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greatwyrmgold · 2 years ago

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Yeah. My Hero Academia has a lot of potential as a setting, a lot of its characters have potential, both on the hero side and especially on the villain side, and yet...in the end, so little of the potential is realized, because the series keeps going for the standard answer.

The villains, with a couple of exceptions (Gentle Criminal), aren't allowed to stay sympathetic. Spinner is the big example here. Heteromorphs face discrimination, and that's why he became a villain...but we don't see any evidence of this discrimination anywhere except Spinner saying it exists, and he doesn't do anything about it except beat up good guys and innocents on the orders of an obvious monster. He comes off as more of a monster than a Magneto.

The heroes aren't allowed to stay unheroic if they're given any significant screentime. Poster boy here is Endeavor. He's an abusive dad, he realizes he was wrong, saves Natsuo from a supervillain, and...that's about it. Endeavor's redeemed now, apparently. He barely interacts with his family after that arc, and Natsuo's the only one who didn't accept him with open arms even though he's done basically nothing to try and fix the damage he did or indicate that he's truly changed. Oh, except Dabi, who is the bad guy because he's trying to destroy Endeavor's reputation...? Oh, and he's randomly killing people, that too. Good thing he's kicking the dog so we know he's wrong.

Worst of all, the heroic institutions aren't allowed to be wrong, even though they obviously are. Early on, the series made a point that institutional heroism was rotten in this world; it empowers glory hounds like Endeavor and Mount Lady, while marginalizing people without straightforwardly heroic Quirks (Shinso, Toga, Gentle, and of course quirkless Izuku). The problems are starting to become clear to people; that's why the Hero-Killer became such an icon. And the only thing holding it together is All-Might; once his strength and altruism leave the hero community, nobody is both willing and able to take his place. This isn't a game theory; it's in the text, straightforward, clearly intended.

And yet, the main characters want nothing more than to prop up the failing system. They don't have any suggestions for how to reform or replace it. The characters who want to change or destroy this rotten, corrupt system are portrayed as villains, or at best as misguided civilians who still need the heroes to rescue them. I started noticing this defensive streak rising in the writing back in 2020, when the BLM protests were going on, which made the civilians criticizing heroes like Endeavor hit a particular note in me. That's part of what made me start to turn on MHA.

But also...by that point, it was clear the story was wrapping up. School's out, the villains are up, it's basically just building anticipation and laying groundwork for the final climax. And there was a lot of stuff that felt set-up that wasn't, and seemed unlikely to, ever pay off. Maybe Ochaco would get a proper chance to shine, maybe some of the League would have their legitimate points recognized and acted on...more likely Ochaco and Toga would have one last designated girl-fight, wholesome junior waifu against depraved bisexual weirdo (who was forced to mask her 'true self' because her parents didn't want people to think she was weird, which is muddied by the fact that her true self needs to drink people's blood, but that's because Horikoshi wrote her that way).

I want to say something about how the series's female characters in general are treated—how they're given more dignity and than many of MHA's peers, but still less than their male counterparts, rarely getting more than one awesome moment and often not even getting that—but I can't think of anything vaguely original to say, and I should stop rambling and try to tie this together somehow.

Any one of the boring, standard choices would be fine on its own. Izuku getting powers, letting him escape his Quirkless status before the story really starts? That's the inciting incident, whatever. Endeavor gets accepted by his family despite not having nearly enough of an arc to feel like he's been reformed? He's just a side character, this lets Todoroki have a happy ending. A couple villains are written to have valid criticisms of the world, which end up getting ignored? Yeah, there are a lot of characters, some are gonna be duds. The structural problems in this world's foundation go largely unaddressed? This is a story about superheroes, not social workers.

But all of them in totality...they start forming a pattern. A series that wants to make a big deal about critiquing its genre and tropes, but which doesn't follow through on any of these critiques. In the end, everything can be solved within the constraints of typical shonen battle manga tropes. Friendship, hard work, and punching the bad man in the face are all it takes to save the day.

I want to hear ur full thoughts about bnha 😭 I was just thinking last night about how much I hate when ppl compare bakugou to sasuke

Can't give full thoughts because hate stems mostly from one mentally deranged individual basing their worth off this insipid series I haven't watched/read in years but the valid elements of my hate stem from bnha's baffling and consistent inability to serve narratively satisfying conclusions, which balances with its equally consistent ability to introduce unique or compelling worldbuilding only to do fuck all with it. Bakugou's treatment as The Sasuke when that is very obviously not who he is ties into that.

It tells you of this world altering event that would have disrupted society on every level but doesn't elaborate. It takes what could easily have been a figurative dream - to be the #1 hero - but gestures at this being a literal, concrete accomplishment that has more to do with marketing than anything else. You might think this would be interesting but since it never elaborates you're left confused over what metrics and qualifications could possibly allow Endeavor as the #2 hero, especially when the executive suits agree he's not #1 material. It introduces quirks that might inspire the thought "maybe I'm overthinking this, but wouldn't this initiate Racism 2.0? Forever? Not as a side note of history?" Later they have a kkk for quirkists drop for ONE PAGE and never mention them again.

Bakugou is recurring star re: setting up character traits and story building only to do absolutely nothing with it. Over and over again.

Child bakugou is shown to keep deku around to bully and fuck with him. The only person who thinks they're friends is deku. There's a compelling dynamic you could pull from that but the actual narrative acts like they're normal rivals. As if the story itself is ignoring their dialogue

Teen bakugou is teen bakugou. There is a very good reason BPDBakugou urls were a thing. Unfortunately the narrative treats this like normal hotheaded shounen behavior.

Teen bakugou genuinely believes that the path to being the #1 hero is a measure of who is physically strongest and no one in this fucking school of heroes corrects him. Nobody says actually a hero is someone who saves innocent lives. He almost murders another kid in front of thousands of spectators for not knowing her place. If this was a commentary on the fascistic nature of a superhero universe...gosh that would be interesting, wouldn't it? If only.

Going back to frustrating conclusions, after bakago gets kidnapped, the media does call the school out for apparently not doing a damn thing after the attempted murder event. All Might has to bow on tv in apology. Humiliating for him sure but like a) WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING and b) you might think this would affect how the school approaches teaching from now on. lol.

My memories of the anime and manga have faded into each other and i don't care enough ensure accuracy. Season 1 ends with a strong, emotional scene where backup acknowledges deku as a potential threat. You know these words are difficult, excruciating for him to say out loud. It's cathartic, it sows the seeds of character growth, it shows emotional depth in him beyond anger. For maybe the first time, rivalry feels organic, grounded in how these characters have engaged with each other. I watched this scene and asked how could anyone hate Baku? He wouldn't have this scene if they planned to keep him emotionally stunted with no payoff.

Lol. Kek, even.

When bakugou gets kidnapped by villains who are trying to convince him to join them and this is right after the tournament in which he tried to murder a weaker person for refusing to give up, there's like two options for this kind of shounen: either the professional adult villains successfully persuade a 15yo libertarian with a god complex that evil is more conducive to his dream of being the strongest OR somehow, whether it's the power of friendship or he figures it out himself, bakugou realizes his entire framework for heroics must be flawed if villains assumed he was a perfect target. That's it. Those are your options.

...but not when you're bnha, king of pointless subversions! Instead the villains are, just, bizarrely, ludicrously incompetent, denying bakugou any shot at agency for his "choice." They don't even try to persuade him so much as they kidnap him and ask him if maybe he'd like to join them?! Idk if you knew this but while most people don't enjoy being kidnapped, bakugou has a specific trauma that makes him extra hostile to those who make him feel helpless and like, idk, if I were stalking a kid for several months, I think I would pick up on that and incorporate it into the game plan? The point is that because they had no fucking plan beyond this, there's no plot tension, no gravity, no meaning to his rejection. If I ask you to do my homework and you say no so I piss on your face, are you changing your mind (don't answer)???? He rejects them not out of disgust for their goals, not fearful recognition of himself, not even because he's dead set on becoming the strongest HERO period. He doesn't become evil because they pissed on him first.

Inevitably the story shifts into bakugou redemption mode but since he never willfully makes the right choice, it's like, you know what it's like? Almost every enemies-to-lovers I've tried to read. Full offense to those who like it, you guys give 5 stars to stories that give the most irritating, hateable love interest with zero reason for anyone to deal with them and then at some point you'll just "okay, that's enough, now they love each other :)" Why? Nothing changed? It went from one-sided harassment to one-sided harassment (they kiss occasionally now). Minus the romance, that's what they do with bakugou like i guess we just accept he's a for real hero who still believes weaker people deserve death. Okay.

Don't even get me started on todoroki

#my hero academia #anime #manga #criticism #meta

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nobody-wants-ice-cream · 5 years ago

Text

Everything Wrong With The Umbrella Academy. Episode 7, The Day That Was.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

Run Boy Run

Extra Ordinary

Man on the Moon

Number Five

The Day That Wasn’t

Disclaimer: This is all in good fun! I wanted to do a really nitpicky re-watch of the series and found some really cool and interesting things I didn’t notice before. This is meant to have a Cinema Sins-esque tone. However, I did take off a lot more sins than Cinema Sins would have because I do genuinely like the series and the people that made it possible. So all of the good things got one sin off and all the bad things got one sin added. This is a really long post, so grab some popcorn. If there’s anything that I missed, feel free to add it!

I would also like to add that normally you wouldn’t watch a show this way. I am purposefully looking for mistakes, easter eggs, and other things that we’re not supposed to notice. I am watching not with the goal of entertainment, but for analysis. So most of the things that I sin, I am seeing for the first time.

Also, no I can’t do better. I am in no way qualified to give this level of criticism about anything.

[Look out for the fic challenge at the end! I’m tagging @tehmoonofficial @seven-misfits @princenewton @tua-koffee and anyone else who wants to try it. Tag other people if you would like!]

The Day That Was

The use of “One is the Loneliest Number” by Three Dog Night implies that this is Luther’s birth. I know that that isn’t what they’re trying to convey so this is a very weird song choice. It would be way too on the nose if it was Luther, but it would fit so well. In fact, before Pogo said that it was the culmination of a normal pregnancy, I thought it was Luther when I was first watchin it.Point is, scoring is important. +1

No one is attending to this mother which is why she dies. Seriously, if just one person in that room was with Harold’s mother then any problems would have been noticed far earlier. I know this show likes to kill off women to further the plot, but this one happens to be excessively stupid. +2

There’s a woman in scrubs who doesn’t appear to be sterile in the room. Even Harold’s father is sterile. For those who don’t know, I’m talking about a lack of germs. +1

Harold playing with the Umbrella Academy action figures is adorable and makes sense. However, why the hell would his abusive father buy these for him? Something doesn’t add up. Where did he get these from? Did he steal them? In that case, stealing is bad. Sin still stands. +1

Dr. Terminal better appear in season 2. -1

Ben’s action figure includes the horror. This makes sense, but then how did Ben pose for this? Did he just sort of stand like that and let the sculptor take liberties with what the horror looked like? How were these modeled and designed? +1

“Put those stupid dolls away and go get me a beer” obvious abusive father is obvious. +7

Also, abusive fathers. +7

I didn’t notice that Harold’s house is the same as Leonard’s house when I first watched it because of the change in angle and lighting. This is clever. -1

Has anyone taken a good look at the Klaus action figure? That thing looks ridiculous! +1

Harold stops to look at a comic now and not later when his Dad isn’t demanding a beer. Then again, I am questioning the logic skills of a thirteen-year-old. So this sin is once again for the abusive dick for for not letting Harold be a child. +1

Seriously, where did Harold get all this stuff? Merch is expensive. And so are suit jackets. And tape. And a whole bunch of his supplies. +1

Seance seems pretty popular. Good. I love Klaus. But there is no indication that he did anything during missions, so why do these people love him? Show me his charisma or something? Give young Klaus a scene that shows why the people love him. +1

Are these barriers only there after missions? And if this is normal enough that there are barriers, then why aren’t there more people hounding the academy when Five runs away for example? How famous are these kids? +1

Harold you poor child. He even packed a bag and everything. Reggie is not better than your abusive father. Sin for Harold’s father and for Reggie. +2

No one stops Harold from jumping over the barrier. Not even the other fans saying something like “dude don’t do that”. Nothing. Who is enforcing these barriers? +1

Luther walked out of the car first and now he’s behind Allison. Since when does Luther have Five’s power?+1

Allison looks really uncomfortable. How many grabby fans has this young girl had to deal with? +1

Eden Cupid plays this really well. -1

How many grabby fans has Eden Cupid had to deal with?? +1

Reggie orders Harold behind the barricades. So is it Reggie enforcing it? Or what? +1

If it’s the academy enforcing it through Reggies orders then why didn’t Diego, Klaus, or Ben stop Harold? Or does this not matter because Luther was in front of them? This is confusing. Where is everybody? +1

Reggie is a dick. “You have no power”. Is that really the best way to deal with the situation? A better man may have said something like “You may not have powers but that doesn’t mean you aren't special. Run along now.” But then again, this is the same dick that drugged his daughter because he couldn’t control her powers so yeah. Fuck you, Reggie. +3

In the wide shot, Harold’s suitcase disappeared and some policemen magically appeared out of thin air. +1

Why are all these people laughing at Harold? After what Reggie just said there should be outrage? What the hell, people? +1

Some of these people include grown ass adults. +1

Reggie manhandles Harold and no one questions this. +1

Second hand embarrassment and shame. I really feel for this kid. -1

Where are the little umbrella mounts that the action figures are supposed to be standing on in this establishing shot of Harold’s collection? We see them on the collection in the academy. Is this supposed to imply that Harold stole them? I am confused. +1

We can see a piece of paper that has the words Klaus and Harold written on it in different colored crayon. Set designers, you win this one. -1

Why are the action figures going by their names instead of their hero names? It’s been established based on the posters the people had behind the barricades that “The Seance” and “Spaceboy” exist. So why the real names? If it’s because Harold is desperate for friends then the sin also applies. +1

In a close shot we can see that Harold must have taken those platforms off and glued them to this construction paper based on a weird deformity on Five’s foot. Sin still stands because Harold ruined those. In fact, I’ll add another sin, because this doesn’t explain how he separated them. If it was an exacto knife then sin for letting a child handle that. +1

Harold makes collages of the academy kids faces. Cute and a good set design choice. -1

You can see the moment when Harold decides to kill his father. That is some great acting, Jesse Noah Gruman. -1

You know, for all we rag on Harold for killing his abusive father, there are a surprising amount of fics in which the Hargreeves siblings kill their abusive father. Either we’re cool with killing abusive fathers or we aren’t, fandom. +1

Speaking of, we often use “cool motive, still murder” to describe this scene. But no one has a problem with the amount of people Five killed. +1

Harold got twelve years in jail even though there were signs of abuse. He had a bruise on his face! Any lawyer should have been able to get Harold out of jail. Even a public defender can’t deny this evidence. Harold should have pled guilty and he would have gotten a lighter, if no sentence at all. [I am not a lawyer, do not take this as legal advice. This is based on various crime shows and some law youtube channels. Also, don’t kill people.] +1

Why was Harold following Klaus? Popular theories include wanting to kill him or use him the way he uses Vanya. I am sinning this because it remains unclear. +1

The Leonard/Harold reveal is beautifully executed. This is how you do a plot twist. -1

Reggie refers to Klaus by name and by 00.04 in his journal. Why the inconsistency? If you know his name, why not use it all the time, Reggie? +1

