#instead of constant set up & backstory

[swordmaid]

in my hc the noble houses of menzoberranzan operate similarly to the houses in ice and fire where they’re constantly feuding with each other but instead of trying to take the throne/control of the whole realm they’re all fighting for lolth’s favour instead. and because they can’t outright declare war on each other (forgot the reason for why they can’t exactly do that but iirc lolth doesn’t like it?? she loves the drama I guess) and if they rise too quickly lolth casts them down so they have to be cunning about it. not to mention if they stay too long in power and do nothing about it that also displeases the spider queen so the nobility’s game of intrigue is constantly moving and working both for self gain and for self preservation.

shri’iia also plays the game but more of a pawn than a player. she’s not born from any noble house (she’s actually a commoner). the only reason why she has any foot in the game is that she’s taken in by the matriarch of faen tlabbar - one of the houses who fervently worships lolth to the point of zealotry - when they’ve heard word that she—a commoner—have managed to succeed lolth’s trials and gained her blessing. lolth blessings are rare to come and making someone a paladin is even more rare so for a zealot house, that’s a a sign they can’t pass up. so, the house matriarch takes her in and keeps in a tower where she’s supposed to pray and train to lolth day and night. the paladin oath that shri’iia swears is both for lolth and her matriarch; she swears to punish the enemies of her mistresses and forever keep her loyalty to them. her matriarch’s word is an extension to lolth’s will, so to disobey her will be disobeying lolth herself.

and ofc shri’iia being born poor with everything to give and nothing to lose, who thought that there is more to her life than a merchant’s daughter, to be known by the goddess she worship and noticed by one of the most influential houses in the city, swears herself to that oath. she never regretted that choice not even when she’s kept in that tower in complete isolation with her matriarch being the only person she could interact with.

[damienkarras73]

An essay on Furiosa, the politics of the Wasteland, Arthurian literature and realistic vs. formalistic CGI

Mad Max: Fury Road absolutely enraptured me when it came out nearly a decade ago, and I will cop to seeing it four times at the theatre. For me (and many others who saw the light of George Miller) it set new standards for action filmmaking, storytelling and worldbuilding, and I could pop in its Blu Ray at any time and never get tired of it. Perhaps not surprisingly, I was deeply apprehensive about the announced prequel for Fury Road's actual main character, Furiosa, even if Miller was still writing and directing. We didn't need backstory for Furiosa—hell, Fury Road is told in such a way that NOTHING in it requires explicit backstory. And since it focuses on the Yung Furiosa, it meant Charlize Theron couldn't return with another career-defining performance. Plus, look at all that CGI in the trailer, it can't be as good as Fury Road.

Turns out I was silly to doubt George Miller, M.D., A.O., writer and director of Babe: Pig in the City and Happy Feet One & Two.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is excellent, and I needn't have worried about it not being as good as Fury Road because it is not remotely trying to be Fury Road. Fury Road is a lean, mean machine with no fat on it, nothing extraneous, operating with constant forward momentum and only occasionally letting up to let you breathe a little; Furiosa is a classical epic, sprawling in scope, scale and structure, and more than happy to let the audience simmer in a quiet, almost painfully still moment. If its opening spoken word sequence by that Gandalf of the Wastes himself, the First History Man, didn't already clue you in, it unfolds like something out of myth, a tale told over and over again and whose possible embellishments are called attention to in the dialogue itself. Where Fury Road scratched the action nerd itch in my head like you wouldn't believe, Furiosa was the equivalent of Miller giving the undulating folds of my English major brain a deep tissue massage. That's great! I, for one, love when sequels/prequels endeavour to be fundamentally different movies from what they're succeeding/preceding, operating in different modes, formats and even genres, and more filmmakers should aim for it when building on an existing series.

This movie has been on my mind so much in the past week that I've ended up dedicating several cognitive processes to keeping track of all of the different ponderings it's spawned. Thankfully, Furiosa is divided into chapters (fun fact: putting chapter cards in your movie is a quick way to my heart), so it only seems fitting that I break up all of these cascading thoughts accordingly.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility

Furiosa herself actually isn't the protagonist for the first chapter of her own movie, instead occupying the role of a (very crafty and resourceful) damsel in distress for those initial 30-40 minutes. The real hero of the opening act, which plays out like a game of cat and mouse, is Furiosa's mother Mary Jabassa, who rides out into the wasteland first on horseback and then astride a motorcycle to track down the band of raiders that has stolen away her daughter. Mary's brought to life by Miller and Nico Lathouris' economical writing and a magnetic performance by newcomer Charlee Fraser, who radiates so much screen presence in such relatively little time and with one of those instant "who is SHE??" faces. She doesn't have many lines, but who needs them when Fraser can convey volumes about Mary with just a flash of her eyes or the effortless way she swaps out one of her motorcycle's wheels for another. To be quite candid, I'm not sure of the last time I fell in love with a character so quickly.

You notice a neat aesthetic contrast between mother and daughter in retrospect: Mary Jabassa darts into the desert barefoot, clad in a simple yet elegant dress, her wolf cut immaculate, only briefly disguising herself with the ugly armour of a raider she just sniped, and when she attacks it's almost with grace, like some Greek goddess set loose in the post-apocalyptic Aussie outback with just her wits and a bolt-action rifle; we track Furiosa's growth over the years by how much of her initially conventional beauty she has shed, quite literally in one case (hair buzzed, severed arm augmented with a chunky mechanical prosthesis, smeared in grease and dirt from head to toe, growling her lines at a lower octave), and by how she loses her mother's graceful approach to movement and violence, eventually carrying herself like a blunt instrument. Yet I have zero doubt the former raised the latter, both angels of different feathers but with the same steel and resolve. Of fucking course this woman is Furiosa's mother, and in the short time we know her we quickly understand exactly why Furiosa has the drive and morals she does without needing to resort to didactic exposition.

Anyway, I was tearing up by the end of the first chapter. Great start!

2. Lessons from the Wasteland

Most movies—most stories, really—don't actually tell the entire narrative from A to Z. Perhaps the real meat of the thing is found from H to T, and A-G or U-Z are unnecessary for conveying the key narrative and themes. So many prequels fail by insisting on telling the A-G part of the story, explaining how the hero earned a certain nickname or met their memorable sidekick—but if that stuff was actually interesting, they likely would have included it in the original work. The greatest thing a prequel can actually do is recontextualize, putting iconic characters or moments in a new light, allowing you to appreciate them from a different angle. All of season 2 of Fargo serves to explain why Molly Solverson's dad is appropriately wary when Lorne Malvo enters his diner for a SINGLE SCENE in the show's first season. David's arc from the Alien prequels Prometheus and Covenant—polarizing as those entries are—adds another layer to why Ash is so protective of the creature in the first movie. Andor gives you a sense of what it's like for a normal, non-Jedi person to live under the boot of the Empire and why so many of them would join up with the Rebel Alliance—or why they would desire to wear that boot, or even just crave the chance to lick it.

Furiosa is one of those rare great prequels because it makes us take a step back and consider the established world with a little more nuance, even if it's still all so absurd. In Fury Road, Immortan Joe is an awesome, endlessly quotable villain, completely irredeemable, and basically a cartoon. He works perfectly as the antagonist of that breakneck, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote-ass movie, but if you step outside of its adrenaline-pumping narrative for even a moment you risk questioning why nobody in the Citadel or its surrounding settlements has risen up against him before. Hell, why would Furiosa even work for him to begin with? But then you see Dementus and company tear-assing around the wasteland, seizing settlements and running them into the ground, and you realize Joe and his consortium offer something that Dementus reasonably can't: stability—granted, an unwavering, unchangeable stability weighted in favour of Joe's own brutal caste system, but stability nonetheless. It really makes you wonder, how badly does a guy have to suck to make IMMORTAN JOE of all people look like a sane, competent and reasonable ruler by comparison?!?

…and then they open the door to the vault where he keeps his wives, and in a flash you're reminded just how awful Joe is and why Furiosa will risk her life to help some of these women flee from him years later. This new context enriches Joe and makes it more believable that he could maintain power for so long, but it doesn't make him any less of a monster, and it says a lot about Furiosa's hate for Dementus that she could grit her teeth and work for this sick old tyrant.

3. The Stowaway

Here's another wild bit of trivia about this movie: you don't actually see top-billed actress Anya Taylor-Joy pop up on screen until roughly halfway through, once Furiosa is in her late teens/early twenties. Up until this point she's been played by Alyla Browne, who through the use of some seamless and honestly really impressive CGI has been given Anya's distinctive bug eyes [complimentary]. It's one of those bold choices that really works because Miller commits to it so hard, though it does make me wish Browne's name was up on the poster next to Taylor-Joy's.

Speaking of CGI, I should talk about what seems to be a sticking point for quite a few people: if there's been one consistent criticism of Furiosa so far, it's that it doesn't look nearly as practical or grounded as Fury Road, with more obvious greenscreen and compositing, and what previously would've been physical stunt performers and pyrotechnics have been replaced with their digital equivalents for many shots. Simply put, it doesn't look as real! For a lot of people, that practicality was one of Fury Road's primary draws, so I won't try to quibble if they're let down by Furiosa's overt artificiality, but to be honest I'm actually quite fine with it. It helps that this visual discrepancy doesn't sneak up on you but is incredibly apparent right from the aerial zoom-down into Australia in the very first scene, so I didn't feel misled or duped.

Fury Road never asks you to suspend your disbelief because it all looks so believable; Furiosa jovially prods you to suspend that disbelief from the get-go and tune into it on a different wavelength. It's a classical epic, and like the classical epics of the 1950s and 60s it has a lot of actors standing in front of what clearly are matte paintings. It feels right! We're not watching fact, we're watching myth. I'm willing to concede there might be a little bit of post-hoc rationalization on my part because I simply love this movie so much, but I'm not holding the effects in Furiosa to the same standard as those in Fury Road because I simply don't believe Miller and his crew are attempting to replicate that approach. Without the extensive CGI, we don't get that impressive long, panning take where a stranded Furiosa scans the empty, dust-and-sun-scoured wasteland (75% Sergio Leone, 25% Andrei Tarkovsky), or the Octoboss and his parasailing goons. For the sake of intellectual exercise I did try imagining them filming the Octoboss/war rig sequence with the same immersive practical approach they used for Fury Road's stunts, however I just kept picturing dead stunt performers, so perhaps the tradeoff was worth it!

4. Homeward

Around the same time we meet the Taylor-Joy-pilled Furiosa in Chapter 3, we're introduced to Praetorian Jack, the chief driver for the convoys running between the Citadel and its allied settlements. Jack's played by Tom Burke, who pulled off a very good Orson Welles in Mank! and who I should really check out in The Souvenir one of these days. He's also a cool dude! Here are some facts about Praetorian Jack:

He's decked out in road leathers with a pauldron stitched to one shoulder

He's stoic and wary, but still more or less personable and can carry on a conversation

Professes to a certain cynicism, to quote Special Agent Albert Rosenfield, but ultimately has a capacity for kindness and will do the right thing

Shoots a gun real good

Can drive like nobody's business

So in other words, Jack is Mad Max. But also, no, he clearly isn't! He looks and dresses like Mad Max (particularly Mel Gibson's) and does a lot of the same things "Mad" Max Rockatansky does, but he's also very explicitly a distinct character. It's a choice that seems inexplicable and perhaps even lazy on its face, except this is a George Miller movie, so of course this parallel is extremely purposeful. Miller has gone on record saying he avoids any kind of strict chronology or continuity for his Mad Max movies, compared to the rigid canons for Star Trek and Star Wars, and bless him for doing so. It's more fun viewing each Mad Max entry as a new revision or elaboration on a story being told again and again generations after the fall, mutating in style, structure and focus with every iteration, becoming less grounded as its core narrative is passed from elder to youth, community to community, genre to genre, until it becomes myth. (At least, my English major brain thinks it's more fun.) In fact there's actually something Arthurian to it, where at first King Arthur was mentioned in several Welsh legends before Geoffrey of Monmouth crafted an actual narrative around him, then Chrétien de Troyes added elements like Lancelot and infused the stories with more romance, and then with Le Morte d'Arthur Thomas Malory whipped the whole cycle together into one volume, which T.H. White would chop and screw and deconstruct with The Once and Future King centuries later.

All this to say: maybe Praetorian Jack looks and sounds and acts like Max because he sorta kinda basically is, being just one of many men driving back and forth across the wasteland, lending a hand on occasion, who'll be conflated into a single, legendary "Mad Max" at some point down the line in a different History Man's retelling of Furiosa's odyssey. Sometimes that Max rips across the desert in his V8 Interceptor, other times driving a big rig. Perhaps there's a dog tagging along and/or a scraggly and at first aggravating ally played by Bruce Spence or Nicholas Hoult. Usually he has a shotgun. But so long as you aren't trying to kill him, he'll help you out.

5. Beyond Vengeance

The Mad Max movies have incredibly iconic villains—Immortan Joe! Toecutter! the Lord Humongous!—but they are exactly that, capital V Villains devoid of humanizing qualities who you can't wait to watch bad things happen to. Furiosa appears to continue this trend by giving us a villain who in fact has a mustache long enough that he could reasonably twirl it if he so wanted, but ironically Dementus ends up being the most layered antagonist in the entire series, even moreso than the late Tina Turner's comparatively benevolent Aunty Entity from Beyond Thunderdome. And because he's played by Chris Hemsworth, whose comedic delivery rivals his stupidly handsome looks, you lock in every time he's on screen.

Something so fascinating about Dementus is that, for a main antagonist, he's NOT all-powerful, and in fact quite the opposite: he's more conman than warlord, looking for the next hustle, the next gullible crowd he can preach to and dupe—though never for long. For all his bluster, at every turn he finds himself in way over his head and writing cheques he can't cash, and this self-induced Sisyphean torment makes him riveting to watch. You're tempted to pity Dementus but it's also quite difficult to spare sympathy for someone who's so quick to channel their rage and hurt and ego into thoughtless, burn-it-all-down destruction. When you're not laughing at him, you're hating his guts, and it's indisputably the best work of Chris Hemsworth's career.

It's in this final chapter that everything naturally comes to a head: Furiosa's final evolution into the character we meet at the start of Fury Road, the predictable toppling of Dementus' precariously built house of cards, and the mythmaking that has been teased since the very first scene becoming diagetic text, the last of which allows the movie to thoroughly explore the themes of vengeance it's been building to. A brief war begins, is summarized and is over in the span of roughly a minute, and on its face it's a baffling narrative choice that most other filmmakers would have botched. But our man Miller's smart enough to recognize that the result of this war is the most foregone of conclusions if you've been paying even the slightest bit of attention, so he effectively brushes past it to get to the emotional heart of the climax and an incredible "Oh shit!" payoff that cements Miller as one of mainstream cinema's greatest sickos.

Fury Road remains the greatest Mad Max film, but Furiosa might be the best thing George Miller has ever made. If not his magnum opus, it does at least feel like his dissertation, and it makes me wish Warner Bros. puts enough trust in him despite Furiosa's poor box office performance that he's able to make The Wasteland. Absolutely ridiculous that a man just short of his 80th birthday was able to pull this off, and with it I feel confident calling him one of my favourite directors.

