#my goal is to paint something contradictory after this

[otterskin]

Does you actllty like odin because I thought everyone hated him.

...Why would people hate him? I struggle to understand that, even now. I have my theories, which I've spoken off in other places.

I think, and I don't like to say this, because there are certainly takes that aren't, but in general, that opinion is very juvenile. There's a desire to want to 'defend and protect' people from him, which betrays a lack of understanding of the dynamics in the films, and a tendency to side with children over adults, even grown children, and to see older people as symbolic of institutional power, as well as parental power, over them, and therefore a yoke that needs throwing off. There's a childish 'shut up, DAD!' to the criticism. More seriously, the desire to paint him as abusive reminds me of the problem of people confusing conflict for abuse, something that's a major issue in online spaces and real life. Outrage and extremism are rewarded and sought after, so everything is heightened. In that lens, a father who tried to do right by his children but who was in a unique circumstance because of his desire to challenge the status quo and fated enmity of two warrring peoples, a king who can't put the needs of his children over the suffering of his people and risk to his kingdom, now becomes a monster who delights in playing favourites and abusing them for kicks. It's disheartening.

There's precious little sympathy for characters like him, especially in this genre. Superhero fare is pretty black and white, and even characters like Loki rest pretty firmly in the 'good' side of that. But Odin is that rare character who not only doesn't play by that simple dichotomy, he doesn't get to live in a world so neatly divided. It's part of his isolation from the others. So usually, people see the gray and decide he must not be 'good', and if he's not 'good', he must be 'bad'.

The films have little time to explore him or his motivations or how he chooses to navigate his murky situation, and it's all the worse because he's a secretive person who actively disguises his motivations and goals. He's a minor character in screen time, but looms large over the plot and other characters' motivations, so most of what we see of him is what other people tell us he is. Most of which is, of course, untrue. That's the Odin that lives in their heads, and not the actual man, who is the rare character in the MCU you actually have to watch and pay attention to to understand. In universe, no-one bothers to do that - they are content with the version they've created to hate. So the audience thinks that version is also the real one, because it's easier to understand and categorize.

I love Odin, in mythology, and in the MCU. He's a much kinder person in the MCU for sure! But I'm glad that, even in a fairly straightforward world, they gave Odin no clear answers. He remains contradictory and deeply flawed, a thoroughly miserable person but with something compelling him to try and change the destined end of the world. How could I not love someone like that? How could people who say they like Loki not like a character who is so similar?

I get depressed when I encounter Odin haters. I feel like they've completely misunderstood and missed out on a fundamental part of the story, and I worry that if their sentiments infect the actual MCU, it will besmirch the efforts of those who came before and the humane story I fell in love with. Odin was not intended to be a bad parent or a bad person, and I don't think he is. He is intended to be someone that people IN UNIVERSE see as a full villain or as a full hero, but he is neither. He is a person who was faced with difficult choices, and he chose to do some radical things that many others of his kind would never do. He paved the way for a better future and better choices for others by defying the prejudices and traditions of his people, but because he was a trailblazer, he did not have the benefit of learning from others' examples, like Thor and Loki have because of him.

Comparing him to Thanos or other actually abusive parents is repellant. Never once have I seen anyone who claims to hate him actually engage with the character as depicted, nor how they would cut through the Gordian Knot of compromises the character had to contend with. They handwave away the moral questions as 'actually super easy to solve', which is something I abhor in fiction (it's also why I deeply dislike Spider-Man: NWH, which handwaves away the motivations and tragedies of villains from previous series). No, nothing was easy to solve about the choices presented to Odin, and I think the character had both logical and emotional rationale for his choices. He actually made pretty bold and forward-thinking plans, they just all tend to suffer from his fatal flaw - he thinks about them as logical, but they're really motivated by emotion that he keeps at arm's length, which leads to him showing vulnerability and being punished for it.

This is something that goes by so fast in the films, but I loved it because it is such a fundamentally male experience. Odin is someone being crushed under pretty much every expectation of masculinity, from man to warrior to father to husband to king, and whenever he tries to show regret, fallibility or vulnerability, the other characters find it disturbing and swiftly reject him, forcing him back into the performance and the misery that comes with it.

Odin may ponder what is the correct decision, but does not mistake that for what is the most moral decision. He is someone who is both logical and emotional but who hasn't integrated those two halves of himself together very well.

If you hate the character, I'd be happy to talk about it. It is okay to just not like characters! Including gray ones. But for me, I can really think about Odin, and I like that he can't be easily written up for a bland Fandom page that requires everything be spelled out or it 'doesn't count'. He exists in the between spaces of the story, and it is a very sad and lonely tale.

TL;DR : He's a complicated man in a simple story. In the Squid Game of Sugar Cookie, he got the Umbrella. I am sad that such a fundamental character to the foundation of the THOR franchise's quality and themes is so misunderstood and unappreciated by this fandom. I don't think you can love this franchise and not have some care for Odin.

[ultramarine-spirit]

Spoon's Q&A, fun facts and more! (NHK Culture Center Class)

As promised, I have translated the contents of Spoon's NHK class. This post includes answers to the Q&A, fun facts and interesting info I noticed from the session.

Disclaimer: Unless stated otherwise, these aren't direct quotes, nor a literal or complete translation of the whole class (it was over an hour long, it would have taken me much longer...), it's a summary. Also, Spoon talked very fast, so while I fact-checked my notes with native speakers and translators, I could have made mistakes.

Many thanks to my friends @carlachen and @ mananokobako on Twitter for sharing their notes with me!

Q&A

Q: The outfits featured on “Who Made Me A Princess” are very beautiful, what’s the process behind their designs? [Note: This was my question!]

A: When designing the outfits, Spoon researches the appropriate aristocratic costumes and dress codes, mainly from the 1870’s and 1880’s. She also uses material collections, books about clothing and web seaches, and used them as reference for details and hairstyles. In fact, this process could get very research-intensive and take many hours, something Spoon hadn’t anticipated, so she thanks the readers for liking them and taking notice of the clothes’ details.

Q: How did you come up with the name "Spoon"?

A: A friend recommended it to me, saying that the pronunciation of the word "spoon" was cute and that it suited my illustrations.

Q: While there are happy times when you draw manga, you must have also experienced many difficult and sad times. Is there anything that gave you the strength to overcome those difficult times?

A: The words of support and feedback from the readers gave Spoon strenght. When she heard that one of them was able to overcome depression after reading "Who Made Me A Princess", she was really moved to tears. Another happy event she remembers was when a foreign reader sent her a letter and a gift through the publisher company. She was so grateful that they would come all the way here [Korea], and also thanks the publisher company.

Q:  What’s the most important thing to focus on while doing art, and is it needed to receive formal education or one could be self-taught? This may be a contradictory question, but what do you do when you lose interesting in drawing or you don't want to draw? Also, what’s your favorite type of ramen? [Yes this is the correct translation lol]

A: Spoon believes that the most important thing while doing art is to complete your work. If you don't complete it first, you can’t find flaws or bad points in your art to improve. Whether you learn by self-study or by attending art school, if you can become a professional or not depends on your effort. Try to be as specific as possible in your goals, and think about what you need to do to become better at painting than you are now. When Spoon is feeling unmotivated, she thinks to myself, "If I take a break now, I will regret it later, won't I?".

Among Korean ramen, a type called of sesame ramen called "Chamke ramen" is Spoon's favorite.

Q: I was always impressed by the beauty of Spoon-sensei's paintings. I wanted to know if there is an artist that influenced your art.

A: Spoon’s style has been influenced by the art of Naoko Takeuchi [Called it] author of Sailor Moon, Ikuko Ito, creator of Princess Tutu and animation director of the original Sailor Moon anime, and Katekyo Hitman Reborn’s author, Akira Amano [In fact, Spoon is a big fan of the series. You can check some of her old fanart here]. Spoon says that she respects them very much.

Q: Do you have any stories, manga, TV dramas or anime that have been greatly influential for you?

A: Studio Ghibli’s Nausicaä and Laputa: Castle in the Sky, and Disney’s Moana, stories where the female protagonist has adventures and overcomes adversity. Spoon thinks those stories of growth are really wonderful.

Q: What’s your favorite anime?

A: Spoon likes all the films directed by Hayao Miyazaki.

Q: The person asking this questions comments that, after reading "Who Made Me A Princess" they gradually became interested in family stories in which two characters who were indifferent before become close and come to cherish each other very much. Their question is, since there are many combinations and genre settings, if there's a particular pattern or setting that Spoon personally likes.

A: Spoon likes to see a character change depending on emotions such as love and friendship. Emotions are intangible, but they have the power to change a person's personality and behavior. She thinks that's what is so wonderful about it.

Q: At what stage do you draw the shadows? Do you add them in from the beginning or in the middle [of the process of painting]? Also, when do you start thinking about putting shadows in there? I would like to know if there are any points you are conscious of when drawing.

A: Spoon adds shadows when she is considering the surrounding lighting of the drawing. Even if the object in particular is a flat surface, it's important to paint it as if it were three-dimensional. In order to get better at this, it's absolutely necessary to carefully observe photographs to see the way in which shadows are cast when an object is exposed to light.

Q: When you are drawing, which part do you like the most?

A: Spoon enjoys when she is putting the finishing touches the most. She is filled with a sense of accomplishment after completing it.

Q: In some scenes, Athy does a swirly gesture with her arms when she is embarrassed. The person who asked this question doesn’t quite understand it, as it’s not something you see in Japanese manga, and would like Spoon to explain it a little.

A: [Spoon shows gifs of Korean TV shows where the participants make a sort of “grabby hands” motion] Spoon laughs and explains that this is a common physical way to convey embarrassment, surprise or cringe in Korean culture [If you search “오글거리다” you can find some examples]. The word used literally means that your limbs "shrink", so that's where the gesture comes from, but it can also be used in other situations, such as being horrified, in pain or cold. In Japan, this is usually represented with goosebumps.

Spoon elaborates about how certain cultural differences are fascinating. For example, when someone is talking about a character behind their back or in another place, in Japanese media the character will usually sneeze. On the other hand, in Korea that kind of situation has the character’s ears suddenly itching.

Q: The person asking the question says that the way in which Spoon draws jeweled eyes is very beautiful. They want to know how did Spoon think of that idea, or if she developed a process of creating them.

A: How she would draw the jeweled eyes was one of the things that Spoon worried about the most. What she wanted to convey was the feeling of a “cut gemstone”, and how precious, shining and beautiful the eyes look [Here she explains it while doing “cutting” motions with her hands. Think something similar to a karate chop]. She did her very best and is glad that she got a good response from readers.

Q: Athy and her friends looks so beautiful and cute in the dresses they wear. I would like to know what was the most difficult or honestly troublesome dress to draw in your work.

A: The coronation dress was very difficult and time-consuming to draw. At that time, Spoon had to do a lot of things at the same time, such as revising the physical version of the webtoon, so there wasn't enough time to do everything at the same time, but Spoon was happy that the effort she put into it made it look gorgeous.

Q: Who is your favorite character to draw, or the easiest to draw? And who is the most difficult to draw?

A: It’s Athy, because she’s gorgeous and cute. But Spoon also greatly enjoys drawing Lucas. Drawing him is fun because he is handsome and has many expressions. On the other hand, it's difficult to draw cautious characters because their facial expressions don't change much. However, she says that all of the characters are beautiful and elegant, so there’s no character that Spoon dislikes drawing.

Q: What is the most important thing for Spoon to draw in “Who Made Me A Princess”?

A: Spoon expands on the themes of “Who Made Me A Princess”, about the various relationships within the family that wasn't connected to one another. She thought that even if the characters shared blood, they hadn't been able to communicate, so they could only become a family if they thought about each other. And even if they are not connected by blood, if they care about each other they still can become a family.

Q: The person asking the question goes over how the color of both Jennette and Anastasius’ eyes changed once Lucas removed their mana. Jennette’s eyes became green like Penelope’s, while Anastasius’ turned black. It seems like the jeweled eyes are related to the characters' mana. So, if they didn’t have any magic, would Athy's eyes become a beautiful and mysterious color like Diana's, and Claude's eyes would become almost brown like his mother's?

A: Spoon elaborates about how the way in which a person’s eye color is determined is very complex and tricky, as it has to do with genetics, but in this setting it indeed relates to the royal mana. If Athy didn’t have any magic, her eyes would look like Diana’s.

[Note: This is also shown with Aeternitas’ cloudy jeweled eyes, since his mana was very weak].

Q: The person asking this question asks Spoon why was Diana a dancer, and if she could get a little more into Diana’s character, her past and what type of person she was.

A: Spoon imagined Diana as a minstrel or a wandering artist. Like a ballerina in a famous theater troupe who tours, she travels with her dancing and singing, putting on shows in different countries to earn money for her travels, so Spoon characterized her as a free soul.

Q: Obelia is called “the land of eternal springs and summers” in the last chapter. Does that mean winter doesn’t exist there?

A: Spoon says that indeed, there’s no cold weather in Obelia. That's why the characters don't have winter clothes. However, as there are a lot of cute designs for winter clothes, she would like to draw an illustration of the characters in winter clothes in the future.

Q: What your schedule is like when you are working on the series?

A: Spoon exercises as soon as she wakes up, for about 2 hours, eats dinner when she gets home, and starts working right away all the way until she goes to bed.

Q: It’s very rare to see Claude in uniform or tight clothes. The person asking the question wonders why Claude's clothes are so bare and asks Spoon if she could elaborate a little on his fashion sense.

A: Claude used to be a prince who wore his uniform properly, but after meeting Diana, he came to like the more casual or loose style of clothing. So Claude's fashion sense comes from Diana’s influence on him. Even when he didn’t remember her, he kept wearing such clothes because of that influence, and also because he genuinely likes them.

Q: Who’s Spoon’s favorite guy?

A: [With no hesitation] Claude.

Q: How did you improve your drawing skills before becoming an illustrator?

A: Spoon used to emulate her favorite artists and draw fanart.

Q: Do you have a favorite japanese word?

A: When she was traveling in Japan, Spoon was impressed by the name “Nippori” [Referring to Nippori train station]. She looked up the meaning and thought “Oh, so that’s what it means!” [Note: Nippori means “place where the sun sets”]. In Nippori, she didn’t do anything in particular, Spoon just passed by it on the train.

Q: "Who Made Me A Princess" has great clothes, but I also like the flowers that appear in each scene. I know some of them problably don't exist, but is there a flower that you use as a model?

A: It was a long time ago, so Spoon doesn't remember much, but she tried to draw beautiful flowers with overlapping petals.

Q: Is there anything that Spoon-sensei takes special care of in terms of physical condition?

A: Her wrists. Spoon demonstrates how she does her stretching routine. She also takes supplements when needed.

Q: I love Athy's hair color, it's so soft. Did you have any difficulties or problems deciding on that color?

A: At first her hair was a little darker, but Claude's hair is a dark blond and Athy's is a light blonde. So, in order to make a difference between them, Spoon lightened Athy's hair. She had a hard time fixing it so it wouldn't be too bright.

Q: What do you keep in mind about color schemes when you paint? They are always beautiful and I'm always fascinated by them.

A: Spoon tries not to make the color scheme too dark or complex [This answer was hard to hear, it could mean too dark or complicated/oversaturated].

Q: A question asking for commentary on the characters' expression and they way in which Spoon draws them. The answer focuses on Claude’s expression when Athy collapses in Chapter 18. The comments mention how Claude’s perspective of it in Chapter 102 was very moving and made everyone cry. [Here Spoon showed the panel of Claude’s surprised face].

A: That scene was especially difficult for Spoon. It's a precious scene that shows how Claude had allowed his heart to worry about Athy. It was quite difficult because she had to give the expression a “Claude-like” quality and be careful to not deviate from his personality, but she also had to express how shocked he was. But it was a lot of fun despite the difficulties.

After reading the comments saying that this scene made everyone cry, Spoon adds that this is her favorite scene in the webtoon.

Q: The last question of the class. What will Spoon do in the future?

A: Spoon was thinking of going back to being an illustrator after the serialization of “Who Made Me A Princess” was over, but after the encouragement and happiness she received from readers, she decided to continue as a cartoonist. Look forward to seeing her next work!

Spoon realized that it makes her very happy to see and meet readers who are happy to read the manga she drew. She will continue to create good works as much as she can. She ends the live part of the class thanking us readers.

Q: At what age did you start drawing? [Note: The following questions are direct quotes. Because they were provided in written form, I was able to faithfully translate them].

A: My parents told me that I was very young, ever since I was able to hold a pencil, I was already drawing.

Q: What made you decide to be a cartoonist?

A: I have always dreamed of becoming a cartoonist since I was a child, but I thought it might be difficult, so at first I aimed to become an illustrator. After a while of working as an illustrator, I was asked to make my favorite work into a webtoon and decided to become a cartoonist.

Q: What’s your favorite manga?

A: I really enjoy reading Dungeon Meshi [Delicious in Dungeon] these days.

Q: What’s your favorite Japanese food?

A: I like sushi and ramen / I like cheese and creamy foods. It’s not good for my health… But it’s delicious, isn’t it? ( ;ω;   )

Q: When did your current art style take form?

A: After I started working as an illustrator and studied styles suitable for the genre (mainly romance fantasy), I guess… It’s not completely set in stone, it’s still developing.

Q: I’d like to know what’s your average working time per day.

A: Basically 8 hours, sometimes more than 12 hours when the deadline approaches.

Q: What software do you use for illustration?

A: I use Clip Studio Paint by CELSYS.

Q: Please tell me how to draw jeweled eyes!

A: I posted a tutorial on YouTube. Please watch the SoSpoon channel! [Link to the tutorial]

Q: Please tell us about Athanasia’s daily life!

A: Athy enjoys having tea and cake while performing her duties as princess. She will also play with Lucas, who shows up from time to time.

Q: Did you expect “Who Made Me A Princess” to become so popular in Japan? Did you work with the intention of expanding to overseas from the beginning?

A: At first, I didn’t think about publishing overseas. At that time [when the serialization began, in 2017], it wasn’t a time when overseas expansion was very active [referring to how back then, it wasn’t common for manhwas to get translated into other languages]. I was very happy that Japanese readers enjoyed my work, and I’m looking around for feedback with a lot of gratitude. Thank you so much for all the love.

Q: What does “Who Made Me A Princess” mean for Spoon-sensei?

A: The webtoon “Who Made Me A Princess” is like a benefactor to me. Thanks to this work, I was able to receive a lot of love. Thank you so much.

Q: Have you been asked to make an anime adaptation of “Who Made Me A Princess”?

A: Yes. I heard that it was ranked the 2nd manga that people want to see animated in Japan. Thank you very much.

[This year, “Who Made Me A Princess” has also been nominated to receive an anime adaptation. Read more about it and vote here!]

Fun Facts and Other Info

I'll answer what everyone is probably wondering about first: No, there was no mention of the side stories. But also, no one really asked about it. It seems to be a sort of taboo topic among japanese readers, and since there is some kind of issue with their publication, nobody touched the subject to not ruin the happy mood.

Apparently, Spoon received over 1000 questions for the Q&A.

The NHK translator mentioned that there were students from many countries!

Spoon gave a quick overview of her working tools. They include: a Cintiq 27QHD (tablet), two Dell monitors, and a Streamdeck. She also mentions using a 24-inch pen now, because it's easier to use.

Spoon has volume 9's cover as her PC's wallpaper.

Spoon's voice is very cute! But wow, she talks so fast. Taking notes was very challenging.

She seemed to be shy but was very happy and looked healthy! The first thing she did was thank the readers for all their support and for giving her strength.

There were many comments about how cute the gestures Spoon made were. I agree!

Spoon has a ton of WMMAP merch. A whole bookshelf filled with it, and I believe she had at least one item of... everything. Even the chinese exclusive merch.

She also had a bunch of WMMAP volumes, both normal and limited versions!

Spoon has a special brush for drawing blushed cheeks, and it's in fact not pink but orange and light red, with the contours being lighter.

She had a very cute crab pencil holder. She said it was a gift from her assistant. Spoon likes it because it has a cute shape and she loves cute things. Like this (green one):

Most people already saw, but the results of the popularity poll for the character people wanted Spoon to draw were: Athy in 1st place, Lucas 2nd, Claude 3rd, Ijekiel 4th, and lastly Jennette 5th. The numbers of votes weren't revealed. Spoon drew the following illustration to celebrate:

That's it for now! I've been told that the class will be re-streamed soon (though I don't know if it will be made public or just for those who paid), so I'll try to watch it again and chat with friends that attended the class to see if I can add more interesting information to this post.

(February 4th, 2023 Edit) With the invaluable help of my friend @ mananokobako on Twitter and listening to the class again, I was able to translate new questions and improve on the past translation. I hope everyone can give it another read!

[prettyboybecomes]

🥀Self Exorcism🥀 First

Sneakers on, headphones grabbed, water bottle filled with whatever refreshes you most. We are going on a walk my friend. It can be anywhere from 10 minutes to 45, but you need to quite literally touch grass. Photosynthesize. Be one with the wind or whatever you want, but get outside.

Then, with your tennis shoes still on (Pro tip for adhders, shoes on means brain in Go Mode), you’re going to set the mood. Hopefully this is taking place after school or work, or on a Saturday evening. Your first inside goal is to find the tea lights, the candles, the fairy lights, hell, even lamps will work. You’re going to turn off the big light, light your candles, and turn on the playlist of music that makes you feel like the most unashamed version of yourself.

Next

Crack the window, strip the bed, and start a 20 minute tidy. During this tidy, i want you to practice gentle parenting yourself. Say things like “It’s okay to make big messes, we just have to clean them up” and “No one is angry at me, no one is mad, i haven’t disappointed anyone”. Whatever the child in you would most need to hear after being in a slump. (Pro Adhd tip: use a pile system while cleaning. Books in one pile, clothes in another, trash in another, etc.)

After all the piles are sorted and put away, shake out any rugs in your room and sweep. Nothing makes you feel as clean as a freshly swept room.

Finish up by wiping down your surfaces and cleaning mirrors. Make sure to dust any places that have been collecting for a while first.

Then

The used sheets go straight into the wash, and the new sheets, a towel, and your nicest pair of pajamas go into the dryer so that they’re warm and cozy for after your shower.