In 2001, the kids were twelve. Reggie locked Klaus in the mausoleum as young as 12 and probably younger if the credit for 8 year old Klaus is anything to go by. +4

Reggie’s notes say that Klaus is resistant to this. No fucking shit, a child is resistant to facing their greatest fears with no support. +4

Title screen is on the umbrella in Reggie’s journal. Classy. -1

Five tosses Allison’s coffee behind him when he’s done with it. This goes back to his Apocalypse days, but you would think that sort of thing was frowned upon in the Commission. Or was really obvious during any missions he had as an assassin. Why is he doing this? +1

At the end of episode 6, Five slurps the coffee but here there is no slurp after “Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?”. +1

Leonard hears Five saying that he [Harold] is responsible for the apocalypse. This does not alarm Leonard in any way and he continues stealing Hargreeves’s action figure. +1

Also, Harold Jenkins happens to be in the academy right now as they’re talking about trying to find him. Choke on that irony. +1

Repeat scene shows no indication that the information Harold just got changed his reactions in any way. You would think that he would show a little fear or something? +1

Five isn’t treating his injury despite the fact that it’s causing him obvious pain and he has access to Grace and an infirmary because plot? They could easily have this chat in the infirmary while Five is getting stitched up. Five has been shown treating his injuries and does seem to possess more than half a brain cell, so not taking care of the shrapnel wound is a weird deviation in his character. +3

Speaking of brain cells, thank goodness Allison has one because she is the one asking relevant questions here. -1

Klaus and Diego are still pissed at Five for getting drunk while Hazel and Cha Cha attacked the mansion. Good job with the consistency in character motivation, writers. -1

“Temps Commission.” Maybe season 2 will give us the Temps Aeternalis. +1

Aidan Gallagher’s delivery is okay, but not stellar. I think it’s the tone that’s off. I think I’m judging him too harshly. This is hard to deliver because it’s an exposition dump seven out of ten episodes in. So this sin goes to the writers for making these paragraphs- not lines, paragraphs- that deliver information the viewer already knows. At this point, cut the scene short or show Vanya and Leonard again so we can skip the second Commission lecture. +1

And the reactions that Diego, Allison, and Luther have are so varied because they have such different levels of understanding. Allison, who knows the least, asks “What do you mean, protect time and space?” This level of info dumping this late is dumb. +1

“I look like a thirteen year old boy.” No you don’t. Real thirteen year olds do not look like fifteen year old Aidan Gallagher. For example, look up what Gallagher looked like when he was actually thirteen. +1

“Klaus talks to the dead” oh so we’re just stating the obvious now. Who wrote this scene? +1

How does Five know Claire’s name? Just one shot of a magazine in his apocalypse bunker was all we needed. The magazine that says Patrick and Claire are doing just fine without Allison would have made perfect sense. +1

If we don’t get Five and Claire meeting at some point istg. Sin until they meet.+1

Once again, Luther the moon and the apocalypse are connected, just not in the way you think. Reggie, you suck. +1

“Klaus you’re with me.” Diego and Klaus make a great team. -1

Five’s face when Klaus says he’s feeling under the weather. Considering Five’s injury, this makes sense for the character. -1

Five gives that look to Klaus. Five, you’re hiding a life threatening wound for no reason. You don’t have room to judge. +1

The old man walk looks ridiculous. Five is so obviously injured and Allison and Luther, who watch as Klaus, Diego, and Five walk away, don’t notice this odd walk. +1

We follow Hazel instead of Cha Cha because their story in this episode isn’t affected by Five’s time travel decision. However, the only part of this story we need is the part at the end of the episode. +1

Diego is driving, Five has shotgun, and Allison is in the back. They totally fought over who would sit where. That scene would have been way more interesting than the Hazel and Cha Cha repeat scene. Also, I kind of want to write about that fight now. You know Five wanted to drive. And that when Diego insisted on driving so he and Allison wouldn’t get in trouble for letting a minor drive or something like that, Allison and Five fought over the passenger's side seat. Well adjusted or not, fighting over that seat is what siblings do. +1

Allison, you could just waltz in there and ask for it. Don’t suggest that plan if you aren’t going to do that. +1

Five’s power or Allison’s power would be very useful, yet Diego choses to get the file himself. This wastes valuable time. And Five is okay with that. +1

Five refers to his powers as “blink” not “jump” which is what the fandom has been calling it. +1

Five has not slept at all in a couple days. And he’s making decisions about the end of the world. +1

Diego “made a call. That’s what a leader does.” But the call he makes is fucking stupid. This is a grab the thing and get out mission. Two people in the academy have powers that would work wonderfully for this type of mission. And they happen to be right there. Even with Allison refusing to use her power, it’s stupid to not have Five just blink in and grab it. Diego is a shitty leader. +1

Beeman just tells Diego that he is the prime suspect in Patch’s murder. This is so dumb on so many levels. Sigh. +1

Beeman has already said shit that would make him lose his job. At this point he’s arguing with Diego to pad the episode’s run time. +1

Whoever did Emmy Raver-Lampman’s makeup for this scene screwed up her brows really bad. Or maybe just her brow highlight is messed up. Or the blending on her eyeshadow. +1

Five is just sort of standing there and leaning against the wall. This is supposed to be another hint that he’s injured but it just looks stupid. +1

Allison’s heartfelt message to Vanya shows remorse and a genuine want for connection. -1

See! This cut where Allison doesn’t explain to Five and Diego who Leonard is because the viewer already knows and this can therefore happen off screen is good! Use this more if you’re going to do episodes like this. -1

Luther turns to alcohol because he doesn’t feel like he has any support. I’m sad now. Poor Luther! -1

And my sympathy disappears when Luther starts choking Klaus. That is some fucking bullshit. +1

I understand that Luther is drunk and not capable of complex decisions right now, but this seems excessively cruel. I think this is on the writers and not necessarily on Luther himself. +1

Why isn’t Ben seeing this? Later on, it’s like Ben didn’t see what Luther did here. This sin makes more sense later on in the episode. +1

Klaus is genuinely trying to make Luther feel better after Luther just choked him. Klaus is a good brother. -1

Klaus suggests going to find Allison. It’s like he knows what happened last episode. Oh, show. And yes, you can argue that Klaus knows that Luther and Allison were close. Then my counter argument would be that Klaus knows Allison is off saving the world. Yes, helping Luther is important, but Klaus can do it. Klaus needs more faith in himself. +1

Luther’s smile when Klaus calls him Number One and starts quoting poetry at him. “O captain, my captain.” -1

This immediately transitions into crying. My poor babies. +1

Klaus attempts to say “that’s not true” but can’t because he knows that Reggie is the type of person to send someone to the moon so he doesn’t have to look at them. Reggie is a dick. +7

Luther looks so lost and broken and sad. Tom Hopper, you asshole. I am actually crying a little bit. I’ll take a sin off because Tom Hopper made me feel emotions. -1

Robert Sheehan is an excellent actor. -1

Luther shoves Klaus out of the way with no regard to where he lands. What if Klaus’s head hit that furniture! +1

The Hazel and Cha Cha scenes would have been stronger if we left them in the last episode. Maybe one or two establishing things to show that they aren't affected by the time change and that’s it. All we needed was the order to not terminate Five and one of the messages. That’s it. +1

Hazel has a birdwatching book which shows that he wants to learn about Agnes’s interests. Cute. -1

They are trying to imply some kind of relationship between Hazel and Cha Cha! Cha Cha having feelings for Hazel doesn’t make sense. +1

“So do most serial killers and mass murderers. I mean look at him” “Thanks.” The delivery of “thanks” always bothered me. It could have used a little more sarcasm. +1

Diego doesn’t wait for Allison or Five to open the door. Nor does he let them offer suggestions. +1

Diego doesn’t even test the doorknob. Dumbass. +1

Diego seems like one of the competent siblings until he does this mission with Five and Allison, who have the family brain cells. This is amusing, but also makes me question the badass Diego moments. +1

If we don’t get more Five and Allison in season 2 imma riot. These characters work so well together. +1

The way they make fun of Diego together is peak sibling culture. -1

“You need to see this.” Please just stop giving Allison these bullshit lines. +1

Five’s run is weird. He’s lifting his knees really high. This is one of those things that I shouldn’t have noticed. +1

Bottom left poster. Klaus hit the woah sixteen years too early. +1

Harold had time to scratch their faces before going to jail or Leonard did this at some point as an adult. Creep. +1

He also mangled the action figures even further. +1

Five isn’t looking so hot because the plot demands it right now. He was perfectly fine cracking jokes with Allison earlier. +1

Looking closer at the wound, we can see that Five not taking care of it right away is total fucking bullshit. That looks serious and like it could get infected easily. Five, who grew up in an apocalypse, would know to take care of shit like that. If he didn’t then he would have died in the Apocalypse.+1

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

Five doesn’t answer this question because the answer is “The writers needed a convenient way to get me out of the picture for a couple hours.” +1

Harold’s father took him fishing. I don’t want to know why. +1

“We don’t have to stay here. We can just get a shitty motel or something.” Or ya know, go back to your apartment, Vanya. Or is Vanya’s apartment like Five’s injury in that it only exists when the plot needs it. +1

Off topic, but why is Vanya talking about chord progressions with her beginner violin student. Chords and violin don’t go together when you first start learning. This is a weird example. +1

Leonard is a manipulative bastard. He knows exactly what to say to make Vanya bend to his will. +1

We aren’t even halfway through the episode and I have been doing this for over two hours. This says a lot about the kinds of sins this episode has. Right now we’re at the end of page 6. +1

Vanya followed Leonard to a cabin in the woods in the middle of nowhere. They’ve known each other for less than a week. I wouldn’t trust some of the people I’ve known for years the way Vanya trusts Leonard. +1

Hazel has known Agnes for less than a week and now he wants to run away with her. +1

Agnes is willing to run away with Hazel despite knowing him for less than a week. +1

Hazel and Agnes are using the “Life is short” thing, which it is, especially with the impending apocalypse, but that doesn’t change that they’ve known each other for less than a week. +1

“Her job’s her life.” so why don’t you show that, show? Cha Cha’s motivations make no sense. +1

Hazel and Agnes theme! I love that piece. -1

The way Hazel is holding her looks really funny. I am amused. -1

Ben pressuring Klaus to help Luther despite all the physical harm Luther did to Klaus. I am sinning this again. Why didn’t Ben see this? Or does he just not care? This is either a sin for the show for not remembering where Ben is or a sin for Ben for not caring about his brother. +1

Ben creates a shadow but he is supposed to be invisible. I don’t think that’s how light works. Is Klaus the only person that can see Ben’s shadow? Is Klaus sober enough that he’s starting to make Ben corporeal? How does this work? +1

Right now if anyone looked in that alley, Klaus would look fucking crazy. +1

The guy walking past doesn’t care that Klaus is talking to nobody right now. +1

“You weren't ready to die violently at a young age” yeah. Seventeen, based on the portraits. Why does Ben’s ghost not look bloody? And why does he look like he’s in his late 20s? Ben should still look seventeen right? If Justin Min, age 29, is meant to be playing a 17 year old, then I have some issues. +1

Can Ben sweat? +1

The “if you were in trouble” line is delivered really well. Nice. -1

Ben’s tough love is more of a pep talk now. I like this version of Ben. He’s a little misguided, but he sort of gets the spirit. Heh spirit, Ben, get it? -1

“We should have taken him to the hospital” Allison would be excellent at cinema sins. +1

“We gotta get the shrapnel out.” Yeah, but that is not priority one right now. Is there any pressure on the wound right now? +1

This repeat scene with Diego and Grace makes sense because it’s at a different time. -1

“Seven bars, three strip joints, and a laundromat.” Why the laundromat? +1

Ben’s shadow is even more pronounced now. +1

Convenient rave girl talking to herself about Luther with a good description is convenient. +1

“Holy Shit” said in unison. Nice. -1

Ben and Klaus wouldn’t know about Luther’s monkey transformation, so the reaction checks out but not the description. Maybe “big” was why they decided to check it out? +1

Rave girl thinks Luther is a furry. This is funny. -1

Luther offers Klaus drugs. That’s nice, I guess. -1

Offering your newly sober brother drugs. +2

Ben is honestly a life coach from hell. “Stay strong don’t give into temptation.” Remember your mantras. Meditate. Drink lots of water. +1

Though, that does make sense. A dead guy would be a shitty life coach. +1

What’s with the weird light on the pill that Klaus threw? Is that a secondary power? Being able to find drugs? +1

No one steps on or trips on Klaus, who is crawling around on the floor in a room full of high/drunk/whatever people. +1

Klaus’s flashbacks. Putting my boy through trauma. +1

Dave turns into the pill because the pill symbolises everything holding Klaus back from summoning Dave. Symbolism. -1

Grace is treating Five’s shrapnel wound in his room instead of the infirmary. +1

“Receptionist at her music school” wait. Vanya has another job teaching music? She has three jobs? How in the hell did she have time to do any of this stuff? +1

Allison’s face when Diego says Luther was right. That was amazing. Emmy Raver-Lampman, you genius. -1

The City has no people around right now other than Diego, Allison, and the cops. +1

“Why would you ask that about me?” because you carry pointy things and throw them into people, Diego. That’s why Allison asks if the police are right about you murdering someone. +1

Allison would be excellent at cinema sins. She reiterated my last point. +1

Why did they send that many cops to go arrest one guy? Did they expect the entire academy to fight them? +1

“You killed a cop, asshole.” Rodriguez did the police academy teach you nothing? You can’t say shit like that to a suspect? +1

Finally, someone reads Diego his Miranda rights. Doing the bare minimum is impressive for these cops. +1

Diego, you edgy bastard. Spitting on the ground? Great. Make these people even more pissed off then they already are. +1

Vanya’s power is mostly destructive and Leonard should know this based on the book. So why is he trying to get her to summon a boat? Or destroy a boat? This doesn’t make any sense. +1

“I watched everything my brothers and sister could do ruin their lives.” The Umbrella Academy in a nutshell. +1

Also, if you saw this, then why the fuck did you want powers, Vanya? +1

“Do I stare really hard? Am I supposed to point my fingers?” Actual conversation Ellen Page had with the director somehow made it into the show. +1

This scene is so underrated. It’s so funny watching the music swell and nothing happen. -1

“I look and I feel ridiculous. I have no idea how they did this stuff with a straight face.” -1

“You are so invested in this.” Yeah, girl. Red flag. +1

Convenient burning not obscuring the words of the “terminate Hazel” message is convenient. +1

Do we really need the repeat of Cha Cha getting the message? +1

Cha Cha doesn’t notice Hazel behind the curtain despite being a trained assassin. This is why Five was the best. +1

Hazel doesn’t kill Cha Cha. +1

Netflix subtitles have Ben saying “Oh shit, Luther” when it’s clearly Klaus saying that line. +1

Klaus’s desire to help his brother is stronger than his need for drugs. -1

For whom the bell tolls? The bell tolls for Klaus. +1

Little Girl on a Bike God takes her lines directly from the comics. -1

She plays the pronoun game with Klaus despite Her being all knowing. Or She does this to be an asshole. +1

The barber shop looks like a little barn from the outside. Clever misdirection. -1

“Nite Owl Barber Shop” -1

“Barber banter may offend” no kidding. With Reggie working there, need I say more. -1

The pictures of Luther, Diego, Reggie, Dave, Five, and possibly young Ben on the wall. -1