[guiltyasdave]

just close your eyes

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, implied death of a character, the angst is ANGSTING in this one

a/n: once again, i can't thank that jackson joel pedro photo enough for the inspiration that it's brought me. i hurt my own feelings with this chapter, and truth be told, it's gonna get worse from here.

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Over the following days, something of a routine forms between the three of you. 

Joel spends most of his time resting, asleep more often than not, the shape of him on your couch a picture that you grow familiar with. But as his fever goes down and the skin around his injury is less red than when you first laid eyes on it, you allow yourself the tentative hope that you might have been able to actually save him. 

You’re becoming less skittish around him, getting used to his rather gruff demeanor, slowly realizing that what Ellie said was indeed true, it’s not about you. You come to think he just doesn’t like needing and accepting help.

Ellie follows you around like a puppy, eager to soak up every scrap of knowledge that you can share with her. It’s not much, you think, mostly cooking, the task of turning supplies into various meals, given the limited resources that you have in this world. You like having her around, the almost constant stream of chatter and questions never annoying you.

It fills your usual silence, helps keeping you grounded in the present. Most of the time.

Now that you have company, it becomes painfully obvious to you how much time you spend in your head, just sitting and staring straight ahead, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the time passing. You have taken to having a book open in your lap, to make it seem like you’re reading, but you find yourself looking down at the page without seeing it, not sure when you last turned it. 

It’s not what they would have wanted, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake yourself out of it. Well, it’s not like anything happened the way we wanted, the bitter voice in your head answers.

If Ellie or Joel notice, they don’t ask about it. You hear their voices in the night sometimes, both of them sleeping in your parents’ bedroom now, since the couch was starting to hurt Joel’s back. 

You don’t lock your door anymore, leaving it ajar, just like them. The thought of someone else being down here with you is soothing you, the fear of them being a possible threat basically nonexistent at this point. Instead, a different kind of fear sets in. 

They haven’t talked about where they are going, but you know that they’re not gonna stay forever. Once Joel is completely healed, and winter has given way to spring, they’ll most likely be off again, leaving you on your own again. You don’t want to grow attached, but it’s difficult not to, while being with other constantly. 

You and Joel are taking longer to warm up to each other than you and Ellie have, but you’ve gotten used to having him around you. It’s a quiet, but trustworthy, reassuring thing, his presence in your space. Now that he’s healing, he’s someone who you trust to take responsibility, to take care of things if needed. You’re not sure how you know, but you’re certain that he is.

One evening, Ellie finds the DVD collection that’s stashed away in the cabinet under the small TV in the corner of the room. You hadn’t watched anything in forever, not sure if it’s even still working, but her enthusiasm makes it impossible to turn her down. 

Even Joel pipes up at the prospect of a movie night, crouching down next to her to sift through the DVDs. They’re both drawn to the shitty action movies – usually not your preferred taste, but you find the corners of your mouth lifting when they both turn around simultaneously, looking for your approval of their choice. 

Joel pushes himself back up with a grunt, pressing the button on the TV and making it spring to life without issue. You settle deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a knitted blanket over yourself as you watch the opening credits play. 

It’s so comfortable, so normal, and you want to get lost in the feeling in a way that makes your heart ache. Ellie sits down beside you to share the blanket while Joel stretches his legs out on the other couch. A smile is tugging at his lips when he catches you looking at him, but it can’t hide the wariness in his eyes, mirroring your own. It’s the feeling of things being too good to be true, the fear of nothing good ever lasting, of the world crashing down around you again, that always accompanies you, and without asking, you know that he feels it too. You cast your eyes back to the screen, trying hard not to get yourself lost in the fear, but to enjoy the moments of peace while they last. 

Ellie loves the movie, her eyes wide at every action-packed sequence, gasping at every explosion. At one of the more absurd scenes, you can’t contain the burst of laughter that bubbles up your throat. You’re unexpectedly joined by the deeper rumble of Joel’s, a sound that you haven’t heard before. 

You glance at him, to find his eyes already on you, an emotion in them that you can’t place. Neither of you say a word, both quietly returning your eyes to the TV. 

When you’re lying in bed later that night, you still feel the smile on your face. 

While your closeness with Ellie came quickly, almost taking you by storm, it’s a quiet, slowly growing thing with Joel. 

It begins with him lingering in the kitchen when you’re preparing the morning coffee, asking you questions about the place, about keeping supplies, electricity, the safety measures. He helps you with cooking, grumbling about giving something back when you protest. 

He’s gruff, no comparison to Ellie’s lively chatter and endless questions, and it makes you nervous at first. But you get used to him, his more quiet demeanor, his dry humor. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to scare you again, avoiding sudden movements or getting loud, and while you appreciate it, you also can’t help but wonder how broken you must seem from the outside. 

He doesn’t ask prying questions about your past, how you’ve come to live here all alone, though you have to imagine that he’s curious. You don’t ask him about his either, even if you do wonder how he and Ellie ended up together. It’s a quiet mutual understanding and you’re grateful for it. 

You have to believe that he had his fair share of loss in his own life, that the both of them had; an inescapable reality at this point in the world’s history.

It’s like a silent camaraderie when he catches your eye as Ellie is reading out puns to the both of you once more, rolls his eyes in a way that still holds so much love for the girl next to you, but that fills you with the urge to giggle. It stops you in your tracks the first time it happens, the sensation so unfamiliar to you that you can’t place it for a second. 

When you smile at him, the corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly as well, before he huffs an exaggerated sigh at the joke that you just heard. It riles Ellie up, just like he wanted to, you suspect. But you block out her bickering at him, busy with your own thoughts. One thought in particular, one that you haven’t had about anyone since you were a teenager. 

Joel is kind of pretty when he smiles.

The both of them have also taken to working their way through the bookshelf that’s taking up most of one of the walls. It’s mostly guidebooks on hunting, gardening, self defense, anything that your father deemed possibly useful. Over time, you had added books from your old bedroom, the one upstairs, that you had hastily carried down the stairs, hoping for the familiar words to give you a sense of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal anymore. 

Joel sometimes talks to you about them, asking your opinion on which ones to read, discussing their contents with you. Over time, you realize that he does it when you’re zoning out, pulling you back into reality with the drawl of his low voice next to you. You’re thankful for it, not used to being cared for like this, but also mortified that as it seems, he does notice when you’re too deep inside your head.

It’s one of those afternoons, you’re just about to start preparing dinner, when Ellie asks if you have more books somewhere, about something cool. “Like what?” you reply, an easy smile on your face. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “like comics, maybe? Ohh, or something about space?” 

It takes a moment before the words register, before they form a picture in your mind, the memory of exactly what she’s asking for. You stop in your tracks, frozen on your way to the kitchen. Your toes dig into the carpet beneath your bare feet. A faint trembling starts in your hands and slowly spreads through your body. 

Ellie says your name, an edge in her voice. You’re not sure what your face looks like. 

Your wide eyes find hers, looking up at you from where she was spread out on the floor, her hair splaying out over the scratchy rug, one of your books held over her head. You had joked about how that position couldn’t be comfortable a few minutes ago. 

You see Joel from the corner of your eye, slowly raising to his feet from the couch cushions. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re sucking in air but it doesn’t reach your lungs. 

A large, warm hand lands on your shoulder, making you jump. Joel rubs soothing circles over your back, your name a low rumble on his lips. 

“It’s– it’s not a problem if not,” Ellie murmurs, sitting up slowly, her eyes flicking between you and Joel, uncertainty written over her features. 

You force a shuddering breath in, using the sensation of Joel’s hand splayed over your back to ground yourself. Nodding your head, you will your voice to travel up your throat. 

“Yeah no, I– just a second.” 

Joel repeats your name, more questioning this time, but you ignore it, feet carrying you into the bathroom where you quickly shut the door behind you. Skin stretching over your knuckles, you stand over the sink, gripping its edges to stay upright. 

It’s what he would have wanted. He would have been so happy to share them. It’s true, you know what. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. Going in there yourself, crossing the threshold of a room that you haven’t entered in years, haven’t even opened the door to, or letting someone else do it, let them disturb the memory of a reality that you’ve tried to preserve in there. Too painful to touch, but too important to let go of. 

Steeling yourself, you return to the living area. Ellie and Joel are sitting close to each other, both of their heads flying up at the door opening. It’s obvious that they have been talking about you. You bite your lip. 

Ellie rises to her feet slowly, takes a tentative step toward you. “Listen, it’s not that important really–” She sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice not to betray you. With a deep breath, you cross the room to the door beside yours. One of two that you keep firmly closed. 

It creaks on its hinges when you open it slowly, your hand shaking on the handle. You try not to look around, to keep your eyes closed to the truth that nothing changed in here, and yet everything changed. It’s stuffy, stagnant air that’s been untouched for too long, but it smells like him. Like he’s still here with you. 

You don’t see the unmade bed, still carrying the trace of the last time he got up, the stuffed lion beside the pillow. Don’t see the half finished drawings on the desk, or the mess of action figures in the corner. You grab the stack of comics from the nightstand, ignoring the way your vision blurs at the edges. Move on to the shelf, smaller than the one in the living room, blindly picking out random books. 

When you step out of the bedroom, quickly pulling the door shut behind you again, neither Joel or Ellie have moved. You can’t meet either one’s gaze, don’t want to see the expression in their eyes.

Ellie takes the stack of books from your outstretched hands, murmuring a thanks, and you sense that there are more words on the tip of her tongue. Questions, apologies, you don’t know and you don’t want to. 

Turning on your heels, you escape into your own room, closing the door as quickly as you can before you collapse on your bed. Tears flood your eyes in time with the memories flooding your head, threatening to pull you under and drown you under their waves. 

You hear their muffled voices through the door, but neither of them comes to disturb you. You’re thankful for it, not needing anyone to witness you in this state. Eventually, you drift off into sleep, your mind gladly giving way to unconsciousness.

The following night is the first time that Joel has to shake you awake from a nightmare.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

[fraugwinska]

Could you do a backstory to Hard Day? Like, how Al decided to give up control, and the first time it happened 🥺🙏

Ummm... well, I may have gotten myself a bit lost in this one :D Idk, It's gotten quite out of hand, 2,5 k words... but...um yeah :D Praying you like it :> Attention - we cook with Chili, not salt today! (MDNI)

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The hardest Day

„That's so unrealistic! I mean, in what world would a lion eat bugs instead of the fucking fat juicy PIG?!“

„It's a kids movie, asshole, shut up!“

The gang was sprawled out in front of the TV, blankets and popcorn everywhere. Charlie got her hands on a rare copy of 'The Lion King', and invited everyone to a 'nice, unproblematic, quiet' movie night. She didn't account for Angel's constant commentary, Husk's annoyed retorts to him or Niffty's gleeful giggling at the most unfitting scenes. Vaggie, frustrated by them, started adding to the chaos, sending scolding remarks in intervals at either of them, while Charlie tried to mediate in between songs – which she always sang along with.

You, however, were highly entertained – even though you didn't catch anything from the movie, just watching them was amusing enough. The only one missing was Alastor, who had 'business to attend' and was gone since breakfast ended.

He would've hated it anyway, you knew he had no interest in movies, let alone modern ones, and group activities like these were often straining on his patience. Although getting in the hotel last, you were the one who grew the closest to him. Why? You couldn't say definitively. Maybe it was because you never took his veiled jabs by heart. Maybe because you didn't treat him the way the others wanted you to – with care, with ignorance, with suspicion; but instead with respect, an open mind and without judgment. Maybe it was because you could challenge him – discussions about books you both read could last hours, with points given to either side equally – no winner, no loser, both richer.

You liked Alastor. Really liked him. You also had a silly, little crush on him, for a while now, but you kept that to yourself, nothing going further than a few flirtatious moments 'in good fun', calling each other 'doe' and 'buck' with a laugh. A joke between friends. Friendship, you decided, was enough for you, if it was for him.

The entrance doors slammed suddenly, making you all jump in your seats. Alastor stood at the door, looking... different. Stressed? You cocked a brow when you saw his eye twitch, while he sauntered over to the group.

„Al, do you want to join us? We're watching a movie!“, Charlie said absent-mindedly, her eyes glued to the scene of 'Can you feel the love tonight'.

Alastor gave the TV set a judgmental smile and waved his hand. „Tempting, but it has been a rather hard day, I'll just take a drink and retreat to my room, dear.“ He left the group and went to the bar, your pair of eyes the only one following him. Something was NOT right. His smile was tight, his eyes wider than usual, his movements almost jagged instead of fluid. Niffty had jumped to the bar too, insisting on helping Alastor by retrieving a glass for his whiskey from one the higher shelves. In her eagerness to climb and get it, she didn't watch her steps careful enough, resulting in a few delicate wine glasses sliding from the shelfves and breaking into a hundred tiny pieces. Alastor's reaction was as unexpected as it was worrying – he always had a soft spot for Niffty, laughing over her antics and chaotic energy, often encouraging her even to produce more mayhem. This time, however, he started to scold the maid, who blinked at him with a big, guilty eye and trembling lips.

„Such indignation, really Niffty. Clean the shards at once, and try not to remain to be such a clumsy clot.“, he almost hissed, grabbing the bottle and a simple crystal glass before striding away hastily. Your eyes followed his figure until he turned the corner to the staircase, then you got up and comforted the little demon, helping her sweeping up the glass pieces while she sniffeled tears away.

You let your gaze swipe over the group, completely ignorant about what happened with Niffty, and Alastor. Ignorant of the blatantly obvious bad mood of the deer demon.

Turning to Charlie, you whispered to her that you had a headache and would be going to bed, to which she just nodded. No one acknowledged your leave, all eyes on the screen and still bickering noisily. A bunch of friends, you are, you thought annoyed with a shaking head.

Three flights of stairs later, you reached Alastor's room. You pressed your ear to the door, and heard dull bangs, like something was thrown, and a muffled voice. You knocked, and the room instantly stilled.

„Alastor, it's me.“, you said loudly, brows furrowed. „Are you okay?“

A few seconds of silence. „I'm just fine and dandy my dear.“

You put one hand on the door. He normally would open it, to speak with you directly, face uncomfortably close to face, just the way he liked it. But it stayed close.

„You didn't look fine.“, you stated. You were ever so stubborn.

„Well, I am fine. Now shoo, darling, good night.“

You stood in front of the wooden divider, contemplating. You could just go. Leave him be, wait until tomorrow. See if he would talk to you then. But then, there was your gut. And it told you Alastor wasn't well. And that just didn't sit right with you.

„Alastor. Please, let me in.“

No response, just hint of the prickling feeling of static electricity on your skin.

„I know something is bothering you, and I'm worried.“

No response. You breathe in and out.

„I'm not going anywhere until you open the...“

The door flew open, a hand wrapped around your arm and pulled you into the room, violently. You stumbled and fell against a bookshelf, catching the fall with your hands to keep you upright. You heard a slam and a click – door closed, door locked. The static was everywhere now, flushing in waves over your body. You turned around -

Alastor was pacing like a wounded animal, he seemed fluffed up, as if every hair on his body had decided to stand up. His scleras were dark pits, blackest black, and in it his irises burned angrily in crimson flames, now focusing solely on you. The prey.

