#no shade to the ship itself just not personally compelling

[inkformyblood]

speak truth into reality (Codywan Week24)

Day 01 Truth Serum/Spell - Obi-Wan doesn’t lie @codywanweek

Canon Compliant, optional Post-O66 section at end. Heavy pining with a palm kiss~

“Smells weird,” one of the newer cadets remarks — newer than Cody himself which isn’t by much all things factored in — and Cody gives him the good grace of ignoring him. Second thing he’d learnt in the Command track, compartmentalisation, and he’s gunning for gold, full marks, maybe even prizing a good job out of Alpha-17’s grasp on his way past.

Won’t make up for the fact he’s failing at step one.

“We ran into a spot of trouble on our last mission,” Kenobi answers, a smile as wide as a sunrise plastered on his face and just as fake as a politician’s promise. It’s for the benefit of the camera crew reluctantly tucked into one corner, the expression beginning to twitch into something closer to bared teeth, something violent, before Kenobi composes himself and continues. “Due to the rapid escalation of the war, quick repairs were necessary, hence the smell. I find the cheaper material does tend to linger.”

He turns his gaze towards the camera operator, and the camera by benefit of association. Cody tracks the movement, his bucket firmly in place, the perfect picture of professionalism at Kenobi’s side, and he dips into the holonet with a blink. There is a dizzying moment of confusion, the reverberation that the person dressed in his armour standing at Kenobi’s side isn’t him, couldn’t be him, carving a fresh bloody swathe through Cody’s thoughts, and it passes before it can squirm, weak-limbed and wet from the tube, into something more. He can see what the camera sees, what the holonet is bearing witness to right at this exact moment, and he knows the universe is twisting itself into a fresh shape because of it. It has to be. He can’t look at Kenobi as he is now and not come away changed.

Cody knows his General is beautiful. He’d been warned about it, in fact, three stacks of flimsiwork to sign in confirmation of receipt even before Alpha-17 attempted to scrub it into his head, the disjointed flat of his knuckles grinding against Cody’s skull as he repeated the first rule of Command again and again and again. He must have had an inkling, some latent Force-sensitive DNA spasming into life for that moment and that moment only, because he knew that Kenobi would be the ruin of Cody.

He loves him. With everything he has and everything he is and everything that he will be.

Kenobi smiles, his eyes flat and his teeth bared just within the confines of manners. “I just find it to be such a shame that the Senate doesn’t seem to prioritise the men fighting to keep them safe. That is why this was agreed on.”

The host looks to be barely out of her vat with how fragile she seems, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of blue as she stares at Kenobi. Her throat bobs silently for a moment, the sharp pale edge of her teeth visible behind the swell of her lower lip. It is only when Kenobi straightens, his grin smoothing into something gentler, that she relaxes, her shoulders rising and falling noticeably as she composes herself. It’s a good show, enough to compel a few of the troopers into sharp professionalism as their fingers dance over the controls of the ships without looking down, conducting the engines into a low thrum of promised violence that would propel them into atmo with barely a ripple in the General’s tea. Beautiful in it’s own way and tragically unappreciated.

Behind the camera, the young man coughs once, a pale violet blush lying heavily over the soft swell of his nose and the host steps forward just enough to break the camera’s view of Cody. He doesn’t relax, not with a noose he’s tied himself around his neck, his choice to love Obi-Wan and to continue to do so, his choice to mark his understanding on Alpha-17’s piles of flimsiwork and proceed forward with his decision all the same. The camera is a regrettable necessary evil, a way of carving some understanding into the holonet’s collective conscious and they have chosen as their instrument of destruction, General Kenobi, his robe long since discarded on the back of a chair when the discussion of life on a ship had first been brought up, and his teeth safely tucked away as the conversation teeters on a knife edge once more.

“Yes, General Kenobi,” the host begins once more. Her voice is musical, pleasant enough to listen to, although Cody thinks it would begin to crack under a barrage, not enough pieces to be glued back together when there’s blood in the lines of her palms. “Thank you for mentioning that point as it brings us rather neatly into our next talking point. In the Senate, and the holonet at large, there is a rather interesting rumour circulating about you.”

Obi-Wan’s smile turns brittle and Cody’s hand doesn’t twitch towards his blaster. He has too much self-control to do anything quite as obvious and he is a Clone Commander. There’s several troopers with their hands on their blasters under his command, his authority, and at least one trooper with a wickedly sharp knife that Cody officially knows nothing about, no flimiswork filed and no denials holstered.

He’ll take just as much glory from this host’s death from another’s hand as he will his own. If it’s necessary. If it is needed.

“Oh?” Obi-Wan reaches back for his tea and Cody is already holding it out for him to take. The heat from the mug bleeds through his gloves, worn thin and stitched back together twice with thread whose colour didn’t matter. It would darken with ash and grime quickly enough and they didn’t have the resources available to be selective. Obi-Wan takes the mug, the tips of his fingers skimming against Cody’s in a gesture that would bleed professionalism if it could and yet meant so much more than that. He takes a sip, his next breath fogging in the air before he speaks. “Do enlighten me as to what that could be.”

Another blink for the holonet and Cody skims over the most recent comments, careful to keep his gaze averted from the devastation of Obi-Wan’s grin, the fragile porcelain of his countenance. His own name appears more times than he had expected, a handful of little pictures of fire and water droplets in some sort of code that had respondents queuing up in agreement, but that isn’t important. There are more commenters on Obi-Wan’s side than against from his brief surveillance, but the majority are locked onto what the rumour could be.

The minority insisting that they are about to get confirmation on the theory that Obi-Wan is dating Senator Amidala from Naboo are being resoundly shot down. Cody snaps a picture and flicks it through the coms channels to Fox before the host clears her throat once more.

Cody knows the thought flickering across Obi-Wan’s mind before it has even breached the surface, lining up the orders to make sure it would be a precision strike if needed.

“Yes, we and our viewers on the holonet would love to know—” She leans forward like she is sharing some conspiracy, her face tilted towards the camera to wink one glittering eye before she continues. “—is it true that you don’t lie?”

“That?” Obi-Wan sips at his tea once more, another puff of visible breath rolling across the surface before it vanishes. The faintest hint of florals works through the filters in Cody’s helmet, cut with enough sugar to send a shiny to medical. Apparently, it was a necessity for that blend. Obi-Wan places the cup back onto the table, his mouth drawn into a thin line in the brief moment of respite from his starving watchers, and he smiles as he turns back around. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he straightens up to his full height, tipping his head to one side. “I wouldn’t have thought it would be a hotly discussed topic in the Senate of all places.”

One of the troopers dissolves into a coughing fit that sounds suspiciously like the clone’s bastardised Mando’a words for ‘because it is a rarity there’. Obi-Wan glances over, worry etched into the crease of his brow, the downturned corners of his mouth, and Cody leans back the inch or so he needs to get an eyeline on the coughing trooper.

It is a truly miraculous recovery.

“Your name is mentioned more often than you would think, General!” This is safer ground for the host, her shoulders relaxing by noticeable degrees, her stance widening as she tips into her hip.

One of the troopers misses his seat, a fine example of several thousand credits worth of training, not to mention the millions that went into the exact sequencing of his DNA, and he catches himself on the edge of the console before making a second attempt. His batchmate standing next to him helps, his shoulders held tight to contain his laughter. Cody is going to murder them both and mount their helmets on the wall.

The host doesn’t even notice. She continues, her hands splayed wide, open, inviting. “So, could you confirm for us?”

She bats her eyes, long lashes dark against the paler hue of her cheek, the smudge of colour on her lids. Cody wasn’t decanted yesterday, he sat through every module he needed to and the again for the supplemental material tacked onto the end after a handful of cycles with the Jedi. He’s not unfamiliar with people flirting with General Kenobi, already bloodied in that particular conflict in the moments after meeting the man, but this tastes different, feels different.

It’s almost a reflex, the final death throes of an insect after it threw itself into the candle flame. A dance that she has moved through the positions enough times that her body moves on instinct, sending her step by step closer to an abyss she doesn’t wish to stare into. This particular outreach team had been assigned to them, the orders skidding across Cody’s desk and marked with Fox’s heavy-handed subtlety, and he’s plotting something. Always is.

Never forgiven Cody for being lifted out of their tube three minutes before him.

Cody doesn’t jolt back into the present moment, he is simply there, like he always is. At Obi-Wan’s side.

“I don’t lie, my dear.” Obi-Wan croons the endearment like he wields his saber, all flash with one hand to hide the blade he holds in the other. He slips his hands from his sleeves once more, a few scattered marks across his fingers from the leather bands he wears, and inclines his head towards the door. “I believe, along with this full expose, you were promised a tour of the ship. I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t uphold my side of things.”

There’s a twittering of pleasantries Cody doesn’t bother to remember, letting the noise wash over him, waiting for his orders. He picks up Obi-Wan’s tea, one hand flat beneath the base, the other cupping the side, and follows them. He’s a few steps behind, just outside of the gaze of the camera, so there is a moment of respite.

He doesn’t take it.

It wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, for Cody to be off duty when Obi-Wan is still having to play the part made for him. When the Kaminoans threaded his DNA together, some pieces must have been lost, drifting off into the filters of his tube or burrowing into Fox next to him, because Cody cannot stop. He just is, fiercely and entirely.

“The ship is a self-contained living and combat space.” Obi-Wan speaks easily, each word clearly defined and Cody is reminded of the mechanical voices on the training modules. “Comfortably, we can house nearly one thousand two hundred men on board. Currently, we are housing two thousand.”

The host’s steps slow, not enough that she would crash into the waiting eye of the camera held just behind her, but, in comparison to Obi-Wan’s easy stride, her shock is a scream. Cody doesn’t pause with her, maintaining his distance from Obi-Wan, and he draws level with her. Through the film of his visor, Cody can make out the tight press of her mouth, the sheen of her eyes as they dart up his helmet and then lower to the cup Cody still holds carefully tucked into his chest. Her expression shifts into something Cody can’t name but is wary of all the same, a blade pressing against the line of his ribs and he isn’t sure if it’s meant as a boon or a threat.

Cody looks to Obi-Wan.

A single nod and Cody settles back into familiar lines, head raised, back straight.

“Does that not prove a problem for resources?” The host asks. She colours a pale shade of blue, straying from her given list of questions, and Cody knows why Fox chose her to match with Obi-Wan and himself. Curiosity is a drug that devours itself, driving them onwards ever further, and he sees the bite of it layered over her shoulders.

Obi-Wan inclines his head to one side in acknowledgement. “Somewhat. We try to mitigate it as best we can but some situations are unavoidable. If you would follow me down here?”

The corridor isn’t one of the better ones on the ship, it noticeably buckles on one side, forcing them into single file about halfway down. It hadn’t been a secret Separtist weapon like the scrolling feed in the corner of Cody’s vision speculates, or the scar from some space battle, just flimsy materials buckling beneath a little bit of wear and tear. It’s a chilling thought, one Cody doesn’t care to linger on for longer than absolutely necessary, the idea that the ship he is forced to entrust his existence to, the lives of his men to, could come apart in an instant for no other reason than to make a politician’s bottom line fatter.

They wouldn’t be saved if that happened.

No. Cody adjusts the thought in the same instant. Obi-Wan would save them, no orders needed. He would hold together the decaying carcass of their supposed salvation for as long as he could for the sake of just one more life saved.

Cody falls back behind the camera on Obi-Wan’s silent instructions, letting the pair move ahead behind his General. Like this, he can see through the camera’s lens, the General’s back clear above the slighter frame of the host, their shadows stretching out ahead them, stark in the artificial light. There is a slight haze around Obi-Wan, not dissimilar to the way the horizon trembles beneath heat, a window into the impulses of the universe for a moment, and Cody’s breath catches in his throat, faintly floral with the tang of ozone.

“If you could pause a moment?” Obi-Wan asks in a tone that expects to be obeyed instantly, still mild and pleasant but steel running beneath it. Cody halts instantly, the sudden absence of his bootsteps echoing loudly, and he can make out the hurried sounds of movement in the room beyond through the vent above his head before Obi-Wan knocks on the door.

It opens to a trooper still in his blacks like Cody had instructed him to be. There should be two others behind him, similarly deliberately dressed down, a couple hands on cards scattered on the table in front of them. It might just be set dressing, a scream through gritted teeth for the humanity the leash is slowly choking from them, but it could be an opening. Obi-Wan may have played this game longer than Cody has, but he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve at least.

“Ah, Remy. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

“Not at all, General.”

There’s another volley of comments filtering through Cody’s bucket, some of them entirely little pictures of fire. He doesn’t know what that means.

“I was hoping to show our guests around a standard bunk-room,” Obi-Wan continues. His hands are folded in front of him, his thumbs resting against the delicate network of veins in his wrist and Cody knows, from furiously guarded experience, that his heartbeat will be as even as his voice, each pulse measured and exact, working towards the same goal.

Remy nods once, burnished professionalism instead of the deep-rooted network woven through Cody’s veins, but it’s a start. He’d polish up to be a fine trooper, not quite Command track but Squad Leader maybe. If he survives long enough. “Of course, sir.”

“If you’d follow me?” Obi-Wan sweeps into the room without waiting for an answer and the pair, boxed in unknowingly by a Jedi and his Commander, do as he instructs.

The camera swings wide first, devouring the regulation unpainted walls in the same grey shade as the rest of the ship, nothing to distinguish this as a room intended for sleeping except the rows of bunks spaced out from one wall to another, repeating across the room. Two of the bunks are occupied, the troopers doing a passable job of faking sleep. Their eyes gleam from behind mostly closed lids, a matched set of predators observing prey scurrying by. One trooper has even stripped to the waist, the blanket bunched around his hip, and his chest rises and falls in a mimicry of the rolling breath of dreams. Another volley of flames springs across Cody’s vision, but it isn’t enough to distract him from the slight tint to Obi-Wan’s cheeks as he turns to face them once more.

In the centre of the room, two of the bunks had been removed, shoved into the aisles instead to allow space for a couple of storage crates fastened together and then bolted to the floor. Remy has returned to his careful perch on the floor, resting high on his knees as he surveys the hand of discarded cards on the table, picking them back up one by one. Stacked neatly, two other hands sit waiting at his left, and the surface is cluttered with coordinated sets of a sabbac game in full-throttle, spent blaster refills serving the place of chips.

“If I may,” the host begins, glancing first at Obi-Wan who inclines his head towards the trooper. “What is this you’re doing?”

“Playing sabbac, ma’am.”

Cody, unseen by the camera, raises his hand to his bucket, first and second finger splayed wide and the rest curled into his palm. He taps his fingers against his temple before moving them outwards, the same battle sign they would use for an advance. It might not be the battlefield he’s used to but he trusts his men. He trusts Obi-Wan.

“I’m playing three hands at a time, using the blaster refills for tokens, and trying to refine my play style.” Remy grins up at her, wide enough that the ring pierced through his tongue could be seen for an instant as he continues. “Got to stop my batch mates gloating somehow.”

The host nods. She clasps her hands in front of her chest for an instant, squeezing tight enough that her skin discolours before she drops her hold, returning to the selfsame splay of her palms. It feels like a warning, something in the base of Cody’s skull twitching in alarm, a snake rattling its tail just to display there’s no mace involved, failing to declare the fangs it carries. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan’s grin sharpens to a fine point, the blue of his eyes shining in the glow of the lights overhead.

Remy’s gaze darts to Cody, then to Obi-Wan.

He doesn’t drop the grin. The ring in his tongue taps against his teeth, not loud enough for anyone who isn’t a clone to hear but the sound echoes in Cody’s bucket like bootsteps, refill, reload, aim.

Lying another set down, Remy plucks a blaster refill from one pile, adding it to his current selection.

“Why not use credits?” The host asks. Her thumb runs along the edge of the opposing nail, the habit of a lifetime banked but not yet extinguished. She orbits the camera’s gaze as she steps closer to the table, tipping her head to peer down at the cards laid before her, but she never crosses the unknowable line that would put her between the trooper and Obi-Wan.

Remy shrugs. “We don’t make any that we can get. Get a stipend from the Temple—”

“We try to give as much as we can,” Obi-Wan murmurs, loud enough to be picked up the camera but gentle enough that the host doesn’t startle too overtly when he speaks.

“Better spent on the refugees, sir.” Remy selects his next hand, fanning the cards out with a snap. “Our ‘wages’ are tied up in the renewal fund held by the Senate for our benefit. So, we make do with what we’ve got for things like this.”

There is a moment, Cody knows, when an audience is gathered in front of the altar of an empty space and a covering when everything stops as the covering is drawn back. He is used to the empty space being a patch of barren earth and the covering being a salvaged piece of cloth held up instead of what he is witnessing now; the slowly dawning expression of the host, curiosity with its teeth bared. Obi-Wan catches Cody’s gaze above it all, the revelation of his plan, the culmination of everything he had worked for over the past few weeks, and he looks to Cody first.

It’s humbling, feeling like the universe has knelt at his feet, palms upturned for something Cody cannot name. He holds Obi-Wan’s gaze as best as he can, his breath catching on every broken spur in his chest.

The host has a datapad in her hands when Cody takes stock of her once more; angled away from the gaze of the camera, a stylus scrawling across the surface of it. Her tongue is caught between her blunt teeth, her thumb jutting out to press against the broken edge of her nail. Focus has settled over her features like an exoskeleton, everything else blunted in its passage.

“This has been most enlightening, General Kenobi. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Obi-Wan bows, slighter lower than regulations required. His hair falls across his forehead and he pushes it back into place with one hand.

There’s another burst of comments across the scrolling feed in Cody’s bucket, numerous enough that one barely flashes onto his visor before it’s replaced by another. Water droplets, this time.

“We’ll do an establishing shot of the entire ship as we leave and I have your comm code, yes?”

“That is correct. I may not reply straight away, but I will answer in whatever capacity I can.” Obi-Wan tips his head towards Cody, a signal to begin leading them out paired with a grin that is smaller than the previous, but no less beautiful because of it.