Five’s hair looks really dumb in the photo aslkdj;gaf. -1

Artful close up shot of Robert Sheehan’s face. -1

Reggie is a dick. “What in God’s name took you so long?” Maybe he didn’t want to see you, asshole. +1

Was Colm Feore actually shaving Robert Sheehan? +1

I am going to sin Reggie being a dick in advance here so I don’t have to sin every line. +20

Klaus brings up an interesting point. How did Reggie know about the apocalypse? +1

Klaus is crying when Reggie says that he killed himself to bring them all back together. On some level, Klaus cares for this man. Empathy. -1

Just as Reggie starts to say something important, he disappears because of course he does. If the characters actually spoke to each other about important things then there would be no plot. +1

Klaus was dead and now he’s not. Why didn’t he wake up in the apocalypse? +1

Kenny’s mom sighting. She’s at the rave. +1

Leonard pays these guys to beat him up. Did he also give them a script? +1

Vanya’s powers activate when the rain starts but only become visible when she fears for Leonard’s life. Good choice. -1

Hazel doesn’t kill Cha Cha. Killing her would help him out in so many ways, yet he doesn’t do it. Or remove his tracker. Or her tracker. Or anything. +1

“I’m in love” You’ve known her for a couple days at best. +1

“Wake up and smell the coffee.” This is part of the reason why I headcanon Five’s coffee addiction came from the Commission. +1

Hazel can’t bring himself to kill Cha Cha after she threatens him and the woman he “loves” because of years of friendship in a job he hated? That she loved? I’m confused. +1

Allison is going after Vanya alone. She is going to this cabin in the woods alone. Horror Movie 101, Allison. +1

Now Ben looks concerned. All it took was Klaus’s literal death. +1

Luther and the rave girl are both too high to consent? I don’t like the vibes. +1

Diego is in jail because of his own stupidity. +1

The police didn’t give him back his sling. The man is walking around with a gunshot wound, assholes. +1

The shot of the eye before the camera focuses on Five symbolizes Five putting the apocalypse before everything. -1

Vanya looks so scared in the hospital. Excellent acting. -1

The shot of the eye also reminds us that the eye exists at all which makes the eye reveal more dramatic. -1

Overall Review:

Okay, so if episode 5 is where the viewer truly learns what’s going on, then episode 7 is when everything truly comes together. All the loose plot threads fit themselves together in this episode. In fact, you could argue that the Leonard/Harold eye reveal is the most important reveal after the whole Vanya has powers reveal. The eye makes sense now.

You know what? I challenge all the fic writers who read this to write a “watching the show” style fic, but only using this episode. Drop this episode on them in the middle of one of the early episodes and then have them try to stop the apocalypse based on it. Tag me when you’ve posted it and/or gift it to cherriesareneat on ao3. I will probably be writing my own version of this at some point.

There are a ton of great moments in this episode. The important beats being the Harold/Leonard reveal, Five’s injury, Luther at the rave, Klaus’s death, Reggie’s reveal, Vanya’s powers reveal, and the eye reveal. These were mostly well executed with the exception being Five’s injury.

Also, let me know if you prefer the long sins/short analysis style I’ve been trying out recently.

Total: 152

Sentence: What is character motivation? Where am I? I am confused.

#The Umbrella Academy #all in good fun #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #Allison Hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #leonard peabody #harold jenkins #show warnings apply #especially in this episode #take care of yourself

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arcane-artisan · 4 years ago

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Research Diary: Runehounds #1

“Research Notes: Runehounds--

I love my dogs. I really do. Until I broke out of the monotony of the Dalaran actually met people, my entire social life consisted of Perdita and Hotspur-- and a few short encounters with individuals who were interested in them. Note for posterity: walking dogs is a great way to meet men. It’s absolutely astounding at how extensive a Runehound’s intelligence is. Within the first few months I began to train them, they absorbed verbal commands to the point where I was almost certain they understood the Common language entirely. We’re going to start working on Thalassian, soon. Dwarvish might be next. Surpassing their intelligence is their loyalty. Though loyalty is a shared trait among canines to their masters, I find myself wondering how much of it is genuine and how much of it is because they are compelled to obey.

Runes have near endless applications. An infamous, and unfortunately frequently used application robs the will of whomever it’s placed upon. From dragons to stone elementals, runes etched upon the skin would bind an individual to the will of the imbuer and they are essentially ensorcelled slaves at that point. I don’t recognize many of the runes on my dogs, but I at least identify none of them to be this type. Out of uncertainty, though, I am left wondering about it... Either I can be a cruel master and bind the runes, myself, or someone else might do it.

Most of the runes I can identify would accommodate the Runehound’s initial purpose. Perhaps inspired by the felhounds of the Legion, these Runehounds are created with the same principle in mind: Kill mages. These hounds are highly impervious to magic and their teeth and claws seem to be capable of disrupting a mage’s ability to cast, not just from the pain of an attack. The runic flow creates a severely warped arcane layer upon them, lacking any substantial effect and merely flowing without purpose. Thusly, when in contact with a Spellcaster, it causes a magical interference and prevents a successful cast. A Runehound’s altered senses can track magic and Spellcasters, and it is rarely fooled by flashy tricks and sensory illusions. Clearly, their tailoring for mage hunting shows. The difference that separates them from felhounds is that they were also constructed to obey mages, specifically the ones serving the Blue Dragonflight at the time. Mage Hunters that were created to obey Mages. Stupid.

Perdita and Hotspur were from a few litters that I found while doing some ground work. Puppies, already bred and carved with runes. Animal abuse, by the way. I had to get special permission and training in order to foster these pups. I found that they would bond with mage owners a lot faster than the average individual. Further proving this theory-- As I have taken up residence in Sir Lloyd’s property, the dogs seem to have taken a pleasant interest in him, which surprises me as he has constantly vocalized that he is not a dog person and it shows. This either means that his presence as a mage is unique enough that it intrigues the dogs or that he smells like beef on a regular basis. It’s probably the former.”

( @terranlloyd mention)

#Artificer Kiersa #research diary #wyrmrest accord #wra rp #runehound

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answrs · 4 years ago

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hi, this idea has been pingponging around in my head for like weeks but i havent been able to coax a textpost out of it so. pls imagine lewis as a teacher. alive or ghost idc

asdfkl he would make a FANTASTIC teacher! he'd be the super sweet and patient teacher for younger kids (and just IMAGINE him walking down the hall or around the playground during recess with a trail of lil kids following him around like baby ducklings), but honestly you know what would *really* benefit the most from him being there?

MCFRICKIN HIGH SCHOOL.

Heck, it doesn't really matter much what subject here teaches (though home ec would be perfect, especially with him being the exact opposite to the horror i had to endure that taught it... long story though, not for headcanon talk. ANYWAY.) but Spanish, maybe even English/poetry/writing or the lit mag or another specific subject? (it's been 6+ years and i forcibly blocked out 90% of HS, i can't remember the classes i wasn't allowed to take bc they weren't ap/honors ones rip)

but YES. because teachers are there to teach their subject, yeah, but INFINITELY more important is there being that one adult you know you can go to that will take you seriously, listen to you? like maybe i just got lucky and had some really good teachers at that school that would take time to sit and listen after class if you were having trouble with another student or at home or just stuck in your own head and going around in circles... letting teens know that they aren't the spawn of satan for not being interested in this girl hounding them to go out, about mixed feelings with family that aren't abusive, but could be better, thoughts about experimenting, all that icky brain mush that's infinitely worse as a teenager stuffed into a numbered box in a public school expected to act and learn just like everyone else... just. being a comforting presence and not judgemental and also proudly having his "safe space" poster around the room and door (...and the trans and bi flags not so subtly made with photos and posters on the walls, where the people that'd take issue with them being there walk right past without even noticing ;))

WAIT OMF I JUST REMEMBERED SEX ED WAS AN ENTIRE CLASS WITH ITS OWN TEACHER. IMAGINE :"D

#answrs answers #mine #ms #answrs writes headcanons #i feel i went way off topic here sorry asdfkl #mystery skulls

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loudlytransparenttrash · 5 years ago

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Goodbye 2019: A review of the lies that shaped the year

January

One Twitter user posted this thread, describing how there were “50-70 white men” wearing MAGA apparel who “surrounded us” and “sought to intimidate, mock and scare us” by “chanting ‘build the wall’ and “other trumpisms.” “The group was clearly looking for ANY opportunity to get violent,” they were “bumping into us and daring us to get physical.” Video was then clipped and shared on social media, the mainstream media spread the edited footage and within hours the story about “racist white MAGA hat wearing teens cornered an innocent Native elder while chanting build the wall” consumed the country.

Slate wrote an article comparing the student’s “cruelty” to Jim Crow mobs and neo-Nazis. BuzzFeed’s Anne Petersen tweeted how the students and Brett Kavanaugh are the epitome of “white patriarchy.” Kathy Griffin called for doxing the kids and Stormy Daniels in a now-deleted tweet fantasized about putting these children behind electrocuted walls. New York Times author Kurt Eichenwald wished that these kids should be doxed and denied work for the rest of their lives. Headlines included, “White students in MAGA hats taunt Native American elders,” “Covington Catholic High Student's White Privilege Didn't Win,” “White America, come get your children,” “White victimology, white privilege and the Covington Catholic rules of race,” “Boys Will Be Boys. Covington's Showed Yet Again Why Only White Boys Can Smirk Through That.”

The students and their families were doxed, harassed and threatened for weeks after. Covington Catholic High School was forced to close over security concerns. Then the original video was released that provided context: A group of Covington Catholic High School students went to the March for Life during a field trip to Washington, DC. While there, the students were confronted by the radical black supremacy group, Black Hebrew Israelites, where they were verbally harassed and racially abused, calling them crackers, fa*gots and told them to go find a school to shoot up. A black student was berated as a race-traitor and told his white classmates were going to harvest his organs. A Native activist later approached the kids and started continually banging a drum inches from their face. One student, Nick Sandmann, stood calmly in typical teenage bemusement. That’s it. That’s the story. Once it was realized not a single accusation made by the original poster or the media who spread it was true, everyone went silent, and despite many retractions, no apologies.

February

Empire actor Jussie Smollett was approached by two white men wearing Trump’s Make America Great Again caps and yelled racist and homophobic slurs at him before attacking him, dousing him with bleach and tying a noose around his neck, all while chanting, “This MAGA country!” Kamala Harris, Cory Booker and Al Sharpton were among those calling it a modern-day lynching and evidence of the fear and hate black people live with. Harris and Booker even wrote an “anti-lynching bill.” Everybody gobbled this story up and quickly used it to push their idea that it said something more important about the state of race in the United States. Essentially they argued that Trump and his supporters are agitating for this kind of violence and, well, here it is.

Afterwards, Smollett proudly bragged how he had fought off his attackers to the loud cheers of a crowd, a true badass. He then appeared in an ABC interview where his eyes welled with tears as he recounted his traumatic experience and how defiant and inspirational he’s gotta be now. When asked why he thinks he was targeted, Smollett blamed Trump and his evil supporters.

But then some red flags started. 1. He held onto his sandwich during the attack and waited 45 minutes to call police. 2. When police arrived to take a report, Smollett asked that the officers turn off their body cameras. 3. He was still wearing the noose around his neck and wore it “like a tie” throughout their entire 40-minute interview. 4. He said he was on the phone with his manager when the attack happened but he refused to show his phone log to police. 5. He supposedly received a threatening letter a week prior to the “attack” which had child-like writing and drawings on it of his name and the word MAGA, and cliche magazine cutouts of letters pieced together to spell out “black fag.” In summary, we were supposed to believe white Trump supporters wearing MAGA hats were roaming around Chicago, carrying a noose, they saw Smollett, knew who he was, knew his show, his sexuality and singled him out for a lynching.

As the police connected the dots, they found the whole thing was a giant hoax plotted by Smollett himself. When the “black fag” serial killer letter stunt failed to receive national attention, Smollett orchestrated the attack by paying two Nigerian brothers he worked with $3,500 to stage the attack on him while getting Subway. Chicago police spent days and worked overtime poring over security footage and devoting resources that could have been put toward real victims. On February 20, Smollett was charged with a class 4 felony for filing a false police report and was later indicted on 16 felony counts of false reporting. Smollett joined a long list of hate crime hoaxes since Trump took office. I can only assume because reality isn’t at all matching their delusion of the gloomy Nazi “MAGA country” they keep going on about, they’re forced to create these endless hate crime hoaxes to validate the delusion.

March

After spending two years perpetuating allegations that Trump colluded with Russia to steal the 2016 election from Hillary and wet dreams of Trump being removed from office and even imprisoned, the entire left, every Democrat and the mainstream media were visibly shaken by Mueller’s investigation ending with zilch. When the news broke that there would be no indictments against Trump nor anyone associated with his campaign, and Attorney General William Barr had exonerated him, those who were so certain of victory and so locked into their conspiracy, were once again forced into utter meltdown mode. Mueller spent tens of millions of dollars, employed 19 prosecutors, more than three dozen FBI agents and an analyst and issued 2,800 subpoenas, 500 search warrants, 280 demands for phone and email records and interviewed 500 witnesses throughout the course of the investigation. No evidence was found.

There was however a major abuse of the rule of law by Obama administration officials and Department of Justice and FBI employees, a shameful politicization of the Russia investigation by Democrats and an end of journalistic integrity by many members of the media who all did their best to delegitimize and undermine the election. The DOJ and FBI used unverified research to obtain a court order to surveil the Trump campaign, and thereby obtain access to past campaign communications. In applying for the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) order, the DOJ and FBI did not disclose to the secret surveillance court that the debunked Christopher Steele dossier (Trump/pissing prostitutes) was funded by the DNC and Clinton, the whole basis for the probe. The FISA application also did not inform the court of Steele’s bias and his desperation to keep Trump out of the White House. It was all a setup.

Since Election Day 2016, the Trump-hating political and media establishment have been in a cute relationship to achieve their desired end of destroying Trump. Their shared hatred of the man is indisputable. But the idea of them colluding in this information operation to maximum political and legal effect is altogether more disturbing. Russiagate put Trump’s presidency under a cloud of suspicion for more than half of his days in office, delaying his agenda through forcing the administration to expend valuable time and resources defending itself from the constant hounding. The Five F’s seems to be the Democrat’s only tactic, all they can do is deceive, degrade, deny, disrupt and hope that it all will eventually wear Trump down enough to ultimately destroy him.

April

On Easter Day, churches across Sri Lanka were targeted by radical Islamist suicide bombers. The Muslim terrorists walked into several crowded churches and murdered masses of people. They also targeted international hotels popular with Western travelers. The bombings marked the country’s deadliest violence in a decade, leaving 290 dead and over 500 injured. After the quick condemnation of white supremacy and Islamophobia after the Christchurch shootings a few weeks prior, the media and Democrats avoided at all costs condemning Islamic terrorism and recognizing the victims as Christians. A host of politicians such as Obama, Hillary Clinton and Julian Castro all refused to condemn Islamic terrorism and none called the victims Christians, while others such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Portland mayor Ted Wheeler stayed silent altogether. Christians being killed at the hands of Islamists goes against the entire left-wing doctrine, despite it happening all over the world.

