#overall being Very Subtle abt their intentions

[rainbowgaez]

one thing about being a trans woman in a male dominated space is that before you start transitioning (and early into it), you will just be off-putting to other men. it sucks, but in my experience that just made it easier to avoid people i probably wouldn't have gotten along with anyway.

however, after you hit a certain threshold in transition and performative presentation, you become fly tape for the most desperate kind of weird guys imaginable. you might think this is an improvement. it's better to be liked than shunned and cold-shouldered—and it's hard to argue with that—but the thing about these weird dudes is that they are often not very perceptive, introspective or self-aware, and that complicates an already complicated situation.

you see, they are parched. for weeks, months, years, they've been searching for a pretty girl who they believe is as verifiably skilled and knowledgeable as they think they are. and after suffering through the sweltering sausage desert that is their hobby or interest, they've stumbled upon an oasis. they become infatuated, assured their journey has come to an end so long as they can flatter and impress their way into your heart, something they're woefully confident in their ability to achieve usually. their narrow view of reason is eclipsed because something girl shaped is the perfect size to obscure it.

this is something that pretty much any femme presenting person has probably had to deal with at some point, but as a trans woman it has placed me in this really awkward spot multiple times. most of the time it comes down to two questions:

do they know, and are they going to be weird about it?

i know, ideally, it wouldn't matter, and hopefully i can just turn down their advances and they'll take a hint and fuck off. but that's just the ideal scenario, and like i said earlier, these guys aren't good at picking up hints.

so if they persist, it's like. what do i do? do i tell them in hopes they'll lose interest? that's just one possibility out of several that come from doing that. earlier when i asked "are they going to be weird about it," it's important to mention "weird" means more than one thing in this context. are they suddenly going to start acting angry and violent toward me as if my personal existence is an attempt to deceive them? are they going to become more interested and thereby even harder to make go away? did they somehow already know and that's why they were interested in the first place?

all questions i never want to have to ask nor do i want answered but things i feel i have to occupy myself with to make sure i don't end up in an even worse situation

[papers4me]

So, what do you think of season 3 so far? worse that season 1 & 2 ?

Hi!

season 3 isn’t finished yet & I have issues with how fast it is, but I’ll never put it behind season 2 or 1.No way! Here’s my reasons for favoring season 3 so far despite its issues:

While season 3 still have episodic feel, it has a connective plot for the most part! It feels like a long story told an audience, not the (story of the day in season 1) or (the undecided we are part connected plot, part story of the day, part filler-y content of season 2). 

Moreover, season 3 is balanced as it touches on the antagonist & protagonist. For long while akito is this typical hideous, manic laughing, wrecking havoc monster  in se1 & 2. Like a cheap shallow villain in fairy tales, such as Cinderella’s stepmother or the evil witch in Mermaid. But se03, the villain is still awful & unexcused , but human. This elevates the writing so much. Moving from children-like fairy tales to a complex & compelling story. A story is as good as its villain.

Se03, touches upon multi-players with depth connected to the core plot, kureno, shigure, akito, tohru, kyoko, while balancing it with quick visit to secondary characters: hiro, haru, Isuzu, momiji.

Se03 understands that it deals with more mature audience. I’m not talking abt sex scenes, I’m saying the direct lesson of the day formula of Se1 & 2 is changed into more subtle lessons. You watch momiji & learn without the lesson being “ my mom’s says” as in se01 or voice over narration as in se02.

W have the female MC move from the mother, angel, fixer of broken men, into real human character with weaknesses & flaws. Also, she fails in helping others this season as she failed in helping Arisa/ kureno right at the season opening ep!

Overall, the story content is better.

This does not contradict that se03 has its own issues of unbalanced ep plot content, some important eps have cramped important vital plot content & moves with bullet train speed & others have focus on a minor fanclub gorl love-interest with a minor student counsel member going slowly with all the time in the world. 

Also, this doesn’t mean that se02 ios bad. Not at all. It is great! Season 2 had yuki’s content which I love tremendously & have the best connected arc” the beach arc. It feels like it’s more directed towards younger audience with ots coming of age themes. This doesn't mean as an adult you wont enjoy it, But I’m talking abt the overall tone. Also, it lacks the depth of content mentioned in my 6 points above.

Season 1 is my least favorite. but yeah, it has the most childish presentation. Very direct. very lesson-teaching. The characters are very basic. which is intentional as their depth is not uncovered yet. I still love it tho.

Thank you for the ask!

[fistsoflightning]

23: i wanna know what you’re doing tonight

prompt: shuffle || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2796

Does writing music based on things your friend said count as flirting?

It’s AU brainworm time everybody >:3 This “main street” AU is basically balefire/mom squad’s ‘what if we made a bunch of small town romance ideas and mashed them together’ which turns out to be a lot more hilarious than it should be. Featuring (chat) cameos from @windupcatgirl @to-the-voiceless @windupnamazu @verbroil and @winduphaurchefant because why not. Title from this song!