Take a break to grab a snack and a drink that will tie you over. Make sure to have something that nourishes your soul AND your body. (My personal favorite is a hot chocolate and a small fruit and veg platter. Odd pairing, i know, but for me it genuinely is about getting nutrients in after a depressive episode.)

Next

Here’s where things get a little more personizeable. If you have long hair, or like me have short hair but are really into self care, this is when i want you to oil and massage your scalp. Doing this helps clear out any built up oil and debris on your scalp, and can help with hair growth if that’s your thing. You can use things like Coconut oil, or even Virgin olive oil depending on your hair type. Let that sit and soak in for about 25-45 minutes.

While that sits, i want you to open a journal or your notes app. You can either start a brain dump OR, if that’s difficult for you, then follow these three prompts: What is going on in my life? What isn’t going on in my life that should be? And what is going on in my life that shouldn’t be?

Then

Shower time, babes. whether it’s an everything shower or a relaxing one is up to you, but make sure you exfoliate and wash your hair. The goal here is to feel as clean and fresh as possible. I want you to feel reborn after this. Make sure to do your full skincare routine and brush your teeth really well.

After your shower you’re going to put your (still hopefully warm) favorite set of pajamas and nicest (but still comfy) underwear on. I want you to be as comfortable and confident as possible. I know they sound contradictory, but i promise it’s possible.

Then, we’re going to turn on a comfort movie, and do some self care. We covered the basics, food, water, touching grass, clean environment, and clean body, so it’s time for the more pampering things if you have the energy.

Do a face mask, under eye patches, maybe buff and paint your nails. Just pick one task that’s going to make you feel good.

Last

Make sure you go to bed at a reasonable time, preferably before 10:00 pm if your schedule allows for it. The best way to end your self care is to get the sleep you need.

[skania]

Warning really long read SORRY! I'm new to the fandom I started by watching episode 1 but dropped it for weeks until I saw reels comments and pictures going crazy with Akane. I picked it back up and started the manga after, Akane and Aqua of course became my favorite characters as I was able to personally connect with them through struggles I also faced. Your post have been very helpful as theres not to many places that aren't filled with negativity surrounding these two characters. These two characters have struggled so much and I can see how much they've come to truly care for each other especially when no one else was there. I wanted to share my thoughts with you but hesitated because I feel like they might not make sense. If it doesn't make sense please dont share I'll understand lol

"Kurokawa Akane is a child who takes you there Arima Kana is a child who brings you back"

This tweet from august 2021 from the author Aka Akasaka has alot of people trying to figure out the meaning, many interpret it and paint Akane in a bad light. When I first saw read it I just found it wierd how it was worded and how everything Akane has done for Aqua is always misinterpreted and they try to make her look as a bad person when she's actually far from it. It really got me thinking and this is my interpretation..

In chapter 51 we see how Akane has figured out the twins could possibly be Ai's secret child she got from her character analysis assumptions. She saw how badly it still affects Aqua and sympathized with him she herself knows the feeling of not wanting to worry others trying to take on the burden by yourself, she knows he cant talk to no one about the incident since it would expose Ai's secret. Akane truly cares about Aqua wanting to be the one by his side and helping him share his pain wanting to take her role of his girlfriend more seriously.

That specific tweet came out august 5 2021 the same day chapter 52 was released. The title of chapter 52 is called "boyfriend girlfriend" and at the beginning the editor note says "Where and how is Akane looking after the sick Aqua?" The chapter starts with Akane cooking a full course meal for Aqua and everyone there. We see the director and his mom complimenting her cooking then the directors mom says something that catches my attention she says "AQUA-KUN! SHE'S A KEEPER, HON! EATING DELICIOUS FOOD IS HAPPINESS ON ITS OWN YOU KNOW?" We then see Akane trying to feed Aqua but he ends up eating on his own we see him thinking its good and even blush alittle. During that time Akane is thinking to herself how she wants to help Aqua with his pain/burden just like he had saved and supported her. After we see Aqua lighten up allowing her see old acting videos of his she finds out from the director how he's been having his PTSD attacks when he acts and remembers his past experiences like earlier that day. She notices his performances are prepared in advance with no emotion behind his acting. Akane then asks Aqua why he's doing theater/acting work as its connected to his trauma. He tries saying she wouldn't understand and won't tell her why but after telling him how hes being contradictory he opens up and says well "What If My Goal Was To Kill Someone?" And how the person was high up in the entertainment world had to keep climbing in order to kill them he then asks her "What Would You Do Then?" Aqua was expecting her to not understand him and probably a negative reaction but to his surprise Akane replies "I'd Kill Them With You." with a smile making his negative emotions go away from his eye and even telling her not to say that lightly. Akane acknowledges if it's him he must have a reason and even if hes truly evil she'd still accept him for who he was. She says how she'd happily carry the sin even if the relationship was only for business purposes making Aqua say she out her mind. Akane then says how she wants his help as her boyfriend against kana and himekawa as she doesn't want to lose and Aqua realizes he should help her as her boyfriend. Even tho Aqua knows emotional acting is hard for him he's willing to practice and take it more seriously to help Akane.

After reading many assume its about the revenege part but i don't think thats it..yes aqua does mention it but he never actually asked her to help him though out the duration of thier relationships Akane finds the dad by coincidence. That chapter shows how they are getting closer and wanting to support each other. So i started thinking about the editors note and what the directors mom had said "Where and how is Akane looking after the sick Aqua" shes cooking for him to make him feel better and it did! The directors mom says how eating delicious food can make you happy and though out the whole manga the word "HAPPY" has always been associated with Akane and Aqua. Even in chapter 50 before his PTSD attack when thinking about happy memories his first thought was Akane related then Kana then the idol group. In every star eye color change he's had Aqua has thought of her as part of his happiness!='( So i was think what if the tweet maybe meant "Akane will take him to Happiness" because we actually already saw she did and he was fighting so hard not wanting to leave it but had no choice to protect her. Aqua is no longer there so thats when I started thinking about Kanas part. After recent chapters i started thinking what if Kana is going to help Aqua get back with Akane in the end. I'm thinking how tho then when I think bout how she's so similar to sarina and Ai what if she confesses to Aqua making him finally understand how he truly feels. The reason i also think this is because in the play arc when princess Saya(played by akane) dies Tsurugi(played by kana) helps in bringing her back to life and reuniting with Touki(played by Aqua). The play has alot of similarities to characters and even to the story you can link stuff together. In the Spur interview mengo says how Aka is a demon of analysis and objectivity.

So to end this my interpretation of the tweet is "Kurokawa Akane is a child who takes you there(Happiness) Arima Kana is a child who brings you back(to akane)"

Hi anon, welcome to the fandom! I wonder how many of us would've dropped ONK if it weren't for Akane and Aqua 😂

Thank you for sharing your theory with me! You explained it very well, so please don't worry about it! I have to admit that it has never occurred to me to read Aka's quote that way, my own read erred on the side of caution. But I mean, if we're here to ship, we may as well have fun while we're at it, right? And your take is so much fun! It's truly a Galaxy Brain interpretation of Aka's statement, and I can only imagine how many minds would be blown by it.

It really is funny how many people interpreted that statement to imply something negative about Akane, when Aka never said that had to be the case 😂

I'm thinking how tho then when I think bout how she's so similar to sarina and Ai what if she confesses to Aqua making him finally understand how he truly feels.

I've been thinking something similar!

The reason i also think this is because in the play arc when princess Saya(played by akane) dies Tsurugi(played by kana) helps in bringing her back to life and reuniting with Touki(played by Aqua). The play has alot of similarities to characters and even to the story you can link stuff together.

Yes!! I'm expecting that scene to be foreshadowing as well. We'll just have to wait and see how Aka plays it out 😂

[moviemunchies]

I want to give some sort of Hot Take about how the movie is overrate and you can shut up about it already. But no. I can’t do that.

Because of course, it’s amazing.

Set in the 50’s in the small Maine town of Rockwell (ha), The Iron Giant tells the story when a boy, Hogarth Hughes, befriends a giant alien robot, all the while dodging the attempts by government agent Mansley from finding the robot. Things are complicated when it becomes obvious that the Giant was designed to be a weapon; though in his friendship with Hogarth, he doesn’t want to be a weapon.

I haven’t seen the movie before this viewing. I’ve caught the ending on Cartoon Network, but mostly my relationship with the film was being annoyed when Cartoon Network marathoned it instead of what I wanted to watch. I remember the second time this happened during the ‘First Annual Iron Giant Marathon” (I realize how contradictory that is), and how I angrily stormed off over this. I maintain that my anger was justified, but at the same time, after actually watching the movie, I fully get wanting to make sure as many people as possible saw the film.

This was apparently the goal: Turner saw the movie and decided he had to make sure people saw it, because it didn’t do well in the box office. See, Warner Brothers really screwed the pooch with advertising this movie, so despite the fact that everyone who saw the movie loved it, almost no one actually saw it. It got a boosted home release campaign, and Turner made it a mission to marathon it on Cartoon Network, so now it’s the beloved animated classic we know today.

So you know how I always talk about animation style? We’re doing that again! The Iron Giant is designed to look something like a Norman Rockwell painting come to life, which heavily evokes the 50’s aesthetic that it’s going for. Except the Giant–instead, he looks like 50’s sci-fi art from movie posters and comics. Which makes sense! And it creates an interesting and useful contrast between characters.

The setting is also incredibly important with the story being told. I suppose you *could* tell this story in a different era or location, but it’s more than the art style that makes this feel like the 50’s. The atmosphere of paranoia, the rigid social norms, the notion that foreign technology must be a weapon meant to destroy Americans…these are very 50’s ideas. When the opening of the movie shows you Sputnik, you can tell what the attitude of a lot of characters is going to be.

And Agent Mansley. Oh, Agent Mansley. The guy is a delightful hate sink that anyone across the spectrum can find something to dislike in. There’s of course that he’s the antagonist, and he almost gets the town of Rockwell destroyed. There’s that he terrorizes an actual child to try to get what he wants. There’s that he wants to destroy the Giant, who only wants to be friendly. But also! He looks down on the people of Rockwell as small-town hicks he talks condescendingly to, to their faces. There’s how he refuses to believe anything’s wrong until it happens to him (or rather, his car), and then takes over the local government to do what he wants. There’s how he’s so bloodthirsty he almost gets everyone killed. And finally, there’s how for all his assertions about the good of his country, he ultimately cares more for his own life than anything else.

Also, he just LOOKS sleazy.

Unlike Hogarth, who seems pretty likable overall! Pretty early on, he’s interested in making sure the Giant is safe, which of course endears him to the big metal guy (and the audience). He’s a kid trying to have fun, but he’s also remarkably clever–not so much that it’s annoying, though. The movie realizes that as a kid, he makes mistakes. But he hits a good balance.

[I know I say that about all kid characters but it’s a truly important thing to accomplish in movies with children.]

The hype is real, this movie is excellent. You should see it if you can. If you have already seen it, then you can see it again. I wouldn’t marathon it, I suppose, but I wouldn’t mind another viewing in a few months.

[drurrito]

sleight of hand

a/n: Prompt fills to add more color to this universe (predating everything that has happened so far of course) “I’ll keep you safe” and “don’t ever do that again”

summary: missions don’t always go according to plan

warnings: cursing

—————————

“Everyone remember the plan?” Steve asks over comms.

“Get in, get the suitcase and get the hell out, easy enough,” you shrug and Natasha smacks your stomach.

“Look alive, y/n, I’m not dragging your ass back to base if you get hurt because you can’t follow directions.”

“Relax, Tash, I know what I’m doing," Natasha is grateful that she can't see your stupid, cocky grin through your helmet. This mission should be a breeze if she can keep you in line. She knows better than to gamble on your cooperation, though.

“You better,” Natasha mumbles while eyeing the building a few blocks down. She weaves in and out of traffic with you close behind. It’s not long until you arrive at the loading dock and slip inside the building.

“Alright, 77 floors, that tracker should start going crazy once we get close enough to the asset,” Natasha sheds her riding gear, revealing a slender body suit you don’t try to stare at while she holsters her weapons.

“Ready for this?”

“Don’t worry, Tash, I’ll keep you safe,” you wink and she shoves you towards the service elevator with a scoff.

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

Finding the asset was easy enough. Being forced to work your way through a floor infested with HYDRA agents, not so much.

“Guess that means the boys are holding up their end of the plan,” Natasha grunts while pumping bullets into the halls.

“Come on, we’ll be stuck here all day if we just keep shooting,” you take a few steps down the hall but Natasha stops you.

“We can’t just take off running with this much heat on us. Only way is up or a very, very long way down.”

“We have the suitcase, we just have to hitch a ride with Tony or Sam. Staying here won’t give us our best chance at making it out alive.”

“Just follow orders and we’ll get the asset out in one piece,” Natasha commands. She isn’t looking at you anymore, shoving more bullets in the agents charging at you two.

“Shit, they got rockets.”

You don’t wait around to see what she’s talking about, pulling her with you into a corner office before an explosion rips through where you both were just standing.

“Now what?”

Natasha mutters something in Russian before yelling into comms for any of the boys to give an ETA. The agents are crawling down the hall to get to you now.

“Sam is closer, 2 minutes out -- I’m still fighting with their air support. They’re really pulling out all the stops for this thing,” Tony grunts back.

You don’t have two minutes, you’re getting killed up here. You’re going to actually die unless you do something, fast.

You shoot the window behind you and point a grapple line towards the top floor. Natasha doesn’t realize what you’re doing until it’s too late. You grab her belt and hook it to the line just as the doors to the office burst open.

“We’re going up with the asset, grab the first person you see, Sam,” you say into your comms, quickly cuffing the suitcase to Natasha’s wrist.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide, your grin is too.

“You go high, I’ll go low--see you on the other side, Tash!”

With that you give her a hard shove and she zips up to the top floor against her will, her curses pinch in your ears once her feet touch ground.

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

Natasha stomps into your room back at the compound, you’re already a few beers deep, bracing yourself for impact. Steve and Tony already gave you their own versions of a reprimand but you know Natasha’s is going to give you the biggest headache.

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Do what? Launch you out of a window?”

“You disobeyed orders, you didn’t stick to the plan!” Natasha’s face is as red as her hair at this point. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this angry, especially with you.

“Oh I’m sorry, maybe next time we can send our plans over to the bad guys so we can all be on the same page then,” you take a lazy swig from your beer. Natasha keeps her eyes steeled on you and balls her hands into fists, taking a long, deep breath.

“You pull another stunt like that and I’ll make sure you’re doing paperwork for at least a week. There are rules to this, y/n.”

“Shit went sideways. I found a way out. Rules be damned. Tony does it all the time and no one bats an eye!”

“Tony also wears a suit that is almost indestructible. You and your very destructible limbs won’t survive catching a few bullets or falling a few feet.”

You blink a few times and pretend to mull over her words before speaking again.

“So, what I’m hearing is that I need to get a suit.”

Natasha storms out of your room much angrier than she was before.

[xianoii]

︶꒦꒷♡ . . . GANYU & XIAO 𓂃 BUTTERFLY EFFECT . ·˚ ༘

( SYNOPSIS ) 𓂃 your actions have consequences. your dear older siblings will teach you better.

゛꒦꒷♡⃕ ࣪ WARNINGS ༝ fem!reader ⸝⸝ stepcest ⸝⸝ fem. & male masturbation ⸝⸝ fingering ⸝⸝ modern!au ⸝⸝ blowjob ⸝⸝ somnophilia ⸝⸝ panty stealing ⸝⸝ noncon (if u squint) ⸝⸝ fingering ⸝⸝ cunnilingus ⸝⸝ ‘big brother’ usage ⸝⸝ threesome ⸝⸝ multiple orgasms ⸝⸝ minors & dc antis do not interact.

゛꒦꒷♡⃕ ࣪ NOTICE ༝ my first time writing stepcest i’m crying

゛꒦꒷♡⃕ ࣪ WORD COUNT ༝ 4.3k+. not edited

YOU’RE A VIXEN. your tongue is wicked, weaving the wildest tales. you're devious, expertly spinning a web to catch them in your world. in a sense, they're your prey, ignorantly falling victim to your antics. they tried to stay cordial for the sake of the health of your mock family. you took their kindness and used it to your advantage - forsaking everything previously done for your own pleasure. you're sick. your manipulation of the pair was something you’d classify as light work. ganyu fell victim first, your feigned care of her insecurities makes her easier for you. malleable. ganyu is naïve and trusting, falling for your ‘sisterly’ façade. within a few days of your act, everything about the reserved young woman is laid out for you, set for you to pick her apart.

the first time you put your antics into motion was only about a few weeks post your sudden interest in her; a proposal to spend time together passing between the pair of you. she was hesitant - wary of accepting you so quickly, which you found incredibly contradictory. all she needed was a few nudges, your overbearing and persuasive phrases convincing her to give in. you could tell that this made her uneasy, her questioning glares and anxious mannerisms clueing you into the thoughts circulating her mind. did you make her nervous? you liked it if you did.

you talked her ear off all night. rambling on and on about trivial matters, boring you and her with your tangents. somewhere in the midst, ganyu had fallen asleep - as if your conversation had bored her to sleep. she laid there, her legs partially parted. her thighs brushed against one another, her skirt riding up her skin. she was open for you, ready for the taking — as if she wanted you to touch her. your mind is rotten, twisting innocent intent into that of something salacious. it's disgusting.

it's disgusting how you let your grimy hands trail up the length of her legs, her thigh-highs separating you from her skin. your body shifts on the mattress, your knees digging into her comforter as you position yourself at her feet, slowly crawling up to her. she's sleeping— peacefully, at that, and you feel the burning urge to feel her. her pretty lips part as she snores softly, her chest rising slowly in her slumber. she's cute. she's so cute, you feel your resolve melting. in this very moment, with the silence crushing and tension tightening in your chest, you feel the need to let your plan flow into motion. she's right where you want her.

you part her legs further gently, creating a space between her limbs for your body. there's no one around. there's nothing and no one to stop you, and that fact alone drives you wild with thirst. a week and then some’s preparation has led you here, to the goal that began your charade. in a split second, you wondered how ganyu would react after the fact. deep down, a part of you knew her initial response. that excited you. you hurried and led yourself beneath her skirt, flipping the fabric up and revealing her panties. even those were cute - the sheer fabric decorated in white flowers, the part covering her crotch opaque in the color. there, you could see it. see the wetness that seeped through the fabric, a singular but evident spot of wetness painting her panties. was she—?

you stifle a laugh. she was wet behind the barrier of her panties. she was ready for you behind the barrier. that within itself is enough to make you quit your prolonging build-up to the final. she shuffles in her sleep, her body landing on her back, her legs unconsciously widening. ganyu makes it so easy for you. your nose presses against her lips through her underwear, her scent sweet and alluring. you pray she wakes soon, a need for hearing her sugary voice emerging. you let your tongue drag across her underwear, tasting the minimal amount of residue on your tongue. you need more. her panties are pushed aside immediately, the sight of her pretty pussy nearly melting you. god, was every part of her going to be so damn cute?

you breathe her in, inching closer to her cunt. your eyes fall shut, your gut urging you to take advantage of this moment. your lips meet her labia, the slight arousal that painted her transferring to your lips. plush. her cunt was so soft. your tongue swipes over your lips, the faint taste of her picking up on your tastebuds. you can't stand to tease yourself any longer. your left hand appears, laying on top of her thigh for leverage as your fingers part her folds, unveiling everything to you. she's pretty and pink, gushing even more beneath the surface. you suck in a breath before diving in, your tongue dipping against her clit. her against your tongue makes you sigh, a pause forming before you continue circling the muscle around her clit. you lick through her folds, flicking your tongue up and down, recoating her pussy in your saliva.

it's the slight wet clicks that bounce off the walls and your hums that wake the girl, her pretty eyes fluttering open. sleep clouds her sight, comprehension taking a minute to return to her as she re-enters consciousness. she feels it. she feels you - running your tongue through her folds in a disorderly manner, catching her slick on the bottom half of your face. you gorge yourself on her, messily fucking her with your tongue. heat immediately runs up her neck, her face burning a rosy hue. she props herself up, peering down to spot you, her eyes popping wide. now, she's awake. she immediately feels embarrassed, trying to close her legs and push you away. “w-wha..? y-y…”

her words slur. you suck on her clit, the bud falling from your lips as you remove yourself, your eyes glimmering a raging fire. it's intimidating how you stare up at her, rising to your knees. your right hand comes to your face, your index finger pressing against your lips. you hush her, slipping your middle finger into your mouth, priming it with your spit. you drop your hand, your finger slipping into her hole with ease. her mouth gapes, her eyes watch you intently - as if her sight was glued to you. your lips purse, a glob a spit dropping onto her clit, the warmth running down her throbbing pussy. she audibly gasps— though low, producing the exact result you wanted. she's so easy.

you dip your head back down to her, kissing down her cunt until you meet your wrist. you extend your tongue through your lips, running the tip back up through her folds teasingly, eliciting small whimpers. they almost go unheard, but you - you pull them out instantly, fighting a smirk from growing across your face. you dive back in, picking up your rhythm as you synchronize with the pace of your finger. she's getting wetter, your face nearly dripping on her essence. she attempts to keep her voice low, but it's clear her resolve isn't strong. she's weak, giving up her attempts and letting her voice flow freely. this moment is exactly and much more than what you anticipated. it's cuter, your eyes never leaving her face. her features constantly contort, her pleasure displaying vividly over her image. your pleasuring has held seeing clouds, her sensitivity through the roof at your hand. you're excellent, fingering and fucking her high into the clouds.

your tongue is skilled and your wrist is flexible, as if you were handcrafted just for this purpose. her toes curl and her body flinches, her orgasm forming in that tight knot in the pit of her tummy. her thighs twitch around your head, her airy moans uncontrollable as she reaches peak euphoria. she hasn't felt like this ever, and she's almost embarrassed that it's you, her stepsister bringing this unto her. almost. her pleasure clouds her mind, her judgment pushed aside to make space for your gift to her. you're fucking her so good, slurping and sucking every crevice of her cunt. she's being taken care of, which is funny considering your devious demeanor.

it's fast - ganyu’s orgasm, that is. she's rattling, her moans gaining volume. she's unbelievably loud, her hand slapping over her mouth to hold in her sounds. her eyes are shot wide open, her legs the opposite as they close around you, caging your head in her pussy, trapping you in place. her hips gyrate against your face, her high-pitched and girlish sounds halting abruptly as her orgasm hits. cum gushes from her hole, gushing around your finger and dripping down the length, droplets hitting her bedspread. her eyes nearly cross, her mouth hung open in silent moans. it's arousing just watching her. you're sure whatever she had to say to you when she woke up is a distant thought, her mind only focused on the continuous orgasm that brings about a chorus of her melodic sounds, every curse and moan harmonic as it tumbles past her lips.

when she finally gets through it, huffing and chest heaving, ganyu can’t bring herself to look at you. what you've just done is indecent and taboo, and by everything above, she prays she’ll be forgiven for this. in her mind, she hopes this is the first and last time for the sake of everyone involved. but you, you're just getting started.

your plan is working well, and with that, you feel confident enough to move on to phase two; xiao. he's much more difficult than his sister. he generally keeps to himself and doesn't speak unless spoken to. he's locked behind the harder outer surface of his personality. the way ganyu was easy to get through was not going to make a reappearance in her brother. that made you stop and think. your execution had to be perfect in order to have him under your finger. perfect.

so, you start from the beginning. ganyu was out with a friend of hers that day, your stepdad at work, and your mom shopping. xiao was out - and in the last week or so, you’d remembered his routine. with you alone in the house, you had about an hour to prepare for his arrival. dressing in your shortest nightgown, you lay down on your bed, room door cracked open ever so slightly. it seemed crazy, the way you waited in silence until the clock fell 25 to 4:00, his arrival pending. around then is when you begin. when you slip your fingers up your gown, your pussy already leaking in anticipation. you run your index finger over your slit, teasing yourself slightly. you hiss, holding a breath as you dip your finger between your folds, brushing over your clit. your eyes fall shut, your eyelids displaying the faint image of xiao. his mean demeanor and quiet manner, his cold eyes and short cut that framed his face — everything about him fueled this burning lust within you.

you get lost amidst the array of images across your mind that your moans gain in volume, whimpers of his name faintly crossing your lips. your fingers dip into your hole, your wrist angling excellently to properly thrust your digits in your cunt, your arousal dripping over the entirety of your hand. it's messy and wet, all of your slick sloshing out as you rapidly fuck into yourself, attempting to hit that spot that’ll have you seeing stars. it's not enough. your fingers aren't enough. just then, you sense him. his gaze burning on your skin, as if his eyes wouldn't dare peel away from you. it's working. just as you knew it would. you continue to scissor your fingers in your cunt, dropping your jaw in exaggerated moans.

