#or i will miss entire chunks of information while trying to get through a project before my interest in it dies and mess up multiple times

[thedreadpoetroberts]

You can be really smart and still have a learning disability.

You can be really smart and still have a learning disability.

You can be really smart and still have a learning disability.

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

[snow-leopard-7772point0]

I'll Change My Crown, from Light to Dark

The akuma landed on Marinette's windowsill, the girl not even noticing as she sat in the tattered remnants of her designs. Luckily she had dropped off most of her completed works the day before to be delivered to the appropriate patrons, though everything she had yet to send off was ripped, cut, burned, there wasn't a scrap of cloth that was usable for anything but as a guide for buying more. Her sketchbook was in shreds on the floor, paper scattered like confetti over the remaining slivers of all her hard work. 

The akuma danced in place. It's master was urging it to go forward, to possess the girl, but… there were so many objects to choose from! Should it just possess the entire room? The sewing machine? One little scrap of fabric? A piece of paper? What about her emotions? This butterfly had made some of the strongest akumas to date, though the strength behind her feelings was astromically larger than any other person they had targeted. The little insect itself was slightly afraid to act as a bridge for her. It finally flew forward, choosing the scraps of the dress the girl had been making herself for the Wayne gala.

Marinette froze when her emotions intensified, hearing Hawkmoth cooing in her ear. "Greetings, Mistress Hawthorne. They all accuse you of being the bully, of being a liar, never paying attention to the proof you give them. They destroyed your designs, your livelihood, and expect to get away scott free.  I'm giving you the ability to turn all your ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that force people to see the truth, whether they can accept it or not. No more hiding behind lies or masks, everyone will have to be honest and pay for their crimes. All I ask in return is for Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous."

"I refuse, Hawkmoth "

The villain froze for a second. Only one other person had ever resisted him so easily, and that was due to her love for Ladybug. Nothing about Marinette Dupain-Cheng screamed that she truly cared for the heroes, so why would she resist? He was giving her the perfect way to get revenge! If he didn't fear that it would give the heroes a clue to his identity, he wouldn't have even asked for the Miraculous for this offence! "Why do you refuse? Imagine how great it will feel, trapping them in their castle with your thorns until the truth comes out!"

"Oh, make no mistake, revenge will be divine. But I'm already looking at little to no sleep for the foreseeable future so that I can press charges against them, email all my patrons whose clothes were destroyed about the delay, buy all the fabric to remake their outfits, and get my own dress together for the Wayne gala. Luckily I'm not starting completely over with it, their mindless destruction gave me an idea for my dress, but there is still much to do. I have no time to become an akuma, I have to get to work immediately, and it will be tomorrow before my classmates are all in the same place again."

"What… what if I didn't ask for the Miraculous in return, and you miss a few days of school to get everything completed?

"While missing school may become a necessity before everything is over and done with, I still have much to do. It would take far too long to force the truth out of Lila Rossi, and I am uncertain if Ladybug's Miracle Cure would erase any progress I made on designing as an akuma. You seem like a reasonable businessman, I'm sure you understand."

"Ah, yes, I do, actually. Cut me some slack here, I've been trying to akumatize you for over a year now! What kind of cloth are you cut from?"

"A different kind from my classmates. I refuse to stoop to their level. Besides, I have pride in the fact that I am not helpless, and the costumes I see akumatized people in are atrocious. Please have a nice day, but I do need to get to work."

"I-very well then. Good luck. Please at least make your classmates suffer."

Marinette's smirk alone was fuel to create a fear-based akuma. "They'll pay. But on my terms." The purple butterfly left her dress, and Marinette caught herself as she slumped to the floor. Resisting Hawkmoth had taken much more out of her than she had anticipated.

⏳

Gabriel rose from the underground room, surprising Nathalie. "Sir, surely she didn't-"

"No, Nathalie, she didn't loose. She didn't even accept my offer. I even offered to not require the Miraculous this time, but she still refused. Her mental strength is highly admirable, especially when her guard is at its lowest. She would be a great asset to us."

"In what manner?"

"Any way I can get her. She is one of the best designers I have seen in a long time, especially at her age. I caught a glimpse of her revenge plan when my akuma possessed her and it was astoundingly terrible, and she is kind and independent enough to make an amazing daughter."

"Sir, kidnapping is illegal."

"I don't have to kidnap her, I'll throw Adrien at her." Gabriel started to wave his hand in dismissal, then noticed the look on Nathalie's face.

"Sir, I think you should watch the rest of this." Nathalie walked forward, bringing up the video from earlier. Gabriel had only watched a second of it before rushing to his butterflies, it was easy to recognize the girl's room by her designs. He'd been gunning for her since she lied to him to help keep Adrien in school and made the feathered hat. Her spirit and dedication let him know that she could be a great ally or terrible enemy. She didn't (yet) have the money or power to come after Gabriel Agreste on her own, but he was certain that the girl was being considered for a Miraculous. He knew she didn't already have one, she hadn't responded to Miracle Queen, after all, but several of her classmates had used one. He actually paid attention to the video this time, watching all the way through. The first people seen on camera were the blogger girl and Lila Rossi, several other classmates cropping up through the video. He didn't notice Timebreaker, Evilillstrator, or the Bourgeois girl, though he did see his own son halfway through the recording, happily cutting at a gown that had been carefully beaded with a hawthorn pattern with a pair of scissors, cutting off the beads and chunks of fabric. 

Gabriel's frown deepened. "Cut all ties to Lila Rossi immediately. We will be making a public apology, telling the public that we did not know of her abhorrent tendencies, nor did we expect her to pull Adrien into her schemes. Adrien will be appropriately punished, and we will offer Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng compensation for the destruction of her property, along with a small team of designers that will know to make every stitch to her preference, no matter their opinion on the piece."

"Of course, sir. How would you like to make your statement to the public?"

"Call that news anchor, Najda Chamack, and ask her to come here. I will speak to her in person as soon as she is available. I also want the apology posted to every social media outlet we use, including our official website."

"Sir, is this not overkill? This isn't Audrey Bourgeois."

Gabriel glared at Nathalie. "No, she is not. She designs for more famous people than Audrey does. She is the main designer for the Wayne gala this year. Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, Tsurugi Tomoe, even the Wayne's commissioned her work. All of her designs are paid for in a split payment plan, the money for the materials is required upfront while the rest of the payment can wait until after the person received their design to make sure it is what they want. That means there will very likely be several highly influential individuals and families gunning for us because of Rossi and my son."

Nathalie paled. She hadn't imagined that the small girl who stumbled and stuttered every time she saw her would have that kind of power backing her. Everyone knew that the girl had Jagged Stone backing her, MDC was his main designer for everything and anyone who personally met the girl and the rocker knew who MDC was, especially since they were supposed to have their identity reveal at the Wayne gala. Jagged Stone by himself would be bad and the company would take a hit, though she was positive Marinette would stop him before he went too far. But with so many others working with Jagged… Gabriel (the company) would not survive. 

"I will get everything arranged." Nathalie quickly left the office.

⏳ 

Marinette's first order of business was to email all of the clients affected by her classmates's actions. She informed them that they did not need to worry, as she was suing all the students for the costs of what they destroyed- not just materials, but labor as well, and would be buying new material for their clothes out of her own pocket until she got retribution. She also informed them that their orders would come in slightly later than planned, though not by much. Clara, Jagged, Kagami and her mother, and the Wayne's all responded to her email with assurances that things happened and to take her time. Bruce Wayne offered to delay the gala so that she would have plenty of time to rectify the situation, though she was quick to assure him that it was not necessary.

Her next order of business was cleanup. She collected every scrap of fabric big enough to make so much as a small patch or strip and sat them in a small box next to where her personal dress was. Everything else was collected and thrown in the trash. She dug out her receipts for all the fabrics destroyed, including the fabrics for projects intended for her classmates. She quickly pulled up the video Alya had posted, writing down who destroyed what. She matched the fabrics to the people, then calculated the time she would have spent on each piece. She reviewed the video one more time, noticing that none of the art students, including Chloè, were in the video. Though it was to be expected. The whole class knew how important all art was to the art students; those students would have stopped them if they were in the know. Chloè was not only in the art club, but also still exiled from the class, though her relationship with Marinette had gone from bully to ally. They still weren't friends, but they stuck together against most of the class, only Nathaniel and Alix leaving them alone. The class may have had five braincells in the entire room, Chloè, Marinette, Alix, and Nathaniel each having one all to themselves while the rest of the class, including Madame Bustier, shared the other one, but they used that one braincell to know who could be brought in on a scheme like this.

Marinette had just finished calculating who she would she for what and was on her way to buy fabrics when her phone rang. She grabbed it as she opened her hatch, activating her recording app as she answered. "Hello?"

"Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, it has come to my attention that Adrien Agreste and Lila Rossi have vandalized your property. Lila Rossi has already been terminated and Adrien will face suitable punishment for his actions. I wish for you to come by the manor at your earliest convenience for us to discuss payment."

"If you're free now, I was just about to head out."

"Of course. I'll send a car for you."

"Merci, Monsieur Agreste." Marinette pocketed her phone and made copies of the expenses each of her classmates would be charged. She had no way of knowing where, exactly, Gabriel Agreste stood, but she refused to leave anything to chance. The original, along with the receipts, was stored in her diary box while one copy was left on her desk and another found its home in her purse. She stopped by the kitchen to inform her parents that she was headed to the Agreste Manor and would explain later before walking out to wait on the car.

⏳

Adrien was smiling after school. He had never realized how freeing it was to tear clothes apart, especially clothes made by someone who refused to listen to him. Marinette deserved everything she got, plus some. He wondered what of hers he could destroy next.

He was surprised when he returned home to see his father glaring at him from in front of the stairwell. "We need to have a talk, son." The designer's voice promised pain. "About your friends and actions today."

Adrien stared at his father, confused. "Why? What happened?"

Gabriel growled. "Nathalie."

"Sir?"

"Show him the video, then leave us to our discussion."

"Yes sir." Nathalie quickly pulled up the video of the class destroying Marinette's designs and held the tablet out to Adrien before taking her leave. 

Adrien watched the video, unable to understand what had angered his father. "Do you understand what you have done?" Gabriel demanded.

Adrien shrugged. "I got payback. She wouldn't listen to me when I told her to lay low, so I decided to help the class teach her a lesson."

Gabriel coldly glared at his son. "You have cost me over a thousand dollars just in the hours that girl put into her work. That does not include the cost of the materials, deformation of private property, or potential unlawful entry and vandalism charges. How do you know that Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng is not currently an akuma gunning for your head? Or that her clients aren't going to press charges? Her clientele could ruin your entire class, your entire school, with a single phone call."

Adrien scoffed. "She doesn't have that many big clients. Just Jagged Stone. And Marinette can't get akumatized. She's too stubborn to listen to anyone."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Adrien, I'll tell you this as your classmate is revealing it in less than a month. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has been taking the world of fashion by storm while using her initials, MDC. Only certain celebrities and rich people know who she is, mainly people she has worked or designed for. Jagged Stone is the first and main one, yes. But Clara Nightingale has been using her more and more. MDC is the main designer for the Wayne gala, not only Monsieur Stone and Mademoiselle Nightingale commissioning her, but the Tsurugi family and the Wayne family, along with several friends and supporters of the four families. Aubrey Bourgeois supports her, perhaps even more than she supports me, and I have admired several of her pieces done for contests."

Blood began to drain from Adrien's face, though Gabriel doubted that the boy fully understood anything yet. "Her mother's best friend is Najda Chamack, and Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng babysits her child. Her uncle is a famous chef who loves his family dearly, especially since his great niece learned Mandarin to be able to talk to him and help him with his French. Alix Kubdel is friends with Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, and also comes from a respectable family- as well as Chloè Bourgeois becoming her ally after she helped with her mother. Not to mention that the Dupain-Cheng family is not hurting for money, as they are the best and most popular bakery in Paris. They get orders from all over the city, plus serve at almost every party that has edible food. You attacked the livelihood of one of the most powerful children in Paris. Not only that, but you destroyed the property of some of the most prolific people in the world." Adrien's face had lost all traces of blood, though Gabriel did not expect it to be from shame. No, his son was afraid because he had been caught. "You will not return to school until Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng has revealed herself as MDC to the world, nor will you have access to any of your social media, messages, or phone. You may return to being homeschooled. I shall have to reassess the situation at a later date. If I do allow you to return to school, it will not be François-DuPont. You will drop contact with your current classmates. You are dismissed." Gabriel turned from his son, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

⏳

Marinette was escorted straight to Gabriel's office upon arrival. The man shook her hand before gesturing for her to take a seat. "Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, my assistant showed me the video of what your classmates did. My sincerest apologies. I assure you that my son is currently being punished and Mademoiselle Rossi's contract has been terminated. I also wanted to offer you compensation for your loss as well as a team of designers that will follow your instructions to the last stitch."

Marinette eyed the elder Agreste. "What do you want in return?"

Gabriel blinked at the girl. He knew she was smart, though he hadn't expected her to ask that. "For this? Nothing. My son deserves every lawsuit you draw up. I remember what it was like when I was first starting my company; something like this would have been devistating."

"Well, Monsieur, covering everything will not be necessary. I have already calculated the damages each student did and how much they owe for it. I am not holding you responsible for the actions of any of my classmates, not even Agreste or Rossi. I'm sure you have paid your son for working for you," Marinette felt viciously victorious when he nodded, "in which case he should be able to pay for damages himself. The same holds true for Rossi; she was a contract model for your company and was paid as such. They should both be able to afford my work- custom or not."

"Might I see what you've drawn up? I heard from Aubrey that you have a tendency to undercharge for your work, and, as you just said, my son and former employee should be able to afford your work. The beaded dress my son ruined, for example, should cost twenty-five hundred dollars, bare minimum. I would charge much more than that, especially with how much work is put behind hand-beading." Marinette could do nothing but gape at her childhood idol. She had been expecting a bribe, a threat, something to try to protect his son.

She pulled the paper out of her purse when he raised an eyebrow, pulling the video up on her phone. "Césaire was stupid enough to put her phone in the corner where I could track everyone's movements, and I can figure everything out if I can get Markov. I figured out who destroyed what and calculated what they owe from there. I don't know who picked the lock to the upper floors, or to my room, though my money's on either Césaire or Rossi. Césaire's obsessed with being a great reporter while Rossi is a liar and a thief. Harleprè, Lavaillant, Bruel, Couffaine, and Lahiffe owe the least, they didn't do much. They just ripped a few pages out of my sketchbook. Raincompx, le Chein, Césaire, Rossi, Agreste, and Kantè did the most damage, and so will face the bigger lawsuits. I have already contacted my clients and informed them of the slight delay. Your team of designers, while most appreciated, will not be necessary. It shouldn't take me more than a few days to recreate the Wayne's suits and send them off, I sent the dresses yesterday. Jagged and Clara will both be in Paris next week and can stop by my house to pick up their outfits and have a final fitting. I can easily deliver the Tsurugi chensogams to their home. That covered everyone that had their outfits for the gala destroyed. I had finished the majority of them yesterday and done the final checks before sending them off. I was supposed to send the Wayne suits off today, though that plan was foiled. I was lucky that I went ahead and finished my commissions rather than more personal projects. Most of what got destroyed were projects my classmates requested of me rather than important works."

"Are you positive you don't want help? At least on your beaded dress?"

Marinette pulled up pictures of what she had. "I have several different scraps of colors, most of them either on the darker end of the spectrum or metalic, from the works they destroyed. I'm going to use those scraps from my other works to make a pair of wings on the back of the dress, the colors getting darker the further down they go and metalic fabrics making the outline of the wings."

Gabriel considered the dress. "You'll look like a fallen angel. I hope you're still planning on charging my son the full amount for the dress."

"Most definitely. There will be some alterations I make besides the wings, putting some pieces back together, cutting or tearing others, partially rebeading sections, I have some work to put in. Your son added to my work load when it was already full, he personally destroyed not only my dress but Jagged and Penny's outfits as well. Might I know what punishment he is suffering?"

"So you can plan revenge accordingly?" Gabriel questioned. He sighed at her innocent expression. "He will no longer attend François-DuPont. He will basically be under house arrest for everything except shoots until after the gala. I am undecided as to whether he shall go to another school or be permanently homeschooled. He is not allowed any contact with his former classmates nor access to social media or his phone. So if you wish to strike, do it right after a photo shoot. You can do it before or during as long as you don't ruin the clothes on display."

Marinette's grin was pure evil. "Don't worry, Monsieur Agreste. I have too much respect for the work designers put into their work to be so crass. Will Agreste still practice fencing with Kagami?"

"I shall allow it on a trial basis."

"Very well. It was nice meeting with you, Monsieur Agreste, but I must take my leave. I have too much to do before I traumatize, I mean get payback, I mean revenge, wait, no, deal with my classmates after the gala. But before I go… You wouldn't happen to know anyone that would be able to teach me how to, how should I phrase this… I guess basically be an Ice Queen?"

Gabriel smirked. "Actually, my nephew, Felix Graham de Vanily, will be at the gala. He's a model from England, and many consider him an Ice King. He'd be a great teacher." And perhaps potential mate to bring you into the family. I wonder how many love akumas it would take to get you two together… perhaps Adrien needs a good influence his age around the Manor…

Marinette slightly felt as though she had signed her future away, though that was ridiculous so she simply thanked Gabriel before leaving.

⏳

The next few days flew by in a rush of designing and lawyers. The lawyers her parents got were more than willing to come to the bakery and talk to Marinette as she sewed, especially since she had eyeballed them and given them all scarves and beanies the next time they were there. Marinette didn't bother to pay attention in Bustier's class, electing to nap instead. She was awake for Mendeleiev's classes, though. She liked her dragon-like teacher as the woman actually taught her students. She managed to finish her clients' clothes with time to spare, having gotten so used to designing for Jagged, Penny, and Clara that very few adjustments needed to be made. A couple Wayne suits had come back with notes on where they needed to be adjusted and how, and those were shipped back out that same day. Her own dress took until the last minute, Marinette completely finishing it, including adjustments, the day before she was set to leave for the gala. She would be staying with Jagged and Penny in the Wayne Manor for the two weeks she was to be there, a week before the gala and a week after. Her classmates's parents were horrified to hear what their children had done, making sure the kids paid every penny of what Marinette was suing for without even going to court. Alix and Nathaniel had nearly gotten in trouble with their families, though Marinette was quick to personally visit and explain things. Apparently the other families had contacted the Kurtzburg's and Kubdel's about the scandal with the children, no one noticing that some of the children weren't involved.

She already had her traveling designing kit packed so that she could make sure the Wayne's outfits all fit properly. Chloè and Kagami were traveling with her, determined to make sure their former rival was well taken care of while their parents took care of the hotel. Jagged was fuming beside Marinette whole they rode through Gotham, the girl talking to her friends.

"So, Mari-hime, you told me that you would explain what was going on if Adrien refused to before we left." 

Marinette gave Kagami a highly stressed smile. "I think watching the video would explain things better. I didn't want you to get akumatized because of me while we were in Paris."

"So you knew Adrien would refuse to tell me what crime he committed against you. What video?"

Marinette pulled it up on her tablet. "For the record, I simply suspected that he would keep his mouth shut. Though Monsieur Agreste is making sure that his interactions with anyone besides himself, Madame Sancouer, and his bodyguard are highly limited." She passed Kagami the tablet, Chloè leaning over to watch it with her.

The Japanese girl dropped the tablet in her lap as she watched, clenching her fists so hard that her palms bled. "How- how dare that baka! They all have no honor! They should meet my blade!"

"Kagami. Calm down. I have it handled. I want you and Chloè to teach me how to be a vengeful Ice Queen while we're here. Monsieur Agreste suggested talking to his nephew for lessons as well. By the time I'm back in Paris, I don't want our classmates to be able to recognize me. I already have some revenge planned, the wheels for those are already in motion. I messaged the Césaire and Lahiffe families to inform the entire family that I will be unable to babysit for them for the foreseeable future. Ambassador Rossi has a request in her inbox to visit the school while we are gone, as Rossi's classmates would love to hear about what it's like to be an ambassador. The le Chein family was sent a list of tutors for their son's failing grades, unfortunately all those tutors work at the same time as mandatory swim practice. I sent Luka a copy of the video, so Kitty Section is about to loose their lead guitarist so that he can learn under my dear uncle. Agreste will be facing a startling amount of bad luck for a good chunk of time whilst loosing all of his beloved friends. By the time I am finished, even Hawkmoth won't want to work with them."