The host nods. Momentarily outside of the gaze of the camera, the operator turning to point the watchful gaze of half the universe at Remy once more, she flexes her fingers, the jut of her knuckles pale as claws move beneath the stretched skin. The corner of her mouth twitches, the expression gone before it could be fully registered, but Cody knows rage when he sees it, bone deep fury that, finally, blessedly, had some weight behind it. The camera returns to her and she is gentle perfection personified, dainty as porcelain once more. Begrudgingly, Cody considers the possibility that Fox may have been right and dismisses it in the same instance. Fox would never let him live it down if he did.

The rest of the walk back towards the ramp is carried out in near-silence, the feed cut for a handful of moments of privacy. Obi-Wan doesn’t lower his guard. Cody can sense the tension in him, the pressure behind his eyes like an oncoming storm brewing on the horizon. It doesn’t abate until the camera operator and host have stepped off the end of the ramp, allowing Obi-Wan to press his thumb and forefinger into his eyes with a groan. He turns away from the entrance, orbiting Cody without needing to look and speaks without removing the blunt press of his hand. “This singularity of mine is often more trouble than it’s worth, but it seems to have helped in this occasion. People don’t expect a man who doesn’t lie to be dishonest.”

“No, sir. Do you think it will work?”

“I hope so. It’ll be worth it even if all that happens is a handful of seconds on a newsreel and some dedicated fans in the archives. It’ll be something more than what we — what you — had. And I want you to have everything, Cody.”

Cody swallows, the sound loud in the sudden silence of his thoughts. “Everything, sir?”

“Everything.” Obi-Wan drops his hand, his gaze landing fully on Cody, unobstructed by interlopers on their ship, and Cody tracks the movement of his eyes. First, to his helmet, catching the exact placement of his eyes beneath his visor, then lower, to his hands. Obi-Wan’s mouth parts in surprise, his cheeks flushing a rich shade, a near enough match to the red of his hair, and it shouldn’t be as beautiful as it is. “Cody?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, you wonderful man.” Obi-Wan steps closer, already reaching for the mug Cody offers him once more. He scoops up the mug with one hand, replacing the weight of it with his other hand, curling his fingers around Cody’s as best as he could.

“It won’t be warm, not now, but I can—“

“It’s perfect, Cody. Thank you.” Obi-Wan squeezes Cody’s hands tight, the leather indenting with the motion, and Cody is used the the bluntness his gloves bring, but he feels Obi-Wan’s touch clearly. Warm skin against warm skin. He curls his own fingers around Obi-Wan’s as best as he can, clumsy from inexperience but steady as he had been trained to be.

Obi-Wan sips at his tea, his gaze drifting to the wandering motions of the departing pair. “They should be out there for a moment longer and then we will be on our way once more.”

Cody’s heart clenches, an old familiar bitterness coating the back of his teeth. They should have been able to exist longer in this in-between moment, the breath taken before leaping to the next objective, the next battle, the place where they could be something other than a General and his Commander.

But, that isn’t meant for them. For others, maybe, but not them. Not yet.

Obi-Wan’s thumb presses against the seam at Cody’s wrist, the rough callus scratching along his skin.

“I would like to kiss you, Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his words undeniably true and Cody wouldn’t think to question them regardless. He is no closer than was before but Cody burns with the rush of heat from his skin, the only point of contact Cody’s outstretched hands, the press of Obi-Wan’s thumb against bare skin. “But if you’re agreeable, I have an idea of what will do for now.”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. Please.”

Cody couldn’t guess at what Obi-Wan is going to do, but he’ll follow where the other man leads gladly. He loves him too much, too fiercely, not to.

Obi-Wan squeezes his hands once more, and kneels in front of him, one leg braced high while the other extends behind him. It puts him on level with Cody’s hands and he leans forward to kiss the space his hand was occupying. His hair falls across the spread of Cody’s wrists, his beard rasping against the tips of Cody’s fingers, and Cody senses the grin better than he can see or feel it through his gloves.

It’s there all the same. He knows it.

Obi-Wan kisses his palms, soft, delicate, once more before he rises. “Shall we return, my dear?”

Cody nods and Obi-Wan walks towards the bridge, Cody a few steps behind. His palms are burning, an ache he hopes will stay as solid. as the memory will.

⁂

There is a holoclip encoded into the receiver at his wrist, transferred into his new bucket so seamlessly that CC-2224 doesn’t think to question it. He doesn’t question orders.

He doesn’t recognise the figure in the forefront, a blueskinned woman baring her teeth in a grin at the camera, but he recognises the set behind her, in the distance. The traitor Kenobi kneels in front of a trooper before pressing his face into the outspread clutch of the trooper’s palms, kissing them.

CC-2224’s palms burn as he watches the clip. He doesn’t remember why.

[randomidiocyncrazies]

Hot take but I actually don't like Isami's "hot-blooded super robot protag" makeover in the finale. (Elaboration below)

For one, I think his character design is now way less charming because 'Hero Isami' kinda just slapped generic protagonist design traits together and called it a day (and i know this is just personal taste, so no shade to those who prefer his new look). Also, while I like the symbolic reason for him looking like a super robot protagonist when he decides to fight back against the remaining Death Drives/embrace the kind of narrative he's in, I'm not super enthused by how they've executed it? I don't feel like he's really embraced it so much as 'had to embrace it', like how he kinda had to go along with the rest of the story thus far. His new look is very much a 'super robot protag' look imo, but I personally think the transistion from him running away to embracing the 'super robot protag' label is a little superficial in terms of the character's emotional development.

We're told that Isami accepts Bravern, and we do see them get closer, but we don't actually get any meaningful depth about Isami's definition of heroism prior to Bravern—we understand Smith's idea and drive to be a hero, we understand Lulu's motivations, but we don't really get that for Isami. The finale gave us "I never wanted to be a hero" to contrast with Smith's "I've always wanted to be a hero", but we don't really get why Isami wasn't interested, nor what he thought a hero was before Bravern. I know they wanted to set up a situation where Isami is inspired to become a hero because of Bravern, but the slightly ham-fisted way they say Isami trusts Bravern/is inspired by him etc didn't feel very compelling to me because they focused on Smith's character in the first 8 episodes and Isami's character didn't get that exploration.

For the impact of Isami finally embracing being a 'super robot hero' in the finale, we should see a change in either his understanding of heroism itself, or his understanding of himself in relation to the concept of heroism. I mean, i guess his talk with Smith kinda touches on it, but without exploration of how he was before Bravern re: heroism, the impact of him choosing to embody the typical 'super robot hero' approach (shown by literally changing his character design to fit the vibe) falls a bit flat for me.

And like! The idea that Isami needed to actively embrace the super robot story he found himself in to get his happy ending is a really neat one! He's been steamrolled into it for pretty much the entire show, so him seizing control over his story is inspiring—and I think a little more clarity on what heroism means/meant to Isami would elevate the character writing. Right now he's kinda just this guy who gets bullied by the story, and tbh the change between his despair + begging for his life to taking up the hero mantle willingly in the finale feels kinda like he's reacting in whatever way the plot needed him to. In general there were times where I felt Isami's reactions seemed abrupt for what was established between him and other chracters; it's not a huge deal, but it did stick out to me.

(As much as I loved the the love confession scene in ep 11, I was confused at Isami's emotional intimacy with Bravern; not because I don't ship it, but because Isami seemed quite bothered by Bravern's overeagerness before this point. They grew closer after ep 9, but the intimacy at the beach wasn't convincing on Isami's side for me because there was barely build-up. In general, Isami's acceptance/buy-in to Bravern's definition of heroism was mostly glossed over imo.)

Don't get me wrong, it's still a very fun show! I enjoyed the wild homoerotic ride and most of the humor (LOVED the little meta jokes), and the story's themes are really compelling in theory. Bang Brave and unleash your courage in a stylish explosion! I just wish they gave us a little more time to sit in Isami's head.

[semper-legens]

189. Salt to the Sea, by Ruta Sepetys

Owned: No, library Page count: 378 My summary: Emilia. Florian. Joana. Alfred. Four young people from different lands, all thrown together in the chaos of the Second World War. East Prussia is being evacuated. Desperate people are fleeing the country to the ships promised to take them far away. But disaster is lurking on the horizon. When it's every person for themselves, who will live and who will die? My rating: 3/5 My commentary:

I thought I'd never read this book before. And yet, when I got about 50 pages in, it started to seem familiar - strangely familiar. I've read a couple of Ruta Sepetys' books before, namely I Must Betray You and Out of the Easy, which I haven't covered here. The former I didn't like, the latter I actually enjoyed. This is one of her earlier works, though not the earliest - it's apparently something of a sequel to a book called Between Shades of Gray, which I'm 90% sure that I haven't read. To its credit, I don't think not having read the earlier book hampered my engagement with this one. But less charitably…I wasn't all too keen on this one, it has to be said. While it wasn't bad in and of itself, I found it to be sensationalist and simplistic, and overall didn't quite live up to my expectations.

This story is about the Wilhelm Gustoff, a ship that was meant to be evacuating refugees from East Prussia during World War Two, but was sunk by Russian torpedoes, killing roughly nine thousand of the ten thousand people aboard. The story follows four teenagers - pregnant Polish girl Emilia, Lithuanian nurse Joana, Prussian boy Florian, and Nazi recruit Alfred. More on them later. The story follows the refugees as they travel to the ship, and the trials they face along the way, then ends with the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustoff. There's a lot of promise here - the chaos towards the end of the Second World War, the point of view of civilians from Eastern Europe which isn't so often told, an eye on a historical tragedy which the average reader might not have heard about.

But everything here was just a little bit too simplistic. Alfred's parts of the story kept hammering in how cowardly and weaselly and pathetic he is, Emilia's chapters made her seem like a saint, Florian's angst and brooding over how he's totally gonna be killed if he gets found out really doesn't fit the crime he's committing, and Joana's past is ill-defined and her story focuses more on her relationship with Florian. It's obvious that Florian and Joana are going to be the survivors. Emilia is too innocent, and Alfred is too bad. Even factoring in the extended cast - blind Ingrid is the first to go, then rude giantess Eva, then the sympathetic Shoe Poet. The child survives, because he's an innocent in a much purer way than Emilia. It's basic storytelling, and once that who's-going-to-make-it tension is gone, there really isn't that much left in the narrative to write home about.

And the narrative style is just too overblown for me. Every chapter is screaming look I've got secrets am I not the most mysterious thing to you, to the point where it just gets annoying. And the secrets themselves aren't all that shocking. It doesn't take a genius to guess that Emilia is a fantasist and the child she's carrying was concieved after an assault, or that Alfred's apparent sweetheart Hannelore isn't actually his sweetheart, and that he turned her in to the Nazis. Florian's whole thing, that he's carrying a small part of the Amber Room in defiance of Nazi Gauleiter Erich Koch, isn't all that compelling either. I was assuming he was involved in some anti-Nazi action - while this is technically anti-Nazi, it's hardly lifesaving revolutionary work. Joana, meanwhile, the audience is expected to be familiar with, which means I couldn't get much of a read on her. It's so disappointing, this could have been really good, but I was just taken out of it at every turn.

Next, three brave girls escape captivity in Australia.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

[warning ahead for nine... hate? that term's kind of associated with just going on about how a character Sucks and You Hate Them So Much, and while i deeply dislike nine, my criticisms of him are heavily aimed toward analyzing and understanding his character. and no shade on anyone who likes him, or any version of nive! but this post as with a lot of others is decidedly critical of him, mostly in the context of nive, so be warned.]

screenshots my own tags because i Went Off in Them and they are highly relevant.

i think the reason nive hits so different for me these days is that back then i was intuitively seeing that something was Very Wrong, and i was caught halfway between a) finding the fuckedness of their canon dynamic compelling by itself, and b) desperately wanting a fix-it for what canon had made it into, without the knowledge to recognize--or ability to articulate--what was actually wrong.

there was also, i think, the fact that i was actually kind of trying to rehabilitate nine for my own sake. i actually have kind of always really hated him in canon lmao--a major reason being that i am really sensitive to authors letting characters get away with shit or outright praising/rewarding them for it, and boy howdy did we get that with basically everyone toward five but ESPECIALLY nine--and was trying to rescue that by taking him out of their playground where i'd have control over the narrative.

...the problem is that, as mentioned above, i didn't really get the underlying mechanics of what made him Like That. i mistook the circumstances that made it that much of a clusterfuck for the source of the clusterfuck itself, and assumed that removing those circumstances--via skipping past the war to the happy ending, or AUing it from the beginning--would Fix It. but the thing is that if it Works Like This, if a person or a dynamic works like this, they will continue to work like this even if you lift them out of one situation and set them somewhere else. including a lower-stakes one, which if anything is more likely to reflect fucked up situations that happen in real life. add that to the fact that i thought one of the biggest factors making things Like That was them being on opposite sides, and therefore that putting them in a romantic relationship where any antagonism wasn't a matter of wanting to murder each other... talk about a recipe for yikes lmao

i just kind of... didn't get what actually loving, functional, healthy antagonism or mischievousness looked like in a friendship or relationship at the time, honestly. i didn't really understand the appeal of it and was mostly just annoyed and confused by it, and concerned for other people i saw it happening with. for most of my life, playful shitgiving and antagonism has always been pretty much a fantasy trope with no bearing on the real world; and (while i very much still have my limits with it these days) now that i have real experience with it, and more knowledge of what is just fucked up, it's easier--and really disturbing--to look back and see how my attempts to Fix and make sense of nive and nine in general just ended up replicating some pretty nasty stuff.

anyway, not really sure where i'm going with this. it's a really strange feeling looking back on this when nive used to be the favorite ship of mine in this fandom, and one that i did a lot of the work launch back at its beginning when it was a niche rarepair. i was more or less known as The Nive Guy for a long time, and i made a ton of content for them and i have a lot of fond memories, and now i... really and genuinely don't know how to feel about it. i feel like these days i could actually figure out what would need to be done to make it loving and functional and/or fluffy and/or comedic, but i'm just kind of... not really interested in that in the way that i used to be. i think these days i mostly just want to explore the different ways and degrees in which their relationship would be--and is--toxic or outright abusive.

on purpose this time.

it's wild because over the years i've gone from shipping nive with some degree or other of fluff/happy endings (or at least hopeful ones; or if it does end badly, it's due to external factors) to just unabashedly wanting them to make each other Worse

[teafiend]

Just some thoughts on Glitch, Netflix’s latest KDrama starring Jeon Yeo Been, Nana and others.

I started this because of JYB. Have always wanted to catch her in something, and surprisingly the show managed to keep my attention long enough to complete it (this is the only KDrama I have managed to start and finish this year, so far. Not a shade to other much “better KDramas” still on my to-watch list).

While the story/plot was not anything groundbreaking or wow-inducing, it was still a strong, solid drama for me (rating: 7.5 out of 10; for reference, a few of my favourites - the good ones - are only rated 8.0). A story about encounter(s) with aliens, a cult and self-discovery/reconciliation. Nothing too deep or subtle, it was nevertheless an unconventional, quirky, fun, meaningful and entertaining ride. Personally, the conclusion to the story was wonderfully satisfying.

I liked the fact that it was not a show which took itself seriously, even when the personal stakes for Hong Ji Hyo were treated with the earnestness she deserved. Sincere but not overbearing.

Performances overall were lovely and competent, and each cast brought the required levity/drama as needed to the show.

The anchor is obviously Jeon Yeo Been. How can I give up on 10 hours of focus on her gorgeousness in minimal makeup, glasses and short hair? She can be my savior any time, any day. ❤️‍🔥🤩😍🥰 Nana was compelling too, though JYB has my heart.

(And I know the writers wanted me to ship Ji Hyo and Bo Ra, so I shall 😄. Praying for/manifesting fanfics for these two 🙏🏽).

[catpella]

Avatar

FFXIV write prompt: Avatar.

Valle and Ysayle discuss Shiva.

2022 words. Set during early Heavensward Road Trip. Early ship signs definitely visible.

From the first, Valle wondered what it was like to be Shiva.

The first time she watched Lady Iceheart transform, her heart nearly stopped in awe, so overcome by what she was watching that she had no ability to. She watched as the aetherical power of the gathered crystals was pulled into Iceheart's body, as large shards of ice wrapped themselves around her and encased her as she spoke, as the night sky rippled and auroras blossomed in the heavens as the world remade itself in that location, and as it transfigured and remade her. Ice swept the arena and turned a flesh-and-blood woman into what appeared to be ice-made-flesh, skin and hair varying shades of ice in hue.

The primal hovered before them, and the part of her mind that was still analytical noted the deep blue of the hands contrasting with the paler skin and how the hair narrowed into crown spikes of ice, and wondered if it was just coloration or texture as well. She radiated lethality and beauty in equal amounts, and for the first time, Valle understood why people would worship primals.

This being drew her in a way she had not been drawn to Leviathan, or Garuda, or any other primal she'd faced. She yearned to step closer, to be embraced by ice, to feel that aether stir around her.

Was this tempering?

It couldn't be. She had the Echo. She could not be tempered.

Could she be? The other primals she'd faced had been shaped by minds and hearts of the beast tribes, not by those of the main Spoken races, those who believed in the Twelve. And this being before them, clad in ice and full of righteous conviction, could well be a reflection of the Fury herself. Was that why she was swaying towards her, step by step, drawn in?

"Primal's active! Summon your carbuncle and fight," hissed a familiar voice from down and to her left. Broken from her trance, Valle startled, and switched to the fight, where the blizzard battered and beat her.

After the fight, when she laid in a camp with some fellow primal-slayers who worked for the Scions, her dreams were full of ice, and snow, of being battered by the primal that changed the ice into weapons to fling at her, and of course, of the woman who effortlessly controlled it all. When she woke, she sat near the fire with her journal, and wondered what kind of woman had the convictions and faith to use herself as a primal. To talk about her desire for resolving the war, that no sacrifice would be too great, to make of herself a sacrifice to the energies of a primal... What type of person was Iceheart? Valle yearned to understand the woman who could channel the power of primals, and didn't understand why her desire was so strong.