“hn- care.. care to help me..” you're breathless. your eyes peek open, your gaze falling towards the male creeping in your doorway. “..big brother? please,” you’re teasing him. his eyes blow wide, a red bloom of warmth growing in his cheeks. he quickly removes himself from the situation, his steps rapidly retreating. you grin, popping your fingers from your cunt, the pleasure slowing. time to officially set the plan into motion. you hurriedly chase after him, your feet pattering against the floor as you scurry to his room, your hand twisting the silver knob to his door.

you almost chuckle at what's on the other side of the door. xiao, face bright red and hand palming his cock, the strain against his boxers evident and presumably painful. he hears the creak of the door, whipping around at the sound, his hands immediately searching for something to shield him from your carnal gaze. “fuck are you doing? get out.” he attempts to keep his composure. it's no use. against his wishes, you invite yourself in, the door behind you closing. you lean against it, your fingers making quick work of the lock. “what are y— get the fuck out!”

your hand rises to your face, teasingly shushing him with a playful wink following. “seems like you're the one who needs help,” your gaze drops down to his hard-on, a cheeky grin playing across your lips. you push off the door, inching closer to him with every slight sway of your hips. you hop onto his bed, your heels pressing into the meat of your ass as you kneel before him, his standing position over the side of his bed positioning him over you. your eyelids bat prettily, a glint of lust shining behind your irises. reaching out to his cock, your fingers brush against him, his body flinching at the contact. “did i do this..?”

he swallows, eyeing you down intently. you close your hand around the girth, feeling him up through his boxers. you slip your lip through your teeth, sighing at the feel of him in your grasp. “if so…” you trail, dragging your hand up to his body. “...let me help you,” you slip your hand into his underwear, the pads of your fingers dusting over his cock. he jolts at the touch, a hiss creeping from his lips. it doesn't take long for you to pull his dick from his boxers, resting the hard-on in your hold. he's not much - but he's not anything to bat an eye at. heat surges through, the beat of the throb in his vein true against your palm.

spit dribbles from your lips, hitting his cockhead, only to drip down the side. your right hand runs up his length, moving in rotating motions to slick him up in saliva. hums quietly, eyes never leaving the crown of your head as you dedicate your attention to his cock. your mouth opens, enveloping the tip in the warmth of your mouth. pressure is immediately applied, your tongue flicking against it. he puffs out a low groan, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. you dip your head down lower, taking as much as you can into your mouth before coming back up, slipping him from your mouth with a pop. a string of saliva connects you to his dick, your mouth shined in spit.

you immediately take him your mouth again, swiping your tongue over the tip of his cock, licking up the drops of precum that pooled at the slit. you moan at the taste, dropping your tongue around the girth, licking around the circumference. you do so as you inch down his length, swiveling your tongue around you equally coat him in your spit. you continue this in a cycle, picking up a rhythm that has the male lowly groaning, his head falling back on his shoulders. you're steady - running your mouth up and down as far as possible, hugging his dick in the warmth of your mouth.

humming around his cock, you pull up, puckering your lips to scatter kisses around, peering up at him innocently, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. your left hand reaches under the base, wrapping around his balls. he sucks in a breath, stifling a moan with the guard of a clear of his throat. at that, you return to his dick. you slide all the way down the shaft, your lips pressing against the base of his cock and your nostrils blocked by his pelvis. his cockhead knocks against the barrier of your gag reflex, your sputters and chokes muffled around him. your eyes gloss over in tears, your breathing brought to a momentary pause as you envelop him in your throat. your hand fondles his balls, juggling them between your fingers. you continue your tongue ministrations, swirling around his girth as you take him fully.

xiao’s a mess above you, guttural moans bubbling in his throat, his strong front crumbling at your hand. his thighs twitch ever so slightly, his stomach churning in knots as you bring about his orgasm. the flesh of his abdomen tightens, visibly showing his closeness to cumming. this was even faster than ganyu. perhaps he is easier than his sister. air becomes thin as you remain at the hilt of his cock, bruising your own throat and weakening the tightness of your jaw. you disregard your need for breathing for his orgasm, continuing to hum and moan around him, as well as toying carelessly with his balls and swirling your tongue around. you're a busy and skilled girl, maintaining order as you sloppily take him in.

a slurred string of curses leaves xiao’s lips as his orgasm approaches and devastates, his load blowing in your mouth abruptly. the ropes of cum shoot down your throat, the substance painting the inside of your mouth in messy stripes. you nearly choke on it, attempting to come up - but he stops you, the hand on the back of your head stopping you. he ruts into your mouth as he rides out his orgasm, mumbling his sounds of pleasure. your mouth is full of him, drool and cum mixing as it seeps from the corners of your mouth, dripping a mess over your face. when he finally lets go of you, you jump up for air, gasping clear breaths.

cum still rests in your mouth, your huffs and puffs letting some drip and escape. xiao picks your head up with his index finger, his thumb brushing over your chin and collecting the ejaculate. he presses the digit to your bottom lip, slipping the pad of his finger into your mouth, “you wanted this so bad, right?” your eyes widen. did he know? “don't waste a drop.”

your aura is like a natural aphrodisiac - the sibling pair can't get enough of you. day after day, night after night, they're cycled through like dirty laundry. it’s seemingly endless. they're your toys, personally at your disposal as they're wrapped around your pretty little fingers, to never be let go. it's a mind game, of sorts— one that has them dazed when they're around you, common sense and disapproval dissipating when you enter the equation. it's this fixation with you that begins to raise eyebrows. what could you possibly be getting at? the entire time you've been in their family, you've done nothing but cause drama— and though the issues may be minor and swept under the rug, they still exist. you're not squeaky clean, and they want to know about you. about what you want, and about where this situation will lead. somewhere along the line, you got sloppy and the pair ended up knowing they were both in your palm. though they don't usually pair up with each other, they found that this should be an occasion they would. one way or another, you were going to understand what it means to manipulate, use and attempt to get away unscathed— because they were going to give you a spoonful of your own medicine.

from the minute you leave home, they begin to wait for you. they prepare themselves for your arrival, reminding each other of the purpose. not only to get back at you - but to satiate your thirst for the taboo relationship you've grown between you. they hope with this, the finale of your connection will come about, and regularity will bloom in your family.

your arrival is soon, ganyu immediately hopping up to greet you in the living room. she plays that innocent, bashful look across her features - the one that always paints over her face when she needs you most. she plays on your weaknesses, rubbing her thighs and nodding her head toward the way of the hall. you nod, keeping your mum due to your knowledge of xiao’s presence in the home. you're oblivious to what waits for you in her room, following her blindly down the dark hall. “there's a surprise for you,” she whispers, turning to you with a pretty smile. your eyebrow cocks, the suspense intriguing you. “are you ready?”

you nod at her, flashing a grin as she turns the knob. behind the door sits xiao, his face deadpan. you nearly freeze in place. the air in the room is thick, almost deadly as tension grows. had they figured it out? had they figured you out? “bet so many things are running through your mind right now,” xiao speaks, his sharp eyes boring daggers into you. you can't speak. ganyu comes around, her hands pushing into your back, shoving you toward her brother. “did you think you were going to get away?”

“right now, you're reaping what you sow.” xiao extends his arm to you, fingers roughly tugging your shirt over your breasts. you jump, shocked and partially fearful. “you looked scared,” his voice is low. you gulp, swallowing the words threatening to tumble out. you can't believe— ganyu? you could expect this from xiao, but her? how much had they thought this out? her hands begin to run up your front, her hands slipping beneath your bra before slipping up the lacy fabric. “don't be scared,” the girl coos, your nipples falling between her victims, rolls of the buds sending shockwaves through your veins.

“this is just your repayment.” she continues softly running her fingers over your tits, pinching and rubbing your nipples. xiao lifts off the bed, his lips coming to your abdomen in kisses against your skin. he stares up at you, watching the way you freeze as your sandwiched between them. isn't this what you wanted? to have them whenever? why are you nervous? they like it if they made you nervous. xiao reaches your skirt, holding it up as he peers at your cunt, staring with boredom glinting in his eyes. you're wet - completely soaked through the fabric. xiao sees this as you being pathetic. you even enjoy being caught— have you no shame?

xiao presses his lips to your cunt, his teeth baring against the fabric that cages you. humming, he rolls his eyes up at you, releasing from you. “ganyu,” he calls for his sister, pulling himself from the floor. “let's go.” his hand dips beneath your skirt again, cupping your cunt. your lips lay in his palm, the beat of your throbbing clit banging against his flesh. you're in for it, and you're not complaining.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ೃ࿔₊

if causing drama brings you here - you should do it more often. your knees are pressed against your chest, xiao holding your legs up by your crossed ankles. his hips slap against your thighs roughly, your skin slightly bruising at the contact. your pussy sloshes, squelches, and clicks sounding from your dripping cunt. ganyu sits above you, her pussy keeping you rightly silent. her clit knocks against your nose as she rides your face, fucking herself into her high. her fingers thread through your hair, serving as leverage for her.

your skin burns in hot ecstasy, the scene that you play in appearing to be ripped from pornography. it's wet and hot, stickiness from sweat and cum nearly gluing the three of you together. it's bordering disgusting, your fluids mixing in a messy blend. the sounds of your voices echo in a chorus of pitched moans, the sweetness that laces through your pleasured tones true to your ears. ganyu falls first, her stomach churning as she meets her orgasm, her eyes rolling as she rides through it. she hums and shakes, her legs trapping your head as he hits her orgasm. it's like weight has been lifted off her shoulders, her body slumping over as her cum seeps from her constantly contracting hole.

xiao is still fucking into you, his thrusts hard and slow. each push delves far inside you, your sweet spot falling victim to the brutality he sends to your quivering cunt. you twitch and leak around him, slick and cum from previous orgasms painting you up. his other hand presses on your stomach, making sure every part of you feels him. you feel as though you're about to break, your flesh nearly falling numb to the constant abuse delivered to you. it's so good that you want to cry, swallowing down thick balls of air and biting your tongue. they don't want to hear you, and out of fear of what’ll be done in response, you do your best to keep your mum. despite you previously holding all the power - you're weak in this situation, only able to let them control the course of action.

this isn't what you expected when your mom married into this family. and this definitely isn't what you expected when you began to run your pretty little mouth to take over. in a way, this is your karma. they're showing you you’re powerless, showing you that it takes one to know one. amid the sexual tension that circulates, you can pick apart your mind, nearly crumbling apart at the realization that you aren't in power anymore. was this their goal all along?

they were worse than you. their way of punishing you is a severe punch to the gut, and seeing the way they can easily break you down— you'd suffer the short end of karma.

[ tags! ⁆ ᳝ ࣪ ִֶָ@ilyoimiya @lonely-hearts-hiraeth @jaehaswhore @hangezo3e @meiilvr if you were tagged by accident or missed, please let me know!

[nonbinaryeye]

All the people who ever loved Jonah Magnus

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 2 - Ghost

Elias is trying to have sex with Peter. Peter decides such a time is best for asking about all the other people his husband has slept with.

Read on AO3

…

Peter Lukas has a strange gift to start conversation at the worst possible time. Or at least that is what Elias claims. And Peter’s occasional husband likes to claim lots of contradictory things. He demands him to shut up almost as much as he wants him to speak his mind. How is Peter supposed to guess which time he is supposed to do what?

“Did you actually love them?”

“Who?”

“You know that I do not really remember their names… All you previous lovers?”

“Wonderful question and I would love nothing more than to tell you every detail of all my lives but could you maybe choose a more appropriate time for conversation as this? We are in the middle of something, dear!” To make his point clear and to demonstrate what really should Peter pay attention to he makes sure to thrust himself especially roughly on his dick. The more or less loud sighs of pleasure escape both of their lips.

Ah, so sex is then not a good time for intimate conversation. Peter would say he will remember it for the next time but that would be a lie. It is not like he would bother to ask him any other time anyway. It is not that he would not like sex, he can even enjoy it sometimes. Most of the time he just finds it a bit boring.

“Peter! Focus!” Elias hisses at him and wraps his hand around the base of his cock squeezing it almost to a painful level. Is he getting soft or does his dearest partner just mind he dares to look somewhere else than at him? ¨

And Pete has been so sure he is doing a good job with pretending to be interested today. He is even holding his hips. There is not even much else he can do since Elias does not like when he disrupts his rhythm when he is riding him. Peter tries to focus on him for a bit, the way his own dick is disappearing inside him, the movement of his muscles, focused expression on his face, few hear that dared to slip from his usually neatly slicked hair, moans escaping his lips in tone too melodically to them not to be practised…

And then Peter’s eyes focus on the wall behind his lover once again.

“So did you? Love them?”

It is not Peter’s fault that he is this distracted today. After their last divorce Elias put a painting of Jonah Magnus surrounded by all of his closest friends. He suspects that it was painted later based on other portraits of those people and Jonah’s memory. Peter is not usually listening when his husband is telling him stories from his past but from that little that he did not manage to filter out he got a feeling that the most of them were not getting along. They probably never even all met in passing let alone to stand for Jonah’s portrait. His eyes keep avoiding the left side of the frame all together. Some one them might even wish to never have any portraits of them…

“It is not important,” Elias huffs. He does sound a bit annoyed. But also, a bit amused. Hard to say if by the question itself or the suggestion that he might have such a feeling towards his long dead friends. “The only important thing is that they did love me.”

“Huh…” Peter has not expected this answer. But that is simply because he had no expectation in the first place.

“And if you speak another word, I will smother you with a pillow.” Elias leans forward diving his nails into his shoulder in warning. Peter can feel Elias’s cock pressing against him smearing a bit of precum against his stomach. There is hunger for pleasure in those grey eyes staring him down. What else is Peter than an instrument to reach such a goal? Just a tool to use for his pleasure?

Peter closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Elias’ hand moves to his exposed neck. Movements of his hips lose their pace as he is getting closer to his climax. Peter grabs his length and Elias gasps over the newly gained friction. The much more honest and less controlled moans start to escape from Elias’ lips and it does not even take a whole minute till he is hit with a wave of bliss in his orgasm.

Peter does not reach his own release. He would have to start focusing on the act between them much sooner if he wanted to cum inside his husband who has no interest to wait when or if Peter will pay attention to the intercourse. Elias, still out of breath, gets up from the still hard cock of his partner and slides down on the bed next to him.

There is a moment of quiet before Elias catches his breath. Peter enjoys the silence and emptiness that fills the air after not completely satisfactory sex.

“What is with you today? Why can’t you…” Elias sits up with mild annoyance in his voice followed by a resigned sigh. “You know what, never mind. I will take a shower.” He gets up from the bed. Then only as an afterthought he turns back to him. “You can stay the night if you want to.”

And just like that Peter is left there alone. He has been planning to leave but upon learning he has not been expected to stay in the first place and has been given a bare allowance he decides to stay. The shower in the next room starts. Peter considers finishing himself off by hand but then he decides against it. Too much work. His cock will eventually get soft on its own. His eyes start to wander around the room again, somehow lured to that damned portrait again.  

Sometimes he feels like ghosts of all the people that used to love Jonah are still lingering among them in some unspoken way. Elias never says that he thinks this one person was a better kisser or that that one knew how to make him better coffee and that some other one was overall a better lover. But it feels as if Elias had to bite his tongue just so he does not ask ‘why cannot you be more like Barnabas’ or ‘why cannot you be more like…’ Peter frowns as he really cannot recall any other name. Not that he minds. He still knows two too many.

There indeed seemed to be a lot of people who were in love with Jonah Magnus. There are six people in the painting, seven if he counts Jonah in the middle of them. His eyes slide to the person who he always tries to avoid as much as he can. Well, there seem to be a lot of people who Jonah thinks that were in love with him to be more exact. Does he really know thanks to the powers granted to him by the Beholding that his friends were genuinely in love with him? Or is it based on his own assumptions driven by his own vanity? 

He could ask. Elias would love nothing more than to tell him. But it is easier not to know. It is easier not to be aware if Jonah really has the power of knowing one's true feelings because Peter would like to keep believing that he does not.

The bed moves slightly as Elias sits on the other side of it. Has he really been so quick with his shower and evening skincare routine or has Peter been just lost so deep in his own thoughts?

“You should also go get a shower.”

“I am fine.”

“Of course, you are.” For some reason Elias sounds bothered by him. Is it still because he was not paying much attention during the sex or is it something he said now? Not that Peter cares.

Elias shuts the light which is good as he it makes Peter realize he was still staring at that stupid painting. He also steals most of the blanket for himself and wishes him good night. Peter still thinks in the most general terms possible about all people who ever loved Jonah Magnus. What a lonely feeling it must have been for all of them to be in love with someone like Jonah. Someone who will never truly return the feelings and affections and only keep demanding more and more. Were they happy in such a state? Were they wondering if Jonah loves them from all the other people? Were they wondering if he loves the over more? Was it even possible to believe that Jonah is capable of love?

Peter does not know since he never knew what kind of person Jonan Magnus used to be. He turns his eyes to his husband next to him. He does not really even know what kind of person Jonah Magnus is now. Not that he would want to know.

“I don’t love you though.”

“Yes, you do claim that a lot.” Elias turns to him. He does not seem to be shocked – neither by his proclamation nor lack of context for it. There is a smile on his face.

“It is true.”

“I have never suggested I doubt that, have I?” Elias’ smile grows wider. Peter frowns.

“I do not love you, Jonah.”

“I know, Peter. I have heard you the first time.”

Peter hates the words, the intonation, the fact that he indeed cannot object anything to them. But most of all Peter hates how much they make doubt him. He is certain he does not love Jonah Magnus. He is a servant of the Forsaken, he is not allowed to… not able to love anyone. Then why whenever the bastard agrees it sounds so much like mocking?

Peter looks for more words to say but there are none.

“Now if it’s all I would like to get some sleep, my dear.” Elias moves closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. Then he turns his back to him. Soon he appears to fall into peaceful sleep while Peer is left there thinking. He still does not believe he loves Jonah. But maybe if he did, it would not be such a bad thing. There is something very comfortingly lonely about loving someone who is very unlikely to reciprocate the feelings.

[dubsxreader]

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

[viridiave]

NARUMITSU <ATTEMPTING TO READ THE SUBTEXT PLATONICALLY>

*Wrote all this some time last month so I might be off- really really off- also full disclosure I too am a Narumitsu shipper- this is just me giving myself a bad time doing the impossible and having fun XD

-I am going to fail sooner or later. Looking at you, Bridge to the Turnabout.

FIRST GAME >Turnabout Samurai -Yep. We're jumping right in with 'unnecessary feelings'. I'm going to be put on a stake for this. -This is going to become the main argument with any and all homoerotic subtext present in the first game- that it was unintentional. They didn't actively start making it gay until the second game, and even before then the producer for the games had to warn the development team not to try and insert these themes for fear of getting it wrong and lose the fanbase they'd accidentally caught the eye of. I can still create arguments for why this specific, hilariously meme-able line could be read romantically of course- but as far as the game development team at the time was concerned this interaction was never meant to be read as romantic. -Unease and uncertainty are... very valid feelings for Edgeworth to feel at this very moment and as much as I'd like to joke that he was feeling uncertain about his sexuality after seeing his childhood friend as an adult, this line was really just likely meant to lead up to the conclusion of Turnabout Goodbyes and Edgeworth's character arc for this game. His perfect win streak had just been shattered in a case prior. In this case, he was meant to persecute the lead actor of his favorite show- and in some ways his helping the defense can be taken as his biases getting the better of him. His sense of justice and his entire worldview is about to be overhauled, and I can see how he would regard this budding doubt in himself as an unnecessary (heh) distraction from what he believes is his true purpose in life.