Chloè stared at her friend. "Did you really just say 'whilst?' Who hurt you? I just want to talk."

Jagged continued to sulk. "She won't even let me send my rockin followers after those bloody rats. She's only letting me steal away a new guitarist!"

"Because I have everything planned out. And Agreste will become even more isolated once we return. No matter what I say, Kagami is going to duel him to the, figurative, death before informing him of her distaste for him and his actions."

Kagami mock glared at Marinette. "So what if I do? He deserves it. He deserves much worse. But how will he become more isolated? I will still be sparring with him twice a week."

"A person is more isolated surrounded by people that don't care about them than all on their own. Yes, you will physically be there. But your obvious emotional distance will leave him more isolated than him being stuck in his room all day."

Chloè stared at her new friend. "Where was all this evil cunningness when I was your bully?"

Marinette smirked. "I had a wake-up call. Césaire, ironically, taught me that it's okay to stand up for myself, and Hawkmoth helped release a part of me I had blocked out."

"What? Were you akumatized? How did I not know?" Chloè demanded.

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. "It was a few days before we actually became friends, and he didn't manage to akumatize me. He possessed my dress, but I refused to work with him. Apparently he's wanted to akumatize me for a while, but I'm good at forcing myself to calm down."

"What was he going to call you?" Chloè was highly excited to finally have someone who knew what it was like to fully resist Hawkmoth. Not calm down before the butterfly reached them, not resist for a second before giving in, but fully resist the man.

"Mistress Hawthorne." Marinette laughed. "I was going to have the ability to turn my ruined dreams into hawthorn bushes that would trap everyone in their castle and force them to see the truth." Marinette had to stop, she was laughing so hard. "I told him no, and he was so shocked that he only argued for a second before wishing me luck with revenge!"

Jagged continued to sulk through the teens laughter, refusing to give in. He wanted to crush those bloody teens. No one gets away with hurting his niece.

⏳

As soon as she arrived at the manor and had her bags unpacked, Marinette began tracking down the Wayne's, one by one, and dragging them back to her room with their suits or dresses, forcing them to put them on so that she could fully alter them to her preference. Dick was scared of the tiny Asian girl that slung him over her shoulder before grabbing his suit and forcing him to come with her when he hesitated and then worked silently, ignoring his attempts at friendship. He was so scared of her that he sprinted the other direction the first time he saw Kagami. Jason and Bruce both wanted to adopt the girl- she blended in perfectly with their family, and Jason had witnessed both, the girl's kidnapping of his brother and Dick running away from Kagami. He had to respect someone who could instill more fear than Demon Spawn himself, and Bruce wanted to cultivate that talent until he got a Nightingale. Damian and Cass both respected the girl for her professionalism and silence (and word of her traumatizing Dick had already spread through the manor). Tim instantly fell in love with the girl, as she asked him if he wanted coffee or tea while they were doing his fitting, as he looked dead on his feet (he did not choose both or cry tears of joy, and no one can prove to Alfred that he did). Selina purred at the amount of pure chaos she could feel pouring off of the girl, even with her suppressing it while she worked. She needed a kitten. Bruce already had his litter, it was her turn. Kor'i bounced in place the whole time, trying not to inturupt the girl as she adjusted her glorious creation.

Jagged disappeared with Bruce after his fitting, explaining to the billionaire what Marinette had been going through, even showing him the video of her work getting destroyed, before asking for his help to get revenge. He explained Marinette's known plans, and the rocker and vigilante began planning around hers, using their collective contacts and knowledge to open the class's wounds even deeper.

Dinner that night was chaos. Jason, Selina, Bruce, and Jagged were in a constant argument, with Penny occasionally interjecting, that abruptly cut off any time Marinette drew near, she was only able to catch the words adoption and revenge, Kagami and Cass spent their time in silence, eyeing each other. Chloè didn't breathe while swapping between berating Dick and Tim for their fashion choices and interigating them about Gotham and its foreign student transfer policies. Damian scowled at everyone the entire time from his seat next to Marinette. Marinette did her best to emulate him, not noticing Dick slowly sliding his chair further and further away from her.

Damian decided he liked tolerated Marinette five days into her stay. Dick had been complaining to him and Jason about how much Asian girls scared him and Kor'i wanting them to live with them. Marinette had somehow heard his complaints and came storming up to them, cussing Dick out in a mixture of French, Mandarin, Arabic, Italian, and English. Damian did not know why that caused a blush to creep up his face, though he admired the way her accent curled around the words, making everything seem like a language all of its own. 

Jason chuckled when she walked off. "That. That was the art of cussing at its finest. I'm getting Alfed and we're going to go teach my new little sister how to shoot guns. Angel's my favorite, you can all suck it." Jason walked off in the same direction the girl had left in. It didn't take but forty-two minutes for the sound of gunfire to echo around the house. 

⏳

The night before the gala, the women in Wayne Manor gathered in Marinette's room. The night was spent coaching her on how to act and reveal her identity, both on the carpet and during the gala.

"Don't fret so much, kit." Selina advised. "You are a queen, act as such. Keep you head up and keep your cool. They'll all be tripping over themselves to speak to you, and you don't give them the time of day." Chloè nodded her agreement, even as Kagami objected.

"You're approachable and professional at the same time. Just let people see both sides of you."

The women continued to argue, Marinette finally escaping to talk to Alfred. She spent the night under his tutelage, learning all she could about presentation. The man finally ushered her off to bed. "You have a long day tomorrow. You will need sleep to get through it."

⏳

Once arriving at the gala, Marinette kept her head high as she glided down the carpet, the press quickly stopping her to ask if she was a new Wayne and what happened to her dress. "No." She offered a small smile to them. "I'm the designer MDC. The Wayne's hired me to design their suits, and were kind enough to offer their home to me and my aunt and uncle, even letting two of my best friends, Tsurugi Kagami and Chloè Bourgeois, spend the majority of their time with me at the Manor. My parents live in France, where I will be returning to in a weeks time. My room was broken into a few weeks ago, and some of my classmates ruined the outfits I had in there, including my dress. I decided to take what they did to my dress and use it as proof that nothing will bring me down. Excuse me, I need to go. I do not wish to keep my companions waiting." Marinette offered them a small bow before leaving them, giving the press a good look at the drooping angel wings sewn on the back of her dress.

"Angel," One of the reporters breathed, leading to a frenzy. MDC was announced to the world that night as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Angel of Gotham.

⌛

Finding her group was easy, and it was almost just as easy to spot Felix, Gabriel's nephew. She grabbed Damian by his forearm, the boy too startled by her random action to react, and drug him over to the boy she assumed was Felix.

She tapped.the boy on his shoulder. "Excuse me, are you Felix?"

The boy gave a hesitant nod. "Great! I want the two of you to teach me as much as you can about being a vengeful Ice Queen."

Felix raised one eyebrow, looking between the girl and the scowling boy. "What do we get out of it?"

"You get to live with the knowledge that I am going to use your teachings to traumatize idiotic classmates and I can keep the girls from making passes at you, as you are already occupied with entertaining a lady."

The boys both quickly gave their consent, refusing to let the girl leave their side for even a moment the entirety of the gala. They were appeased enough with the girl that her lessons continued throughout the following week, the boys enchanted enough with her to seriously consider following her to Paris and watching her strike like a coiled viper.

⌛

When Marinette returned to school, she had changed. Not just in personality, no, she changed everything. Her personality (at school), her hairstyle, her clothes, everything was redone to fit who she had become. Flowy black pants, a black sleeveless top held up by a ribbon that wrapped around her neck, a red leather jacket loosley hung on her frame, and black boots could be seen under the pants.. Her gaze was frozen as it swept over the class. She was unsurprised to see Adrien sitting in his usual seat, Gabriel had informed her of his decision to place Adrien back in Bustier's class for the time being so that Marinette could teach him a lesson. Alix and Nathaniel had transfered out of the class as soon as they had learned of what the students had done, moving to Madame Mendeleiev's class. Chloè was also leaving, though she was transferring to Gotham after the week was up. She wanted that week to be able to watch the havoc Marinette would wreck on the class. Kagami had already decided to join the class, and Marinette spotted her in Nathaniel's old seat. She was not expecting to see Felix frowning next to Kagami, nor Damian smirking at the back of the blond's head. Thanks to those very boys, though, it was amazingly easy to hide her surprise. A smirk crawled its way across her face, even as she stepped far enough into the room that everyone could see her. She had timed her entrance perfectly. As soon as the class went to explode with praises and questions, the bell rang, Madame Bustier walking in and asking them to all take their seats. Marinette made sure her steps were conscice enough to make it seem as though she was gliding up the rows, refusing to shoot her classmates so much as a glance. 

Lila walked into the room moments later, late, her gaze zeroing in on Felix. "Felibear! It's so nice to see you again!" She squealed, rushing up the steps. 

Felix stopped her with a cold glare. "Do I know you?"

Alya glared at the blond. "How could you ask your girlfriend if you know her? Especially since everyone knows you transfered to François-DuPont for her!"

Felix looked scandalized. "I did no such thing! I came here on request of my uncle. There are very few people here that I know from previous endeavors."

Lila burst out into tears. "H-how could you treat me like this? At least my Damiboo didn't do this!"

"Damiboo?" Marinette asked. Clearly Bustier wasn't going to stop the girl.

"Oh, I forgot you weren't here!" A sly grin crawled across Lila's face. "I suppose Damiboo didn't speak to you the whole time you were in Gotham, otherwise you would have known I used to date Damian Wayne!" The girl boasted.

Marinette looked at the horrified expression on her deskmate's face, and began her countdown. "I would never date a harlot like you!" He burst out, unable to stop himself. The class turned to stare at him, then realized that he had been just ahead of Marinette when the Wayne's and Jagged Stone arrived at the gala.

A slow smirk crawled across Marinette's lips, erasing the smile she had given her friends. "Do tell, Lila. I would love to hear all about your relationship with the Wayne's. Or about you dating Felix here. Oh! What about your relationship with my uncle? Save any of his cats lately? Let's not forget Clara Nightingale! Since she steals her music and dance moves from you, perhaps we could get a preview for her next video?"

Adrien frowned at Marinette. She seemed… different. "Mari, don't be so mean! Your supposed to be our everyday Ladybug, the better-"

"Agreste, if example is the next word to come out of your mouth I will steal Chloè's six inch stiletto right off of her foot and shove it down your throat while I laugh at your struggles." Adrien's mouth snapped shut as he paled, the class staring at Marinette in shock. 

"Marinette! That was uncalled for!" Madame Bustier frowned at the girl. Perhaps letting her go to Gotham was a mistake.

"Really, Madame Bustier? From where I'm sitting, it was perfectly called for. Agreste is not going to use my emotions to manipulate me into being the perfect placemat anymore. You are not going to manipulate me into being the perfect victim. I will no longer tolerate this class's treatment of me. Four people in this room have the authority to call me by a nickname. They know who they are. Four people have the ability to ask something of me. None of them were the ones that destroyed my sketchbook or commissions. None of them told me that I always have to be the better person and set an example for my classmates. I refuse to allow myself to be used any longer."

Alya glared at her friend as the rest of the class stared at the noirette in shock or turned their head away from her in shame. "Girl, what are you talking about? First you want us to pay you a while bunch of money, and now you don't want to do anything for us?"

Damian started to retort himself, stopped by Marinette's hand on his arm. Her voice was frosted fire when she commanded the room. "Everyone in this room, excluding my four friends and our teacher, had a hand I destroying commissions for the Wayne gala, requests from all of you, and my sketchbook. That is why you were sued for damages. Some of you paid more than others because Alya was gracious enough to post a video she had taken of what you did on her blog that allowed me to see who destroyed what. That allowed me to see exactly who has hell to pay." The dangerous smirk several of her classmates had noticed danced across her face yet again, like a sword would dance in the hands of Robin. 

Adrien scoffed. "you're just a baker's daughter. What could you possibly do?" He paled not long after the words flew out of his mouth, remembering what his father had told him.

"You look like you just remembered that I am not just a baker's daughter. Why don't you share with the class?" Marinette offered up one of her customary sunshine smiles, though Adrien was not fooled this time, quickly yelling the class exactly what his father had told him. 

Lila blanched. Forget the Agreste's and that stupid reporter, she should have set her sights on Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Marinette smiled down at the class, her court sitting in the back two rows with her. Chloè had kicked Felix out of his seat next to Kagami, and Felix had nudged Marinette into the middle of the bench, sandwiching her between Damian and himself.

Her blue eyes were frigid as she glared down upon her kingdom. The time for the Queen of Light was over- Darkness had come for her, and she welcomed them with open arms. Her crown darkened, from gold and diamonds to silver and onyx, and her reign had only begun.

[smallpotatoknitwear]

WIP blanket update 6/05/21*

*The information in this post is outdated because I typed the whole thing up, saved it to my drafts to add links… and promptly forgot to do so 😅 I’ve actually finished the ten-stitch by now, and done work on a few others as well, including my Granny Square Quilt!

Hey, y’all! It’s been about two and a half months since I did a blanket update, but I’ve been doing a lot of work on some of them lately, trying to get as much done on the ten-stitch and granny stripe specifically before I go back to work in a week! My goal is to finish the ten-stitch before the 13th of June, but… we’ll see 😅 The reason I’ve been focusing so much on those two blankets specifically is because they’re not so transportable, so, while I am able to bring projects to work with me and work on them during breaks and downtime, I can’t exactly transport an entire, massive “worked in one piece” blanket like the ten-stitch or granny stripe with me. But smaller quilt-style or pieced afghans are a lot easier to transport, because I can throw a few balls/skeins/etc of yarn into my bag for the day and make a few pieces if I have time! Thankfully, 3/5 of the blankets on my to-make list ATM are pieced blankets—you can check out my “coming soon” blanket post to see what some of those are, but two of them are also introduced in this post!

Not pictured: Granny Square Quilt, because it’s still currently on pause, although I plan to start working on it again once I go back to work; Mitered Granny and Tilt-a-Whirl because I’ve finished them both! Stay tuned for individual posts about those two FOs!

Ten-Stitch (Knit)

As of these photos, I was about halfway through this blanket—I was around halfway through cake four, and I’m planning to use eight cakes total and then use the ninth to just finish up whatever edge I run out of the eighth cake on so that I don’t have a weird chunk missing out of it! Since I took these photos about a week ago (I’ve really been procrastinating on writing this post oops—) I’ve finished the fourth cake and have only a little left of the fifth cake! So, even if I don’t finish the blanket by 6/13 like I’d like to, I should be close and can hopefully get it done before work gets crazy again. As you can see, though, my little furry lady seems to like this blanket already! She used to sleep on it a lot before I had to move all my work back up into my room when my brother moved back into the basement, so I’m sure she’s looking forward to being able to sleep on it again when it’s finished!

Floral Beauty Throw

The last time I talked about this blanket, it was in my “coming soon” post. I decided to make a few test squares before starting the blanket itself, because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to use a US H or I size hook, so I made two squares with each size. The two on the left are with the H hook, and the two on the right are with the I hook. As you can see, there isn’t really much difference between them 😂 I plan to block them (the yarn has a wool content, so I’m going to have to soak rather than steam block, which makes me a little sad because steam blocking is so much easier) to make sure, but at this point I’m planning to use the I hook, and, if I can block all four to be close enough in size, I’ll probably just include the two H hook squares in the final afghan.

On the bright side, I won’t have tons of ends to weave in for this blanket, since the yarn is self-striping!

Total pieces: 4/30 (although I may do more squares depending on how my yarn gets used)

Granny Stripe Blanket

It may not look like it, but I’ve actually done a ton of work on this blanket recently! In my last WIP post, I had about 38 rows done—as of these photos, I have about 60 done! It’s officially gotten too long to double over for photos, and the width of it makes it really difficult to take top-down photos, so it’s hard to get good pictures of, but I really love how it’s turning out so far! I also love how the color pooling has been sort of bouncing from side to side the further I go! I can’t wait to see how it turns out!

Scrap Granny Triangle Quilt

I wasn’t planning on starting this blanket just yet—it’s going to be a good one for taking back to work—but I hit a point recently where I didn’t want to work on any of my WIPs so I decided to start this instead 😅 I’m really happy with how it’s going so far! I’m using scrap and leftover yarn for the triangles, and plan to do some mixing of textures in it. You can already see a bit of that here, as I’ve used some bits of fuzzy yarn, as well as some Caron Simply Soft scraps that have different textures than the worsted yarns I’ll be using for the majority of the blanket. I already know that I’ll have to pick up a few skeins to supplement my scraps, so I think I’m going to look for more of the turquoise/grey/white variegated yarn from those two triangles at the top left, as well as some different shades of purple and blue, keeping the red for more accent triangles rather than making it a main color of the blanket. There are a few things kind of bumming me out about this blanket, though—namely that I’m going to need a lot more triangles than I realized to make the blanket as big as I’d like to… and that it looks like I’m going to have to block every. single. triangle…

I’ve also tweaked the pattern slightly (check my coming soon post to see the photo pattern I’m using for reference) because I wasn’t able to neatly work the corners the way the pattern indicated they should be work, so you can see where my rows are joined in the middle of the triangle sides. I don’t mind this too much, though, and I think once the ends are woven in, and the whole thing is pieced together, they’ll be much less noticeable. Hopefully.

Total pieces: 15/225 (approx)

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,800-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, talk of violence, talk of death

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: Well, we are finally at the final chapter. This has been such an incredibly challenging story to work on, but I have learned so much from this process that will no doubt help shape my future stories.

Thank you to all of the readers who have liked, reblogged, commented, messaged, and reached out to me. This has been the best response I’ve gotten on a story and it has filled me with a level of appreciation that I wasn’t expecting. <3 

With the sappy stuff out of the way, please enjoy the final chapter of “Under the Knife.”

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled​ @germansarechill​ @rentheanonymous​ @liadamerondjarin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Taking into account that Henry Urik was left-handed, I was able to throw my head back, causing him to falter, and then lean to my right in order to escape his grasp and not have my throat sliced open. This gave me enough time to get back to the table and get my hands on the gun.” 

“Unfortunately, the gun was empty. It’s common for killers to use unloaded or fake guns as intimidation techniques with their victims. My mistake gave Henry enough time to stabilize himself and grab hold of me again, resulting in a mild concussion and being knocked unconscious until a few hours later. Luckily Dr.Lecter was able to fight, thus saving me until Special Agent Crawford and his team could come.” You looked around and saw a few people taking notes while others just nodded their heads. Checking your watch, you saw that you had a few more minutes left to fill up. “And with that, I have time for one or two questions before we leave.”

The lights faded up a little bit, nothing too harsh for you. You quickly scanned over the larger than the normal crowd in your lecture hall. 

The fact that you, a survivor of the Virginia Scalpel, were giving a lecture on the case had attracted the minds of not only your normal trainees but the higher-ups as well. 

It was a slightly dizzying feeling to see the faces of management in your lecture hall, but that could also be the still healing minor concussion from a serial killer slamming you into a table a little less than a week ago. Either way, you took this time to sit on your desk and drink some water as you pointed to one of the trainees in the first row.

“I don’t want to bring up anything too triggering, ma’am, but I--”

“Kid, if I wasn’t okay enough to jump back into the shitstorm named Henry Urik, I wouldn’t have agreed to be here today.” A scattering of chuckles echoed through the hall. You were glad to hear that your lighthearted comment helped ease the tension in the room. “Please, continue. I’ll be okay, I promise.” The agent nodded and took a breath, whatever they were going to ask must have been weighing on their mind enough to scare them. You could tell that they were trying to hide it, but your ability to read people's subtleties was strong.

“Thank you, ma’am. I wanted to ask for your advice. What should we be aware of if we’re ever in a similar situation with an unstable or unpredictable suspect? What do we do?” 

You nodded and thought for a moment before you responded. You had a feeling that this type of question would come up now or through an email later on. Fiddling with your ring, you spoke.

“To be honest, you have to be able to assess everything at the moment. I may have seemed to have a handle on the situation externally, but internally? I was a quivering, frantic, and terrified mess. With Henry’s focus being solely on me, I knew I couldn’t just sit there. I knew that if I froze, it could have cost not only my life but also Hannibal’s.” You took a deep inhale through your nose before continuing. The thought of losing Hannibal hurt your heart. “My advice: really focus on the suspect. What are they saying? How are they saying it? What are they doing? Are there any mannerisms o-or phrases that hint at any sort of soft spot?” 