„So you came to test my patience too, dear?“, he snarled, his voice so distorted it ached in your ears. „It's not enough that that waste of cables destroyed two of my radio towers. Not enough that dozens of my most profitable souls have been rendered useless by an angelic bomb. Not enough that I not only had to put the disgraceful flat screened wretch back in his place, but also his vulgar boy toy and their brazen, attention-seeking brat.“

He grew in size as he ranted, you watched him reaching the ceiling, antlers scraping along the walls. „I manage my weakening territories, manage these imbeciles who think they can play overlords, I manage this sad excuse of a hotel, I manage the princess's unattainable ideas, and now, I also need to manage you, too, of all people? What a disappointm...“

„Stop.“

You held up a hand. Alastor growled, fluffing up even more, limbs cracking and static popping. „How dare y...“

„Stop.“, you said again. Your tone was calm, void of anger, or fear, neutral and steady. He stared at you, and you held his gaze. „Breathe, Alastor.“

You saw him fighting with himself. He fought against his instinct to oppose, to command, to put you into your place, to rip you apart. His elongated claws scraped over the floor, ripping deep ridges in the wood.

„Breathe.“, you repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, gradually, Alastor shrunk. Breathed. Crumbled. Until he was back to his usual size and form, only with an exhausted expression.

You studied him – you've never seen him like that. He never allowed anyone to see him as something other than 'the radio demon': Powerful, unshakeable, quick on his feet and always one step ahead. How exhausting it must be. To always have the control also meant to always carry responsibility, to always fear impending failure.

Your heart whispered to you, and you followed it's advice. It could be the most stupid thing you could do, but you decided to do it anyway.

„Come here, Alastor.“

He looked at you, unsure, suspicious. You sounded commanding, but not harsh. Inviting. Like a hand, reached out to someone trapped. For a moment, you almost thought you ruined everything – his eyes left yours, they fell to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

But then – steps. Coming closer. Stopping right in front of you. And suddenly..

His head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck. His voice in your ear.

„Sometimes I'm so sick of it all. Sick of maneuvering, sick of ruling, governing, planning...“

You touched his neck, he let you, caressing the soft skin, heated from his outburst, trembling slightly at the contact. It was intimate, baring this vulnerable part to you. You heart broke for him.

He pulled himself away from you, searching for your eyes. Finding them again, he took your hand, bringing it up to his face, guiding your fingers over his lips. He just said one word.

„Please.“

So much was said with this please. You heard every message. Giving up control, just for a bit, just with something he didn't care enough about to insist on ruling, could be a small bit of freedom. Letting himself be guided instead of leading.

“Kneel down, Alastor.”

His ears pressed flat against his head, but he did as he was told. He couldn't look you in the eyes. For once, you were the one towering over him. You took his face in your hands, pulling it so he looked up to you, seeing your warm smile before your lips met his.

His breath hitched, stuck somewhere in his throat.

You slid one hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the other caressing his cheek as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss. Slowly, the rigidity melted away, he started to shift, lips no longer stiff but soft and molding against your own.

He tried to stand up, but you pushed him down, gently, definitively.

“Trust me to guide you, buck.”

He breathed, one, two, three times, eyes closed, grin tight.

“Yes, doe.”

Your own excitement took a back seat. You were filled with pure energy at the thought of crossing the line with him, having Alastor in a way you only dreamed about, convinced your relationship would never come this far. But. But this was not about you, for now. Maybe, another time. If another time ever came.

You lowered yourself on him, straddling him, so you were still 'taller', and rejoined your lips. You took his hands and set them on your hips, let them rest there while you buried yours in his hair, tugging lightly to bend his head back. His initial resistance lessened, and he gave in, exposing his throat, gray skin peeking out of his high collar. You let your mouth travel to his jawline, down to the small patch of delicate, thin skin, right next to his jugular. You felt him tense, felt his rising urge to protect himself from your potential strike. You let out a soft hum as you started to lick it, sucking gently, just a bit, just to make him shiver at the sensation. And how he did.

A moan, low and sweet like the strumming of a cello, escaped him, his hands crushing your hips by the force of his grip. It hurt, but you decided to ignore it. Little steps.

“Can you take more, good boy?”

His eyes snapped open, burning furiously. You met them with calmness, with a soft matter-of-fact-ness. Not smug, not mocking. A question. Proceed or Stop?

Alastor swallowed hot saliva. You could see he was getting overwhelmed, overstimulated, and yet, he had such a longing in his eyes, such desperation.

“Yes.”

One simple word. One spark, setting your body on fire. You tried to force your trembling fingers to steady, lifting yourself slightly off him to open his trousers. With every button, his breaths grew heavier, his grip on your legs grew tighter, claws already digging in your skin and drawing blood.

“Careful, buck. I'll need these in a moment.”, you said, placing both hands on his chest, pushing him flat on his back on the ground. He let you go, arms falling useless next to him.

You leaned forward, thanking any deity that would listen you decided to wear a skirt today, and placed a hand on his growing bulge. He hissed at the touch, cracking the floor as his fingers clawed into the wood of the floor instead your fleshy legs.

Freed from it's cage, Alastor's dick was already dripping with beads of precum, a sight to behold. You wrapped your fingers around it, feeling the warmth and bloodflow, it twitched in your hand. You stroke him, eliciting the most sinful noises from the demon under you.

You took a deep breath. One more, one question more, to make sure that he wanted it.

“Look at me, Alastor.”

He sat up on his elbows, looking more helpless than you've ever imagined he could. Even his smile wavered, threatening to break. You were looking for any signs of hesitation, disgust, resistance, regret. You only found desire. A want, a need, almost pleading eyes.

Your free hand pushed your panty away, enough to expose your lips, and you lowered yourself onto him, his length slowly entering you. He was big, you were tight. A bittersweet combination. Sparks flew before your eyes as he stretched you, but you were hypnotized by his eyes.

They were blown wide, returned to black, but the irises now flickering into dials, turning, left to right as he groaned. You moved, guiding your hips up and down, feeling yourself molding to his shape in the most delectable way, and getting drunk off the look on his face.

You increased the pace on which you pushed yourself on him, adding a little tilt of your hips to take him even deeper. His voice was reduced to a static-y mess, hums and groans and moans bleeding into each other. You placed both of your hands on his chest for more support, inevitably pinning him down. His hands flew to yours, threatening to push them off him, but instead, he entwined his fingers with yours, panting heavily.

It didn't take long for him to feel the pressure, unbearable and urgent, his release approaching at godspeed.

“Doe, I can't...”

Panic in his tone. He tried to put his hands on your waist to pull you off. You understood immediately – an upbringing in conservative times, decades of living by the rules of a gentleman, he was resisting against the thought of cumming inside you. You pushed his hands away.

“Yes, you can.”, you stated, smiling at him, a hint of wickedness in your eyes. “And you will.”

Your skilled movements and dedicated demeanor sent him over the edge immediately. Protests were futile as he came in you forcefully, you felt his cock pumping his seed deep into you, hot and thick as you rocked him through his orgasm. Your own high wasn't worth chasing, too far away to matter. You didn't even think about it – nothing could feel better than this.

Alastor ran his hands over his forehead, sweeping away beads of sweat as his breath calmed down.

His hand shot out to grab you, and, still impaled by him, he pulled you into his chest, invading your mouth with his tongue to kiss you possessively. As if to transfer the command, the control he had given up, back to him. Taking it from you.

For a moment you were scared. The positions had reset to their default. Would that mean he'd push you off? Say goodnight and never talk about this night again? Returning to the Status Quo. Friends, the end.

Alastor pulled your chin up to look at you. His thumb ran over your cheek, tenderly and full of care. His eyes answered every question in your mind. You weren't scared anymore.

[utilitycaster]

Whenever people are like "well LIAM'S characters never faced any backlash when HE played characters in the spotlight" and "no one will let WOMEN have negative qualities" when Caleb and Vax and Orym have received pretty constant hate for main character/sadboy/scene stealing and when meta writers outright stopped talking about Imogen because a particularly mindless set of hit dogs are still hollering about how she is so good and kind and how dare you call her selfish, it's really like...in the service of trying to make your failure of a point you've just said something that literally anyone with a memory lasting longer than the apocryphal goldfish length can immediately debunk, which in turn absolutely shreds your credibility going forward, if you had it.

More generally there's something very vile here, because on the surface this statement does look like an attempt, if one ignorant of pretty much any fandom conversation, to defend women. The thing is it's come from a place of defending Dorian and Ashton's plan - a man, and a nb person who would not identify as a woman - that requires a particularly great deal of sacrifice from the women of the party. So of course they just switch tactics. Instead of "how dare the fandom not think women are always best" it's "how dare the fandom disrespect a disabled nb person and a person played by an indigenous actor." And I'm sure they'll switch again. Because pretty much every character in this campaign is on some axis of oppression, and there's a few people in this fandom who, instead of considering these things as important details that inform these characters, seem to largely treat their minority statuses as ammunition. Feminism and antiracism and queer advocacy are all just part of a shell game to them - accuse everyone who disagrees with them of being a bigot, say that their opinions are inviolate because they match that of literally any character who isn't a cis het white man, of which Bells Hells has none. Unsurprisingly, it's that social media purity culture that's just the evangelical church with a gay hat: they are always the victim, and everyone who disagrees is the devil, and being a good person always happens to line up with what you already wanted.

There are several posts from the past day or so accusing people of liking Campaign 3 less than the two previous ones which refused to accept that this might be due to the hurry-up-and-receive-an-infodump pacing, the singular focus without much time spent on backstory, the gaps in party composition, and the fact that the plot manages to combine the weakest elements of each campaign - the fetch quest/NPC guidance heavy nature of C1, and the meandering/slow start of C2. No, it must be the awful, sinful fandom unable to handle the lack of a major M/M ship (false; Dorian and Orym aren't canon, but neither were Vax and Gilmore, and the latter was sunk far sooner) and the fact that a female character is at the center of the story (see above re: how hostile the same people making these accusations have been to anyone who actually wants to discuss Imogen in a way that doesn't fit their specifications). Just to repeat this: many fans have outlined a number of purely narrative and structural reasons why C3 isn't working for them. These people have assumed this is all a lie, because assuming otherwise that would require either addressing these critiques, which in turn would require admitting other people can have valid opinions that oppose their own without being horrible bigots - in favor of throwing out whatever random accusations they think might stick. It doesn't matter what's actually being said; they're not actually listening, and for all they might talk about fans of color they sure all seem to be white; for all they talk about misogyny and queerphobia they sure won't hesitate to immediately assume the worst of queer people and women who say things they don't like. And rarely do they address any of the actual ongoing bigotry that does exist in the fandom; it's all random accusations because you agreed with the white woman instead of the brown man or vice versa; or it's the constant dredging of years past discourse that, as the first paragraph indicates, they will then ignore whenever convenient.

These are all pretty transparent signs of a bad faith actor spreading misinformation. To be clear I don't think this is any kind of conspiracy or has any organization to it. I think it's a just handful of deeply self-absorbed people who either refuse or literally cannot comprehend that someone could disagree with them without being a bad person and who will gleefully cry wolf with these accusations of bigotry. But it's been going on for quite some time and it's been a problem this campaign in a way I at least do not recall it in past ones, and it's had an absolutely devastating effect on the fandom conversation. Ironically, by trying to boost Imogen and Campaign 3 by shutting down any criticism of them, they've shut down far more of the conversation, hopefully not irreversibly, and I think it's time to point that out.

[styllwaters]

351 / GAZI-MIAH

At last this monster of a ref is finished. Introducing the first canon Knight character for Vivere 44!

351 is a mountain Knight from Ferhaht, though their host is part Fejga; hence the brown fur and stocky build. They act as the secondary antagonist in parts 1 and 2 of the story. In part 3, the final 'season', they feature as a protagonist. 351 starts out as a ruthless, aggressive soldier working for Genizix, intent on completing the mission assigned to them. Under the direction of their officer, 909, 351 has been dispatched to quickly and efficiently eliminate targets who threaten to expose the company's activities in the Zhagaviit galaxy.

Eventually they come to realise that they are being manipulated by both the weapons company and their abusive superior, and in part 2 351 challenges 909. Their fight results in 351 gaining an array of scars and a terrifying near-death experience, and though they survive, they are permanently mentally separated. Unable to go into the Trance which binds the consciousnesses of the Helmet and the Host, they must learn how to work together as two people again. 351 escapes to their homeplanet of Ettera, surviving in the wild as they race against time to deliver an important message and rediscover who they are. During part 3, they discard their identification number and take on a new name, Gazi-miah.

More in-depth lore, facts, and extra art below the cut!

BACKSTORY

[cw: abuse, drug use, general dark themes]

351 was always told that they were born in Genizix like 909, though this is not the case at all. 351 had a life before they were turned into a killing machine, living on the Ihmna Stretch with their Ferhahti order. Their life was upturned on the day of their scouting Expedition, a journey that all Knight squires must take on before they can become full soldiers (More on Knight social structure here). They were tasked to deliver a message to an allied order along with two other temporary scouts. Upon arrival, however, instead of friendly greetings they were met with a chilling scene - the order was being attacked by another, the two groups set against each other in a fearsome battle. The fight was secretly orchestrated by Genizix in a plot to evaluate the strongest soldiers to recruit to their cause, unbeknownst to anyone but them. Feeling that it was necessary to aid their allies, 351 and their peers rushed into battle. They fought fiercely, but the young Knights were up against fully-fledged soldiers and 351's companions perished. 351 themselves was severely injured, and in the aftermath, blacked out - but not before catching a glimpse of strange figures.

When they awoke, they were not on Ettera any more; rather an unfamiliar place with black walls and machines. They could barely remember anything from the night before; and slowly the rest of their memories on their homeplanet receded as Genizix toxins that they were injected with took effect. Later, 351 would be introduced to 909, an experienced Knight officer with an extensive history of working for Genizix, and placed in their unit. They were assigned a number for a name and moulded into the perfect killing machine. 909 fed 351 a constant stream of lies about where they came from, and like all soldiers recruited into the system, promised that in fighting for the company they had a chance to participate in something greater than themselves; to see the real universe outside of Zhagaviit. But 351 was driven more by fear than the potential for glory. They had seen what happened to those who disobeyed the higher-ups, and what could happen to them if they did not complete the missions.

909 stripped 351 of their individuality and left nothing but brute force and a desire to please. What the agent feared more even than Genizix was invoking 909's anger, so they pushed themselves to do any dirty work asked of them. The organisation became their whole world, their 'family', and 909 made sure they could never leave their clutches - manipulating them, threatening them and twisting their worldview. The process was sped up by specialised toxins designed by Genizix intended to distort perception and slow brain activity, inducing a dreamlike state. On Knights, this had the effect of triggering and enhancing the Trance, making it incredibly difficult for one to mentally separate the helmet from the host. With time 351 came to believe that they were one person, and they had no reason to think otherwise as their exposure to information was carefully controlled. 351 was conditioned to see their targets as non-sophont and they were rewarded for using cruel tactics. The more time they spent with 909, the more they began to lose their sense of self entirely until they were nothing but a weapon. Such is the fate of most soldiers who have wound up working for Genizix.