~*~

Months later, Lady Iceheart began to travel with the small group. She slowly ceased to be Iceheart and became Ysayle. Traveling with the woman whose powers had haunted her thoughts both sleeping and waking meant Valle's wondering about her had the chance to be answered, but she didn't want to come across like Alphinaud, incessantly asking questions about people's abilities with no regard for their feelings. So she watched Ysayle as they traveled, casting glances at her when she thought she wasn't looking, watching how she handled threats when they had to fight hostile wildlife, seeing how ice aether stirred around her.

"What does it feel like, to be Shiva?" was constantly on her mind, but she kept it from her lips, and instead engaged Ysayle in other types of conversation in the quiet nights of camping. Valle told stories of where she came from, of growing up on Vylbrand's shores and swimming like a fish. Then as they climbed into Dravania and further mountainsward, she told stories of what she remembered of living in Gyr Abania, contrasting the different mountainscapes. Talking about a lost homeland triggered Ysayle to discuss bits and pieces of her life before Ishgard and Coerthas fell to the snow with Valle.

"There's something else you want to talk about, isn't there?" Ysayle asked her one night, when the others had gone to bed and Valle was sitting the watch alone with only a carbuncle for company. "I see how you watch me."

Valle briefly considered a flirtatious joke. She _did_ find Ysayle, the woman, beautiful and compelling. Would have even if she didn't carry the Echo, Hydaelyn's blessing, and the power to become a primal but not one enthralled and subverted. But she suspected if she said, that she'd be in a different type of trouble with the lady. Asking about her abilities felt the safer option.

"I wonder about your magic," she said.

"About how I channel Shiva, without losing myself."

"Yes. How it is that you can pull the aether from the crystals into yourself, how you can manifest the Shiva ideal without losing your will, if it is the blessing we both bear that lets you do it without being subsumed... I've fought several primals that beast tribes summoned, creating them out of aether and them dissipating away. You're the first to enact one within yourself, and it just...fascinates me." She reached out and stroked her hand over the emerald carbuncle as she spoke, voice faltering as she worried she was being Alphinaud.

"So many questions," Ysayle said, pale eyes glinting a more greenish hue from the carbuncle's light. "I have no answers for you, for I don't think of it in such a _scientific_ way."

"You were taught to summon. I assumed it was at least somewhat scientific in the instructions. And I'm an arcanist, I can't quite help the scientific approach," she said a little ruefully.

"I was shown how to pull the aether into myself to empower the change," Ysayle corrected her. "Actually becoming Shiva... it's a matter of faith. I know of Saint Shiva. I believe in her. And then I become her, joining her will with mine."

"You see yourself as an avatar of her? Or as a vessel?" Valle asked.

"Do you see them differently?"

"Yes..." she said, then added, "a vessel is hollowed out and made into the puppet of another's will, an avatar takes that power and embodies it with control."

"What an interesting distinction. Empowered or powerless." Ysayle's voice was suddenly icy.

Valle stared at the Elezen woman who had gone suddenly cold, mentally imposing Shiva's countenance over her face, seeing the similarities and differences. "I apologize if I've insulted you."

"I know you're just trying to understand it. I just can't help you," Ysayle said. "I have faith in Shiva, and it carries me through. That's all I need."

"Faith..." Valle repeated under her breath.

"What do you believe in?" Ysayle asked, after the silence had lingered long enough that Valle assumed the conversation was over.

"You're not the first to ask me that. Gaius Baelsar asked if I believed in Eorzea, in the Twelve, if they were primals."

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing. There was a fight going on," she said dryly.

"And do you?"

"I don't believe they're primals." If she looked at it logically, maybe they could be, but - she'd been raised in her faith in Rhalgr and He was not a primal who took from the land and the people and gave nothing back, not like Ifrit.

"Do you think someone could be an avatar of them?"

"I never really thought about it," she admitted.

"If someone could be an avatar of Halone, why not an avatar of a Saint?"

Valle sucked air through her teeth, not expecting Ysayle to have turned the questioning around on her like this. "I'm not sure."

"Seems like you have some faith of your own, even if you're not clear on it. You know what I think? That you ask how I become Shiva not just because you want to understand it from a scientific reasoning, to break it down into your equations," she said with a nod at Valle's grimoire, "but because you want to know if it's from our blessing. You want to know if you could do it too."

Valle hadn't been thinking of that consciously. She wanted to understand primal summoning to stop it, like the Scions' mission was for. Knowing the difference between Shiva, and Ramuh, and Leviathan and Ifrit, would be able to tell them so much. Thinking about _her_ becoming a conduit for that aether and power hadn't been on the agenda.

And yet, if you understood how it was done, didn't it mean you could do it yourself? In times of need?

Ysayle leaned forward, more animated now. "What would you sacrifice yourself for? What cause do you believe in above all else?"

"The pursuit of knowledge. The preservation of the world. Peace between warring factions," she said, but her voice was weak and unconvinced, and they both heard it.

"Not strong enough to use the power. You have to _mean_ your cause with all your heart, to pursue it at all costs, to be willing to lay down anything for it," and now Ysayle had become Iceheart and her eyes shone a more unearthly silver as she spoke. "Until you know that, you understand nothing of becoming an avatar, even if you had it dissected into a hundred of your tidy equations."

"You're right," Valle said. She felt ashamed that her conviction was weak, embarrassed to be so thoroughly taken to task, and the desire to look away from the intense gaze of the fervent woman before her was strong.

But there was a compelling counter-desire to keep staring at her and drinking in the power that radiated from her, not the ice aether that lashed out when Ysayle was Iceheart was Shiva, but the intensity of belief that made her radiant like the moon, luminous and impossible to stare away from.

"I wish I was like you," she blurted.

The moment passed, the fervor fading and the zealot becoming just another woman looking up into the sky as she laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles, the pop echoing loudly in the quiet night air.

"It's not easy," Ysayle warned her.

"Being Hydaelyn's chosen never is. She picked us both for a reason. At least you know what yours is," Valle said.

The Elezen reached out and brushed her fingers across the carbuncle sitting between them. Goosebumps raced up the Roegadyn's arms as though her skin was what had been touched, to Valle's great surprise, since there was no sensory feedback with her aetherical construct.

"There's a greatness in you, scholar. When you set your feet on the path you must walk and cannot be swayed from, you'll find it."

"I hope you're by my side, then. To show me what to do," Valle ventured.

Ysayle smiled down at the carbuncle as she splayed her fingers across its back. "If you believe in bringing a peaceful end to the war and not allowing the Ishgardians free reign to slaughter, then we walk the same path."

"Thank you for letting me ask questions."

"'Twas nothing. I'd rather answer you about the power than the young Sharlayan or the Azure Dragoon." Ysayle's lips quirked slightly.

"I'm glad I'm more pleasant than them," Valle said.

"You always will be. Now go to bed and end your watch. I'll take over," she said.

Valle meant to protest and stay up longer, but she yawned deeply. Offering a sheepish smile, she said, "Goodnight, Ysayle."

"Goodnight, Valle."

The Roegadyn desummoned her carbuncle and walked back to her sleeping bag, trying not to read over-much into how she had trembled at the sound of Ysayle's voice saying her name.

~*~

In her dreams that night, she stood again in the amphitheatre. The winter tempest raged, the snow pulled into a vortex by the warped currents of ice aether. But this time, rather than standing outside and being hurt by it, she was cradled by it, safe inside the eye as the blizzard lashed out at the foes.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Hi^^

002 Azula please

Hello :D

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you

How I feel about this character: I feel like my blog speaks for itself on this one but the basics are that, 1. she's one of my all time favorite characters ever. I've loved her since she sparkled across my TV screen over ten years ago lmao. 2. I think that she's a very complex and compelling character--a very multi-faceted character with enough shades of grey to make the audience think. 3. She's a sympathetic/tragic character. Her story is heart-wrenching imo and for a good number of people she is relatable in some way.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Pretty much everyone honestly except for stuff like Zhao/Azula & Ozai/Azula. That kind of stuff isn't my cup of tea to say the least. But Sokkla, TyZula, and Cupholder girl/Azula are my favorites. I also have a soft spot for Teo/Azula and Jinzula. But this changes constantly. I've written for Jetzula, Azulaang, Azutara, Yue/Azula, Toph/Azula, Mai/Azula, and I think I even wrote a Song/Azula one. xD So almost anything goes here.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Brotp would definitly be Azula/Toph. Though I wrote ship stuff for this one it's more of a brotp. I am also very fond of Azula and Zuko as a bickering sibling power team. A cursed duo of firey chaos.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I've mentioned before that I think that most of my opinions are more controversial (most things regarding Azula seem to be). But the one thing that even the fan seem to disagree with me on is that I don't think that she's a lesbian. I totally support and respect people who do but I see her as bi and possibly ace. The ace part is wishful thinking. xD Frankly, depending on my mood, I can also see her being aro/ace--she's so goal and career oriented that I feel like she might just not be interested in romance period and seeks fulfillment elsewhere. Plust the media could use some more aro/ace rep.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Happiness. Tbh it's more or less what I wish didn't happen; I wish that they didn't reduce her to 'the madwoman'. I wish that her mental illness was handled with more care. But alongside that I'd like to see her as an anti-hero/an extremely morally grey protagonist. I'd like to see her with a redemption arc that still allows her to be her sneaky and cunning self with all of the edges we love her for already.

my OTP: At the moment it's Sokkla and Azula/Cupholder girl.

my cross over ship: I've written quite a bit of Azula/Acxa. I don't have as many crossover ships for her as I do some of my other favorite characters xD

non fact: Gonna try to think up one that I haven't posted yet. I feel like Azula has both Atychiphobia & Achievemephobia--a fear of failure and success respectively. Atychiphobia is fairly obvious in my opinion. Azula, as a perfectionist and an over-achiever dreads failure. But I think that after the comet she has developed a paradoxical fear of success and the pressure that comes with it. More than that, she's afraid of to succeed because she has seen how the carpet can get pulled right out from under her and she can lose everything. All of her successes turn into losses and so I feel like there's a part of her that would be afraid to achieve things for fear of possible failure and loss if that makes sense. This is a real problem because she is a very goal driven person and she doesn't like to become idle. She craves the success that she fears.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

I don’t need you to love me, I love me

I’m gonna miss writing about Pearl.

As the loneliest Crystal Gem, a loyal servant who became a fierce ally, then a spurned lover, then a grieving survivor, Pearl’s story is about discovering who she can be on her own terms. Like Steven, she believes that her value comes from being valued, but unlike Steven, she was literally programmed this way and has an even harder time breaking loose, so she starts off at the toxic level of selfish selflessness that threatens to consume him, directed towards someone who’s been dead for years. She defines herself by her relationships, but struggles with all of them because she only understands a dynamic where one person is superior and the other is inferior; as such, her life is an endless evaluation of whether she’s worse or better than the people around her, thus whether she should be deferential or condescending. Her problem goes beyond not knowing how to develop loving relationships with equals: she doesn’t know how to love herself.

But she changes her mind.

“We need to talk about us.”

The first act of Change Your Mind (which lines up nicely with its first quarter) sets the stage with Blue and Yellow both converting to Steven’s cause, and while compelling, it’s appropriately intense. That intensity gets even higher as the episode continues, but this is still a big finale, so it’s about damn time for some fanservice.

After a quick “go to your rooms” to reinforce that White Diamond is the Diamonds’ mother more than their older sister, Connie gets the body part pun train rolling: “face-off” will soon be followed by “did you have a hand in this?” and “lend me a hand” (which earns a chuckle from Blue), Pink’s legs succumb when Steven takes a knee, and getting into White’s head becomes the primary goal of the second act (so all of this second quarter and most of the third). Still, the levity seems fleeting before two glints in the sky bring us the one-two punch of Bismuth leading the charge and Lapis and Peridot showing off their threads.

Bismuth fits right in as the leader of the B-Team, as beyond her seniority she’s clearly more competent at running a show than the other two (see: The New Crystal Gems). But her reverse electric guitar soon cedes to a glorious harmony of Lapis and Peridot’s themes as we see their new forms: Lapis gets pants and sandals, and Peridot gets ridiculous shades and a trashcan lid, the perfect adaptation of Static’s saucer for the Crystal Gems’ resident raccoon. Peridot goes ham with three stars, while Lapis wears a subtle dark blue variant that includes all five points if we count her legs. For a moment, everything is right in the world.

Their timing couldn’t be better, and not just because we need some stress relief. Steven begins the finale with one friend on his side, then he gets two Diamonds on his side, and now he has three reinforcements on his side, and this growing group of allies all represent what the Big Three Crystal Gems can’t: the family that Steven has chosen, rather than the family he grew up with. These relationships are all a result of his effort, whether going out of his way to befriend Connie or winning over the five former enemies that now stand at his side, and together they‘re one huge reminder that you can reach people if they’re willing to be reached. White Diamond isn’t a villain because she’s cruel, she’s a villain because she quashes any effort to change her mind.

Furthermore, seeing Lapis and Peridot  in particular next to a pale, prejudiced, recently-discovered member of Steven’s extended family who disagrees with a parent’s name change evokes that other long episode where Steven went out on a limb to change someone’s mind, and the comparison does wonders for putting White Diamond’s bigotry in perspective.

I’ve already made my defense of Andy, but in short, his irritable first impression masks how open-minded he ends up being. Sure, he has some lousy beliefs, but he’s willing to sit down with folks he disagrees with and try and look for ways to either compromise or straight-up be convinced that those beliefs might be wrong. On its own, Gem Harvest could be read as a little too hopeful, especially as it came out weeks after the 2016 election gave proud bigots the White House, but next to Change Your Mind it expands on the finale’s message: keep an open heart and mind, because people can surprise you if you give them a chance, but don’t let yourself be a doormat in the process.

White Diamond would never have come to the Crystal Gems’ table. She still hasn’t even shown up in person since Legs From Here to Homeworld, using a warped version of the same delegation Steven practices in his talks with the Diamonds: he helps others bring their individual experiences to light, showing that his position isn’t unique, while she blots out their individuality and replaces them with her. Blue and Yellow’s contrast has been a plot point for far longer, but Pink and White (and now Steven and White) are an even starker pair of foils, divided not only by personality but by size and age.

Knowing how hard it will be to reach White, Yellow and Blue again suggest that Steven and the Crystal Gems bail, offering their own ships now that Pink’s is unavailable. While this shows how profoundly they believe in him, it again reveals how unfamiliar these two are with being “good.” Beyond the plan only delaying the inevitable (White Diamond for sure could send more troops to Earth in this scenario), Steven points out that his mother failed in both of her identities to confront the problem in a healthy way, and continuing to avoid it will mean it never gets solved. Rose is still a progression from Pink and Yellow and Blue, as fighting for your beliefs addresses the issue more directly than running away, but Steven in turn is a progression from Rose.

Then Connie’s opening words in Blue and Yellow’s conversions pay off. This time she’s the one ending the conversation, and she’s gained enough of their attention that they don’t write her off as a blathering human. Steven never got to meet Rose, rank-and-file Gems don’t have parents, and White Diamond seems to be the root of it all, so Connie is the ideal voice to reach the Diamond Sisters: she’s the only other person on the planet with a living mother. Where Dr. Maheswaran at her worst once stood in for Yellow Diamond, she can now represent the bigger fish, both in her similar brand of maternal tyranny and in the hope that her attitude can change after a good talk.

And just as Connie takes over Steven’s role as the big finisher for Blue and Yellow, Steven takes over Connie’s role as the voice introducing bigger voices now that it’s time to face White. He works with his aunts to bring his grandmother to a standstill—not by beating her statue-like ship into submission, but by joining the arm-ships to the body and completing the picture—and says his piece briefly before ceding the floor to a pair that White has victimized for far longer than the past week or so.

I love that Yellow is the first to speak, flipping the Diamonds’ conversion order and subverting the notion that the more emotionally open Blue might take the lead. This isn’t just a matter of clarity, but bravery, and Yellow has always been the more confrontational of the pair. It’s also that much more impactful to see Yellow push past her fear and allow herself to be vulnerable, given how hard she’s worked to maintain her air of stoicism. Patti LuPone’s raw power has served the character well, and she keeps up the same petulant energy that saw Yellow dishing about White in Familiar, but now she funnels all of it into a stirring argument against the exacting nature of Homeworld society. And because Yellow helps pave the way, Blue can deepen their point by defending Pink’s role in the quartet and detailing how White’s orders have caused the whole family to suffer.

Steven bookends the Diamonds by suggesting that White can start helping everyone by helping her daughters. Then White shows what kind of “help” she’s willing to provide.

Pink’s former pearl was already proof that White Diamond has the power to possess others, but it’s another thing to see it in action. The whole episode so far has been about building up hope again after Steven is knocked down by Homeworld, but all it takes is one agonizing glare to send everything backwards. Blue and Yellow are even worse off than they were before, and as they’re brought into White’s fold, their arms follow suit. White drops the Crystal Gems and lets them fall, then Steven drops the Crystal Gems and dives after them.

As he slides down alien architecture on his shield, the soundtrack gives a nod to the theme song to prepare us for more fanservice. Now that White has made it clear that talking isn’t going to get us anywhere, it’s time for more action. Now that we’ve established the importance of Steven’s chosen family, it’s time to reconnect with the family he was born into.

Amethyst is first, because of course she is. She’s usually the quickest to reform, and she’s the only Gem that Steven has fused with, so Smoky Quartz is the best start if the goal is reeling off three fusions in a row with a growing sense of excitement. Smoky’s theme heralds this new development with glee, evoking the pure joy of seeing a new fusion from Earthlings as it becomes clear what the show is doing. Fusion has recently featured as a stand-in for marriage and an act of rebellion, but now it represents familial love, and doubles as an elegant plot device to get the poofed crew back in action. The wonder of fusion has always been that beyond whatever metaphor it currently serves, it’s also just a really neat piece of magic that lends itself to awesome visuals, and this whole sequence revels in the glorious spectacle.

Pearl is second, because we’ve already seen another version of Rainbow Quartz, so the biggest reveal is bound to be the Garnet fusion. Rainbow Quartz 2.0 blends the old with the new, immediately showing off the latest clever fusion of weapons (a shield and a spear into a parasol) and introducing a blue jacket that will soon belong to Pearl. The drumkit/chiptune mashup of Smoky’s theme is replaced by a piano/chiptune mashup, and then this new fusion opens their mouth.