It’s not the only time we’ve seen the media and politicians cover for Islamic extremism. Under Obama, officials were so afraid of the phrase “Islamic terrorism” that they redacted the very mention of Islam and even Islamic State from the Orlando gay nightclub massacre transcripts, despite 49 people being killed and 50 others injured by a Muslim terrorist who had pledged allegiance to ISIS. In the UK, police and child protection workers were so afraid of the phrase “Islamophobia” that they ignored and refused to investigate Muslim human trafficking and child rape rings, allowing 1,400 young British girls to be raped with knives, bottles and their tongues nailed to tables. In Sweden, the police and media were so scared of “anti-immigration sentiment,” they covered up dozens of sexual assaults against teenage girls. Not wanting to make their new waves of Muslim refugees look bad, German media and the government also covered up mass sexual abuse across the country where 1,200 women were sexually assaulted and raped in just one night. Who exactly are we protecting by refusing to tell the truth and call something what it is?

May

Alyssa Milano, an actress who has been a valiant fighter for progressive causes, demanded for American women to undertake a “sex strike.” The idea is that women should not risk pregnancy until they have an insurance policy. Uh, so like exactly what Christian conservatives already believe in. There’s something funny about Milano embracing the banner of Christian conservatives in order to own Christian conservatives. Just like when Janelle Monáe advocated for women to go on a sex strike, saying that “people need to start respecting the vagina.” Once again, that’s what conservatives have already been screaming, respecting your vagina, respecting yourself, respecting sex and the good and bad product of sex.

In championing this “revolutionary” concept of women withholding sex in order to attain bodily autonomy, Milano and her blue-check buddies unwittingly preached the same message you often hear during Sunday sermons, especially in youth groups. The Christian perspective posits that the way for women to attain bodily autonomy is to have self-control over your body and choices, to not give away your body so carelessly and to be aware of the consequences of sexual activity outside of committed relationships. Most Christians embrace Milano’s message, not just because the only women who’d participate and use sex as a political bargaining chip in the first place are those who probably need to reevaluate their sex lives anyway, but it also places greater meaning on sex and the power and responsibility of it, which again is another Christian view.

Milano, like many others, also referred to abortion as “reproductive rights,” which is a pretty new term that replaces abortion and is also much catchier on picket signs when used alongside “human rights.” The problem is the term isn’t even close to being accurate. Abortion has nothing to do with reproductive rights. By the time abortion is even a possibility, post-fertilization has already created a tiny human and the mother has discovered that she is pregnant. In other words, reproduction is already complete. That “right” to reproduction was already exercised when you gave it up, literally and figuratively.

June

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez tried her best to compare Trump to Hitler by comparing illegal migrant detention centers to actual concentration camps: “This administration has established concentration camps on the southern border of the United States for immigrants, where they are being brutalized with dehumanizing conditions and dying,” she tweeted. Ocasio-Cortez continued this claim during an Instagram Live video, where she said, “The United States is running concentration camps on our southern border. That is what they are. The fact that concentration camps are now an institutionalized practice in the home of the free is extraordinarily disturbing.”

Of course, the claim that conditions at U.S. border facilities are anything like Nazi concentration camps or Japanese American internment camps is absurd. Detainees are not subjected to forced labor, malnutrition or executions. They also chose to enter these facilities by willingly coming to the United States and either illegally crossing or turning themselves in to U.S. Border Patrol, while obviously concentration camp inmates were forced to be there. Let’s not forget the little detail that any of the migrants may opt for voluntary departure at any time. I don’t remember concentration camps ever having that policy. Concentration camps detained and persecuted their own citizens because of who they were, not temporarily detained people who chose to illegally break into a different country. I don’t think there were many Jewish people trying to sneak into Nazi Germany. Even the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum released a statement rejecting such ridiculous comparisons.

But it’s not just AOC driving this rhetoric. MSNBC anchor Joe Scarborough showed photos of border officers escorting kids to showers and compared it to Nazi officers marching Jews into gas chambers. Former CIA chief Michael Hayden posted photos of the Auschwitz death camp, also comparing it to the temporary housing policy at the border. The New York Times published an article that called for U.S. Border Patrol agents to be doxed so they can be “publicly shamed" and “held accountable.” Almost the entire Democrat Party and mainstream media have made similar comparisons. Yet the CBP detention centers are not operating any differently today than they were during the Obama administration. The famous photos of caged kids are from Obama’s time in office. Even when the most anti-Trump news network CNN went to investigate, the kids had full bellies, they were watching soccer, playing video games on big flat-screen TVs, sleeping in comfy beds and participating in tai chi classes, rather than ya know, being caged, gassed and worked to death.

July

The British Columbia Human Rights Tribunal held a hearing on complaints from Jessica Yaniv, a man formerly called Jonathan who now identifies as a woman, after multiple small business beauticians refused to wax Yaniv’s penis and testicles. The defendant in the case was a young mother who operates in her family home, but there were also 12 other female beauticians Yaniv filed human rights complaints against which put some of them out of business while others paid settlements to save further legal action. Up until July 17, Yaniv’s name was fiercely protected by the Canadian government, as well as technology platforms like Twitter, which banned numerous women and some men who’d tried to warn others about his predations. But once the ban was lifted, it was revealed Yaniv had used “connections” to a band to help solicit advice from both women and teenagers on how to approach young girls and talk to them about tampons and menstruation in female washrooms. You can read the whole thing here.

Yaniv also recently tweeted shock to be turned away from a gynecologist. “So a gynaecologist office that I got referred to literally told me today that ‘we don’t serve transgender patients. And me, being me, I’m shocked... and confused… and hurt. Are they allowed to do that, legally?" I’m sure Yaniv will be taking gynecologists to human rights courts next for refusing to inspect anuses. We have to be careful to not misgender Yaniv as several journalists have been banned from Twitter for this crime against Yaniv. Any concerns about women being forced to touch male genitalia or biological men being allowed into women’s bathrooms, locker rooms, rape crisis shelters and prisons, you’re done for. This whole story resembles a new trend forming, such as the Christian cake shop owner who was sued for not wanting to bake a cake for a same-sex marriage: An individual from a politically designated victim class seeks out a service, intentionally from a small business owner who they know they can exploit, and the moment the businessperson declines - voila! A movement is born with a slew of lawsuits, powerful interest groups and media backing.

August

Dave Chappelle’s newest Netflix special was only uploaded for a few hours before the PC grievance mob went to work trying to sink it. Buzzfeed lectured Chappelle for his “truly vile” jokes and instructed him “to be more thoughtful.” Salon spoke out against “the cruelty” and Slate compared him to that "uncle who doesn’t know, or doesn’t care, how much he’s disappointing you.” While “Uncle Dave” was once cool, they say, his jokes in 2019 make you “wince.” Vice went a step further and gave a total trigger warning to its audience, writing "you can definitely skip” it altogether. As of today, “Sticks & Stones” shows a 38 percent score from media critics on Rotten Tomatoes, while 39,881 of viewers have given it a 99 percent audience score, reflecting the massive disconnect between the media and the general public and proving the only ones who are “out of touch” are themselves. This same pattern can be seen with “woke” movies too. Media critics sing their praises and hail their progressive activist messaging and pandering, yet in reality, these movies completely bomb.

Hollywood wants to water down comedy as not to hurt anyone’s feelings, but in doing so quickly turns into telling people what’s funny and what’s not and who can laugh and who can’t. Even the most devoted left-wing activist surely can see the problem. But a comedian like Dave Chappelle makes fun of everyone and doesn’t believe in a protected class during a stand up routine, as it should be. He also made fun of things that the right cares about, yet they still applauded the special as a celebration of comedy. But no, because Chappelle didn’t obey by their rules, because he didn’t stand on stage and call Trump a Cheeto (the pinnacle of left-wing comedy), he too must be one of those Nazis we keep hearing about. Chappelle isn’t running for public office. He’s a comic, and we’re not meant to seek the ultimate answers from him. It’s his job to talk about and then joke about current events, trends, what’s going on in the world, his only sin was talking about them a little too honestly.

September

Teenage climate activist Greta Thunberg addressed the United Nations through teary eyes and gritted teeth, claiming that the world is about to end and how unfair it is that she has to save it. Throughout the melodramatic speech warning of “mass extinction” and attacking capitalism, Thunberg repeatedly declared “how dare you!” and “You have stolen my dreams and my childhood!” Sadly, she’s right. How dare a child from one of the most healthiest, progressive, wealthiest, safest and most peaceful countries known to man be indoctrinated to believe adults have failed her and the weight of the world is on her shoulders to save mankind from apocalypse. It’s not her fault.

It’s the fault of the schools who pile on the panic-stricken talk of environmental disaster starting from kindergarten. It’s the fault of the ideologues who obsess over every weather event as if it were Armageddon, whether it’s hot or cold, rain, sun or snow, it’s all evidence of the end looming. And it’s the fault of the politicians, too cowardly and desperate for votes to tell people that utopian visions of a world run on windmills is a pipe dream. And why the hell isn’t China being lectured by the Swedish teenager? Their emissions from aviation and maritime trade alone are twice that of the United States, and more than the entire emissions of most nations in the world, but we’re the ones being told to ban straws, stop eating meat, roller skate to work and stop having kids? Really? Then again, it’s easier to go after countries which roll out the red carpet, gives her a platform and awards her with prizes in return for her criticisms. The real pollution culprits aren’t nearly as accommodating.

Climate activists could learn something from Thunberg’s honesty, though. She argues that “money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth” have to come to an end. Thunberg’s dream for the future means technocratic regimes will have to displace capitalistic societies. We can see this future in the radical environmentalist plans of AOC’s Green New Deal, one supported by leading Democratic Party candidates. It’s authoritarianism. There is no other way to describe a regulatory regime that dictates exactly what Americans can consume, sell, drive, eat and do in their personal lives. As Hawaii Democrat senator and climate change enthusiast encouraged fellow activists to think of climate change as a religion rather than a science, we can only hope that most Americans will continue to reject these regressive ideas. One reason we should is so that Greta Thunberg’s generation, including her army of schoolchildren, can continue not having to suffer needlessly.

October

Media outlets responded to Trump’s announcement of the U.S. military’s successful mission against ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi was not met with much praise and excitement that the world’s most wanted terrorist leader had been stopped, but with anger and snark. Many media outlets, the Washington Post for one example, worked hard to spin the killing of Baghdadi into, somehow, a negative story for Trump, beginning with a look at Baghdadi as not as a brutal terrorist and murderer, but as an “austere religious scholar.”

The Washington Post followed it up with a chain of negative stories: “Three ways the Baghdadi raid undermines Trump’s chaotic policy,” “Despite the killing of Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, some analysts question U.S. ability to prevent ISIS resurgence,” “The U.S. kills an ISIS leader. But Trump is giving the group a new lease on life.” They even complained how long Trump talked for and how using words such as “dog” and “coward” weren’t as presidential as Obama. Oh, and a Washington Post and CNN journalist tweeted how wrong it was for Trump to call al-Baghdadi a coward because it takes guts to blow yourself up rather than allow yourself to be captured...

If only it ended there. The Washington Post joined other media outlets including the New York Times in debunking the “doctored” and “faked” photo Trump tweeted of himself giving a Medal of Honor to the dog that chased down al-Baghdadi. White House reporter Steve Herman also debunked the meme by breaking news on Twitter, "I've requested details on this photo! There was no such a canine event on today's schedule!" He later confirmed in a tweet after speaking to a White House official that the meme was indeed Photoshopped. Jim Acosta of CNN also made sure everyone was aware, "The dog is not at the White House." The Huffington Post wrote, “A photo tweeted by Donald Trump is getting dogged by accusations that the pic is the very definition of fake news. The photo didn’t really happen,” then proceeded to show side-by-side photos to prove it was photoshopped. Everywhere the meme was called “fake news.”

Once the media confirmed that the very clearly photoshopped dog was not at the White House after all, and the meme was just a meme, they moved onto asserting the meme was insulting and disrespectful to the original recipient of the Medal of Honor, James McCloughan, which the photo was taken from. Yet when the meme was shown to McCloughan, he laughed and said he wasn’t offended and he liked it. Now that another outrage had fizzled out, the only thing that was left for them to complain about was... Trump hates dogs because he used the term negatively to describe the ISIS leader. Yep.

November

Nine American Mexican family members were slaughtered in broad daylight in an ambush by a drug cartel in Northern Mexico, less than a hundred miles from the Arizona border. The family were traveling to visit family when they were attacked by the cartel which left three women and six children dead, including a pair of infant twins. As Trump voiced outrage over the attacks, condemning the violence and offering the Mexican government help to come down harder on the cartels, not a single one of the seventeen Democrats in the race issued a statement on the attacks.

That’s probably because they’ve already established it’s racist and bigoted to point out that some Mexicans can do bad things and there’s gonna be some bad eggs illegally crossing the southern border, despite leading Democrats including Clinton and Obama holding the same view just a few years ago. Let’s forget those behind most illegal border crossings are actually rapists or in just one city, over just a few weeks, seven illegal immigrants were convicted of rape. For the record, Trump never called all Mexicans rapists. He said there are rapists among those being sent over, along with drugs and MS-13 members, all true. He also said in the very next breath that there’s also good people crossing. Now, it’s also racist to call MS-13 gang members “animals” despite them being known for beheadings, dismemberments and cutting out hearts. And now we know we’re not even allowed to talk about the epidemic of terrorism and violence along the border, even when nine American women and children are massacred as it runs counter to the new, insane Democrat narrative mocking the need for stronger border security or the need for borders at all.

This is the latest incident that has shined a spotlight on Mexico’s growing crime problem as drug cartels have launched an insurgency in the failing country. A month earlier, hundreds of gunmen stormed the city of Culiacan after Mexican National Guards arrested one of the sons drug kingpin “El Chapo.” In a stunning display, the Mexican president told his National Guards to surrender to the cartel and release El Chapo’s son. The day after the family massacre, more murders and bus burnings were unleashed on the city of Juarez. The mayor of Juarez said the chaos was the cartel’s response to police arresting suspects involved in an ongoing drug turf war. We’ll have to wait and see if the new Mexican president’s policy of “hugs not bullets” will end the endless territory being controlled by different armed groups, similar to the Middle East and Africa. Maybe love and giving into cartel demands will bring law and order back.

December

Democrats finally did what they’ve been promising to do since Trump won the election, they impeached their mortal enemy. The obsession with impeachment has little to do with anything Trump did, and everything to do with who he is. Democrats never expected to lose the 2016 election, especially not to Donald Trump, which humiliated them even more. And ever since, they have been trying every trick in the book to prove what a horrible mistake voters have made. Democrats have floated the idea of impeachment over fake Russian collusion conspiracy theories, drivel about porn stars and even the president’s criticism of his critics. All of them bombed. With time running out before the 2020 presidential race gets into full swing, they seized on the only thing they had left: bogus “concerns” with a phone call to the newly elected Ukrainian president.

The evidence Democrats have rallied on makes for the weakest impeachment ever launched in American history, highlighting gross abuse of congressional power and serving as a national embarrassment. The impeachment inquiry was kicked off by an unknown person during a phone call between Trump and Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky. An unredacted transcript of the phone call was quickly released to the public, putting the conversation between the two leaders in plain sight for all to see in an unprecedented move. There was nothing to hide. Democrats and media outlets took slices from the transcript and came up with a story about Trump pressuring Ukraine to investigate Joe Biden’s family in exchange for nearly $400 million in military aid. Yet when Trump mentioned “do us a favor,” in the very next sentence, he referred to Ukraine looking into the 2016 election meddling after Mueller did such a poor job, it had nothing to do with Biden. Zelensky himself said there was no pressure and he didn’t even know about the military aid being delayed.