>Turnabout Goodbyes -Edgeworth wanting to keep him away from DL-6 has its own section mostly because of how stubborn he becomes when it comes to Phoenix's insistence in particular. It's clear that this stubbornness is a front, I will concede with that- but there are merits to his initial reluctance in accepting Phoenix's defense. It's evident that Phoenix himself has grown over the course of the game so far, but in both of the times that he faced off against Edgeworth in court, his victories were... a tad bit contrived. For instance in Turnabout Sisters, Phoenix really only wins because Mia was being channeled and blackmailed White as he was about to leave the stand. Turnabout Samurai is a little better- but had him rely on quite a lot of coincidences (proven later to be substantiated) that surfaced during the trial. This is nothing to say of the deeper reason Edgeworth has over dissuading Phoenix from taking his case ("You in particular I cannot ask to do this.")- where I can make an argument for his pride and/or concern over Phoenix's career as an attorney. The stakes are relatively high here as well- if Phoenix fails, Edgeworth is incarcerated, Manfred von Karma goes free, DL-6 goes cold once again with no hope of getting re-opened, and everything that Phoenix has been working towards as an attorney would have been in vain. DL-6 is a case that has ruined many lives- it'd make sense if Edgeworth himself felt as though it would be a waste of time and effort to take this case because of how convinced he was of murdering his own father prior to Gourd Lake. He'd grown up for the past 15 years with a nightmare and a death sentence over his head- I wouldn't be surprised if he simply gave up and accepted that he was going to die at the hands of his prosecuting mentor. Even if he were acquitted for the murder of Robert Hammond, his perceived involvement in DL-6 would have thrown a wrench in his freedom- any lesser attorney would have given up on that. And this is unloaded BEFORE Phoenix tells him about the true reason as to why he became an attorney. -Phoenix's insistence to defend Edgeworth in this case can easily just be read as platonic- his complete, unfettered faith in Edgeworth's innocence is heavily influenced by that class trial, for better or for worse. While I'm perfectly happy to imagine that Phoenix's attachment to his idealized version of Edgeworth grew into something deeper sometime in the fifteen years that he hasn't seen him, I do believe that Phoenix in particular really is just that much of a sentimental person. This is to say nothing of his nature as a defense attorney- and what little time he's managed to spend with Mia has taught him that unbridled trust in his client is what gets him through the day, and he's putting it to practice here. Edgeworth was what he has been working towards the moment he decided he would practice law- as Phoenix at this point in time still believes that he could do no wrong despite seeing what Edgeworth is truly like in court. -Cutting into the meat of Phoenix and Edgeworth's shared past, I made a point earlier to say that Phoenix's perception of Edgeworth as a person is idealized. Every memory that Phoenix has had of Edgeworth prior to the events of the first game were from their childhood- and they had 4-8 months (plus one year if we're generous with the retconning some of the official art gave us) MAX to develop a friendship so strong that Phoenix makes major life decisions just to meet with this man. The fact that this time spent together was ENOUGH for Phoenix in the first place is... really hard to skirt around. To quote Dan from GameGrumps "this is something that you would only do for someone you're trying to marry" and if one of them was a woman I guarantee this ship would be canon already. But then again- since this is Phoenix Wright in particular somehow I can believe that he really is just that sentimental- and that isn't always a bad thing. He'd managed to save Edgeworth twice with this conviction after all. When Phoenix sees Edgeworth, he doesn't see a demon prosecutor, he sees his childhood friend who aimed to become a shining example of justice following in his father's footsteps. They address how shaky his foundations for becoming an attorney were in the Phoenix Wright Files once actually- going through a mini-existential crisis because he'd become an attorney with the main goal of saving Edgeworth from what he'd become, and now that he's accomplished that he's just kind of... lost. Edgeworth himself manages to pull him out of this, though. -man that hurts my case a lot actually but to be fair I was banking on failing -I just didn't expect it to happen so early even with the first game -in fact ESPECIALLY with the first game -though I cannot for the life of me wonder how I can come up with a heterosexual explanation for why the buildup towards Edgeworth telling Phoenix and Maya about his nightmares reads so much like a stunted love confession. I'm serious- just read any high school shojo manga ever. You'll find that it hits a lot of the same beats.

>Rise From The Ashes -It's in this case that we observe some of the consequences that the intial upheaval of Edgeworth's worldview in Turnabout Goodbyes causes him; distrust in the enforcement of the law. Not exactly the time for him to be dabbling in another, meme-able brand of unnecessary feelings. Several things like the Prosecutor's Office's relationship with the Police Department starts to waver with the murder of Bruce Goodman, and this becomes the final nail in the coffin for Edgeworth's worldviews and values as a prosecutor. His and Phoenix's teamwork in this trial becomes prevalent- the story behind the King of Prosecutors award represents this best despite it's currently incomplete state. The backstory behind this award paints an ideal of justice in the courtroom wherein the truth comes out as a result of the efforts of contradictory forces. A broken halberd that can cut through any shield (the prosecution) and a broken, unbreakable shield (the defense). Read as representation the text becomes something of a metaphor for the ideal justice that manifests itself in the best parts of Edgeworth and Phoenix respectively- the duality of their opposing professions rather than something that is limited to their relationship. -The same argument that I've used for Phoenix's unwavering belief in Edgeworth's innocence in Turnabout Goodbyes can be used for this case as well. -Though Edgeworth still goes M.I.A for a year after this case, it does grant his disappearance a bit more context as to why exactly it is that he left- and I'll be taking a tiny liberty with this and apply the interpretation that the Miles Edgeworth Files grants us, and that he left in order to better himself and grow as a person, a prosecutor, and as a friend to Phoenix Wright. It's... difficult for me to want to read this as anything but romantically-charged because the narrative beats are NOT lost on me (the dialogue makes this especially hard. send help.)- there's a possibility that Edgeworth at this point in time realizes the value in having a better, more functional dynamic with the one defense attorney who he considers a true equal in court. This dynamic will allow for less chances to encounter missteps and errors in any verdicts handed down in court, and if Edgeworth is to pursue his ideal of justice- Phoenix Wright is undoubtedly essential to this endeavor. The aftermath of Rise From The Ashes is indicative of this newfound goal of his- the symbolism behind the old King of Prosecutors award and the two halves of the evidence list certainly helps this case. -<"It seems all you do is worry about me." -Miles Edgeworth, Rise From The Ashes> For good fucking reason Edgeworth. You were accused of murder and have implicated yourself on the stand for DL-6 just a few months ago- and if the Investigations games are anything to go by, you're more of a danger magnet than PHOENIX is. I had to say it. The first Investigations game takes place over the course of 2-3 days and the sheer amount of shit that Edgeworth had to deal with in between that interval truly makes me wonder how Phoenix Wright ended up with the title of danger magnet. And THIS time- Edgeworth's car becomes a crime scene because his corrupt superiors needed a convenient way of transporting a corpse. There's VERY good reasons to worry about the livelihood of Miles Edgeworth. -Okay I... can't believe I forgot about the chessboard. Here's the kicker- the one we see from his office isn't even the only one he owns. I... legitimately cannot give you ANY purely heterosexual, platonic explanation for why Miles Edgeworth has THREE (THREE. I CANNOT OVERSTATE THIS. HE HAS T H R E E OF THESE FUCKING THINGS. GOOD GOD. HE CAN'T BE ANY MORE EXTRA.)(there exists a similar, portable set in the Investigations games- and he has a new set by the time of Dual Destinies) sets of custom-made chessboards with personalized, highly-specific red and blue designs made purely to depict his rivalry with Phoenix Wright. I fold. I give up. I forgot about the chessboards I wAS NOT EXPECTING TO FAIL THIS E A R LY- -You know what the real kicker is with Rise From the Ashes? The main argument that I have introduced back in Turnabout Samurai does not apply here. Rise From the Ashes was made as a DS-exclusive case and did not exist in the original GameBoy version of the Trilogy. Which means if there is homoerotic tension written in for this case (and there happens to be a lot. the chessboard is proof enough.), then we can safely assume that the writers at this point were well-aware. So yeah- maybe don't feel TOO bad about the unnecessary feelings line- because ever since then the writers have been playing off of that and it SHOWS. -Is there really a point to this I'm just- everything is stacked against me tryna interpret this platonically -Like I know I make a point to say that a romantic relationship isn't the end-all of all relationships because this franchise LOVES pushing the Found Family dynamic and I'm an absolute sucker for that -good god by the time Dual Destinies rolls around I'll probably just give up and happily say they're happily married -that's literally what they act like don't even pretend

[lordterrax]

Lightbound

Aside from what Andrew Hussie wrote, and what I wrote on my LordOfClasspect blog about lightbound. There is something I wanted to go further into detail about that is pretty evidently clear in all examples of Lightbound that I think is pretty interesting.

So basically, aside from knowledge Lightbound are marked by an extreme challenge with Morality. Hussie describes that lightbound tend to find loopholes around the rules. This generally works out for them but it becomes a problem in that they often times end up with a distorted or grey perspective of morality, which leads into a tendency that when they do Wrong, they are explicitly Evil and marked by a curse.

Rose Lalonde tried to loophole the game Sburb, and in the process directly destroyed the game's architecture and doomed the entire session even for her friends. Nearly casting them all out into the Void to be eaten by the horrorterrors. Whether explicit or implicit she became the villain defacto. Even her alcoholism in general signifies that she doesn't care enough to recognize that even her seemingly lowly necessary Seer title was absolutely critical and responsible for the success and wellbeing of not just herself but her friends as well. Similar to Dirk's darkest bout of negligence towards his friends but more direct, straightforward and exact.

Vriska snapped the spine of an innocent and continues on destiny's path as if she will face no consequences. Constantly hijacks the plot and spotlight regardless of whether this is actually optimal or not. Her best character development came when she was humble and beating herself up as an inverted expression of her role. Then she could face up to her direct fault and flaws.

Aranae becomes so selfish she will literally doom another version of herself to do it, trying to make herself Alpha by force. In the process she disrupts both Jake and Dirk, Jake in a fundamental way and makes it clear she has no qualms with hurting Dirk to get what she wants. She goes from an extremely patient and kind being to one of impatience and grey morality.

Outside of Homestuck Canon, you have Rick Sanchez, who is an apt example to bring wider representation. As Rick Sanchez is a Lord of Light. Recently it was revealed in a canonical short written by Justin Roiland that Rick is in fact Morty. Rick hands Morty a potion saying that it's from excretions from the memory parasite in season 2, and that it will turn Morty into Rip Van Winkle. He also overlaps his reflection with Morty's face, and points saying "Rick Sanchez". Thus it's officially confirmed Morty is Rick, and the implications and realizations for what this means are endless.

For one, it puts things in perspective. Throughout the entire show Rick and Morty's stories run right alongside each other. And it clearly paints a contrast and shows the way the world works for Morty compared to how it works for Rick. There's also countless references and scenes that completely change context if you realize they are actually synchronized time events synchronizing Rick and Morty in a way that makes it plainly clear that due to Time Shenanigans, everything Morty does and goes through influences and changes Rick's character, memory, etc. So much so to the point that it's obvious everything Morty does IS Rick's actual back story, and Rick "already did it" before, as it's defined when Morty does it for the first time.

The realization is clear. Morty is bullied, is dumber than others around him, and struggles hard to keep up with others. Somewhere along the line, originally, Morty just shifted into prop comedy and entertainment like his father Jerry, before eventually getting into Science and realizing that the mathematical, concrete, and absolute nature of Science played really well with his Asperger Syndrome. He then at some point invents a portal gun, and explores the universe. At some point he flies under the alias Rick Sanchez, which in the real world is a notorious alias for people needing a fake identity especially people who have done so many crimes they can never get clean.

Rick and Morty are so opposite it's not even funny. Yet that's what makes this so obvious. Somewhere along the way Morty has an Ego Death because of how the universe treats him, and he evolves into everything he wasn't. This is why Rick suffers and explains his absolutely nihilistic and cynical view of the world. Because as Morty he learned the hard way that the universe does not care about you, does not play fair, and will just keep pushing and pushing with no limit. Eventually he just snapped and flipped it around so at least he always wins.

Now the relevance here is astounding. As Morty he was a Muse of Void. Inspiring the Void but in a Blackwing way. Morty seems innocent and harmless and like the Hero, but his actions always invariably lead to suffering, death, and evil. Evil Morty is predominated Morty and makes it clear that Morty is just in all ways inherently Evil and Destructive, but in a Passive way. Rick in contrast may contradictingly claim he doesn't care, thinks morality is bullshit, and does things which are morally fucked up. But inversely when challenged by the Devil, has a special passion for wiping him in the dust. Meanwhile even his worst acts which seem on the surface to be so reprehensible that they are unforgivable, what we are shown are things which with a good enough reason to balance it out, actually makes him a Savior.

It's actually Morty who is contradictory. Void is ambivalent and while Voidbound have half Light in them, Morty is the one who is ambivalent when it really matters and doesn't actually care when he absolutely should. Only to challenge Rick's authority and to rebel does Morty act like he's the good guy that really cares. Needless to say if we read the entire story a different way, Rick was inverted originally. As a single entity he became Light more and more over time, but it was a long process of trial and error. In the process to becoming the All Powerful Rick, Morty carries a lot of Moral Baggage. Every Rick has done something virtually ubforgiveable but continues moving through the universe running on as much borrowed time as he can get. Not really deserving everything he has and is but continues on anyways. Changing the Rick and Morty story in a very keen way if you view it as 1 continuous character both ways. Making Rick appear more like Vriska.

Basically if we view it as 1 singular and linear storyline. Then Rick is trying to run along after doing whatever evil and trying to escape the very consequences he created in the process. Nevermind that Morty gaining so much knowledge and changing personality so radically has warped his perception of everything so radically. That he can hardly tell right from wrong, and has no sense of what he is or isn't allowed to do. And technically he has the power to back it up. So much so it's hinted throughout the show of how Morty would have abused his science to do things for his own personal gain. Fridge Horror stuff.

The point is this is a perfect example of what I mean about Lightbound. Even Thor from Marvel Avengers has the fact that his family has a history of Genocide, and it's in his own veins as much as it was in his father's.

Lightbound embody the aspect of Perfection and Holiness. But as it has become obvious this has to be a story of a flawed mortal BECOMING the epitome of this... And God/The Universe is so forgiving and encompassing that nobody said you couldn't break a few eggs to make an omelet. What matters is where you end up/the destination/your intended goal.

Lightbound may mess up more than others, and in vastly worse ways than other Bound. But they succeed more than others do, and go farther.

[theanimeview]

Arté (Review)

By: Casea Smith | @coffeewithkrow

I must confess, I don’t believe in the three episode rule so many seem to follow amongst the anime community. I just don’t think it always requires more than an episode or two in order to feel compelled to watch an entire series. However, in the case of watching Arté, even when I was committed to giving it a solid chance, I couldn’t bring myself to do it… at first. 

I actually considered making a “Two Episode Review” on this anime, explaining why I couldn’t watch any more of it when I first pitched a post at an Editorial Meeting for @theanimeview​. I certainly had a lot to say about a show I saw very little of; however, one day, I was in the mood to watch something new without the commitment of it being totally unfamiliar. As contradictory as that is, Arté was the perfect fit considering I had already watched a couple of episodes and had no clue where the story would lead. So I spent a cozy, rainy Friday playing Sims 4 and experiencing Arté in its entirety. Little did I know that a single day of watching it would lead to a year of conflicting opinions within myself.

(And I do mean that literally, this post has been in the back of my mind for a year with our Editor reminding me about it monthly!)

The Good

Arté has everything you could want for a confusing tale. It’s based in 16th century Florence, Italy, a ‘simpler’ time in a bustling city. It has that overall feel of watching a cozy, slow-paced anime that focuses more on the characters, their relationships (platonic or otherwise), and the skills that the protagonist builds throughout the season. Based on the premise, I was ready for a Snow White With The Red Hair type of show and Arté does deliver, to some extent, on these elements though not nearly as much as I would have liked. 

We follow the journey of a 16 year-old girl, the titled character, Arté, whose family is ranked in lower nobility (but nobility nonetheless!). Her father, the one who was supportive of Arté’s passion for painting, had passed away prior to the start of the show's events, and her mother was left to be a single parent. However, her mother is strict with an unbending idea of Arté’s path in life: leave the childish act of painting behind in order to focus on being a desirable wife. 

The mother’s intentions are made crystal clear in the first episode as she is standing in the courtyard, setting fire to all of her daughter’s art (sidenote: as someone who loves drawing, that scene definitely stung). Leaving Arté no choice but to take control of her own life by running away and pursuing her dreams of being an artist. 

The set-up is good and, to that point, as a viewer, I was able to immediately empathise with Arté, making it easy to root for her and her goals. However, that quickly changed once she was in the city and on her own. There I was hit with my biggest issue about the show--what I would consider a Tiffany Problem.

The Tiffany Problem

I know each person is different when it comes to watching content that showcases misogyny. Some people feel that it’s a deal breaker after seeing one scene, others feel the topic of sexism needs to be thoroughly explored, and there are plenty of people in between. For me, I’m totally fine with it being depicted (I even look forward to it) unless it feels forced into the scene or setting. But, in the case of Arté, it seemed like sexist men were being thrown at our leading lady for the sake of giving her an obstacle to overcome. It was often unnecessary, but more importantly, it felt unrealistic. 

Watching the show inspired me to look more into what sexism was like in 16th century Italy. I learned that it was actually a lot worse than what I was taught in highschool, of which the topic of sexism was left poorly discussed--which is to say, not mentioned even once.

Due to that, I believed that people of the Renaissance were more progressive. Not to modern day, of course, but not to the extent of, well, 16th century misogyny I found. 

I’m sure many people who didn't further their historical education after highschool can relate to that initial belief of most periods. But the sexism in Florence, Italy (where Arté takes place) was especially prevalent. From what I can tell, her experience in the anime is relatively an accurate portrayal of the social climate of the Renaissance. (And doesn’t that deserve some bonus points!) However, I still can’t shake the feeling that Arté’s struggles are unrealistic and exaggerated, if not far too modernized to reflect the time being depicted, which I think has something to do with what is coined as ‘The Tiffany Problem.’ 

‘The Tiffany Problem' is a term coined by the author Jo Walton to describe the tension between historical fact and the popular, present day perception of history. Tiffany is a centuries old name, but if you were to use it for a character in a medieval setting, it would throw people off. Because the name Tiffany has been heavily modernized in our minds. It would break the immersion no matter how historically accurate it really is because it feels too present-day.

So while Arté’s experience of blatant and grotesque misogyny is a vaguely accurate depiction of how women were viewed and treated at the time, I struggled to accept that based on my understanding of the period. I think that part of the problem was the way in which it was portrayed. 

It felt too modern because it was happening in such a flurry and so up-front that it didn’t feel naturally integrated. I mean, there was even an episode where she essentially has a ‘check your privilege’ moment! (This having stemmed from one of her male counterparts introducing the idea that being a female of nobility does have its perks when it comes to getting customers of equal or higher status--which, in itself, feels weird if we’re showing how poorly she’s treated by the male-centric society around her.)

Whether or not you agree with my conclusion is up to you, but the idea of intersectionality and ‘checking your privilege’ is relatively new and I couldn’t find anything about it in regards to 16th century Florence, Italy. It’s moments like these that make the misogyny feel more like a modern addition, especially with how much they throw it in our face (to the detriment of the story) to an otherwise perfectly fine historical setting.

It’s The Little Things

When it comes to laid back anime like Arté, it’s all about the details. There are no interesting fight scenes that make you forget about the little things that didn’t quite make sense or political concerns over who will take the throne. This lack of a larger narrative outside the personal development is why I find it so easy to become nit-picky about the story. 

For instance, in an anime with much more going on, a cheesy line a character tells themselves to overcome an obstacle can be overlooked more easily. A line like “just keep moving forward” or “I’m going to be the pirate king” makes sense in those situations--it’s just the type of person they are, so it makes sense in the story that they repeat those lines. But in Arté, with each teary-eyed moment of struggle, she says to herself “I have to be strong, a boy in the same situation wouldn’t cry.” Not only is that incorrect, it’s also wrong in the context of the show because she isn’t living in a world where crying is exclusive to women. There are flashbacks to her art master, Leo’s struggles at Arté’s same age, and he is shown crying as well. 

Not only that, but Arté’s mother is easily the coldest person in the entire show! The woman presents herself as having the emotional landscape of a frozen tundra that no man can even come close to comparing. Moreover, Arté’s father was shown to be rather sensitive and caring, so how would she develop this strange idea that men don’t cry in these situations? Additionally, why compare herself to a man at all when the point seems to be that women can do it too (female empowerment and such)? If it was the other way around, or if they showed her mother perpetuating such sexist views, then I’d understand… but they don’t. Instead, I’m left feeling incongruous and pulled from the story whenever Arté’s comments about boys not crying (and it happens pretty often that she says this). 

Another crime that this anime commits is the unnecessary flashbacks. If this was a show packed with other story-lines or action scenes it might make sense. It may also make sense if it was a long-running show with two or three seasons playing off something small that happened far earlier than the present, but it’s not. The flashbacks are annoying and pointless. I mean, sometimes there will be a flashback of a scene that JUST happened earlier in the same episode, so you’re watching the same scene back-to-back. 

It always sticks out in my mind because it would make me feel like there was a mistake, considering there were no markers that usually signify when the flashback had started or ended. Instead, it simply replayed the scene with no special effect or meaning.

The Second Episode

If, after reading this, you are not interested in watching Arté, that’s fine. 

But, I couldn’t possibly write this review without taking the time to appreciate the best, most well-meaning and unintentionally passive-aggressive conclusion I have ever seen in an anime. It’s pure, heart-felt, brutality that never ceases to make me laugh. 

You see, there is a character named Angelo that enters the series in the second episode. He is the only son with five sisters, so he was tasked with the responsibility of taking care of all of them. Including the ones that appear to be older than him. This task is assigned to him solely because he is a man of the house filled with women, and women ‘can’t take care of themselves.’