Of all of Steven’s fusions with a female or female-presenting partner, this is the one with a male voice actor, and it couldn’t be more perfect. Rainbow Quartz was the only one of Rose’s fusions that we saw, and Now We’re Only Falling Apart shows that she was the second-ever cross-Gem fusion after Garnet (that we know of), so she was clearly something special. Pearl’s romantic interest in Rose complicates matters further, as Rainbow Quartz is an embodiment of a deeply imperfect relationship. This is a character with a lot of baggage, but casting Alastair James puts a hard stop to the idea that this is the same Rainbow Quartz, even before we hear them refer to themself as “2.0.” After the literal nightmare that begins Change Your Mind and the figurative nightmare to come, it’s wonderful to have one more piece of evidence that Steven and Rose are different people.

Amethyst and Pearl, like Lapis and Peridot, get great new looks, and they’ll soon be followed by Garnet (after the commercial break). If this was just for the sake of fanservice, it’d be more than enough: it’s always fun to get outfit changes, and between that and the fusions (including Sunstone and Obsidian; again, after the commercial break!) we get a pleasant treat to sate us between the drama. But as always, the show finds a way to create deeper meaning in the magic.

The Diamonds look the same now as they did thousands of years ago, and one of the reasons why is that they’re unbreakable. Creating a new form requires poofing, which is a very silly way to say that the Crystal Gems have found a way to grow through pain.

Life will always have its share of pain. Part of growing up, maybe the biggest part, is figuring out what you’re going to do about it. The Diamonds react to pain by closing themselves off and letting their problems fester rather than addressing them head-on. But over the course of the series, Lapis and Peridot and Amethyst and Pearl and Garnet have put in the work to learn from their pain and heal, and because they’re literal projections of their true selves, they get a physical manifestation of that growth that can only come after weathering one more blow.

To be clear, pain itself shouldn’t be glamorized. It sucks, and it’s okay if your reaction is to take care of yourself rather than use it for Creative Fuel. But the Crystal Gems are what happens when you deal with your pain, and the Diamonds are what happens when you don’t. And because Steven shares the legacy of both, Steven Universe is about him helping others through their pain and Steven Universe Future is about finally confronting his own.

We end with the most frustrating commercial break of the three, coming right in the middle of the second act, so we’ll just keep on going with fusions and new outfits next time. But if we have to stop partway through a scene, at least we get a Monty Python Foot to stamp out the first half of Change Your Mind.

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

Hilary Florido is the only storyboarder with their own recurring segment in Steven, Universally. But every other storyboarder had plenty of opportunities to make a fully realized High School AU in their promo art, and none of them did, so that’s on them.

Florido is obviously more than her promo art, but it speaks to a specific level of nerdy passion that made her and longtime coboarder Jesse Zuke so dang good at Peridot episodes, starting with just their second collaboration, the iconic Catch and Release. From there they gave us Too Far and Log Date 7 15 2 and Barn Mates and Too Short to Ride and Beta and Gem Harvest, and Florido kept the ride going with Raising the Barn. Peridot would not be Peridot without Hilary Florido.

In terms of more serious clods, Florido is the only person to board all three Kevin appearances (Alone Together with Rebecca Sugar and first regular coboarder Katie Mitroff, Beach City Drift with Zuke, and Kevin Party with final regular coboarder Danny Cragg, who also stopped boarding after the movie). She gave us as Ronaldo at his worst in Rocknaldo and Aquamarine at her worst in I Am My Mom. And as if she needed further proof of her prowess with harrowing material, she gave us Alone at Sea and A Single Pale Rose.

It’s weird to attribute good Steven writing to any one boarder, given he’s in every episode but Jungle Moon and he’s generally pretty great, but Florido worked on some of the most important moments of Steven letting us into his deeper thoughts: she’s behind him getting real with the Cool Kids in Joy Ride, with Amethyst in Steven vs. Amethyst, and with himself in a rare monologue in Lion 4. His ability to discuss the uncomfortable subtext of Mystery Girl’s visual similarity to Rose is key to the magnificent tone of Last One Out of Beach City, and his introspection about his mother’s older identity is just as important to Familiar.

In short, Hilary Florido rocked at characters with rough edges, whether it was Peridot’s ornery id, a bevy of outright villains ruining everyone’s day, normally sympathetic characters doing dubious things, or Steven giving himself enough of a break to complain. She stepped up as a storyboard supervisor for Steven Universe Future, but even if she hadn’t, her legacy would be secure.

(Frankly it’d be secure even if the only thing she gave us was this.)

[darkhymns-fic]

How I Became the Sea

On a routine fishing trip, Lloyd meets a selkie girl named Colette - and from then on, she was like a secret he wanted to keep all to himself.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Dirk Rating: T Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Day 5: AU / Crossover! I wanted to pair a selkie story to match with this art by @frayed-symphony and also because I have been thinking too much about a selkie au with them.

--

Lloyd had once dreamed about being adrift at sea.

His body floated just above the waves, the sky a dark and angry red, rain pelting his face and hair. Every time he opened his mouth, sea water rushed through, trying to clog his throat, trying to drown him. He tasted salt on his tongue, felt the tinge of the lightning as it crashed across the clouds. He was lost, and there was nothing he could do.

But in the dream, he felt arms grab hold of him. They kept him in the water still, but he no longer sank. The arms were strong, secured him in their grip. He would be okay, if he just let the waves take him along and ride the storm out.

Dirk had told him that such a dream was an omen.

“Be careful you don’t sink now,” Dirk had warned his son before he set sail, out in the boat he had long promised to make by himself. “Many sailors would postpone their trip after having a vision such as yours.”

“Good thing I’m not like most sailors!” Lloyd had argued, waving away such concerns. “It was only a dream anyway.”

He was not old enough to have weathered the superstitions, to look up at the roiling sky at dawn and make sense of the portents in the water beneath. But maybe, that was just all part of his luck.

--

The sky had been clear when he set out. He checked the rigging on his small boat, packed away his fishing gear, and then set off. The boat wobbled when he stepped inside, but his hands held onto the edges as he easily seated himself.

He had done this numerous times, the waves lapping at his vessel, the sea so dark if he leaned over to look. Even if he fell overboard, he would simply swim. There was no danger here at all.

He was not usually the only sailor either. Off in the distance, a much larger sea vessel lumbered along the waves, puffing smoke out of its center, acrid and harsh to the lungs if he were to get any closer. Back on shore where the ports were, locals fixed the ropes, took to fishing there instead of bobbing all the while out on the water. No fishermen were too close too his spot, no one except the raucous seagulls, which occasionally tried to nip at his bait box when he opened it.

As he settled his boat on the water, he gathered the net to hang from the side, then went to retrieve his rods before he noticed something odd. He sighed upon realizing. “Did I really forget to put the fishing line on this morning?” He had slept in for a bit…

With that, he went and searched through his packs, hearing the splash of water to his right. The fish must have been lively today, and he was already missing it!

He kept searching through the tight corners of his little boat, but couldn’t find the fishing line anywhere! “I thought I…put it here…” Another search, but he only came upon the same boots, the same pack full of bait. “Where is it…?” Ugh, did I really leave it at home?

A soft voice floated to him, so light that a strong gust of wind could have blown it away. “Is it this?”

He turned. A hand was outstretched, holding the plastic cord gently in its palm, the line wrapped around it as clear as silk.

“Oh, thank you! I was looking for that.” He took the fishing line gratefully. Then stopped. Then thought a moment.

He was out in the middle of the ocean. So, another hand… was kind of weird, wasn’t it?

When he moved to look over the side, he didn’t do it quickly or with loud movements. A hand carefully placed itself over the rim, fingers pressed against the damp wood, the thin lines of a fishing net he had also brought along with him, ready to be cast out into the water.

Sunlight fell over waves, so bright that it blinded him. Salt on his tongue, eyes still peering through the light, he found her there – and felt familiarity.

It’s said that beauty cannot be trusted when it’s from the sea. A wondrous pattern can lure any curious sailor to fall overboard, or a song so piercing the heart can smash a ship to pieces against rocks hidden beneath. But the girl that peeked her face from the waves only blinked, her golden hair unfurling all around her, like the serrated drapes of a strange curtain.

Lloyd leaned forward, just a bit, as his tiny rowboat wobbled, the splashing water taking over sound.

He saw the shape of a fish tail far beneath her in the swirling dark, saw the trails of scales that dotted her shoulders, and the curved fins that poked out from the sides of her head.

There was a name for this, along with a story, and a lesson hidden away… if he could just remember it.

Silence, except for the creaking of the rowboat, moving with the shifting waves, stretched between them. He knew the girl could speak, but she didn’t do it now. She only placed her hands on the side of the boat, looking up at him with a curiosity Lloyd couldn’t help but share. The way she touched the boat looked as if she were about to knock, asking to be let in.

“Hi…” Lloyd finally spoke, still in awe of her. He started at the hair that looked as thin as twine, the sheen of the scales of her tail refracting the sunlight, even when submerged in the deep. Water bobbed up to her chin, and it seemed she was sinking lower and lower, away from him.

“Wait! Um…” Lloyd nearly reached out, stopped when he thought he saw her flinch. “What’s your name?”

The girl stared – the selkie – and the word only floated to his mind through the gruff voice of his father. Old stories told in the quiet evenings, through the crackling of the fireplace that would make him feel so warm that he’d fall asleep, curled up in great arms.

Her hands were near his own, hovering near scratches and dents that were on its side, from years of salt peeling away the paint, from scuffing too close to rocks or piers when Lloyd had first started sailing.

“I’m Lloyd,” he told her, just loud enough for her to hear through the lapping water.

A blink, eyes that matched the shade of the sea when the sun hit it at certain angles in the early morning, and then she spoke.

But she spoke while her mouth was half-submerged in water. “Bluppbb,” was all she said.

“..Huh?” Lloyd started, then smirked, small laughter bubbling from his lips.

The girl only seemed to realize just then what she had done. “Oh!” She rose further up, nearly knocking heads with Lloyd from the motion. “I’m sorry!”

“T-That’s okay!” Lloyd said, and he couldn’t seem to push away the grin on his face. “I just couldn’t catch that.”

The selkie was now half-over the rim of his boat, water trickling from her hair. She was mostly bare except for the scales around herself, like speckled turquoise that was patterned against the skin, falling like rain into the sea below.

But he noticed something else about her – she was smiling too.

“Sorry,” she apologized once more, her tail fin splashing in the water. “My name is Colette.”

--

It is in those old folktales that his father would tell about the sailors who found selkies, how compelled they were to keep them to themselves.

Lloyd wondered if that was what he was doing, sailing out to the ocean each day to fish, to the exact spot where Colette waited for him.

“Here, I got you something,” he told her one day. It had been routine to always give each other something nearly whenever they met. Once she had given him a polished pearl, its surface so white and luminous, and another time, she had given him a bunch of seaweed she said was good for having with food! With Colette, it was always a surprise.

“Is it another figurine?” she asked him, and he remembered her wide-eyed fascination as he gave her an old carving of a dolphin he had fashioned out of oak. But both the salt and pressure of the water had been too much for it, and she confessed how it had fallen apart in her hands when she swam back down below.

“Hopefully it’s better than that,” he said, and handed her a necklace, its chain colored red, the gem in the middle winking from the sun. “It’s waterproof, so you should be able to take it without it rusting!” And he had heard of jewelry weathering the depths of the ocean, so hopefully this could work as well?

In comparison to the jewel-like scales on her, maybe the necklace looked drab and plain. But still she took it with excitement, fingers already sliding across the chain. “Is this a human invention?”

“Er, I guess so,” Lloyd said with a shrug. “I just made it. You said you liked shiny things, so I tried to make it extra shiny too!”

And maybe that was true of all selkies? Lloyd wasn’t sure, but he was hesitant to ask his dad, or anyone about it. All that mattered was Colette’s happy grin, and how she looked at the gem in the middle that caught her reflection. She even flicked out her tongue to lick at it!

“It tastes funny!” she said, laughing as she did so. “I like it!”

“Well, it’s not meant for eating!” Lloyd corrected. “You just wear it around your neck.”

“Oh.” Colette looked at it again, bobbing up and down the water along with the rowboat. She managed to work the clasps of the chain open, and just when he thought she would put it on, she held the ends of it back to him. “Can you show me how?”

“You already got it halfway,” he said, but took the chains, her hands brushing against his, damp from the sea, yet still so warm.

He knew that people typically turned around to let someone else latch a necklace on them, but Colette wasn’t like most people, so she stayed facing him, watching as he leaned forward to put her new gift on.

He was close enough to catch each individual scale that lined her head fins, see the sharp curve of her teeth as she giggled at the sensation of his fingers over her neck. “It tickles!”

She was the most interesting person to him. “Almost got it,” he finally remembered to say. “And…there!”

Moving back and seeing her in full, he wished he had crafted something better. The gem he had used look dull compared to her, the shape of the pendant too plain against her existence. Yet even so, Colette looked happy.

“Thank you! I still have to give you your gift.” She then reached her hands underneath the water, tongue sticking out of her mouth as she searched… and then leaned back up, a multitude of little mussels cupped in her palms. “Some food for you!”

Of course, Lloyd happily accepted, as he still would be if she just gave him an old tire that had run down from the river and out into the sea. (Which did happen… He figured he could find some use for it).

It would be another trip where he barely caught much, of anything at all, though he could use the mussels Colette had given him as a substitute. Even so, he’d have to come up with a reason to his dad why his fishing trips had been so unsuccessful lately.

He just wanted to keep Colette to himself.

--

Two months after Lloyd had started seeing Colette, Dirk had once stopped him at the door, the hour so very early.

“The fish don’t bite so much during this season,” his father had told him, working on mending their wooden coffee table – one of the legs had snapped after Noishe had jumped on it. “Sure you should be going out at this time?”

The lie was ready at Lloyd’s tongue, and maybe on other days, he’d feel bad about it. Instead he grinned, winding the net around his fist. “Fall down seven times, get back up eight. I shouldn’t give up yet, right?”

“Hm,” Dirk muttered, but the lie wasn’t called out. And with that, Lloyd hurried out the door. He didn’t take note of the red skies.

He made the same preparations as always, tying up the rigging and securing the oars, bringing along his boxes of bait and fishing lines, and the net that he hooked to the end of his boat. Then he rowed out to sea, past other sailors that were in the distance, moving further and further away until he reached a sort of privacy out in the open water – to where Colette always waited for him.

Except she wasn’t there.

Sometimes she’d be late, apologizing and explaining how she had tripped over a shellfish on the way. Lloyd would ask how someone could trip while they were swimming… and then they’d forget what they were even talking about in the first place, her arms leaning against the boat, playing with his fishing lines as her fingers got tangled in it in intricate patterns, and him watching it all with a smile, once again barely catching any fish at all.

But he waited, and waited, and continued to wait. It was soon past noon. Colette never showed up.

The boat creaked underneath his weight. The net felt rough against his fingers as he still held it on the rim of the boat, its ends barely reaching the waters. Gazing out over the strangely calm waters today, he pulled back the net, moved the oars out of their handles, and headed somewhere new.

Maybe it was curiosity that made him go down a different direction to shore. He passed by other boats, those much bigger and with greater nets at their portside, at the sailors who gave him a quick glance before returning to their work. There was something pulling at him then, something in the skies, only now noting their color.

His father had warned him of omens, but never said that the omen would be for him.

It was like water, clogging his throat.

--

Colette had not been far.

It had been mid-afternoon when he set out, the sun still bright despite its lurid color. Now it was early evening, the waves crashing more frequently against his boat, pulling at his oars. The wind bit at his bare arms, trying to throw salt in his eyes. He felt coated in grime, felt as if he had been rolled into the ocean, left to marinate until the salt soaked him dry.

It was the shine of her hair that drew her to him.

He found her tangled in fishing nets on the shore, the sky still so red, even in the dark. Red-tinged clouds at night should not have made him so worried. But they did, making him hastily pull his boat to shore, unmindful of any rocks or gravel that could have torn the underside. He leapt from the side, rushing to her, his feet sinking in the sand with each step.

She didn’t have her scales anymore.

“Colette?” he called out. Only silence back, tinged by the red skies. “Colette!”

He caught a sharp glint in his sight; the necklace she still wore, the pendant laying squarely on her chest. And there, tangled around her legs, was a blanket of starlight. He stared at it, trying to make sense of its fabric and shape.

She stirred slightly, her mouth half-buried in the sand.

He had to get the net off her first.

As he got closer, Lloyd was reminded of the poor seals that would get tangled up in such nets, fisherman careless in how they cast it out, too low into the waters where such animals fed in. The lines would be so tough and the struggle so unbearable that it would cut through their skin, staining blood right onto the sand.

He could already see the bruises around her arms, her shoulders, and on her newfound legs that he was sure she didn’t use to have… But at some point, she must have passed out, stopping her struggles to sleep everything away. Lloyd took his small whittling knife that he carried out of sheer habit, and then carefully sliced open the net, one thread at a time.

When she was finally in his arms, she felt light. Still, that strange blanket was over her, but it looked so thin. Surely it wasn’t enough to shield her from the cold.

He felt her move, her hands reaching to grab at his shirt in her sleep. “..Nn…”

“It’s okay! I’m taking you home.” And Lloyd did not know that the words he just said were echoes of those from before, of those who wanted to keep what they found to themselves, clutching that same coat of starlight in their hands.

As he walked further inland, leaving his boat on the shore, the sky stayed red, long into the night.

--

Dirk had already gone to bed, but even if he was awake, Lloyd would make sure to keep quiet. So, with all the remembered stealth from his adolescence, he opened the back door of the house, which led to a storage room where fishing tools, old furniture, and other supplies were kept. Through that room, he snuck into another stairway that led upstairs, one that was closer to his room, where the floorboards didn’t creak as much.

The selkie girl was shivering in his arms, even as they finally went inside, away from the biting cold of the shore. The strange blanket she had was cradled against her stomach, half of it laying over Lloyd’s arm. It felt soft to the touch, yet still so thin. What was it…?

“Colette,” he called out again, bringing her to his room and stepping around a pot by his door, containing a healthy cast iron plant he had been growing for the past few years. “Can you hear me?”