You held up a finger and turned to your computer, scrolling back through your presentation until you found the slide you were looking for. It was a diagram showing how all of the victims tied to Henry as well as Henry’s symptoms. You turned back towards your class.

“While I knew a majority of this information before my encounter with Dr.Urik, I only knew the facts at face value. When he and I talked about his experiences with all of these doctors, Henry let his anger and annoyance towards these men out. His voice changed from the seemingly calm and confident man that had just had a gun pointed at me, to a frustrated patient who just wanted answers that he believed in.”

“Now if we want to talk about more physical tells, that is the premise for another lecture entirely. You can tell a lot about a person without either of you having to utter a word.”

You looked at the trainee, they were watching you, truly listening to everything you had to say. From the almost unnoticeably tensed jaw to the stiff posture, this future agent was using all of their power not to tremble in fear at the thought of being in a scenario like this. You saw the fear in their eyes.

“As long as you breathe, remember your training, and let yourself fully assess the situation at hand, you’ll do the best you can do. Trust me, there were two very distinct moments that night where I thought and accepted the possibility that I was going to die. That’s a risk we all take with this job. But I focused on what I could do next and kept going. And that’s what you’ll learn throughout your time in training and in the field. You cannot stop, you have to keep going.”

You ended with a smile directly to the trainee to try to calm their nerves even a little bit. They visibly took a deep breath and nodded, giving you a quiet “thank you” before writing something in their notebook. Your saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Will and Hannibal were now standing off to the side, letting you know that you were almost done. Will was more rigid than usual. You assumed he heard the part about accepting death and he did not like that thought. 

Hannibal caught your eye as he tapped his watch. Nodding, you looked back to the class, prepared to dismiss them. That was until you saw a hand near the back. Before you could say or do anything, the man with the raised hand spoke. 

“How were you able to confirm the Scalpel’s motive? What stood out with him that made him suspect number 1?” You took a slightly larger breath as you realized it was one of the assistant directors speaking. Blinking a few times and gathering your thoughts you tried to sound as professional as you could. 

“Well, we originally were looking for an active doctor. Someone who could have access to the equipment and drugs needed for these killings. But then we realized that it could be a former doctor who was now a patient of these doctors.” You gestured to the slide projected behind you. “As for motive, we could only theorize until we talked to Henry himself. And while talking to him face-to-face last week revealed a lot, we cannot actually confirm anything when it comes to his psyche.”

“But you said it yourself, he was frustrated at the answers that these doctors had given him. So wouldn’t the Virginia Scalpel murders be crimes of passion, making his motive emotional overload?” The man spoke. You were thrown off just a bit, but found your way back to correct wording.

“They actually weren’t crimes of passion. Those are usually impulsive and emotionally driven. The Virginia Scalpel crime scenes, especially that of Dr.Pencalt and his wife, showed us that Henry was methodical and purposeful.” 

“Yes, there could have been an emotionally charged aspect to it. He was upset with these men. I theorized with Dr.Lecter and Special Agent Crawford that these killings could have been some sort of pain relief for his headaches. The act of slaying these men took all of his focus, alleviating the pounding in his head.” 

“At one point, he said that killing was a form of mercy and life could be considered torture. So he could very well have just wanted to spare them from this mortal coil. Or maybe Henry saw these murders as a way of honoring them. Maybe there was even a thrill-seeking aspect that he got a kick from.” You stood up from your spot on your desk, feeling yourself getting a bit weary after so much talking over the last hour or so, and tried to politely wrap this all up.

“Where I’m going with this is the fact that we can theorize all we want-- Hell, we can even settle on what we believe his motive was. But that’s all it’ll be: A belief. We will never truly know because Dr. Urik was found dead in the woods behind his former office building, stabbed a handful of times, and had enough of his own paralytic drug in his system to take down an ostrich.”

They were out of your sightline, but Hannibal and Will both smirked at how well you had handled the situation. It wasn’t often that managerial positions were proven wrong in front of a classroom full of people. However, both of their smiles slowly fell as the assistant director continued.

“I guess his death is a breath of fresh air, right? You can sleep at night knowing that the Virginia Scalpel is no longer out there. No more target on your back.” The assistant director tried to say that as a lighthearted joke. Something to lighten the mood. But you forced a pained smile and spoke your mind.

“Yes. I am thankful that I don’t have to worry about a scalpel cutting into my cheek again, or almost slicing my throat, or finding Dr. Lecter chopped into pieces in his bed or maybe even Henry breaking his pattern and going after the last bit of family that I have left. I guess sleeping should be easier, shouldn’t it?” 

You looked directly at the man as you spoke, the gravity of your situation and the insensitivity of his statements hitting him. You shifted your gaze to the trainees that were in the first few rows and continued, straightfaced. 

“But I am curious as to what he would have to say and how that perspective could have helped us catch others like him. I hope that you all can find that same curiosity as I do. If we can catch them and talk to them, we could learn what makes them tick and get information that could help us catch the next one before it's too late.” You let a beat of silence pass, letting your words sink into the minds of the young ones. “Thank you all for your time. For questions regarding the Virginia Scalpel case, please contact Special Agent Crawford and he will see if you are authorized to view the file notes. If you need to reach me for any reason other than the Virginia Scalpel case, you all have my email. Stay safe out there.” 

You turned away from the class and shut down your computer, trying to gather your things as the room applauded. You raised a hand as a way of saying “thank you but please stop” and they all filed out of the room. 

“I think that went well despite Assistant Director Ass-Hat’s commentary at the end there” Will made his way to you, grabbing your jacket from the chair behind you and holding it in his hands, gripping it tighter than normal as if doing so would solidify in his brain that you were here and safe.

“Thanks. For someone with a shaken brain, I think I did pretty good today.” You joked back at your brother. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the beginnings of his brain spiraling with worry. 

If he was being honest, Will still hasn’t fully gotten over the events of last week. It was his exact fear almost coming true. And while he was forever thankful that you were alive today, he was worried that this near-death experience wouldn’t be enough to stop you from continuing to work active cases. The fact that you wanted to give this presentation so soon after you were released from the hospital validated his worry more and more.

“I still think it’s too soon for you to be back here.” 

“If you had your way, I would never step foot near this building again, Will.” You joke over your shoulder as you slide your laptop into your bag. “But I also think that that is just your way of trying to get me to be a 24/7 dog sitter.” Will huffed out a breath that sounded like a dry chuckle.

“I’m not saying that, but if you ask Winston or the others, I’m sure they would be all for that idea.” 

You finally turn fully to Will and lightly smack his arm. His face fades from a small smile to an unmasked face of worry as he looks down at the jacket in his hands that he is still fiddling with.

“I know this isn’t going to change your decision on whether or not you stay with Jack’s team, but I really don’t like that idea.” 

“You said the same thing the first time we had this conversation.”

“Yes, but that was before you got seriously injured while working a case.”

“I wasn’t seriously injured.” Will was going to interject, but you kept talking. “But I understand. What we do is dangerous. But I’m going to say the same thing I said last time: I have the chance to save lives, and that is a good enough reason for me to stay.” 

Before either of you could continue, Hannibal finally made his way over. His hand landed comfortably on your lower back for a long moment to alert you of his presence. 

You and Hannibal had talked about your mutual feelings for one another and agreed to start exploring a romantic relationship. That being said, you haven't told Will yet. Luckily, the gesture from Hannibal was easily passed as friendly to your unknowing brother.

“The assistant director wanted me to pass along his apology, (Y/N). He didn’t mean to insult you with his statements.” You waved your hand dismissively.

“I know he didn’t mean to. But it was a nice excuse to hand a ‘powerful male’ his ass in front of a whole room. I’m sure his ego will bounce back in no time.” You let a devilish smirk grace your features, earning a smile from Hannibal and a chuckle from Will. 

Hannibal looked to Will and saw how he was holding your jacket. Hannibal just offered his hand.

“I can take that, Will. You should go. You don’t want to be late for your own lecture. I will make sure your sister is safe.” 

The hospital discharged you, but you were still healing. The cut on your cheek was almost healed, but you kept a bandage on it to be safe. A scar would surely form, permanently reminding you of your first case. Most people would associate it with the fear of impending doom by the hands of a serial killer. But you were actually okay with it. You saw it as a reminder of what you were able to survive.

The most inconvenient thing was that you weren’t allowed to drive yourself. Between the healing concussion and the medications you were on, driving was not the safest thing. So Hannibal and Will took it upon themselves to compare schedules and be your drivers. 

When Hannibal had afternoon patients or had to work late on something, you would stay with Will. On days where Will was needed at work, you would stay with Hannibal. Sometimes you would stay in their homes, and sometimes they would crash on your couch. Well, Will would crash on your couch. Hannibal would share the bed with you, protecting you from anything that would try to get you physically or mentally. 

Even when you decided to stay at Hannibal’s home, you felt safe. The dining room was a bit haunting. But you knew that no matter what, if something felt off or if you were in any sort of danger, Hannibal would step up and help the best he could. 

Your boys (and the dogs) made sure you were safe no matter where you were.

 If there was anyone Will trusted to watch over you, it was Hannibal. He was the reason you weren’t the Scalpel’s ninth victim.

Will just nodded and struggled to hand over the jacket. Your heart ached because you knew how easily concerned he got when it came to you. But you could also see that he was trying to let go of some of that worry, letting himself see that Hannibal was a safe man to have in your life. You closed the gap between you and Will and wrapped your arms around him, feeling how tense and distraught he was. 

“I will text you as soon as I get home, alright?” Will nodded his head as he squeezed you just a bit tighter. You squeezed back, knowing he needed the reassurance. He pulled away and you patted his shoulder. “Don’t give your kids too much shit today.” 

You both snorted, knowing there was some truth behind the joke. Will said goodbye to Hannibal and left the room, leaving you and Hannibal alone. 

As much as you wanted to hurry up and get out of here, you had to lean against the desk as you zipped up your bag, really feeling your lack of energy now.

“Are you alright?” Nodding, you took a sip from your water bottle before speaking.

“Yes? Did a lot of talking and thinking today. I think I’m starting to get tired.” You let a chuckle-esque exhale come through your nostrils. “Gotta build my energy back up.”

Hannibal stood in front of you, gently placed your jacket down on the desk, and took one on your hands in his. To any normal person, it just looked like he was holding your hand to comfort you. But you knew him. He was gathering data: Pulse, temperature, if your hands were clammy, and whatever else he could find out. But he was also holding your hand to comfort you a little.

After determining your vitals to be manageable, he lifts his hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek for a moment.

“I think it's time to go home and rest, don’t you?” Hannibal proposed. You nodded and grabbed your jacket from next to you.

“My place or yours?”

“Your choice, my love.” You couldn’t help but smile at the new and special sobriquet that Hannibal had started using more frequently. Hannibal kissed the back of your hand before helping you stand up, putting your hand on his arm to guide you out.

“I think my place tonight. And maybe we can stop at the store on the way and you can finally show me how to cook something worthy of the esteemed food artist, Hannibal Lecter?” Hannibal smirked at your dramatics.

“Do you think you’ll have the energy for that?” 

“No. But I’d still like to try.” You leaned towards Hannibal and felt a pleading smile make its way across your face, knowing Hannibal was already going to agree to your idea. He still pretended to think it over before nodding. 

“That sounds like a lovely evening.” You felt yourself wiggle just a bit out of happiness, Hannibal smiled at the cuteness of the motion.

Hannibal reached out and touched the doorknob, but before he could open the door, you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. When you looked at the caller ID, your feet stopped moving and your heart dropped. You couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or excitement. Maybe a weird mix of both.

Hannibal turned to you, watching your face carefully as you answered.

“(Y/N) speaking.” 

“How you feelin’, (Y/N)?” You hadn’t heard Jack’s happy voice in a while. You weren’t sure if this one was real or fake. So you proceeded with caution.

“I’ve been better, but I’m also doing a lot better compared to a few days ago.” 

“Good. Good...” Crawford trailed off, his mind obviously on something else. 

There was an awkward silence. You knew Jack was trying to figure out how to phrase something without stressing you out after the last couple of weeks. You knew what that something was and you appreciated the effort to try and not overwhelm you, but you didn’t like this small talk part. So you took a deep breath before kick-starting the conversation that you knew Jack was trying to ease into.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a social call, is it, Jack?”

“No. It is not, (Y/N). We have another odd case that we could use your help with.” 

You felt your thumb subconsciously go to wiggle your ring. You knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but even knowing that didn’t lessen the anxiety you felt. Hannibal stepped closer and took your hand in his, lightly running his thumb across your knuckles. You knew he was trying to ease your mind with the small gesture. You mouthed “Thank you” to him and smiled. 

Jack continued before you could say anything. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. But the sooner the better.”

“How about I get back to you tomorrow afternoon?” You stated more than asked. Jack agreed to that and hung up. Hannibal could see that you weren’t stressed but you also weren’t excited. 

“I take it Agent Crawford wants to borrow your mind again?” You nod your head, going back and forth in your mind about whether or not to take him up on his offer again or let yourself rest for a bit longer. “What’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“Not much to be honest.” You look at Hannibal and see him watching you, ready to react to anything you say or do. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Could you be my partner, Hannibal?” You ask and almost fear his response. You didn’t want to be a burden. But very quickly you are met with that lovely rare smile of his. 

“It would be an honor to be your partner, in life and on a case.” You smile as you lean towards him and he meets you halfway, pecking your lips softly, his hand smoothing its way to your back. The two of you pull away and he ushers you out of the room. “After all, someone has to protect that beautiful and reckless mind of yours.” 

You shot Hannibal a look as the two of you walked to his car, ready for one more relaxing night before jumping right back into the chaos.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Forged Through Fire (5/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

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Forged Through Fire

Five

“I’m telling you, there’s something going on that they’re not telling us.”

“Hughes, we live in a military dictatorship and we’re both part of that military, of course there’s something going on that they’re not telling us.”

“I’m not talking about the secret police or the compartmentalising mentality that goes on. I’m talking about something strange and illegal.”

Roy sighed. Hughes had been on about this ever since they had left Central Command earlier in the evening and he really needed a break. At least it made a change from him talking about Gracia. It was far later than either of them had intended to leave Central Command, but an accident at the Third Laboratory had pulled in every available officer to run damage control and prevent whatever had been happening in there getting out to the general public. 

This kind of thing was a common enough occurrence that Roy wasn’t all that worried about it. The alchemy laboratories were always doing something or other. As an alchemist himself, he’d been involved in more than one experiment in there, and honestly, everything that he had seen so far had been very boring and would not have caused any kind of a stir if the public had found out about it. Most of them wouldn’t understand it. Even Roy himself only half-understood it. 

“If it’s the military doing it then it can’t be illegal,” Roy pointed out. “Even if it’s illegal for everyone else, everything that the military does is allowed. You’ve been serving long enough to know that.”

“Maybe illegal was the wrong word. Something strange and… immoral? No, that’s not right either, who in the Amestrian military has morals? Something strange and disturbing, we’ll go with that.”

Roy didn’t respond, because as much as he was trying to block out Hughes’ latest conspiracy theory, he had to admit that his friend did have a point. There had been something about this particular incident that had seemed different, with even the alchemists being shepherded away from it and no one being told the full truth of what was going on. To make matters even stranger, Fuhrer Bradley had turned up to oversee things personally, so naturally everyone was on edge. It was strange for him to leave his ivory tower in Central Command at the best of times, and this really wasn’t the kind of thing that needed his attention. 

Maybe it was a secret science project after all, but a secret science project that involved the Fuhrer really wasn’t one that Roy wanted to know anything about. Bradley wasn’t an alchemist himself, and the laws concerning state registration that he had brought in after he came to power would have fooled a novice into thinking that he wanted to stamp out alchemy altogether, but since joining the military, Roy knew better. Bradley was fascinated by alchemy, and it was clear that all the legislation requiring alchemists to be licensed and all their arrays to be registered was an attempt to harness all of their raw power at his beck and call, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of there being someone out there whose alchemy he did not have access to. 

Roy thought of Hohenheim, living under the radar with his tailor chalk and alkahestry. He’d never asked how old he was, especially since Roy couldn’t remember him ever looking any younger than he did now, but he’d amassed a huge wealth of knowledge over the course of his career, and Roy really didn’t want that ending up in Bradley’s hands. He shuddered at the thought, trying to pull his attention to happier things, but Hughes was still expounding next to him. 

“Do you think it might be part of Project Xerxes?”

“What?”

“Project Xerxes. I told you about it last week.” Hughes gave him an accusatory look. “I don’t know if you were listening though.”

“I might have zoned out at the beginning of the conversation when you were talking about your and Gracia’s interior decorating plans and not zoned back in again.”

Hughes opened his mouth to say something, and since Roy knew that it would be related to the newly-acquired apartment, he cut in quickly. “I’m listening now though, so tell me again.”

“I don’t know anything concrete, it’s just some whispers that I heard when I happened to be passing Bradley’s office and he had all the generals in there.”

Roy sighed. “Did the ‘passing’ involve stopping and listening at the door?”

“Only for a second.” Hughes looked offended by the accusation of eavesdropping however true it was. “Anyway, Project Xerxes is all very hushed up and Tim Marcoh was overseeing it before he died. Or faked his death and escaped to Xing – I’m starting to believe that rumour more and more. It was all being done out of the Fifth Lab.”

“The Fifth Lab doesn’t exist.”

Hughes raised an eyebrow. “Mustang, if you believe that you’re an idiot. Anyway, do you know anything about Xerxes?”

“It’s now mostly desert with some city ruins halfway between here and Xing and it’s supposedly where the Philosopher’s Stone was made.”

“Yeah, that’s about all I know too. But since it’s likely that this is all tied up with alchemy and since the Philosopher’s Stone is the only thing that Xerxes is famous for apart from, you know, suddenly ceasing to exist as a civilisation for no reason, do you think they might be trying to recreate the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Hughes, if you believe the Philosopher’s Stone exists then you’re an idiot. It’s an alchemical cautionary tale warning us all against experimenting with forces we don’t understand in case we accidentally wipe out the entire country.”

“And the whole elixir of life and transmuting lead into gold thing is just a myth, then?”

“Transmuting lead into gold isn’t hard for a metallurgy alchemist, it’s just not allowed because it would destroy the economy,” Roy pointed out. “Even if we were living in the most equitable and democratic country in the world, transmuting gold still wouldn’t be allowed. And no, I don’t believe in immortality.”

Hughes shook his head. “No, I still think that there’s something going on there.”

They had finally reached the bookshop by this point; the lights were still on, and Roy could just about see Riza sitting at the counter at the back of the shop, bent over a book with Hayate snuggled up on her lap. He smiled at the sight. She’d become part of the furniture around the place so easily after she had moved into the shop last year, and now no one who frequented the speakeasy could imagine it without her. Hayate was a relatively new addition to the extended family, but he was gaining a reputation as a guard dog.

They entered the shop and Roy flipped the closed sign behind him; it was getting towards the time when they would stop letting new customers down into the bar. Instead of going straight through towards Riza and the back room, Hughes vanished off into the shelves.

“Hughes? What are you doing?”

“Research!”

“I swear you must be the only person who actually uses this bookshop as a bookshop. Even Rebecca’s here for the booze more than the books these days. If you’re looking for information on the Philosopher’s Stone I don’t think you’ll find any.”

Hughes shot him a look over his shoulder as he scanned through the worn spines of the books on the shelves. They were still all packed in without any order; Riza had devoted a large chunk of the last year to trying to organise the place to make it look more like a shop and less like a front, but she was still nowhere near through inventorying the entire place. 

“Mustang, if any bookshop in Central is going to have extremely forbidden books in it, then I think the one above a speakeasy is the best bet.”

“I think I’m missing something here.” Riza came over to Roy and they both watched Hughes for a while. “What’s going on?”

“He’s on a mission to prove that the Top Brass are trying to make the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Right… You know, maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I’m just taking Hayate outside for a pee break, can you hold the fort?”

Roy nodded, unable to help himself watching her leave. 

“I’ve got it! Roy! Roy?”

Hughes came over to him with book in hand and joined him in staring at the door. 