The sisters don’t seem to mind, though, considering every time he comes home they all immediately bombard him with a myriad of tasks and favours for him to do for them that they had plenty of time to figure out or do for themselves while he works to support them all. 

With this mindset of “women are helpless and I have to help them,” we see that he means well when he sees Arté struggling to pull something heavy and tries to assist. We also see that Angelo is very confused when she refuses his help. He’s being nice and offering assistance, how could a woman refuse? It wasn’t until he spent the entire episode thinking about it and had another conversation with Arté, that he realized that women are able to do things on their own and without the help of a man. 

So, at the end, when he comes home and is quickly welcomed by the usual bombardment of requests. “The rocking horse is broken again, Angelo! Fix it, please. There’s a nail sticking out that needs hammering in,” asks a little one. 

The older ones ask-- “Do you mind carrying this bag of flour to the storeroom?” “Can you give me a shoulder massage?” 

And Angelo looks right at them with a big, kind smile and says “I think you’re all more capable of this stuff than you think.” Catching his sisters off guard. 

What an inadvertently backhanded moment of tender sweetness from this loving and somewhat emotionally manipulated/abused brother. It was sheer perfection that I will always fondly remember.

With That Off My Chest...

Arté has been the thorn in my side for many months now. I’ve been unable to settle on a simple opinion of it since I first began watching it and later completed it. Certainly, the fact that I want to like it as it vexed me beyond all measure can be a facet of my conclusion. . . However, that never ending frustration makes me love to hate it at the same time. Which also makes me really like it... But I don’t. Yet, I really do. No, I seriously don’t.

The point is, I’m conflicted.

When I first watched Arté over a year ago, I was still engaged and deep in the closet as non-binary and lesbian. In fact, I am far more confused about Arté than I ever have been about my sexuality and gender identity combined. This show has been in the back of my mind through many major life events, and for that I am grateful as the confusion over something so arbitrary has been a welcome distraction to the other things in my life. However, it is time to release this from my brain, accept Arté for what it is, appreciate that it gave me something silly to complain about during moments of hardship, and never talk about it again.

Like, EVER. #theend

[hurremsultanns]

Poison is Queen: What Made Livia such a Fantastic Villain in I Claudius (1976)

(TW: Mentions of sexual assault and incest)

The miniseries I Claudius (1976) took the historical figure of Livia and her portrayal in Roman histories (by authors such as Tacitus, Suetonius and Cassius Dio) and how Graves adapted that for a novel and then turned her into a charismatic, well written, entertaining and memorable soap opera villainess. She is one of the most memorable characters on the show due to how she is written and acted. Personally, she’s my favourite character on the show, even though I sympathise more with other characters. She was the smartest character on the show and someone who always achieved her goal, she embodies the show’s dark humour, and she straddles the line between a pure evil and a complex evil villain without losing character consistency. Overall, she is a well-rounded and well-written character

One of the most important reasons why she was such a villain was how intelligent and effective she was. The best example of this can be seen in how she killed Augustus in Episode 4 (Poison is Queen). In this the show takes for its inspiration an accusation that Cassius Dio made of Livia. According to this story, Augustus refused to eat any food that anyone else had prepared. Therefore, in order to poison him Livia painted the poison onto the figs on a tree that he would pick himself. Even though though this owes itself to historical sources written decades after the events they describe (and is apocryphal), it is an incredibly creative and clever method of killing someone. In addition to this, she clearly embodies patience and uses time to her advantage in order to get what she was. Not only can this be seen in the Prophetic Chickens speech in episode 1 (which is a brilliant introduction to her strategic insights and political awareness, as she could see how things were eventually going to turn out, gambled and patiently waited in order to see the results of her decisions take their course) how she waits for the right moment to kill people (such as Agrippa and Augustus), but Siân Phillips herself discusses it in her interview in I Claudius: A Television Epic. She may not achieve her goals quickly, but she succeeds in the end. Her strategy is the definition of playing the long game. And using her brilliant foresight and strategic political abilities, she accomplishes what she sets out to extremely well. She played a risky game, but ultimately for better or worse Tiberius did become emperor, the Republic never returned and she was eventually deified by Claudius. And even though there are implications that the corruption that the choices she makes brings risk destroying the empire and will bring about the fall of Rome, ultimately the final word on this is said at the end of the final episode (Old King Log) by the Sibyl to the dying Claudius. She says that there will be many emperors in the future and they “won’t all be a bad lot”. This, and Livia’s argument that keeping the Republic would have doomed Rome contribute to the possible argument that ultimately while what she did was unethical and immoral, in a sense Livia was right at the end of the day. It is certainly unclear whether or not she doomed Rome or saved it. There are obvious pitfalls of this, however. It is important to acknowledge imperialism, monarchy and dictatorship are deeply flawed political systems. Of course, because they are examples of absolute power, corruption and the abuse of power tend to be at their very core. And this also reinforces the misogyny of Graves’ original book because it shifts the blame from Augustus being responsible for the political decisions which he took that allowed him to set himself up as the answer to the crisis of the late Republic and the slow accumulation of more absolute power in the hands of individual strongmen. Although, these problems don’t in my opinion take away from the way in which Livia is set up to have far more political savvy than the men around her, as she is the character who sees the clearest how the winds of history are blowing. This makes her a compelling character because it makes her truly awesome: her methods are terrifying, but her intelligence and her effectiveness are impressive.

In addition to this, she embodies the link which the show makes between its most horrific moments and it’s funniest moments. This is contributed to by the employment of dry humour and dramatic irony in her dialogue. One of my favourite examples of this is when Marcellus telling her that cooking his food for him personally is a good thing for her to do and she replies that “Goodness has nothing to do with it.” This is a good example of how well the show used dramatic irony, especially in respect to Livia. While Marcellus thinks that she is simply doing something kind but smothering for him, both she and the audience understand that there is more to this (i.e. she’s going to poison him in order to free up Julia in order to marry Tiberius). Not only is this simultaneously a shocking moment (since as far as the audience is concerned she has practically admitted what she’s going to do, even though Marcellus is unaware of what she meant), but the fact that this is hidden behind what would otherwise appear to be a kind but empty platitude is both clever and hilarious. This is an important moment because it sets the bar for the dry wit, sarcasm and dramatic irony that often accompany Livia as a character, even in her most horrifying moments. Other examples of this include the “food poisoning” scene between Livia and Musa in the same episode after the death of Marcellus, the “don’t touch the figs” scene, and her brilliantly hilarious speech to the gladiators. Not only does this add to the characterisation of her intelligence, but it also adds to the entertainment quality of her as a character. As villainous and evil as she is, she is also genuinely entertaining and fun to watch, which makes her show version so enjoyable to watch and memorable in comparison with the version of her character in the book (This is a comment that other fans of the series, including Prof. Mary Beard herself, have made and I fully agree with it). By contrast, in the book, there is often very little ambiguity as to what Livia’s schemes and activities are, and there is very little dialogue. This means that one of the things that show!Livia is most memorable for, her one liners, were added in Pulman’s script, and they make for a far better character than book!Livia. Through the dramatic irony, we get a far better sense of her intelligence because the audience has to work out on our own what she has done before it is confirmed (which adds to the perception of her intelligence as we have to think it through for ourselves) and that and her humorous moments make her a far more enjoyable character than her book counterpart. Therefore the dramatic irony and humour that characterise Livia as a character make her a great villain because they make her more memorable than she otherwise could have been.

She goes between being a pure evil villain and a complex villain, although this is never made to feel contradictory as it is completely within her established character. She is perfectly willing to the lengths of murdering Augustus’ heirs and disappearing other people in order to get her way, but when she finds out how bad Tiberius has become and Caligula is, she calls their behaviour “disgusting” and refers to Caligula as a “monster”. Since their villainous actions are so different from what Livia does. She’s OK with herself murdering people in order to get what she wants, but she draws the line at incest, sexual harassment and assault. This also works well because it highlights her self-serving narrative: that she is doing everything for the good of Rome. Which is even emphasised by her outrage at finding out what happened to Lollia. She does not want to admit her role in turning TIberius evil by separating him from Vipsania (forcing him to divorce her and marry Julia, the original Disaster Marriage) and Drusus (by murdering him when he was injured, the one thing she can’t admit to Claudius), his two anchors. In episode 1 when he is speaking to Drusus, Tiberius says that they are the only two people whom he loves and describes his brother as his “lifeline into the light”. Therefore, by murdering Drusus and also forcing Tiberius to divorce Vipsania, Livia has a role in turning him into the evil person he becomes later on, and her outrage could be interpreted as a way to avoid the consequences that her toxic behaviour has had. I am not saying that she is responsible for his actions (that’s all on him), but she is responsible for turning him into the type of person who would do them, and that this is a fact that she conveniently ignores as a part of her self-serving narrative. While in some ways she is willing to revel  in evil, there are things that she cannot bring herself to admit to. So she both has the motivations of a complex villain and the entertainment value of a pure evil villain, and this works flawlessly.

What makes Livia such a great villain is that she is such a well-rounded and intelligent character.This can be seen in the characterisation of her intelligence, the humour that accompanies her and the way in which her depth as a character does not diminish her evil. She is a more interesting, entertaining and enjoyable character than her counterpart in Graves’ original book at least in part due to these reasons.

[notoriousjae]

Love is a Little Box (For Home to Lay Inside) || Edeleth Fanfic (1/?)

Chapter Title: A Heart

Pairing: Byleth Eisner (F)/ Edelgard von Hresvelg

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Chapter 1 (Current) | AO3 | Below:

It's a peaceful day in Garreg Mach.

The sun catches along the lightly swelling waves of a familiar pond, wrinkles in blue caused by the light winds dancing Sothis’ fingertips along its surface. It’s hard to know whether Sothis was a Goddess but it’s  easy  to imagine that contradictory carefully carefree  smile full of restraint and curiosity as small hands skimmed along the ripples of the pond in the heart of Garreg Mach, feeling moisture beneath palms--learning what water might feel like, again, for the both of them.

You need to experience things, Sothis would say and Byleth would experience them, because she had never known to experience them, before. 

Or maybe Sothis would just...hover behind Byleth’s shoulder as she watched a line bob for an hour before she yawned, disappearing into the cold of a tomb she’s made in a baby’s chest that became the casket nestled in a woman’s.

It’s easy, too, to understand why people think Sothis is  everywhere , because Byleth feels her, still. In the air...and the wind...and the water--

They were both familiar with the pond at Garreg Mach and a sense of... something--easy; warm; familiar?--stirs quietly in Byleth’s chest as she watches the pond and thinks of green eyes and hair and soft fingertips before she hears paper rustle a little behind her.

The feeling transforms a little like that tomb had.

“You know, Edelgard,” Byleth hums, chin dipping over her shoulder to watch her--a rare moment where  both of them happen to actually be in the same place without a need for something sharp and pointy (or a strategic exit). “Fishing is a tactician’s game.” 

Edelgard chuckles quietly to herself but looks up from her book all the same. Edelgard having time to read is probably rarer than them sharing time together, at all, and pulling her from it makes Byleth feel--

Hmm…

Her chin tips up in thought. It makes her... feel …

Edelgard interrupts.

“Is that so?” 

Byleth nods, serious, and watches the way red fabric shifts as Edelgard turns to listen to her--to watch her--with the same rapt attention she had as a student, and still keeps to date in the war council. 

“They say it’s chess, but that’s not the case.”

“They say that because chess is the tactical routing of an opponent. It’s meant to  mimic  a battlefield.” The Emperor practically quotes from the  tactician’s guide and Byleth watches the breeze skirt over the surface of the water and wonders if Sothis would have fondly chuckled, but the only sound she hears is the water and the idle, far-away chatting of a few soldiers.

How would Edelgard feel, knowing a Goddess was so fond of her?

Byleth shakes her head.

“How many battlefields have you been on, El?” 

“Countless.”

“How many battlefields resembled the neatly-drawn lines of a chessboard, where everyone took turns and you could predict your opponent’s attacks with statistics and  math?” 

“...none.” Edelgard looks pained to admit, begrudging, sighing as she tucks her book at her hip. 

“Chess is just…” Byleth’s head tips, “...the memorization of strategies. You’re not creating anything new. When you’re facing someone in chess, you’re...just applying the most appropriate thing you’ve memorized that you can think of for that moment for the situation in front of you and hoping it works.” 

“Alright.” And Edelgard stands, then, setting her book upon the bench, armored boots clicking as she walks along the stone towards the pond with that same studious look, hands settling on hips. Maybe one of these days they’ll both be comfortable enough fishing and reading and relaxing to do it without wearing armor. “Then what is  fishing ?”

“Fun.” At Byleth’s amused look, Edelgard tutts and steps closer, obviously not having appreciated being  baited over to the pier. She likely also wouldn't approve of the pun a little too similar to Alois' (and Petra's, lately) so Byleth keeps it to herself. A little more serious, “Are you sure you want to know? You don’t enjoy fishing. But I'm always okay teaching you.”

“You are currently the most renowned tactician Fódlan has ever seen. It could be argued you are a key point in elevating the war campaign into a rousing victory. If I have a chance to learn  how that wonderful mind of yours ticks, I’d be remiss not to take it for the betterment of the Empire.”

“...you could have just said yes.” Brows knit, head barely tipping to the side--no longer teasing--and Byleth cuts off Edelgard’s undoubtedly annoyed reply. She doesn’t have to divinely intimate it’s coming to see it on parted lips, “Not everything needs such a complicated reason, El. If you’d like to learn, let yourself learn. You don’t have to explain your motivations just because people have questioned them in the past. And you don’t always have to do things to make you  better , it’s fine to just fish. Although," A thoughtful look, "You’ll probably learn something in the process, anyways.”

Maybe Byleth has spent too much time answering the notes in the confessional.

“You’ll teach me to the end, won’t you?” It’s fonder--softer. Edelgard purses lips before letting the criticism settle, nodding. “Then...yes, Byleth.” Byleth smiles and Edelgard’s shoulders visibly lose the last of their tension when she quietly smiles back. “I...suppose I  would  like to learn. Especially since it’s something you take such an interest in.”

Edelgard slowly unhooks gauntlets about wrists, setting them to the side, white gloves underneath catching the sunlight like melted snow.

“Fishing,” Byleth nods before reeling in the line. “Is a  real  battlefield. It’s long moments of waiting followed by sharp, tense moments of excitement. Everything is planning. You find fish like you scout your battlefield--” Once the line is reeled, she hands the pole to Edelgard, whose nose wrinkles only a  little at the feeling of her gloves getting wet. 

Unlike most nobles, after all, Edelgard doesn’t mind dirt and muck and mud--she had been covered in them for years. Battlefields weren’t glamorous.

(Neither was fishing).

And so Byleth feels her chest swell with... something  as the other woman totes up the rod, ready to learn, like she had picked up a lance in lessons. Not proficient with it, but  willing . 

A challenge.

“So we scout our enemies--what do you see in front of you?” Byleth steps behind her and scans the horizon over her shoulder.

“A pond. I see a ripple in the corner--” A true general starts, “The wind is shifting the current  towards  me, so I’ll likely have to adjust how I throw my line in order to hit my target.” Her chin tips backwards and looks to her professor, who nods, encouraging. “The light is hitting the right side of the pond, and will fade across it in an hour, creating warmth for the fish, and they’ll likely follow it. They’ll stay below the surface because they’ll want to avoid predators. Or my professor’s  infamous rod and net, which catches anything under its shadow.” 

“You approach things like a soldier.” There’s a knowing praise on her lips and Edelgard straightens just a little beneath it, “And a leader of troops. You’ve noted some important things, Edelgard, which are good to trap the fish in this moment...but we need to think of the bigger picture. What else do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?” 

Light brows knit as an Emperor once more takes in the blue, glistening pit that’s become her battlefield. 

Byleth leans forward to gently wrap fingers around her wrist, guiding the shorter woman backwards so that she can mimic her eyes with her own, listening to the faint gasp of breath that catches on lips before Edelgard seems to focus, determined, now. 

A professor settles her chin on Edelgard’s shoulder, far more familiar in touching this student in particular, these days. 

Rare, but...familiar.

And the way Edelgard eases just a little into her reminds Byleth that sometimes the rarest of things are welcome. 

“What matters to people on a battlefield?” 

“The same as what matters to people founding cities: food, shelter, water, and safety.” Edelgard immediately replies. 

“So what matters to fish? Your goal is to trap the enemy and reel them in--what might stand in your way of that?” 

“I see…” Realization floods that calm voice, Edelgard’s head moving about as she takes in the pond in a seemingly new light. “The monastery. It’s...four o’clock, coming into five, and that path on the left will be tread by the church service let out. They’ll be noisy and their footfalls will probably disturb the pond. The squires like to come here to throw rocks on Wednesdays, and the washing happens in the corner. They’ll be pushed into the middle of the pond, even though the light will be on the West end of it. And I smell…” Edelgard’s nose wrinkles. “...fish soup? How is that relevant? Are they scared of their fate?” 

It’s... nice to hear Edelgard joke.

“Rain.” Byleth offers knowingly. “You can taste the condensation on the air, if you can't smell it.”

“How could you smell that over the kitchens?” 

Byleth shrugs, stomach idly grumbling because she  does smell the kitchens. 

“Is this...how you look at everything?” Edelgard is looking over her shoulder, now, close enough that Byleth smells far more of her hair than the rain and it’s a welcome change. She could smell the clouds over the food, but Byleth isn’t sure anything but Edelgard could ever fill her lungs, in this moment. “Is this how you see battlefields?” 

“Yes.” Hands curve gently over the rod, raising fingers to paint a grid in the pond where Violet eyes can follow, “It’s  real  chess. You’re good with strategy when you’re expecting it. You can plan in advance and are great facing adversity on the battlefield as a soldier--you’re always quick to react--but a battlefield is never as clean as chess. We both know that.” 

She feels fingers flex beneath her own, gripping the rod not out of being corrected, but vigor.

“I see.” And Edelgard  has  always been good with critique--with that infinite urge to  strive further --and there’s that tightness in Byleth’s chest, again. Warm and soothing, pressing herself against the flat of Edelgard’s back. 

She hadn't thought holding someone could be so comfortable.

“You shouldn’t be...picking a strategy to go up against whatever opposing strategy you  think  you're seeing on the battlefield, hoping the one you picked is better." 

“I... should  be thinking of how they respond, and naturally taking in the world and their needs. You’re saying I shouldn’t just assume they’ll react tactically--but...naturally and true to themselves?” 

“Exactly. Everyone has a primal urge--it’s true there’s...math and statistics, and we can always take two strategies and see which path people will be most  likely  to take, because the truth is that  most people are just as skittish as these fish. If I toss a rock into the pond, they’ll flee to the other side, because we know they’re scared of it--it’s something they’ll avoid. But not everyone is as scared as a fish.”

“Many enemies are...noble. Are fighting because they believe in the opposition of your own wants and desires.” Edelgard quietly agrees and Byleth nods. 

“So if you  identify  your enemy’s needs and desires--what they think is important, whether the rain will make them move, whether the light will keep them warm, whether the noise will scare them--you’ll know which way they’ll go, and you’ll know what they do. And then you go fishing.” 

“I see.” Edelgard repeats, quieter, now, watching the pond for a moment before she asks, “Is that why you--” A rare pause and it sounds like she might think over the question before redirecting, or maybe rewording. It’s interesting enough for Byleth to lean back and watch her, fully. “...spared Flayn?” A moment passes before she continues, “We were surrounded by soldiers with the city on fire and I  trusted you, I never hesitated to accept your choice in sparing her, but I didn’t understand, then, that it might have been…” She shakes her head, and this is one of those moments where she wonders if there’s a question behind the words. Edelgard is full of layers, she’s found, and while Byleth has learned so many of them, she feels there’s so many more to be found. A woman of secrets, all tucked away in a hidden box Byleth has yet to fully find. “Was it a tactical decision?”

A bare hand comes up to rest on Edelgard’s shoulder in thought, still pressed against her back as she thinks--lets the question settle before nodding. 

“Yes. And no. Our enemies aren’t the only fish.” Byleth offers, “Flayn...didn’t have to die. Neither did Seteth. The best battles are the ones where you minimize casualties on both sides,” Her head dips to the side, remembering the heat on her shoulders. Her back. Remembering the way she had barely cupped Edelgard’s palm in curling fingers after the fighting in a rickety war tent on the outskirts of the battle, the puckered flesh of hands beneath gauntlets singed through and burnt along the metal of Aymr in the flames. The healing waves from Byleth’s fingertips had turned them into slivers of scars beneath red grieves--two more to match thousands that litter ivory skin. 

She remembers the way Flayn had coughed, the smoke settled in both their lungs, fingers curled and bloodied into the tuft of a Pegasus’ quaking wings, matted with soot and blood. Both of them panting wisps of heat. Weak.

We’re family , she had said once, but looked at Byleth with nothing short of sadness, then. Not betrayal, just...sadness.

Perhaps that’s what family filled in people: hope, sadness, and loss in equal measure. That’s how Byleth remembers Jeralt. It's how she remembers Sitri.

It's how she remembers Rhea.

Byleth mulls over the words--the odd...ache that the memory fills in her chest--the worried gratitude that had settled on Edelgard’s features, after the fight. A look she’d seen several times, over the years, when Byleth had chosen  Edelgard and life over a church’s firm thumb.

The Emperor of Fódlan, cloaked in red and black and on her knees in the soot, didn’t want the world to die (despite what some apparently claimed) and the moment Byleth offered someone might be spared, Edelgard always took the chance with equal parts relief and trepidation.

Just because war had been the only way didn't mean death truly was.

This thought, it-- feels--

“They needed an escape route. They needed to know that our battle was righteous, not  wicked,  I guess. To use...whatever words the Church probably used. If we took them, we took the battle, and we would demoralize the troops. But it isn’t always about killing. If we killed Flayn, Seteth would have been...inconsolable. He would have become a danger to fight, and he was already dangerous--we didn’t  need  to fight him. Some fires are better to...put out quickly, than let them burn and spread. Some fires are  supposed to burn, but...not that one.” 

Her brows knit and she’s surprised when Edelgard turns Byleth’s chin towards her own, something unreadable in her eyes. 