For a moment, she stirred, seemed to try to say something, before falling quiet again. Through the half-open balcony doors of his room, he saw the red tinge of the dark sky.

He had to get her warmed up, so he tucked Colette into his bed, careful to not irritate her scratched-up wounds on her arms. Even with his sheets, she still shook. So Lloyd acted on instinct and pulled out one of his spare jackets that hung on the bed, draped it around her shoulders like a second set of blankets.

The red of his jacket was brighter, like the red of the clouds that passed by his window. The light from outside shone on that strange fabric Colette had been carrying, dark like a piece of shadow that had been cut, still housing stars within.

He was curious, and as Colette slept more peacefully, Lloyd reached to grasp the star-studded fabric from her hand, which snuck out from the blanket. It really was so soft to the touch, and it had a texture to it that Lloyd couldn’t really place.

He felt like he should know what this was… But it wasn’t coming to him at all.

“It must be a blanket,” he thought aloud, fingers going over it, reflexively folding it up into a neat square to easily carry. Maybe he could just store it somewhere until Colette woke up? Yeah, that would work! And just as he stood up, carrying the fabric in both hands now, nearly almost hidden away in his grip, he heard a creak from his bed, a soft sigh and a familiar gasp of his name.

“Lloyd..?” There was something about hearing her call to him that made him want to smile, already turning to her ecstatically.

“Colette, you’re up!” He grinned, seeing the red shade of the sky paint against her hair as she slowly sat up. “Do you feel okay?”

She was staring at what he held, and then shrunk away against the headboard of his bed. “So…you’ve taken it…”

And it was only then that he realized, the knowledge of it slowly dawning like the slow crack of a weathered bark of a tree, as the tree would fall and fall almost too slowly, until it snapped halfway from its stump, its end crashing harshly against the ground.

Her coat felt so soft in his hands, his thumb and forefinger rubbing against it gently.

Colette smiled at him, but it was not with the abandoned glee that he was used to seeing whenever he rowed out to see her, the kind that showcased sharp teeth, and highlighted the bright scales of her fins. Only now did he notice that those fins, once on both sides of her head, were no longer there, and her mild attempt at a smile showed no sharpness.

“Someone tried to take my coat earlier today,” she said, the blanket sliding down her legs, legs that she moved with awkwardness, hands placed against her knees. “I was swimming by the rocks on the shore, playing with the seal puppies there… when a man on a boat that made a terrible noise came by. He used something to catch me, and it cut at my skin.” Her fingers gripped each other lightly, marks that he had missed painted on there too. “He knew where my coat was… where it ended… and how to grab it from me…”

Lloyd stood within the middle of the room, watching her silently, seeing the night sky catch the glint of the necklace he had made for her. “Did you think it was me?”

Colette raised her head in guilt, opened her mouth part-way, then closed it again. It was only then she seemed to notice the jacket that was hanging off her shoulders, and she reached out one hand to bring it closer. “No. He didn’t have your smell.” Her voice grew quieter, barely heard over the wind outside. “And his hands felt different.”

Lloyd once again looked to the shroud of starry darkness he held, and now saw it as the same shade as the scales that surrounded her tail, that highlighted the fins and made the light in her eyes sparkle. This held Colette in every seam, in the way it draped over his arms as warm as sunshine. It was so hard to not just hold it against his chest and find some place for it to keep, so that he could always go back to it when needed and –

Colette kept looking at his jacket that he put on her with little thought. Her fingers caught the long strips white tassels that trailed from the collar. “You have mine… but you gave me yours?”

Lloyd quickly walked up to the bed and, with a moment that let him linger too long on the coat against his fingertips, placed it on the bed, practically at Colette’s feet. “It’s yours! You should have it back.” I shouldn’t want it. And even though he would never take it from Colette, knowing what it was and its very importance, he winced at his feelings still, at the strange way he had considered it. Too many stories? Or remembering how Colette had smiled at him when he clasped the necklace on her? “I only wanted to bring you here so that you could rest first.”

She still tugged at his jacket, and so the next words fell out of his mouth without him even thinking on it. “You could keep that too, if you wanted!” Had it been too stupid to say? But he kept going, watching how her hair fell around the red leather fabric. “You seemed cold, so I put it on for you.”

Colette gazed at Lloyd wide-eyed, and with his words, she pulled the jacket around her torso, the loose sleeves falling at her sides to lay folded at the mattress. “I do like yours… Is that really okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine!” Once again he looked to the dark, folded up shape on the bed, but stopped himself from touching it. “I can make us some hot chocolate. You want any? And you can stay here until you’re ready to go home.”

She looked to say something else, but then paused. Her hands went from the jacket to the selkie coat that was folded with care. “Home… Um, yeah! I don’t know what chocolate is, but I would like some.”

Lloyd smiled, and the strange feeling from before seemed to wash away from his mind – even if some of it lingered still, watching Colette unfurl the selkie coat like a piece of the night sky. “Heh, I think you’d like it.”

And with Colette still wearing his jacket, legs folded underneath her on the bed, she stayed with him for the night. He helped bandage up her scratches and other wounds, moving aside the jacket to get at the ones near her shoulders. He then taught her how to hold the mug carefully in both hands, but told her it was okay to drop it if she needed to, for the mugs were of polished wood and didn’t break as easily. He also showed her the way to put on his jacket, so that she sat across from him, decked out in the red of his coat. It was still unbuttoned down the front, her necklace plain for him to see.

The hour grew too late, that not even Lloyd could keep his eyes open. He yawned wide, enough to crack his jaw just a bit. “Sorry… You should sleep. I think I should too.” He got up from the chair he had placed next to the bed so they could chat easier. “I can make us breakfast in the morning.”

Colette said nothing at first, seemingly content in looking at him. The silence made him see her again, at the way her selkie features seemed to have vanished, looking just like the girls from town… except, no, her eyes were still different, still that deep blue.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked him, pulling him out of a strange daydream.

“I was just going to be downstairs… I won’t be gone.” He’d have to pull out the couch which was rather old and stiff, and wake up early enough to avoid his father’s suspicions, who already woke up early enough as it was.

“But this is where you usually sleep?” she asked him, tilting her head.

Lloyd scratched at his hair, still half-dusted from the sea breeze. “Yeah? But, it’s yours tonight.”

And then she took his hand, held it between her own, fingertips tracing along his knuckles and thumb. With the way she touched him, it was almost entrancing, like a spell.

Later he would wonder, and later he would brush that away. Already had he been drawn to her, when she splashed in the water, smiling sharp teeth.

“I still remember them grabbing me,” she whispered, sinking into his jacket, comforted in it. “I… would like to not be alone.”

Lloyd’s memories were hazy ever since, just remembering the feel of her hands as she drew him close, the brush of her hair just against his neck. He thought he remembered the rhythm of someone’s breath, something warm and comforting – and then the taste of salt on his lips. But it had been sweet, like taffy, and the arms around him like blankets that kept him safe.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, for when he woke up the next morning that was clear and blue, lying on his bed, Colette had left.

She had taken both his coat and her own.  

-

For the next few weeks, he no longer saw Colette, even as he passed by the same fishing spot they would once gather at each day.

But this time, he no longer worried for her, unlike before. Because sometimes she’d still leave him little gifts; once her own fashioned necklace of seaweed and pearls, floating at the top of the water’s surface. Another time, the curious splash of a baby seal that had pawed at a boat’s side, holding a seashell, carved with unfamiliar runes over its surface. And once, when he had been fishing, (and actually getting his catch), he found a lock of her golden hair on his hook, fashioned curiously like a bow, the shape of it enough to make him laugh.

Even though he missed her, he knew that most likely she would never come to meet face-to-face with him again. He had held her coat without her consent, had thought about keeping it stored somewhere out of reach. He was happy to, at the very least, receive her gifts.

“Suddenly you’ve become a much better fisherman,” Dirk commented as he looked over Lloyd’s catch one day, taking a mackerel to fillet and gut for their dinner. “Found a better spot this time?”

“Not really,” Lloyd said, determined to not lie anymore to him, even if his dad would never know about it. “The fish just come easier now.”

Lloyd started dreaming again of floating out to sea, the skies full of stormy red. He’d dream again of arms holding him close, keeping him safe in the water. He knew he was safe now, that he really had nothing to fear. So he’d open his mouth, and still be able to breathe, something sweet on his lips. He’d look towards the oceans depths and feel a hand hold his own tight, guiding him all the way.

If it was still an omen, he didn’t know what it meant. And should an omen make you feel this comforted anyway?

--

One day, Lloyd didn’t go on another fishing trip, but instead went out into town to restock on supplies; the tilled soil for the gardens, the kibble for Noishe, the paint for the much bigger ship he was going to build someday and sail out into the world. If he was going to be a sailor, he figured he should start acting like one!

So when he came back home, carrying the supplies from his truck to the garage at home, he didn’t expect to see familiar golden hair at his doorstep, talking to his father.

“He just went out to the city streets, but he shouldn’t be long,” Dirk’s voice traveled to him. Then he saw the shorter man turn to him, his thick beard lifting with a hidden smile. “Ah, there he is. Lloyd! You got company!”

Lloyd was unsure if, perhaps, he was still dreaming.

But he didn’t stay back, instead he walked, then ran to the house, only remembering to stop just before crashing right into her. Noishe was nearby as well, head leaning towards the girl’s hands to get a pet from her.

“Colette?” Lloyd said, too dumb to keep such precious words hidden, his father’s eyes still on him. But he was looking at her, standing on two legs again, dressed in a long skirt, though her feet were bare. Her blouse was loose, matching the afternoon sky, along with the satchel slung over her shoulder. And her hair fell down her shoulders and back like a golden cascade.

No scales, no fins, but it was her, the selkie girl right at his doorstep.

“Lloyd! It’s so good to see you,” she said to him, hands clasped before her. “I hope it’s okay to visit?”

Nothing could stop the stupid grin forming on Lloyd’s face, the light laugh that tumbled from his throat. “Yeah! I just didn’t think… I just hadn’t seen you in a while.”

By this time, his father had decided to give them some privacy, heading back inside through the front door and taking Noishe with him. Lloyd wondered if Dirk knew anything about Colette, but everything about her passed for human, down to the clothes and the smile she showed.

Once they were alone, he had to ask her, remembering only one other time she had appeared this way to him. “Is everything okay? Do you still have your-”

At that, Colette held out a hand, stopping him gently from continuing. But her smile never faltered.

“There’s something I wanted to give you… That’s one reason why I came here. If you don’t mind?”

Lloyd shook his head, and then watched as Colette reached into her satchel, unlatching the front to pull something from within. Something dark and studded with jewels like stars, like scales deep underwater, catching the sunlight.

He already felt it against his palms as Colette handed the coat to him.

“I still have yours. I was wondering if you would like mine as well?” And she giggled as she asked, his necklace glinting against her blouse, the chain still never having rusted.  

[kimtotes]

Sutter is definitely trying to be in good terms with FX again,he kissed ass so hard in the Mayans post,like knowing him I’m sure he is pretty bitter that”his”show was renovated after they fired his ass,also they are getting better reviews this season😂I hope Sutter is aware of how bad he fucked up his own show in s6,he destroyed it,not just J/T or Jax,the whole club,he made a complex,compelling character like Tig,a comic relief and just half of a ship,I liked Venus/Tig but Tig was much more than that,I think Kim already threw some shade about it!Chibs was barely the same guy,Bobby was just kinda there and Juice was the personal punching bag of Samcro and Jax😭Still there are people who defend that mess so much,a Jax girl tried to explain me the Colette arc the other say,she thinks there was nothing romantic there,she was just a woman who didn’t rely on him or needed him so he could be weary and being taken care of with her,like the only time we see Jax giving control in bed was with her,she on top🙄she was the only port where Jax could find shelter in s6,because Tara signed him off🙄Jax noticed the disconnect,their priorities were different and their marriage was almost over,Tara couldn’t provide any comfort and she didn’t want either so he looked for it in a strong mature woman,but it was never about love or romantic feelings😒😑I can see Sutter agreeing with her so much😭😂

Definitely!! He really thinks he’s convincing, but we all know Sutter 😂. He wants to look professional so Disney will take his sorry ass back, which will probably never happened. I’m sure he burned that bridge!! I’m sure he’s pissed that the Mayans is getting better reviews without him 🤣. Yes!! I really hope he knows too, part of me thinks he does! He’ll never admit it, but he’s really changed his tone during the last few years. I really hope he realized how much potential SOA had before he caved into the toxic fanbase and catered to Gemma. The writing was so all over the place in the last few seasons and he really lost what made SOA so great. He destroyed the lore just to make the story fit 😑. You’re 100% right!! He destroyed the club itself! They all became background characters and their stories were all kind of bullshit. Poor Tig, he was such a waste in the last season. I really liked Tig/Venus, but you’re right he was more than that! It’s also ridiculous to give Chibs the Jarry storyline, which is as just a waste of precious creen time in the final season! If they wanted another romance, why not just give that time to Tig/Venus??? Chibs/Jarry amounted to nothing and it ruined Chibs 😤. Poor Bobby. He didn’t even do anything and I just didn’t give a shit about him the final season 🤷‍♀️. What he did to Juice was a disgrace! He tortured him to torture the fanbase and it was just disgusting. Sutter ruined the show by creating pointless arcs in the final season instead of wrapping up the arcs that already existed. He also had way to much screen time and was just putting shit in to fill it. Colette was also a waste and I still think Sutter didn’t know what the hell he was doing with her character. People try to make Colette more important than she really was and they’ll try to make shit fit just to support their beliefs. Jax only went to Colette because that’s the only way he knew how to cope and bad writing 🙄

[hotcoffeecoldmornings]

(This shit is long so bear with me.)

Can’t Eat, Can’t Sleep, Reach for the Stars

I haven’t felt this way in awhile. This ‘can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, world series kind of love.’ 

It’s hard to describe. The last time I was all-consumed like this by a TV show and a ship, that TV show was The 100, that ship was Clexa, and my world was, quite honestly, turned upside down by it.

I used the first two seasons of The 100 as background noise as I wrote my Master’s Thesis in 2015. To be honest, I didn’t really know exactly what was happening until Bodyguard of Lies (an episode anyone reading this post probably remembers well) came on. And a passionate kiss between two world leaders left me speechless and shocked. I was blindsided by it, unaware that that kiss would be the beginning of not only finding myself, but also accepting myself, and then finding a chosen family I never knew that I needed because of it.

There’s been alot of (okay, not a lot, but more) f/f ships on TV since then. Maggie and Alex. Nicole and Waverly. Elena and Syd. Kat and Adena. Anissa and Grace. Stef and Lena. Karolina and Nico. And the list goes on… While each of these ships is equally important, and each one represents another push towards more inclusive storytelling, there was never a ship that hit me as hard as Clarke and Lexa did.

Until now.

Harold, They’re Lesbians

Gay. Witches.

Motherland: Fort Salem said the words. And I fucking came running.

Okay, so it took me a few weeks… Thank you, twitter timeline, for finally getting my ass on board. It’s not that I didn’t want to start the show. It’s that my anxiety-ridden brain had other plans for me in mid-March. Like spending the majority of my time researching a global pandemic and then crawling into a depression hole because of it… Or something like that.

But nonetheless, I’m here now. And I’m fucking staying.

I knew I’d love this show. The concept of witches peppered with the idea that sexuality is irrelevant is honestly my one and only weakness. So I went into episode one with high hopes. And I sure as hell was not disappointed.

Episode 1 gave me even more than I could’ve asked for. We meet three uniquely powerful individuals, who all come from three uniquely interesting backgrounds. Abigail Bellweather, born into a lineage of the most powerful and elite witches Fort Salem has ever seen. Tally Craven, the last one standing in her family’s long-line of service, selflessly choosing to say the oath when she didn’t technically have to. And Raelle Collar, who has an unparalleled set of powers, combining her mother’s Christo-Pagan ways with those of the seeds learned at Fort Salem.

Rounding out that already brilliant cast is Scylla Ramshorm, the ‘sexy weird’ Necro who may or may not be evil (but we love her all the same). General Sarah Alder, the original witch who signed the Salem Accord, selling out every future witch to the United States Army, and whose ego quite often gets the best of her. And Anacostia Quartermaine, the Bellweather Unit’s Drill Sergeant who has a peculiar fondness (and leniency) for Raelle Collar.

The fact that this television show is entirely female centered (like, we’re talking 60 seconds of male screen time in the pilot), is what separates this show from most. Men exist in the world of Fort Salem as characters to exclusively propel the female leads forward, which is a stark contrast to the majority of shows right now.  And not only is the entire main cast female, the main lead is gay. And honestly, the sexuality of every character on the show is questionably debatable as well. Except for Abigail, who quite clearly is into any and all men, and Tally, who grew up on a Matrifocal Compound and ended up in Fort Salem as a virgin. Which, of course, no shade to her, but it did strike me as odd when Abigail immediately assumed Tally’s virgin-ness when growing up in an all-female world was brought up.

So let’s start there, shall we?

 The Heteronormative Narrative (or not…)

Something I did find puzzling about Motherland: Fort Salem (and the only thing, really) is how they portray sexuality, relationships, and love. In regards to sexuality, Eliot Laurence, the creator and executive producer, has been incredibly forward in interviews with the narrative that ‘your sexual preference doesn’t matter in this world.’ Which I appreciate to the fullest, trust me. But pardon my slight hesitation when I hear that line, because I think we’ve all been burned by it once before.

Motherland: Fort Salem has done a tremendous job of this. They’ve allowed characters to own their sexuality without question. It was never a thing when Raelle started dating Scylla. At Beltane, everyone went off with whomever the dance paired them with - even if that meant the same gender, and even if that meant three or four or five of them. Sexuality, in regards to same-sex partners, is never a character arc in this show, and it’s never there to create a plot point. 

HowEVER, there were a few things I noticed that confused that fact. 

