations are totally welcome and again I would love to know what this all means. I’m sorry if I accidentally said misleading information, so please tell me so I can correct it. Once again, don’t take my words as complete fact. The Yuri girlfriend thing is really surprising to me haha.

[danlous]

Armand's version of everything that happened with Lestat obviously isn't entirely accurate but i don't think it's entirely inaccurate either... "Lestat would never do this" Yes he would and in some cases canonically does. Like that theatre scene is hilarious but Lestat cheating on his beloved boyfriend in front of him and mocking him is something that literally happened in season 1. I think Armand's story is more likely just embellished rather than made-up

[sideprince]

Re-read this bit in Half-Blood Prince again and thinking about how blatantly it seems to be telling us that Harry is biased against Snape and our impression of him thus far has been clouded by seeing him through Harry's eyes (emphases mine):

‘The Dark Arts,’ said Snape, ‘are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.’ Harry stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice? . . . ‘He tried to jinx me, in case you didn’t notice!’ fumed Harry. ‘I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn’t he use another guinea pig for a change? What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defence? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff -‘ ‘Well,’ said Hermione, ‘I thought he sounded a bit like you.’ ‘Like me?’ ‘Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorising a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts - well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?’ Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words as well worth memorising as The Standard Book of Spells that he did not argue.

Half-Blood Prince, Ch. 9

There's a direct contrast being drawn from one scene to the next between Harry's perception of Snape and Hermione's less-biased, more critical one. Where Harry hears a "loving caress" for the dark arts in Snape's voice, Hermione hears the passionate, determined explanation that Harry gave a year earlier - one based in a firsthand understanding of what it takes to protect oneself from harm against dark magic.

This is also the first scene in this book where we see Snape teaching a class. The first time he shows up in the book is when he's entrusted by Tonks to deliver Harry safely to the Great Hall from the school gates. So the first encounter with Snape in HBP is as Harry's protector, be it begrudging or not, and the second is one where an immediate parallel is drawn after between him and Harry, Hermione questioning the latter's bias and hinting to the reader that judging him based on Harry's perception may not paint an accurate picture of Snape. Through the rest of the book we see Harry have an increasingly hostile relationship with Snape while developing a great fondness for the Half-Blood Prince, despite it also being Snape, only Harry doesn't know that, so he's able to see his humor and cleverness.

This theme is a dominant one throughout the book, though it doesn't become clear until the end when we find out Snape was the Half-Blood Prince, but by then our impression of the Prince is murky given the unexpectedly violent outcome of Harry trying out Sectumsempra (and it can be argued he's to blame for doing so against another person instead of finding out what the spell does in a safer way), and our impression of Snape is even worse given that he'd just killed Dumbledore. We don't find out until the next book that Snape had been fighting on the same side as Harry the whole time, risking - and eventually losing - his life for the same cause. In retrospect, Rowling (boo, hiss) spends a lot of time in HBP dropping breadcrumbs that Harry's impression of Snape - and thus the reader's - is affected by bias and thus inaccurate.

[artist-issues]

every now and then I play with the exercise of "what if we're wrong" because sometimes I get bored and also as an actual exercise. I usually apply this to Christianity/religion, matters of the after life, or about other people.

So sometimes I poke at the big question, if Christianity isn't real, what does that mean? And I don't usually go the route of atheism or bad sci fi, just that the religion is proven to be fundamentally inaccurate to reality, so what does that mean?

Anyway it wasn't until I was reading a really good sci fi story, where this one dude explains to some aliens the concept of "Love your enemies, do good to those that hurt you" and of course the aliens are like what? (Because in the sci fi narrative the universe is functioning under a Dark Forest Theory) And the dude explains its from one of earth's greatest teachers. And the aliens are like, if the inhabitants of the universe could believe that, this universe would be a different place entirely.

And it was at that point where I realized bro... even if it's not accurate, practicing Christianity is still worth it, for a human being. Loving your enemies means loving them like humans. The Poor, the Meek, and those who mourn, those are promises and comforts that we shouldn't toss aside even if heaven isn't real.

I don't know, this is just a terribly simplistic because I'm not the best at putting my English thoughts into english out loud, but that crack gave me a touch of useful coping. I asked my dad, if aliens are proven to exist it doesn't automatically mean christians stop practicing and believing, right? And he said obviously not.

I don't know but have you ever engaged in such a question " what if we're wrong?" And if you ever have what answer had you arrived at?

EDIT: As @atwas-meme-ing correctly pointed out in the comments section of this post, who cares whether or not I’ve played this game: God answered the question through Paul in his letter to the Corinthians: “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.” 1 Corinthians 5:19.

There’s no “good moral teaching” to be found in Christianity if Christ wasn’t God, or if God didn’t exist, or if eternity weren’t real. My rambling logic is below the cut.