“And you thought I had it bad with Gracia.” He patted Roy’s shoulder. “At least try and ask her out before one of you expires.”

“I’m not! I mean, I don’t, I mean…” Roy gave up; there was no sense in digging the hole he’d got himself into any deeper. Hughes just gave him a knowing smile. 

“You’ve definitely got it bad, Mustang. The worst part is you can’t even see it yourself.”

Roy decided that it was best not to reply to that. He’d been wrestling with his feelings for Riza ever since she’d come back into his life, and Hughes wasn’t making things better. He’d hoped that things would plateau since she moved into the shop and became part of the family, but if anything, seeing her on a regular basis and getting to know her outside of the roles they’d always been in when he’d known her first and foremost as his teacher’s daughter had made things even worse. 

“So, have you found something?”

Riza was back, and she peered over at the book Hughes was holding. 

“Potentially. It’s an old world history and there’s about three sentences on Xerxes. ‘According to local legend the country was destroyed in an alchemic explosion that resulted in the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone, a large red rock resembling a ruby that was then later taken to Xing by merchants travelling home from the outpost that would become Amestris.’ So, that tells us nothing. What is it with missing things ending up in Xing? First Tim Marcoh, now the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“I think you might be clutching at straws here, Hughes.” Roy shook his head in despair. “Let’s go down. Are you coming, Riza? Most of the gang should be there, although Falman got stuck with all the paperwork and Breda said he had other plans, so you can bring Hayate.” The memory of Breda vaulting over the bar to hide the first time he’d met Hayate would forever be a fond one in Roy’s mind. 

“All right.” Riza locked up and followed them down into the bar, switching off the shop lights as she went. She’d become part of their crew easily even though she wasn’t military herself.

Armstrong waved them over as they came in, not that they really needed any indication as to where the group was sitting when he was in the bar. 

“Good to see you among us, Riza. It’s Havoc’s round…”

“What? No it’s not!”

“… What can he get you?”

Havoc groaned and got up, taking everyone’s orders as Roy, Hughes and Riza squeezed in around the table. The conversation soon turned back to the mysterious events at the Third Laboratory and Bradley’s sinister presence there. Hughes’ theory received mixed reception, but the general consensus, one that Roy would admit to sharing, was ‘don’t put anything past Bradley and the Top Brass’. 

Throughout the evening, Roy found himself very aware of Riza’s presence next to him. It was hardly the first time that they had all shared a drink together, sighing over the paradox of them being military officers in an illegal bar as proof that prohibition was a terrible idea, and it was hardly the first time that Roy had been very aware of Riza, whether she was next to him or not. The difference this time was Hughes’ words to him from earlier. 

Would there ever be a good time to ask her out? When it came down to it, he wanted to, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he really didn’t think he should want to. He was reminded of it again when the talk finally moved away from military conspiracies and ended up in the direction of general gossip, everyone asking when they were going to meet Havoc’s new girlfriend. (Since Roy knew that Riza had recently introduced Rebecca to Havoc, he got the feeling that they had all already met Havoc’s new girlfriend and just hadn’t realised yet.)

Hughes really wasn’t helping on that score, especially not when the night began to draw to a close and he started ushering everyone out of the bar under the shoddy excuse that they all had to work tomorrow. Roy knew that he was trying to leave him and Riza alone together in the hope of something happening. Unfortunately, Riza also knew that. Once they were the only ones left at the table, she gave a soft huff of laughter.

“Say what you will about Hughes, he’s not at all subtle.”

“No, he’s always been more the ‘smack you round the head with a brick’ type, which is ironic considering we have Armstrong in our circle of friends. Not that he’s all that subtle either, but at least with him he’s so ridiculously unsubtle all of the time that when he does try and be sneaky, it works quite well.”

“He’s a sweetheart. I have no idea how he ended up in the military with you lot.”

“Careers in the military have been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations.”

Riza shrugged. “Well, I suppose it’s as good a reason as any. Anyway, you can’t deny that Hughes’ plan worked, and he’s managed to leave us alone together.”

“No. No, that can’t be denied.”

“Although you also can’t deny that we all have to work tomorrow. Even if I live above my workplace and don’t really do all that much actual work on a daily basis. I should probably still be sharp enough to be able to spot potential trouble and I can’t do that if I’m face down snoring on the counter.”

“No, that makes sense.” Roy didn’t know whether to be sad that he wasn’t actually going to get any time alone with Riza, or relieved that Hughes’ ploy hadn’t seemed to work. She wasn’t showing any signs of actually going anywhere, after all, and since Hayate looked so cute asleep under the table, she might not want to move him. 

“Still. It’s been a while since it was just the two of us.”

Her soft brown eyes were smiling, and it was good to see her looking so calm and happy. It had taken a long time for the haunted look that she had worn at her father’s funeral to leave her, and although he did still see it occasionally, she seemed to be making her peace with his legacy now, enjoying becoming her own person. It had been great to see, and he didn’t know how to articulate that to her without coming across as a complete idiot. 

He didn’t realise that she’d been leaning in until her lips were on his, and although he was surprised, he didn’t resist. Her hand was warm against his cheek and he interlaced his fingers with hers, about to deepen the kiss when she pulled away, searching his face for something. He had no idea what she was looking for or whether she found it, as she moved away then, giving Hayate a little shake to wake him and picking him up. 

“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Roy nodded. “Till tomorrow.”

He watched her leave the bar, and then planted his face in the table with a groan. What was that? Had that just happened? How was he supposed to interpret it? 

There was the thunk of glass on wood and he lifted his head an inch or so to see a shot glass of clear liquid in front of him. He could already tell it was the good Drachman vodka. 

“Drink.” Chris took the seat opposite. “Drink, then talk. God knows someone needs to get you two to get your act together, and that might as well be me.”

Roy sat up again and downed the vodka, shuddering against the burn in the back of his throat. 

“Did she really just kiss me?”

“Yep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming?”

“Nope.” Chris gave him an amused look. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I have no idea.” Roy stared up at the ceiling, before remembering that above the ceiling was the shop and above that was Riza’s apartment and staring down at the table instead. 

“I think that it’s a pretty clear situation from my point of view. You like her, she obviously likes you, so perhaps start dating. Like I have told you to do several times.”

“I know. I know. I just feel like we can’t.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “For the love of God, Roy, why? It’s not like you’re studying under her father anymore. It’s not like she’s still living with her father anymore. It’s not like that odd period when she was seventeen and you were nineteen and you were completely paranoid about the implications of that. She just kissed you, boy, what more do you need?”

Roy shrugged. “I still feel responsible. Everything will be going great and then she’ll have a bad back pain day and I’ll remember that afternoon… Maybe if I’d done it when she asked me to, things wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Roy, I say this with all the love in the world but you’re a goddamn idiot. Her back would still be burned, she would still have pain, you would still have had to call Hohenheim in a panic to come and make things better, and you’d have the added gnawing knowledge that you could never be rid of, the knowledge that it was you who did it to her. Considering how much you’re antsing about over not doing it, do you really, honestly think that you’d feel better if you had?”

“No. You’re right. That wouldn’t have helped.”

“You’ve got to let go of the guilt at some point, Roy. Maybe you could have done more to help her when she was still under Hawkeye’s thumb. Maybe you couldn’t. The point is, you can’t change the past, however much you might want to, and if you don’t get that stick out of your ass and stop worrying about the things you can’t change, then you’re just going to spend the rest of your days wallowing in misery and self-pity, denying you and Riza something you both want out of a misguided sense of worthiness. I can just about deal with you moping, but I can’t have two of you engaged in ridiculous mutual pining when you’re both perfectly aware of each other’s feelings and just won’t do anything about them.”

It was the longest and most vehement speech that Chris had ever given him on the topic of his love life, and it shook Roy a little. Normally she would just tease him like the rest of the girls, or occasionally drop in the odd bit of sage advice. She’d never yet staged this level of intervention on his behalf.

“It’s too late and you’ve had far too much to drink to do anything about it now, but you need to at least talk to her about it tomorrow. Don’t make me lock you in a broom closet, we haven’t got one, and Trisha would murder me if anything happened in the dispensary.”

Roy laughed. There was definitely something in Chris’s words. If Riza didn’t blame him then there wasn’t a lot of point in blaming himself; it wouldn’t make either of them feel better. They’d never talked about their feelings before, and Riza had certainly given him an opening tonight. 

He’d talk to her tomorrow. Well, as long as he didn’t have to investigate any more weird goings on in the Third Lab. As much as he didn’t want to admit to Hughes being right, he was definitely uneasy about whatever might be happening off the books. The Philosopher’s Stone might be a bit far-fetched, but something was up. 

Roy pushed those fears to the back of his mind again, returning to happier thoughts. 

Thoughts of Riza.

[evilmuffinlord]

Stranger in a Strange Land- Chapter 6- Search

Cover art by: https://wolfy1298.tumblr.com/

In which a search is conducted, a deal is struck, and a throne is usurped

Read it on AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20280019/chapters/62418322

or on FF.net:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13365894/6/Strangers-in-a-Strange-Land

Teaser below cut

“So, where do we start?” Mina asked as she and Izuku stepped out of the front gate of Astera and into the edges of the Ancient Forest. They had been given a long-term objective by the Commission, but the exact path they took there had been left up to them.

After Mina and Izuku’s initial success in the Rotten Vale, progress on the investigation into Zorah Magdaros had ground to a halt. It was obvious from the massive chunks of solidified magma at the bottom of the Vale that Zorah Magdaros had been there at some point, but it had moved on before the Commission had gotten anywhere near the area, and didn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon. 

Not that Mina really blamed the massive Elder Dragon for not wanting to stick around in the Vale. In addition to being a deeply unpleasant place to spend time, the Vale apparently served as some sort of monster graveyard, feeding the rest of the New World with nutrients. It sounded weird to Mina, but Izuku had found the idea quite fascinating. He and the Tracker had spent several hours back in the Third Fleet’s Research Base swapping ideas about how the Vale “fit into the broader ecosystem of the New World” while Mina did her best not to fall asleep at the table. She hadn’t succeeded, of course, and Izuku had eventually carried her back to the room the Third Fleet had set aside for them, but he at least had seemed to have fun with the discussion.

In the end, despite several more missions to the Rotten Vale (including an assignment to capture a live Odogaron for a half-mad researcher who wanted to keep the ravenous monster as a “pet”), they hadn’t been able to find out any more about Zorah Magdaros’ movements or destination.

The members of the Commission were nothing if not determined, though, and they had immediately come up with several new angles to attack the problem from. The Tracker was staying in the Vale, both to search for any clues that had been overlooked, and to monitor the effluvia levels there, which seemed to be rising the longer the Commission was there. 

Meanwhile, the Field Team Leader was leading an expedition to follow Zorah Magdaros’ trail from where it had first made landfall to the canyon where they had attempted to capture it. They hoped that with the new information they had uncovered about Zorah Magdaros’ reasons for coming to the new world, they would be able to uncover some new clues about where the massive Elder Dragon was heading.

Lastly, Izuku and Mina had been dispatched to the Ancient Forest to search for a First Wyverian who was rumored to be living there. The reclusive native inhabitants of the New World were said to be expert hunters, as well as incredibly knowledgeable on the subject of monster behavior. If there was any group that would know why Zorah had fled its grave site, it would be them.

Unfortunately, they were tricky to find when they didn’t want to be seen, which meant none of the other hunters who regularly visited the Ancient Forest had seen hide nor hair of the Wyverian. Their only clues were a few scattered footprints and a hunch that the recent changes in monster population had to do with a very skilled hunter in the area.

Izuku and Mina’s search for it was a bit of a Hail Mary, but they had known that going in. Besides, it wasn’t any less likely to turn up results than the other avenues the Commission was pursuing, so there was no harm in trying.

There was also another reason that Mina had so ardently pushed for her and Izuku to take the assignment. The researchers had gone on and on about how knowledgeable the Wyverians were supposed to be, to the point that even she had begun to think about what all that knowledge could include. If the stories about them were to be believed, the First Wyverians had been around for ages, and had even interacted with civilizations that were now lost to time. Some of these civilizations had possessed incredible technology, and Mina hoped that one of them might have passed along information about how she and Izuku could return home.

Not that she wanted to do it right away, of course. They needed to help the Commission find Zorah Magdaros before they could return. There were far too many people counting on their help at this point, and Mina was far too invested in the project to leave now. 

But she did miss her home, her parents, her friends, and her original form. Life in the New World was great, aside from the monsters that regularly threatened to eat her, and she had made many excellent friends, but it just wasn’t the same as she was used to.

She knew Izuku was feeling a bit homesick as well. They hadn’t discussed it much, but she often caught him looking at a portrait of his mother that he had drawn in the back of his hunting notebook. The way he had drawn her made his mother look like the sweetest, gentlest woman in the world, which Mina had no trouble believing. After all, only someone as good as that could have raised someone as amazing as Izuku.

“I was thinking we should ask the Bugtrappers if they have any leads,” Izuku replied, breaking her out of her reverie, “They take a lot of paths that the hunters don’t, so they might know where the First Wyverian is staying. Even if they don’t, they should be able to point us in the right direction.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mina said, setting her course for the Bugtrapper village near the top of the Ancient Forest. 

After the adventures in recent weeks, the trek through the Forest was actually rather relaxing. The air was clean and fresh, and made Mina feel all the healthier for breathing it. The ground was firm enough that she didn’t have to worry about turning an ankle on a random patch of gristle or falling into a hidden swamp hole if she wasn’t paying attention. Even the weather was excellent, with nary a cloud in the sky as they picked their way through the foliage and towards the base of the massive tree.

Eventually they reached a large clearing at the base of the tree, one that she and Izuku were quite familiar with. After all, it housed the entrance to the cave where the largest Jagras pack in the Forest made their home, and where Izuku and Mina had fought their first monster. 

The clearing was far from empty though. Apparently the Jagras pack agreed that the weather was quite nice, and had decided to take their lunch outside. The pack was arrayed in a loose semicircle around a pair of Kestodon carcasses, with some mid-feast and the rest sunning themselves in nearby patches of sunlight. 

It didn’t take long for one of the Jagras to notice that their meal had been interrupted. The cry of alarm rippled through the pack, causing every member to leap to their feet and rush the hunters.

While Izuku unlimbered his charge blade, Mina wasted no time in charging the pack. She remembered their first encounter with a Jagras pack well, and she didn’t want to risk Izuku getting surrounded again. True, he was much better equipped to handle a pack than he had been back then, but she still didn’t want to risk him being overwhelmed and gnawed to pieces.

She dashed through their ranks, slashing wildly at any Jagras that came within striking distance and just generally making herself a nuisance. It worked like a charm, and a large part of the pack broke off to attack her, leaving Izuku to battle a much more manageable group of six Jagras.

She, on the other hand, had attracted the attention of nearly a dozen of the miniature wyverns. They hissed and spat as they circled her, weaving back and forth around each other to create the illusion that there were even more of them present. Every few seconds, one of them would dart forward to swipe at her, but Mina was easily able to avoid such blows while countering with her own.

Finally, after seeing that fighting defensively was getting them nowhere, the Jagras paused their circling, then darted forward as one.

Mina had to admire their teamwork and coordination. She and Izuku were a well-oiled team at this point, and they could sometimes communicate their intentions without words, but it still took them time to do so. The Jagras seemed to move as a singular unit. Maybe it was an ability that was inherent to the Jagras species, or maybe it came from living as a member of a pack for their entire lives. Either way, the display had Mina hoping that she and Izuku would someday reach that level of coordination. 

Instead of retreating from the charge or defending herself, Mina surged towards one of the larger members of the Jagras pack. It blinked in surprise and confusion, slowing slightly and making Mina’s job all the easier. She leapt forward, springboarding off of the Jagras’s head and flying over the pack. Behind her, she could hear the cries of surprise and alarm as the Jagras lost sight of their prey and ran into each other.

She snickered, picturing the surprised looks on their faces, then prepared to actually fight them. She’d made them good and angry by now, and Jagras were nothing if not tenacious once they were provoked. They wouldn’t be dissuaded by some surprise maneuvers and a few light blows.

True to form, the Jagras were already recovering from their confusion and lining up to attack again. Rather than let them get into formation, Mina began her assault on the Jagras in earnest. She danced between the members of the pack, slashing at their legs and faces wherever she could and moving on before any could land a blow on her.

The pack, unused to fighting anything her size that was so aggressive, struggled to keep up with her movements. As the damage increased and morale dropped, the Jagras began to retreat one by one. The more that fled, the more their morale dropped, which only increased Mina’s chances.

For her part, Mina was happy to let them flee. She and Izuku might be spending quite a bit of time in the Ancient Forest in the near future, and making the Jagras wary of them might prove to be very useful. Besides, they had an entire box filled with Jagras scales and talons back in Astera at this point.

Then, when only five Jagras remained and her victory was nearly assured, disaster struck.

Read the rest on AO3 or FF.net! Links available on my bio if tumblr deletes them again.

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 20

Surprise, this blog series continues! I have no intention of letting it end at episode 19. (I mean, that’s not even a nice round number!) While these aren’t liveblogs any more, they still give me an opportunity to discuss meta. 

Life lesson learned: once you start a series of anything, do not stop until it’s finished--no matter what other projects come up, no matter how shiny they are, and no matter how much you’re dreading watching episode 23. Since I do my best work when feeling inspired, I hate to wait and let my enthusiasm for the new project cool, but jumping ship only ends in two unfinished projects instead of one.

This is going to be arranged by theme, not so much chronologically. Also, it ended up being more about Wolfwood than originally intended.  Including a spoiler, so be careful.

Millie’s Transmitter

Millie reports that the Chief of Bernadelli gave her a transmitter/tracking device, which must be a rare, valuable piece of technology -- to prevent anyone from outwitting her. Meryl replies that this is nothing to brag about. I disagree.

First of all, the chief cares about her enough to entrust her with this bragworthy technology. She must have earned his trust and good opinion, also an achievement. He could easily punish or fire her, but instead gives her a tool to perform better. Countless people with learning disabilities dream of bosses like this. 

People tend to take a harmful all-or-nothing attitude towards disabilities. Either PWD are incapable of doing things and nothing can be done about it, or they are capable of doing things, and shouldn’t need help. Since people with disabilities themselves live in society, they end up indoctrinated and taking the same attitudes towards themselves. Shame and self-hatred often result. People strive for years, often with therapy, to get to the matter of fact acceptance Millie shows here.

***

Vash in Hell

Everything is red, from the beginning. The sand, himself and his clothes, the sky. Knives comes into view, blurry and mostly in shadow, only one eye visible.  What looks like meteors, probably chunks from the ships, fall through the sky like rain. We’re seeing from Vash’s point of view.

When waking Vash, Knives’ voice is normal, sounding like a real child. It doesn’t change to his growly evil voice until Vash accuses him of being a murderer. Then, his eye loses its pupil, and he suddenly appears to have fangs. He looks like he’s become some sort of monster. Not human, as Vash says.

Knives beats him up for even daring to compare him to a human. What hurts the most about this is you know it’ll be a long time, and probably many more such beatings, before Vash leaves.

Was it ever possible to take care of Knives? Was Rem’s last request reasonable?

Vash announces he’s finally ready to face Knives. What impresses me most: he’s finally making a significant decision for himself.

***

Meet the Folks

How is Vash more attractive in normal clothes than his signature coat, even in scenes showing only his face? Speaking of which, this episode is full of beautiful shots of Vash’s face. Wolfwood’s, too. 

How the hell did Wolfwood get here? He said he was concerned about Vash crying then jumping off a cliff, and followed him. However, he seems to have climbed up from below. How would he have found a floating platform? Certainly, none is visible below him. And since he seems to know nothing about the flying ship, he can’t have taken Vash’s strategy and jumped onto a platform at just the right time. 

“Come meet the folks!” Yes, they actually do have a summer cottage in the sky. Ever wonder why Vash’s head is always in the clouds? ;) 

Wolfwood actually says “I’m getting sick of your lies.” Hypocritical much?

Wolfwood is the first guest Vash has brought “home” in over 20 years (in other words, since he became The Stampede)! 

Does that mean that the whole time Vash has been on the run, he hasn’t visited the SEEDS ship (probably to prevent anyone tracking him from discovering it)? Vash could have simply hid out for the last 20 years in the SEEDS ship; it’s his home, after all. Instead, he chose to go out and protect people from Knives, and each other. (How many of us would have made the same choice?)