For all intents and purposes, Zaya enjoys autumn; summer heat cooling off into a pleasant chill, the sunlight that lingers enough to keep warm in the early weeks. The trees may die, but in doing so they grow colorful, and though the flowers in A’dewah’s little shop don’t do the same he changes which ones are on display to match better with the tree outside. It does mean Krile—and more recently, one G’raha Tia—have to return to Mor Dhona, their studies resuming, but it’s not like they can’t chat.

It does, however, mean the return of autumn showers—and they don’t even hate rain that much—and fortunately Zaya managed to forget their poncho just as the first big storm pulled in. Mor Dhona wasn’t that far of a drive away, really, just two or three hours on a road Zaya had taken enough times before, but in the middle of a rainstorm? Without a rainproof coat?

Well, at least Miss Eldfalk’s documents are staying dry in the carrier at Zaya’s back, even if the chill of the rain has already soaked through the wool of their jacket and started to dampen their shirt by the time they pull into the parking garage just a block or so away from the museum waiting on Sjanna’s delivery. Thankfully the inn is just an elevator away and not on the other side of the road; they should keep a spare poncho or umbrella in the motorcycle luggage next time.

Zaya pushes the thought aside as they slip off their helmet and the phone in their pocket begins to buzz about, safely tucked within the canvas pocket of their overalls and hopefully not just as soaked as their hands are. Wiping their palms and fingers on the inside of their legs, they unzip the soggy jacket and tug out the borrowed phone to see the numerous Linkcord notifications—of course.

Leaning onto the front of their motorcycle, Zaya hardly takes a second glance up to the storm just out the window behind them as a few taps and a swipe unlocks the screen, opening up to the Linkcord discussion of the day (night? Night.)

[ text channel #mom-panic; 9:47 PM ]

banned for baby crimes zayaaaaaa i miss you Hanami Hagane You are just saying that because you have no one to drag around the fair. Hanami Hagane Besides, they will be back tomorrow afternoon. banned for baby crimes no i’m not!! that’s too long!! i brought ihget but he’s being stupid and wont ride the ferris wheel with me :’) banned for baby crimes i cant find lunya and reese either so now im stuck with himbo here local breadhead we’re just by the cotton candy stand! lunya’s waving at you ;) banned for baby crimes OH THERE YOU ARE HOW DID I MISS YOU        hold on i gotta grab the chad first local breadhead 😊 banned for baby crimes but i really miss zaya even if they’re just over in mor dhona.. so does ochir he- i- banned for baby crimes has anyone seen ochir ihget lost him in the crowd- this says zaya 😱 reese is in pieces :O( YOU WHAT?? local breadhead oh dear lmao reese is in pieces :O( i hope no one tries to take him :( reese is in pieces :O( lunya says if your stupid catboy loses zaya’s bird shes not going to make you two the mini versions of zaya’s courier hat banned for baby crimes IT SNTO MY FAULT ZAYA JR HERE WAS BEIGNB ROODY ADN LOOKED AWAY         NOOOOOOO,,, Hanami Hagane Why bring the bird with you, anyways. Zaya lent you Ochir’s cage. banned for baby crimes he made sad noises when ihget n i were abt to leave,,,,

The chat quickly devolves from there into Sati panicking about Zaya’s violet-backed starling going rogue and everyone else jumping in and hells, they are not in the mood to manage that. Drops of water fall from their chin onto the screen; they hastily wipe it away before shoving the phone back into their pocket and hop off their motorcycle. A few quick movements with the key round their wrist opens up the luggage attachment with the satchel of papers inside—blessedly dry, thank the gods they splurged on a decent one instead—which they swing over their shoulder as they start walking to the elevator.

A dripping trail has probably followed them all the way from the parking garage to the lobby, they think in passing as they stop at the front desk, waiting for the receptionist to turn around. Their hand goes to fiddle with the small keychain on their keyring as they wait, still dripping their own personal puddle around them.

“Hello, hello! Welcome to the Seventh Heaven, how may I—” Tataru turns around, small smile widening into a sunny bright grin when she sees them, even if they’re dripping all over the lobby. “Zaya! Good to see you back again; need a room for the night, then?”

A curt nod (that sends water droplets onto the surface of Tataru’s desk) is all she needs to hop off her stepping stool and onto the ground, waving Zaya along before she cheerily marches down the halls with a keyring jingling in her hand. Not even the gloomy rainstorm thundering outside can put a damper on her mood, it seems.

“Payment for the night’s stay may be given in the form of Gannet Bay gossip, alright?” Tataru unlocks the door to a nicely decorated room with a quick turn of her hand, playfully winking over her shoulder as she does. Her violet eyes glimmer almost the same as Lunya’s, really; filled with teasing joy and secrets. “I’ve heard from the grapevine about a certain catboy quite enjoying the atmosphere out there, now!”