And Edelgard waits, simply holding her for this brief moment, like she knows there’s more, because there is.

“ And  I didn’t want her to die.” Byleth says simply, only to her--only in this safe quiet of a courtyard--and the woman who she intends to spend  all days like this with, who nods as fingertips curl beneath Byleth's chin. 

“How did you know they wouldn’t retaliate when you let them go? That they wouldn’t go back to Rhea?” Edelgard quietly presses. 

“I didn’t, I guess...but I know my fish.” Byleth looks back towards the pond. 

“Which is why we won.” Edelgard surmises. “Our initial strategy was outmatched when we arrived. And your responding strategy on the battlefield to split up and focus our forces around the fire--sparing key combatants... that’s  what won.” And she sounds almost  praising  when she says, a little in awe, “You didn’t just choose a strategy or response, you...went fishing.”

“A tactician’s game.” Byleth’s voice skirts along her ear and Edelgard eases backwards against her enough that she can wrap an arm fully around a slim waist, now.

This information seems to cement Edelgard's drive.

“What do we do next?”

“We take all of that into account and cast the line.” 

And so Byleth shows her the technical aspects of fishing--of how to throw and cast and reel in, despite the elements of noise and wind and heat. Shows her how to tactically assume where the fish might try to escape upon being caught on a line--how to pull it and unhook it without harming it and kill it the quickest way possible. She tells her about bait, and how to read shadows, and how to choose a fishing spot--

“So you just...stand here and  wait for it to bite?”

“Like waiting for a charge on a battlefield. See? The anticipation--” Byleth lightly tickles her stomach and Edelgard chuckles and bats away her hands and Edelgard listens to every word, until she stands on her own and reels in a smacking fish that flops against her knee with no guidance, a few hours later.

Ever the quick study. 

The warmth spreads through a chest still so unaccustomed to it and settles in her lungs and fills her so deeply that Byleth has to pull away to look at the happiness on Edelgard’s face. 

Proud. Edelgard looks proud.

This feeling is...startling.

“I’ve forgotten how marvelous you were at teaching, Professor. Unorthodox, as always, but still so phenomenally proficient.” Edelgard  hums , careful to unhook the fish exactly as shown, shaking away water and the scent from her fingertips before slipping back on gloves. And then turns her attention up to said professor. “You look yalms away.” It’s softer and Byleth slowly looks up from fingertips to familiar eyes, that warmth pressing against her chest...consuming. Distracting.

Her face contorts in confusion and she shakes her head.

Does she look far away?

“...I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” It’s even gentler, barely heard over the wind and the soft sound of the rain starting to gently patter about their feet and the fish in its bucket full of water in deep plops, and the pond where the fish scatter from its cold intrusion. Edelgard steps closer and Byleth nods.

“I’m...fine.”

“What is it?” It’s an invitation and Byleth must visibly hesitate because Edelgard steps closer, still, careful--

“I…” A huff of breath through lips, feeling-- feeling  -- “I just...  felt something, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard is rare with her affection on the grounds but fingertips raise up to gently brush ragged bangs from Byleth’s eyes. This is the closest she’s felt all month, even a moment ago in her arms, and an ache churns in Byleth’s stomach. It’s a testament to how much a student changed over the years, because she asks instead of assuming she knows the best recourse: “Are you in any pain? Do you want me to call for Manue--”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I felt--” Brows still knit and, words failing her, Byleth gently takes Edelgard’s hand and lowers it to her heart, where its weak thud aches (and aches) up towards the warmth of familiarity. Presses a palm of white against the black-cloaked, hidden place that used to be so  still. It stirs like coal simmering beneath ashes, vibrating fingertips and her chest and her throat. It beats so steadily that Byleth might think it would scare those fish away. “I  felt something. New.”

“Oh.” The realization settles deep in widening violet.

“Maybe not  new , just...different. It all feels…”

Different.

Edelgard’s fingers splay over heart and Byleth’s breath catches, looking away.

“Do you know what it was?” 

“No. It felt...like--” A tongue darts over lips before she tries-- “I’m still--” It feels so odd to say--to  admit --out loud.

“You can tell me.” El promises, leaning closer so that it’s just them standing in the soft, gentle rain, neither of them minding. For the moment, at least, their voices barely heard over the sky’s gentle cry. Byleth hesitates. “My teacher…” El whispers in her ear, “They’re  our  problems, remember? You’ve taught  me  so much, the least I can do is help you untangle  this.” 

“I’m…” Byleth eases tense muscles beneath Edelgard’s fingertips, wordlessly lifting up her cloak to shield them from the rain, “I’m still learning what all of them mean. It’s like...waking up and trying to remember a dream. I’ve...I think I’ve  felt  these things before. I’ve just never felt them so...” Her head tilts to the side, “...  strongly.” 

“And what do you feel now?” 

It’s started to rain a bit more, gentle, graceful drops. The kind that makes the grass smell like dew and hides the scent of enemies in a battlefield, even if it helps make their tracks clearer due to the mud their boots will sink into after it's settled, trapped.

The kind that makes Edelgard’s hair stick to her chin, if they’re out in it long enough, framing the curving edges of her smile on the unlikely occasion it’s only them en route to a mission or a skirmish or a battlefield.

Or fishing by a pond in Garreg Mach.

Byleth pulls up her cloak enough to block out the rain from Edelgard's eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright.” Edelgard pulls enough away to see her in the shadows of the black cloak surrounding them, looking thoughtful and determined for a moment before she tries, “Then what...did it feel  like ? What were you thinking? What did you want, in the moment?” 

“I don’t know.” Byleth admits, trying to sort it through, calm and methodical, “...it was... good .” A little more certain, mulling it over before she repeats, firmer: “It was good.”

“Good.” El sounds relieved in a way likely only Byleth and Hubert would be able to hear of it in her voice. 

“Warm. I was watching you fish and I was thinking of how much you’ve  grown as a person, and into who I knew you could be, and how...” Her head tips upwards, thinking of the way Edelgard had looked at her own catch, realizing: “...proud of you I am.”

El blinks, rain tickling down cheeks to Byleth’s chin before she quietly...smiles. Beautiful. And the warmth is there but  different  , again. Spreading.  Aching . 

“You felt  proud of me?”

“I...yes. I  feel  ,” Byleth settles on, a little more sure--a little more confident and sturdy--meeting Edelgard’s eyes with her second resolute nod, “  Proud of you.” 

Byleth has read about pride. It’s the emotion that precedes arrogance in novels--the emotion that can heat someone’s palms to war; It’s the emotion that swells up in a lover’s chest when they watch the eye of their heart succeed, or a mother when their child writes a song and defies them to sing it to a nation; it’s many people’s downfall. Heroes. Villains. People.

It’s Byleth’s success, as a teacher. And...the woman who feels for Edelgard as she does.

“Byleth…” El softens and beneath the thin weight of Byleth’s coat, which must seem like safety enough from prying eyes and the scattered fish, she leans up to kiss her cheek, near the edge of lips, and the breath rattles in an Emperor’s lungs before it pushes out between them, steady and warm. Her voice rumbles like quiet thunder in the distance, but Byleth's never seemed safer beneath it, “Who I am, today, is because of you, I think you have  reason to be proud.” 

“You’re giving me  too much credit.” Byleth murmurs, dismissing, and Edelgard kisses her again, near the other edge of barely curved lips, the sound of a fish flopping in the bucket next to them missed beneath the rain.

“My love,” Edelgard doesn’t laugh, but she does  smile in her wry amusement, and that warmth burns and burns and burns in Byleth’s cool chest, “You don’t give yourself enough.” 

Pride

Byleth knows this word, but didn’t understand its meaning. 

Not until Edelgard taught her.

“Next time you feel something new, you should tell me,” El offers, “We can sort it through, together. However confusing it might be, certainly it’s no rival for our combined wits.” Byleth thinks on it for a long moment before she nods and looks down towards Edelgard's first catch. “For now...why don't we cook tonight's dinner?" 

The cloak lowers as Byleth pauses, an almost shy smile tucking up the edges of lips before it smooths into something calm, "Sure. We'll cook it together." 

There's many things Edelgard rouses pride in her Professors' chest. Her passion and compassion--her intellect and deduction--her triumphs and the way she's learned humbled, and with dedication, from her failures--her fishing and, perhaps, most of all...her smile. 

Edelgard seems determined to add  her cooking to that list and while Byleth has a staunch feeling that today will not be that day, she finds herself...excited(? Hopeful? Pleased?) at all the days they can spend finding out.

(Even if she always makes sure the Head Cook sets aside a separate meal for them, just in case).

Byleth leans over to pick up a small little wooden box off the bench and later that evening, slides Edelgard's first hook inside.

----

In truth to their vows to each other in the Goddess Tower, they become a unified front. Although Byleth is unsurprised by the fact that this means not much  changes in their lives (outside of winning a war) because they were a unified front, before.

In strategy, battle, and tactics--in facing their enemies and their friends--but maybe... some things are different.

Like the nearly shy looks Edelgard sends Byleth’s way when no one is looking--or their moments, after the long days have set to night and the war counsel empties to two, that they sit and discuss what future might await them on the horizon, just out of reach but growing closer by the day. 

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Albinea’  ,  El’s wistful hum is lost in the quiet of the room, echoing around them as she leans up against the table they once had lessons on. Byleth’s arms cross as she leans next to her, their hips resting comfortably side-by-side as they have for the past two and a half years.

Byleth wouldn’t be surprised if El insisted the past   eight    years.

Time has passed, since the war, but she’s learned it doesn’t stop. Not anymore. Then again, it never   stopped    for Byleth--it only ever folded backwards in on itself like a rumpled shirt or sifted through her fingertips like sand she’d intended to throw into the eyes of an attacker, but lost to the ground, instead.

‘Me too.’ Byleth’s hand idly scratches nails along her chest and she lets out a small breath when she feels Edelgard’s fingers barely skim along the inside of her wrist, both of them hovering over her heart. ‘Maybe we can go there, when this is all over with.’

‘Let’s.’ And El smiles and that feeling...   blooms    and Byleth’s hand stills along her heart and Edelgard stills along with it. A curious look must have settled on Byleth’s face, because the next thing she knows--

‘...perhaps you’re feeling...hopeful.’ Edelgard boldly offers, shifting a little closer and Byleth’s eyes flick down to her lips. 

‘Is   that  what I feel?’ 

‘That’s up to you to say.’

‘Hopeful.’ She tastes before the summoning bell rings above them and they pull away.

Edelgard’s fingers linger in her own before they untwine, walking down the hall hip-by-hip towards the tower, their knuckles brushing with each step.

The moments are still rare, but they seek them out, now, the light from the sky catching along Edelgard’s ring before a glove is slid over fingertips.

Hope.

(Maybe not all futures must wait until after the shadows are scattered by light).

And hip-by-hip is how they tackle a professor’s removed, textbook examination of her own heart with Edelgard’s life experience (what she  has of it), slowly sorting out the feelings that have begun to stir in Byleth’s chest. 

They’ve both been removed from emotions for so long, maybe it’s nice for Edelgard to find them, too.

What is this feeling? Byleth learns to murmur in the air by Edelgard’s ear, and they’ll arrive at a conclusion, together. 

‘Contentment’ in the early morning as Byleth sets tea down on the soft, rustling white cloth in the gardens, watching the steam curve around Edelgard’s smile like hair caught around her cheek in the rain, their wrists creeping towards each other beneath the chipped porcelain that’s survived far more than a war--something soft and settling like fresh linens on a bed Byleth is still getting used to sleeping on; 

‘Disappointment’ in the moments their fingers touch and are pulled away by duty, the sound of their quiet laughter lingering throughout the stone halls similar to how the cathedral used to catch Dorothea’s voice as it rang throughout--aching and quiet as Byleth watches Edelgard’s smile fade into something serious and resolute; 

‘ Amusement ’ Edelgard wryly comments as Lindhardt successfully spars Caspar by continuously ruffling his hair with a sleepy grin and a yawning, batting hand--fluttering like a bird’s wings against her ribcage, bouncing about bars waiting to break free; 

‘ Sadness ?’ She asks Edelgard in a guess when the Emperor finds her in the courtyard overlooking a great chasm, her father’s and mother’s gravestones stalwart bastions against its empty void, as if they’re holding Garreg Mach’s penetrable walls of stone and lost faith from falling into the endless dark gravel below--muted and constant, a dull ache. It lessens, somehow, when Edelgard’s rare open touch skirts along her hip and rests along her stomach, guiding Byleth backwards against her chest.   

Soon, Byleth has experience to back the names of emotions she’s read about and dully felt and Edelgard, ever one to rise to a challenge, has stepped behind her professor without a second thought, trying to answer the questions of a quiz before her. 

“Joy?” Edelgard tries as Byleth’s fingertips run along the edge of a flower, blue hair spilling over shoulders and head tilted to the side in thought as she calmly regards El’s determination. 

Thinks it through.  No. It doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head, fingers curving beneath the edge of a flower, not wishing to disturb the small bird fluttering around the surface, lips barely pursing in thought.

She’s been in the Greenhouse for an hour, or so, watching this small little blue bird bat from leaf to leaf of a plant she’s been growing, fingers scratching thoughtlessly at her heart.

Byleth hadn’t asked what the emotion was, but Edelgard took it upon herself to find out, regardless.

“Contentment.” Edelgard tries again, brows furrowed in deep thought, herself, the leader of a ruthless strike force and a now-impervious Empire. It’s a tactical strategy--Edelgard had initially tried to talk it through with Byleth to see what she was feeling, what it reminded her of--

‘It’s a bird. I just see a   bird  , Edelgard.’

‘That’s not exactly helpful, Professor.’

--before talking through some of the more base aspects of what was stirring in Byleth’s chest.

‘ Well...is it positive?’  

‘It’s...good, I think.’

When nothing else followed, Edelgard had sighed.

And then did what any leader might do: try to find a solution regardless of adequate facts, because it simply had to be done.

Peaceful?  No.  Nostalgic?  No.  Analytical?  No.  Joy?  No  --

And finally,  contentment , which like the ones before it, is met with a shake of the head. 

Edelgard frowns, the crease of it barely indenting between brows as she lays a hand against Byleth’s back, easing forward to look at the bird, herself.

At a loss and not admitting it, probably. Now  that  makes Byleth feel  amused . That fluttery little bird in her chest, far warmer than it had been watching Caspar and Linhardt. 

Most things are far warmer when she’s with Edelgard.

A cat by the doorway meows with what might be agreement and fingertips thoughtlessly curl around the stone of the planter’s box.

El hesitates before almost guiltily suggesting:  “...hungry?” 

“Hunger isn’t an emotion.” Byleth pauses, chin tipping up to look for Edelgard’s counsel, “It’s a need, isn’t it?” 

“Hmm, I suppose it is. And I might be disturbed if you wanted to eat a swallow you found in the garden.” 

“Mercenaries don’t have many choices, so I probably could. But if I  had to eat anything here, I’d rather have that squirrel up the tree.” Byleth’s lips barely tip upwards and the leader of Fódlan looks up towards the tree as if taking in the squirrel for the first time with a barely wrinkling nose.

“And I’m  still  disturbed by your sense of  humor  , my teacher.” But Edelgard smiles all the same, a hint of her competitiveness ebbing in light of the softness of the air in the garden as Byleth turns from the bird to brush a strand of hair from violet eyes--it had been tickling Byleth’s shoulder, given their close quarters, and was a little  annoying, but she doesn’t want it blocking Edelgard’s vision, either--fallen from a curving braid, tucking it behind that attentive ear. 

“Maybe some emotions don’t have names.” Byleth’s head tips to the side, palm warmed by the soft blush along Edelgard’s cheek from the gentle touch of fingertips as she leans into a cupping hand like it is both thoughtless and a very conscious choice, all in one. 

Warmth spreads from a clenching stomach to beating chest to curling fingertips, resting against El, who gently circles Byleth entirely in her arms, a little bolder every day.

Warmth.

Is  this contentment? Maybe it is. 

“Well...do you feel differently, now? Or is it still the same?”

Byleth’s head tips to the side, thinking it through before she leans close enough to taste El’s breath, wanting to be  closer , somehow, which makes no sense since arms are wrapped around her and there’s no real way to get closer, is there? Or maybe there is.

Oh, she thinks there  is.

Bergamot. Edelgard’s lips smell like the tea Byleth had brewed for her in the early morning, fingers curling around the ivory of a cup as a humming Emperor inhaled it through nostrils before taking a long, slow sip. The same tea likely sipped even when it grew cold throughout the day for a reason Byleth’s not certain of, and still doesn't feel the need to ask, because there's a certainty to the knowledge. This fact. That Edelgard is more than capable of brewing her own tea, but always seems to favor Byleth’s pot long into the afternoon, even after it grows cold.

Bergamot. 

It’s not the first time Byleth’s had the urge to kiss Edelgard and it probably won’t be the last. Even though they’ve tackled everything together, they haven’t had much  time  like this, alone. Fleeting moments for  months--

“I think I feel…” Byleth smiles--a little wider, however small it might be in comparison--gently guiding Edelgard closer as that blush spreads. “...distracted.” 

And that quiet laugh tastes as nice as it sounds and it dances up into the air like the flutter of the bird's wings below them and it fills all of Byleth’s lungs with it until that  content breath spreads through her and between them. 

Edelgard's laugh is as beautiful as her smile.

Bergamot, she decides, is a good scent.

“Oh, are you, Professor? What by?” A light tease despite that flattering blush, gloved fingertips smoothing out the rumpled collar of a dark cloak; work that’s ruined the moment Byleth’s other hand raises up to gently settle in the small of El’s back, pressing her up closer, and those gloves fist in fabric until suddenly white is engulfed by the shadows spread over shoulders. 

“What...do  you feel right now, El?” It's a murmur--curious and soft, letting out the smallest flutter of a breath when one of those tangling hands falls down to her chest and rests a palm against the skipping beat of a heart. It’s...soothing, now, how Edelgard holds her. It's been so seamless, how hesitation has slowly morphed into...familiarity. How Byleth's body seems to expect it as much as her mind might, heart pattering like soft rain and shoulders easing like knots of a ship that have been unmoored into calm waters.

“Maybe...some emotions  don’t  have names,” It’s a breathless recall, leaning just a little further up into Byleth until their noses brush and the words sink onto parting lips like a welcome drink of water. “But...if this one did, I suppose it would be--”

“Lady Edelgard.” 

Both of them tense, twisting around to see Hubert’s impassive face and devilishly twinkling eyes, voice monotone as Edelgard huffs underneath her voice--

“ Annoyance  .” To Byleth’s quiet chuckle, before she says much louder, “  Yes , Hubert?”

Surprisingly, Edelgard doesn’t pull away, although she does give Byleth a far more apologetic smile as those white gloves once more smooth out the wrinkles they've caused in fabric before facing Hubert and leaning into the palm settled in the curve of her back for just a moment more--just a moment more--before Byleth’s hand dutifully falls, facing the familiar stoic vassal, as well. 

“There’s word on the Slither’s movements on the outskirts of Hyrm.” 

Both of them straighten their spines, then, tender could-have-beens once again tabled for another day. Another tomorrow, brighter than the day before. 

They both have higher priorities.

“They’re heading towards Morfis?” Edelgard surmises and at Hubert’s nod, the Emperor sighs up towards her tactical counsel, something far more serious taking root in features. “It appears you were right, Professor.”

Neither of them take pleasure in this fact.

Those Who Slither in the Dark were not just slithering in Fódlan. 

“But unfortunately there’s been even more...unnerving developments than just Morfis.”

The war room is full within the hour after Edelgard and Byleth have both been briefed, their heads bent and hushed whispers bouncing along the high stone walls.

The map sits stalwart upon the table, crisp and loose around the pins keeping it stapled to the large desk centered in the room, holes widened from half a decade plus of wandering hands shifting it about as eyes took in a war front.

In the center of the map still sits proud Garreg Mach, whose conversion these past six months following the Won War from a Monastery to a genuine officer's school has not changed its current occupancy of forces. It's true that many hearts' hatred eased with each and every day of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg's steady, firm rule--more compassionate than they had been lead to believe through the mayhem and tragedy that consumed houses for neigh a near decade--but not everyone was pleased.

While The Great Beast (as she's come to be called within the troops, propaganda and pamphlets continuous and circulated, still) Rhea was felled and Dimitri, Deluded King (a term Byleth frowns at in its use every time), put to rest, there is still upset in much of Fódlan. Uprisings and spattered, enraged, frightened villages fighting back against who they view as an evil conquering force, taking away their land and religion, combined with the nobles who clutched desperately to their power and riches and crests, insistent that equality threatened their livelihoods.

“Perhaps if your excess of...livelihood cannot exist with equality--if you believe you require the lesser futures of the men and women you swore to protect and serve as their noble leader to maintain it--then you do not understand the worth of human life, at all, and are not fit to hold your position over them, von Gideon.”

Edelgard had been cemented in history as a fierce leader, but her rousing speech at a large estate set ablaze by righteousness in the North East of what was beneath the Lions Snare, where a noble had tried to fight the Black Eagles by using his peasants for fodder, would likely go down as a key quote to attest to it. There wasn't a scribe in sight as Emperor Hresvelg held a glowing axe to the last noble nephew of Gideon's neck underneath his mansion's towering stone pillars, the disgraced man scrambling backwards in the muck he'd fallen into from the gallop of his dismayed horse, cowering on his back with sniveling pleas as his flee from battle was thwarted...but the story has been told time and time again by every soldier and in every tavern Byleth's been to since. 

All with such a great dramatic flair and liberty to storytelling that she wouldn't be surprised if Alois wasn't the first one to tell it.

Edelgard's amused face as they sat on a carriage heading back towards Garreg Mach a month later after quelling another uprising was well worth the bumpy ride and sitting next to a skew-eyed pegasus. 

'--that's not how it happened at all! Edelgard beheaded him on the spot after he spat on an orphan boy that was working for him!'

'Oh, is that so? I had heard him jailed 'n Enbarr with the rest of the noble filth, waitin' judgment.'

'Oh, yeah--yeah--had a friend there, took his head clean off! He's not jailed, he's a yalm under!'