Like I said about Abigail in the very first episode, when the Bellweather Unit is meeting for the first time, why was Abigail so quick to question Tally’s virginity after learning she comes from a Matrifocal Compound? If there are no heteronorms in the world of Motherland: Fort Salem, then why is it assumed that losing your virginity is related to relations with a man? Even though Tally is (well… was) a virgin, why would that question be brought up? If roles were reversed and it was Raelle living on the Matrifocal Compound, the conversation would’ve gone strikingly different, and it would’ve supported this heteronormative narrative that I thought we were trying to avoid. I’m just going to blame this one line on how badly Abigail wants the D, so sleeping with a woman wouldn’t even cross her mind.

But then what about the idea of this ‘five-year marriage contract’? It’s simply about producing a child, so I assume a woman could never have that sort of thing with another woman, and that those women could never add to their lineage (unless they entered into a five-year marriage contract simply to reproduce). Doesn’t this, alone, signify a heteronormative world without even meaning to do so? While they accept LGBTQ+ relationships, how do they actually fit into the society and culture that this show has created? Wouldn’t the gay witches be seen as almost inadequate in carrying on the gene if they don’t have a child? (AmI just thinking too much into this...?)

But then again, the whole concept of ‘love’ in Fort Salem is rather insignificant itself. As Gerit mentions, no one is supposed to spend their life with just one person. Witches are committed to one another in five-year partnerships to reproduce, and then that’s it. So in a way, I understand that nobody, no matter what their sexuality is, really gets to experience this fairytale ending that we’re used to seeing in a (*cough* heterosexual) ship on TV. And in a way, I also think that’s what makes this show all the more fascinating. Eliot Laurence gave everyone a level playing field by just removing the idea of a happily ever after altogether. In Laurence’s world, witches are meant to train and fight and die for their country. Love is their weakness. But what’s so compelling about that is even though love is their weakness, he made sure that love also manifests into their greatest strength.

From what I’ve seen in interviews for Laurence, every single thing has a purpose. So I’m quick to let this go, and see where he takes us. He’s been building this world inside his head for nine years, so I know that there’s so much more to this story than what can be told in a 10-episode season.

 But Back to the Lesbians

Anyway, back to love. Specifically gay love. I wish I could put into simple words my obsession with Raelle and Scylla. 

From the incredible chemistry that Taylor Hickson and Amalia Holm share on-screen together to the directors and writers who’ve portrayed their love story so magically, Raelle and Scylla are truly something special. They’ve taken the place of a ship this queer fandom lost when Lexa was killed. It’s a ship that you want to hate, because every part of this story tells me to hate Scylla. She’s Spree. She’s vindictive. She’s dangerous. Yet every part of my brain tells me to love her. And to love them together.

I don’t like easy stories. I want stories that make the ending worth it. I want hardships and pain and hurt and work when it comes to love. Which is why I like the story of Raelle and Scylla. There was a spark between them in their very first scene together- a spark you could feel through the TV. It was believable and real. They come from similar backgrounds of loss and solitude, and that’s what originally bound them together. And over the next seven episodes, we watched their relationship grow. We saw their vulnerabilities, their growth, their passion. But now we’re going to see the hardship. The pain, the anger, the betrayal. 

I appreciate that they’re not skimping on telling any part of their story. The two are special together, and so far, this show has proved that.

 She’s Special

I want to break down Raelle Collar before bringing up anything else, because, well, obviously she’s the main character, but she’s also got a lot going on. The fact that Raelle channels her power through something other than the typical ‘seed’ is something that will be of importance to why she’s so powerful. Petra Bellweather, herself, claims that Raelle’s mom, Willa, used unconventional methods that delivered incredible results. “She was the fixer every unit wanted to deploy with.” 

While all witches in Basic Training are learning about utilizing their extra set of vocal cords to create magic songs, Raelle can do it in a way that’s reminiscent of where she grew up- Chippewa Cession. In the very first episode, she makes note that her family was there before it became a Cession. Aka, before the land was given to the Chippewa tribe in exchange for their magic.

Raelle comes from a line of witches that all have more unique abilities than what’s taught at Basic Training. She uses a combination of Native American spirituality/Christo-Paganism skills during her days at Fort Salem, which brings up questions (and judgment) from other witches. It seems as though that kind of magic was the way witches used to do things before Sarah Alder released her song into the world and created a vocalizing army with it. Raelle’s peers look disgusted when they see her still using the same ways witches once did. It’s particularly noticeable when she heals people, and recites Matthew 7:7, “Ask, and it shall be given to you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” The entire theme of the Book of Matthew, in regards to Christianity, is about prayer. Asking and receiving. That God will provide you with what’s needed, and nothing more. But when it comes to Paganism, it’s about the law of attraction and return in our universe. It outlines that there is no life without balance - that all prayers can be answered, but they’ll be answered with things that are taken from elsewhere. All prayers almost have a consequence. Just like all magic has a consequence. 

Raelle’s power, at least what she knows of it up until now, is based on a consensual balance, bringing the theme of Paganism’s Matthew 7:7 into the type of witchcraft she practices. She can heal someone, but what she heals them from will be transferred onto her. Balance. Consequence.

Bringing General Sarah Alder back into this, this is the same type of magic that she traded for back in the 1700’s when she granted the Chippewa Tribe the entire length of the Mississippi River. In exchange, she gained the magic that could keep her eternally young. But just like the magic that Raelle does, this age defying practice has consequences too, and requires balance. Every 50-60 additional years that General Alder adds on to her endless life, a young witch must be sacrificed to take on those years, and must stand by General Alder the rest of her short-lived life. 

But where does the balance go?

Adil is such a great addition to the cast because he sheds a light on something so crucially ignored on campus. All magic has balance. This is teased throughout the season, like when General Alder hits turbulence on her way to The Hague and jokes (but not really jokes), “I assume I have one of you to blame for that.” Or how Raelle soaks up her ‘patients’ illness. But it’s not truly smacked in our faces until Adil says it.

As Abigail is flaunting her ability to *one day* “grind iron into ore and mountains into dust,” Adil drops a truth bomb on her. “All that weather you fight with has a cost. Floods. Failing crops. Famine. Every war, people starve.” She’s quick to reply that the good they do far outweighs the bad. But to who? Certainly not to Adil and his people. Meeting him is going to give our recruits a serious insight into just how consequential their ‘work’ can be. He’s going to play a crucial role in realizing how manipulative and egotistical General Alder has been. 

Not only is weather an issue, but plagues. “Like the one attacking my sister.” Adil and Khalida come into the storyline because Khalida is sick with a deathly black webbing wrapped around her body. When they first make it to the Military Outpost (somewhere in the dessert between Russia and China?), the Soldier who meets them at the gate yells, “they’re here.” So were they expecting them? 

Raelle eventually is the one who heals Khalida, (by using her Christo-pagan means) but instead of taking up the illness like it usually does, instead, it infects the giant mushroom that Raelle touched earlier. 

The balance of Mother Mushroom.

I go back and forth between theories for the giant mushroom growing under Fort Salem. But today, I’m convinced the mushroom is attached to General Alder’s vitality. And consequently, the entire vitality of Fort Salem as well. In one episode, Berryessa reminds us that all life on campus is directly connected to Alder. And if what Scylla says in My Witches, that “life becomes death, which becomes life again,” is relative to the life on campus and how General Alder parallels that, then this theme of balance throughout the series is more prominent than we realize.

The giant mushroom living under campus is clearly important. It has hands and replicates faces and takes on diseases and Izadora is not a fan of  anyone touching it. So yes, you could say this fungi is a main character now.

But. Why?

“In the kingdom of plants, mushrooms occupy the underworld. Nothing ever really dies.” Mushrooms have an entire underground network of language to one another. And they are responsible for the breakdown and decomposition of death so that organic matter can become something else. Necros have an obvious connection to this ecological process too, so they must have a connection to the continuous process that General Alder goes through to support and sustain life on her campus. 

I think that the “Mother Mycelium” signifies each and every consequence that Fort Salem has accumulated. It holds the hurt and death and pain and regret of everything General Alder has created. And now that the Mushroom is infected with whatever plague Khalida had, I think it’s going to wreak havoc on Fort Salem. Magic is based on balance, and I think massive consequences are coming to make up for years of disparity. 

One last thing on my mushroom-thoughts, is when Helen Graves said “the dead make excellent eyes and ears.” An underground network of mushrooms all connected to recently dead organisms would certainly be a great way to gain insight too. Scylla mentions that she needs something recently dead to grow her deathcap, so does this Mushroom need to be constantly “fed” with death to continue the creation of life? 

Does Alder know about that? Are the mass-murders that the Spree are doing related to this? Killing hundreds of people at a time would definitely be a good way to keep the mushroom o’ death fed. Is Alder behind the Spree!?

 Sexy Weird 

Speaking of Spree... Can we talk Scylla now? First of all, what the hell is this girl’s timeline? When we first meet her, she’s a cadet (second year) in War College already, meaning she would’ve had to enlist on Conscription Day the year before Raelle. Yes? In Mother Mycelium, we see that she *might* (still don’t believe it) have been the person behind that first Spree attack on Conscription Day of this year (so when Raelle, Tally, and Abigail enlisted), so was she at Basic Training for an entire year before deciding to become Spree? Did she enlist knowing that she would eventually be Spree? Does this ever get addressed in the show?

Since we’re here, I might as well say there’s no way Scylla did that. I’ll never believe it. And I’m using my one semester of Greek Mythology in college to tell you why (who knew that class would eventually come in handy)

In My Witches, when Tally, Abigail, and Glory first meet Scylla, Tally makes it clear that ‘Scylla’ is a Greek name. Okay. Greek. Cool. Mythology. Let’s go. I already knew that Eliot Laurence doesn’t waste any minute of screen time when it comes to plot development and storytelling, so my meta brain did a little digging.

In Greek Mythology, Scylla was a sea-monster who haunted the rocks of a very narrow strait, opposite of the whirlpool of Charybdis. The monster’s purpose was to lead ships and boats towards the whirlpool, which was lethal to all who attempted to pass. Scylla was used to lure boats towards Charybdis, but was never meant for actually destroying them. Scylla was a fear tactic, not a murderous monster. In poetry, it’s often said that Scylla isn’t a monster at all, just born into a monstrous family. In conclusion (from my 4 months of Freshman-level Greek Mythology and a little refreshment on Google) I think Scylla is simply being used to lure people to the Spree, but not actually doing the mass-murdering that is being shown in the episode. 

What I do know is that Scylla Ramshorn is absolutely Amalia Holm. Mainly because I refuse to accept that Raelle is falling for the red head (sorry, red head). But also because at the end of the Pilot, when Scylla (in red head disguise) looked into the mirror, the balloon was her reflection, and it followed everything that she did. But in other scenes, when Scylla’s face is the normal Scylla face, she can see her own reflection. So the redhead girl is unimportant. Plus, IMDB says she never appears again this season... 

We Are The Spree 

As much as I hate to believe that Raelle’s mom (or Aunt!) is alive and leading the Spree, the connections between the two entities do add up. Both (Spree and Collar’s) are against the authority and power that the Witch Army has over populations of witches. They’re both against General Sarah Alder. I believe they both use spoken word magic rather than just vocalized magic. When the Spree carry out their attacks, they’re whispering words under their breath, not singing any song. Which is reminiscent of how the Collar’s do magic. Additionally, it would make sense as to why the Spree would want Scylla to bring them Raelle. And I still can’t get over the conversation between Raelle and Tally when Raelle explains her family’s combat charm. “A bowerbird’s foot. They love anything blue.”

Blue? Why. WHY. 

Maybe Willa Collar was captured by the Spree? Or the Aunt was? Or the Spree needs Raelle to heal someone? 

One last weird very unthought out theory goes with the other Biblical verse Raelle recites - Isaiah 43:2. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” The fact that all Spree attacks have happened with something to do water- in the snow, at the pool, on a cruiseship. And the fact that the last line of that verse is literally, “you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” This type of witchcraft has to relate to how the Spree does magic. Right??

Now I’m re-talking myself into the fact that the Collar’s might be somehow leading Spree...

 But who’s ‘we’?

If the Collar’s are in charge of Spree then this next theory would actually check out. 

Anacostia has been a little more over-bearing with Raelle than any of the other girls. On multiple occasions, she’s said how Raelle is gifted. In fact, they all have. Even Abigail in Hail Beltane mentions that “Raelle didn’t go outside of canon, she’s naturally gifted.” They all know she’s gifted. It would make sense if the Collar’s were the ones running Spree, and that Anacostia, aka. General Alder’s head bitch, was sent to protect Raelle from ever joining them. Alder wants to capitalize on the powers that Raelle has, and keep them in the Witch Army. 

But I also think Anacostia could be playing General Alder. There have been too many times where she stares at Alder just a little bit too intently, and I can’t stop thinking that she might be in some sort of rebellious group too. Maybe a certain cell of Spree?

Because you can’t deny that Anacostia has also taken in interest in Scylla, particular to keep her away from Raelle. When Anacostia first caught them flying high on Salva, she told Scylla to stay away from Raelle, and it seemed as though she (tried) to use some sort of coercion magic while doing so. When Anacostia then saw them together at the Bellweather wedding, she almost sounded shocked, “I expressly told you to stay away from her.” Did Anacostia attempt coercion magic on Scylla and it didn’t work? And if she did, why didn’t it work?

That entire exchange felt odd yet familiar. Like the two have history. “Your name wouldn’t have been on the list. You’re not supposed to be here.” Particularly the “you’re not supposed to be here.” Did Anacostia know about the attack on the Bellweather’s? And did she think it would be threatened with Scylla there? Or did she know that Scylla was supposed to bring Raelle to the Spree at 6pm. And was sent to make sure Scylla never completed that task. 

I found it interesting that Anacostia was never seen fighting off the balloons like every other Witch was when they appeared. And her being at the actual wedding felt odd too. Especially if she’s General Alder’s right-hand (wo)man, because last time I checked, Alder and Petra Bellweather weren’t on the greatest terms. In fact, none of the General’s are on great terms with Alder. 

Since we’re now on Bellweather season...

Camarilla. No, not Carmilla.

There’s certainly a second threat in this show. And they were the ones behind the attack at the Bellweather’s. Not only has this already been proven by Jessica Sutton on Twitter (lols) but the clues were literally all there. They didn’t use any magic to fight. They had to use a mechanized sound machine to stop Abigail and Petra from using their powers. Then they covered themselves with gasoline and lit themselves on fire before the mother-daughter duo blew them away. It wasn’t Spree. But it was meant to look like Spree. And I think the balloons were simply a distraction, so all efforts and power would be outside fighting off the balloons while the civilian waiter’s could attack. 

But who is doing this?

It’s been brought up that there are alot of humans who don’t agree with the Witch Army that Alder leads. Even the President of the United States is hesitant about them. “You, too, are bound by rule of law to the will of the American people, who have elected me to represent their interests and protect them. Don’t you forget it. Or you may find yourself reminded.” Then Tally gets confronted later in that episode by a civilian who says, “It’s witches who are committing these attacks. It’s your kind of people .” And then even later in the series, there’s talk of a “growing debate in congress to revoke the Accord and disband the army.” So you could say there are definite opinions about this Army by civilians. 

In A Biddy’s Life, there’s a shot when Raelle and Scylla are in the room with weapons once used to kill witches. There’s an undeniably important shot of the Camarilla Scythe. Camarilla, itself, is defined as a small group of people acting as private advisers to a ruler or politician with a shared and nefarious purpose to carry out secret plots. 

Since civilians are the ones that are most opposed to the Witch Army, it makes sense that maybe the President, herself, is the one behind these attacks. She’s trying to take down the most Elite of the Witches (the Bellweather’s), hence inhibiting the Army from being as successful as it’s been in the past. And what better way than to kill the most elite witches of child-bearing age. 

While this theory checks out, I can’t help but to also think that Petra Bellweather could be behind the attacks. I know, it’s a stretch, (specifically because it’s her own family that’s being targeted) but I do love that ‘good powers, bad people’ trope. And what better way to make sure nobody questions your efforts if you’re the last one they’d suspect? Petra Bellweather has been itching to boot Alder from head witch honcho for awhile. Since killing Bellweather’s is the ultimate attack against witches, this would be a great strategy to showcase that Alder is inept in dealing with these enemies, creating a fall in power. And eventually, a rise in another. A Bellweather. 

Okay, I know what you’re all probably thinking. “So you’re saying that she wanted her own daughter killed!?” Not necessarily. When you watch Bellweather Season, and specifically the wedding scenes, they put an insane emphasis on timing. And I don’t believe that that’s just because of Scylla trying to get Raelle out of there by 6pm. When you watch the sequence back, the Bellweather Unit was supposed to be having their interview with the Dean of War College, starting at 5:30ish. If the interview took a good bit, say 30-45 minutes, this would strategically put Abigail not in the line of fire (aka Charvel’s room) at 6pm when they struck. 

But on the complete other hand, Abigail was supposed to be up with Charvel at that time helping her get ready. Meaning if it wasn’t Petra Bellweather, someone perfectly timed both Bellweather’s of childbearing age to conveniently be in the same place at the same time. 

Then the fact that Scylla was meant to leave with Raelle at 6pm (the exact moment the waiter’s and balloons struck), can’t go unnoticed. Did they want her to leave with Raelle at 6pm because the Spree knew about the attack? Did someone warn them? Does this explain why Anacostia was shocked to see Scyalla. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Why wasn’t she supposed to be there????

I’m just going to tap out of this theory now. 

But One More Thing

This might be a totally aggressive theory, and I have to credit the initial spark of this idea to my girlfriend, because during my 67th rewatch of this show, she brought up something I’d never thought of before. She asked me what Scylla’s purpose of attending the wedding was, and if the person she was supposed to bring to Penelope Road at 6pm really was Raelle? 

This got thinkING. What if it was someone else???

When you look back at all the times Scylla spends talking to her balloon mirror, they never actually say Raelle’s name. Sure, we’re meant to believe that Raelle is the obvious target. But what if that’s a cover?? What if she’s using Raelle to infiltrate something else and get to someone else??

It would make sense to use Raelle to target Abigail instead- an elite Bellweather. Like I said, this is a very unlikely theory but it would definitely be a shock to literally everyone (except my girlfriend apparently)...