She steps aside as the door swings fully open, giving a little curtsy, and Zaya gives her an energetic thumbs-up as they walk past her into the room, pleasantly warm and bright from the small fireplace in the corner of the room, banked low so its amber glow only flickers across the floor.

First things first: getting out of all the soggy clothing they’re wearing.

They hang their satchel (papers still neatly bound inside, good) on the wall hook by the door and haphazardly strip off their shoes and socks, followed by the once-warm and fluffy jacket as they look about for spare hangers.

Ah; Tataru always has their back. Hanging on the end of the bed are a set of four or so hangers, which Zaya snaps up with ease, carefully slipping the wooden hangers through sleeves and loops as they finally get to their undershirt—blissfully dry, if not a bit cold. Their overalls aren’t all that damp on the top but are more than soaked the further down the legs one looks��� hopefully that dries quick enough.

Just as they finish kicking their ankle-high boots to the mat by the door, a quiet yet unfamiliar chime fills the room, and Zaya nearly thinks to check outside the door for the noise when the light vibrations trickle up their arm. The soft ringtone—someone humming along to a muffled orchestra, maybe; not the smartest of choices for a calling ringtone—grows louder as Zaya stares down at their collection of soggy clothing.

...Alright, second: answer the damn phone?

Zaya nearly fumbles all the hangers to grab their phone from the pockets of their overalls and accept the call, only briefly reading the name from the screen before his face pops up in its place. White hair and a charming grin, perhaps—that is, to anyone who hadn’t heard the words that fall from his mouth like gentle rain.

(Okay, well, maybe that just helped. Zaya wasn’t going to say that out loud to anybody regardless; it didn’t matter what they thought of Thancred’s charms. Probably.)

“...I’d say ‘good evening’ but I wager you are having anything but just by the water dripping off your hair,” Thancred says in lieu of greeting, his voice warm and surrounded by the distant sounds of the usual fall fair attractions. “So instead, I’ll say this; is that old phone serving you well enough?”

Zaya nods; given, this one’s a bit clunky, but the lightness of their actual tomephone may have indirectly been the reason that they’d dropped it while helping out around town and eventually cracked the screen. At least Thancred had offered to lend them his old one for the trip to Mor Dhona in case, just on the off chance someone truly needed their attention, like for lost birds and ways to punish a distracted idiot.

They set it on the table, the front camera facing towards the window as Zaya steps into frame, still fiddling with the hangers in their hands. Mor Dhona may be covered in a gloomy storm, but the golden lights from the buildings around Revenant’s Toll Square still glow brightly in the distance, a refuge from the biting torrent of cold rain.

“Survived the water,” they sign slowly, stepping closer to the fireplace in a subtle attempt to dry off a bit quicker, almost fumbling when their fingers stiffen, chilled to the bone. Thancred laughs, the bridge of his nose crinkling just a tad like how it does when he can’t stop cracking himself up. “Still has power, too.”

“Glad to see it has survived, then.” There’s a slight pause where Thancred stops talking (and laughing) to catch his breath, the small silence filled with Zaya leaving frame to go hang their soaked clothes over the fireplace to hopefully dry for tomorrow. When they come back to look at the camera, a kaleidoscope of colorful lights dance across Thancred’s face, some colorfully lit attraction before him leaving his platinum blonde hair awash with a rainbow of color. “The storm there should burn off by early dawn, though; hopefully you will not have to drag yourself home dripping wet from your business in Mor Dhona.”

Ah, good. They yawn as discreetly as someone who’s on a video call can—which is to say, not very, and a rosy flush must spread on their face when Thancred chuckles under his breath, low and steady. 

“Forgive me,” he says next, voice lowered as if he were disturbing someone’s rest. “I must be keeping you from collapsing; I can’t imagine a drive in the freezing rain and getting soaked is the least draining way to spend one’s night.”

In-between stretching out the tense muscles in their back and neck do they grunt some noise of agreement, the strain flaring momentarily before melting into a drowsy warmth that drips down the ridges of their spine. Really, spending time in Mor Dhona at all is a draining waste of time—when you make your home in somewhere as vibrantly quiet as Gannet Bay it’s hard to want the big city over the comforts of familiarity, of knowing each shop and its owners personally, of being able to help them all and see their smiles.

At least they can see one person from home, now.

“ ‘S fine,” they mumble softly, heart stuttering when Thancred’s smile widens at the sound of their voice. Part of them wishes they were there to playfully elbow him for that—it’s not that rare tha they’ll speak—and the other part of them they are desperately trying to ignore. “How’s th’ fair.”

“Wonderful.” He looks up for a moment as Zaya wraps themselves in the bed coverings, presumably to whatever booth or stall is shining down on his face with fluorescent lights. “Ryne’s had a wonderful time, I think. I haven’t seen your friends around, but would you like to hear about the odd variety of attractions around?”

Zaya hums sleepily, waiting for him to continue. They hardly even notices when their eyelids grow heavy and their fingers return to their usual warmth, entranced enough by the fond familiarity of Thancred’s voice as they drift off to sleep.