But House Democrats still held four weeks of impeachment hearings and not a single piece of incriminating evidence to impeach the president of any kind of crime was found, whether it be a “quid pro quo,” “bribery,” or “extortion. In fact, to the contrary, witnesses called by Democrats actually exonerated the president of any wrongdoing. Ousted former U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine Marie Yovanovich blatantly admitted that Trump committed no crime. “Do you have any information regarding any criminal activity that the president of the United States has been involved with at all?” “No,” Yovanovitch said. Former State Department Special Envoy to Ukraine Kurt Volker was asked, “In no way, shape or form did you receive any indication whatsoever, or anything that resembled a quid pro quo, is that correct?” “That’s correct,” Volker said.

Despite clearly having no case against the president, Democrats still voted to deliver their promise, it was now or never. Unlike other impeachment cases, it wasn’t at all bipartisan, the House’s impeachment inquiry passed without a single Republican vote. In fact two Democrats joined GOP lawmakers in voting against the resolution, ironically making opposition to impeachment the more bipartisan vote. One Democrat even switched parties after he was pressured by his Democrat colleagues to vote against his will. Now, Pelosi is refusing to send the articles of impeachment to the Senate for trial. She knows Trump will be swiftly exonerated and claim another monumental victory, so let’s savor in the impeachment juices that nobody cares about for as long as we can. At least until the next “existential threat” or “constitutional crisis” they can whip up.

#trump #politics #impeachment #2019 #new year #2020 #democrats #dnc #happy new year #donald trump #conservative #republican

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katvontea · 5 years ago

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"Would be a shame if I was sick."

Abortion clinic staffers and patient escorts watched in horror last weekend as anti-abortion protesters in North Carolina continued to gather in large numbers, hold hands, invade others’ physical space, and—in at least one instance I witnessed—joke about spreading the coronavirus while the government pleaded with people to do what they can to stop the spread of COVID-19.

And even now, they don’t plan to stay home.

The Triangle Abortion Access Coalition in Raleigh, North Carolina, met and continued our normal clinic defense and escorting services on Saturday, March 14, even though the realities and concerns of the rapidly developing COVID-19 outbreak were on our minds. We took extra precautions, such as sanitizing the vests and equipment we share.

We arrived to smaller numbers of protesters, took our normal positions, and began the morning as usual.

Many of the regular protesters began to arrive, and our hopes for physical distance began to diminish. A protester whom I’ll call Sally took a position by the clinic driveway, a spot allowing her to wave away cars. While this might seem like a minor disruption, rerouting patients from entering our private parking lot allows other anti-abortion protesters to confront the parked car and pass along a pamphlet or “blessing bag,” a gift bag filled with scripture, brochures for local anti-choice clinics, and often a single diaper, described by our protesters as a “diaper of remembrance.”

We often station a volunteer on that corner (but not in the protester’s immediate space), and task them with showing cars where to safely park to avoid anti-abortion harassment. This particular morning, a newer volunteer who can handle the direct harassment took the spot and stood stoically, ignoring the protesters and hoping to provide support and guidance to patients navigating a chaotic scene. Protesters will often move their bodies as close as possible to our volunteers, crying foul about their personal space being violated. Our volunteer was ignoring the taunts and holding ground as he has a right to do, especially when standing on clinic property.

I watched in shock as Sally pressed closer to this volunteer, a man in his late 60s or early 70s. The poster she carried was pressed against his arm, leaving her face eight to ten inches away from his face. Sally began to cough without covering her mouth in the direction of this volunteer, whose space she had already invaded.

“Would be a shame if I was sick,” she said, before coughing a few more times in the direction of a man who is clearly in the at-risk groups you hear about in the news.

It was 8:15 a.m. and already I was witnessing an unthinkable scenario: A “pro-life” protester was either making jokes about spreading COVID-19 or, even worse, was possibly trying to get us sick. While I’d like to say I was surprised by these actions, anti-choice protesters were once again demonstrating the true nature of their beliefs.

The morning had just begun and already we were facing an uncertain danger, one we had no guidance or advice on how to handle. We knew the worst was yet to come. Later that morning, a “prayer march” that often numbers between 50 and 100 people was expected to arrive. This group has turned out in large numbers in terrible weather, heat waves, and more. “Love Life,” as this protest movement calls itself, would be at our doorstep before we knew it.

Clinic escort groups across North Carolina faced the same problem. While Raleigh has a robust showing for the “Love Life” prayer marches, this is not a local movement. Love Life has roots in Charlotte, North Carolina, where their prayer marches have happened for years, often in ways that shut down physical access to the clinic. The protests have become so abusive they resulted in the city drafting a new sound ordinance to cut down on the disturbances created by these protests. Love Life expanded to Greensboro and Raleigh in 2018, and began organizing mass prayer marches across the state in 2019.

As our morning went on in Raleigh, escorts in Charlotte and Greensboro faced their own uncertainty created by anti-abortion protesters and the Love Life prayer marches.

In Charlotte, clinics were open as usual, and clinic escort groups were volunteering as usual.

Angela Anders, director of Charlotte for Choice Clinic Escorts, told Rewire.News she counted the anti-abortion group at well more than 100 people at its peak, and that the group was in no way practicing physical distancing: She said they were holding hands, forming prayer circles, and engaging in other forms of bodily contact (Love Life did not respond to Rewire.News‘ request for comment.)

Anders said the clinic escorts in Charlotte regularly witnessed people with symptoms of illness (sniffling, running noses, coughs) handing out pamphlets and sticking their hands and heads into stopped cars in an effort to “counsel” patients about their options and to share stigma and shame around abortion.

An hour away from Raleigh and two hours from Charlotte, another major metropolitan area was facing a similar reality. Greensboro has only one clinic regularly hounded by protesters. With a particularly rough clinic setup due to neighboring businesses allowing protests to occur on their property, protesters often divert and stop cars, shoving unwanted pamphlets and gift sacks into confused patients’ hands.

Volunteers in Greensboro had already been anxious about the effect of these intrusions on patients’ emotional health, but now these one-on-one interactions could spread a dangerous virus. Greensboro volunteers reported the anti-abortion group grew as large as 80 people this past Saturday, down from 400 the previous weekend. Despite the smaller numbers, volunteers said protesters were still shoving pamphlets into car windows and making direct contact with patients and their companions.

After our shift concluded this past Saturday, I checked out chatter from Love Life and other protester groups on their public social media accounts. What I found was not comforting. While I had been watching a protester in Raleigh cough in a clinic escort’s face, the leaders of Love Life were outside the Charlotte clinic, broadcasting on Facebook Live under the heading, “Bold Christians Witness despite coronavirus.”

In the Facebook Live video that morning, Love Life founder Justin Reeder asked one of the leaders of the Charlotte’s clinic protest movement, Daniel Parks, to speak to supporters who could not attend because they were sick or in an at-risk category. “With the fears of the virus, we have to use wisdom; we get that,” Parks said. But then he reminded them that they are “called as believers in Jesus to lay our lives down … and that involves risk.” He told listeners, “We have to look past the fear,” said protests would continue as long as the clinics remain open.

While I hoped Love Life might reconsider as the week went on, in a video posted to Facebook the morning of Thursday, March 19, Love Life confirmed they will continue to host prayer walks and “sidewalk outreach” as long as abortion providers remain open. Reeder, the Love Life founder, explained that this should be considered “essential and vital work,” not a social gathering.

“The ministry must go on,” he said, though he clarified that they planned to operate under the CDC recommendations, would split into “very small groups” to gather, and had spoken to the local police departments. And while Reeder told supporters to practice physical distancing, he also encouraged people to do “prayer walks” outside hospitals and nursing homes to pray for people vulnerable to COVID-19.

Our concerns are not only rooted in the risks these groups present to patients, staff, and volunteers at clinics but also to the risks they pose in their own communities—especially to the children that often get dragged along to the protests and are forced to share close quarters with people outside their immediate family, exposing them to COVID-19. And then there are the risks these folks bring back into their immediate communities. When sharing my frustrations with my friend and fellow volunteer Raquel, she said something that has stuck with me: “It speaks volumes about how not pro-life our protesters actually are when they still choose to come out in large numbers, despite all warnings and guidance from local and federal officials, endangering everyone in their own communities without a single moment of consideration.”

One of the most important roles we have as clinic escorts is doing what is needed for our most vulnerable and marginalized communities. Clinic escort groups are being faced with decisions they often don’t feel prepared to make. As the week progressed, we learned of more restrictions being put into place by our local and state governments, had emergency virtual meetings, and met with clinic staff.

Thankfully, the clinics are doing everything they can to support us. Clinics are stepping up and offering training in how to use protective gear like gloves and masks, offering sterilizing wipes and sprays to escorts to help keep common areas as clean as possible, and responding quickly when volunteer groups have questions or concerns. Despite all of this, some clinics have suspended escort services, and some clinic escort groups have suspended services on their own.

Anders in Charlotte and the volunteers in Greensboro said they’re taking many of the same steps we’re taking to stop the spread of COVID-19: monitoring the size and risks presented by our protester groups, increasing our own awareness around sanitizing shared equipment and shared vests, and encouraging volunteers who are at risk or folks who have had potential exposure to stay home. As a leader in the Raleigh clinic escort group, I scheduled a virtual check-in after our shift last Saturday and asked our clinics, which have the ear of local government and local law enforcement, to reach out to find out what can be done if protesters continue to gather in groups large enough to violate the statewide executive order banning gatherings of more than 100 people.

While we wait to learn more about what, if anything, can be done, it’s hard to ignore the anger and frustration that many of us who do this work are left with. We want to stay home. We want to keep our communities safe. We want to keep our families safe. We also want to keep ourselves healthy. I have no idea what this coming weekend will look like for our clinic escort team in Raleigh; I heard much the same from the organizers across the state. We are planning to operate on a skeleton crew, avoiding any spaces where protesters can get close enough to cause problems, and hoping our limited presence will be enough to keep the most abusive anti-abortion protester behavior at bay.

Over the coming weeks, our volunteer group may be preparing to head out into the world, or we may be sitting at home, anxious about what patients will face that day. No matter what, we hope abortion clinics stay open.

#north carolina #hows this for so-called pro life?#forced birth extremist #covid19 #covidー19 #corona virus #coronavirus #women's rights #abortion #pro-abortion #pro-choice #feminism #radfem #radical feminism

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thishazeleyeddemon · 5 years ago

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even villains love their kids; a Descendants fanfic

Y’all I really love Celia...and I was like hey, what if one of the VKs WASN’T a child of abuse?

(not that Facilier is really a...GOOD parent.)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472725 <--Read on Ao3! Please reblog if you like it :)

Facilier didn’t need to monitor the arcade directly, most of the time.

He did, of course, since Islanders were a sneaky, treacherous lot (this was thought without rancor or judgement; they all knew who they were and had been on the Isle), but actually walking the floor hadn’t been necessary for a while. He could just watch, instead; watch from his balcony the swarm and swirl of filthy, exhausted people surrounded by the glittering lights of his machines like a twisted parody of an Auradonian ball.

Oh, look. CJ Hook was trying to pry the back of one of the machines open. For parts, or for money, perhaps? Not that any of his machines had anything that had much use outside of being part of arcade machines.

He contemplated for a moment jumping down to tell her to go fuck off back to her dad or he’d go throw her in the sea, when he saw a small figure moving through the crowds towards her. It had a diminutive size but was making good progress, through judicial application of small, sharp elbows. Despite himself, he grinned, leaning against the rail of the balcony.

CJ, focused on her attempted theft, had not raised her head to notice the figure. It was likely she wouldn’t have noticed the figure even if she had, Facilier considered. He’d taught Celia better than that.

Celia, a good foot added to her height from her tattered old hat, stepped out of the crowd and clapped CJ on the shoulder. Facilier was up too high to hear what she said, but he saw CJ turn and snarl at her like a wildcat. Facilier curled his lip back. Some people did not know how to raise their children.

From what he could see of Celia’s face, she looked equally unimpressed. She folded her arms and said something to CJ that made the already-white girl pale even further. Still snarling something, but with the wind visibly taken out of her sails, she shoved her tools in the pockets of her red overcoat and stalked off. All the Hooks walked like that, he thought idly. Like a little kitten pretending to stalk like a tiger.

Celia brushed her dress off and gave the back of the machine a swift kick, knocking the back panel back into place.

The balcony was fine but this was getting dull. Time to go check on Celia.

Dr. Facilier closed the door to the balcony behind him and strode towards the stairs. They kept their house dark and warm like a cave, and the soft wood (not too soft, he wouldn’t have to replace it for a while yet) muffled his footsteps.

Here’s an important note about Dr. Facilier: he’d gotten dragged to Hell.

Several of the others had died, but they all reported not remembering what had happened to them. Facilier...well, he wasn’t sure if he’d died. Under the Friends’ care, however, there had certainly been a few times when he’d wished...

It gave him a different sort of perspective, on the Isle. Even without his Shadow, his constant companion that meant there was never a day he was alone in truth, even poor and magic-less, he was alive, and could breathe the free air under the sun – even if it was warped and faded from the Barrier. He could almost thank Tiana for it – if it was this or the Friends, he’d take this any day, any hour, any minute.

Here’s another note: he’d been poor his life. All these grand kings and queens didn’t know how to fend for themselves, how to make the best out of a poor situation. That was why Grimhilde was going mad in her tower and Cruella had stayed in her house ever since she’d tried to take a knife to one of Hades’ hounds and he’d...disapproved. They were falling apart, scrambling for power wherever they could find it. Pathetic, really.

He reached the staircase and, on the grounds that no one was watching, slid down on the banister. Braking with his cane, he stopped neatly before he reached the end and hopped off. Still got it. He strode off towards the door to the arcade floor.

Here’s one more note: Facilier was smart. One of his allies had gotten knifed by her daughter last week. They didn’t exactly do murder investigations on the Isle, but when he’d gone to see what was up the kid had explained to him at length how her mother had deserved it, had beaten her until she’d bled and how she couldn’t take it anymore. There was one obvious way, he felt, to avoid such situations.

He opened the door, and the blast of light and sound from the arcade was like a slap to the mouth. As always, something in him recoiled slightly; he didn’t have nightmares, at least not most nights, but too much light and open spaces still made his wrists and mouth itch. At least it wasn’t green.

A glance up told him the sun had started to set. Good. He was getting tired of this lot anyway.

A few wacks against the Wheel of Fortune got everyone’s attention. Those who hadn’t noticed got smacked by those who had, and in thirty seconds he had the eyes of every one of his patrons on him.

Back in New Orleans he would have come up with a spiel, but the Isle didn’t stand on ceremony. At least not in the arcade, everyone knew why they came here.

“Alright, show’s over, go home,” he called. At the various protests he received at this he scowled. He had a good scowl. He was gratified to see a couple of people flinch at it. “Machines’ll shut off with the sun anyway. Get out or I’ll make you.” He’d had to a few times; he hadn’t killed anyone (don’t want to waste a potential customer) but the miscreants still had the scars.

Shortly afterwards, the remaining customers were filing out. The crowd thinned as the sun’s light faded, the last man stepping out just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the mechanical hum dimmed and died. Magi-tech, they’d found, generally worked even under the Barrier – the problem was they couldn’t acquire any.

Celia was sitting on one of the pinball machines. He gave her a look and she hopped off.

“So, Cels?” he asked, switching to French – he could swear his thoughts were clearer in his mother-tongue. “What’d we get today?”