Has the entirety of the show been leading us down a path to distract us from something else going on!? With every other ounce of brilliance here, I wouldn’t even doubt it.

In Conclusion

I went into this show expecting to be seen and represented as a queer woman, but what I actually got was so much more. What I got from this show is the realization that me being queer doesn’t have to have anything to do with me being a woman at all. My strength, and will, and mistakes, and growth, and grace, and support, and passion, are what make me a woman. Each of our stories are deserving enough to be told just because we are women.

I’ve struggled with that fact my entire life - my womanhood.

Femininity, feminism, and female empowerment are all things I’ve only recently connected with. I was raised in the culture of traditional gender roles. My dad went to work and my mom stayed home.  It’s not that I was necessarily taught that men and women must occupy those roles; it’s just that’s all I knew. To even further confuse my adolescent existentialism, not only was my mother a stay-at-home mom, she was also in the Marine Corps. And she never really understood the fact that not all women are as strong as she is.

My mom’s a badass, don’t get me wrong. She’s one of my hero’s. She came from a family who didn’t have much, and after realizing that she couldn’t afford to go to college, she enlisted instead. Six years later, she went to Penn State on a full-ride. She’s worked for every ounce of success that she’s seen, and she’s worked her ass off for it. But because of that, she struggles with the idea of feminism.

I can’t blame her too much. I understand the mindset she’s coming from. Growing up with that being instilled in my mind was hard though. Because it was expected that I, too, grow up to be a strong independent woman. 

I graduated in the predominantly male industry of agriculture (I want to be a farmer, okay!?). All through college, grad school, and post-grad school, I worked on farm after farm after farm. And it was there that I was introduced to the idea of toxic masculinity. I tolerated comments that I won’t even say out loud. I’ve “accidentally” been touched in more ways than I care to count. And what I hate the most about it all, is that I fucking tolerated it. I’d laugh it off, and then I’d walk away, mortified at what I’d actually just put up with. And while by no means do I blame my upbringing and home life on this, I do blame the upbringing and home life on the female characters I saw on television. If Brooke Davis was constantly and overly sexualized in high school then I guess I was supposed to, too. Right??

Sure, I still hear comments that I wish I didn’t. But I’m also surrounded by people and characters who taught me to never put up with the shit I once did. Female characters are portraying a storyline that people take more seriously now. They’re persevering. And that jumps off the screen in Motherland: Fort Salem. 

It’s taken me a while to realize how Raelle and Scylla have affected me as much as Clakre and Lexa did (two characters who literally awakened my sexuality). But I think I get it now. 

I love both Raelle and Scylla. Each one. Individually. As witches. As warriors. As females. As humans. As strong female characters. So, in a way, watching this show has awakened something else in me that I’ve also been suppressing all along. My femininity. My strength. My perseverance. 

Sure, Raelle and Scylla are my favorite ship right now, but it wasn’t them being together that made me fall in love with this show. Oddly enough, it was them being apart. It’s the fact that each one stands on her own as a unique and beautifully complicated story. And it’s the fact that I, too, am deserving of a beautifully complicated story.

Last Section, I Swear 

Motherland: Fort Salem is a magical mix of intense story building, relatable character development, and fascinating cinematography, all while being told through a gender and sexuality normative opposite of what we’re used to seeing. It’s a show that encompasses female strength unlike anything I’ve experienced before, where men are the background noise who aid in pushing the plot forward. It’s a show that deserves another season. And another and another and another and another. 

It’s a show I needed ten+ years ago, at 18 years old, freshly out of high school and wondering why the fuck I never had crushes on guys like everyone else my age did. It’s the show I needed so I didn’t always wonder why I was so obsessed with Peyton Sawyer and Summer Roberts and why I was the only one I knew who thought Torrance and Missy should’ve ended up together. It’s the show I needed to learn that my femininity doesn’t make me any less tough than my male counterparts. It’s the show I needed so I never put up with anyone’s shit. It’s the show I needed to teach me that I am storm and I am fury. 

It’s the show I needed then. But it’s also the show I’m so happy that I have now.

[the-bloody-masquerade]

As a Strauss fan, I am obligated to put him forward for the meme!

How I feel about this character: Magic Dad (boogie woogie woogie!) Much more accommodating and eager to help than his booming voice and formal nature would imply. In his own stealth way he is just so excited to teach you stuff! At the same time, do NOT want to get on his bad side. The true extent of the powers of an Elder Tremere Regent are not something I’d like to put to the test anytime soon. Besides Ming Xiao, I believe him to be the oldest character in the game, and that’s a fact to inspire awe and terror. In the meantime, I’ll be content to watch him clap his hands together just vibrating with excitement to teach me about thaumaturgy. 

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I don’t personally view Strauss as an especially romantic character, and there aren’t a whole lot of character who jump out at me as ship material for him. I am fond of the headcanon that VV’s blown kiss to him at the opening scene in the Nocturne Theatre had a little more familiarity to it than we maybe thought, and that Strauss and VV, both lurid poets, pass sappy poems back and forth to each other when no one is looking.   

Fandom has also introduced me to a few Strauss/Fledgling scenarios and I can say there have been a handful of those that I have enjoyed. I enjoy Strauss being written to be dreadfully brilliant in all things intellectual, but just a bit socially distracted and thus a little romantically out of the loop sometimes. Still, wrapping his mentor-like tendencies into an astuteness and concern for his partner’s well-being and comfort is also something I enjoy seeing. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character: You know what? I like seeing Strauss and Garrick hanging out together. Robert Garrick, the fushigi ball spinning illusionist Tremere from LA by Night is described as being a member of Strauss’ own coterie. I haven’t seen barely any content of them actually interacting, but the nature of their relationship and how they relate to each other is a fun thing to ponder. (Lol, maybe you folks who are further than me an LA by Night will know something I don’t in this regard.) 

My unpopular opinion about this character: As much I find Strauss’ role as an intimidating and calculating personal villain in LA by Night compelling... I dislike that that role was given to Strauss. I have no doubt that VTMB Strauss can and is every bit of the stony faced terror to his enemies as he is shown to be in the podcast, but the fact that one of the protagonists is a former pupil of his whom he abused doesn’t sit well with me, given Strauss’ previous reputation of wholesome “Magic Dad.” It is certainly an interesting character twist, and not one that is unrealistic (I fully admit you can see shades of it in VTMB itself if you ask the wrong questions,) but LA by Night being removed from Bloodlines by like 13 years serves to make it feel a little less legitimate when it pulls hard character twists like this (of which there are several.) So yeah, I like LA by Night Strauss as a character/villain, but not as *Strauss.*  One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish we actually got to *see* him interacting with a classroom full of neonates. The way I like to headcanon him, he’s fantastic with the neonates, and they all love him. Just to be able to explore his role a little bit more among the Tremere themselves, since, as it stands, he is literally the only Tremere in VTMB. 

Thank you for the ask @robotslenderman! 

[yonaofthedawnwritings]

Moonlight Yearnings (1/2)

AO3 Version

Chapters: 1 | 2

Relationship: Reader/Jae-Ha

Wordcount: 2.0k

Tags: Reader is Yona AU, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pining, Dirty Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Falling In Love, Breeding kink

Summary:  Jae-Ha thinks that he’s dying. He might not actually be dying, but who is to argue semantics when it feels as though fire itself licks hungrily at his skin with every moment of existence? When hot blades of steel sink through his mind with every inhale of air?

He’s as close to death as can be without literally taking his final breath, but he's about to realize who will quell his boiling blood--the very person that caused the reaction in the first place without anyone realizing it.

You.

-

Everything is on fire . From the air that he breathes to the very skin on his body, Jae-Ha feels as if he’s submerged into a pool of lava. It comes on too quickly to be a fever and it’s not nearly as debilitating–there’s no other symptoms that would lead him to thinking that he’s sick–but he would be an utter fool to consider himself entirely healthy.

Even Yoon can’t seem to find an answer, only offering the dragon a cursory look-over and a constant pinch of his brows tight over his eyes. It’s not a look that the green dragon trusted. If the young genius of a boy couldn’t gather the faintest idea of what ailed him, then did he truly have any chance to figure it out on his own?

Suffice to say, there was little else that Jae-Ha had than simply treating the symptoms that he could and ignoring the rest–and that alone was hell. 

Though he could treat the tension, the body aches and even the uncomfortable churning of his stomach, there was absolutely nothing to ease the heat burning him to the core. It clung to him like a heatwave–it felt worse than even the days he had spent out at sea with Gi-Gan and her crew, when the days were smoldering and sweat dripped down his skin. Even then he could seek comfort in the shade of the mast or even slip below deck if there was little to do.

But now?

Jae-Ha thinks that he’s dying. He might not actually be dying, but who is to argue semantics when it feels as though fire itself licks hungrily at his skin with every moment of existence? When hot blades of steel sink through his mind with every inhale of air?

So truly, he’s as close to death as can be without literally taking his final breath.

---

“I swear, Jae-Ha, I have no idea what’s causing this.”

Yoon sighs, rolling up the cloth mat of tools and herbs in a relinquishing of effort. He’s tried everything twice over in stubborn attempts to help bring the man any relief from his symptoms, but absolutely nothing seems to work. No tea, no supplement, no medicine of any type that does more than curtail what always comes back in a matter of hours.

“As far as I know you’re healthy, just…”

He trails off into silence. Jae-Ha sighs after a few moments and pinches his fingers over the bridge of his nose; at least he’s gotten better at hiding the little nuances of discomfort that plague his body. A few days ago had him seething at the end of his mental restraint, but now he’s able to take most waves of searing heat in stride even as it all but rolls through his body like scorching lava. 

“Don’t worry about it then,” he says at last, moving to his feet so sharply that he doesn’t miss the way Yuun flinches back from him. “Better to let it run its course than to keep using up what few medicinal resources we have right now.”

���But aren’t you in pain?”

Jae-Ha considers himself for a moment. Each breath is even, as easy to take in as any other, but yet each inhale feels like he’s pulling smoke into his lungs, the scent branding his thoughts so deeply that he can’t think about anything other than the sensations that plague his body. But where is it coming from?

“No,” he finally lies, brushing off both concern and a lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes.

It takes every ounce of his willpower to push down the ache that wrenches deep in his stomach, but the dragon warrior manages to hold a steady gaze as he turns back to Yuun. He offers the young man a simple wave in greatful farewell mere moments before his legs send him up into the sky above.

By the time Yuun can think to say anything, Jae-Ha is already too high up to hear him.

---

When something starts to seem off about Jae-Ha, you feel it more than you see it. The green dragon warrior was normally so casual and freespoken, but over the last few days you notice more and more that he’s distanced himself considerably from not only his fellow warriors, but also from Hak, Yuun, and even yourself. 

While the others didn’t seem to notice the subtle differences, you could feel it like a knife slicing across your consciousness. Something was different . Something was wrong . Instinct started as a little whisper in the back of your thoughts, but has grown into a dull roar, calling you to action to find out what was troubling your green dragon warrior so deeply. Could he be feeling burdened by joining you and the others, leaving behind all of those people in Awa that had been like family to him? 

Could he...even be feeling….hateful towards you?

No. Absolutely not. You had given great care to give each and every one of the warriors a choice. While each of them were compelled to follow you as heir to the Kouka kingdom, you did not want that to usurp their freedom as individuals.

But perhaps Jae-Ha did not feel the same, and his continued distance only furthered the worry gnawing at your mind until you simply couldn’t take it anymore--you had to talk to him. If he was truly feeling homesick and under the duress of his dragon blood forcing him alongside you, then you would do anything in your power to alleviate his woes and allow him safe return to the Water Clan’s territory.

With a mind made up and too stubborn for second thoughts, you decide to talk to the green dragon warrior the next chance that you get. 

---

The treeline seems to always be within reach for the green dragon warrior, an easy avenue of escape when things get to be too much for him to bear. 

Too much noise. Too many smells. Too many people.

Though he likes a bit of solid ground beneath his feet in some form, Jae-Ha always seems to find a suitable tree branch to sit himself upon with ease, high enough that he can’t be noticed from the ground, and out of the leaves enough so that he can stare up into the starlit night sky.

The stars, they looked especially beautiful above him. He might even describe them as peaceful, in any other circumstance. A sea of glittering dots within a sea of ever-expansive darkness, not quite unlike the lanterns of ships bedding down for the night as the last echoes of sunlight fade away on the horizon.

With the young Yuun’s words still bouncing around inside of his skull, Jae-Ha reserved himself to the unfamiliar waves of fire ravaging his body and soul alike. He certainly didn’t feel healthy, despite the boy’s assurance of the contrary. He knew no poison, drug or food that could cause such symptoms--if nothing else, they reminded him greatly of what one Awa pirate had described Nadai withdrawal to feel like.

Withdrawal.

Jae-Ha’s entire body shivered at the thought of the word. It’s implications meant more than he wanted to think about. Wanted to admit, even if it was to himself. After all, there was perhaps one important change in his life that could be the cause for the burning in his veins.

A certain person whose presence he can’t seem to get out of his thoughts no matter how hard he tries. A person who, whether he realized it or not, he had been avoiding since the waves of hot agony began.

You.

The person who had become his master, who had earned his trust and admiration, who had made his blood boil with the utmost sense of passion and loyalty and adoration-

And just like that, another wave overtakes the man without warning, always starting like a wildfire from the very center of his chest before wrapping itself around his limbs and mind. Hot. Smoldering. It’s every bit as agonizing as what he thinks withdrawal to be and every bit as yielding in how it can reach into the depth of his soul and rip out the most stupid things.

The way his heartbeat skips when he sees you smile. The way his lips tremble when he wonders what yours might feel like against his, pressing deep and passionate beneath the tender light of a full moon.

The fire continues to sink into Jae-Ha’s bones as he entertains the rampaging fantasy.

A night like this would really be a good one for that, wouldn’t it? A smile breaks across the man’s face as he, smothered in a cold sweat and his heart racing so fast that it hurts, stares up at the moon shining bright above his head. Mocking him? Enticing him? Jae-Ha can’t say for certain which, but there’s a certain masochism to the notion that every little perverse thought of you, that special person, seems only to kindle the fire ever hotter.

Would you want the green dragon to take you gently? Roughly? Would you tempt him openly with fluttering lashes and gentle words, or would you take your pleasure from him while he plays the ever-loyal servant? The thought of being made to serve anyone makes his stomach churn and his jaw clench, but you?

You’re the exception. To a lot of things.

Jae-Ha thinks about how he first met you in Awa. Though you were with so little experience outside of being the heir to the Kouka kingdom, you showcased an immeasurable amount of courage above and beyond what he would have ever expected to find in his would-be master. Years of tall tales and assumptions had built up a very distasteful and sturdy portrait for what the crimson dragon king would be like in his return--powerful and unyielding, forcing his will on the four dragon warriors without so much as a care for their use beyond tools for war and bloodshed.

And with one single glance of his eyes into yours, one touch of your gentle hand upon his fevered forehead after his dragon blood’s enticement, that very portrait shattered into a million imperceivable pieces.

He would follow no other person with as much loyalty as he would for you. He would fight for nobody else, protect nobody else, long for nobody else-

The breeze picks up, pulling Jae-Ha out of his thoughts and leading him to the sudden realization that he was...no longer in pain. While the heat still laced through every vein of his body, the warrior couldn't find anything more than a dull ache echoing from his chest and legs. It even seemed to grow smaller by the second, fading away until only the heat itself remained fervent, his blood still boiling with emotions that he only then became aware were buried by it the entire time--denied, rejected, ignored.

Lust swept over him, twisting around the fiery heat in a tightly-braided cord which bound his limbs frozen and kept him still where he sat, as if unable to even breathe for a few terrifying heartbeats. Before Jae-Ha could stop it, the duo of sensations welled within his belly, coming to blossom with one aching, terrifying gasp of air. 

Realization was all too quick to follow, now that he could recognize the emotions swirling around his soul. This heat, this agonizing torture that filled his veins in a way he could scarcely describe--was it a yearning to be with the new crimson ruler?

And not just to be with you, but to have you in ways that only instincts could understand, buried somewhere deep in Jae-Ha’s mind. Instincts to protect, to mark, to breed .

Instincts of a dragon. Unmistakable.

And that is when Jae-Ha, in his moment of carnal paralysis, finally realized that he could hear your voice calling to him from far below the branches. Your sweet voice, soft and worried and edging on fearful, calling his name in such a beautiful, breathtaking way that could make the very moon above bristle with jealousy.

Calling for him.

Calling for the green dragon.

Jae-Ha, Jae-Ha, Jae-Ha.

It was an impossible cry for the man to ignore.

[chrysalispen]

lycoris (minor divergence AU, 5.0 spoilers)

in response to the prompt “what if Hythlodaeus had accepted the title of emet-selch, and the WoL instead met Hades?”

I wrote this in three days (mostly while heavily drugged LMAO) so it’s not.... my best work ever but I like it for what it is. Fic is beneath the cut.

=======================

Nestled within a seemingly fathomless expanse amidst the fringes of the western seas, the Tempest is not exactly what one would call a comforting locale. Its depths are rife with sailor's tales: stories of sirens and storms and ships called to their deaths, even in the days before the Flood brought deadlier creatures to Kholusia's shores.

For a creature like Emet-Selch, a man relegated to furthering his god's work within the myriad hidden places of the Source and its reflections for long years, it will do.

Of course, his choice of abode upon the First is not wholly based upon sentimentality. Sometimes he fancies he has all but forgotten what it is like for the touch of light not to sting his skin; he can bear it when he must but sees little point in deliberately exposing himself to discomfort.

Amber eyes track the rippling ribbons of refracted light that shimmer several fulms overhead, fingers of stark white softened into a glow by the water like knives dulled from use. It is just enough that the seafloor wherein he has rebuilt his most abiding memory does not lie completely shrouded in the darkness of the trench. By its dim illumination does Emet-Selch study the skyline he has built with the critical lens of a master sculptor, seeking any perceived flaws and carefully setting any misgivings aside. For better or worse, the die is cast and his choices made. This final act of creation: completed.

It wants now only for a single soul to darken its doorsteps.

~*~

She is glad to have parted ways with the others briefly, even for investigation's sake.