Despite the deep emotional (and physical) scarring and conditioning, during the events of Vivere 44 seeds of doubt are planted in 351's minds. These would only germinate further as they gain more clarity of their situation. Standing up to 909 was the first step they took towards breaking free of their chains, although it came with a cost. 351's host was physically Separated from their helmet in the fight, an injury which in most cases is lethal. They were repaired by a scientist who stitched them back together and managed to salvage a sliver of the bond which connected their minds. 351 could never enter the Trance again, though the helmet and host could still exchange thoughts between each other. As they were two separate entities now, the helmet guides the blind host with directions.

Instructed by the scientist (an Arrow named Nimbus, who will be introduced later) 351 left the facility on a new mission - to deliver an urgent message to Jes-ren, a Kaata Plains Knight living on a Ranch on Ettera. They traversed the land they once called home, now unfamiliar to them, relearning how to work together as a pair that might as well be complete strangers to each other. They recover their memories; or at the very least parts of it, as they cannot remember their original name. However, they gain a new one; Gazitkaar-Miahlad [meaning: lost messenger / returned to us].

The road is long and tremendously difficult; Gazi-miah struggles to unlearn years of aggression, addiction and lies, all the while carrying immense trauma. They eventually find peace, and settle down with Jes-ren in Kaat following the climax.

PERSONALITY

During their time at Genizix, agent 351 picked up on a lot of nasty habits and traits from 909 who brought out their worst attributes. They became merciless, taught to discard feelings and remorse. 351 was not afraid to make a show of their strength, and at times was needlessly cruel and taunting. The toxins affecting their nervous system tended to spur on their host's prey drive to a concerning degree, and a part of them enjoyed the power trip they got from hunting down targets. Though everything they did, they did for 909's approval - and to avoid getting disposed of by Genizix.

When their host and helmet were Separated, and the effects of the toxins wore off, gradually their aggressive attributes took a backseat as they grappled with their new situation. With great effort they gain an understanding of both the horrors they went through and the atrocities they committed for the sake of a corrupted system.

Once they escape Genizix's hold, it becomes clear that 351 is incredibly socially inept and any interaction that isn't violence or taking orders is new territory for them. Freedom and agency are difficult concepts for them to grasp, but with the aid of others around them they begin to adjust to their new life.

The helmet, Miahlad (my-a-lad) is the more practical of the two. He has one goal in mind; keeping the both of them safe. Miah is resourceful and smart, though when it comes to social interaction he's just as clueless as his host. This doesn't stop him from offering advice via their mind-link. He is firm, distrustful, and judgemental, but cares deeply for Gazitkaar even if he won't say it. At first he is reluctant to uncover the truth in fear that it will harm them both, preferring to stick to familiar ground. Despite his realistic worldview, more than once he considers going back to Genizix due to the simple fact that it's all they've ever known - even if it hurt them. As a helmet he cannot speak out loud but relearns sign language to communicate with other knights.

The host, Gazitkaar (gaz-it-car) is constantly questioning everything. She is less focused on the personal safety and wellbeing of the Knight body and more concerned with the wider truth, always seeking to know more. Gazi is not one to back down from a challenge, whether it be traversing dangerous territory or mastering a new skill. But like Miah, she is averse to touch, and will bite if boundaries are pushed far enough. She is more open to listening than her helmet, and is a fast learner. Though she is more adaptable than Miah, her curiosity can sometimes go unchecked and lead them into trouble.

EXTRAS

They are 37 years old and tower over everyone, including other Knights. Their prescence could fill a whole room.

The engraved bone necklace was given to them by a Polar Knight commander from Ehtte Thannoeh where they first landed on Ettera. The carving depicts an Aikka deity whose horn always points northwards, and is said to watch over lost travelers from the northern lights.

Gazi-miah's piercings were put in by the scientist Nimbus, intended to firmly fix the helmet to the host.

As a Genizix agent their build is very toned and muscular due to their intense training and strength-enhancing substances which also speed up wound recovery. Such a lifestyle was placing immense stress on their body, and as they spent more time on Ettera they gained more weight and adopted a healthier diet.

Their build and design is inspired by bulls and rottweilers.

Their fur is spiky due to chemicals and unnatural cleaning products resulting in an unpleasant, rough texture. In the future it becomes softer thanks to proper grooming.

Here's some of the first concept art I have of them (and also showcases their pelt colours better)

Aaand a simplified version of the ref without all the notes for your viewing pleasure.

I'll stop here before this post gets insanely long but if you have any questions I shall be delighted to answer!! ;] Thanks for listening to my tedtalk

[emotionallychargedtowel]

BL meta master post

I've had an Utsukushii Kare master post as my pinned post for a while now, since I've posted so much about it. But I think it's time I do a general BL meta post instead. All of the links and information from the Utsukare post are here, too, but so are links to my other BL meta posts.

It's going to take a while to get everything in here so I'm going to go ahead and publish it even though it isn't entirely complete. I'll continue updating it until it is complete, and I'll add newer posts as they come.

Posts covering multiple BLs

The pursuer-distancer dyad & how it applies to the world of BL - a primer on this psychological concept and how it applies to BL generally, touching on how it applies to Utsukushii Kare, Semantic Error, and To My Star 2

BL ask game: Long-term pining and grumpy/sunshine

My top 5 rewatched BL scenes, responding to an ask by @wen-kexing-apologist (Spoiler: it's still mostly Utsukare)

Zettai BL season 3

What's different about Hatano, part 1 - In short, Hatano isn't fucking around.

Part 2 - Hatano's awareness of Mob's fourth wall-breaking and other ways he sometimes senses Mob's reality in a way no one else has

Part 3 - Hatano's perseverance, his strategy of hitting Mob with a flag and immediately heading for the hills, and the way he uses the age gap to his advantage

Part 4 (the final installment) - The way that Hatano treats Mob like a specific human being and has specific reasons for liking him, unlike the vast majority of his suitors, and the way the BL-within-a-BL storyline changes not only the way Mob relates to him but the way the audience does

25 ji Akasaka de

Prying off the shell - In episode 7, Hayama's friend Mihara makes a an interesting observation. He says that Shirasaki doesn't seem to have a "shell"--his way of talking about a social self, a persona that a person experiences as separate from their core self. Then he points out that Hayama not only has a "shell," he has multiple layers of shell, so many that it's essentially impenetrable, like a neverending set of matryoshka dolls. I wrote here about what these shell metaphors really mean psychologicaly, how Hayama's family of origin played into his multilayered shell, and the implications of both their personalities on how they relate to each other.

Nominating a runner for 25 ji - If someone has to do the traditional JBL thing of running through the streets to get to the other person, who should run? That's a question @my-rose-tinted-glasses and @lurkingshan discussed, and it got me thinking.

Hayama's mask finally slips - Looking closely at Hayama's affect in the opening scene of episode 9--and trying to process the level of blorbo distress that entails

Over-analyzing the finale trailer in a vain attempt to try to manage my pre-finale angst

The Eighth Sense

The Eighth Sense e5 & e6: Portraying trauma with nuance

On The Eighth Sense episodes 7 & 8

The Eighth Sense episodes 9 and 10: All we can do is try

Bokura no Shokutaku/Our Dining Table

Thoughts on the "spinoff" (bonus episode) and how it's a logical extension of the leads' character arcs

Old Fashion Cupcake

I had a realization about Nozue's constant, somewhat inappropriate complimenting of Togawa while looking at a gifset and reblogged it with my thoughts

To My Star

Notes on a gifset by @jimmysea - Nerding out big time on that one season 2 kiss

Only Friends

Sand, compulsive caregiver - On Sand's documented history of parentification and how it relates to his relationship with Ray

Only Friends characters' fragrance preferences - Assigning each of the lead characters a favorite fragrance based on their personalities, with some made-up backstory

Minato's Laundromat

About that Minato's Laundromat season 2 storyline... - Commenting on a certain character's traumatic brain injury and its effects from a psychology perspective

Kiseki: Dear to Me

Chu chu chu; or, intimate scene tips from the Kiseki cast

Brief commentary on a reblog of some behind-the-scenes footage

HIStory 3: Trapped

A reblog of the "chu chu chu" post about Kiseki that adds similar information about how intimacy was handled on the set of HIStory 3: Trapped - featuring a helpful linguistic note from @nibupei

and, last but not least...

Utsukushii Kare meta

The psychological paradoxes of Utsukushii Kare

This is a series of posts (the current plan is to write three installments) about what it says on the tin: paradoxical psychological dynamics in Utsukushii Kare. These are things about the characters that may seem contradictory at first but can be accounted for by digging deeper into some psychological concepts. These posts are focused on the series (both seasons) but will draw from the movie and from the novel and related stories when they illustrate points about the series.

Part 1: Covert grandiosity and finding status through idealization - A pretty deep dive into 1) the subtle ways Hira shows that while his self-image can be highly negative in some ways, in other respects he feels superior to others and 2) how by elevating Kiyoi’s status and humbling himself in comparison, Hira attains a different kind of status.

An addendum of sorts to part 1: Hira's parents and his self-defeating tendencies - Some guesswork about how Hira's parents could have contributed to his self-defeating personality, with some further discussion of specific self-defeating strategies he uses in his relationship with Kiyoi and elsewhere.

Utsukushii Kare through the lens of pursuer-distancer dynamics and related psychological concepts:

The pursuer-distancer dyad & how it applies to the world of BL - a primer on this psychological concept and how it applies to BL generally, with a brief reference to how this concept applies to Utsukare (also touches on Semantic Error and talks in detail about an example from To My Star 2). This one isn't super focused on Utsukushii Kare but is pretty de rigeur for understanding my UK posts on this topic.

Paradoxical roles; or, I think I finally figured out the pursuer-distancer dynamic in Utsukushii Kare - This post comes after some of the posts listed below but I recommend reading it first as this is really where (I think) I cracked the code on this aspect of the story.

Pursuer-distancer roles & attachment style in Utsukushii Kare, Part 1: Hira - In-depth discussion of Hira's role in the pursuer-distancer dyad, his attachment style, and his personality

Pursuer-distancer roles and attachment style in Utsukushii Kare Part 2: Kiyoi - In-depth discussion of Kiyoi's role in the pursuer-distancer dyad, his attachment style, and his personality

Re-evaluating pursuing & distancing in Utsukushii Kare season 1 - super detailed post working out my thoughts about pursuing and distancing in season 1

On the way Sakai Mai (the series' director) uses seme left, uke right framing and its significance in BL and other Japanese media:

Using an example from the s2e1 with the girl who hits on Hira at a party (via a reblog of a gifset from @nanons)

On the way Sakai flips Hira's and Kiyoi's position in the frame in two versions of the same scene and what it tells us about its significance

How the persistent/cute trope plays out in Utsukushii Kare season 2, plus related overanalyses of the big season 2 finale kiss:

The persistent and the cute (how "persistent" and "cute" are code words with specific meanings in BL/yaoi/other drama and manga genres/Japanese culture more broadly)

Analyzing the season 2 finale kiss in light of seme left/uke right framing and the persistent/cute trope (in a reblog of a gif post by @nanons)

Reblogging @bl-bracket to lobby for the season 2 finale kiss, with more overanalysis

Fragrance nerd discussion:

This bittersweet fragrance - on the significance of osmanthus/tea olive in Utsukushii Kare season 2, with additional information on the possible significance of the fragrance of osmanthus and perfumes that are either osmanthus soliflores or feature prominent osmanthus notes

Posts on specific season 2 episodes:

initial thoughts about S2e1

Additional (informal) thoughts on s2e1

S2e1 rundown

Hira's incongruous/misaligned affect at the end of s2e1

S2e2 rundown

on S2e2, including pursuer-distancer dynamics and seme left, uke right

Utsukushii Kare S2E4: “face me straight on” (mostly discussing relationship dynamics pointed out in topic-specific metas)

on Utsukushii Kare: Eternal:

Kiyoi and Anna: on Kiyoi’s friendship with Anna and its significance for his personal growth

[coffeebeanwriting]

What Bores a Reader The Most?

I asked my followers to answer the question “what bores you the most when reading a book?” 

Please keep in mind that these are all opinions and you’ll find yourself agreeing and disagreeing with some. Personally, I think this is amazing insight into the minds of unique readers all around the globe! I decided to keep reoccurring answers instead of merging them, just so people could see the repeating themes.

“Predictable conflicts or character actions. I want to be surprised.”

“When there’s no clear plot. When it looks like the book is leading nowhere.”

“Endless description. Nothing makes me more prone to skipping ahead.”

“When it feels like what you’re reading lacks purpose and there is no meaningful contribution to the plot.”

“Characters with less personality than a wet paper towel. Main characters with zero personality.”

“When I can’t picture anything in my head or what I understood changes randomly.”

“When a conversation is happening and I can’t follow which character is saying what.”

“Daily routines in a story. Like, I do not care.”

“When the world doesn’t move if the main character doesn’t interact with it. This applies to t.v shows, too.”

“Something that does not have a build up like a sudden relationship out of the blue.”

“When I’m so confused it doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“When there’s a 3 page description of some random object.”

“Wayyyy too much detail.”

“When the big plot twist is revealed and I guessed it ages ago.”

“Too slow or too long.”

“When the author unnecessarily drags the story and takes ages to advance to the climax.”

“Fan service that doesn’t contribute to the plot.”

“Useless descriptions and/or actions.”

“Over description of a landscape (cough old literature cough).”

“No action, no violence. I don’t like when characters talk for too long.”

“Long descriptions.”

“Too much descriptions when you are in a exciting moment. It breaks immersion.”

“Lack of imagery.”

“Constant usage of archaic vocabulary.”

“When the main character is extremely passive and doesn’t act or react.”

“Excessive description that doesn’t further the plot or meaningfully add to characterization.”

“Overly predictable plot, overly crude language for the sake of it, cringe/pompous scenes.”

“Long and boring exposition dumps.”

“Characters that never loose 😴.”

“When the world building starts out great and is really immersive until later on when things don’t add up.”

“When a character has too much internal dialogue.”

“Explaining “the science” behind magic systems in unnecessary detail.”

“Over description. I will skim and skip a lot of it.”

“Too much background info at the beginning.”

“When there’s small talk about a topic I don’t understand. It get’s sooo boring.”

“Too much inner monologue.”

“Slow plot.”

“When it’s just dragging on and on with the backstory.”

“Having to reread a sentence/paragraph a billion times because my brain got distracted.”

“When there’s no action, suspense or something similar for the whole chapter.”

“Things that aren’t relevant to the story.”

“Too much dialogue.”

“A lil too much fantasies.”

“Over drawn setting descriptions.”

“Overly long chapters, repetitive scenes, lots of complicated worldbuilding.”

“When it’s too simple or too detailed.”