***

Inside Legato’s Lair

What does this informant know about Chapel’s duties? From the way Legato dismisses his concerns, it seems like Knives’ followers aren’t given much information about each other.

Wolfwood is now doomed. “You’re such a fool. Had you behaved, you might have lived to see Doomsday. But I’m pleased, for I now have the opportunity to carry out another of my master’s wishes.” 

A surprisingly restrained evil chuckle from Legato. Thank you for sparing us a full-on villain laugh.

How does Legato get shoulder padding that sticks out that far? Each shoulder is almost twice as big as his head.

***

A Series of Awkward Events

The ship has a whole observation team. No one should be able to get up here without the SEEDS leaders knowing, right? Right? ...

The old man tells Brad Vash has changed over the years. How? 

After all this buildup, Brad opens the door, letting in blinding light, and this is what he sees:

The legend acting like an idiot and getting his butt kicked. Very dignified. 

This is Brad’s reaction:

“Is that your great legend?! Huh?!” “What a relief! He hasn’t changed at all.” (A relief? What were they afraid would have happened to him?)

Brad is not amused by Wolfwood’s touchy-feely ways.

“Who’s he?” Vash, looking embarrassed: “I’m not sure.” Fair enough, but not very helpful, and Wolfwood doesn’t elaborate. We already know and love Vash’s embarrassed grin, but I can’t get over Wolfwood’s almost sinister smile in the mirror. 

A cute moment where Vash looks back like, “isn’t my place great?” and Wolfwood just gapes like an idiot. (Close your mouth, my dude. Flies are gonna get in). 

Vash last visited about 20 years ago, and Jessica was a small child then, so she should be about 23 or 24. However, she looks and acts like a teenager. Vash inadvertently becomes part of an unwanted love triangle.

To his credit, Vash tries to put her off, in a joking way (”I have a reputation for being easy but even I need a bit of advance warning”). Wolfwood makes the whole situation worse by teasing Vash about his “girlfriend” in front of a fuming Brad. It’s as if he were going out of his way to antagonize the people on the ship.

When Vash actually has a chance to look at Jessica’s face, he remembers her. Think about that. He may only have met her once, it’s been 20 years, and he still recognizes her and remembers her name. How many other people does he remember from the past ~130 years? This is how he uses his powerful plant brain--Knives would view it as a waste.

Jessica cooks a feast for Vash, which, tragically, he won’t get to enjoy. How did she cook all this food so fast? It’s enough to feed the whole ship.

***

Wolfwood is mistrusted for the wrong reasons

Wolfwood actually takes off his shades and armor of acting like a jerk while introducing himself to Jessica. This is unusually open and vulnerable of him. He actually is trying to behave. But Brad, worried about “a bunch of outsiders” bringing war to their flying paradise, hits him where it hurts.  

...Did I mention Wolfwood has beautiful eyes?

Anyway, everyone gathers around staring at Wolfwood from a distance, while he drops cigarettes on the ground. There’s an entire pile lying at his feet. The whole scene is the definition of passive aggressive. 

What seems to anger Wolfwood is not so much how they treat him personally, but their denial combined with moral superiority. Not to push a metaphor too far, but these folks are able to take the moral high horse because their literal high position keeps them safe. Yet, they use this immense privilege not to help the world below, or to prepare for the ship’s inevitable fall, but to hide in their castle in the sky. It clicks for me that Wolfwood probably feels about running away the way Vash does about suicide (think back to episode 11). 

The SEEDS dwellers do not seem to understand that Wolfwood is both trying to help them and a little resentful of what they have. To them, he is everything they’ve been taught to fear and hate, up here poisoning Paradise for them with his unpleasant ideas. Of course this sort of dynamic never happens in real life.

Also, keep in mind that none of them know anything about the people below directly, only from hearsay. They’re not wrong about Gunsmoke as a whole, but they treat Wolfwood like a monster rather than a person.  That also never happens in real life.

Then he gets to the scene of a crime too late--but just in time to look like the one responsible. Although the ship dwellers would love to see him dead, he leaps to defend them against his own colleague. Knowing, perhaps, that doing this would confirm he switched sides, and his own days might be numbered. He doesn’t even pause to think, he just goes, the same way he did when the child went missing in episode 9.

***

Vash Will Save The Day

“Like you care. Five years is probably like a blink of the eye to you anyway.” Vash denies it, but the second part is probably true. He looks so surprised to hear it’s been five years.

It can’t be easy for Vash to admit that he was responsible for the “Fifth Moon Incident,” and is probably more dangerous than Knives. Once again, his only argument is “please.” But there’s no buffoonery or melodrama here. He’s dead serious, and that’s more convincing. 

Wolfwood tries to stop Leonoff from saying his name. No one who would understand the significance or matters to him is present, just Brad and Jessica. Is he merely afraid others will hear? Does he still consider himself to be Chapel?

Even facing Leonoff, Wolfwood still hasn’t put his shades back on.

Now imagine if Vash managed to find ways out of no-win situations and save the day without all the whining and crying.

Wolfwood can pause and wait for once, having faith that Vash will show up. He knows there’s always a third option for Vash. He does not yet see any for himself. Still, progress nonetheless.

***

Unfortunately for me, Vash is back with his red coat in Vash the Stampede mode, yellow glasses hiding his face.

OK, I can see how Leonoff’s puppets get into the ship without being noticed, but how on Earth did the big guy even get here?

[cebinaruavin]

Truce

((Story co-written with @thefugitivemango / @lordbeyron. @pariker / @inathia​ / @phoenixguard​ for mention.))

~*~*~

Cebina waited in the foyer as Bey’ron finished his bath. She took her time to stroll around the room, picking out her favorite wine and helping herself to a glass. She sat herself down comfortably in one of the large lounge chairs, sitting back and crossing her legs. 

She’d always enjoyed her time spent in the manor, as short as that time was. Bey’ron had good taste in lavish decor, always ready to entertain guests. She sometimes wondered if he expected Lor��themar himself to show up at his doorstep. Even the room he’d given her to stay in had been one of the fanciest she’d ever had. A shame that didn’t last. They’d worked well together, the two of them, before her switch to the void and exile.

Water under the bridge now, as it were. The war between Alliance and Horde was over now. While Cebina’s presence still wasn’t welcomed in Quel’Thalas, travelling there was no longer as big of a risk; as long as she suppressed her Void powers and kept out of sight, of course.

She swirled the wine in her glass and sniffed the bouquet before taking a sip. Yes. She’d certainly missed this.

Her presence wasn’t lost on Bey’ron; nothing happened in his manor that he didn’t know about. Eyes everywhere… but he figured Cebina knew that as well. He cut his bath short as he sensed her presence once more in his house. While he didn’t feel in danger of anything she might do, his trust in her certainly took a dive following her last big revelation. He dried and dressed himself casually, paced calmly as he always did, before stepping into the room.

“Pour one for me too, hmm?” he instructed, nonchalantly.

Cebina smiled from her spot on the chair moving her hair over her shoulder to show off more of her chest. A natural reaction for her, even though she knew it had no effect on Bey’ron. She pointed towards the counter, where a second full glass of wine sat waiting for him.

“Way ahead of you, Sweetie,” she hummed, “How have you been, Bey Bey?”

“Mm… considering my home’s been invaded,” he narrowed his eyes at Cebina, “not terrible.”

He scooped his glass from the counter, swirling it gently as he approached the Ren’dorei intruder, uncertain at what brought her here. To gloat more, perhaps? He didn’t think she would have come here to kill him… but then the void did alter one’s mind, didn’t it? How far had her dark studies taken her…?

“Why are you here, Cebina?” he asked, bluntly, tone indicative he wasn’t interested in going through the usual foreplay. “Haven’t you caused me enough of a headache already?”

Cebina raised a brow as he skipped over the pleasantries. That wasn’t like him at all! Had the Knight Lord’s absence affected him that much? Had he actually cared about her? 

“Oh, Bey Bey, you know me. I only specialize in making people feel -good-. You won’t find any trouble coming from me. Unless... that’s what you’re looking for.”

She tipped her head back, taking a long sip of the wine from her glass.

“But, if you insist on getting straight to business, so be it. As you know, the war between Alliance and Horde has come to an end. While I’m aware my people are still shunned for our superiority, at least my presence here is no longer considered an act of war. With the armistice signed between the Alliance and Horde, I was hoping you and I could work out something similar. Past mishaps now water under the bridge, as it were, hmm?”

She took another sip, allowing Bey’ron some time to digest the information.

Bey’ron rolled his eyes. It felt good not to have to try and hide the expression, as he normally had to do in the Council chambers when some pompous nobleman spouted similar nonsense. “Superiority,” indeed. He scoffed, accenting the eye rolling to better convey how unimpressed he was by Cebina’s notion.

“You want back in, is that it? Tired of the humans already?” he smirked, throwing a light jab of his own. “If your kind are so superior, surely you wouldn’t feel a need to reestablish any manner of connections here. Armistice or not.”

He knew well why she’d returned now, of all times. The Armistice might have been a part of it, but Bey’ron had long suspected that Cebina had ties to the Twilight’s Hammer cult. A cult without any more Gods to cling to, as of late. No, he knew Cebina was only here playing nice because she’d lost a large chunk of support. A loss she hoped to make up for here.

“You’re after the arrangement I offered when I first dismissed you and your ‘superiority’, Cebina. And instead of keeping things pleasant between us, you opted instead to lash out.” he scolded her, still swirling his glass of wine. “What changed? Why are you suddenly so interested in rekindling our friendship, hmm?”

Cebina giggled, waving a hand in a dismissal of his words.

“Sweetie, please! Did you go soft while I was away? We were never friends, and you know it. Work partners, yes. Allies, yes. But don’t go pretending it was anything more than that.”

Her void filled gaze met his as she leaned forward in her chair.

“You know as well as I do that knowledge is power. And even the more superior of us need allies, especially in times of peace. Don’t you agree?”

His ear flickered; she was right. They were never really friends… so why did he phrase it in such a manner? Had loneliness tugged him off course of his goals? Had losing Ina’thia made him soft? His frown turned to a scowl at Cebina. Seeing her again had brought out many reminders of the past… including his dedication to his ambitions.

“Hmph. You’re splitting hairs. ‘Friendship’, as a generalized term of working well one with another. As in… not sabotaging one another’s projects.” Bey’ron snapped, fel flames in his eyes burning a little more intensely. “You’re reaching out for a hand you bit, Cebina. And you bit it hard. I had plans for the Phoenix Guard, and you crippled it. Killed it! Did you think I’d be so quick to forgive your childish maneuvers? Perhaps I have been too soft, letting a treacherous Old God underling like you breathe another breath of my Eversong air!”

He tossed his undrunk glass aside, letting it shatter in the corner. Portals began to open up all around the two elves, pouring chittering laughter and aggressive growls into the chamber from whatever dark dimensions lay beyond them. Demonic eyes peered in from the room, all fixated on Cebina. But nothing emerged… yet.

“Give me one good reason, Little Bird, why I should take you back.”

Cebina remained unfazed at Bey’ron’s show of force, her eyes glimmering with pride as they continued to burn into his. Her smile widened. 

“Because,” she stated simply, “You need someone to keep you on your toes.” She got up from the chair, letting her form fitting skirt brush the floor as she paced slowly.

“You’ve gone soft, Bey Bey. What I did was nothing compared to what your dear Knight Lord put you through, I’m sure. You let your guard down with her, didn’t you? Made yourself vulnerable. Now look at you, sulking in your manner and trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind. Look at who you’ve surrounded yourself with. All soft.”

She stopped pacing a few feet in front of him, knowing well not to get too close to the Magister.

“Face it, Sweetie. You need me a lot more than I need you right now. You know it. And that is why you’re throwing this little temper tantrum, isn’t it?”

Bey’ron’s scowl turned to a smirk. He chuckled at Cebina, folding his arms behind his back as he did. The portals held position, though the snarling from within softened… yet the chittering laughter grew a bit more as if to join their master.

“Oh, I need you, is that it? That’s why you came here, then? You sensed how much I needed you? So you snuck in, seeking to restore our amicable arrangement? How kind of you, Little Bird.” he laughed on, tone clearly mocking. “You may be right; I’ve relaxed quite a bit, following your little stunt, and Ina’thia’s departure. You’ve done well in reminding me of that, tonight. But frankly… I can think of no other use I’d have for you. You think too highly of yourself if you presume you’re the only one who can, as you put it, ‘keep me on my toes’, hmm?”

A worthy attempt, he had to admit. But his wit hadn’t dulled quite that much since last they spoke. Cebina wouldn’t have come here just to rekindle a relationship unless she had something specific to gain in doing so. She’d caught him in an emotional state-- which was to say, she caught him actually feeling emotions. But that alone wasn’t her purpose in coming to him now. It seemed they ended up dancing around the heart of the matter, after all.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” he straightened, brow askew. “Why are you here, Cebina?”

“Hmm, much better,” Cebina grinned, “There’s the Bey-Bey I know! Don’t worry, I have no intentions of returning to Silvermoon or messing with whatever you’ve got going on with your little friends.”

She sauntered back to her chair, taking a sip and getting comfortable once more, pulling the skirt of her robes up to expose her thighs as she crossed her legs.

“I need a contact to keep me up to date on the going ons of Horde politics, as it were. In return, I’ll be certain to forward any information I come across from the  Alliance side. I’ve gotten quite close with some of the higher up politicians in Stormwind. In short, you have your goals and I have mine. As long as those goals don’t go against each other, there’s no reason we can’t go back to being respectful associates.”

“Mm, that depends entirely on what your goals actually are, doesn’t it?”

The Magister returned to the counter, and retrieved another glass since his last one broke. He didn’t bother glancing over to where he’d thrown it; it was already cleaned up anyway, the work of some Imp while no one was looking. He filled his new glass with wine, before turning back to his guest.

“It also depends on what manner of information you can provide. I’ve already arranged a few eyes and ears among your Alliance’s political players, and they’ve done well in feeding me useful little tidbits.” he explained as he, too, finally took a seat in a chair adjacent to Cebina’s. “I suppose you think you could do better, though? Provide me with more exclusive information?”

He grinned at the Ren’dorei.

“Let’s hear a sampling, hmm?”

“Oh, darling… you have NO idea.”

Cebina moved her hand, opening it palm up as a small void tear opened up just above it, depositing a scroll into her hand. She’d worked with Bey’ron long enough to know he wouldn’t take her at her word. He was MUCH smarter than that; one of the things she rather liked about him. Of course he would demand proof that she could procure information more valuable than his own men could gather. 

She held the parchment out for him to levitate over.

“I’ll let you read for yourself. Human men are simple creatures, and SO predictable, especially when it comes down to interacting with exotic women,” she grinned, tilting her head up proudly, not a hint of shame of how she used her body, “I think you’ll enjoy these little tidbits, especially certain secret outings the King has been making.”

The Magister couldn’t hide the intrigue on his face, as he read the scroll over. It was a mixed bag, certainly, with some bits of information much more useful and actionable than others. For now, anyway; Bey’ron learned long ago that sometimes the most innocuous details can bridge gaps in some of the darkest secrets. These outings of the Alliance’s Boy-King that Cebina alluded to, for example… they meant nothing for the moment. Just a piece of a puzzle Bey’ron could use later, when he found where it fit.

But he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“... Hmph. I suppose these have some merit.” he commented; such words meager approval from some, but high praise when coming from his lips. “If I did, perhaps, have use for information you’re willing to bring, what exactly would you wish in return? Bearing in mind, I am not as prone to betraying my kingdom as--”

He paused, gaze tracing over Cebina in silent judgment. A less-than subtle jab. He allowed the parchment to roll up once more, curling by virtue of having been rolled up before. He held it upright as a small portal opened above it-- and a tiny pair of imp hands reached down to snatch it away absconding with the paper to Sun-only-knows where.

“... Others.” he concluded his thought, smirking.

“Of course, of course,” she waved a hand, not seeming the least bit insulted by what Bey’ron insinuated.

Cebina had always joined causes out of convenience. She’d joined a number of houses and organizations during their rise, only to move on to another as she sensed they were about to fall. Her entire life had been about taking what she needed to further her own goals. Now wasn’t any different. She knew it. Bey’ron knew it. There was no point in pretending she ever cared for Quel’Thalas.

“Ever the loyalist, I remember. I would never ask you to betray your kingdom, Bey-Bey. I have no interest in playing with Sin’dorei affairs. However, a man of your elite stature certainly has spies dispatched throughout the other factions of the Horde, hmm? All I’m asking in return is that you share that intelligence with me.”

Bey’ron contemplated for a moment, eyeing Cebina over scrutinously. He was torn; at what point did benefiting the Void Elf become endangering the High Kingdom? It was easy to work with her before, when their goals coincided often. But he couldn’t imagine an instance where they would, now. The value of even small details cut both ways. What could he tell her that wouldn’t potentially come back detrimentally to Quel’Thalas? The secrets she was willing to share were, indeed, valuable to him. But at such a cost…?

No, the payoff was far greater than just a few meaningless details shared between the two. A truce was at stake-- a partnership with Cebina made her an ally once more, rather than the spiteful enemy she’d proven to be otherwise. It was a dangerous gambit, indeed. But he knew it was more beneficial to bring her to heel with a few tasty morsels of information than to let her run wild and lash out. 

“Mm. So be it.” he nodded, with a smirk. “We’ve worked well together in the past. If you’re ready to do so again, it would be in poor form for me to deny you the pleasure.”

He raised his glass to Cebina; a toast to seal the deal, and rekindle their partnership. It felt like the right move; after all, you keep your friends close.

And your enemies closer.

~*~*~

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

Star Wars Headcanons - Boredom

How does the Falcon Family deal with boredom? (Edited 3.24.2020)

Han and Luke start doing random engineering projects, like putting attitude thrusters on a rolling chair and trying to ride it down the hallway

Turning off the gravity while in space and trying to eat cereal like fish

Playing air guitars to Bohemian Rhapsody whenever it comes on the radio.

Leia doesn't get it, but she does have to admit that no one, and I mean no one can headbang like a Wookiee

All the blankets and pillows disappear, along with Luke and Leia

Han is left wondering what is going on, but then he finds the elaborate pillow and blanket fort in the cargo hold, with the missing twins sitting inside watching movies and eating snacks

Luke and Leia start training duels, which just wind up turning into play fights

Han is usually busy modding the Falcon when he hears The Kids running through the ship, alternately giggling and yelping

He always ends up having to stop what he is doing to go rescue Luke when he starts screaming

Han wonders how Luke Skywalker, Jedi Badass Hero of the Rebellion becomes Luke Skywalker, I'm Baby, when Leia starts fake crying.

Leia gets exhausted just watching Han and Luke do the 'Dark Souls/Band of The Bold' dance through the Falcon

Chewie doesn't know much about memes, but it looks like fun so he joins in

Luke tries to teach Leia how to Floss. She is surprisingly good at it

Han is super creeped out at how they stand side by side in random places on the ship, just silently Flossing

It's like that scene with the twins from The Shining.

Han thinks the Empire is attacking when Luke runs into the Falcon's cockpit, frantically calling for him. He spins around as a bright-eyed Luke grabs his sleeve, practically vibrating with excitement, and starts pulling on him while shouting "check this out!" and waving a glass of water at him

Luke drinks the whole glass, then does this standing wiggle so Han can hear the water sloshing around in his stomach

Han does the Chris Pratt OMG Face, then starts yelling for Chewie

Leia wonders what all the laughing and yelling is about and walks into the cockpit to see The Boys holding empty glasses while wiggling around and giggling

Chewie gets a little over excited, grabs Han, and starts shaking him until he blows chunks

Leia slowly backs out of the cockpit and returns to her bunk

Han and Luke often stalk around the Falcon, hunched over, making hissing and clicking sounds, pretending to be velociraptors

Leia hates that game because they always jump out at her, chase her, or silently stalk her until she has to use her Space Mom Voice on them

No one knows how it happened, but they all ended up sitting down and eating an entire jar of pickle slices because Han said "Hey, did you ever notice that pickles squeak on your teeth when you chew them?"

Chewie buys a bunch of huge industrial shipping air pillows and lines the empty cargo hold with them

He spends the next few minutes yeeting Han and Luke across the room and watching them bounce randomly around

Leia: It's a terrible idea...someone could get hurt...