Although not inclined to lie by nature, she is nonetheless quite aware that her condition has deteriorated farther than any of the other Scions are like to have realized. The corona of light that had flickered at the periphery of her vision has all but overtaken her sight. Blinding white and gold accompanies the pain in her stiffening limbs which has been a constant companion since awakening in the Crystarium.

She pushes herself to a sitting position, then with a supreme act of will regains her feet. Her stance wobbles- perilously close to overcorrecting- but with time and care she is able to keep her balance, and in short order, the Warrior of Darkness finds herself once more stumbling down the vast and near-empty paved streets of an alien city: a city populated only with a single man’s memories of the dead. It is a lonely, lonely path. But that loneliness carries, in itself, a sort of bleak comfort.

Wandering up and down the paved streets of Amaurot’s neat, gridlike layout- or at least the bits that fit into the ocean trench with such suspicious seamlessness- she does not realize her feet have carried her off the beaten path until a bone-deep fatigue gives her cause to grip the cool metal of a fancifully wrought archway for support.

There is, to her surprise, still beauty to be found in this place upon further inspection. The public park she has stumbled upon is a welcome sight and a well-appointed affair at that. Mazes of green painstakingly curated and compelled into obeisance, framing the abstraction of metal sculpture. Flowers of every conceivable color, tall and comfortable-looking trees planted for shade as well as aesthetic.

For the first time since they had rounded the continental shelf and glimpsed the tall spires rising like bony fingers from the darkest depths of the ocean trench, the Warrior feels calm. Something about this place imparts a certain measure of serenity. There is a particular sort of love that has gone into its recreation, a love that is very nearly tangible.

And, somehow, also very familiar.

Fingers trailing through hawthorn and salvia- and a good dozen varieties of flowers her eyes have never seen, on the Source or elsewhere- she meanders in an aimless amble, plagued not only by the Light leaking into her vision but also the feeling that she is searching for something indefinable.

The massive tree in the center of the park brings her to a halt.

There is no other of its kind to be seen anywhere nearby. It stands aloof from the other greenery, silent and ancient and proud--its boughs bent, upon closer inspection, with the weight of many years--much like a certain Ascian of her acquaintance. The Warrior of Darkness finds herself drawn to it in a way that defies understanding.

Gently she reaches for the tree and places one palm upon its enormous trunk. Caresses the roughness of its bark with her fingertips--

-----Mortal agony warps its way through her bones and the sound of fracturing glass rings in her ears as the Light surges.

Biting back a cry of agony she convulses around it, crumpling to the ground, head in her twitching hands as the pain becomes her world. Amaurot fades, distant and unimportant, into her periphery, and upon her tongue, she tastes copper and ozone.

No no no no, not here, not now, not like this--

*I beg your pardon? That’s my tree.*

The resonant chime of the ancients’ tongue, edged with just the slightest hint of annoyance, pierces the cacophony of ravenous hunger and the spasms of her limbs so thoroughly that she… is distracted.

The pain fades and her vision, nearly white, is almost clear.

The figure is as indistinct as all the others -- tall, translucent, almost intimidating -- but something about this one is different. The other shades she has encountered acknowledged her only in the broadest of senses, treating her more as an interruption to the tasks they were set, rather like watching worker mammets forced to move aside an obstacle.

No, this shade seems more present than the others somehow. She can feel something more substantial behind the black holes of the mask peering down at her- something, that is, beyond initial surprise and a sort of mild, rather tolerant annoyance.

“It’s a very large tree,” she manages a weak smile and pats a bottom-sized dip in the root system at her side. “I think there should be plenty of room for both of us.”

The shade tilts its chin to one side, almost like a bird. She fancies she can feel the weight of a stare upon her, silently judging her appearance alongside her words-- but at length, it sits, albeit with abrupt movements that lack the artless grace she had observed among the other figures.

For a long time, they do not speak but simply accept each other’s company with varying degrees of amiability. The Warrior looks out upon the streets beyond the hedges and watches the blurred outlines of the city's shades going about what she can only assume would have once been their daily business, although a keen eye would note that there is not much change in their behavior over time. They are in a perpetual loop of the same discussions, the same paths, the same tasks, over and over.

At length, she hears the soft chiming once more, the words unfolding within her mind in the same instant. Terribly polite of Emet-Selch, she thinks with a hysterical sort of good humor, to at least provide a means of translating his people’s speech.

*So, you've come from out of time - apropos, all things considered. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,* the shade muses. *...Not in this form, at least.*

The statement is as confusing as it is disarming.

“This… form?” she echoes, but her only answer is another question.

*You’ve come to see Emet-Selch, I take it?*

She tenses. That is all the answer that seems to be necessary.

*Ah.* With a noise that seems to translate as a laboring sigh, the shade’s cowled head comes to rest against the tree trunk. *Your timing is unfortunate. The city is deep in preparations to face the Doom. You’ll be lucky to see him before all is said and done.*

“So I’ve heard.” There is no change in what she can see of the giant’s expression, but she can sense that it was the expected response. “...If I may ask, how did you know I was here to see Emet-Selch?”

*Oh, come now, you needn’t worry about me,* the shade shrugs. *I’m not really here, you know. Well, I’m here but I’m not -present,- as it were. Nor are any of these others.*

“Are you... I mean, you’re not a spirit, are you?”

*Am I to assume you mean a wandering soul? Certainly not. We’re all just memories; naught of real substance, I’m afraid.* An amused titter as the shade stretches, catlike, before rolling its head towards her. *This is an Amaurot upon which the Doom has yet to descend- if it ever does.*

She leans forward and wraps her arms about her knees, hugging them to her chest. The only person - so to speak - in the entire city that actually seems capable of a real conversation and she has no real idea what to ask.

Might as well start with the pleasantries. “What’s your name?”

The black sockets of the mask seem to bore through her flesh and straight into her soul, and although it should make no difference she feels strangely exposed. *...Asking the important questions at last, are we? You can call me Hades. Don’t bother asking any of these others; they’d not be able to give an answer at all.*

“None of the others can really talk about anything beyond superficial matters,” she agreed. “Though I’m curious as to what makes you different. You certainly look the same as they do.”

*Knowing Emet-Selch, he likely had me on the mind while he was creating this overwrought simulacrum of his.* One large hand lifts in a lazy, flippant, and startlingly familiar wave before tucking itself behind Hades’ head. *He always was tediously sentimental. Although I suppose I should be flattered.*

“I’m not sure I follow.”

*Doubtless he thought I would see through the illusion--my sight pales in comparison to his, mind you. But he would know that. We were good friends once, he and I.* A familiar, rueful half-smile tilts the shade's lips. *Although I am no less ephemeral than anything else he’s summoned from his memory. I assume he told you what happened?*

“After a fashion, yes.” She plucks at a blade of grass. “He spoke of a calamity, and how the brightest of his number - yours, that is - came together to summon Zodiark.”

*Not the most accurate summary, in truth, but I suppose it will suffice,* Hades sniffs.

The Warrior listens, with all of the patience for which she is so famous upon the Source, as he speaks. The burning pain of the Light is almost nonexistent in this odd man's presence, and that alone is sweet comfort.

Emet-Selch must have thought highly of this Hades. He is wholly unlike the kind and gentle giants seeming content to drift through empty streets, unaware of the fate that awaits them; he recounts the Ascian’s lecture with an air that could be generously termed sardonic: brusque and laden with quipped observations about how ‘tiresome’ the other man could be, yet in a way that makes obvious their long years of acquaintance. Affection lies just beneath his exasperation, and she finds herself warming to Hades quickly, sour as he seems.

He is blunt-tongued and eccentric, but still kind in his way. She cannot help but like him.

*Needless to say, there were those who didn’t take kindly to the suggestion that we ought to continue sacrificing souls to Zodiark’s appetites, and felt that we ought to make our peace with the new lives we’d created. They summoned Hydaelyn to counter Him. So for the first time in anyone’s memory, we were divided on our course of action---*

“And you fought,” she says, sadly. Sorrow burns in her breast for this man and his fellows, a gentle people who had never known strife if Emet-Selch were to be believed. “He told me.”

*Then you know how it ends.* Hades’ smile fades, and though she half-expects another testy remark, there is none forthcoming. The shade's head shakes slowly, side to side. *So he continues to labor in Zodiark’s name, then.*

“Not for any lack of attempts to thwart him, I assure you.”

*Don't apologize. I should hardly expect otherwise. He’s an obstinate ass,* Hades says flatly, *and that’s only one of his many flaws. Though I imagine it serves him well in this regard-- if none other.*

Despite herself, she laughs.

“I would say it doesn’t even begin to describe him. You can’t imagine-- well, no, I guess you can if you knew him well. Although…”

*Although...?*

She stares at her hands, only able to see a blinding white outline, and does not answer. She does not trust herself to answer.

Sometimes I see a glimpse of a kinder, gentler man, beneath it all. And now- now I find myself mourning the loss of a person I never knew.

If he senses her hesitation, he gives no outward indication of it.

*I’m sure he still intends to carry out his plan.* His eyes might be hidden in the depths of that mask, but she doesn’t need to see them. There is a certain degree of sorrow in his words, blunt as they are. *Mind you, he can commit all manner of cruelties when it suits him to do so now, but he was very different once. Friendly. Compassionate. Very willing to admit his mistakes and seek counsel where warranted. He would take the burdens of other souls upon his own shoulders without a second thought if he felt his aid necessary. Occasionally I found him infuriating, but always he had the purest of intentions.* Each word falls upon her ears with a heavier weight. Hades sighs. *This is a terrible burden he has chosen for himself, make no mistake- and it is all the worse for knowing his temperament is so ill-suited to carry it.*

The quality of the filtered light through the water has changed - the color, the angle, albeit only slightly. It is one of the few ways anyone has in Norvrandt of tracking the time. Evening has fallen.

As if realizing it himself, Hades seems to stir from a sort of reverie, as though their chat is a dream and she is the shade.

*It’s starting to get very late, you know,* he says, rather briskly. *Shouldn’t you be off to get your permit? I’m certain he’s waiting on you.*

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

Slowly and carefully the Warrior stands, bracing her weight against the tree. It is a nigh-herculean effort to regain her footing; she is desperate to lie down somewhere and try to sleep, but sleep despite her exhausted state has brought neither rest nor peace. The Light lurks just beneath her mortal shell, a predator waiting for its prey to falter.

Time is shorter than she had hoped it would be.

Still, she smiles.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Hades.”

That impatient flip of a wave again, and now she is quite certain she has seen Emet-Selch make that precise gesture a time or two. *If answering your questions assures me a peaceful nap, count me happy to oblige.*

She has almost made it on her slow, staggering feet to the hedgerow when Hades’ voice chimes once more at her back.

*Before you go---there is one more thing. One… minor thing.*

The sadness underscoring his words gives her pause. She turns around.

Hades is not lazing beneath the tree with his back propped against its trunk as she had left him. He too is standing. The giant's gait lists to one side beneath the heavy boughs, and he seems to be looking at something beyond her.

*Who... is that standing next to you?*

She blinks. A glance backwards and to her left shows Ardbert, watching but still keeping a discreet and carefully polite distance, waiting for her to finish her rest and catch up with him. “I... that’s...”

*...Never mind. I suppose it hardly matters, does it? ‘Tis a soul, if a faint impression of one--and the same shade as your own.* That birdlike tilt of the chin. *The color of it… I would know it anywhere. And so, I imagine, would he.*

Her gaze sharpens. The note of longing in the shade’s voice is unmistakable.

*Well, don’t let me keep you.*

His arms fold into the sleeves of his robe, and there is something soft there in the slackened bow of his lips, something that makes her breath catch. They curve upwards, in the faintest and most self-deprecating of smiles. It is the expression of a man that has any number of things to say, and no time to say them.

In the end, he says nothing, and the moment passes. She turns away.

She is met with Ardbert’s stare of open confusion upon reaching the elaborate masonry of the park walkway. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, I--”

There is nothing and no one under the tree. It stands a lone sentinel in the center of its clearing just as before, quiet and undisturbed.

The Warrior of Darkness exhales.

“Just an old friend,” she says.

[troutpopulation]

Do you have any ideas for your save file au? (I love your writing by the way)

OH SO MANY OH SO MUCH(in reference to this AU I goofed about)

You had woken up in the desert with no memory of how you got there. At first you panicked, looking around, distraught and wondering so frantically why the Lost Light would abandon you wherever you were. Your brain then caught up with itself, lagging behind from zipping through time and space and consciousness. You’d opened a new file and were exploring a new universe.

Your hike through the desert led you to a mountain, where you leaned against it for shade. As if by some miracle, the side of it opened up as loud cars approached from the distance. You ducked down as they drove inside and before the passage could close, you dove inside. What compelled you to do that? Who knows, but it sent you bumping right into the leg of a white and red cybertronian, with several others and a few humans staring right at you.

“Ratchet?” 

The mech spuutered.“How did you know m-” He looked at the others in disbelief. “Who are you!?”“Right. You don’t me. I-” You looked at him. “Sorry, you just... look so different. I’m (y/n). You don’t know me but... in another universe we’re friends.”

It was as good as an introduction as you were going for this time around. Next time around, you might see what happens when you don’t let anyone in on your status as a universal constant. 

You ended up telling them about each of themselves in the alternate reality. They all sat around you as you drew their alternative selves and talked about their lives.

“Bumblebee. Well, right now you’re dead. But like, not really dead. Starscream can still see you, but everyone thinks he’s just lost his mind. You two are friends, relax relax. He was also temporarily the ruler of Cybertron and didn’t actually do the worst job. No yeah, he’s probably exactly like the Starscream you’re thinking of. Starscreams tend to come in only a few flavors. But anyways, you got Megatron to bite the bullet and end the war. You still might in this life. No I won’t elaborate.”

“Bulkhead, I don’t actually know too much about you in that universe, I’ll be honest. You’re a lot younger and a wrecker. You’re actually teammates with someone Bumblebee will meet much later in this life. In  another world though, you were an artist, a kind soul, very friendly. I think you’re kind of the ‘main’ Bulkhead, though. Yeha, multiverses are confusing, I know.”

As you get to Arcee it becomes less of just repeating what you’d heard to something more personal. You’d actually known the Arcee from your universe.

“Arcee... You’re old. You’re really old, like you were a gladiator when The 13 were alive. You used to go by a male identity much like your twin brother, Galvatron, but transitioned with what you thought would be the help of a scientist named Jhiaxus. He took advantage of you being in his care to do some awful things. You spent a long, long time a war machine, hellbent on razing your way through cities and mechs just to kill Jhiaxus. You eventually find a team, friends, and a lover named Aileron. You teach history at a school for young cybertronians and humans on earth.”

Arcee, though she was having a hell of a time processing it, stopped you.“Is-” She asked gravely. “What heppens to Cliffjumper? Or... Or Tailgate?”You smiled knowingly.“Cliffjumper he... Well, for him in particular I don’t know. You don’t really know him either, and you certainly don’t know Tailgate but. He’s happy. He’s been though a lot, but he’s alive and he’s happy. Him and his conjunx, Cyclonus.”

When you got to Ratchet, you gave yourself a moment.

“You were a doctor in the Dead End of Polyhex. When the war started, you quickly became the chief medical officer, and a legendary medic. You had a... thing, with a colleague, and he’d go on to obsess over you for millions of years. You were one of the first autobots on earth, and one of the first to befriend humans. After the war, you joined a ship, and when your body began to fail, you met someone named Drift. Only, it hadn’t been the first time you’d met. He was an ex-con who’s life you’d saved before the war. You two ended up spending a long life together. On that ship together with your friends you survived the decepticon justice division, time travel, your serial killer ex boyfriend, alternate timelines, fake afterlives, exile, a coup, a massacre, er- two, and you even became a close friend and colleague to Primus himself.”

There was a twinkle in your eye and you smiled to his shocked face. 

“You survived this AND being married to Drift.”

[youregoingtoeathimwithmyface]

hope this isnt weird to ask, but caesar??

not weird at all!!

favorite thing about them: i think his backstory is honestly very compelling. the concept of him growing up feeling so detached and resentful of his father and taking all of that hurt out on the rest of the world living as a thieving street punk only to do a complete 180 later in life and pick up the mantle of his father and grandfather is a really interesting one, there’s a lot to unpack there and i really wish we could have dug into that more in jojo canon.....also i love his birthmarks! cute little crescent moons! adorable!

least favorite thing about them: riding off of what i just said, i feel like in the canon of battle tendency he ended up as kind of a one note character to be used as a plot device ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ that’s not a personal failing of his though. if i had to choose one of THOSE i would say that my least favorite thing about him is his hypocrisy. he lashes out at joseph for not having the same unquestioning respect for his dead relative’s quest even though up until recently he had felt the same confusion and disconnection from his ancestors as jojo and i think that’s some bullshit u__u

favorite line: fuck me lol i cant think of a single caesar quote right now sorry

brOTP: caesar + suzie q teaming up to dunk on joseph is extremely important 2 me

OTP: joseph obviously u___u they’re my favorite “clumsy young love cut down in it’s prime before it could fully realize itself” ship to make myself sad over

nOTP: super hate when i see fanart of him getting saucy with lisa lisa. makes me want to spray people with water as if they r bad cats scratching up my couch. two thumbs down. lisa lisa can and Will do better.

random headcannon: everyone thinks he can really fucking cook for some reason? i guess because he’s italian? anyways i DON’T think he can actually cook all that well but he is DEFINITELY snobby about food and gives unwarranted cooking advice even though he doesnt know jack shit. ALSO the marks on his face are only stylized as purple in reality theyre only a few shades darker than his skin like normal birthmarks cuz i cant accept him just having big purple moons on his face lol.

unpopular opinion: lots of people portray his and joseph’s dynamic as him being just downright cruel to joseph most of the time and that really rubs me the wrong way LOL like they butted heads pretty hard when they first met but it’s....canon that he warms up to him quickly especially once they start training together? he cares for him >:( and not just in a rude tsundere way >:(((

song i associate with them: berlin without return - voxtrot djdjdjdjf less of a caesar specific one and more of a caejose but it makes me cry big time

favorite picture of them:

gayboy takes a seat