…

The next morning, Zaya wakes with the dawn that rises across Mor Dhona, the bright golden sunrise sneaking through the cracks of the large curtains to tickle their bedsheets. The cityscape outside the window is covered by low autumn morning fog, glimmering as the sunlight dances over it and the puddles the passing storm had left behind in its wake. Outside, it is nearly silent, only a few passing cars and hardly any pedestrians around when Zaya does their morning stretches by the window.

As is always with a trip into the city, they fall into an easy routine; wake with the sun, stretch out whatever they can without breaking something, get dressed and hastily grab everything before rushing out the door, wave Tataru a rushed but genuine goodbye. Trot down to the parking garage, check the bike, throw the satchel back into the luggage on the back as they slip on their stereo cuffs and flick through playlists on their phone before going to get breakfast at the Bismarck—

Zaya pauses their flick-tap scroll through the playlists on their phone when they catch one with their name. Odd; Thancred did always have the habit of making his friends their own personal playlists, but they’d like to think they didn’t give him that much of a read on their tastes just yet.

Shrugging to no one but themselves, they tap on the playlist and let it begin to play as they slide the phone back into their overall pocket, starting up their motorcycle’s engine just as the song begins to play.

They stop. 

[ DM history with @superbolide; 7:36 AM]

zayaya ❓ zayaya 🌅😊❗🎵🎧💿❓❓ superbolide good morning to you too :) you’re up rather early superbolide something the matter? superbolide ah          i haven’t got another song for you yet, if that’s the question   rest assured, i’ll find something yet! zayaya 🙅

It hardly takes them more than a few seconds to grab a small screenshot of the playlist in question, sending it and another screenshot back to Thancred as they quietly listen to the same song Rjoli and Reese had playing near constantly for last Valentione’s Day in the bakery—still manages to be catchy, somehow. Let it not be said that acoustic covers were not their favorite.

The notification ringtone chimes when Thancred responds, cheery and bright.

Zaya goes a bit bug-eyed at what he types next, the song fading off as the next one on shuffle comes up—piano, humming, Thancred’s voice—

Thankfully, for it being so early in the morning, there’s no one around in the parking garage to judge the frankly embarrassing noise they make at their phone, or the bright flush that spreads across their face.

It isn’t like that, they remember saying, sputtering like a fish out of water when Lunya had barely insinuated that Thancred’s small wave as he walked past was a bit more than friendly. There’s no way he’d be interested in the courier that helped him choose out a ribbon at the local boutique, of all people! He doesn’t even know where I work!

Zaya drops their forehead onto the dash of their motorcycle, careful not to hit their horns against anything as they do.

Looks like they were wrong, about it ‘not being like that’. Maybe.

(Oh gods, they really hope they’re wrong.)

…

[ text channel #mom-panic; 8:03 AM]

💬 this says zaya is typing...

this says zaya😑 this says zaya💭🌑💘 🤟 ❓ banned for baby crimes DOES HTAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES closest to hell zaya qestir i swear on your lover boy’s life clarify for the peanut gallery local breadhead :0 reese is in pieces :O( i think            hm reese is in pieces :O( zaya did thancred just confess or did somethign else happen this says zaya [ superbolide: oh haha i must have forgotten to upload those to my lifestream] this says zaya [ superbolide: there are some songs i did save, but all the clips there were lyrics i thought of after chatting w/ you 😉] this says zaya [ superbolide: i could make an EP dedicated to you w/ the inspo you gave me] this says zaya [ superbolide: that is, if you don’t mind] Hanami Hagane I told you he was obvious. closest to hell SATINA YOU OWE ME GUMMIES FROM SHOOTING STAR I CALLED IT closest to hell IT WAS OBVIOUS THE MUSIC HES MAKING WAS BC OF THEM local breadhead oh bless… that’s v sweet… banned for baby crimes HBHBHHB NOOO MY HARD EARNED GIL,,, banned for baby crimes BUT WE ALL WERE RIGHT ABOUT HIM THO reese is in pieces :O( awwwauaua!! banned for baby crimes so banned for baby crimes zaya banned for baby crimes when’s the wedding this says zaya 😡😡😡 closest to hell me🤝sati “when’s the wedding” this says zaya 👆💀🏡 Hanami Hagane You two better start running. banned for baby crimes WAIT ZAYA NO-

[astralshipper]

Okay so I worked rlly hard on this descriptive essay for my english class and my professor ended up saying she didn’t even want to take them up and I was lowkey proud of it so I’m gonna post it here!! It’s abt Crow and Azi so it fits here anyways, so here’s my basically fawning over my angel and my demon for almost 2000 words!!!!

-

Two figures stand proud in the rare glow of the afternoon sun in London. The man to the right looms tall over onlookers while the man by his side falls more to the stout side of the spectrum. For all intents and purposes, these two are complete opposites. 