Leia two minutes later: squealing gleefully as she bounces past Han

Han almost wets his pants laughing as Luke Force Yeets himself

It seriously looks like a giant invisible hand just flicks him across the hold

Han will never forget the sight of Luke rag dolling as he bounces at least ten times before stopping

Leia is always amazed at how The Boys can take Boredom Naps anywhere, be it a bunk, a chair, a hallway, or hanging half way in/out of a maintenance access hatch

The general rule is that you don't wake the person, you just step over/around them and go on your way

Leia once found all of them laying scattered around one of the landing skids they'd been repairing, with Artoo squatting in the middle, looking like he was the sad, sole survivor of a massacre

Everyone takes extra care not to nap when Leia is around after Luke woke up in full, expertly done make-up

Pictures had been taken while he was sleeping

Han thought it was hilarious, until it happened to him

He was more than a little miffed when Chewie informed him that Luke "wore it better"

[hyunllx]

                                                         Heathers & Gargoyles                A complete rewrite of Riverdale Season 3

A game, a cult, a murder. Sounds like a stereotypical october for the town of Riverdale. Yet when Betty, Jughead, Veronica, and newly freed-from-juvie Archie are recruited to join the increasingly dangerous game of Griffins and Gargoyles, they find themselves dodging assassinations and deadly traps designed to keep them on a pre-determined story path. Left without the help of their brainwashed allies, the core four must work in the shadows to stop the rising body count and unmask the King of Gargoyles before their story is finished.

                                                                   Prologue                                                                             Previous Chapter[none] | Read it on AO3

The summer leading up to junior year was like so many others in Riverdale; days spent by Sweetwater River were long and hot. Fireflies doubled the stars in the sky and the scent of wood smoke hung on the midnight air. Pink-grey dawns, filled with the song of birds and dewy treks through the forest while dusks of deep golds and purples painted the skies above countless barbeques and fireworks. The town, for once, seemed happy. Normal, if they could ever grasp the concept of ‘normal’ again. At least… most of the town.

Only in private spaces and shadowy corners was the dark cloud hanging over the community mentioned, as if the town itself wanted to forget, wanted to push away the very thought another tragedy could happen to a child everyone knew, grew up with, and loved. Though the town believed his innocence whole heartedly, they forgot about him the way one forgets a traumatic memory; slow, reluctant, and silent.

In the spaces where his cloud loomed darkest, Betty worked as an intern for Mary Andrews, putting her legal and investigative prowess to test in a more lawful setting than she was used to. She spent her days reading through old case files, police reports, and transcripts of similar court cases, analyzing and decoding the vast arrays of information into easily digestible chunks. Shorthand and stenotypy became her new language and, though she interacted daily with her friends, the codes of court ruled her consciousness until the August hearing. 

On the other side of town, Jughead put the Serpents to work collecting the not-so-legally obtained evidence and testimonies they were used to. Vigilantism was almost a comfort in the wake of Archie’s hanging shadow, a line of work Jughead threw himself into fully. There was a normalcy to it, a sense of nostalgia that ate away the trauma and suffering they had endured in the years since entering high school. 

Hyperfixation eating the peripherals of his awareness, it wasn’t until the final weeks that Serpent King Jughead Jones realized the absence of many of his members. He expected Toni and Cheryl; they spent more time together these days than the rest of the gang, though Jughead didn’t mind. He’d be hypocritical if he did given the time he and Betty and spent alone. However, as August grew from summer gold to deep early autumn red, the absence of Sweet Pea and Fangs caught his attention first.

Jughead would visit their homes in the afternoons and evenings and most of the time, there was no one home. They were often missing from the Serpent gatherings and communal activities, and their reports were brief when he asked favors or gave them a task. By the final weekend of summer vacation, Sweet Pea and Fangs had garnered a following of a dozen young Serpents, high schoolers or younger. All missing when Jughead needed them, all caught returning home or showing up to community meetings late and covered in dirt and various forest remnants. 

Though Jughead wouldn’t have known, it wasn’t just the Serpents undergoing this odd shift in youth attention-span. Veronica witnessed it too as her speakeasy, La Bonne Nuit, came to life under the floors of Pops’. Summer jobs, like most small all-American towns, were the pinnacle of high school vacation culture, and Veronica graciously contributed by hiring many of her classmates to help work on the place. This was, after all, a place for all of them to recover from the tragedies befallen the youth of the town.

Yet, as with the Serpents, many of them started skipping shifts, missing work hours, seemingly uncaring about their work or their pay as August bloomed to life. Though Veronica was not an aggressive person by nature, when she confronted their lack of vigor, she often left frustrated with no answers and a short staff. With her own attention torn between her project and her unjustly imprisoned boyfriend, the progress of La Bonne Nuit slowed to a crawl. 

Veronica was not the only person frustrated by this; her father had taken an interest in the speakeasy's construction and was growing worse at hiding his impatience as the month progressed toward the looming trial. His heed had not gone unchecked, but Veronica ignored it for the time being, not wanting to confront the man who probably put her boyfriend behind bars. It wasn’t difficult to avoid him these days; after school concluded the previous year, he’d also vanished for periods of time. 

“Business stuff,” he always said, a strange answer as he’d usually explain what the business was to her. The mystery and curtness was unusual, making his curiosity in her own projects even more grating. She finally stopped him the day before the trial, his judgement entering the speakeasy after 24 hours or longer missing from home.

“Daddy.” She greeted him with a mirror of his increasingly formal demeanor. 

“Good morning, Mija.” He forced informality as he approached the counter where she stood, rubbing dark stain into the wooden top. The smile on his didn’t reach his eyes, the wrinkles in his crow's feet and heavy brow ridge remaining flat and expressionless, “How is everything going today?”

She didn’t answer him, side-eying his suit as she focused more on the counter. Though he wore suits often, he was more dressed up than usual, and Veronica could already feel the judgement at seeing her helping with the work. Instead she asked, trying to keep the malice from her voice,

“Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I had to have an emergency meeting with a business partner.” He was lying, Veronica knew, though she couldn’t prove it. She just could tell from the way his back straightened and his hands clenched and the vein in his neck pulsed against skin as he swallowed. 

“The same business partner that’s been dragging you away all summer, I presume?”

Her father let out a tense sigh, his eyes leaving her face. His shoulders slumped slightly and for the first time that summer he looked as tired as she felt. A manipulation tactic, yet Veronica couldn’t help feel that twinge of pity deep in her chest for her dear old father. She put down the stain rag and wiped her hands on the apron around her waist, the deep mahogany brown leaving streaks on the off-white canvas.

“We’re having a bit of… a setback,” He met her gaze again, his eyes sharp as he thought about his partner with clear scorn, “Their facility is not being built properly and they’re refusing to send their employees elsewhere. It’s wasting a lot of time and money. I thought you might be able to relate.”

Veronica physically shrunk inward, the passive-aggressive swing pulling the pity straight from her torso and her self-esteem with it. She wrung the rag through her fingers again, looking down at the counter. Angry fire smoldered in the pit of her stomach in the sting of his words and she shook her head,

“No, I’m sorry. Things have been progressing just fine here.”

“Hmm…” Hiram looked skeptically at the unfinished furniture and the sparse employees laying wooden planks on the raised stage, the centerpiece for the room. His scrutiny turned back to her stained hands and the dark, unfinished splotches of the bar counter, “Well, for your sake I hope so.”

“Why are you really here? To judge how quickly we’re getting this set up and running?” Hiram looked taken aback by her sudden bite but those smolders of anger were bursting to life now.

“Two days ago the facility that is being built outside of Greendale was broken into. I figured you should know, since you’re in the same boat.”

Veronica rolled her eyes at the guilting; she had already heard about the break-in. That’s why she was working and not preparing for tomorrow’s trial like she should’ve been.

“Thank you for your concern, but I think we’ll be fine.”

Their conversation dragged on with as few words as possible, filled with vitriol and disdain. Even the boys laying the woodwork into the stage glanced over at the tension every so often felt it. Hiram finally decided his chiding was over and left with tense shoulders and a silent goodbye, and Veronica wouldn’t see him until the next day in the trial.

The entire town appeared to crowd around the courthouse that morning, as many bodies as possible squeezing into the seats and the hallway to hear the case of their beloved golden boy. Betty sat with Archie, anxiety overwhelming her relief to see him as they brought him into the room, his mother on his other side clutching his hand as tightly as possible. Jughead and Ronnie sat directly behind him, happy to see him but as anxious as Betty to his left. This could be worse, he thought.

All summer he was back and forth between holding cells, interrogation and visitation rooms, and court. Whatever the sentencing was, Archie was glad this would be over with. He knew he was innocent. His loved ones knew, and from the supportive looks around the room, everyone else did too.

For six grueling hours, Archie, Betty, Veronica, Jughead, and the rest of the town of Riverdale sat through recounts of their recent tragedies. The death of Jason Blossom, Archie’s vigilantism, the Black Hood murders, and their apparent involvement in major crimes over the past two years.

The word ‘guilty’ stung the hearts of everyone in the room when the jury announced the verdict late that afternoon. Though the weight of reality was still a shock, Veronica knew as soon as the jury entered the room after deliberation. They made up their minds long before that…. Or had someone make it up for them. 

At Archie’s request, the four had one more day together, then he left, hauled away to juvie the day before the start of their junior year. That looming cloud returned, and the halls of Riverdale High felt empty, heavy, and dark. 

In that darkness, something new and dangerous grew; a monster with stone horns and skull mask. A game where everyone was a player, whether or not they knew it. It started as groups of nerds huddled around an upright-standing folder at lunch tables. Here and there a faint, excited whisper of demons and puzzles.

Jughead and Veronica often found their missing bodies among these secretive spaces. They’d started skipping their Serpent jackets and sports-branded sweaters for odd, costume-like clothing and black hood.

“We’re playing Griffins and Gargoyles.” Sweet Pea told Jughead one day when he’d tried to pry his way into the group.

“What’s that… like Dungeons and Dragons?” Jughead frowned, regarding the map spread out between the ‘players’. They exchanged nervous glances as he asked.

“Um… kind of. But you have to be initiated to play.”

“How do I get initiated?” Not that he wanted to be… the question was more out of curiosity about his former family.

“You wait.” The unfamiliar girl behind the erected folder wall cut in before Sweet Pea could think to respond. Her blue eyes sliced through him under her shadowy black hood. “You wait for the Gargoyle King to call you.”

Veronica had a similarly chilling encounter when players brought the game to work. The Acolytes, so called for their worship of this mysterious Gargoyle King, multiplied like cockroaches over the first week of school. As a virus spreads, so did the game throughout Riverdale High, recruiting more and more players and attracting the “Deathknights” who watched the school grounds with stone masks and tattered black clothes. 

At the surface, it appeared to be just another fun roleplaying game. Underneath, though, lay a labyrinth of danger, destruction, and crime the town’s youth grew entangled in, unable to escape. It was not a game; it was anarchy.

The school became ground-zero for the cult-like following of the game, and Betty, Jughead, Veronica tried their best to navigate their first weeks of school together, away from the rest of their friends who quickly got sucked into the Gargoyle King’s clutches. Cheryl was among the loudest recruiters after being chosen for initiation early in the game. To their surprise, Ethel was as loud as the school’s resident HBIC.

Halls and classrooms became littered, eventually decorated, with iconography, various memorabilia, and art of the ‘game’. By the second Friday of September, kids were finding satchels and cards in hidden books and cracks in the walls.

That second Friday, a large cluster of kids gathered around the outside of Veronica’s home room, their whispers excited as they discussed their latest find. She tried not to pay too much attention to the conversation as she forced her small form through the throng, but anxious whispers of ‘kill’ and ‘plan’ and ‘escape’ assaulted her ears. She pushed it out of her mind. No, they’re talking about a game. This isn’t real.

Like usual, Veronica was early as she forced her way into the classroom, and there were few bodies in the room save for herself and the quiet outcast types that sat by themselves. She attempted a smile in their direction but, as expected, they didn’t return it. Instead, she took a seat at the front of the classroom, placing her books on the desk and sliding her bag under the chair. As she leaned over to do so, she caught sight of a small envelope on the floor, trapped partially under a front desk leg. The back where she expected to see a name or address was face up and blank, but she could tell there was something inside when she yanked it out from under the leg.

The envelope was small enough to fit in her hand, yet a smooth wax of a black seal still pressed into the back enclosure, already open by the rail of paper tear stuck to it. The embossing on the seal was a figure squatting on its hands and knees. Two thin, tined antlers rose from its head, and large, stretching bat wings protruded from its shoulders, the span larger than the size of its body.

Though she knew this was someone else’s, Veronica’s morbid curiosity seized her hands and pulled the flap up. There was only one object inside; cardstock nearly the size of the envelope give or take a few centimeters. Pulling it out carefully, she immediately recognized the pattern on the back of the card as being from the game. It was the same pattern as those people found for quests. This was definitely not for her. As she turned it over, her breath caught in her throat.

The word “QUEST” scrawled in medieval-reminiscent script at the top in bold black letters. Underneath stood a painting of a knight or a soldier; a very young man in shining silver-steel armour encrusted with rubies. She did not recognize the symbol emblazoned in red across his breastplate and intricately depressed into the shield he held at his side. His eyes were a warm brown, his hair an intimately familiar shade of red-orange, and an even familiar still innocent softness to his features. 

He looked just like Archie.

Yet, that was not what shocked Veronica most about the card. At the bottom of the image, a cream-grey box held tet that, mixed with the boy looking so much like her beloved, sent shivers up her spine.

Kill the Red Paladin. 

The trill of the class bell rang through the room and more bodies shuffled in through the door. Fingers trembling, Veronica stuffed the card back into the envelope and that into the back of the textbook on her desk. She’d have to show Betty and Jughead later. For now, she pushed it out of her mind along with the other stresses of her life and pretended to be a normal teen for the day.

September swelled into autumn and left as dangerously as it began, whispers of “Kill the Red Paladin” cards popping up all over school. Betty often inquired parties she caught talking about it, the Acolytes running the games, the Deathknights that now warded the woods and public areas about it, but she met with the same answer each time.

They could not participate until they were initiated. 

Instead of forcing her way in, Betty took the route she knew best and snuck her way through, learning the patterns of the Deathknights and following them long into the nights. They lead her through the forest more often than not, winding trails snaking through trees and long back yards, always ending in the same place, an abandoned recreation center on the outskirts of Riverdale, near the detention center. The grounds swarmed with Deathknights like cockroaches. Betty was certain the Gargoyle King resided inside the building, but she never got close enough to see inside.

While she was busy tracking her way around the cult, Jughead and Veronica focused on Archie. As September wound down, he abruptly became unavailable for phone privileges, and each time they’d travel to visit in person, he had a new scar or bruise somewhere on his once boyish face. He wasn’t the only one, however, as the Serpents stuck in juvie also started appearing with mysterious black eyes and broken noses, even ones released at the ends of their sentences throughout September. 

Jughead and a group of older Serpents visited the detention center on the first day of October, waiting for their most recent member to get released back into their care. When he exited the building with the guards, his face looked the worst out of anyone, including Archie. His nose had broken and started healing out of place and he walked with a significant limp, hunched over his belongings. His lips were twice their normal size with scarred over cuts and untreated swelling.

They drove him home in silence and set him up in a group house watched over by Tom Topaz. The boys that lived there set to work helping tend to their brother’s wounds, some of them recovering from their own horrors from that detention center.

“What happened in there?” Jughead asked when the boy, Slash, started to relax into the environment. He was quiet at first, his eyes trained on the floor and his head shaking as if he were refusing to tell him, just as the others had. Jughead waited a few minutes in silence, but broke just as he made to stand up and leave.

“Fighting pits.” Slash muttered, still looking down. “They put is in fighting pits.”

“Dude-” One boy who’d been in detention previously tried to reprimand him but Jughead snapped to shut him up. If Slash wanted to speak, Jughead needed to hear,

“Like an underground wrestling ring?”

“No. MMA. Bare-knuckle. Whatever you can do to take down the other guy.”

“Why? Just for fun?”

“Lotta rich people come to watch. Place bets. Give us special names. It’s a game or something to them.”

Veronica had given Jughead the Kill the Red Paladin card for safekeeping and it was burning a hole in his pocket listening to Slash, “You’re all forced to fight? What about the other inmates, non-Serpents?”

“You’re asking about Andrews.” It wasn’t a question; Slash’s face grew dark at the memory of Archie in the pits, “Yeah… he’s their main man. The Paladin.” He spat the title with a small stream of bloody spittle. He motioned toward his nose as he continued “I couldn’t take him down like they asked. He knocked me unconscious.”

Slash shook his head. “No, they take us somewhere else. Somewhere old with a big pool.”

Jughead stood up immediately and scrambled for his phone to call Betty and Veronica, recalling the abandoned building Betty found the Deathknights operating out of. He joined her on her near-nightly trek through the trees after that, studying the building, occasionally finding the parking lot filled with shiny and out-of-place cars. The rich folk that played with the lives of the inmates. On those nights, Veronica came to meet them as quickly as she could, using her name and money to barter her way into the games.

She became a witness to the horrible treatment of the kids in the pit, scrawny, bruised, and still forced to fight until one went down in the blood-stained pool. She had yet to see Archie, though every night she went she heard whisperings about him, excitement to see him return. Three weeks from now… two weeks from now… next time... 

Finally, it came to Archie’s fight day. It surprised him to see his friends come together with such an urgency that morning, especially given it was a Friday and they should have been at school. He was even more surprised at their questions about how the guards brought him in to the pits, that he never told them about, and their plan to break him out. 

The rest of the day came in a haze, and as the sun went down, Archie felt detached when the guards retrieved him for the fight. The energy of the pit was different as they paraded Archie through the crowd, the stench of expensive booze and cigar smoke making his growling, empty stomach turn. His eyes scanned the people as they gathered to watch him descend into the pool, many of them hungering with a deadly greed he’d grown accustomed to over the past month.

As he looked over the spectators, he caught the familiar gaze of Veronica, worried yet warm with the mischievous twinkle that told him to trust whatever she was plotting. And he did, wholeheartedly. 

The guards removed the shackles around his wrists as he reached the edge of the abandoned pool. They shoved him between the shoulder blades and he stumbled over the drop, landing sloppily in a 3-point stance. The impact left his sore, bruised muscles straining, but he stood up and faced the opposite end of the makeshift arena.

As expected, the boy was just as young as him, wrapped in a near head-to-toe black cloak with a hood. He’d never faced The Rogue before, but he’d seen plenty of his victims laid up in the infirmary during his recovery time. They allowed him to jump into the pit instead of being pushed, though Archie could see the pain in his form as he landed, all the weight leaning on one leg. Had this been a real fight, he’d know to use that to his advantage.

Excited cheers burst from the crowd as they faced each other, but the sound droned to a dull hum as The Rogue drew his hood back, revealing the familiar face of Joaquin DeSantos. Scars and bruising crossed his face just like all the other boys Archie fought, but he wouldn’t forget the face of a Serpent.

The sound of a bell echoed through the empty pool, shaking Archie straight through the bone and out of his trance with the reverberation. Joaquin stepped onto his off-foot and feigned a jab at Archie’s chest, which he backpedaled away from with ease. It was more playful than serious, mirroring the smile on Joaquin’s lips.

“Hey, Andrews.”

“Follow me.” Archie whispered, side-stepping his opponent into a flanking position. Joaquin frowned at him, confused by his nervousness.

“What?”

Archie scanned the crowd again to make sure no one heard, but the patrons focused on the swing he launched toward his opponent, missing intentionally, “When you see the smoke, follow me.” He repeated, slower, more seriously to get his point across. With a heavy step, he launched forward onto the drain grate, causing the steel to clatter under his feet as it wobbled in its place. With the momentum, Archie slammed his chest into Joaquin’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist and throwing his opponent down next to their escape route.

There was an echoing pop, a clatter of tin against tile, and a wayward shout as smoke began to creep along the bottom of the pool, filling the pit with obscuring whites and greys from all corners. Joaquin scrambled to his feet at the sight, looking to Archie for instruction as the smoke enveloped them like thick autumn fog.

As soon as his visibility of the audience completely vanished, Archie hopped off the grate and dug his fingers into the drainage holes, pulling up with all his weakened might. The steel was heavy, but Joaquin quickly rushed over a pulled on the edge that Archie lifted out of the hole. Struggling for a moment, they pulled it over the side of the hole, nearly taking Archie’s fingers with it. The steel grate banged loudly against the tile, but it didn’t alert the crowd as they rushed toward the exits above them, ushered by Veronica. 