“Long, long expositions.”

“Repeating phrases, plots ,etc.”

“Infodumps, especially in the beginning.”

“Too much history.”

“Overly descriptive settings.”

“Slow plot. I need drama!”

“Long chapters.”

“Slow pacing.”

“No major plot twist.”

“Miscommunication trope.”

“Massively long descriptive paragraphs.”

“Too much exposition in the beginning.”

“Long and confusing story building.”

“Repeating plot points. For example: the hero learning to trust his friends a million times without any real progression.”

“Training scenes that show nothing special. Especially sword fighting or head to hand combat.”

“Generic plot developments unless it’s written well.”

“Overuse of complicated words and sentences.”

“Long paragraphs.”

“I’m so over the bubble sunshine and extra grumpy trope.”

“When a character is overthinking.”

“Romanic subplots bore me. Having too many love interests.”

“When it switches between characters/subplots and one of them is awfully boring.”

“When too much information on a character is given one at a time.”

“Clichés.”

“When it takes a long time before the story gets interesting.”

“Long, long, long descriptions particularly of places that aren’t all that important.”

“Descriptions of unnecessary things.”

“Too much side character’s story. They’re a side for a reason.”

“I love beautiful writing so there must be some lovely descriptions... but don’t drone on.”

“Flat characters.”

“Scenes in which my favorite characters do not appear.”

“When the characters have no clear goal or the goal is too weak.”

“If most or all of the characters are unlikable. Then I don’t care what happens to them in the story. Being an evil/mean character is different from being unlikable.”

“When the plot does not move forward.”

“Writing unnecessary, irrelevant things that don’t have an effect on the story.”

“No real plot. The protagonist has no fire to them.”

“When the protagonist needs to figure out a love triangle and which person they like the most.”

“When the interesting parts happen right at the end.”

“When there’s too much info dumping with no easy transitions.”

“No progression after chapters and chapters. Characters not having development.”

“Too much description and a slow start to the story.”

“When characters are too oblivious to something.”

“Oblivious main characters, lazy plots, stereotypical encounters, main character is a god trope.”

“Unnecessarily long amounts of monologue or dialogue.”

“The second chance trope bores me.”

“Slow beginnings... like, get to the action in 3 chapters of less please.”

“Chapters being too long with small writing.”

“If the characters go through the same conflict over and over again.”

“Classic books... I don’t understand a thing, haha.”

“Being bombarded with unnecessary detail.”

“Bad boy meets good girl trope bores me.”

“Too much landscape descriptions like Tolkien or Stephen King.”

“Bad dialogue, too much excessive background details and too many character tags.”

“When the book moves too slowly.”

“Over described scenes or characters.”

“Descriptions without inputs of what a characters is thinking about. I need a lens of character POV to make descriptions interesting to read.”

“A badly written romance subplot where the characters involved don’t have any chemistry whatsoever.”

“I get a bit lost when there’s too much details about an environment.”

“When the story doesn’t go anywhere for a really long time.”

Instagram: coffeebeanwriting  

[misteria247]

Been thinking more on this au and I'm gonna put my thoughts here till I can post them to Tumblr later. Also heads up there's murder and death please proceed with caution.

Okay backstories.

Pacifica's backstory as I stated last night was she was abandoned by her biological parents and was taken in by Fidds and Abbey. Thus this began her path towards her current position in crime.

For Fidds his backstory is he was actually an assassin at one point in his lifetime. The path that set him on this was the tragic murder of his wife and son. Due to his intellect making him climb up in the world, rival investors had hired ironically enough assassins to hit his family. Hoping that the grief would cripple him.

They were wrong.

Instead he set his sights on them, furious and grief stricken and when the police failed to do their job he took it upon himself to track them down and quite literally made them disappear off the face of the Earth. Kicking starting his career in crimes. He'd meet Bill on one of his assassin assessments and reluctantly joined him. He's the first member that joined.

For Abigale it was because she'd snapped. She's a brilliant inventor and chemist, and Abigale wanted to do something to change the world. However her father was against this, instead setting her up for marriage to a complete stranger. It was the constant complaints and ridicule and disregard for her that made her snap. Abigale would end up setting her family home aflame with the man who was her father inside. After that she was a drifter, committing theft and arson for money and never being caught. It was because of this skill Bill had sought her out and recruited her.

Bill's backstory is.....more romantically tragic.

Bill first came to Earth to essentially explore the dimension. Bored but curious for something interesting. He'd find that interest in a man named Stanford Pines. Stanford was a young detective in training back then, brilliant and surprising and Bill unknowingly fell in love with him. And because of this Bill wanted to combine his realm with Ford's. It didn't end well.

The portal that Bill had persuaded Ford into helping build had been incomplete, and as a result Bill was actually injured in the fallout. Both emotionally when they were screaming and fighting one another from the betrayal and heartbreak, but also physically. Bill was left with a horrifying scar. A crack in his body. And to top it off he was stranded on Earth. Unable to return home and with limited powers to boot. The effects of using them too much actually hurting him. It was this that forced Bill to wander, angry and betrayed by Ford and it's during this that he decided to start his group. Using the knowledge on the justice system Ford had taught him to his advantage. Basically him acquiring the others was just him seeing that they too were betrayed by the world as well as incredibly skilled to help his crime ring begin.

[mystic-writings]

walk the line | two

SUMMARY — poe does his best to keep his word. you talk to general organa.

WORD COUNT — 2,441

WARNINGS — fluff, slight angst, mentions of grief & trauma

NOTES — okay this one turned out to just be straight up world building/backstory lmao

m. masterlist | series masterlist

As it turns out, Poe Dameron was good at sticking to his word. Over the next week, all he did was stick to you like glue, all bright smiles and dry jokes. It was irritating, but you’d quickly grown accustomed to it. It wasn’t difficult, all things considered, just mildly annoying. It wasn’t your first time around with a guy like him, with an ego bigger than Tatooine’s twin suns and the confidence of a Coruscant high roller. Still, there was something deeper there. He seemed… softer around you. More careful with his words, his actions. 

Not to mention that infuriating warmth. Every second you were around him, you could feel it. The pull, the comfort, the familiarity of the feeling. You hated it. All it did was remind you of what you used to have, of the things you’ve lost. 

He was nice enough though. After your conversation in the hangar, Poe led you to your quarters, showing you how to set a door code for yourself and the settings in the refresher. He handed you a datapad and showed you how to set it up as well, recommending that you head to the cantina early in the morning if you wanted to get the good caf instead of the reheated stuff. And when you mentioned that you didn’t know where the cantina was, he showed up that very morning with his BB model droid, barely containing his own laughter at your disgruntled face before leading the way for you. 

His droid seemed to be a lot like him, but you’d warmed a lot faster to BB-8 than you did to Poe. BB often talked with you when you were around him — more so when Poe was around you. He chattered about people you didn’t know, gossip that you weren’t entirely interested in, but found yourself listening to nonetheless. 

The adjustment from what you were used to on Tatooine was hard, but you managed as best as you were able. Freedom was a luxury where you were, something not easily afforded for you. Sometimes, when you would hear the door to your chambers seal shut, you would forget that you were the only one who had the code to open it again. That no one else could keep you there, dangle the promise of necessities over your head like a reward for good behaviour. 

“You okay over there?” Poe’s voice came through as you picked at your food, drowning under the weight of your own mind. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, the din of the cantina filling your ears. “Yeah. Fine. Just… tough night.” 

Poe didn’t speak, but you could feel his eyes inspecting you as you dipped your head and properly dug into your breakfast. The cantina was usually packed this time of the morning, most members wanting to spend time with their friends before heading off to their duties, and your table was no different. 

At every meal, Poe insisted you sit with Black Squadron. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t exactly question it, either. They were a good group of people, all of them good friends, and it was obvious that they’ve known each other for a while. Their chatter was easy going, always a constant stream of differing topics that switched without a hitch. And during every meal, you stayed silent, always sitting across from Poe — at his request, of course. 

Breakfast passed normally, though today, Poe followed you back to your room. “What’s your plan for today?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t really plan my days anymore.” You shrugged, stopping at your door. “Might just lock myself in here for the day.” 

Poe nodded, his hands on his hips as he looked around. At his feet, BB-8 trilled happily, his suggestion making the both of you chuckle. “We could go for a ride, BB, except Leia would kill me for taking an unsanctioned flight.” He took a breath, looking away from his droid to meet your eyes. “Speaking of, I got a message from her on my datapad this morning. She said you haven’t talked to her yet?”

Oh. Your shoulders deflated as your eyes searched the ground for a way out of this conversation. “Yeah, I… I was supposed to talk with her. About whether or not I’m staying.”

“Are you?” Straight to the point, then. 

You inhale, shrugging again. “I still don’t know. It’s nice here but… I haven’t been able to choose for myself in so long that I don’t know if I can. Make the decision, I mean.” 

Poe’s brows cinched, and you watched them. The cogs turned in his head, and you knew he was trying to make sense of your words. To decipher the message behind them. You knew he wouldn’t figure it out, not unless you spelled it out for him. But you weren’t planning on doing that any time soon. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you should.” 

And, damnit, there it was again. His soothing voice, peeling away the layers of your heart, feeling your guard fall away, warmth pouring from the dents and cracks he’s made at your walls. It seeped into the very soul of you, filling you with light and warmth and safety. You hated it. 

Despite it, you smiled gently, nodding. “It does, surprisingly. But if I did, I don’t even know how I would help out around here.” 

“You could be a mechanic,” Poe fired back, as though he was waiting for you to say it. “Or a pilot. I mean, building a TIE fighter from scratch and flying it two systems over… that’s some pretty good work, if you ask me.” 

You chuckled, glancing at the floor before meeting Poe’s soft eyes, crinkling at the edges as he smiled at you. “Shouldn’t you be running a drill with the recruits or something?”

“I should be,” Poe confirmed, but he didn’t move. 

“So?” You raised an inquisitive brow at him. “Aren’t you gonna go now?”

“Are you asking me to leave?”

You don’t respond right away, and Poe’s smile widens. You don’t even know why you were suddenly at a loss for words. Poe was practically a thorn in your side, saddling up beside you during every second of his free time, aside from when he went to spend time with his friends in the cantina before heading to bed. It was during that time that you headed out to the dark, lush forest he’d first found you in, just to get some peace. 

“Okay, I actually do have to go, but why don’t you talk to Leia today?” Poe suggested. “Even if you don’t make up your mind, talking to her might help. Leia has a way of doing that to people.” 

“Doing what?”

“Making you realise what you really want.” Poe’s voice was soft as he said it, like he knew exactly what he was talking about. You watched him inquisitively as he smiled once more, turning back down the hall with BB-8 on his tail. 

———

Despite the fact that you knew you weren’t ready to talk, you headed into your room and requested a meeting with General Organa. She’d responded almost immediately, requesting that you meet her in a small debriefing room. 

With a knot tied tight in your gut, you headed that way, finding the room fairly quickly. If there was one thing you could credit Poe with, he was one hell of a tour guide. The gentle woosh of the door sliding to the side made your heart jump, revealing Leia. 

From where she stood by the window, the General smiled over her shoulder at you before turning fully, gesturing to a small table. “It’s good to see you, Y/n. Sit.” 

You did as told, your brain practically whirring on autopilot as you sat across from the woman, hands clasped on the table. It practically killed you to think about it. Here you were, sitting across from the woman who gave birth to your best friend. Who watched him grow, watched him turn into a monster, and failed to try and stop it — even if it hadn’t been her fault. 

“So, Y/n, have you decided what you’re going to do yet?” 

“No, General. Not yet.” You shook your head, cursing yourself at feeling so timid all of a sudden. 

Leia smiled. “You can call me Leia for this meeting. After all, we’re here to talk about Lyxi, aren’t we?”

A ghost of a smile painted your lips as you gave her a small nod, and Leia’s own small smile widened in response. 

“Is there anything in particular you wanted to ask me?” She said, leaving the invitation open for you — ask what you need. Whatever you want to know, you’ll know. 

Taking a deep breath in, you scoured your mind. Over the years, you’d gathered thousands of questions about your mother — about your father. Your aunt would answer most of them, but she rarely ever touched upon the topic of your father, not even after you’d joined the Jedi.

“What was she like?”

“She was the bravest person I knew,” Leia started simply, a small chuckle escaping her. “She was skilled, calculated. Thought through all of her decisions, no matter how small. She led a lot of people into battle, and she kept them all alive, too.” Leia’s eyes glazed, and you could see the sheen of unshed tears building in them. “Courage ran through that woman’s veins. She’d been a diplomat when she joined us in the war, but she saved so many people. My brother included.” 

Your mother knew Luke Skywalker?

“What do you mean?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed. “How did she save your brother?”

Leia chuckled, more mirth behind the sound than before. “He was a hopeless case when it came to her. Head over heels for her, too scared to do something about it. So she did it for him.” Leia paused for a moment, and when she began again, her words were coated in emotion, thick and difficult for her to form. “I’d never seen him so happy than when he was with her. Then, one day, she just… left. And neither of us saw her again.”

Your hands folded over themselves, tucking into your lap as you dropped your gaze. Crucial pieces of a puzzle you’d never been able to solve before had just been laid before you, your entire childhood slotting into perspective. It left you reeling, disbelieving of what General Organa had just told you. Before you could try to make any more sense of it, she spoke again. 

“You’re hers, aren’t you?” Leia asked, her voice gentle, coaxing you to look back up at her with gleaming eyes. “You’re Lyxi’s daughter,” 

The word slipped from your lips before you could stop it, quiet and breathless, the weight of it sinking deep into your’s and Leia’s chests like boulders. “She… I never knew her. She died not long after I was born. My aunt took me in.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Leia said, probably more for herself than anything. “She would’ve been a great mother.” 

“Did she…” you paused, taking a shaking inhale before you continued, scared to broach the subject. “My mom, did she want kids? With your brother? With—”

“More than anything,” Leia answered, her voice strong and steady. It gave you all the comfort you needed. “They were married, you know. For a while. After she left, he was… well, Luke was nothing short of a wreck. He never moved on, I don’t think.”

You squinted at Leia, confused. “Do you know why she left?”

“They both wanted different things,” she said simply. “She wanted a family, and Luke wanted to restore the Jedi Order. He would’ve been happy with either, though. Having a family… it was something Luke wanted, too.” 

You exhaled a shaking breath, the weight of Leia’s words hanging in the air. You could see it, the gleam in her eye, the one that told you everything she didn’t say. Before you knew it, you were staring at the table, blinking back tears before you looked back up at the woman, tucking your emotions away for later. 

“I want to stay.” Your voice was strong, stronger than you thought it would be. It gave you some of your confidence back. 

Leia raised a brow at your declaration. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t… I don’t know yet.” You told her. “But I haven’t had much of a choice in this sort of thing lately. And I’ve decided… I don’t want to keep running. I can’t.” 

Leia smiled, soft and warm, as she nodded. “Good. Running… Running is the easy way out. And it only tends to delay the inevitable.” With a deep breath, Leia looked down at her datapad, which had been switched off until now. “Commander Dameron told me you rebuilt an Old Empire TIE fighter from scratch, is that right?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “and I flew it from Tatooine.” 