The shorter of the pair has his hands clasped in front of him with his fingers intertwined. The clothing he wears bears resemblance to the attire worn during the Victorian years, and this causes him to stand out like a sore thumb in the middle of modern day London. He dons a soft, velvety brown waistcoat that fades into the same color of dress pants. The fabric lays flat, void of any and all wrinkles or imperfections, as though by miracle. The shoes on his feet are Oxford cap-toes. Their main top portion is composed of a dark brown while the toe tips are a softer, more bronze leather. Traveling back up his torso, a long, soft beige overcoat sits atop his waistcoat. Underneath both of these is a light blue, almost white dress shirt. He has it buttoned entirely. Around his neck he wears a light brown plaid tartan bow-tie. Hanging from his waistcoat is a small golden pocket watch. A pair of wings is engraved onto the front of the watch. The design is elegant and ornamented, and perfectly encapsulates the overall tone of his outfit. On his right hand he wears a golden signet ring that also bears a pair of wings, and his gold cuff links have the same design. 

Past his clothing, the rest of his person carries the same general vibe: a kind, old fashioned gentleman oozing a sort of shopworn elegance. His stomach rounds out slightly, flowing well with the outward pudge of his cheeks. A soft, pleasant smile curves his lips upward. Bright blue eyes glimmer with a joyous life that feels both new and old all at once. His eyes seem to hold the secrets of the universe as well as a hope and thirst to learn and take in more. His cheeks and face are as round as the rest of him. He seems to be composed entirely of soft lines and careful curves. His face is not without the reminders of his age. He bears crow’s feet around his eyes as well as clearly defined laughter lines on either side of his face. Had he widened his smile any further, the lines would surely deepen and give way to a pair of dimpled cheeks. Atop his head sits a well groomed collection of bleach blonde, practically white waves of hair. The soft curls point every which way in tufts that could surely be likened to the soft downy feathers of a freshly fledged young bird.

If one were to stand close enough, they would instantly pick up the mixture of scents clinging to the man’s clothing. The most prominent fragrance would surely be the one that can be likened to that of a local bakery freshly opening its doors in the morning. A mixture of sugary, chocolatey, decadent sweets weave their way into the fabric of his overcoat and follow him like a shadow. If one were to open their mouth, perhaps they would even insist they could taste the confections in the air as he passes by. Underneath this is a layer of what can only be pinned down to the scent that resides between the pages and inside the worn out bindings of old books, the kind of scent that only comes with decades or even centuries of wear and tear. Upon closer inspection into these details, one might pick up on the hint of cocoa sweetness in his breath, or the minty undertones that lie just beneath. 

His voice, once spoken, gives a light, airy feel. Every sentence is carried with the cadence and lilt of a song sung on the porches of grand suburban homes in the chill of winter. He enunciates his words with great care. Each syllable strikes as being fully rehearsed and prepared far ahead of time, even when this gentleman is caught off guard. No matter the words he speaks, he still seems to enact a sensation of calm in one’s very bones. The words that roll off his softly spoken tongue are bubbly and honey coated. His voice is the kind that oozes trustworthiness and a sense of peace. 

Everything about him seems to be chosen for comfort. The velvet-like feel of his waistcoat along with the soft, smooth material that made up his overcoat settles him in a bubble of warmth. In fact, everything about this man could be described as soft to the touch. Not only does his hair visibly resemble feathery down, but it also has approximately the same texture. Running a hand through the well-arranged curls would feel quite similar to the sensation of curling up with the softest blanket you own and sipping peacefully on a hot drink. His skin, though creased and bearing the lines of its time, remains as supple and silky smooth as ever before. 

All of this poses a direct antithesis to the man stood beside him. 

This second man stands tall as he glowers over passersby. He shrouds himself in darkness and flaunts this fact to all who dare look his way. His clothing reflected this quite well. What, with a soft, distressed old gray t-shirt underneath a black, low v-cut vest and a just as black woolen pea coat over top of it all, he truly layers himself in the most elegant and refined yet over-the-top sinister fabrics. Each piece of clothing clings to his body like a second skin. This includes his washed out dark gray pants that conform directly to the shape of his legs. Unlike his partner’s own pair, these pants bunch so tightly that creases and wrinkles are inevitable. The glint of a belt buckle catches in the afternoon sun. His belt seems to be made not of leather, but of snakeskin, and the buckle itself depicts the head of the snake that now seems to wind its way around the man’s waist. Traveling down long limbs to meet his feet, one is met with the sight of dark brown, almost black snakeskin dress shoes. Upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that there is a subtle fade to red the closer you get to the soles. 

Perhaps there is one piece of this outfit that does not seem to be squeezing the life out of this fellow, and that would be the strange necklace dangling from his neck. It looks to be made of countless interwoven chains tied together a few inches below his collarbone. The remaining ends hang free and tuck snugly into his vest once the pair meet.

The final touch resides on his face. A pair of designer gunmetal sunglasses perches precariously on the bridge of his slender nose. The circular frames bear closed sides akin to an old pair of welding goggles. They themselves might be cause for a double take, but that double take will likely become a triple take if one happens to catch a glimpse of what lies underneath.