I mean, I play that “game” all the time about other things, and sometimes I do it for work. I’ll take two established characters and a setting me and my friends have agreed on, and I’ll “run a scenario.”

But the thing is, once my brain picks out something that doesn’t make sense, or that wouldn’t be in-character for the characters to do, the whole scenario grinds to a halt and I have to start over. I can’t suspend my own disbelief once I notice that something doesn’t line up. Even if I really liked “where the scene was going” before I noticed that thing. Whatever I’m getting stuck on because of it’s out-of-character nature unravels the parts I like, too.

All that to say I can’t even run a scenario in my head where “what if all this isn’t true? What if it fundamentally doesn’t line up with reality?”

I can’t. Once or twice I have tried. But I hit snags immediately. I’ll go, “pretend all of this Christian religion really is just a centuries-old conspiracy humanity’s been patching up the holes in.”

But then that little simulation-checker in my brain goes, “then how do you explain people dying for it? That many martyrs aren’t likely to have allowed themselves to be tortured and murdered for something they knew was a conspiracy.”

And I go, “well, pretend they died because they didn’t know it was a conspiracy, they believed it.”

And the sim-checker goes, “but the original disciples of Jesus, ground-zero of the faith, were all martyred. Not just people who learned from them and came after them and could’ve been hoodwinked: the starting points, themselves. They would’ve had to know it was a conspiracy, if it was a conspiracy, and they still willingly died for it.”

Maybe I’ll pivot and go, “pretend there isn’t objective truth.”

And the sim-checker goes, “there isn’t truth…objectively?”

Maybe I’ll pivot again and try, “pretend that everyone really does just measure morality based on what they’re used to, what their individual society’s trained them to associate with pleasant feelings and reactions.”

And the sim-checker goes, “Okay, where did those societies get the training manual? Where did it come from? Why do so many different societies’ and people groups’ ‘association with pleasant feelings and reactions’ around the world have so many things in common?”

And the answers to all that leads me back to Christianity. Even if I go the longest way round I can think of.

And eventually I quit running those scenarios. Because guess what?

Where’d the ability to run scenarios come from?

How did I get that? How did you?

See, the thing is, we go, “what if all of this isn’t true?” But it’s right there in the question. “Where did you get that desire? The desire for “truth?”” Is it to keep yourself safe, like the natural animals have an instinct toward, or is it to keep yourself sane, because you need some sense in this life to make it through? Sure. Maybe. But why? What’s “sane?” What’s “safe?” Sanity presupposes order. Why do you, and all humans, naturally lean toward wanting things to be “the way they’re supposed to be?” Where’d that come from, that idea of “supposed to be?” And Safety presupposes good being found in avoiding pain and damage and fear. “Good?” Where’d you get that idea?”

The further you dig, even into your own psyche, the less you can run any scenario that has God absent entirely. And no wonder. He designed it.

One more thing.

“I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: I’m ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don’t accept his claim to be God. That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.” - C.S. Lewis

I used to lean into the idea you’re saying here. “Even if it’s not true, I’m going to live like it is and believe it just in case. Besides, it makes me better, and makes the world better.” That’s not belief at all. That’s ends-justify-the-means thinking. The teachings that Jesus gave which “make the world a better place” are utterly worthless if they’re coming out of the mouth of a liar. Because why should anyone believe Him? Why should anyone “turn the other cheek,” or “do unto others?” Because it makes us “better?” Who gets to define “better?”

The answer, of course, is Jesus does. The One who taught those sayings. But only if He’s God. Only if He was telling the truth. If He wasn’t God, what right has He, to tell us to give away our possessions to others and let them abuse us and give our lives up? If He was a liar, all of those “good teachings” would be tainted and untrustworthy. Besides, like I just said, they’re all only able to be called “good” teachings if you accept that there is one objective, universal “good.” And we’re right back to “where did Good come from?”

All roads lead back there, to Him. But we humans like to do this thing with God where we pretend there could be any reality outside of Him. It sort of makes sense, how we got that way. After all, when was the last time you noticed oxygen? How often during the day do you consciously inhale and exhale? As often as it happens automatically? How often during the day do you notice oxygen touching your skin or moving your hair or drying your eyeballs? As often as those things happen automatically? No. But it’s ever-present. Without it, you couldn’t live, let alone notice anything. But oxygen has always been around and everything in our lives interacts with or can only exist WITH it. God is much more than that, but that’s as close as I can get to communicating: He’s so good, and He’s so constantly there, everything, all the time, that it’s easy for us to take Him for granted, forget Him entirely, then use our two-pound brain matter to say, “He might not exist.” You might as well say, “imagine a world with no matter.” 🙄 “Ohhhh kay. Then it wouldn’t be a world.”