“Okay. Well, for now, I’d like to set you up as the Black Squadron mechanic to see how well you do. And if you’re comfortable with it, later on we can get you in the air.” 

You smiled, nodding along. “That sounds nice, General. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll alert Commander Dameron, he’ll walk you through training for the next few days.” Leia watched, almost knowingly, as your smile faltered. “Is there an issue? Perhaps you’d like to train with someone else,” 

“No, General, Poe is— Poe is fine.” 

Leia cleared her throat, linking her fingers as she focused her attention on you. The datapad lit her skin in a bluish glow, soaking her in artificial light. You couldn’t tell if it made her more intimidating or not. “If I may ask, Y/n, but what’s your relationship to Commander Dameron, exactly?”

For a moment, your heart twisted with shock, stopping for a moment before you focused on stabilising your heartbeat. Clearing your throat, you glanced down at the table as you spoke. “He’s a thorn in my side, General. Entertaining, sure. And… interesting, to say the least.” 

“Ah, yes, the classic Poe Dameron charm.” Leia chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Well, then, if you don’t have any other questions, you may go. I’ll send a transmission to Commander Dameron this evening to assist with rearranging his schedule.” 

You thanked the General as you stood from your chair, heading for the door. Just as it opened with a satisfying woosh, a burst of air flowing over you, Leia called out to you. 

“Welcome to the Resistance.” She smiled, and you couldn’t help but return it. 

———

previous chapter | next chapter

series taglist: @whisperofthewild @violinbetty @lxntsxv @castiwls @seninjakitey (open!) [taglist form]

[oopsitszuli]

"And At Last, I See The Light." -Sanemi Shinazugawa x FEM!Reader.

Authors note: And we're back!! Im so excited to be writing non-work-related content again and I hope this first fic back is an enjoyable one! I love Sanemi and I also love his little detail of having lost his ability to see color and regaining it after the events of the final arc in the manga! So I got to thinking and thought of a scenario where someone else kickstarted his heart once again. Also as always, reposts and likes are GREATLY appreciated!!

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of Sanemi's backstory.

Word Count: 3.3k words.

No mentions of skin tone, hair color, or eye color!

———————————————————————————

Training was always difficult, whether being a Mizunoto or a Hashira, but in recent weeks it seems the world was working against the demon slayer corps. Relentless training was going into every corps member despite the few results they were seeing. Everyone was on edge on top of the training, for they all had no clue when the next sign of upper moon demons would appear before them. Wake up, eat, train, try to unlock a slayer mark, sleep, and do it all again. That was all life seemed to be. Rather, that’s all life was to Sanemi. 

His day was a constant repeat, with no variation and certainly no thrill. Waking up minutes before another greyscale sunrise, ignoring breakfast in favor of squeezing in a lone training session before dealing with his newest group of bratty teenagers, and ending the day at a meeting with the other Hashira where they all continued to complain about being unable to unlock marks.  ‘How did Kamado do it?’ and ‘Maybe Tanjiro, Mitsuri, and Tokito can help unlock other marks!’ These were the only statements made in those hour-long meetings. And Sanemi would be the first to admit that it made him want to stab his eardrums out. The Kamados had some benevolent god in their corner, and the other two were freakishly powerful despite their smaller statures, yet he was the only one who seemed to notice it. 

The wind Hashira let out a disgruntled sigh as he walked down the cobblestone stairs leading to a lone Soba restaurant only a few miles from his estate. It was one of his favorite places to frequent, though he would never utter that sentiment to another being for as long as he lived. Some people liked eating in the company of others, but it seemed he wasn’t born with the right of a friend to have dinner with. He used to love eating with Masachika or Kanae, but the gods didn’t like seeing someone with the last name Shinazugawa being happy, so they took them away. They took everything away. His friends, his family, and his color were no longer his. Instead, they were playthings for a higher being who took pleasure in seeing him miserable. 

Sanemi stiffened as a crisp gust of wind brushed through his spiky hair, drawing the man from his thoughts with little effort. His eyes raised from the ground as he took in the world around him. Age-old ginkgo and wisteria trees surrounded the Hashira, their leaves swaying softly in the breeze, filling his nose with the sweet scent of the flowers belonging to the trees.  He looked to his left, shielding his eyes as he was met with the light of the current setting sun; Sanemi looked away swiftly. He was sure it was a stunning sunset just by how bright it was. Maybe tonight it would be pink, or orange, maybe even purple. But it didn’t matter; to him, it was all grey. Everything was always grey and grim, and it always would be. Sanemi had accepted that fate from the moment his mother lay limp at his feet. He would never see color again, and he would never know the peace he witnessed others gain so simply. That was his burden, and it was one he carried with no argument. 

“Shinazugawa!” A sudden voice called out from behind him, “Shinazugawa, is that you? What are you doing?” Sanemi didn’t need to turn around to know who that voice belonged to. It was a sweet voice, singsongy and perfectly pitched, and it could only belong to the one person in the demon slayer corps Sanemi had come to slightly tolerate. The flower Hashira, (Y/n) (L/n). He didn’t look over his shoulder as he heard her footsteps bounding towards him, and frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to try and shoo her off. He wondered if it was the part of him that still regretted their first meeting and how he had so brashly proclaimed that she would never take Kanae’s place and that if (L/n) knew what was good for her, she would walk into the woods and disappear forever. He was well aware that he had overstepped his lines, and despite his better judgment, he felt the need to go out of his way and allow her to hang around him. 

‘Stop lying to yourself. Give her more credit, asshole,’ He cursed internally, ‘she fought tooth and nail to try and be around me, even after I treated her so cruelly.’ He still saw everything, the first meeting, the argument, everything. He remembered it like it was yesterday. 

“Who do you think you are, trying to replace her? Kanae is the only Flower Hashira, and she always will be. If you know what’s best, you will walk out now and disappear in the woods for the rest of eternity.” Sanemi bellowed as he glared at the woman standing across the yard from him. Despite his harsh words, she stood tall, unfazed by his outburst and only throwing fuel to the fire of Sanemi’s heart. His glare searched rapidly around him for support as an annoyed groan escaped Uzui. Sanemi didn’t understand. Kanae had only died three months ago, the others should be outraged at this blatant replacement, yet none of them made a move. His attention snapped to Shinobu, who only remained kneeling before the master, not an ounce of negative emotion riddling her young face. 

“I think you misunderstand why I’m here.” The woman began, unmoving despite Sanemi’s glare returning to her. “Kanae was a phenomenal Hashira, and her death hurt everyone-"“Don’t act like you knew her!” Sanemi interrupted, his teeth bared. (Y/n) sighed softly, completely calm despite the raging man across from her. He hated it. She stood so sure, completely unaffected by his words, and worse, she wore a gentle smile. A sympathetic smile, like she knew the pain everyone was going through, and as if she knew he had lost another person he cared about. 

“I didn’t know her, and I won’t claim to have known her. But what I do know is that from everything I’ve heard, she was the epitome of goodness. And I can only attempt to follow in her footsteps as the next Flower Hashira.” (Y/n’s) hand reached for her chest, placing itself atop her heart, “I can only begin to hope I leave a legacy as powerful as hers and that my joining is not seen as a rushed replacement.” Her head lowered as she finished her statement. She was bowing. Not to the master or the other Hashira, but to him. To Sanemi. He took a step back, his eyes widening slightly as he attempted to fend off the shock trying to make itself known. 

“Death sticks with us all, Sanemi, but it also allows us the chance to grow.” Oyakata spoke up from the pavilion he rested on. “And in order for us to stay strong, we must grow. I hope you can come to understand this decision.” Sanemi snapped his attention to the Master. Like always, he stood proudly, his smile riddled with a saccharine sympathy. The wind Hashira couldn’t bring himself to argue against the master. If it were anyone else, he’d have a string of words for them, but it had to be the man Sanemi couldn’t bring himself to argue with. 

“I understand, sir. And I apologize for my outburst.” Sanemi rushed before turning on his heel, dismissing himself from the meeting before the master got another word in. He couldn’t believe it, the audacity of that woman, to stand there where Kanae should be and act as though she knew the pain they were feeling. The pain he was feeling. It was insulting, and Sanemi wanted nothing to do with her, for better or worse. 

She apparently had different plans. 

It was less than two hours before Sanemi noticed her intruding on his training. He held back a laugh of disbelief as she walked by him, drawing her sword and quickly beginning her own training regiment. 

“I don’t want to be around you, and I was here first. So, fuck off.” Sanemi argued as he watched her effortlessly destroy a few training dummies the Kakushi had set up. She only laughed at his statement and swung her sword once more. 

“I don’t care! We have to work together, so get used to it.” She claimed, a satisfied smile dawning on her lips as she noticed the rage bubbling up on Sanemi’s face. With another swing of her sword and another destroyed dummy, she turned on her heel to face him, wearing a wide smile. Sanemi seethed at her blatant disregard for his anger. 

“Who do you think you are?” He asked through gritted teeth, his fists clenched and his sword shaking in his hold. She sheathed her katana swiftly before she slowly dragged her eyes over his figure. Her eyes moved slowly as if she were studying him, easily committing every inch of his body to memory. 

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n), the newest Hashira and a demon slayer who has worked my ass off for years to be here. And who are you, other than your miserable jackass persona?” Her question was so simple, yet so irking. Sanemi tossed his Katana to the side, figuring it best not to have a weapon in his hands while his emotions were being tested. His hands ran through his hair as he stole a deep breath from the world around him. His hands fell to his side, returning to fists as he glared at the still-smiling woman. 

“I’m Sanemi Shinazugawa, the wind Hashira.” He declared proudly. He was the wind Hashira, one of the strongest members of the demon slayer corps and someone people feared, and Sanemi reveled in the idea of her finally backing down and acknowledging his strength. Instead, (Y/n) shook her head softly, her arms crossing over her chest as she did. Sanemi felt his glare deepen as he watched her arms fold over each other. 

“No. I don’t think you are.” Another pass of her eyes over his figure, “I think you’re just an angry man. That’s all you are, Isolated anger.” She decided. Sanemi felt his jaw drop with her statement. He stood frozen in place, staring at the woman. Her eyebrow raised under his unwavering gaze.

“What gives you the right to say something like that to me?" He challenged, his voice shaking with rage. She sighed softly, and finally, her smile faltered. 

“Because I’ve been in the same position, and if you ignore your rage, it will kill you. It seems as though it’s already doing a number on you.” She deducted, slowly walking toward the man. Her stride was sure, unwavering with each step. If anything, it made Sanemi a little unsure, despite his flurry of anger. 

“Oh, shut up.” He barked, attempting to seem more sure of himself than he truly was. 

“No. Shun people all you want. It’s not going to keep you from getting hurt. If anything, it will just make it worse.” She challenged, her finger poking at his scarred chest as she leaned close to him. Their eyes met, and Sanemi felt his breath hitch. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes, that was expected, but this close, he saw something more. Swirling behind the expanse of colors unknown to Sanemi, there was hope; he knew it was hope. He had seen that look in his eyes one too many times when looking at reflective surfaces. A yearning for something better, for a future free of demons and a life of peace with the family they had remaining, it was the same hope that was continuously torn away from people like them.  

“You don’t know anything about me.” He brushed off the look, pulling away from her before she continued her way out from the training arena. Sanemi watched as she walked off, his eyes glued to her figure. She stopped, turning over her shoulder with a vibrant smile plastered across her face.

“That’s why I am going to do everything in my power to learn about you. Even if you hate it.” She winked at him, giggling softly before completely disappearing. Sanemi stood frozen in place, disbelief at the interaction snaking through his veins. 

He rolled his eyes before going to retrieve his sword. 

“Shinazugawa!” Her voice cut through his thoughts, forcing his feet to stop as he turned over his shoulder. She joined him at his side seconds later, wearing her favorite smile as she came to a halt. She always wore that same smile, even when she was in the midst of arguments. Sanemi swore he had only seen her smile drop twice, and neither time ended well. The better part of him screamed at him to be concerned; someone who wore a smile that pure had to be masking something, especially in this profession. Yet he couldn’t gather the courage to ask, no matter what he did. He could look man-eating demons in the eyes and laugh… But ask her something personal? Sanemi rather feed himself to upper moon one. 

“Hello, (L/n). What brings you out this way?” He spoke softly, probably too softly, but he would worry about that later. The woman beside him bounced slightly on her toes, excitement radiating off her every inch. His head tilted slightly to the side as she looked around at their surroundings as if she were making sure no one was listening to them. 

“You’re not going to believe this!" she began, “But my newest batch of students for training are all graduating a week early! They’ve absolutely mastered stealth training! One of them was so good at it that he snuck up on me!” Her hands clapped together excitedly. Sanemi gave an approving ‘hmm’ at her information, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips despite his better judgment. Despite their rocky introduction, he had always appreciated how proud she was of everyone around her. Some people were proud to the point of arrogance, but she had always been a perfect mix of awareness and pride. That fact had been a reason for Sanemi’s eventual reconciliation with her. 

“That is great to hear, (L/n). The sooner we get them through training, the more time they have to practice summoning a mark.” He nodded slightly, his arms crossing over his chest a moment later. 

“You know, you don’t have to call me by my last name.” Her head tilted slightly to the side, a smug smirk dawning across her face. “Or have you forgotten my first name? You are quite forgetful.” She teased, earning an eye roll from Sanemi. 

“I leave my sword at a meeting one time….” He groaned, earning a soft chuckle from her. Sanemi forced back the ever-growing smile fighting its way onto his face. He hated how effortlessly she could make him smile, and he despised the look she gave him every time she succeeded in drawing a smile onto his face. It wasn’t a smug look nor a look of confusion; it was always one resting on the border of adoration. Although, Sanemi knew he would never let himself believe it. Very few people adored him, and he was sure someone as amazing as (Y/n) would never feel that way about him. 

“You were so distracted that day…I still remember the look on your face when I handed you your katana.” She tapped at her lips as her eyebrow raised, “Makes me wonder what had you so distracted.” She leaned forward, silently prompting Sanemi to share his side of the story. The wind Hashira fought back a chuckle at her prodding. He knew full well why he was so distracted and knew further that he would never dare to utter a word about it in her presence. It was embarrassing to him alone and mortifying to think about others knowing. The wind Hashira, the scariest Hashira the corps had to offer, Sanemi Shinazugawa was distracted by her.  He knew she would always capture his attention with her intricate haori and overall eye-catching demeanor. But in recent weeks, no, in recent months, she had become his favorite distraction. Bad day? Talk to (Y/n). Bored before a mission? Exchange Kasugai crow messages with (Y/n). He truly needed no excuse to talk to her, yet he continued to find them, mainly to save his pride. His eyes flickered down to hers as he formulated another excuse to feed her. 

“The idea of dinner was distracting me.” He lied. She rolled her eyes at his statement, seeing through his fib effortlessly. Sanemi knew he couldn’t keep lying to her, but for something like this, he deemed it better than admitting that he could not shake the woman from his thoughts. 