'You don't have friends, Jaspard.'

Normally, they ride proudly, but given the Slithers’ spies having eyes in   every    hill, it would be better not to be caught unawares by a trap. It was wiser to sneak into a caravan than to take the entire group across the border when Ferdinand would already need to head Northwest and Petra and Dorothea South. At least, that’s what Byleth suggested off-hand to Hubert’s   sighing    assent, all of them breaking off to go separate directions in common clothes. 

Which is why Hubert sets across from them looking   unnervingly    threatening towards a Pegasus that’s just licked his jaw in the back of a rickety, open-top caravan for the next three days. Byleth and Edelgard have settled next to each other far closer than they might have been were anyone else there.

This, for some reason, does not seem to improve Hubert's always dour mood.

‘I’ve never had roast Pegasus before. I wonder, is it a delicacy on the outskirts of the mountains?’ Hubert's smile is something reminiscent of the tales told of Byleth, herself, in the taverns:   devilish . 

Definitely not improvement. If this is how Hubert’s doing, Byleth can only imagine Ferdinand’s fear at riding in the back of a straw-filled cart.

Maybe he’ll think it’s an adventure. Caspar certainly looked excited.

'It seems this new Emperor wants the best for   all    people in Fódlan.' Edelgard pipes up underneath a particularly rough bump, a hint of red that might be indignation or amusement creeping up her neck and Byleth is just glad the farmers didn’t hear Hubert’s dry musing.

The men look back from their conversation and tilt their heads, appraising, and ultimately nod. 

'Y'know, lady...you might be right.'

Byleth's sword easily tips underneath her nails to dig out the dirt, casually shrugging with a serious nod, stilling it underneath the next bump. 'She usually is.'

The red was certainly not ire, now, spreading further upwards and that same, amused smile twisting up Edelgard’s lips as lips brush along the dirt-scuffed cheek resting upon a sword's hilt, paying little mind to the weapon...or to Hubert’s heavy   sigh    across from them, it seems.

Byleth offers a smile, shifting to hold Edelgard beneath the next jostling bump so that she might steady herself against it. Out of the corner of an eye she catches t he Pegasus nosing beneath Hubert's chin as if trying to lift his scowl.

It's not a surprise it doesn't work.

'Oh, Hubert, we're just traveling companions. Wouldn't you say, Jaspard?' Edelgard's voice is practically sing-song over her shoulder and Jaspard, once more paying them notice instead of squabbling with his own companion about just how many nobles Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg has beheaded, furrows brows thicker than the stray dog that wanders Garreg Mach's coat. 

'Uh...yeah, sure?'

The pegasus licks Hubert's cheek and Byleth's head tips to the side, calmly noting:

'I think it likes you.' A thoughtful hum, 'I think you would make a good Pegasus Knight, Hubert.'

Hubert's scowl...thins. And maybe it's a trick of the eye--maybe the trees above them filter out the sunlight until it blinks--but she swears, just for a moment, she might see the hint of a smile.

Or, at the very least, Hubert no longer threatens to cook the pegasus for the remainder of the ride to town.

And thus thanks to word of mouth, the uprisings caused by nobles have been easily dealt with, and few nobles could find villagers to bolster their claims of outrage, these days.

Edelgard was fighting  for them, not against them, and they were starting to understand that. 

The uprisings regarding religion were...trickier, and Edelgard’s interference usually led to  worse outcomes than if she hadn’t shown, at all, something she’d been reluctant to admit, but nodded after their last quelling of an insurrection led to every member of a church being toted away in chains.

Even now, Byleth is aware that had it been Rhea, the insurrectionists in the church likely would have been dead, instead of sitting in a jail, but the indignation of being locked up for ‘believing’ was gaining far too much traction to not be taken a serious threat.

‘It’s my job to lead--we’ve spilled enough blood, perhaps someone else might have a solution.’

‘I agree.’ Mercedes looks hesitant in the corner, but hardly meek. They all agree there’s been too much blood spilled. But Mercedes ultimately looks away before Byleth steps forward, eyes set on a girl she knows well.

‘...I think there’s a solution.’

All eyes expectantly look up save for Mercedes, who nervously watches Edelgard.

At Byleth's quiet insistence, these uprisings have been dealt with with the head of the New Church, Mercedes von Martritz, who has ended many  of them before they started, establishing several Churches underneath Edelgard's  cooperation  , not banner. An organization subsisting  within  the Empire--alongside, not  over.

So far, the most radical uprisings where Mercedes has not been successful in quieting them, Jeritza has settled them shortly after. 

They’re thankfully far less prominent. 

'I might hate this false Goddess and 'religion', but people still have a   right    to it, Byleth. Why would they think I would--everything I have done has been to protect them!' A rare frustration is as clear as a scowl upon lips, highlighted by the flickering candles that fortify the long spindles burning within a restored Cathedral. It paints Edelgard’s features in a soft, passionate glow, but also showcases the dark circles beneath sunken eyes. ‘They’re only prolonging their own suffering.’

'Maybe,' A shrug, gently stepping up behind tight shoulders to gently curl fingers around them. 'People are...protective over things that matter to them.' 

‘That   is  true, isn’t it?’ Edelgard murmurs, shoulders tensing before they relax beneath scarred palms. ‘I  suppose I am protective, as well. I am protective of everyone here--I’m protective of   all    of them. No one else has to die, if they would just--’ 

Byleth’s fingers skim along a cheek that clenches and eases just as shoulders had--dip down a neck that swallows and bobs--before wrapping around Edelgard's waist, guiding those sharp muscles and edges the rest of the way against Byleth's chest. A welcome embrace.

Edelgard sags against her like a sack of flour that’s been cut open, all the air in her lungs puffing upwards into the sky. 

Because here, it seems, just like her muscles, she can hold on only so tightly before letting go. It's a feeling Byleth...can understand, now.

‘All you can do is...lead people, El. You can’t make their choices for them.’ 

Fingers hesitate for only a breath before they smooth along Byleth’s wrists along hips, pulling the taller of them closer so that arms wrap fully around her, twisting to raise her own arms around a craning neck before El's own head falls to rest there. 

El fits so nicely here, like the proudest token nestled safely inside a box.

‘Then I’m glad I have you by my side. What are you protective over, I wonder--’ 

Edelgard’s chin tips backwards and Byleth holds her until a messenger comes shortly after with an updated report on Ferdinand’s slim hold in the Northwest.

It hasn’t gotten better, the two months since.

The war room is full of a tense silence after the news is shared, all eyes in the room focused upon the map of Garreg Mach, and the pins of their strongholds littering its aged surface. To the southwest, a few weeks’ journey away, lay a new pin.

A plague has started to take root in Hyrm, on the outskirts of Ordelia, much to Lysithea’s worry, similar to what had overtaken Remire but far worse. The stronghold borders what used to be the Leicester Alliance and the Empire’s hills--a key position against the annoyed nobles rebelling in the East looking to ride towards Enbarr.

The plagues’ spread is showcased by black pins trending a noted path upwards, adorned by the clean parchment quill of Ingrid’s handwriting.

Names.

“It’s spreading to the  nobles with crests who sided with the Empire.” Ingrid concludes, face pulled downward as if a string had tied to her chin. 

Sided with the Empire’s successful  insurrection , as many people in Leicester would still claim. 

“How could a plague attack someone with crests?” Caspar frowns, eyes flicking up towards the few empty chairs of their usual Black Eagle Squadron. Two notable absences with crests missing: Ferdinand, who has been dispatched to the Northwest of what used to be House Kleiman, whose strategic tactical position near the coast of the continent will be  invaluable if Byleth’s hypothesis of the Slithers’ outreach stretching to their neighboring continents held true. Leonie rides with him, crestless. And the other was Petra, who had returned to Brigid to mend relations between the Empire and her country while assuming rule. 

Dorothea, of course, was with her, but bore no crest, as well, and Byleth’s chin tips downward in thought, fingers tucking beneath a working jaw. 

“Technically a plague  infects, it doesn’t attack. But I suppose those who bear crests  do have unique blood.” Hanneman offers thoughtfully, carefully cleaning a monocle with a handkerchief he tucks back inside his pocket. “It is likely attacking the unique signature of the blood that makes crests so extraordinary.” 

“And if it’s attacking the  blood  , the options we currently have to treat it are, oh...  nonexistent  .” Manuela  pouts in the corner, clearly disturbed, knuckles resting beneath her own chin as she takes in the map. 

“Hmm...yes,” Linhardt perks upwards, either clearly deep in thought...or clearly deep in sleep, “Fascinating, really. It would have taken a good bit of experimentation on live blood samples of someone bearing a crest to create a strand of plague that could infect crest-bearers.” 

Byleth’s eyes skim over Lysithea’s pale features before settling to her left on Edelgard’s stoic ones. 

“Indeed.” Edelgard agrees, darker than any of them know. “Which can serve as a reminder of how dangerous they are--and always will be--until they’re wiped from existence. They’ve ruled by fear and oppression for so long that they don’t seem to know how to fight a war with any other tool. I fear this was likely their contingency plan from the start.” The discontent waters of violet flick up towards Byleth before once more settling on the board.

“So...if they’re going to worst case scenarios--” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, scowling. 

“It means we’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” Caspar pumps his fist and Linhardt sighs at the mere insinuation of probably how much effort it all sounds like but it’s Ingrid who steps closer. 

“I think we should be cautious.” Ingrid sports furrowed brows and tense lines about lips but she’s grown so much since Byleth first met her.

They all have, judging by Bernadetta in the corner, quiet but present. 

“Agreed.” Hubert nods, “They’re cunning beasts who have not yet revealed themselves to Fódlan for a reason. I would advise against underestimating them.” 

“I concur, as well.” The Emperor herself agrees before leaning up from the board. “I believe you all know your roles. This changes nothing from our current effort to solidify our defenses in key strongholds. Cementing our hold over the continent and against opposing forces by sea is a high priority not for just putting out lingering opposition from the war, but from  defending all of Fódlan. We need to keep an eye on our future as well as our present, my friends. The True War is still upon us. Be that as it may, Hubert, I’ll need you to notify Petra and Ferdinand of this immediately. We do not need to cause panic, but they need to be aware of the situation at hand in case it escalates. I do not want to send anyone to Hyrm until we’re positive the plague cannot be contracted by someone without a crest.”

“As you wish, your Majesty,” Hubert, with his ever-deep bow, departs shortly after. 

“Manuela, Hanneman, Linhardt--”

“Fine, fine,” Linhardt  yawns  , “I suppose looking into this will at least be  interesting  . Let’s go ahead and  solve it so that I can go back to bed.” 

“Not everything has to be about a  bed with you two,” Hanneman huffs and Manuela scowls, hands settling on hips. Indignant.

“ Excuse me--”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant and you  know it, Manuela. I simply meant you were late to this meeting because you were--”

“Alllllright. Let’s stop shoving our feet in our mouth squabbling and go kick some butt!” Caspar, surprisingly, is the one to shoo them out, much to everyone else’s relief.

The meeting that lasts after is another few hours before the light that had graced the garden has fallen and started to rise, once more, faraway on the horizon but close enough somebody might be able to touch the ephemeral warmth of it if they became one with the shadows on the edge of its reach. 

Soon enough, it’s just Edelgard and Byleth left in the thick of those shadows, candelight flickering above the edge of a map that’s slowly been stained red by blood and determination and time. White gloves had been replaced by a lightly-armored counterpart given the generals and commanders sifting in and out of the room and Byleth walks behind her, now, watching the way the light touches the dips of them and disappears in the red bend of knuckles above the map before calmly shifting. 

Knowing fingers slowly undo the left gauntlet, its ply metal creaking loud enough to cover Edelgard’s surprised gasp for any ear but her Tactician's, who’s close enough to feel it warm the air. Fingers run over the scarred ridges of fingertips--and knuckles--and a wrist--before she does the same with the right, fingertips tracing a map she wishes she were far more familiar with than the one of Fódlan and the Empire below them. 

Edelgard’s nose dips down, head hanging as shoulders barely shake and with a rattling, heavy breath. She leans back into Byleth’s arms, sagging just enough for those undressing hands to skim up fingertips to hips to arms to the other woman’s heart, nose brushing along the high rise of an Emperor's cheek. 

She can feel an Emperor sift like that sand of time into a woman left behind in the steady beats of her heart, strong and certain below Byleth's palm. Rhythmic. Soothing. Like a war drum. Like the bob of a fishing line against water. Like the sound of footsteps walking alongside her in the hall.

Edelgard unwinds a little faster against her, these days.

And Byleth quietly kisses the ring on Edelgard’s finger and wishes it was Edelgard, herself.

“I realized what it was, looking at the bird.” Byleth quietly offers in her ear, knowing Edelgard has never been content with mysteries and secrets unless they’re woven by her own hand. “During the counsel.”

“And what was that?” Barely a murmur, the tension still pulling that smooth voice as taut as the string on Bernadetta’s bow, thin and  sharp  and deadly. But shoulders ease a little more as one of Byleth’s arms wrap around her stomach, gently twisting in a slow dance to press Edelgard’s hips against the table and hold her up within the certain strength of her own arms. 

Byleth isn’t Hubert--she has no intention of taking Edelgard’s burdens solely upon her own shoulders so that she won’t feel them. Assuming her future wife is not capable of bearing the weight of her own life seems... undermining , somehow, after all Edelgard has accomplished and faced. No, Byleth is well aware of the Emperor’s strength.

Which is why she lets them stand together, instead, hand on a heart raising up to cup a cheek, instead. 

“Protective.” Byleth offers, thoughtful and quiet. “I had seen a cat out in the garden--I’ve been feeding it, so it followed me. I’d forgotten about it, because I stayed with the bird for...an hour, before you came, and it didn’t feel like it mattered. But it did.” 

It’s funny, that way. The strangest things cause emotions.

“Oh,” Edelgard’s features soften and it’s now that she seems to hesitate before she gently tucks her head in the crook of Byleth’s cheek, resting on her shoulder fully, once more. “You’ve always been far more compassionate than anyone knows. You have a habit of protecting little birds, don’t you? Animals--children-- students --”

“I know the bird can fly on its own, and it’ll see the cat coming.” Byleth wraps her arms a little tighter around Edelgard, then, whose hands smooth up the front of her shoulders, but this time they sneak boldly underneath the black of a cloak, flattening over biceps until the fabric puddles around scarred wrists. “But I couldn’t help but…” Brows knit as she tastes the word that follows, “...worry . I guess even though I had fed the cat, and I  like the cat, and the cat is just...hunting. I understand the cat’s motivations--” Byleth closes eyes and feels Edelgard settle in her arms and--

And it’s...warm.

It spreads through her and settles and eases the tension she hadn’t known existed in her spine. 

“You’ll fight for the bird, even against the cat. That’s...not the first time you’ve felt that way, is it? It’s a little bit of a heavy-handed metaphor, my love.” Edelgard murmurs, pulling away enough to look at her. 

Byleth's read about protection: it's the desire to safe-keep something from harm; it's the emotion that wraps around shoulders like a hug, fierce. Loyal. It's a knight, like Jeralt used to be, if a person could be an emotion.

What emotion would Edelgard be?

“I know you can fight your own battles.” Byleth nods, determination settling in, “But I’d rather fight them with you.” 

“As would I, Byleth.” El’s voice is quiet and her eyelashes flutter against Byleth’s palm, leaning...closer. 

Until her scent once more fills Byleth's lungs and her warmth spreads through fingertips and palms and a clenching stomach and suddenly all she can feel is Edelgard.

“What’s...this emotion?” A breath, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, brows knitting as Edelgard’s fingers hesitantly raise to brush over her cheek--her neck--push up through her hair, as if she’s careful of it. 

It’s the first time someone’s ever been careful of touching Byleth, outside of Rhea. 

(Byleth has a feeling Edelgard wouldn’t appreciate the comparison). 

“Hmm…” A thoughtful note sounds in the back of her throat as Edelgard leans closer in the earliest hours of the rising sun, light starting to creep up their bare hands and scarred necks and El’s soft, loving smile. “Anticipation,” Teeth tuck lips, “I would think.”

“Anticipation.” Byleth tastes with a smile and feels the thud of Edelgard’s heart in her throat and the shifting air between them and the feeling of fingertips growing a little bolder in their curl about her own craning neck, before leaning down and kissing her.

Love--

El’s gasp parts locked gates against lips and Byleth’s heart and the beating bird within as her fingers tangle in her hair and mutter  ‘finally’ against her before they inelegantly clatter against the table and knock half of the scrolls off the top of it, the map tearing a little at one of the pins, both of them giggling and chuckling and--

Embarrassed and Happy and Giddy and Light--

--as they clean up the mess before Edelgard’s teeth tuck her lips and she blushes as she brings Byleth closer, once more. This time guiding her far away from the long table into the corner, sheltered from the kalleidoscope light of the stained glass windows in this shell of a building full of  used to be’s  and slowly heralding  will becomes. 

Neither one of them have had much practice at this, but love is something they can learn together, as well.

“Let’s try again.” 

--Love--

Byleth hums as she kisses El again and again and again underneath the warmth of the sun until both of them part with flushed cheeks and knowing smiles and fingers that link until they’re forced to go their separate ways, a little more disheveled than they had been an hour before. 

Love through tense weeks and months and half a year of a slowly spreading plague and continued fights. Love through stolen moments and kissed rings and emotions offered up into the air and caught by Edelgard’s lips.

“ Love ”--Edelgard vocalizes and offers, herself, as they lay in the grass by the gardens months and months later, tucked away in a corner where no one would think to look save for  Hubert (because anyone who  would look isn’t nearly as bold). Her finger gently, fondly tracing down the line of Byleth’s cheek like a painting, eyes bright and bashful as she leans above her.

“Is that what you feel?” Byleth asks, leaning into that fond finger and wrapping arms around her waist. It’s the first time Edelgard’s offered an emotion of her own instead of being asked--or implying it with an answer of Byleth’s. 

They’re parting ways in a few hours--Edelgard to Enbarr and Byleth to the outskirts of Kleiman to help Ferdinand secure the territory after a surprising uprising in the Southeast of the fortress, near the coast. 

A little  too  close to the coast, and a little  too close to the spread of the plague that they’ve been monitoring since word of it rose. It’s convenient in the worst of ways that they’ve both come to expect, and it’s the wisest decision to send a tactician over the Emperor, however Edelgard desires to be on the front lines.

It was smart to send Byleth, they all agreed.

It’s funny, how time can move so  quickly . She finds it hard to believe Ferdinand has been gone so long.

‘Let me go fishing’ , Byleth had murmured against the curve of Edelgard’s neck above mussed sheets and biting lips before everyone had arrived a week prior, hand curving over her hip and Edelgard’s fingers falling down to her chin and her neck and her heart as she hovered above her, hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight. It was the decision that made the most sense.

‘I hate this --’

‘...I'm sorry.’

‘I   hate    this, Byleth--’

A blink, coming back to the present. Do emotions always do this? Are they always so...heavily tied with memories and moments and the flutter of violet eyes like a blue bird’s wings?

“Yes.” Edelgard looks away--unusual, given she’s the type to tackle problems head-on--and Byleth shifts upwards on her elbows.

Byleth’s read thousands of books and nearly half of them mention love. People were  fascinated  with love and...Byleth was too, in a way. She’d never felt it, and never understood it, and could never quite grasp its importance. On a battlefield she had watched people kill for it and die for it and  live for it--

It’s something so complex to capture that it doesn’t have such a simple definition like the other emotions might--it’s like a...box. A wooden, rickety box tenderly made and nailed, full of emotions that are so cluttered and many that they all have to be contained so that they aren't spilled and lost and forgotten.

A box. Maybe this...cluttered thing made out of the wood of her chest filled with a dozen--a hundred--a  thousand  other emotions inside of it, carefully latched and closed and carried about in a rucksack from campsite to campsite, safely stowed. Hidden.

Yes, a box. This brittle wooden thing with  love  written on the outside of it.  Love...written in an elegant pen by a white-gloved hand. Signed like a letter--like a name--because Byleth would know that hand anywhere it pressed, branding wood and ink and life beneath its touch. A thousand keepsakes of  happiness  and  hope  and  anger and a million other things Byleth knows the definition to but has only recently fully understood tidied within its cramped confines. Love. Some people throw the word around so carelessly--

Manuela, who loves another person every week

--or have never quite found what was nearby them--

Dorothea, whose letters to her professor list Petra more than anything else

--or have never found its purpose--

Felix, who loves training, he claims, but loathes the taste of battle before sniping that Sylvain will waste away if he doesn’t join him

--and Byleth watches the way Edelgard says it as her chin dips. Certain and careful--like the word means more than she might know how to explain, herself, and Byleth thinks of the poems and the operas and the novels she’s read and imagines each of them on El’s lips before she leans up a little further, safely tucking the other woman against her chest. 

She watches the sun dance along her cheek as Edelgard looks up at her through long lashes, blush and nerves tucking up a thin smile.

When Byleth was as tall as his knees, her father crafted her a box, and she thinks Love might be like that.

“El…” Byleth reaches down to curling hand and untucks a glove where a ring has settled for nearly a year, now, hidden away safely out of sight like so many things are. “I asked you to spend your life with me.” She reminds, lips brushing over it in a quiet ceremony. “We’re engaged. You don’t need to be nervous.” 

The blush deepens and when Edelgard tries to turn away, Byleth catches her chin. 

"I--"

“Is it...so hard for you to imagine I love you, too?”

Edelgard is unusually silent for a long moment before her hand raises up to Byleth’s chest, resting over her heart. And she smiles. This broken, hopeful thing that reminds Byleth of the night she had returned from half a decade of sleeping, or something close to it, something she doesn't quite understand yet buried deep in those eyes.

“If you do, then it won’t be difficult for you to promise me you’ll do everything in your power to come back to Garreg Mach. Promptly. In a  month’s  time, not five years. No more  sleeping .”

“It’s not difficult for me to promise that.” Byleth immediately offers, voice calm, watching the way Edelgard’s features twist and contort beneath their own calm veneer like a fish beneath the pond's surface. “As long as you promise to keep up with your training in Enbarr. I would hate to have to come sooner to whip you into shape. No fighting is no reason for your axe work to get sloppy, Edelgard."