The way his glasses sit allows for one to, at a very specific angle, catch sight of a pair of yellow eyes. His irises seem to be large and of a golden color. Right smack in the middle of each one sits a slitted pupil like that of a snake. Everything about his eyes screams nothing but danger, and the nefarious depths that lie just below the surface bubble up slowly but surely. 

Once his eyes are hidden, however, the main point of focus is truly the man’s hair. So much of his outer visage lacks the pop and spice of a splash of color, and the fiery red shade of his hair checks that particular box. The way the sun glints through the strands illuminates his coiffure in a lively blaze. This is clearly a man that cares for his own appearance, and the well-coiffed nature of his hair is a testament to this fact. Trailing down his right side burn leads into a small, curving tattoo of a serpent just by his ear. The mark is subtle, but still threatening in and of itself.

This man, in contrast with the rounded man by his side, seems to be made entirely of sharp corners and fine edges. Everything about him is thin and a bit gangly. His cheekbones poke out with a sharp kick and promptly sink back in to hollow out his cheeks. His chin comes to a fine point just like the tip of his nose. The coat that adheres to his torso bears a pair of angular shoulders, likely due to the natural shape of his body to begin with. Even the scowl curling his lips seems sharp enough to slice you open if you dare come too close. His limbs are long and narrow, and his fingers much the same.

Reaching out to touch this man seems quite dangerous at first glance. One might fear being cut on the harsh angles of his jaw, and there is a slight chance that these fears are founded in truth. Heavily calloused fingers connect to heavily calloused hands, which hang loosely from his pants pockets by his thumbs hooked inside the compartment. His face, though clean shaven, still bears the prickly sensation of growing beard hair. Even his clothing does little in the form of comfort. The heavy chain necklace weighs down on his neck and the scratchy pants squeeze just a bit too tight to be considered for comfort. 

If one is able to look past the heavy cloud of top dollar cologne encasing his form, they would likely not be surprised by the spicy kick they are met with. He smells like cinnamon, but not cinnamon sugar. No, this man smells like the biting spice of pure cinnamon, a scent as fiery as the hair atop his head. Think back to the last time you ate an Altoid mint. Remember the refreshing burn it coated your mouth with, and now apply that sensation to this man. Fragrances of old leather and gasoline are also quite prominent, as well as the earthy tones of dirt and grass and a tinge of campfire smoke. 

His voice is a sort of hiss. His accent bleeds sin and deceit, and the low rumble of his tone slithers deep into one’s soul and grips it tight for the taking. Words fall from his tongue and wind their way around the listener’s throat. He sounds like duplicity and manipulation, but also all of your deepest desires wrapped up into one package. Your hair will stand on end as you cling to his every word. 

By all means, these two men should be polar opposites, and they are, in a sense. Taking them apart separately will surely yield such a response, but the difference comes when they stand together. Stood side by side, they fit together like puzzle pieces. The light balances out the dark. The soft balances out the sharp. Two extremes meet in the middle to create balance. 

Perhaps one could take a closer look at their shadows, as well. Perhaps they would be able to make out the clear addition of large, luxurious wings onto their forms. Perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or perhaps it is not.

[iturbide]

I loved that last snippet you posted! Though that does raise some questions, namely abt Grima. Him sometimes posessing/controling Robin is already cool, but what changed that he can do that? I'm super curious overall how he fits into the story, could you tell us a bit about him here? Like, you talked before how he was worshipped as Plegia's protector, and I'm curious abt how his character developed in this world

I’m so glad you enjoyed it I’ve been mulling that particular scene over for a while and trying to figure out how to write it, so I’m glad it turned out well!

but oh my friend i am always delighted to talk about grima c; 

One thing to note from the outset is that we’ve actually seen Grima before.  Twice.  And even when Grima’s influence isn’t at the fore, there have been moments when Robin’s reactions weren’t necessarily his own.  Grima is a constant presence here, subtle, just out of sight – and it all traces back to events in the last few millennia. 

So this requires some delving into ancient history.  A lot of things remain the same from a general timeline standpoint (though I don’t follow the Accordion because I take some issue with its progression of events; this ended up being a pretty solid breakdown of how I see the chain of events), but a few things are notably different, and they become very, very important. 

To start with: Forneus didn’t just get divine dragon blood for his experiment.  He managed, somehow, to lay hands on a viable Divine Dragon egg – an incredible, terrible feat given the fact that the degeneration had taken its toll on fertility rates and the Divine Dragon tribe had been decimated by the war.  He wasn’t just performing alchemic experiments on blood, he had the real thing and used alchemy to modify and manipulate it, which resulted in Grima having the strength and many of the same general abilities as the rest of the Divine Dragon tribe, but with some oddities mixed in (a few things he can’t do that they can, a few more he can that they can’t) because of how that magic influenced his development.  In the end, Forneus superstitions and his increasing mental instability made him try to kill his creation when it finally emerged, only to fail and lose the tiny dragon to the darkness of the labyrinth, which kept him safe from Duma’s destruction of Thabes and gave him room to grow until Alm and Celica accidentally broke the seal that let him out into the world. 