“Speaking of which…Did you already eat dinner?” She asked, her hands clasping as she looked up at Sanemi. He nodded quickly, attempting to avoid the question of being invited to dinner. He couldn’t allow her to eat dinner with him, not after what happened to everyone who had before. 

“I did, but thank you for asking.” He responded, his sentence fading out quickly. Sanemi turned on his heel, beginning to walk away, only to be followed by (Y/n). She took in their surroundings as they walked. 

“Shame, I was going to invite you over for dinner! I’m thinking of making some hiyashi chuka and maybe some ohagi for dessert.” She looked up at Sanemi, who visibly perked up at the mention of his favorite sweet treat. His hand brushed through his hair as he murmured a soft ‘sounds good’ in response, trying to hide his intrigue. Another sigh from (Y/n), and her head tilted back. 

“You’re so difficult, Sanemi.” She lamented, earning a chuckle from the white-haired man. He looked at her, committing her exasperated expression to memory. His hand found itself atop her head as he rustled her hair, drawing a laugh from her. 

“That’s my specialty.” He said through her fit of giggles. Swiftly she swatted his hands away, stepping in front of him and pointing at his chest. Sanemi stopped short, unmoving under her playful gaze. 

“One day, mark my words, we will have dinner together, and you’ll love it.” She promised, her finger digging into his chest as she poked at him. Sanemi prepared to respond, a witty remark waiting desperately on the tip of his tongue, but when his eyes met hers, the wind Hashira froze. Any word he prepared was immediately gone as he noticed the hues of her face shift slowly. Grey’s were replaced without hesitation, giving way to the stunning shades that made up the appearance of (Y/n) (L/n). He stepped back, unable to process the colors flooding his world. Sanemi’s head snapped up, looking at the flowering trees around them. Grey and white were no more in favor of vibrant purples and greens. The sky was a shade of shimmering orange as the sun set, the remaining blue turning darker by the moment. Sanemi returned his sights to (Y/n’s) eyes. They were stunning. Sparkling and shimmering in the evening light, unblinking as they stared at him. His hands found their place on her arms, holding her gently as he stared at her. 

“Sanemi?” Her eyebrow was raised, and her voice laced with concern. Sanemi attempted to stomp out his excitement to no avail. Years of seeing nothing but white, grey, and black were suddenly thrown out of the window. It didn’t make sense, Sanemi had suffered so much, but in this moment, with her, his life was reignited with a sudden vibrancy he didn’t know he had missed. He didn’t know what to say or do. How do you explain to someone that you just regained the ability to see color after years of being colorblind? The world was silent, full of vibrant colors and an overwhelming peace Sanemi didn’t know was possible. He was at a loss for words, so he said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Have I ever told you that your eyes are striking- no, dazzling… no, that’s not enough.” Sanemi thought for a moment, “You are absolutely captivating.” 

Part 2

[usernamesarehard1]

I feel like we don't talk enough about Call's backstory. I mean, it was really tragic and set the stage for all of his emotional turmoil throughout the series.

He lives in a town where his dad is considered crazy/insane/etc, and so everyone assumes that Call is crazy too or that Alastair is causing some kind of harm to him.

Adults and children alike hate him solely because they don't understand him. He is literally physically and verbally attacked and beaten constantly by his classmates for being disabled and for being "weird", and the teachers do nothing about it. Like he actually canoncially experiences constant abuse

And then he gets home and he can't even really open up to his dad, the ONLY person in his life, because Alastair is so emotionally closed off due to his own traumas. And then he has to worry about Alastair instead of worrying about himself.

Like, Call was literally traumatized and thought that he was an awful person because everyone told him he was and physically punished him for his existence.

And I am in no way an expert on any psychological disorders but when I have read about the basics of certain ones, it would not surprise me if Call would be diagnosed with some of them irl. Like when I was researching "quiet bpd" at one point it sounded just like Call to me. He has no sense of person identity and tears himself down inside thinking he is a terrible person, while simultaneously going back and forth between putting his friends on a pedestal and distrusting them entirely. And we see in the books how he is very clingy to Aaron and Tamara, especially Aaron, and has to use them as a safety net for himself. And how he is just constantly terrified of abandonment, especially by Aaron and Tamara. And how he isolated himself so much and struggles to process or express his emotions.

And when I read a bit about ODD (oppositional defiance disorder) I sounded similar to Call. Like, Call does seem to have a distrust for and rejection of authority in the beginning of the series, which makes sense because the authority in his life (teachers, etc) only put him down for struggling. It isn't until he realizes Rufus has his best interests at heart (most of the time) that be begins to trust him, but he is still very wary of the other Masters and Assembly members. And from what I have read ODD tends to primarily affect children and becomes easier to move past as they get older so Call slowly becoming more trusting of authority over the course of the books makes sense.

(Sorry if I didn't explain those things well, it's very indepth in my brain but hard to put into words)

Obviously these two diagnoses are very broad spectrums but it would not surprise me if Call feel somewhere on them.

And then of course Call obviously has social anxiety and depression in the books. And it would not surprise me if he had some sort of PTSD going into the Magisterium based on his upbringing. And I have seen a few people say that his Evil Overlord List could be a sign of a specific type of OCD.

Like, Call was a KID. This was the only world he ever knew. In his most impressionable years he knew nothing but hate from people outside his family and very limited emotional support or connection inside his family.

Again, I'm no expert on any of these things. I just have basic info, but when I did learn immediately made me think of Call. Tbh I feel anxious about posting this because I'm terrified I have something wrong here or that i am misremembering something. I just wanted to share the connections my brain made.

I really wish the books had more about Call's friendship with Aaron and Tamara helping all of them to start heal through each other's comfort since none of them ever really had that emotional support prior to each other.

And tbh I'm kinda surprised Rufus didn't notice a lot of what was going on with Call. I really wish the books had delved into that more rather than having Rufus get mad at Call for his trauma responses.

Also, what happens when Call goes home during the summer (especially when Aaron wasn't there)? Was he attacked again? Was he verbally harassed again? Did he return to the Magisterium with bruises or anything? The books did say that he would often have injures from the attacks by his classmates (I remember them mentioning a black eye, split lip, and bandaged arm in one flashback).

I have just been thinking about it a lot recently.

[mdhwrites]

do you think odalia should of had more depth?

So weirdly enough, I think this is an incorrect question because it implies Odalia by herself is important. A story needs to understand the usefulness of its characters after all, what their purpose is, etc. like that. For a lot of essentially one off characters, say Viney or Vee for example, a hint of depth but not exploring it is smart because you allow your fans to imagine what they could be like but they don't get in the way of the story you're telling. One off villains especially fall into this because their point much more often than anything else is simply to instigate a conflict. That's it.

I do not deride the vast majority of S1 villains for being one note. In fact, a lot of them are more fun for their simplicity. As Odalia is essentially a one off villain just meant for Amity's growth, because she's her daughter, she shouldn't need depth because she is just an obstacle to be conquered.

...That whole part 'Amity's her daughter' is a bit of a problem though, isn't it?

See, the minute you tie a villain to a main character, that starts complicating things. The more their relationship has effected either side, their narrative role starts to warp. They are suddenly a large figure within this person's life and so not only is defeating them a much bigger, more complicated affair but also that the villain's character is going to make or break critical elements of a main character's influences and backstory. They can no longer be one note unless their role was one note.

So instead of 'Should Odalia have had more depth' the better question is 'Is more depth for Odalia necessary for her place in the narrative related to Amity?' That requires us to define what her role in Amity's life is. What in theory her actions as told by Amity set her up as.

Odalia before S2 is a parent who has enforced onto Amity the need for social standing, power and exceptionalism. She also has so much power over Amity's life as to dictate who she can and can't be friends with and we can assume by the cruelty that Amity and the twins enact upon others, even within their own family, that this competition is inherent to the Blight family as a whole.

HOWEVER.

Also before S2, we see cracks of kindness within all of this. Odalia still caring enough to make sure Amity gets her lunch. Odalia overlooking the twins' bad behavior, despite Hexside seeming like the sort of school that would have called Odalia over them skipping class. Amity does not appear to fear repercussions from her mother anymore when it comes to her friend group as she befriends Luz and Willow without seemingly any fear of retribution (especially Luz) and discards Boscha and her entire old friend group without any real effort. This implies that Odalia isn't as controlling as Understanding Willow implies because her children actually have an incredible amount of freedom and free will. They do not live in the constant shadow of their parent, even if Odalia has had a large impact on them.

I focus on pre-S2 like this for a reason. You can retcon all you want BUT Odalia had to stand on what was setup before her arrival. Anything afterwards is damage control for fuck ups they made. Even then, many of their retcons actually make elements of this worse as Odalia was able to internalize her dream of Amity being in the EC so severely that just the idea of ANY threat to that was able to drive Amity to madness (Teenage Abomination) or close to the brink of tears (Covention). This further implies a great deal of influence over Amity and that her lessons left deep scars on her, to the point where Amity stopped distinguishing between her mother's desires and her own.

That doesn't FUNCTION with S2.

Odalia in S2 leans in ENTIRELY into the idea that she'd straight up murder one of her own children if they stepped out of line too far. She literally was willing to show how efficiently her HOME DEFENSE robot, which you would think would be used to protect YOUR KIDS, can murder a child in order to hurt Amity and prove her dominance. The twins, who are unrepentant in their schemes outside of Amity almost getting killed, do fear repercussions from Odalia. Odalia hates literally anything that makes them step out of line with the image she desires for her family, thus trying to dye Amity's hair. She is a monster, through and through.

A monster that Amity tells to go fuck herself and suffer ZERO ramifications from. If the show were as brave as people claim, that would have led to Amity being DISOWNED because why would Odalia continue to accept what is clearly an abject failure of ideals at this point? Yes, Alador theoretically pushes the idea of how Amity might be getting stronger based on this but why would she actually believe that? And even then, is a potential coven head worth it if it gives her no power back because they won't listen to her? Because they aren't profitable and loyal to her anymore? Even without the retcons to Alador, there's a real case that just in her first appearance, it's a cop out. Post Alador's retcons where Odalia doesn't care about him and doesn't listen to him, where she takes a single act of betrayal as a reason to accuse him of wanting to break off their partnership, all of this only becomes worse.

And all of this comes back around to crack Amity's character. That arc everyone praises from S1? Now it makes no sense because Amity's influences make no sense. What she rebels against is made trivial but also incomprehensible because there SHOULD have been consequences and she should have MUCH more scared of those consequences. Instead, it comes incredibly easy and naturally to her to break her bonds and be a good person with the 'right' friends now. This is compounded by how little anyone ever calls out her behavior or how almost all of the time she may spend being introspective is off screen. We don't get to see the ideals she holds be properly challenged besides... Luz existing and Understanding Willow. Meanwhile, HER MOTHER is like THIS. Where those ideals would be constantly reinforced and the consequences for breaking those ideals would be SEVERE.

So, to loop back around: Did Odalia need more depth? Yes. Or she had to have mattered much, MUCH less to Amity.

======+++++======

As a note, this is one of those big examples to me for how TOH fans struggle to actually bring the show together for their analysis rather than cherry picking examples or using single episodes. Anyone who tries to claim Odalia and Amity's relationship makes sense is ignoring a LOT of elements that intrinsically tied to one another and how those elements cascade upon each other. Complex storytelling is like this where one creative choice creates a knock on effect. Making characters all be tied between each other somehow is one of the best examples of this but I feel like a lot of fans, for the sake of praising Amity's arc, only focus on Odalia and Amity like they are in a closed circuit and only for the specific parts they want to use in that circuit. That's not how this works.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[kammy-hyperfixation-central]

Kang Haesol and the Stoic Male Lead Trope (In the context of Roles Reversal)

All right, I have been seeing constant discussion about Haesol and it really lets me understand that most of y'all don't understand Kang Haesol as a character (Or you just don't have common sense) and that genuinely boggles my mind while letting me know that many people do not read Shoujo and do not understand Shoujo tropes because if you did you would understand her a lot better.

So I'm going to be breaking down the one Shoujo trope you have to know to understand Kang Haesol as a character.

Stoic male lead.

Yeonwoo's Innocence is not only a roles reversal but it is also a Shoujo deconstruction. If you read a lot of Shoujo and romance in general you can pick up on this pretty quickly. Therefore pretty quickly you should understand what type of character Haesol is.

Kang Haesol is the stoic male lead. Given this is RR she is the female lead but this does not change on account of her gender.

This male lead archetype are the ones who do not speak their emotions. They show them instead through action. THAT! is the character archetype that Haesol is based around.

Another thing about these Stoic characters is that they are obsessive. That is a constant trait that all of these stoic characters have in common and it makes a lot of sense given that because they constantly repress their emotions. When something happens and they lose their grip they are going to blow up and show themselves in ways that are not all that pleasant. (All that emotional repression does something to you and it's only a matter of time until it blows up)

The thing about Yeonwoo's innocence is that typically when this trope is put in a Roles Reversal setting the female lead is not exactly like the stoic male lead that is her counterpart. In an RR setting the female lead who is a reflection of this archetype is typically watered down and made a more feminine version of this archetype that loses all its flavor. as the story goes on but Yeonwoo's innocence does not do this.

Kang Haesol is a genuinely stoic character. She is not going to get all blushy and emote because she is STOIC! The Definition of stoic is someone who shows little to no emotion. Kang Haesol is the personification of this trope in female form and You all need to understand that. If you're expecting her to become some cold beauty who ends up a housewife or whatever TF don't. That is NOT her character and it never will be.

With Stoic characters, you have to actually pay attention to them to understand them. You have to WANT to understand them to be able to peel back the different sides of their personalities and Haesol is perfect for this. If you just look at her surface level you see nothing but a stoic person.

But if you actually LOOK at her and how she interacts with the world around her you understand her a lot better.

That is the appeal of The Stoic archetype. That mystery of who they are is what draws Shoujo readers to them and what makes them such interesting characters.

Kang Haesol is the female version of this archetype so don't treat her any differently. You don't tell male stoic characters to smile more or show more emotion so don't do the same to her.

Kang Haesol throughout the story stays consistent and her personality is still at its core that typical stoic male lead archetype. She's the perfect stoic character.

That is until she meets Yeonwoo.

Love at first sight is also a stoic male lead thing and it is done perfectly in this manhwa. (ah we love it when the calm one loses their marbles)

A character who has their emotions mostly in control but one person (that love interest) throws a retch into their usually calm waters.

Here's the thing though. Haesol is different.

Haesol has no grasp on her emotions. She can not perceive her emotions because of her trauma and how being a child model affected her (those who say we know nothing about her need to read the manhwa again because her backstory is literally thrown in your face in multiple moments of this manhwa) she can not understand her emotions because it is the coping mechanism she developed while she was being abused. If she showed emotion she was punished for doing so. So of course she locked them away. Then being with her mother only made things worse because she never truly cared enough to actually help Haesol and instead hurt her even more.

Which only made her retreat further.

Then she meets Yeonwoo.

Then she felt emotion.