“Come on, this leads outside!” Archie called to Joaquin, beckoning him to jump down first. He wheezed, and a cough wracked his body as the smoke clogged his mouth and nose. Joaquin hesitated, though, so Archie impatiently grabbed his arm and threw him into the drain pipe below. He landed with a loud thud, and Archie took a deep, wheezing breath as left the smoke swirling above.

The pipe was wide enough for them to walk in single-file, but they had to duck and brace their arms against the walls to get out quickly. It felt like hours while they made their way over spalling concrete and lichen growing through cracks in the old pipe. When Archie’s shoulders and thighs began to shake with the effort of holding himself upright, the hot, damp air, thick with the fetor of moss and fungus, suddenly caught the breeze of the outside forest. Rustling of dried leaves and grasses echoed around the mouth of the pipe when they rounded the turn into the dark forest.

“Archie!” Betty called out as soon as she saw the flash of brilliant red hair emerge into the night. She and Jughead waited next to an old pickup on an old, dusty path, the Serpent logo emblazoned on the truck’s rusting black doors. No time for relieved greetings, they packed Archie and Joaquin into the cramped space and sped off along the back roads of the Southside. 

By sunrise, news of the escape spread throughout the town, along with the alleged suicides of the warden and several guards involved in the fights. Governor Dooley issued temporary pardons by noon at the request of Mayor Hermione Lodge. Though not wholly removed from the system, Archie was finally free. 

That was, until late that night, when most of Riverdale was asleep, each of the four awoke to tapping on their window. A mirror of each other, they all grabbed the closest weapon and slowly got out of bed. In unison, the tapping ceased. There, wedged under each of their window sills, sat identical parchment envelopes, the black gargoyle wax seal too thick to slip under all the way.

Upon opening the envelopes, each found a letter summoning them in two night’s time to the Southside junkyard, where the Gargoyle King awaited their arrival. Through their subterfuge and prison escape, he had noticed them, and it was finally time for initiation. 

[touchingmadness]

Nano Support Group ~ Week 1

For those of you who did not know, I’m participating in the Nano Support Group as run by @thewriteblrarchives​ this month! If you’d like to see the original thread for these questions, you can find it here - I chose to repost to avoid putting anything excessively long on my followers’ dashes.

Questions for you:

How long have you been writing?

I started writing creatively in first grade, which means (if my math’s right) that I’ve been writing for about thirteen years.

When you start a project, how do you start? With character, setting, plot, aesthetic, something else?

Usually, I start with a vague plot idea and an emotion. I know what the general story is going to be, and I know how I want the journey to make my reader feel. Everything else is built around that knowledge.

What’s your favourite part of the writing process?

The actual writing, if you’ll believe it. There’s something exciting about working on the first draft for a new project. I might love planning, too, but I love letting it all come together even more.

What genres do you write?

Mostly soft science-fiction, although I’ve written for pretty much every genre at least once over the years.

Where’s the strangest place you’ve ever written?

I haven’t really written in any “strange” place, exactly. I’m usually just holed up somewhere on campus with my computer.

Questions for NaNo:

Have you participated in NaNo or camp NaNo before?

A couple times, actually. To date, I’ve participated in four camps (and won two), and three Nanos (won all three).

What made you decide to join up?

It’s just a thing I do, anymore. I took the jump during senior year of high school and fell in love with the creative environment and amazing community that the Nano season inspires. I really am the most productive during this month, and it has everything to do with the people I get to surround myself with and the camaraderie Nano participants share.

What are you most excited about/looking forward to?

Getting this draft done! I’ve been planning this series for way too many years now - it’s so exciting to finally make a big jump on it!

Anything you’re a bit nervous about?

Finding an appropriate style. I’ve gone back and forth about the tone I should use to write this, and I really haven’t settled on anything, so draft one’s gonna have a lot of experimentation.

Have you done a lot of preparation? Or none whatsoever?

I’m Miss Planster Extraordinaire!!! For me that basically means that I flesh out characters as much as possible and make an outline consisting of events that must happen in order to achieve my desired ending. In-between scenes are more spur-of-the-moment, as is a good chunk of my worldbuilding.

Do you have a workspace, schedule, or daily goal?

No, no, and yes. I write where I want to when I feel like it, but I hold myself to writing between the Nano goal of 1,667 words and my personal goal of 2,000. (If I don’t manage the 2,000, I usually try to pick up the remainder on the next day.)

Questions for your wip:

What’s your NaNo wip titled (if it has one)?

Cathedral. Probably a temporary title, but a title all the same. Oh! And I’m only working on one of the two timelines of the book.

Tell us a bit about your NaNo wip! For example the plot, genre, themes…

Full summary of Cathedral and other important information can be found here. The below summary is a summary for Timeline B, the one I’m working on for Nano.

"When he takes a Venduraan prisoner aboard his ship, Captain Nikolai Parsons of the Terran Militia is thrown head-first into a conspiracy surrounding the true reason for the Terran-Venduraan War."

Space science-fiction. Adult. Third person, past tense. LGBTQ cast. Themes of self-worth, isolation, and choosing to be brave. Explores the tragedies of war and the tragedies of those swept up in it.

What is your protagonist like?

Complex. Nikolai Parsons is the acclaimed captain of space-faring military vessel. He really puts off this aura of confidence and power, but he struggles with feeling as though he’s really meant to be a leader. (Impostor syndrome, anyone?) He’s got a big heart, and despite wishing the war didn’t have to happen, he has dedicated his life to it in hopes that it will end and his people will be safe.

The only problem is, once it’s revealed to him that the whole war is a conspiracy conducted by the the governments of the warring planets in order to boost economy and innovation, Nikolai is left without a sense of purpose. If he can’t end the war, if everything he’s ever been told is a lie, what can he do? His insecurities redouble after that, and even when he resolves to dedicate himself to the cause, it prevents him from taking a leadership role that he would otherwise been entirely capable of taking.

Have you been planning it for a while? Conversely, do you know anything about it yet?

Cathedral’s been in planning stages for a couple of years. A lot’s changed since then, to the point that the woman who was supposed to narrate the other timeline isn’t even a part of the story anymore. (RIP Jedamyn Clark) There are still some issues with that timeline that need to be worked through before it’s written, but I have an excellent grasp on the characters and the world at this point.

[utanoprincesamascenarios]

Could you do Quartet Night reacting to their s/o that is a gymnast and goes to the Olympics?

Reiji

Reiji was amazed that his s/o was as talented as they were.

Well, talented probably wasn’t the right word. Reiji knew how much time and effort his s/o  had poured into their sport to get to the level they were at. He had driven them to every practice that he could, brought them dinner during particularly late nights… He showed his support in any way he could.

After the rougher practices, Reiji would drone on about how his dance rehearsals were, complaining about how sore he was after his significantly shorter sessions. That always earned him a laugh, and it helped take their mind off of their crabby coach.

The date of the trials was quickly approaching, and his s/o was way more stressed than usual. So naturally, Reiji ups his natural charm and does whatever it takes to help his s/o relax.

He’ll sing them lullabies, rub their sore muscles, and wash their hair in the bath. Basically once practice is over, Reiji makes it his mission to spoil his s/o.

On the day of the trial, Reiji drives them to their morning practice and says goodbye with a kiss - “For luck!”

As the day goes on, Reiji feels more nervous than his s/o probably does. He watches every other athlete, but he knows his s/o and he’s positive they have what it takes. Finally, once it’s time for his s/o’s event, he takes his spot near the judge’s table and all of his nervous tics hit him full force. He’s bouncing his leg and biting his nails and he almost misses his s/o’s name being called over the speaker.

The entire thing is nearly a blur, but it’s a routine Reiji’s seen hundreds of times before. What he does notice is the light in his s/o’s eyes, the way they lit up when they were doing what they loved, the smile that engulfed their features… Reiji thinks they’re the most beautiful when they’re partaking in their passion. That’s one of the ways they’re similar.

When the performance is over, Reiji holds his s/o’s hands as they wait to hear the results. He’ll kiss their cheek and promise them that no matter what happens, he’ll always be their number one fan.

Ranmaru

Ranmaru didn’t know anything about gymnastics before he met his s/o, and he wasn’t too eager to learn more. But after a few months of dating his s/o, he’s practically an expert on the subject. Of course couples learn things from each other, but the way his s/o talked about gymnastics made Ranmaru want to learn more, if not just for the fact he’d be able to carry out a conversation that makes his s/o excited.

His main role during training season is S/o’s personal chef. He knows more or less how many calories they need each day and what they can and can’t eat, so he does his best to make them tasty dinners every night. Most of the time, his s/o is out too late to eat at home, so he delivers dinner to them when they can’t make it home..

Ranmaru doesn’t really bother to keep up with the competition, so when his s/o starts comparing themself to others, Ranmaru quickly shuts them down. He knows it’s important to know what you’re up against, but the comparing game can cause more damage than do any good.

He isn’t the type to coddle, but he’ll always remind his s/o how far they’ve gotten based on their own merits and hard work, and that as long as they keep up the momentum, they’ll have nothing to worry about.

On the day of the trials, Ranmaru will make his s/o a hearty breakfast and also back a lunch for them too. It’ll be a long day, so they’ll need to eat up. They’ll try to claim they’re too nervous to eat, but Ranmaru can see right through them and refuses to let them head out to the car unless their plate is clean.

Ranmaru will hang around his s/o for as long as he can. He knows they’re nervous, and to be honest, he’s a little nervous too. But he’s confident that his s/o will be able to wow the judges with their routine. With the amount of work they’ve put into it, there’s no way they’ll leave anyone less than impressed.

While he watches them perform, Ranmaru can’t keep the smile off his face. They’re absolutely amazing, doing what they love, each movement deliberate and full of confidence. He hopes that he looks as good on stage as his s/o does on the floor.

After their routine is done, Ranmaru will throw his arm around their shoulder and wait for the results with them. And when they see their score is well above qualifying, Ranmaru will ruffle their hair and simply say “I knew you could do it.”

Ai

Ai loves people watching, and his favorite person to watch by far is his s/o. Gymnastics is fascinating to him, as someone who is just accustomed to dancing, and seeing his s/o move in such a complicated manner was mesmerizing. He knows how hard it is to move with grace, and he appreciates his s/o’s sport even more because of that.

He will use his knack for gathering information comes in handy for his s/o in many ways. Planning their daily schedule comes naturally to him. He keeps track of their calorie counts, their diet plans, their vitals during workouts… He’ll also keep them updated on their competitors, but as they get closer to the trials he’ll back off a little bit. He knows it makes them nervous.

Ai is able to easily point out the flaws in their routines, and he’ll dedicate a good chunk of his free time to help their perfect their moves. He’s incredibly patient, and he’s used to late nights with his s/o as they continue working the same move until it’s perfect.

While he is good at helping his s/o work, he also has to remind them when to take it easy and take appropriate breaks. He’s very strict with rest days between strenuous workouts, and he generally gets pretty upset with his s/o if they try to sneak around.

Above all else, Ai knows how to cheer his s/o up when they’re being hard on themself. He’s no stranger to overthinking and succumbing to a perfectionist mindset, so he’ll gently remind them that they’re doing the best.

Trial day finally arrives, and Ai starts their morning by reading off their vitals and going over the basics. He’ll drone on during the car ride to the stadium, and it’s actually much appreciated by his s/o. His familiar voice is calming, and having him close by is soothing.

Ai doesn’t want to get in the way and interfere with his s/o’s warmups, so he’ll leave them with a few encouraging words and seat himself somewhere not terribly far away. He likes to keep an eye on them when he can.

During their actual routine, he can’t keep his eyes off his s/o. Which isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, but when they’re performing in such a high-stakes setting, the energy they exude is something else entirely. Ai feels proud to have someone as amazing and hardworking as them as his s/o.

Once the routine is over, Ai has a pretty good idea of how his s/o would score. He’s good at analyzing patterns, and he knows the judges well enough to predict how they’d score his s/o. His predictions come true, and his s/o was leaps and bounds ahead of the qualifying scores - just as Ai knew they would be.

Camus

Camus knew that his s/o was an avid gymnast well before they had started dating. Their dedication to the sport was something that had immediately caught Camus’ eye. He always found himself drawn to dedicated people, and someone that worked just as hard as he did with their hobbies was very attractive.

In the months leading up to the trials, his s/o is usually in the gym every day, working later into the night than usual. Camus always went to collect his s/o at the end of the night when he was able. They were always exhausted, always wanting to push harder, and always unsatisfied with themself.

Camus made it a point to make his s/o relax. He knew the dangers of overexertion, and he refused to let his s/o throw away years of hard work just because they were too stubborn.

At home, he makes sure they eat, bathe, and go straight to bed. He wouldn’t let them do anything extra. He would sit with them and talk about their routine to help ease their mind before they go to sleep.

On the day of the trials, Camus makes sure his schedule is clear and is adamant that no one contacts him. His s/o had been up before the sun, and Camus wouldn’t have been able to see much of them. But he makes sure he is front and center for their routine, and he is able to give his s/o an assuring nod before they begin.

Of course their performance was near flawless. When their score was projected on the big screens - well above the minimum score for qualifying - Camus can’t help the pride that swelled in his chest. His s/o flung themself over the barricade at Camus with such force it was hard to believe they had just finished their routine. They still had so much energy! He returned their embrace with a smile.

“I couldn’t have expected any less from you. Keep the momentum up, and you’ll be sure to get the gold.”

[academicsapphic]

University classes are a monster you can’t prepare for until you’re in them. I have been through every up and down with schoolwork possible in the past year, so here are some tips that can hopefully help you avoid those downs:

Choosing and Registering for Your Classes

Make sure to thoroughly check both your major requirements and your gen ed requirements. Normally, you’ll have an advisor to help you make sure you’re on track, but Vandy doesn’t assign first-year engineering students one until after registration when school starts, and I didn’t have an advisor for this year’s registration either due to my major change, so I’ve spent hours and hours doing this on my own. There’s often recommended courses and example schedules in the course catalog that tell you what classes you should be taking at this point in time. Pay attention to that and you should be fine. For example, you have to have taken a first-level writing class to qualify for junior standing here. Those are the little things you have to look out for. To keep track of it all, I have a spreadsheet I use for planning my sophomore - senior years that lists all the requirements I need to meet in terms of hours and courses in order to graduate on time. I plug in possible courses and see which requirement they would fulfill and when. You can check it out here to see what I mean, it’s very helpful.

Find at least one fun elective to take if at all possible. It gets very tiring when all you have on your schedule are really difficult classes that you don’t enjoy. Try to find at least one class that you’re genuinely interested in to help get you excited for the day. Each of my last semesters, my schedule consisted of a calculus class, a lab science, a comp sci class, and Italian. Italian was the only fun one that I enjoyed going to. It really helps you out. You’re not just in college to get your degree, you’re there to discover what you really want to do, so feel free to explore your catalog and take something completely out of character just because you want to. Bonus if it fills some kind of requirement (Italian filled my Foreign Language Proficiency and one of my International Cultures reqs.).

Have multiple versions of your schedule based on which classes you may or may not get into. I don’t know about your school, but at Vanderbilt, class registration is literally like the Hunger Games. You’re assigned an enrollment date based on your year (seniors get to go first, then juniors, etc.) and at 8 am on that day, you refresh the website and either enroll in your classes or get placed on the wait list for it. If you’re a freshman, you’re basically screwed because you go last, and so you could have planned out your perfect schedule only to find they’ve all filled up the day before your enrollment period starts. To avoid having to scramble, have multiple versions of your schedule, with back ups and substitutions for every class. This way, you won’t be surprised when you go to enroll and all but one of your classes are filled, then you have to search for other classes, but at that point, all that’s left are scraps that don’t fit your requirements. Plan plan plan and practice clicking the enroll button on all your classes as fast as you can for when the clock strikes 8.

You have freedom over your schedule now; take advantage of that! No more 8-3 Monday through Friday; you can take classes whenever you want. I prefer to have all my classes on MWF in a block of a few hours and only one or no class on TR. Of course, sometimes you’re going to have to take classes at less optimal times, but do try to accommodate yourself and take classes at times you know will be good for you. Lots of people prefer to start early and finish early, while I like to start no earlier than 11, even if I don’t finish until 5. The best part of college is you can do what you want.

Don’t take 8 ams. I’m repeating this cause it’s important. I swear, you’ll regret it. In high school, I woke up every morning early as hell to catch my bus at 6:30, but in college, it was nearly impossible for me to get up for my 11 am only three times a week. Don’t ever take an 8 am by choice. And if you have no choice, good luck lol.

Don’t be afraid to drop a class. If you’re doing terribly in a class or you absolutely can’t stand it, drop the class. There’s a very little chance that if you’re failing during the first half of the semester, you’ll be able to change your grade dramatically in the second half. Maybe you decided to be an overzealous freshman and signed up for the maximum number of hours possible and now you’re drowning. Drop a class! Sometimes, a course is going to do more harm to you than good, so it’s best to get rid of it than have an F or a W on your transcript.

Use RateMyProfessor! I totally forgot about this when I originally posted this and it’s already got almost 1,000 notes but hopefully people see this. RateMyProfessor is so fucking useful. It’s IMPERATIVE that you check this website before you enroll in classes. Someone at Vandy actually made a Chrome extension for our enrollment website that automatically shows a professor’s ranking while you’re looking for classes. Obviously, take it with a grain of salt, and make sure the reviews actually make valid points about the workload and class and isn’t just someone bitter about failing. I took calc with a professor who taught at my high school just cause she taught at my high school even though her reviews said she was insanely difficult and the class was near impossible to pass. Guess what? They were right and I failed as did a big chunk of everyone else in her class. You don’t have to let RMP dictate your schedule, but definitely check it out, and if everyone says the professor is awful, don’t fucking take them. 

Attending Your Classes

Establish a connection with your professor early. I recommended introducing yourself on the first day of class just so they know your name and face in another post. It’d be even better to attend an office hour or review session or something. Just make sure they know you. It’ll be easier to communicate when you need something later in the semester if it isn’t their first time seeing you.

Actually use this connection with your professors. In my experience, they can be pretty understanding and when you’re in a bad place, they’ll likely help you out. If something is preventing you from doing your best in class, go to them for help (I didn’t go to many office hours but I wish I did! Who better to explain to you something you don’t understand than the person who grades you on it?) or explain to them your situation. I had professors let me take tests late and redo assignments due to my mental health after I explained to them I wasn’t just a terrible student; if it wasn’t for this, I would’ve failed all of their classes. Maybe at the end of the semester they’ll drop one of your wonky grades or bump you up that extra half point you need. Your professors are a resource, and it’s up to you to use it.

Take notes however you want. I used my laptop in some, paper in others, and even my iPad and a stylus for calculus. In all of your classes will be a mixture of different techniques and no one cares what you do. Whatever works best for you and helps you get down the most information is what you should do. Also, you don’t have to write down everything. If your professor uses slides and posts them for you to download, you don’t really have to write down anything at all unless they add extra points, so that’s really convenient. 

You don’t have to sit in the front. As long as you can see and hear, which you’ll likely be able to due to large projection screens and microphones, it literally doesn’t matter where you sit. In my experience, the professors call on people from every part of the lecture hall, so everyone gets an equal chance at participation. It’s up to yourself to make sure you can pay attention, not your seat.

Do your best to attend every single class meeting. It’s inevitable that you’re going to miss class at some point; you will get sick, you won’t have finished an assignment, you’ll need a mental health day, something will happen. Missing class can too easily become a habit if you do it often, so try to never do it. Don’t force yourself to go if you can’t handle it, obviously your health always comes first, but I mean don’t skip cause you want to sleep in or cause you just don’t feel like going. If you do have to miss class and 1) you have a good reason for it (i.e. sickness) and 2) it’s a class small enough that your professor will notice you’re not there, email them and let them know why, just so they’re aware you’re not just skipping to skip.  

Try to make friends in your classes. A little study group would be even better. It’ll be really useful to have someone who can help you with a homework question you don’t understand or send you their notes when you miss a class. It can also be great to study with other people, depending on how you study best. I’ve had friends in all my classes so far and it’s been a great help, even if we just complained about the test we just failed then went to get pizza.