Because Naga had retreated to the eastern half of the Archanean continent following Mila and Duma’s exile (due in large part to the fact that she couldn’t maintain life in the desert without Mila’s assistance), the creation ended up settling on the western side.  His presence caused disturbances in the normal weather patterns, bringing more rain to the dry landscape, and soon enough the struggling desert populations began to flock to the dragon and establish a greater presence.  These first humans called him Grima – and once he realized that it was their name for him, he began to respond quite readily.  

Besides making life easier from an agricultural standpoint, Grima also offered humans shelter and protection from outside threats, both natural and manmade.  He earned his title of “the fell dragon” through his fierce retaliation against those who caused harm to his people and his lands – but in general, he was a very calm, reasonable dragon who let people do their own things and just liked to watch, frequently doing flyovers of his territory just to see what they were up to. 

Unfortunately, Grima never stopped growing.  He just kept getting bigger and bigger as the centuries passed, until finally Naga couldn’t possibly miss him.  Despite the fact that he showed no signs of degeneration and was by no means a threat to her people or his own, she judged that the risk he posed should he succumb to madness was too great – so she made her bond with her Chosen human and went to war with the fell dragon. 

Now, Divine Dragons with that much power tend to have some strange abilities.  Naga, for example, can hear the prayers of those who reach out to her (according to Nah’s support conversations with Morgan).  Grima, being a full-blooded (if somewhat strange) Divine Dragon, had his own set of talents, though he understood them rather poorly – namely the ability to read the thoughts and hearts of those he could lay eyes on.  And one look told him all he needed to know about Naga’s Chosen: he was, indeed, a powerful man – but he was also cruel and self-righteous, and Grima knew that if he won the battle then Grima’s people would be in great danger.  And with Naga’s backing, the fell dragon’s chances of victory seemed slim at best. 

So Grima turned to the people closest to him and granted them a small boon: not a full blood bond, the way Naga had with her Chosen, but a small fragment of power to help see them through the troubled times he feared would come.  That gift was intended to help protect the people in his stead – and from there, Grima charged them with gathering as many as they could and heading west, away from the battlefield to come.

Grima had no army, when Naga and the first Exalt came.  Grima fought alone, and fell alone, in a desperate attempt to save his people. 

And that should have been the end of it.  But what Grima didn’t know, thanks to his poor understanding of his own powers, was that the blood boon he granted those people would endure, passed down from one generation to the next over a thousand years.  He didn’t know that a cult would form within the faith dedicated to his name, devoted to restoring the fell dragon’s blood to its full might.  And he never, ever expected that there would come a day when a babe bearing his Mark was born into the world. 

Grima felt it, when Robin entered the world.  His body was dead and turned to nothing but bone and dust, but after a thousand years his soul suddenly had a physical connection to something, grounding him somewhere rather than simply existing formlessly and watching the passage of time.  Grima has been there as Robin grew up, has seen the world close-up for the first time in centuries…and has realized, too, the dangers in it for not just the people he left behind, but for this child who bears his blood. 

That connection is a strong one, and the fact that Grima’s soul is bound so closely to Robin means that things can bleed over between them sometimes.  Grima has a visceral reaction to Falchion, for example, because he remembers the blade that took his life, while Robin interprets the sudden surge of emotion as fear at where things are headed.  More often, Grima uses that bond to interact with Robin (though he interprets it as just mentally debating with himself, and Grima’s happy to let him think that), or to channel power to Robin when he needs it, giving him a surge of strength or magic to get out of a tight spot (basically I headcanon that Ignis is actually Grima lending Robin power in battle).  But when things are dire, and something Robin loves is at stake, when he loses himself to panic or fear or rage – that’s where Grima will step in to ensure that Robin does not lose that which he holds most dear. 

Grima’s careful about this, of course, never actually pushing Robin aside and possessing him completely.  They exist in parallel – as though Grima has taken Robin’s hands and begun to lead him through the steps of an unfamiliar task, affording them incredible power with Grima’s focus to make the best use of it.  That is a lot of energy to channel through a human, though, and it takes a serious toll on Robin’s body – he’s not kidding about the burning analogy, that much energy puts his every system into overdrive to increase his speed, his reflexes, his strength, his magic – meaning that even at his very best, Robin can only sustain Grima’s full might for about five minutes, ten if he really pushes it (and then his recovery period is significant).  

(Fun note: the first time that happened, it was completely by accident.  When they stumbled across that burned battlefield, Robin’s horror perfectly mirrored Grima’s own, and the resulting resonance pulled them into parallel with Grima getting his first actual taste of interacting with the world through a human body.  It was Henry that jarred them both out of it, and pulled Robin back to the fore while Grima ceded control.)