“ Professor  ,” Edelgard gripes, though there’s a hint of a smile in her eyes, “I’m being  serious  . You honestly joke at the  worst momen--”

Byleth kisses her, feeling tense shoulders ease beneath her touch as Edelgard’s fingers wind in her hair, pressing them both down into the red quilt they’d stolen from a student’s bed, its hue vibrant and harsh above the green grass that resembles a Goddess's eyes. 

“...I love you, too.” Byleth whispers when they pull away and sees Edelgard’s conflicting shock and contentment in equal measure--her happiness and  nerves-- but her smile seems to make the whole world feel...unimportant, just for a second. A moment. 

An instant and five years, all in one.

"Then I expect you to return to me...my Empress." Quiet so only Byleth might hear, Edelgard's knuckles skim down Byleth's cheek and the empress lets out a rattling, soft sigh.

All of those books had made love seem so  complicated, but it tasted right the moment Edelgard had offered it.

But Byleth doesn't have to ask what  this feeling is. They're both far too familiar with war.

An afternoon later, Edelgard’s fingers lingers in her own amongst the troops as their hands clasp to part--their eyes meeting and staying before they can't, anymore--and the Emperor sees her advisor off towards Kleiman, her own convoy heading the opposite way to Enbarr, a box tucked in her bag and a dagger on Byleth's hip. She leads the charge on a horse at the helm, never one to shy away from the front lines, Hubert’s look knowing and calm next to her. 

"Until we meet again, Professor." Hubert offers before turning about his own horse, both of them disappearing into the light cast off of the mountains as Byleth turns towards the darkness behind her, the beast she rides neighing appreciatively as she dips into the quiet shadows left by cascading trees into the sky.

“You look happier, Professor.” Ferdinand casually mentions offhand, the sound of their horses hooves sinking into mud accompanying them during the daylight. He had met her halfway towards Kleiman, their intent to set up another outpost on the outskirts hopefully not heard by anyone else in the Monastery.

There were shadows in every corner, after all. Or at least that's what Hubert liked to enigmatically drawl knowingly every time they talked about the Slithers having spies. 

“Do I?” Her head tilts to the side, remembering her father once saying the same, long ago. She hadn’t realized emotions could ease the knots of muscles until something softer could be seen underneath. Not until Jeralt had mentioned it. She’s getting a little more used to the idea. “And  your  hair is getting even longer. It suits you.” It's pointed out in kind and Ferdinand preens at the observation, offering a dazzling smile as he sits straighter on his horse. 

“Ah, yes. I had initially thought it was unbecoming of a noble to keep it unmaintained, but I find I like it far more.” His chin tips upwards towards the sun--command looks good on him, as well, their battalion following behind. Well-led and proud. “Edelgard, though my judgement would have been sound without her commentary, did  also  state that it complimented my eyes, a few years ago, and made me seem more approachable to commoners.” Byleth doubts those were Edelgard’s exact words, “It spoke great volumes that we both were of the same thought. There’s many things I never would have assumed I would have enjoyed outside of the nobility. Who knew hair could provide such a cautiously freeing sense of enjoyment? So I've let it grow longer.” 

“I’ll help you brush it once it reaches your hips.” Byleth helpfully offers and Ferdinand laughs, surprised and shaking it over shoulders. 

“That will not be necessary, Professor.”

“It can be very difficult to maintain.” Byleth seriously continues, pointing towards it off-handedly, “In a battle the last thing you need is a handle for someone to grapple you to the floor with, especially from your horse.” 

Ferdinand scratches at his chin in thought, humming.

“Ah, I had not seen that angle, Professor. Perhaps freedom does come with its costs.” He seems plagued by this for a moment before Byleth nods.

“Dorothea arrives next week, we’ll have her cut it for you. She’s cut mine, before.” After pouting that Byleth had let it turn into a mess, anyways. Which is strange because Byleth’s hair has  always been this way.

Was it messy?

‘Edie can’t run her fingers through a raven’s nest, Professor.’

‘I have no idea what that even means, Dorothea.’  

‘ Oh, hopefully you two aren’t too thick-headed to find out.’ Dorothea’s sigh could push mountains to the edge of Fódlan. 'No wonder why she never gives me any of the good stuff in her letters.'

'What?'

'Nothing~~'

"She can keep it long but still manageable. Then you have both freedom and functionality."

Ferdinand perks upwards. “She  does  seem to have a great amount of experience needing to cut her own hair and not having someone to do it for her.”

Byleth sighs. 

He’s making  progress , perhaps that’s the best they can ask of him.

Fondness --she can hear Edelgard murmur in her ear, a phantom’s touch as her smile might skirt along her cheek.

A smile, soft and quiet, graces Byleth's lips, in kind.

“It suits you, as well.” Ferdinand offers and Byleth tilts her head to the side to regard him, a little distracted in her thoughts as they continue on. “Happiness.”

Ferdinand just smiles and Byleth nods after a long moment, realization donning. 

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s  good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Happiness is the word she thinks her father would have liked the most to hear she learned.

Happiness. It’s a word Byleth knew the definition to, but never quite understood. 

Not until Edelgard gave it to her.

Love suits me, El  --she can imagine humming along her shoulder, because for now the only emotion she can imagine settling in that sanded, shaped box labelled ‘love’ is the rattling, large one named  happiness.

[mihanada]

Heaven Official’s Blessing Liveblog

Chapter 2: Scrap-Collecting Immortal’s Third Ascension to Godhood

Xie Lian is honest and self-deprecating, Ling Wen is serious with a dry sense of humor. Put them together, and the first proper conversation of the novel is funny in a low key sort of way. Xie Lian being self-deprecating and humble is a little refreshing, in that he is also quite confident about it. He knows full well that he is dirt poor in material items and heavenly currency, and it makes one wonder how exactly he got from raging god of revenge attacking the heavens to this person who jokes about his own failures so easily. But, well, that’s why this novel is so long, isn’t it haha. Plenty of time to figure it out.

Lian Wen is great fun for all her acerbic comments, and I like how she’s so professional. At least there’s one heavenly official who is polite and helpful to Xie Lian despite his reputation?

I also laughed at the ancient xianxia chatrooms for the gods that is basically just used for them to gossip and gamble. Does humanity ever really change, even when they ascend to the heavens? I’m thinking the answer is a no.

So, I forgot how Mu Qing’s voice was first described all the way back in Chapter 2 and it’s honestly so contradictory. A soft voice, appears to be gentle but in reality is cold and indifferent. Therefore, “it made that gentleness seem as if it harbored some evil intentions.” Like, hello.

Xuan Zhen = Mu Qing

Self, remember that.

Gotta remind yourself that it’s been 800 years since Xie Lian ascended and according to him, it’s been 500-600 years since he last saw Mu Qing. It sounds really silly that he didn’t recognize him, but then again, he isn’t seeing him in person and apparently Mu Qing never used to sound so cold when he spoke to Xie Lian. So, I guess he gets a pass haha.

I’ve never hated Mu Qing as a character, or even disliked him, even before I read spoilers about the rest of the novel. I did think in the beginning that, oh, so he’s that sort of asshole. Because - yeah. The quick summary of what went down between these two paints a really clear picture. And it also makes a lot of sense because, hey. People are assholes. If the crown prince promotes you on a whim, take and run with it. But his foolish failure doesn’t have to mean the end of your life either. So, I get it, and I could kind of respect him for being that pragmatic of a person and not being overly sentimental and all undying loyalty.

Nan Yang = Feng Xin

If I type it enough, maybe it will stick in my head one day.

So, by the end of the reveal that Feng Xin stuck with Xie Lian a little longer but ultimately went their separate ways, I had formed some thoughts and liked the set up with these two former generals of his. My thoughts on this are kind of complex and I’ve thought a lot about how to express them. In the end, I decided to leave those thoughts for later on, once I’ve learned more about these two.

In terms of the narrative, we have a goal set for Xie Lian in this chapter: earning merits to repay the damage he caused by ascending. And that may take a while seeing as no one worships him anymore and 8 million something merits might be a bit difficult to come by. Soon after, his bad luck kicks in and he runs into two of his former generals who dumped him a few hundred years ago for better prospects.

A lot happens in the next chapter, so I’ll save that one for another post. Plus, I tend to lose my immunity to my cat’s dander every time I leave home for an extended period of time and now that I’m back, I am suffering and my eyes are bugging out lol. Until next time!

(masterpost)

← back・onward →

[nezumiismissing]

Missing Character Analysis Pt.3

So we come to part 3 of this series, finally. For the uninitiated, this is where I talk about the characters that were included in the novels/manga but left out of the anime for any multitude of reasons, and how their omission affects the story as a whole (Part 1+Part 2). I won’t say it’s the last one, because there are a few more characters I want to talk about, but this will probably be the last long one, as the characters remaining are fairly minor and there isn’t quite as much to analyze. That being said, this monstrosity is over 3000 words, so if you do decide to read it, make sure you have the time. It’s kind of wild, things get a little conceptual/abstract, but it’s at least marginally coherent, and that’s all that really matters, right? 

So this time around we’re actually going to be talking about two characters, Fennec and lab coat man, not because they are too minor to deserve their own posts, but because they are too interconnected to focus on one without talking about the other. As the leaders of No.6 they hold a huge amount of power, and yet their dialogue occurs almost entirely between themselves. And while individually they are completely different people, what makes them strong characters is much more about the role they play as a single force within the city. Each one of them will get a section of their own, and then at the end we’ll move into the discussion of them as a “unit” and how their absence affects certain aspects of the anime. I'm going to start with lab coat man because, for me at least, Fennec is the far more interesting of the two, so I wanted to save him for last, as well as the fact that chronologically, he also makes the last appearance out of the two of them. Also I’m just going to call him Labcoat because he doesn’t have a name and that’s basically his only identifying feature.

Let’s actually start with that. The fact that he doesn’t have a name (even less so than the mayor) but still appears in the story is extremely odd. I’ve mentioned in the past that something I really like about the anime is the lack of any characters guiding No.6’s actions, which make it seem like a full character with a will of its own (I will touch on this later). But there’s something almost as creepy about knowing who the antagonist of the story is, having an in-depth understanding of his ideology (even if it’s bullshit), seeing him have full on one-on-one conversations with other important characters, and yet having no way to really identify who they are or how they ended up in this position. His character is overly vague and simplified, but to an extent that ends up being nearly as terrifying as him not existing at all. He’s the one that’s actually running No.6, making every major decision about what direction the city should move in up until the very end of the story, and yet his death happens without us seeing it, and without the intervention of any of the main characters. This functions not only as a way to show how insane he was or to what extent he isolated himself in order to do his work, but also reveals the fact that he is completely unnecessary. Not to the story of course, he’s very important to our understanding of No.6, but to No.6 itself, his existence was meaningless. No one outside of Fennec and Safu (the two people he is shown interacting with) ever make reference to his existence, and even after he dies, and the main characters find his body in the mayor’s office, he is only mentioned for a moment to explain what had happened to him. He seems perfectly happy with this arrangement, but it leaves a lot of questions unanswered. How did he become the most powerful man in No.6? Why did he do it? Was complete power always his intention, or was he an idealist in the beginning like everyone else? We’ll never know the answer to these questions, but at the same time, it doesn’t really matter why he did it. Labcoat is a character that is so integral to the story and its events that his motives and existence outside of his ideology become completely meaningless. Which almost seems contradictory, but is also maybe the point of his character. Rather than an actual character with a concrete purpose and role in the story, he is a stand-in for the ideology that drives No.6, similar to the way that Rashi acts as a personification of the sociopolitical status of the city (please read my obscenely long post about Rashi).

At the root of this ideology, and Labcoat’s character, is the overwhelming fear of failure and losing control. Scenes including him are centered on his progress updates, which immediately are recognizable as nothing but reassurances, that “it was only a small obstacle”, that “it should be under control now”. At no point are we under the illusion that he actually knows what he is doing, and with no information regarding what is actually going on until near the end of the story, we are left to watch him desperately struggle with something that is either impossible, or doesn’t exist at all, much like the concept of utopia itself. We already know that his ideology and rational thought process will not allow him to accept impossibilities or non-understandings however, and so it is at this moment that we fully become an active part of the story ourselves, not as simple observers or analysts, but instead as a driving force in the plot, here in the form of the source of Labcoat's paranoia. Within the story, there is no doubt in his mind that anything and everything can fall under his control, and to a point, he is right. Elyurias is ultimately able to defeat him and No.6, but only after severe damage has already been done and some control had been taken from her temporarily. By existing outside of the story, we exist fully outside of his realm of control, and in recognizing our existence, he must come face to face with the reality that certain things exist that cannot be rationalized (more thoughts on this concept another time). Again similar to Rashi, this realization causes the collapse of his ideology, and by extension, No.6. Because that ideology is the entirety of his character, there is no reason for him to remain a part of the story, and so he is killed, quite literally, by irrationality. 

Fennec is one of those characters that from the outset is obviously more complex than is let on. He's the undisputed mayor of No.6, wielding unprecedented power over every single character we meet in the story. But he doesn't really want any of it. And as I mentioned above, he doesn’t really have it either. Now whether he realizes that he is being used by Labcoat or not is unclear (up to a certain point), but it is obvious that he knows that he is not fully in control of the city. His only real job is to serve as the face of No.6 and its perceived ideals, keeping the general population from ever suspecting that anything may be wrong. However, even in this job he is unable to succeed, and ultimately only exacerbates the process by which citizens become suspicious of the city’s leadership. He is arguably the most ideologically pure character in the entire series, other than perhaps Karan, whose ideology is not fully developed over the course of the story, and Safu, whose purpose in the story does not even necessitate any kind of socio-political stance on her part. Despite what he has ended up doing and taking part in, I don’t think that he ever really moved away from dreaming of an ideal world, and while much of his uncertainty about his position certainly stems from being unsure of whether or not they are moving the city in the right direction, I believe that much of it is also part of working towards one of the questions that frames the entire series: “Is it even possible to create an ideal world?”. Without an answer to this question, he is unable to overcome his uncertainty about his own position in the city or move forward ideologically, and thus is easily used as a tool by others such as Labcoat to further their own agendas and ideological positions, rather than develop his own ideas and work towards his own goals of utopia.

While some of the other characters such as Labcoat, and to a certain extent Rashi, are very much a personified version of the city in its idealized authoritarian form, Fennec exists very much on the opposite side of the spectrum, and instead paints a picture of the political and ideological structure of No.6 as it actually is, and likely always has been. While Fennec, like everyone else in the Rebirth Project, went into the creation of No.6 with utopian ideals, he is also probably the first, if not only, one of them to realize that what they were attempting was likely impossible, at least in the way they were attempting to do it. With the information about him we are given, it seems safe to assume that he may have been suspicious from the start, and perhaps was pushed into the leadership position not only as a way for Labcoat to become the de facto ruler of the city, but also in order to convince him that the city was indeed possible, and that it could only happen with Fennec's help. This of course was never a good idea, and likely led to a good portion of the instability that allowed the story to happen in the first place, but by portraying a leader that is so uncertain not only of the concept of the city itself, but also in his ability to lead such a city, we are able to see just how unstable the situation has been from the very beginning. This makes Karan’s comments about Fennec much more interesting as well, as at face value these are obviously comments about the distrust of leadership in the city, and thus distrust in the city itself, but in seeing Fennec’s own insecurity, we are able to place these comments also within the context of a distrust of the self, and a recognition that the entire situation is really out of everyone’s control, making the stability that marks No.6 as the “Holy City” subject to collapse at any time and for basically any reason, which of course it ultimately does.

Basically every death in this story has immense impact, often resulting in significant character development or otherwise important shifts in the story, and Fennec’s death is no exception to this. Like Labcoat, his death occurs without being seen and without intervention, although this time the main characters are at least aware that it is happening, but nonetheless it shifts the tone of the moment. In my experiences reading this scene, it’s always been there to create a quiet, grounding moment for both us and the characters to come back to reality and start processing everything that has happened over the past 9 books. The entire last half of the series is incredibly dense with action scenes, sensory overload, and things that are so far separated from reality that it’s difficult to figure out exactly what their purpose is, and even before entering the Correctional Facility, peaceful scenes are few and far between. So in this brief moment at the end of the series, when we know for a fact that No.6 has finally fallen and the nightmare is (mostly) over, we are finally able to enjoy a single moment of certainty amidst what is otherwise complete chaos. In these moments we are able to see Fennec realize not that he had necessarily lost against Nezumi, Shion, and the protesters, as his actions were almost entirely a result of Labcoat’s manipulation, but that he had been manipulated in the first place, and that his own life had been taken over by the “idea” of No.6, rather than the reality of it. The death of Labcoat and the realization of what had truly transpired within the city results in a return of control to Fennec over his own life, as well as over the city. With his knowledge of the city’s truth, and newfound power over it, he must now make the choice of whether or not to justify everything that has happened up to this point. Manipulated or not, he recognizes his position as the symbol of the city, and therefore his role in its actions, and so in keeping with his utopian ideology, he does the only thing he feels is appropriate in order to avoid going against his ideals and once again relinquishing his self determination to a yet-undecided power. I can’t say whether or not that choice was the right one, and opinions are probably going to differ a lot between people, but it is at least an action that, unlike so much of the rest of the series, is not unexpected and can be rationalized outside of an authoritative framework.

I’ve already done some of this, but this last section is going to go into how these two function as the single unit running No.6, and thus how their lack of presence affects the structure of the anime. On their own of course neither one of them would be able to take on the position of leading the entire city, and although neither one really seems interested in being deeply involved with the other, they have become dependent on each other in order to remain individually stable, with Labcoat needing reassurance that he is indeed in charge, and Fennec needing reassurance that an ideal society can exist, despite neither of those things being entirely true. As a unit, they represent two sides of No.6 in reverse relation to their own positon within the city. That is, Labcoat represents the idealism and scientific superiority that characterizes the world’s perception of the city while remaining a highly secretive figure, while Fennec represents the frailty of the city that is kept hidden from the citizens, despite acting as the city’s public persona (I will be referring to them as a unit from now own because their function is collective rather than individual here). This unit itself is a highly isolated structure (relationship), interacting with only a few other characters within the story during important moments, but otherwise interacting only within itself. This is what allows this setup to work at all, as their isolation enables them to freely trade information and plans between themselves without involving others or worrying about the information finding its way out of the structure. While it is clearly highly manipulative on the part of Labcoat, this is unclear to Fennec as well as the citizens who watch the mayor speak, and so the unit is able to stay intact as it is without being questioned by those who may seek to oppose it. This does not free them from criticism, obviously, but instead makes it impossible to criticize only one or the other from the perspective of a citizen, because as far as they are concerned, they are the same person. The unit, in having two distinctly different personalities functionally taking the place of one, is able to efficiently complete tasks semi-publically that would otherwise be seen as unacceptable by publicly presenting itself, and in fact believing itself to be, an idealized system of leadership which works in the citizen’s favor. Labcoats’s mistakes are able to be rationalized as small obstacles through the lens of Fennec’s nonunderstanding, and Fennec’s paranoia of this nonunderstanding mitigated through Labcoat’s complete trust in scientific inquiry and methods.

Despite the omission of these characters and the unit entirely from the anime, the story is still able to work because the city itself is able to take the place of the unit as the primary actor in the events of the story. With no leadership being portrayed throughout the anime, we are left with the impression that the events are unfolding independently of any kind of governmental system, or at least the government that does exist is vague and devoid of ideology outside of “militant authoritarianism”. Instead these events are framed almost as a type of natural occurrence that likely could not be avoided without the formation of some kind of mediation system such as a government, and without such a system, the responsibility falls somewhere else: society as a whole (or more specifically No.6). With no visible government in the form of the Fennec/Labcoat unit to control and mediate the situation, the unit expands to include everyone, as they become collectively responsible for governing themselves and thus understanding and accepting to a certain extent what is happening throughout the story. It would be a significant understatement to say that the sociological implications of this are immense, and someday I will write that essay. But today is not that day, so we’re going to stay surface level.

I would like to point out that yes, obviously this is not actually how No.6 functions. It’s not an autonomous collective governed by the people. It’s not even kind of a democracy. My point isn’t so much to say that No.6 is or even approaches being either of those things, but rather that the structure of the story, by excluding certain details and characters, gives us a conceptualization of No.6 that is far different from the one portrayed in the novels, and thus may in certain instances be seen as ideologically distinct. In this instance, the omission of Fennec and Labcoat, both independently of each other and as a unit, serve to create the feeling of the situation in No.6 as being entirely out of control, not as a planned series of events or experiments, but rather as a spontaneous occurrence fed by unexplained impulses felt by certain members of society, here taking the form of those recognizable as government officials or soldiers. While the government is certainly mentioned in the anime, and clearly exists in some form that is able to exert that level of control over the citizens, it exists mainly because the way we live requires a government, and so any story that does not explicitly state otherwise is simply assumed to have one that functions in a way we can recognize and relate to. 

In the novels, although they are not the only ones in the government, Fennec and Labcoat occupy the highest position, and are able to confirm the existence of a structured government, and give insight into the background and current issues facing that government. Through them, the events taking place are to a certain extent demystified, and while not explained entirely, we are able to more accurately identify those events as being somewhat purposeful and directly related to the overarching story. Their absence in the anime, while useful in its own way for adapting the themes of the story and creating a sense of mystery in a visual medium, also result in a (perhaps unintended) ideological shift in the overall message of the story, leaving it unclear as to what exactly happened, or could happen in the future. Also, like most things that got left out of the anime, this seems to be at least partially a result of the time crunch of fitting 9 books into only 11 episodes, so while I may have (a lot of) issues with the overall result of this particular change, there also isn’t really much that could have been done about it outside of just making the show longer (which they should have done but I know that wasn’t really an option). Ultimately though, through Fennec and Labcoat, and their existence as a unit in the series, we are able to better contextualize the events of No.6’s story, understand how those events came to take place, and get a better sense of how No.6 as a city and a society really functions. With their omission, we not only lose those understandings, but the ideology portrayed and supported by the story also change, and while that change may not be important to the overall enjoyment of the story, the implications end up being quite significant, and not necessarily in the way you would want.