Tackling the Coursework

Make a REALISTIC study schedule. The key word here is realistic. During winter break I made a study schedule that started with me waking up at 8 am every morning to go work out and ended with me going to sleep promptly at 11 or midnight after spending literally the entire day studying with breaks only for meals. No breaks on weekends, no room to socialize, and I thought this would be perfectly fine for me to follow. Of course, I didn’t last a week because that was fucking ridiculous. You don’t need to schedule every hour of your day; college doesn’t work like that. Just do something simple, an hour for a class or maybe less depending on how hard it is and if you have a test coming up. Trust your instincts. There’s no need to go overboard, and you don’t need to spend six hours a day working, just dedicate a time to studying and stick with that.

Explore study techniques until you find one that works for you. Everyone doesn’t study the same, so if you do what everyone else is doing you might not get the results you want. Even if you had a great system in high school, it might not be fitting for college, so check out a bunch of different methods and see how you do with them. Once you find the best way you study, you’ll be unstoppable when exam time comes.

Start your assignments early, as soon as you can after they’re assigned. There’s nothing worse than having a bunch of assignments/tests/papers due on the same day and you haven’t finished any of them. Trust me, it is so much less stressful to complete an assignment as soon as you can after it’s been assigned so you don’t have to worry about it anymore. Putting things off has much more severe consequences than it did in high school and you will regret procrastinating. If you have a weekly assignment due every Friday, try to complete them by Wednesday every week. At the very least, start an assignment the day you get it even if you can’t finish it that day. It’s a lot easier to do something after you’ve already begun working on it, and that one thing you do is progress.

The name of the college game is prioritization. If college teaches you anything, it’s how to prioritize your duties. You need to create a hierarchy of importance for your classes and types of assignments. For me, calculus assignments were always done first because that was the most difficult class and the one I absolutely needed to pass, and Italian was always done last cause it was my easiest class and I could complete even our biggest assignments in one day. You’re going to have a very large amount of work and sometimes you have to sacrifice finishing a small homework assignment to finish a huge paper or study for an exam. I liked to complete my hardest/longest assignments right when I got back from class to get them over with and leave my easier ones for later. Prioritizing is essential if you want to succeed in university, so learn how to do it immediately! 

Remember that uni is really difficult and your grades don’t define you. Something I learned the hard way is that sometimes you can try really really hard, do the best you can, and still fail. That’s just life. Sometimes you have to do something a million times before you get it right, or before you discover that it just isn’t right for you at all. I worked harder than I ever had this past year, and what I got in return was two failed classes, two D’s, academic probation, and a 2.3 GPA. Actually, my current GPA isn’t even a 2.3, it’s a 2.295, which is probably blasphemy to the studyblr community, but this shit happens. It happens to all of us and it sucks. It can be really shitty to feel like your effort wasn’t reflected in your result. What you need to do is adjust your expectations and keep working hard. After you hit your stride, your grades could be great in no time. Or you could discover that math or science or english just isn’t for you. Maybe you’ll discover university as a whole isn’t right for you, and that’s okay! Bad grades, whether you define that as a B or an F, don’t mean you’re a bad student or a bad person. You do what you can, and then let go of what you can’t control. The sooner you grasp this idea, and the sooner you learn to be gentle with yourself, the easier a time you’ll have.

So I feel like I forgot a lot of things but also this is pretty long so I’m going to end the post here. If you have any further questions or topics for a post you’d like to see, my inbox is always open. I don’t know which post is coming next, but I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for reading and I hope this helped you out!

Previous Posts:

Application Process

Choosing/Changing Majors

Orientation/Move-In/First Day of Classes

Roommates

[gwydionae]

When I first went through Voltron, I was not 100% convinced that Shiro was a clone. It was obvious he'd been experimented on in some way, but somehow I had missed the line about "this specimen is ready to be used" or whatever. XD After going back through the show, uh, yeah, he's totally a clone. They even use "kuron" as the name of the project - ku-ro-n, as in the Japanese pronunciation of "clone". Way ta be subtle, guys. XD

But then I started wondering what his purpose was. I mean, Team Voltron had survived with "Kuron" at the helm for months, even taken a good chunk of Galra territory. So why was he released? What was he supposed to do? So I went back through all the episodes with Kuron and... wow. I actually feel a bit stupid for not seeing it before.

Before I get into that, I want to bring up his mention of a "weird headache". Why is it “weird” and why even talk about it? If he knows he’s a clone on a mission, seems he just shouldn’t bother mentioning it at all, and since he is bringing it up, would that perhaps imply he really doesn't know what he is? Does he maybe think he's real but is susceptible to following what the Galra want him to do without realizing it? This leads me to believe that while I think he is a clone and working under Galra orders, I don't think that he knows that. I think that he believes he is truly doing what Shiro would do, because of course he is because he's Shiro! But somehow the Galra - Haggar, most likely - are controlling him, manipulating his actions to their whims in order to carry out their plans. And boy do they have big plans...

The first thing he has to do is regain control of the Black Lion, and in order to do that, he has to get rid of Keith. But he can't simply get rid of him, he has to take over properly so everyone believes he is their true leader. Seems easy enough at first when Keith hands him the job on a silver platter. Only problem is that the Black Lion isn't fooled - it knows something isn't right with “Shiro” and refuses him. And so “Kuron” has to find another way to take over. And so he does, in a truly cruel and manipulative way.

See, Kuron has already seen that Keith is willing to bow to what he wants and that the other Paladins will listen to Shiro's plans. So he just casually takes over the mission from the castle despite Keith piloting the Black Lion, telling them what to do, and when Keith protests, the other Paladins back Kuron's idea and Keith has no choice but to go along with it or risk the team turning on him. So Kuron says that they shouldn't go after Lotor - like Keith wanted - but should instead go back to their Lions and keep Lotor from getting the new comet!ship. Note that this is after he already knew about the piece of the teledove. But then they get to their Lions and Kuron changes his mind - after Keith had gotten on board the whole "ok gonna stop that ship" thing. Now Kuron says they have to keep them from getting the teledove. This frustrates Keith, especially when Allura backs Kuron, because he thought that he and Kuron had gotten on the same page but then Kuron undermines his supposed authority and leadership again. This is at least the second time in just this mission that Keith tried to make a decision only for Kuron to step in and convince the team that Keith is wrong and he is right. He is playing mind games with Keith, and Keith is losing because he just thinks it's Shiro being the natural leader that he is. And to make matters worse, when Lance straight up asks Keith what to do next, Kuron is the one that answers, not even giving Keith the chance to respond. Lastly, Keith, and even Pidge, want to follow the comet!ship after the teledove is destroyed, but Kuron tells them not to, and they listen without even questioning the fact that he just reneged on his earlier statement of "we can't let Lotor get that ship". Again he changes his tune and again it contradicts what Keith wants to do and again the rest of the team follows Kuron's orders instead of Keith's.

But the worst part of all of this? When Kuron tells Keith that he's sorry he "had to step in" and then proceeds to guilt trip Keith by saying he needs to learn to pick his battles (which is funny considering Kuron literally avoided as much confrontation as possible but was then willing to risk Voltron getting hit by the comet!ship's laser). If you don't really think about it, it sounds all nice and good when he says stuff like "you'll get there" and "the Black Lion chose you" but in reality all this does is heap more responsibility on Keith's shoulders, telling him he needs to lead but his actions saying he's not yet good enough to do so. The words are not uplifting - they are hollow, merely there to put more pressure on Keith who was struggling to deal with being a leader from the moment he took the job. Kuron is solidifying in Keith's head that he, “Shiro”, is the better leader, no matter what the Black Lion chose.

To end off season 3, we hear Keith say that his number one goal is to stop Lotor and keep him from using the comet!ship to cross realities. But the start of season 4 makes it clear that Kuron has been in charge of Voltron for months as they have done nothing of the sort, leaving those missions instead to the Blade of Marmora. Keith has kept his word and made that his top priority, but Kuron wouldn't allow him to do it with Voltron, and hence Keith joined the Blades. By this point, Kuron's plan is working near perfectly. While he continues his good standing with the other Paladins, he makes Keith look bad by chastising him for missing missions - even ones as insignificant as a show of arms - and this only proves to make Keith himself more miserable. By making Keith feel both guilty for not being there and unneeded due to Kuron being the "true" leader, Kuron is slowly pushing him out without losing any of his standing. And then comes the tipping point - while Keith is away on a mission with the Blades, some rebels are attacked. But note that as soon as the Paladins show up to help, Galra back up shows up. Awful quick, wasn't it? Why would they need to call for back up before the Lions showed up? It was cargo - they weren't exactly putting up much of a fight. It's almost as if someone tipped off the Galra that the Lions would be there...

And as if on cue, Kuron convinces the Black Lion that the other Paladins won't make it without Voltron. That they need him - there's no other way. And finally the Black Lion gives in, and Kuron gets what he wanted. Keith returns to the others ostracizing him, everyone standing firmly behind Kuron. And after being manipulated by him for months, Keith willingly gives up his Paladin status to Kuron, exactly as planned. Kuron is now a hero and great leader, and the one person that openly challenged his plans is gone.

From this point on, Kuron's real plan begins, the one that should ultimately lead to the destruction of Naxella if all goes well. Aside from the blips that are allowing Pidge to leave to find Matt and using Voltron to see what ship - Lotor's - the Galra were attacking (which are decisions he clearly didn't want to make but seemed to realize he had no choice), Kuron puts all his effort into the Voltron shows. He has the Blades and rebels liberate planets, but he keeps Voltron away from all of that, instead using it to spread hope and gain support within that section of the galaxy. Perhaps he wants to keep Voltron out of it to make sure Naxella is the last planet in the area as it's the most heavily armed and something only Voltron could handle. Or maybe he really does just want to get as many peoples' hopes up as possible so Naxella exploding will seem all the more devastating. Whatever the reason, his plan works, and suddenly Naxella is the last remaining target and they have a ton of support in the area around it.

Perfect place for a gigantic bomb to ruin everything.

The entire plan to take Naxella seems to be Kuron's and Kuron's alone. He is the one telling everybody where they will be and what they will do, making sure even the Blades and Coalition are included. He sets them up perfectly to be in range when the planet explodes. He even has Coran monitoring the Galra communications system that Pidge and Hunk disable from the castle - the same castle Kuron was in when the mysterious Galra reinforcements showed up in season 4 episode 1. Did Kuron do something to the castle? It would explain how the Galra knew when to call for back up earlier and how they now got their communications back online quickly but still after Voltron had nearly taken Naxella, allowing Kuron to brush Coran off when he informs him of Haggar’s battle cruiser because it would arrive too late anyway.

Not to mention explaining why Haggar said "good" when told of the attack. She knew this was coming. She was in on the plan. Why else would she just happen to be on a ship that has a weapon attached to the front - that hadn't been seen in four seasons - needed for the plan? And she knew to shut down both cannons the rebels had taken over as well as how to do that remotely. She had Kuron place them there and then snatched their new weapons away when it was time for the next phase of the plan. Again someone asks Kuron what to do about the stopped battle cruiser - Keith this time - and again Kuron says to leave it alone because it doesn't matter.

But this is where someone other than Keith has ideas that go against Kuron's. Lance is actually the one who, upon noticing the pillars rising from Naxella, orders Pidge to plot a course for their escape. Kuron, of course, overrules him, saying they should "find out what they are" first. Obviously this leads them to being trapped. And when they do escape Voltron and head below to see what's causing it, it is Kuron that suggests Allura try to shut it down. It seems obvious that he knew this would be too much for her, perhaps hoping it would put her out of commission. But she ends up being ok, and much to his disappointment, it is again Lance with the good ideas. He convinced Allura not to try to stop the plant but instead restart Voltron so they can escape. This works, and while I'm guessing this goes against Kuron's ultimate plan, he goes along with it. Maybe he thought they would still be blown to bits anyway. Maybe his Shiro nature kicks in. Maybe he hasn't realized this whole time that it was his actions that lead everyone here and there's a part of him that really does want to escape and stop the planet from exploding. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, because the plan has worked perfectly and the planet will blow up before Voltron reaches Haggar.

Except, of course, that Lotor ruins it.

But there's the most interesting part. The plan would have worked if not for Lotor. Kuron played his part perfectly - getting control of the Black Lion, getting rid of the dissenter in the group, getting everyone to free all the planets around Naxella while keeping himself and Voltron safe, planning the big, final attack on Naxella itself that would lead to everyone being blown to smithereens... It all would have worked if Lotor hadn't attacked Haggar's ship. (I suppose you could argue that Keith’s kamikaze plan might have worked too, but there’s no guarantee of that.)

But all this begs the question: What now?

Now that that plan has failed, what is Kuron's purpose? Does he have one? Will he be able to conceal the fact that he's not actually Shiro if Lotor, Haggar’s son, joins up? If Keith comes back? If Lance starts to question Kuron's orders due to what happened on Naxella? I get the feeling Kuron will be exposed sooner rather than later, and I am very interested in seeing exactly how that goes down. But for now, I am mighty impressed that they were able to make every decision that Kuron made seem credible at the time and only start to come apart once you really pay attention to what he says and does. And I really love that about seasons 3 and 4.

[jillmckenzie1]

Tempest in a Teapot

Cuties is streaming on Netflix

 Take a seat. Better yet, make a nice, hot cup of tea, pull up your nearest fainting couch, and get ready for some information that is sure to blow your mind. Ready?

You sure?

Okay…here goes. *takes a deep breath*

Americans are really, really stupid when it comes to both art and nuance. An example is the kerfuffle that sprang up regarding The Last Temptation of Christ. It all began with the 1955 novel written by Nikos Kazantzakis that examined the life of Jesus. Specifically, it posited the concept of Jesus briefly succumbing to temptation while on the cross and imagining a normal life. One that involved sex, love, and a family.

As you might imagine, a certain stripe of Christian was very angry with the book. This anger turned to incandescent rage in 1988, when Martin Scorsese adapted the novel into an excellent film. Now, you would think people who were taught the Gospels, to live with a love for others, to turn the other cheek, you would think those folks would either try to see the spiritual message inherent in Last Temptation* or love the people they disagreed with in brotherhood.

Nope! Thousands of people called for the film to be banned. Television evangelists denounced Scorsese. In fact, Scorsese received numerous death threats which, unless I missed big chunks of the Bible, is antithetical to the message of Christianity. There was even an attempted terrorist attack on a theater in Paris. A group of radical Catholics (Yes, seriously) set off an incendiary device that wounded thirteen people.

So based on the preceding paragraphs, I must think that conservative Christians are a bunch of gullible nitwits, right? Well…no. As much as I’d like to take a moment to clown on the right-wing outrage machine, the fact remains that both liberals and conservatives tend to live in a black and white space when it comes to artistic expression, and that space is not where nuance lives. Don’t believe me? Let’s talk about the new film Cuties, and why the controversy around it is mostly nonsense.

Amy (Fathia Youssouf) is eleven, and she has just moved from Senegal to a neighborhood in Paris. Things are very different for her. She’s in a new place with new customs and new faces, and she’s expected to help care for her two younger brothers. What about her parents, you might ask? That’s where things start to become complicated. Her mother Mariam (Maimouna Gueye) is already struggling to keep the children stable in their new home. Mariam tries to live as a righteous Muslim woman and feels pressure from her Aunt (Mbissine Therese Diop) to do better. The pressure gets worse when she receives a phone call from Senegal and the news that her husband has taken a second wife.

This is all an enormous amount for Amy to process. She needs support, and unfortunately, Mariam doesn’t have the bandwidth to provide it. So, she seeks out a support system elsewhere, and boy howdy, does she find it. A pilfered smartphone introduces her to social media and the endorphin rush that comes from likes and comments.

A chance encounter at school pinballs Amy’s life in a radically new direction. She meets the Cuties, a group of girls in her grade. They are her neighbor Angelica (Medina El Aidi), the snarky Coumba (Esther Gohourou), and the combative Jess (Ilanah Cami-Goursolas). The Cuties move through the world with the kind of bulletproof self-confidence that only exists within tweens and rich, white men. Their goal is to enter and win a dance competition, one that emphasizes barely-there costumes and dance moves that are…well, let’s go with “suggestive.”

The realization hits Amy like a thunderbolt. The Cuties are everything she isn’t and like nothing she’s ever seen before. At least, that’s what she thinks. How to get in with the cool girls? Proving yet again that the internet was a mistake, Amy dives online and immerses herself in videos. Her plan is to imitate the moves of dancers much older and copy their routines, routines that are wildly age-inappropriate. They don’t just push the envelope, they rip through the damn thing. It’s all in service of social medial likes, realizing a vague dream, and learning that actions have consequences.

A number of prominent individuals have accused Cuties of either being child pornography or sexually exploitative. Senators Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley railed against the film. An op-ed in the conservative website The National Review wrote, “Thus, whatever their artistic intentions, in making a social commentary about the sexualization of children, the filmmakers undeniably sexualized children.” Christine Pelosi, daughter of House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, tweeted, “Cuties hypersexualizes girls my daughter’s age, no doubt to the delight of pedophiles like the ones I prosecuted. Cancel this, apologize, work with experts to heal your harm.” It was all outrage, but it never came from a place rooted in liberal or conservative ideology. It was only reactionary.

By now, I imagine you’re probably thinking, “Don’t keep us in suspense, is Cuties offensive trash that comes straight from the Second Circle of Hell?” No, but it is designed to make viewers feel uneasy.

Director Maimouna Doucoure has made a clear-eyed and nuanced film about the raging desire of a child to fit in, and the poor decisions they can make that blow up in their faces. She knows exactly what kind of film she’s making; one about perspectives. When the girls practice their routines, we hear pulsing pop music as they emulate what they have seen elsewhere. I’m not sure they’re fully aware of the meaning of these suggestive dance moves, but they know on a subconscious level that they have raw power. However, watch the same routine later when adults observe. You’ll see some skeezy guys who are into it, but far more adults who are repelled and appalled. In the end, the gaze of the camera is entirely dependent upon context. There are also tiny moments of surrealism that pop in and out, such as a dress that Amy is given to wear at her father’s wedding. Watch how the shape and color of the dress slightly changes depending on Amy’s mood. It’s filmmaking that’s smart and subtle.

Doucoure based her screenplay on her own experiences as a refugee, as well as eighteen months of research regarding how social media influences the behavior of children and young teens. More relevant is her prior experience as a girl. The script is a coming of age tale in which Amy bounces between the expectations of her culture and religion to be a submissive wife, an onslaught of online images lacking in context, and the age-old growing pains we all go through. She ultimately wants to find her people and her place in the world while simultaneously wanting to rebel against the world she’s growing up in. The tragedy is that she makes decisions from the perspective of a child and is judged as an adult.

I think I was most impressed by the natural and honest performances that Doucoure was able to draw out of her cast.*** The younger actors do solid work, and I was particularly impressed with Fathia Youssouf as Amy. She’s asked to do some extremely heavy lifting from an emotional standpoint, and whether she’s about to break from pressure or giggling as she crams gummy worms into her mouth, she always feels believable. The stealth MVP of the cast is Maimouna Gueye as her mother Miriam. She has an astounding scene where she takes a phone call and learns of her husband’s decision to take another wife. Gueye’s tone of voice is all business on the phone. We can only see her feet as she hangs up the phone. For a moment there’s only silence, then we see her feet shaking as she sobs.

You’ve probably heard a variation of the old saying that depiction doesn’t equal endorsement. Odds are that the vast majority of people hysterically shrieking over Cuties either haven’t seen the film or are reading it in the most shallow manner possible. Cuties made me extremely uncomfortable. Since it’s a critique of society’s rampant sexualization of children, it’s supposed to.**** Maimouna Doucore’s film is intelligent and nuanced, and I fervently hope that her next project is viewed with more open-mindedness. Odds are, it won’t be.

  *Whether you agree with the central message of the film or not, consider that the central message is that initially Jesus profoundly does not want to take the suffering of the world entirely within himself. He wants what everyone else wants, but decides to sacrifice himself anyway. That’s far more inspirational and relatable than a savior entirely free of doubt.

**While the film isn’t exploitative, holy hell is the advertising! Someone in Netflix’s marketing department made a series of Very Bad Decisions. You can read more here.

***It bears mentioning that there was a child psychologist on-set during the shooting, as well as officials from France’s child protective services.

***In fact, I think Cuties is far less offensive than some of the odious reality TV programs like Toddlers and Tiaras.

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