Ultimately, Grima has no interest whatsoever in returning to the world.  He’s content with the way things are, and being able to watch things the way he used to (actually it’s better, since he can get closer than he could in his flyovers); combined with the fact that Robin is intent on keeping Plegia safe for his own reasons, Grima is more than happy to lend him power when he needs it – and is actually quite pleased by Robin’s very peaceable nature, and the way he resorts to violence only as a last resort rather than fighting first and asking questions later (since Grima himself attacked only after the first enemy blow had landed). 

And as a final, random note: Robin can read people the same way Grima could, though not with the same clarity (he can’t actually read minds, but he gets very strong impressions when he interacts with someone for the first time).  Grima himself still has that ability, though, and when he’s at the fore he can get the full measure of someone from a look and then leverage it to its full advantage. 

[valeriemperez]

Re: the writer’s making Iris possibly look like a bad mom in the future - If they did do it, I don’t think it would be another case of Francine/Iris w/ stereotypes & bad attempts at writing that kind of relationship, etc. I think it would be to parallel how future!Barry was in 3x19. He let his grief over Iris’ death & his hatred for Savitar turn him into a shell of a man & abandoned those he supposedly loved, making everything he loved be fueled by that grief. Present Barry then was (1/2)

...outraged b/c he didn’t think he was capable of that and wanted to do everything he could to prevent it going back to the present. Maybe the same will be said abt Iris. That’s not writing Iris negatively. That’s paralleling WA & showing how lost they are w/o each other. Imo. (2/2)

I’m sure that whatever happened between Nora and Iris will stem back to Iris losing Barry, agreed. It all depends on how future Iris’ POV is handled and how present Iris is allowed to process it. Because there’s any number of reasons Nora could be upset with Iris, but one thing that has remained consistent on The Flash is the prioritizing of fatherhood over motherhood. Maybe because the showrunners are all fathers? But between Joe vs. Francine, Nora vs. Henry, and hell now even Carla vs. Thomas... They weren’t all made out to be bad moms, but they were all treated as unimportant or lacking in the face of the dad. It’s not a good look, and it’s one I hope doesn’t spread to Iris.

I actually like the Nora/Iris storyline a lot. Obviously it hurts seeing Iris being hurt, but I like they are developing a complex, interesting relationship with Nora and Iris that will (hopefully!) lead to them having an even better, stronger relationship. I'm excited for the angst next episode, and I think it gives Candice the chance to shine as an actress. Maybe I just like drama too much lol but I think this storyline could turn out to have a pretty satisfying resolution.

Candice is kicking this storyline’s ass, and her subtle expressions really showcase how much she’s grown as an actress. As long as they flesh out the issue between the women and then focus on the resolution and let us see the mother-daughter dynamic, then I’ll love the storyline too. I think people are worried about Iris getting the short end of the stick overall, which makes it harder for them to enjoy the storyline in real time.

For the anon worried about Iris being portrayed as a bad mother: I definitely don't think that's the intent of the writers. We don't know what Iris did yet, but we saw future Barry react very badly when Iris was killed (turning his back on everyone, breaking his promise to Iris). So whatever Iris does in response to Barry disappearing, I really don't think it's the writers trying to show her in a bad light, it'll just be bad fans who see Iris that way.

It is certainly not the writers’ intention, but Death of the Author and all that. They can’t control if it comes across that way to someone somewhere. I agree with you, though, that it’s gonna be a reminder of what Iris will have to go through if she loses Barry.

Hate the theory going around that Nora might be the Reverse Flash, one of the main reasons I’m excited about The Flash again is because of Nora, learning about her, the West-Allen family moments, her dorky fangirl adorable self & so on. If she turns out to be the Reverse Flash I’ll be extremely disappointed/mad because that means all those moments are not real & that’s just cruel. It would be a waste of time to all the fans that were super excited about this storyline. Also a waste of emotions.

Yeah, that theory doesn’t make sense to me. If anything, this week’s moment with Sherloque debunks it. If Nora was RF, then no one would have needed to push her to come back. It’s possible RF was the one who nudged her without her realizing who he was, but that’s about it.

Hi! Wanted to know your thoughts on the trailer for next week's episode of the Flash. Iris is telling Barry that she doesn't understand how she could do something like that to her (Nora). Could Iris be referring to the present and not the future? Did Spin cause Iris to do something and Nora reacts with the tearful "mom"? I only suggest this because Nora is trying to kill Barry in the episode and it's obvious some external force is causing her to behave that way.

It could be! The reason I think it’s a convo about the future is because in the same scene, Barry tells her not to blame herself for something she might never do.

@ “stop making excuses” anon:

People can feel however they feel about their faves, it doesn’t affect me or change the reality of the situation. I don’t have a strong opinion on it, but I agree that it would have been a really nice show of support if he had been there. And yet I never for a second expected him to go, so I doubt his costars did either. Not that this makes it “okay,” just par for the course.