Unbridled, overwhelming, EMOTION! for this "girl" and the confusion of it makes it worse. The confusion of why she's unable to get this "girl" out of her head and why everywhere she turns she sees this beautiful person wherever she turns confused and deludes but excites her.

Then she finds out that "she" is in fact a "he" and that she has a chance (Not like she wouldn't have a chance with a girl like have we seen her?)

Of course, she's obsessed!

Of course, she wanted to get closer to him. Of course, she will use whatever excuse she can to get near him.

Of course, she wants him desperately! He's the first person to elicit such strong emotion from her and it's positive! Not only is it overwhelmingly positive but it's all consuming and she's terrified because she's never felt this before.

Of course, she hides it away and shows nothing when showing emotion has only ever led to disaster.

Now that that is out of the way, the reason why I wanted to explain this is because people don't seem to understand her character, especially in relation to Yeonwoo.

Understand that this is a Shoujo deconstruction and a roles reversal manhwa. (it's a good one as well. the most well-written one I've ever read)

This is a two-in-one so unless you have experience with Shoujo/ romance and works that deconstruct popular tropes you most likely won't understand many of the things that are being done in this month.

Haesol very clearly is obsessed with Yeonwoo.

It is painfully obvious and you don't even need to reread it to understand that. (though his manhwa has insane reread value) The moment you get to the scene where she turns around after Yeonwoo asks to go to the amusement park with her you should already have alarms blaring (if you read Shoujo) because you understand that's not what a stoic character would typically do.

In Shoujo, the first meeting with the stoic male lead most of the time is very one and-done. The stoic male lead most of the time does not turn back and ask the female lead anything much less talk to her.

It is mostly their second interaction that does that.

However in Haesol and Yeonwoo's interaction not only does she give him her umbrella but she also engages in a brief conversation asking if he's ok. Sure it's small and bearly a minute but it still matters. If you understand the context surrounding that scene you're going to understand that her giving him her umbrella means that she calculated that he has to give it back to her.

Furthering their conversation... and making sure she gets to talk to him again.

There are so many little details that have been put into this manhwa that need to be talked about more because this is just one of them.

Haesol is a character whom I've said multiple times you need to look at her actions and not her words if you want to understand her as a character.

Also given that she is a Stoic character her obsession is going to be deep, it is going to be unhealthy, and it is not going to be in any way light.

Given the fact that Yeonwoo in fact enables these tendencies of hers you all need to understand that is going to likely get worse. Not in a bad way Shoujo has a tendency to make obsession like this completely viable (as we should let the girls have their fun. I personally love it and fall for it hook line and sinker) but given that this is Esol we are talking about she will probably twist this trope on its head in some way shape or form.

In all honesty, I'm just sick and tired of people constantly making horrible takes about Haesol as a character when it is clear they do not understand who she is. It is very clear that you do not read Shoujo or consume romance in general because most of these takes would not be happening if people actually understood the context of the genre.

[ka-freaking-boom]

Worship At My Altar

Deity Soap x Retired vet Ghost AU

Warnings: Implied suicide attempts, Depression, References to Ghost's backstory.

___

Ghost trudged through the quaint convenience store that he'd grown somewhat fond of, filling the worn basket that he’d grabbed on the way in with nonperishable foods that he could carry with him on his motorcycle. He’d been getting low on funds, so if he wanted to have enough to get a decent offering for the temple, he couldn’t afford to be as picky as he normally would be while shopping and instead settled for items like canned ravioli and spam for himself.

He’d used the majority of the cash that he had on hand, since cards were easy to trace, and got as far away from the overwhelming bustle of cities as possible, eventually crashing at a rundown motel in some small town in the middle of nowhere.

He adjusted his duffel on his shoulder, his scowl deepening as he tried to tell himself that the extra heft to the bag was all in his head. That the medal –that he’d since taken out of its protective glass case and wrapped up in an old sweatshirt that he’d had since his days as a fresh-faced recruit– buried in the depths of the duffel couldn’t logically be what was weighing him down.

It was just a stupid chunk of metal that indicated that he was a hero in the eyes of the public, giving justification for all the years he spent doing unspeakable acts for his country, for all the civilians caught in the crossfire, and all the good men he’d led into the depths of hell only for Ghost himself to come out the sole survivor.

He had given up on ever having a life outside of war and violence, he’d given up on having a family or a legacy extending past his reputation as an omen of death. It had left him with scars –mental and physical alike– scattered across the entirety of his person as a constant reminder of his service, and all he had to show for all that he’d sacrificed in the end was some fucking chest candy. It made Ghost want to kill something, preferably slowly... with his bare hands.

He set the can of soup that he’d been examining into his basket with a little more force than necessary, adding to his meager collection of food before moving on to the next aisle. He was considering the various cups of cheap ramen noodles, wondering if it even mattered since it all tasted like shit regardless, when someone rushed past him.

His gaze darted away from the display and toward the flash of movement, his hand twitching toward a sidearm that he no longer carried as he located who it was that had passed him. 

The tension that had coiled in his frame relaxed slightly when he realized that it was just an energetic kid, the small boy staring excitedly at the display of candy that was further down the aisle.

Ghost watched as the child began wringing his little fingers together as his wide eyes roamed over the large variety of candy that the store offered instead of just grabbing everything in sight, which was a surprising display of restraint from someone so young.

Ghost resisted the urge to flinch when the boy finally made his selection, one of his small hands abruptly darting out to snatch a bag of gummy bears off the rack before pivoting in order to walk back the way he had come, the kid pausing when he finally noticed that he had an audience.

He looked uncertain for a moment, probably unsure of how to feel about Ghost’s masked face and intimidating stature, before he seemed to shake himself out of his reservations and smiled up at Ghost, revealing the fact that he was missing one of his front teeth. 

He squeezed past Ghost’s large form with a giggle, Ghost following him with his eyes until the kid reached the end of the aisle and moved out of view. Ghost took a few controlled breaths, trying to ignore how the parts of his body where the kid involuntarily brushed up against him crawled uncomfortably, reminding him of claustrophobic boxes and the sharp pain of a scorpion's sting. 

Ghost forced his feet to start moving, intent on going to the checkout since he wanted to visit the temple before it was closed to the public, but he hesitated in front of the same display of candy that had entranced the child, blinking at the colorful packaging. 

His dark eyes scanned over the various sugary treats, debating whether or not to buy some with his already scant funds, before he caved with a sigh and reached out in order to grab a bag of chocolate, tossing it into the basket before he could talk himself out of it. 

Thankfully, the teenage cashier that scanned his things didn’t seem too bothered by his intimidating appearance, the girl too focused on getting Ghost checked out as fast as possible so that she could go back to boredly sketching on the piece of blank receipt paper that she had sitting next to the register to stare at the scarring on his face that wasn’t covered by the mask he was wearing, like most civilians that he encountered in public did.

He climbed onto his bike and pulled his black helmet over his head, feeling the uncomfortable tightness in his chest ease now that his face was hidden behind the tinted visor, before he took his groceries out of the cheap, plastic bags that the store used and began meticulously packing them away in his saddle bags, separating them based on whether it was for him or for his offering. 

Once he was finished, he started the bike with a loud rumble, the engine revving as he reversed out of the parking space and floored it out of the lot, he would have to speed if he wanted to get to his destination in time to set up. 

_____

Ghost wasted no time parking the bike and climbing off, impatiently yanking his helmet off and collecting the things he needed before he trotted up the stone staircase and into the looming temple, quickly passing the various priests and lingering townspeople without so much as a second glance in his haste to reach the altar. 

A wave of familiar warmth greeted him the moment that he stepped into the room, Ghost taking note of the subtle changes that had been made to the décor in the altar room since his last visit, the red and gold color scheme making the space feel welcoming and cozy. 

He carefully lowered himself to his knees in front of the marble platform that the statue sat atop of, Ghost setting his bag of offerings next to him before looking up at the deity that he’d been introduced to shortly after arriving to the small town. It had been immediately obvious to Ghost -even at his very first visit- that the statue had clearly been made with the utmost care, every cut reverent, every curve and divot of muscle lovingly sculpted.

Even the drape of the cloth over the statue’s hips was so flawlessly crafted that, if he reached out and touched it, he was almost convinced that he would feel soft cloth underneath his fingers instead of cool marble.

Ghost allowed his eyes to take in the bulge of muscle, the v of the man’s hips that disappeared beneath the flowing fabric that was wrapped artfully around him. His hands twitched with the urge to trace the veins that crawled across thick biceps and calloused hands, to rake through the thick line of hair at the top of the man’s head, to brush a thumb across his knowing, smug grin. 

The man was undeniably beautiful.

Ghost managed to pry his gaze off of the statue in favor of silently pulling the things he’d brought with him out of his bag in order to set them onto the packed stone platform at the man’s bare feet, placing his own offering among the flowers, jewelry, money, candles and bottles of expensive amber liquor that others had left during their own visit.

Ghost meticulously put down ten candles, one for each member of the 141, and the last four for his family. He pulled out a lighter and brought the flame down to the wicks one at a time, mentally recalling the names and faces of those he cared for as he lit the corresponding candle for each person until he had reached the last one.

He took a moment to stare at the flickering flames before forcefully shaking himself out of his daze and setting a bottle of his favorite bourbon in the center of the circle of candles as well as two pretty blue glass bowls that he’d found while at the thrift shop the other day since they were the same shade that the deity’s eyes were.

Or at least what color he believed they were. During his last visit, a painting that someone had left on the altar as an offering in an impressive display of artistic skill had caught his attention, the artist having decided to depict the man with eyes that were such a vibrant blue that they looked like they were glowing, which Ghost thought was befitting of the deity.

He filled the larger bowl with a couple things that he had collected with the intent to bring to the altar. Like the smooth stone that he’d taken from the lake earlier that week, when he had contemplated wading into the crystalline water until it swallowed him up but ultimately decided against it, or the little wooden penguin figurine that he’d spent the week carving, having picked up the habit of whittling a new animal to give the statue every visit.

He then dropped a black skull keychain that he’d spotted at a gas station a few towns over, the bleached skull of a small bird, and the inspirational quote that his therapist had him write on a notecard into the big bowl before propping up the letter that he got from Roach -which mentioned how he was getting sent on a mission with Gaz and Price- behind the bowl in order to ask for protection for the mad cunts.

Ghost finished off the offering by fussing with the small bowl’s placement until he was satisfied before taking the bag of chocolate he’d bought earlier and ripping it open in order to dump the contents into the bowl. He ran a hand over the individually wrapped candies until the pile looked a little less messy before pulling his hand away and letting it rest against his thigh.

He’d come a long way since the first time he’d stopped by the temple, that initial visit having been fueled by a mix of sleep deprivation, desperation and alcohol. The only offering that he had brought with him that time had been the bullet that he’d loaded and unloaded from his firearm so many times since being discharged from the military that the motion was now practically muscle memory.

He’d wanted to get rid of the bullet and the weakness that it represented and figured that the altar of a God he didn’t believe in would be the perfect solution, though he couldn’t have accounted for how the calm atmosphere of the altar room and the kind eyes of the statue staring down at him with a soft, inviting smile kept him coming back for more, chasing that feeling of peace he only got from being in the room.

“I-” Ghost paused, internally wincing at how loud his rough voice seemed in the otherwise silent room, swallowing hard as he ignored how stupid he felt talking to a fucking statue, and continued. “I know it’s not anything extravagant, I don’t have a lot to offer…”

Ghost licked his chapped lips as he trailed off, finally glancing up from the flickering candles enveloping his small pile of gifts to gaze up at the man towering over him, unable to shake the feeling that the statue was looking directly at him despite the fact that it had been carved specifically to look down at it’s devout worshipers. The amused eyes of the man felt like encouragement, the statue's playful gaze easing Ghost's insecurities and helping the tense line of his shoulders relax.

“But you’re already far too spoiled considering the fact that you do fuck all, so I think that you’ll be okay.” Ghost finished with a wide grin that pulled at the various scars on his face, the bite taken out of his words by the soft chuckle that followed the quip as he reached out to condescendingly pat an unoccupied portion of the stone altar, his hand lingering for a moment longer than strictly necessary before he pulled away and pushed to his feet with a grunt, various old aches and pains making themselves known after kneeling for so long.

Ghost picked up his bag and made for the archway leading out of the room, sparing one last glance back at the benevolent statue before finally turning away and moving through the threshold and out of view, oblivious to the subtle sound of shifting stone as the statue’s smile seemed to briefly widen, lips parting to show a flash of perfectly straight teeth.

[sea-owl]

Could I get some more yandere Bridgerton hc? I would like some where the bridgertons are for some reason forced into the past so they try and speed up their romance but the spouses are from the "villains spouses" books (not reincarnated) from you isekai Portia au. But they are the og villains without Portia reincarnating to help them.

So, like from the Isekai Portia AU, except instead of where everyone is reincarnated into a new life from different worlds, the Bridgertons from the novels where the spouses were second love interests were reincarnated into the OG villainous spouses world yanderism and all? I think I can work with something like that. Hold up let me go digging for the backstories.

To start it would turn into a shit show so fast. The Bridgertons are determined to have their spouses this time around by ANY means necessary. Meanwhile the spouses don't have the moral compass an isekaied Portia gave them in all the other variants nor do they have a sense of a family, all of them have been beaten down in some form or another and caused them to snap. It would be a constant struggle for dominance from each side.

I think the Bridgertons would wake up their memories around the time villain Simon would come to seduce and destroy Daphne to get revenge on Anthony. Penelope and Felicity would have already befriended the Bridgertons by this point for their cover as they plan to destroy society from inside out. I think for the sake of simplicity too the Sharmas would already be in London too. Meanwhile the rest of the Bridgerton brood are out running around looking for their own loves.

Daphne turns the tables on Simon during the seduction game real quick. Simon was expecting some shy and naive debutant but Daphne caught one whiff of seduction and said ooo, my favorite game. Simon may have been the one to start this but Daphne is bold about it. One time in public at a muscial Daphne ran her hand up Simon's thigh and stopped very close that would not be appropriate especially in public. Anthony being way more friendly is also throwing Simon off.

Anthony is also throwing Kate off, and distracting her. Her plan to burn her family to the ground isn't working because that stupid viscount won't leave her alone! And Kate is mean to him! She'll throw every insult she can think of and it's like he gets off on it! He also has no sense of personal space! It's like he's trying to get them caught with how often he has her cornered against some surface.

Sophie might just end up stabbing Benedict. He managed to come across her during one of her heists and sadly for her interrupted her. Benedict thinks he saved her and took her back to My Cottage so she could rest. Sophie looked all over that property and there wasn't anything worth stealing. Him dragging her everywhere isn't helping her plan her next heist either. Sophie would steal the clothes off his back just to be petty but she has a feeling he would like that.

Penelope might also end up stabbing Colin. She liked it better when he DIDN'T acknowledge her existence and follow her everywhere. Stupid stalker. She's got a gossip empire to run and a ton to set on fire! Isn't he supposed to be traveling too? He needs to jump on a boat and leave her alone! Penelope is getting sick of constantly changing hacks to throw him off her trail or having Felicity pretend to be her so he'll follow her while Penelope runs to the print shop.