“Not much more than usual,” Celia said, walking over to his side. Celia’s French was worse than his was, but then it hadn’t been her birth tongue. “We made almost...four hundred and sev-”

Facilier smacked her on the shoulder, just enough to barely sting. “ No English at home, Cels, you know this.”

She sighed but switched back to French. “ I still don’t know why.”

“Because it’s one of the things Auradon would take from you, Cels,” he reminded her. He walked off towards the door back into their apartment, Celia following behind without question. She was no wilting lily to do everything he told her, she was whip-crack smart, but if she thought he had good ideas, she’d happily do what he wanted. Despite himself, it made his chest warm – any idiot could throw their weight around and get what they wanted by force or intimidation. It took intelligence and work to be able to get someone to do what you wanted all on their own and it didn’t come with any risk of betrayal.

“ Auradon would love you to be alone in the world, with no connection to anything outside the Isle,” he told her, opening the door for her (something he’d had to explain to her was only acceptable at home; he wouldn’t have her viewed as soft by this gang of malcontents and murderers). “ You’re going to know your history and people.”

She nodded, moving past him through the darkened doorway. He smiled at her back almost unconsciously.

They only kept a few candles in their house. It had never troubled either of them; they still had a few gifts from Facilier’s days as a bokor. Plus, the Friends, despite being creatures of night, had an abode with no shadows anywhere. Anywhere that didn’t look like... there was good in Facilier’s book. Also the candlelight made it look like his Shadow was still with him. Having an emotional attachment to your own shadow might be kind of strange, but hey. He was a villain (thanks Tiana.) It was allowed, he thought, and brushed his fingers along the wall.

The arcade brought a better income and protection for them than most people got. He closed his eyes, letting his consciousness spread out until he felt the gentle hum of the wards. They were still strong, untouched.

Auradon thought a mere Barrier could take all magic. Stupid.

Cels had flopped down at their kitchen table, tossing her hat down next to her and resting her head on her arms. He gave Cels a look. “ Hell’s wrong with you?”

Celia shrugged without raising her head. “ I’m just tired. Did you see that VK Day is in a few weeks?”

VK Day.

The shadows flickered with Facilier’s sudden rage.

“ No,” he drawled, “ somehow I missed it with all the propaganda posters up around the entire Isle.”

Celia snorted. His lips twitched.

“ I got one of their applications yesterday,” Celia told him. She raised her head, looking him dead in the eyes. “ I think I’ll fill it out.”

He stared at her. Separate from their lit candles, the shadows roiled. “ What -”

Celia raised her hands before he could finish. “ No, Daddy, I have a plan.”

“That involves going along with their -” Facilier didn’t quite have words for exactly how he felt about the VKs. He just felt, somewhere down in what had probably once been his soul, that it was alright for him to be...well, a villain, because he didn’t try to seem like anything but what he was. Anyone who thought he was trustworthy or safe was an idiot or desperate or both ( or Celia ), but leaving people on the Isle to fight and suffer while pretending to be grand heroes, smiling on TV and dressed in fancy clothes, looking every inch like the protagonists, was...a different kind of villain. One he’d hoped to leave in New Orleans.

Celia nodded. “ Just for a little while.” She rested her chin on her arms again, fixing him with one of her piercing gazes. “ I’ve been doing some groundwork with Mal, positive predictions, that sort of thing. I think she’ll pick me to go to Auradon Prep.”

“And then?”

“What do you think?” Celia fixed him with one of her wide, bright smiles, filled with life and mischief. “ I rob them blind, obviously!”

Facilier, unusually, found that for a moment, he had no words. Celia’s smile seemed closer to slipping with every second he was silent, but she held her ground.

Finally he spoke. “ What about the Wand?”

“I don’t think that’ll work now,” Celia told him. “Uma and Mal both tried for it and lost, it’ll be heavily guarded and they’ll be expecting us to go for it. There’s other magic in the world, though, stronger than faery magic. And Auradon is rich as anything – if I get money from them, I can buy all the spells in the world.” She rose from the table, stepping around to take Facilier’s hand. The cool leather of her gloves was offset by the warmth of her hands in his. She was so small.

“ I’ll free you too, Daddy,” she said, eyes shining. “ If I don’t go for the Wand and pretend to be scared, they won’t expect it. And then you can take me to New Orleans – teach me voodoo and hoodoo – maybe we could go to Tiana’s restaurant and steal some cake and stuff -” Celia smiled again, hope rising in her face. “ I can bring down the Barrier and free us, Daddy. I just have to get Mal to take me to Auradon first.”

Facilier was smart. He knew that while force and intimidation had its place, you could get much further on manipulation and knowing when to strike and that if you were careful, that didn’t even come with a risk of betrayal. He knew that the practical thing to do was to play to people’s sensibilities, make them like you, and then they’d do anything for you.

It was the furthest thing from his mind as he yanked his daughter into a very unvillainous hug. She froze for just half a second before throwing her arms around him as well. She smelled like they all did on the Isle, of dirt and malnutrition and exhaustion – he saw behind his eyes the two of them in New Orleans, no, in Auradon, where the people didn’t know their names, safe and healthy and back in power.

There would be no mucking around with talismans this time. This time they would do it correctly.

“ You know Cels,” he said quietly into her hair, “ That makes dollars and sense.”

Her laughter was more beautiful than he thought he could ever find such a thing.

Fine, Tiana, you win. I see what you meant now, that last night.

“If you got pride, wave your Vs up high!”

Mal’s voice rang out over the crowd, accompanied by cheers and hands shooting towards the sky. Below the VK podium, hidden in the shadows, Facilier observed the carrying-on.

Celia was in the crowd, waving her application in the sky like the rest of them. None of their conversation weeks before showed on her face. Was that his imagination, or did he see Mal cast her a few approving glances?

“You can take the VK out of the Isle, but you can’t take the Isle out of the VK!” Jay shouted. Facilier smiled, despite himself. Son, you have no idea.

Who else was here to dupe the VKs? Those two from Uma’s crew definitely were – Uma had a magnetic personality and a zero-tolerance for disloyalty - but who else? Not Dizzy, she thought Evie was her mother practically (as he’d heard her say – even VKs just hung out with their friends sometime, and Celia despite herself liked Dizzy), but perhaps that one of Gaston’s spawn?

“We used to steal stacks, now we give ‘em back!”

Celia cheered with the rest of them, looking just like another worshipping hopeful. Facilier grinned.

Maybe you do, VKs, but us? Auradon owes us a cut of those stacks.

He saw Mal’s gaze turn towards Celia. The older girl gave her a bright smile, beginning to beckon her forward.

And my Celia isn’t giving a single damned thing back.

Closing his eyes, he did something he hadn’t in decades. If anything’s listening, give my child some luck. More than I had.

There was nothing else to be done. With that, Dr. Facilier turned and walked away.

Maybe they would steal some cake.

Fin.

#descendants #disney descendants #descendants 3 #dr. facilier #celia facilier #d3 #descendants fanfic #i swear to god I haven't posted fic in years...#im serious about reblogging if u enjoy it btw #loren writes

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beauvoyr · 5 years ago

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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 20

decaying | 20 Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, asphyxiation, no beta we die like men, pre-Omen trailer route, pre-demon Noctis Chapter Rating: T+ Crossposted on: ao3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership. Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

YOU WEAR SUNLIGHT IN THE MOST RADIANT way. It dusts you in a gossamer glow; sunlight dripping off your body, glistening, luscious enough for anyone to lick the sunny sweetness from your skin. A guilty part of him liked you against a backdrop of black with stars clustering your hair and sleep-heavy eyes lidding low, but he has a newfound appreciation for the way the sun sheathes your skin in subtle extravagance, colouring you in ways artificial lighting couldn’t.

Pocketing his hands, Noctis observes how you underwent the same transformation he’s seen time and time again.

You dash up the Crystal Promenade, crossing crowded roads and marvelling at the magnificent stained glass streets sprawled under your sandals. The breeze picks up, sheer lace bouncing off your thighs, and cooing doves scatter into flight. You dart through pockets of space between the crowd, examine silvery timepieces displayed in Chopard, perking up at the street performers orchestrating a waltz with a cello, a violin, and an Electone. Prompto’s habit must’ve rubbed off on you, for you snapped a picture of some jolly bystanders waltzing along to the sentimental tune, and then a few more of the merry musicians tapping their feet in tandem.

“It’s Je Te Veux,” you tell him once he reaches your side, bright eyes all eager.

He’s never heard of that one before, but he can count on you and your endless database of classical music ingrained in that knotty head of yours. He makes a toneless sort of hum, realises it couldn’t be heard over the vibrato, and tries again. “What’s that?”

“Satie composed it.” You palm your phone to your chest, eyes trained on the graceful glide of the dancers having a good time with one another. The brilliance of your smile seems to fade for a second and Noctis wonders what’s up—that is until you seem intent on avoiding his eyes. “It means I want you.”

Oh. Oh.

There are no cymbals in the waltz, but Noctis is sure his heart is beating to the sound of a toy monkey clanging brass cymbals together. Jarringly loud in his ears, all clang clang clang like some annoying alarm in that morning Marlboro cartoon show. The sunny warmth is starting to get to him, reaching his ears, and he fights the awkward urge to have a stiff, long walk through Insomnia just to get away from the teasing lilt of the violin.

All Noctis does is to rub his nape in faux indifference. He too avoids your eyes.

“Hmm. I see.”

THE SHOP HE’S LOOKING FOR is housed in the upscale part of the city, all cobblestones fanned in russet reds, blossoming shrubs edging the walkways, iron scrollwork fencing the pavements. Prompto’s always skittish on the rare occasions when Ignis drags them here, needing to complete a grocery errand or two. Either one of the buttons on Noctis’ jacket had vanished and only DKNY carried specific silver buttons with monogrammed engravings, or he needed to replace one of his scandalous-looking shirt garters—the ones that fit around the curve of his thigh like some contraption for the kinky. Noctis isn’t judging, but he has his own suspicions about Ignis because who doesn’t?

Whatever, he’d rather not think about it now. He’d very much like to concentrate on how you’ve gone ahead with locating what he needed, pointing at a sun-bleached signboard hanging overhead.

“Is this the correct store?” You crane your neck to decipher the neon-lit swirls scrawled on the board juxtaposing deep stonewalls. “Vivienne Westwood?”

He comes to a stop before the broad, polished glass popping out on the sidewalk. “Yep, that’s the one.” Reflected, you and him: A vision in white and shrouded in black, your head tipped aside, him toeing the pavement. A wireframe mannequin models an assemblage of scarf, skirt, and matching heels, not that he knows anything about fashion. It’s just that he enjoyed watching your animated reflection scrutinising tortoiseshell sunnies perched on its head, hand on your chin. A corner of his lips slants upwards at the sight. “Most of us have our stuffs personally tailored, so, yeah. Either from Vivienne Westwood or Roen.”

You tiptoe a little to get a closer look at another pair of paisley sunglasses hanging by a string. “Kinda like personal tailors? Since you guys have fashion labels working for the royal family?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs. “Why?”

“‘cause I noticed your boots have those pretty red soles,” you say matter-of-factly, pointing downwards to what seems to be his boots. Noctis gets that awkward feeling again, like some inside joke just went over his head. What does that have to do with anything when he’s out here with you? You’re not going to make him take off his shoes again, are you? Just to examine his toes, like some bizarre déjà vu of his first meeting with you? Thankfully, you seem to pick up on his confusion since you've gone ahead tilting your head with a smile. "Christian Louboutin, right?"

Yeah, he has no experience to go through this conversation. That’s up Ignis’ alley, not his. But he might have heard the name bounced back and forth during personal fitting sessions, might have something to do with a Loubouwhatever measuring his feet with tape. Safe to say, Noctis is just going to play along. “Uh—yeah. Personalized everything. Head to toe.” He pauses at your knowing nod, growing suspicious. As much as he’s flattered—and a tad bit pleased—that you always keep your eyes on him enough to notice the finer points to his clothes, red soles are incredibly specific knowledge only privy to those with a keen interest in fashion. Finding no harm in prying, he nudges you in the side. “…didn’t think you’re the type to like fashion.”

You sidle up to him, hands quick to return his jab with one of your own. “Not me, no. Byron’s a huge fashion nerd who keeps his Pinterest board full of fashion brands, that’s all.” Noctis huffs at your predictable action, swatting you aside. He’s way too used to your antics by now—not that he knows if it’s a good thing or not. Thwarted, you backpedalled, keeping your hands to yourself. “He’s always buzzing about new fashion trends or whatever’s hot in the market, and he has this huge stash of fashion magazines in his room, making scrapbooks out of the bits he liked. It’s also kinda creepy since he idolises Claire Farron enough to have her posters on his walls. After a while, you just pick up about stuffs like that when he’s around 24/7.”

That’s some unnecessary insight on the guy who continuously pisses him off at every waking moment of his life, but Noctis isn’t about to say that to your face, not when said guy is your childhood butler who took whippings in your stead. If Gladio likened him to an older, pissier version of Ignis, the truth might not be far off. Grunting, Noctis nudges the door open for you. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”

Apparently, the store manager witnessed his interaction with you, greeting them with a bemused smile when the waft of cool air hit him. Her silver nametag reads Magisa. “Welcome, Your Highness,” she says with her pencil thin eyebrows still parked high on her forehead. “May I help you and your companion for today?”

Dealing with sales reps hounding his every step and tailing him worse than Glaives is enough to seize him up. A quick shake of his head has the wrinkled woman peering him over her rimmed glasses, and Noctis lets his eyes wander the store to avoid her piercing stare. “Nah, we’re good. I’m just going to look around.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she placates, even if her half-bow is stunted with the fact that she’s still sneaking stares at your general direction. “If you and your lady friend require assistance, please do not hesitate to approach any of us.”

With how she places great emphasis on the word, Noctis has the sense to grimace. Should he be worried if this will blow up when the tabloids lap it all up? Yeah, hopefully not. It's his first time entering the store without his usual duo flanking his sides, and sensational scoops are one way to get the readership spiking faster than the Citadel's PR Department's migraine.

"Uh. Thanks. Can you just…?" he makes some vague hand gesture, hoping it’s a loose interpretation of what he needs, eyes skirting around when her stare is harder than stone. "We just want to shop without—uh, things happening."

She seems to understand him that much with no questions asked, quick on her feet to flip the sign to Closed and drops the automated blinds over the storefront with a click of a button. The sudden hush accompanying his personal shopping experience has you teetering closer to him, wary eyes searching his face for any signs of reassurance. Your fingers worry the hems of his jacket, chewing on your bottom lip out of habit again. Noctis squeezes your shoulder to ease your nerves before Magisa turns.

“As much as I love celebrity news, I don’t want to see some clickbait article like You Wouldn’t Believe What Prince Noctis Did Last Weekend on Insomnia Daily’s website,” she announces, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards on one side. She looks like she’s seen her fair share of celeb mishaps in her own store and would love nothing more than to die of natural causes than a heart attack. “By all means, Your Highness, do be careful. The media circus is barbaric enough to tear your reputation into shreds if you drop your guard.”

And not even the Glaives can guard him against it. "…yeah, copy that.”

Magisa is sensible enough to keep a respectful distance from him when he strolls through the rolling racks, suede jackets, knitted sweaters, complementing accessories, an orgasm of colours reaching out to him. It’s easy to forget why he’s here when he’s here with you, taking in the slanted photo frames hanging off the walls, glorious lights dawning on you and him, stops at an eye-catching bomber jacket studded in stars across its back—until he’s distracted by your fingers tugging his cuff.

“What are we looking for, Prince? Anything specific in mind for Ignis? Or is there anything he’s been eyeing?”

That’s a good question. Walking into another aisle offers rows of men’s accessories hanging from sleek metal plates. Noctis eyes a leather belt with some punk rock aesthetic on it; Prompto’d like that. “No idea actually. Was hoping we’d just find something here for him.”

“Maybe I can browse the other side and see what I can come up with?” you offer, slinking backwards with a genuine expression of being helpful to the cause. Noctis turns on his heels, catching the flit of your fingers trailing in the air as goodbye. Your back turns to him when you wander through gypsum partitions, leaving an echo of your voice. “I’ll come back soon.”

That is not how he envisioned this to be, but uh. “Sure, I guess…” Noctis answers to an empty space, minding how awkward it feels when you’re not by his side. He has half the urge to chase you just because—and the other half is judging him through Magisa's pointed silence, having witnessed every waking second.

Deciding it's best to concentrate on the task in hand, he orientates his focus to a suave combo of a dress shirt, striped belt, and gradient aviators arbitrarily arranged on a wall-mounted shelf. The clashing colours don't scream Ignis Posh Scientia, so it's a solid No for Noctis. A cashmere scarf in tartan isn't Ignis Stylish Scientia either, and Noctis backs away from the section altogether. After rifling through three snazzy co-ords, four fitted pants whilst knowing nothing of Ignis’ size, two loafers and simultaneously thwarted by Ignis’ mysterious size yet again, Noctis is almost ready to call it a day.

Magisa, thankfully, steps up to her task after sensing his deathly desperation and escorts him to a selection of accessories for the subdued, wrinkled hands lifting one of the many displays for him to choose. Having her recommendations ironed out some of the hitches in his grand plan, deciding the subtle emboss of a skull on a pair of suspenders is better than the garish VW belt buckle, and with satisfaction, Noctis follows her to the cashier—

—or not, when a sharp glint has him making a short detour to a tiered jewellery display.

Hanging off the dainty hooks are little bits of silver with varying pendants, necklaces and chokers sparkling under a well-placed spotlight. Before he takes a step back to think why he’s here and what he’s doing and Magisa’s incredible concern with whatever he’s up to, Noctis threads his fingers through a delicate star necklace.

Diamante dotting all five points up to its heart, sleek silver chain neither too long nor short like his soon-to-be five months with you. Just right, maybe just right sitting at the base of your neck nestled between your collarbones. That’s not too bad of a thought, so before he overthinks things and dabbles into the mechanics guiding his rash action, he hands it over to a waiting Magisa, who accepts it with pursed lips.

“Shall I pack it separately?” she asks none too subtly, returning to the cash register to ring up his purchases. “Would you prefer a nondescript bag or a ribbon to go with it?”

Noctis cocks a brow, withdrawing his wallet and putting his card on the proffered tray. “Is this about the suspenders or?” She gives him a look, the one that makes him feel like he's in trouble after Ignis looted his unhealthy Nissin collection, and he instantly knows what she's referring to. "Uh. Separately packaged. Just a box will do." Maybe a ribbon? "Nothing too flashy for the ribbon. Simple stuff."

“Of course, Highness, she doesn’t seem like the gaudy sort,” she offers her opinion—not that he asked her for it, but it’s a little reassuring that Magisa seems satisfied with his choice. Deft hands slotted his card, nude fingernails key in numbers on the screen, making quick work of boxing up the necklace for him to hide.

And hiding your necklace is just a simple affair of attuning it with his armoury, stowing it deep where nobody else knows its presence but him.

The fracture of blue scattering over the countertop disappears in seconds, and it has Magisa pinching her glasses to lower it by a fraction.

“Well,” she comments, impressed, “that’s handy.”

Noctis smirks.

THAT PAPERBAG IN YOUR ARMS shouldn’t be getting under his skin, but it is. You emerge almost guiltlessly from the storefront with your purchase, a sizeable heft for its nondescript beige, smiling his way. Just what exactly is in it, that's the million Credit question right there. It could be something for your own closet since you've never gone shopping on your own before, but the irrational and conspiratorial Noctis whispers it's something for Byron, definitely for Byron, because when are you notthinking about fashionable little Byron and his four-digit leather gloves anyway? Your morning conversation said all that needs to be said.

The sun’s irritating his skin and feeding the irritation in his heart, but you don’t seem to notice any of it.

“So what’re we doing now, Prince?” you say, prancing by his side in that one-two skip you do whenever you’re excited, but you’re playing off your excitement just so he won’t say anything about it. “Is there anything else you wanna do?”

Crossing the Ladian Avenue together, heavily blossoming magnolia trees shaded the pavement, creamy innocence perfuming the air. Strips of grass overlay granite slabs, pink petals dusting the surface. Children play imaginary hopscotch on evenings when their parents are off from work, couples marvel over the bold jewels growing on these magnolias, and for people like Noctis, someone not exactly a parent or your boyfriend, he pockets his hands and tries to shrug off his misplaced displeasure. Tries, because he’s still not good at it, but at least he’s willing to try.

“You hungry?”

Cracked sunlight falls over a part of your face, highlighting the sheer luminance of your eye. “Yeah? I mean, I’m totally cool if you wanna go home now since we’ve got what you need, but…” you stop underneath a magnolia, leaning against the scrawny trunks clustered together, “if it’s not too much of a hassle for you, can we go to the bookstore together?”

“The bookstore?” he repeats—totally not distracted by how the sunlight fragments colours in your iris, totally not wanting to press his fingers to your cheek to feel how warm you are. “Sure, if you have something to do there. Not that far of a detour from here.” Pointing to some few blocks in the distance to show how close it is, his hand falls to his hip just so he’d avoid touching you out of your comfort zone. “You wanna head there now?”

You give a little stretch with your arms high above your head, making a sound of pure content. One that Noctis has never heard before. “Nah, later. Lunch sounds way more tempting. Where do you wanna take me this time?”

He can’t say he’s thought that far ahead, but he’s proud of himself for being able to turn the question right at you. “What do you wanna eat this time?”

“The ramen we had was really tasty,” you suggest, though you quickly retract your statement with a finger tapping your chin, “but I kinda wanna eat something different. Something like that, but not something like that?”

There you go again, all roundabout answers with no end in sight. Five months in and you’re still you. Shreds of magnolias drift in the breeze as he snorts, dusting off pretty pinks falling on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means, Prince,” you say, quick hands cupping a fluttering petal, delighted like you’ve never seen one before. Maybe Byron’s never pruned magnolias for your vases, that’s possible enough. “Kinda like one of those feel-good foods? Homely kinds of stuff, nothing fancy, just delicious meals straight from the heart.”

The wind picks up, sweeping through the boulevard, a flurry of flowers raining on you and him. Nonchalantly picking out a petal streaked in rich pinks fading in whites from your hair, Noctis drops it into your outstretched hands. You crane your neck to reward his gift with a smile, and it’s all he needs. “Ever had oden before?”

“Nope, never had them.” You shake your head as Noctis plucks off more pinks from your hair, his jacket, your shoulders, presents in the palms of the queen in white. “What’s oden like? Loads of rich broth? Warm, fuzzy foodie meals? Instaglam-worthy shots?”

“Your inner Prom is coming out,” he points out, and you laugh.

Just like this, it’s nice standing around, talking with you all casual like nothing else matters in this world. Pressing your back to the tree, cornering you like this—oh. Magisa’s warning throbs in his head.

Yeah, shit, he kind of forgot about that, didn’t he?

Noctis consciously takes a step back, catching questions in your eyes.

The Glaives tailing him 24/7 would peck all this up like Chocobo feed for the rest of the Glaives back home to gobble over, and if he’s hoping this won’t be #1 trending gossip in Insomnia, he better start praying to whatever Astrals’ out there watching over him. They say Ramuh’s the kindest of the bunch, right? So maybe Ramuh would listen and spare him all the media sharks who could’ve spied on him.

Out in the open space, anyone could be watching him—you. He doesn't have the cover of the night to help him out when it's bright and breezy like this, nothing like the privacy of a lake and the stars, nothing like Prompto’s presence warranting a friendly outing. Going out with him and Ignis is one thing while going out with you is on another scale altogether. He doesn’t enjoy freedom the way a commoner does, all because he’s the prince. And princes don’t get to walk around with you the same way Byron does.

There it is again.

He hates it. Hates the familiar edges of that moody, problematic prince coming up. All because he doesn’t think things through and his temperament is getting the best of him and he just can’t say it because he doesn’t know how to make it sound not so awkward since he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore but he can’t go past a boyfriend because what kind of shitty boyfriend is he going to be when he can’t even date you normally. And then there’s Byron too, feeding the unhealthy glutton for jealousy in him. So he’ll probably end up ruining this day in the end, won’t he?

Pretending the disappointment clouding your eyes is nothing more than confusion, he quirks a finger for you to follow. “C’mon, let’s go. I’m starving.”

The abrupt change in his demeanour isn't lost on you. Still, you seem to stumble out of whatever daydream cluttering your head, petals once clasped tight in your palms now scattering all over the ground. “…right, lead the way.”

He’s good at pretending, isn’t he? He’s been pretending he’s got his life together all these years, so he’s sure he can pretend to be your friend just a little while longer.

A MOUTHFUL OF PIPING HOT oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. You’ve never seen someone conducting business from a wooden cart curtained in red, but the novelty of the experience has you eager to sink onto the wooden stool for the pick-and-mix session to begin. The ancient owner, yet another friend of the prince, is all toothy grins when Noctis ducks into his stall, batting away all attempts at paying at the end of the meal.

“You’re definitely the People Prince,” you say, en route to the bookstore across a boulevard lined in street lamps. Paper bag bouncing by your side, you take a peek at his face. “I’m kinda surprised how many people actually know you—not like know know, but they know you like you’re friends from way before.”

Noctis shrugs like it means nothing to him, but you’ve long learnt his belligerent blue eyes are more honest than he is. “Used to hang out loads with Prom when I was in high school. Arcades, ramen stalls, oden carts, cinemas, karaoke, you name it, we did ‘em all.” He swoops sharp right into another street, plodding uphill past grey-bricked boutiques. “When you’re a regular, you’re instantly a level above most customers they get on other days.”

You tail him from behind, though momentarily, a woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu makes you coo for a second. Noctis flashes you a look for your unintelligible cooing, not expecting that form of a reply, and you fiddle for an answer. “Um—well, you’re the prince and you get along so well with them, so you’re everyone’s favourite.”

“Totally not,” he rebukes with less bite and more of a scowl. Curt, leaving the conversation in the dust, just like that.

Had you hit a sore spot somehow? He’s been testier ever since you got out of Vivienne Westwood a little later than he did. Is it because it's the usual cliché of guys hating girls when they go off on a shopping spree? And then they have to wait for what seems like aeons before their significant other comes back to reality? Free oden failed in cheering him up, even if the ecstatic old man loaded up his portion with more freebies, so hangry from both hunger and anger is out of the question since you’re full and he’s full and he’s still taking you to the bookstore like what you wanted.

So what was your fault?

You don't know.

Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

Catching up brings you to an uncommon bookstore, broad posters taping the front of the store in the latest literature fixes. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, you assume it's a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. The whole atmosphere matches a parked car next to its entrance, white racing stripes across chintzy pink convertible, silver Vixen on its antique hood. It even has a Moogle bauble on its antenna, making you smile at how cute it is.

Unfortunately, Noctis doesn’t share your sentiment and doesn’t share your thoughts. He just stares at you staring at the car, and you felt bad for pulling him all the way here. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here after all? And he’s just too polite to say anything about it?

Somehow, that sends your premature joy plummeting to the ground.

“C’mon, let’s go in.”

“—right.”

The brisk exchange falls flat with you following Noctis inside, chilly air-conditioning fleecing your sun-warmed skin. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on weathered racks, but it’s hard to concentrate on the people and the place when Noctis and only Noctis is in your head. You pissed him off, didn’t you? In some way you can’t explain since you don’t know how you screwed up. You knew this day would come. Just like how you fight with Byron over the smallest of things, this could cement the start of a dispute between you and Noctis over who knows what and Gods know why.

He’s walking ahead.

He isn’t waiting for you.

Wandering through stationeries shelved along the walls, fingers drifting over jutting pencils, you are lost. Shellac finishes to a wooden barrel fail to reignite your interest in purchasing and engraving a fountain pen for Ignis’ birthday. The bookstore is suddenly too cold, too lonely for you alone, standing in front of a glass display. You are a face among the many masks hustling about, giggling and chatting and walking along. You can’t share Noctis’ world when he’s not here with you.

A soft graze on your elbow has you looking up to your left, sinking into a trance when familiar blackness return.

Oh. Noctis is here all along, blue eyes unreadable. He’s doing something with his hand. Oh. He’s holding you. He turns his back, fingers laced through yours, leading you away from the crowd. Past uncaring apron-wearing helpers, past scampering children, past the broadest wall leading to an emergency exit. Heavy fire doors are bolted shut behind him. They erase all sounds, hiding you and him from scandalized eyes.

His hand is warm in yours.

Fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, the stairwell smells of dust and cement. You can’t hear your heart beating when Noctis tips his head, messy bangs turning blue eyes black. He has your back to the wall like he had you at the tree—only, there is no distance separating you and him. He presses into your space with the intent to take everything, leaving nothing behind. You let him. His leg nudges between your knees up your thigh and he bends close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks. You can't breathe.

Dry lips descend on your ear with a warm whisper.

“Ah. A white puppy.”

You feel him smile.

“It’s too bad, really, that I need a black mongrel instead.”

It shuts down in black. Your eyes are wide open but you can’t see. Noctis is gone but you still feel his knee brushing against your inner thighs. Crawling the column of your neck is his hand, and it settles with a thumb on your jugular. He breathes low and harsh and you can’t mistake the shudder up your spine as anything else other than fear. You can’t see him, but you feel him holding you down the cracking drywall. You can’t move. You can’t scream.

He is saying something, but you hear him no more, not over the Crystal humming in your ear. It drowns him out like summer bees and static TV, but his breath laving your lobe is warm, rank, smelling of death and decay. Clawed fingernails dig half-moons in your wrist. You flinch under his strength. He doesn’t budge. You are cold when it is hot and sweat starts from your scalp sliding to your shoulder. Knees are buckling underneath you and you are certain you are falling but there is no telltale pain bruising your knees. You don’t know if you are standing or you are kneeling or you are here.

Blackness thickens because it’s never gone from the start, and the Crystal grows louder like it fights to be heard over Noctis. Electricity slithers where the crescents lie on your wrist, tattooing your skin in short jolts. Ouch you gasp but your lips do not move and your voice is unheard.

You’ve felt this before.

It’s magic.

But there is no blue in the blacks, only frayed red seeping through. Blotting out the dark, blurring into greys.

The buzz snips off sharp as scissors.

A mouthful of piping hot oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. A woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu has you distractedly cooing for a second. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, it’s a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on purposely weathered racks, and the shellac finishes to a wooden barrel catches your fancy for Ignis’ gift.

The cashier hands your change with a smile and you exit the store to find Noctis waiting outside. Why is he looking all glum and sullen with his arms crossed over his chest anyway? Didn't that oden old man load up his bowl with all the grilled fishcake and sticky tofu skins? That can’t do, he can’t do all the frowning when you’re all happy from the food.

“Sorry for the wait!” You cosy up to him, tucking your packaged pen by your side. Noctis visibly jumps and looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head. His face is priceless and you can't help but laugh at him. "Gosh, Prince, what's wrong? Did something happen?”

“Uh—no, nothing happened,” he’s quick to sputter with a shake of his head, though he can’t seem to wipe that silly look he gives you. “You… okay?”

You’re confused, but not as confused as Noctis. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And Noctis takes a hard, long look. Narrowed blue eyes, lips curled, arms uncrossing to drop by his sides. He surveys you how one surveys an advertisement, even if all you had for an offering is this white dress and two sets of gifts. After a while, seemingly coming to a decision, he guiltily rubs his nape. "No. Nothing. Forget it."

“What, all that and nothing?” you chide at the anticlimactic end, taking one step after another.

He doesn’t answer, walking past an empty parking lot, and you jab him in his side, inciting an undignified yelp at your pre-emptive attack. So maybe it’s not worth it when he turns around and you get a sense of belated uh-oh when he chases you up the street, but at least now you know Gladio’s training is paying off because hey, your sides aren’t hurting that much anymore.

YOU ARE WEIRD AND UNREPENTANT and everything in Noctis’ dictionary of a catastrophe. Here he is, trying his damned best in keeping a distance from you, and you all but kicked over the barricades and shredded the WARNING flyers he tacked on the signboards. What’s he supposed to do when you ran fast uphill—but he’s faster,duh, and it ends in him yanking you through backstreet detours to avoid a ruckus. You had the nerve to laugh at him with the biggest, most brilliant smile he’s ever seen—not that it’s forgiven anything you’ve done to him today, absolutely none at all.

He can’t believe he’s saying this, but he’s glad to see your chilly chamber of secrets, even if it means his toes have to freeze on marble again.

Incredibly in a good mood, you are humming. Clicking on your desktop, belting out Billboard’s Top 20 instead of dead people’s music, boiling hot water and making tea. Noctis drops on a chair and observes you with a palm propping his head. Observes, because he’s sure as hell never experienced something like this before, never seen the city life infecting you all the way to your room, never heard you singing softly under your breath to some crappy lyrics scrawled on restroom stalls.

Did the bookstore unlock some hidden part of your personality like some side quest in a prophecy? Visit the bookstore to gain a new skill: Humming! or something? Noctis makes a face at that. Five years with Prompto and his RPG obsession definitely rubbed off on him.

You balance two cups in a hand and a teapot in the other, clicking off the music. “Here you go, Prince.” When he makes a move to help, you all but shushed him to sit, bringing porcelain to his face and pouring a stream of gold liquid right in it. “Sorry I don’t have anything good, Byron’s been too distracted with Ignis’ birthday party until he forgot my groceries this week.”

Noctis takes a sip of the bland concoction and considers what you said—not that he’s surprised irritation’s rapidly overtaking his initial revelation at your good mood because it’s Byron and when are you not in a good mood about Byron anyway? “Hmm.”

Either you heard him or you don’t as you sit right beside him instead of your usual spot behind your desk, nursing your own cupful. “He’s been baking nonstop,” you say with a sparkle in your eyes, but it vanished when you continue, “and when he screws up, I’m his garbage can apparently. He’s okay with cooking but he’s still crap at baking so I kinda think he’s trying to impress Ignis with this cake but ah—but don’t tell him I told you, he’ll totally kill me.”

His tone darkens with another deep sip. “Hmm.”

Radiating the sun’s enthusiasm, you aren’t unenthused with the one-sided conversation. He sets down his polished cup a little too sharply and you take it as a chance for refilling, not that he’s in any mood to drink more.

“So anyway, thanks for taking me out today,” you cheer, attempting to duck your head just so you’d meet his downturned eyes since he’s gone ahead with slouching in his seat. “Things are really different in the morning, huh? The kids, the streets, the shops, I didn’t think it’d be that different from all the times we went out at night. I was so, so wrong.”

He says nothing and stares right back at you.

He’s an ass for sulking about Byron now, isn’t he?

He is.

Not discouraged by his off-putting silence, you reach by your chair to pull the VW paper bag in your lap, hands flattening crinkles at the folds. Great, seeing that stuff shoves his mood off a cliff faster than a dive. You’re not going to make him sit through you parading your purchase for Byron, are you? He’d rather leave before that happens. No way in hell he’ll stick around to drag that knife down his heart like a goddamn masochist who likes this shit.

The moment he tries to get to his feet, tries, your hands shoot out to dump the bag on him. Whump it goes on his jeans, and Noctis stays because his legs suddenly forgot how to walk.

“That’s yours, Prince, as thanks for today—and also kind of like thanks for sticking with me all the time—wait, no, that’s not what I meant—as in thanks for letting me stick with you.” Your voice is thin at your fumbling, eyes nervously sweeping from him to the bag, bouncing your knees, and he swallows. “I mean it. So. Yeah. Um, thanks for all these four months together and I’ll work really, really hard to make sure the fifth month counts. Yeah. Yeah.”

So maybe his brain can’t quite catch up because his mouth betrays him with a stupid, “Uh.” And that’s not what he’s trying to say when you look positively petrified at the dead sound like he doesn’t care when he obviously cares, damn it. “Wait no—I just.” He swallows the tightness in his throat because why is it so hard to say something when just a word makes the difference between life and death because you, too, counted all the months together like him? His mouth still can’t process the important message and he ends up with another dumb, “Um. Thanks.”

What else? What else? Should he add that he’s sorry for being an ass today just because a certain green-eyed monster kept taunting him with Byron’s name? That blew out of proportions—and that embarrassed him to the point of no return. Here you are, gifting him the same paper bag that haunted him all the way from Vivienne Westwood, and it’s not for your butler of decades. It’s for him. A five-monthiversary gift. For him.

And nobody else but him.

Because you only had eyes for him from the start.

The silence is deafening. He considers you considering him, you’re all wide-eyed silence, he’s all eyes lidded low silent. Your hands smoothen white cotton over your thighs. Teeth are back on your bottom lip, gnawing, pulling. He’s going to mess this up again, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. He totally is. How’s he supposed to say something, anything, when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of surplus jealousy and growing shame?

The next best thing for him to do is the good old adage of action speaks louder than words. Taking the advice to heart, Noctis snatches the ribboned box from his armoury in a burst of blue, tossing it to your lap. Not the best way to gift you, but it evens out the score since you threw his first.

You haven’t moved an inch as the box bounces on your thighs. You probably stopped breathing too.

Noctis clears his throat and remembers that conversation is a two-way thing, as bad as he is at it. “That’s… yours.”

On cue, trembling fingers scramble to lift it to uncertain eyes and he’s rewarded with the sight of a dumbstruck strategist trying to make sense of the package. Turning it in every angle in sunlight diffused by recessed lighting, examining the gold emboss on cool grey, and he’s willing to bet if he’s not there, you would’ve even sniffed the whole box like it’s an edible prank. In the end, you make a hapless sound, balancing it on your jittery lap with a rigid smile.

“Um.” You say, just as dumb as he did. “That was unexpected.”

Noctis tilts his head the other way round. “What, no thanks?”

Instantly, you seize up in panic. He meant it in a funny sense, just a friendly tease, but apparently, it's lost in the mathematics in your head. “No, no, I really, really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much, Prince, I—” you stop to make a strangled sound, pressing your palm to your mouth to stifle the noise. “—thanks, seriously, thanks. ”

Noctis catches your eyes turning glassy and hell, you’re not going to cry, are you? It’s already bad enough he’s struggling to deal with his internal issues; he can’t deal with a crying strategist right now. “Wait—stop. Don’t cry. Dude, seriously, chill.”

It takes a whole seven seconds for you to sniff like you’re draining your eyes inwardly, dabbing the wet corners with the back of your hand. “Not crying, but close enough.”

“Yeah, right.” Six, he hates it when someone messes up his hair, but his own hand is messing up his hair and he can’t get mad at himself, can he? Whatever. Noctis gives up understanding this whole thing and winds up gesturing haplessly at your gift. “You can open it if you want.”

“Sure—" you sniff and Noctis’ wary eyes are searching for any signs of tears as you wave at his gift hopelessly. “—you too, open that if you want to.”

So.

Now that it’s gotten to this point, he can’t imagine what’s in the paper bag or summon the last memory of receiving a gift outside of birthdays. All he knows is that he extracts a folded jacket from its depths, feels his brows meeting at the middle, almost did a double take when he gets a good look at the pin-sized stars dotting the back, physically refrained himself from doing said double take because it’s the same jacket he eyed the moment he stepped in the shop, and floundered for something to say. If you noticed his red soles, he can’t say he’s surprised you noticed how he lingered a second too long at the rack. Noctis leans deeper in his seat and stops trying to pin the precise point in the timeline to answer when you snuck behind his back to buy this for him. He finds none.

An awed gasp from your end tells him your reaction.

Now it’s his turn to dart back and forth from your face to the necklace dripping between your fingers. Your flushed face. One with a garbled series of stuttered ah, um, uh and more ah, um, uh until you abruptly swallowed all nonsensical noises and looked at it with the softest expression he’s ever seen on your face. Wet eyelashes quivering. Lips trembling. Soundless.

The silence returns.

Then, a quiet, “Star.”

Noctis searches for his voice for a while. He finds it, but he can’t release it from wavering. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you say.

He gets that much. Star. Just like the ones on his jacket. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you repeat, and a weaker, “Noctis.”

Noctis buries his hands in his jacket. He doesn’t realise when he’d done it. His fingers are burrowing deeper into fine fabric and hummingbirds are caged in his ribs. His name. On your lips. His name. Everything else matters little now. “Yeah?”

Slowly, almost unearthly, you return from your starry reverie with the lethargy of a woman drowning in the sea. Languid, lifting the necklace to your eyes—only, you are not looking at it, you are looking past the pendant, you are looking at him. “Just like the stars we saw that night, remember?”

Oh. Oh. The hummingbirds are loud. And fast. Noctis fishes something from his vocabulary along the lines of hey just so you know, it’s totally fine if you wanna call me by my name but some words end up omitted after an unexpected filtering and all he’s left with is a lame, “That’s my name.”

Your eyes are gentle when you say, “I know.”

The hummingbirds struggle maddeningly loud against his ribcage and Noctis thinks of come here, Noct, and come here and let me love you, and he knows what exactly he wants. “You know.” His voice has gone rougher in the edges. “You can call me by my name.”

The necklace ripples in the air. There is no breeze. Only your hand trembles. You don’t cry. You don’t smile. You don’t look away. “I can’t call you that, I’m sorry…” Your tongue twists each word with care, yet the undertones betray your want—your inherent need for his name. “I respect you as the prince, and it’s a reminder to me that you are my prince. It’s something I shouldn’t ever forget, as someone who wants to serve you.”

The reasoning behind your logic is solid but Noctis doesn’t want logic now.

Logic has no place between two people of a chance meeting on the 56th floor.

“I don’t want to be the prince to you. I want to be.” He pauses, looks mildly uncomfortable, and shakes his head. He wants it. Even if it’s pretending game for two. “Wanna be someone normal to you.” We aren’t normal, he says, we can never be normal with how things are, but I’ll keep pretending it’s normal if you’ll let me. “Not your prince, not your future duty. Just… normal.”

Someone normal enough to take walks with you on flowering promenades.

Someone normal enough to spend hours with you playing video games.

Someone normal enough to sleep together with you.

“So,” you murmur quietly, "is it okay," tipping your head aside, "if I," looping silver around your neck, "call you," clasp fixed securely in place, the star at home between your collarbones, "Noctis?"

He doesn’t trust his voice. Back to action it is, with a slow nod of his own.

You are the very image of his imagination, star sitting at the base of your neck, the centrepiece of your shoulders. You are too real. More than what his paltry dreams offered in his sheets, you are in your chair in a room too cold with his necklace on your neck and he stops hearing the hummingbirds and starts feeling them under his skin. They’ve escaped, fluttering in his nerves, almost guiding his fingers with enough force to touch the silver on your skin.

“Noctis,” you say, fingering his chain.

He nods again.

“Noctis,” you say, a finger stopping on the star.

He softly agrees with your echo, “Yeah.”

“Noctis,” you say, eyes falling shut, head downcast. “Thank you.”

He knows his name belongs on your lips when he, too, closes his eyes. There are stars on the backs of his eyelids and he thinks he’ll dream of them tonight.

IT IS ONLY MUCH LATER ON when you are in the company of your mirror that you allow yourself a moment to examine your reflection. You are twenty and your hands are still bloodied with people whose names you don’t know. You are father’s bundle of sins and your mother is dead. Your eyes are bruised black and your sickly pallor hasn’t improved five months removed from the House of Andronicus. You suspect the illness lies not within the house, but within you yourself. You are a decaying garden and it shows in your eyes, on your lips, on your tongue.

But one thing has changed.

Mother’s hands are gone from your neck.

And in its stead is the prince’s—no, he’s no longer the prince to you.

Noctis.

That is his name.

In its stead is Noctis’ necklace, a weight different from mother’s. It’s cold like her hands, but it’s not hers. It’s Noctis’. The edge of the star goes under your fingernail and you know it is a closure you’ve long sought. Her burial is long overdue.

“Goodbye, mama. Rest in peace.”

[tbc.]

NOTES:

in case anyone hasn’t seen it yet, Erion Makuo drew EXTREMELY FANTASTIC AND IMMENSELY BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK of Omen Noctis here so please go and check it out and send the artist HUGE LOVES! thank you so much for the gorgeous artwork!!! ;u; Bless Erion, bless the artwork, bless everything about them!!!

yells bc it took me ten thousand years to edit this chapter oh my god im so glad it’s done. cheers to plot devices trying to move the fic along! to those of you who are still reading, thank you so much for waiting roughly 4 months for this update! i’m really touched by all of the positive and encouraging moral support i’ve received through comments, kudos, and tumblr messages, especially through the tough times i’m facing and despite my inactivity on tumblr too. i’m still working in the same place, still floating along, still suffering, but coming back to work on this project and others, fuelled by everyone’s support, really gave a huge boost to my emotional health. thank you so much, everyone, you guys are the best, the biggest life-changers, the awesomest people i could ever ask for in times like this.

so what’s next in decaying? everything is going to hell, that’s for sure. more fluff, equally balanced with more questionable content. if you’re uncomfortable with darker themes and morally dubious actions done by the characters, as usual, i’ll include appropriate warnings at the beginning of each chapter and even a little tldr at the bottom as a summary should you want to skip it.

i’ll try to have the next update as soon as i can since my progress is slightly hampered by my bilateral hand conditions, so please look forward to the next chapter as soon as i can! do take care, my lovely friends and readers; stay healthy and hydrated, keep hustling, the times are tough and things are getting tougher, but remember you can do it!

PREVIEW: you’re drowning in air but the world isn’t swimming past you anymore, reality isn’t flitting and warping around in dimensions before your eyes, and you finally feel you’re conscious enough to understand that night has fallen yet again over insomnia, over your room. but why’s byron waiting in the dark without any light and why’s he bending over to caress your cheek and he’s whispering go back to sleep too loudly and all you can tell him is wait byron i’m scared please stay voicelessly when your limbs don’t move and you can’t move and it’s dark, it’s too dark, but why can you see gold eyes and the line of his smile shifting into a smirk and—

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #Noctis Lucis Caelum #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #lazy people #fanfic #thank you for reading!

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