#sarcasm aside its True

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."

[cemeteryspider]

Genosha Revisited

Purely Father Daughter!: Magneto! Erik Magnus Lehnsherr x Daughter! Reader

Gambit! Remy Lebeau x Mutant! Reader

Summary: A complete rewrite of episode 5 of X-Men 97' where you and Gambit visit Genosha to see the place where your past trauma took place.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Anxiety, Mentions of Enslavement (Genosha)

Word Count: 682

You allowed your mind to drift as you stared out the window of the jet. The vast expanse of ocean below made your stomach twist into knots. Remy noticed your frown and calmly grasped your hand in his.

"What's goin' on, Chere? Is everything okay?" He smiled sweetly, but you could feel the sweat on his palm.

You were returning to Genosha, where you and Remy had first met years ago. Back then, it was a place of enslavement and suffering, far from the mutant sanctuary it claimed to be now. Magneto insisted you needed to see its transformation—a place where mutants could thrive.

Reluctantly, after much persuasion from Gambit, you boarded the jet, now en route to Genosha.

"Oh, you know, just great, Remy. I feel like we're walking into the lion's den again." You squeezed his hand back, trying to mask your unease with sarcasm.

"I know it's difficult, but maybe the place has changed for the better. Everything's going to be okay, Chere."

The sinking feeling in your chest persisted. You knew better than to trust something that seemed too good to be true.

"We're here, dear," your father announced. You looked out to see a vast island of color. Your heart swelled at the sight of mutants with wings guiding the jet to the landing pad.

Putting your nagging thoughts aside, you exited the jet with your father and boyfriend.

Almost immediately, your best friend Kurt leaped into your arms, "Mein Freundin! I've missed you!"

After he released you, he hugged Remy. "And the thief! I've missed you as well! I'll be showing you around while the consul speaks to Magneto. Follow me and see the new and improved Genosha!"

An odd feeling churned in your stomach, but you forced yourself to stay open-minded as you stepped into the bustling world.

Mutants of all shapes and sizes surrounded you—some with wings, others with different colored skin, and some with serpentine features. It felt like home, but more like a community than a family, unlike the mansion.

Kurt led you through vibrant markets filled with fresh fruit, freshly caught fish, hand-knit goods, and other trinkets. You bought an assortment of fruits and baked goods to share with Remy, who gladly shared with you.

You arrived at an open area filled with dancing bodies and flashing lights. It wasn’t a party scene, but more a joyful reprieve from daily life. You pulled Remy into the crowd and began to dance.

"You better keep up, Remy!" you laughed, pulling him closer.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I was about to say the same thing to you, Chere!"

Kurt talked to the band, and they began playing a lively tune with a fun guitar riff.

As the music picked up, you and Remy twirled and spun, your movements synchronized and fluid. The world around you blurred into a swirl of bodies and quick feet.

You and Remy moved in perfect harmony. He pulled you close and spun you out with a flourish, your hands never leaving each other. The crowd clapped and stomped their feet with enthusiasm. The music swelled, and the world pulsed with life.

As you finished the dance, the crowd clapped for you, amazed by the moves Remy had taught you from his Louisiana roots.

Heat rose to your cheeks, but Remy quickly dipped you and gave you a small peck on the cheek. Then you were off again, moving through the streets as the music returned to its tropical beats.

Your walking slowed as Kurt stopped to talk to someone he knew.

You let your head fall onto Remy's shoulder. "That was the most fun I've had in a while."

He smirked at you. "Me too, Chere."

You looked up at him and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I'm glad we came, Remy."

He wrapped his arms around your waist. "I'm glad too. This is much different from the last time we were here."

As the sun began to set, he gently rocked you and pressed a silent kiss to your forehead.

[morgana-ren]

Astarion in a relationship with Tav slowly but surely gets more used to physical touch as a form of reassurance and comfort. In Baldur’s Gate Astarion gets more anxious, Tav sensing his anxiety holds his hand. It anchor’s him to reality. He gently strokes Tav’s hand with his thumb, it’s small but he’s extremely grateful.

Everyone in the party is chiding Astarion for his sudden change in attitude around Tav though. Especially Lae-zel.

It would take a very long time, and when it happened, it would become a sort of strange codependence. Vampires stand ever at the precipice of an endless, abyssal eternity, and I feel that makes them very susceptible to the traditional and almost primal idea of a 'mate.' You have to have some sort of anchor to reality when you're robbing the mind of its one certainly: mortality. Cazador clearly chose his cruelty and dominion, and I think that and his experience is influencing Astarion to do the same, but he isn't Cazador, and he shows that-- whether he means to or not.

During the early part of their adventures, Astarion is very heavily masked, or 'chameleoned' around everyone. He has this posh, pompous air of arrogance and flamboyance, and uses his wit and snide sarcasm as a defense mechanism to keep everyone at arm's length. You can see it start to crack when he gets emotional or is surprised, or even just doesn't have things go his way. He is rash, angry, and explosive - feral almost. A fanged creature baring claw and teeth because that is all he knows, and when threatened, he reverts to his true nature, despite that it was forced on him.

For example, when he is trying to inspect his scars and you offer to help and he is surprised, he snaps on you. He is quick to apologize and rescind what he said, but that's him putting that mask back on. It's clear he is very angry and losing control now that he can finally view his situation through an unobscured lens and it's still frustrating.

He quickly realizes that he's shown a crack in his armor and straightens his spine and sucks it up for the sake of the facade. It happens a few times, but it's so, so hard to wear that heavy mask for weeks into months as he travels, and harder still to hide from someone who cares about him when he's spent so long in the dark alone.

Astarion shows fairly early on that he isn't averse to touch— just touch he doesn't approve of. Assuming you do the right things, he'll lie with you fairly early, but he makes it relatively clear that this isn't love. He'll even tell you outright that he'd say it but it's a lie. He is purposefully distancing himself because he doesn't want any distractions, any weakness, any vulnerability.

But this is all new-- so dreadfully, and terribly new. He doesn't even remember his life before Cazador, so in a sense, all he has ever known has been cruelty. Thorns and brambles hardly make for comfort, especially when they're self-imposed. Eventually, he might come to the realization that he doesn't have to go at this alone, and why should he? Eternity is such a long time to spend on one's own.

He gets nervous. He gets anxious. He pushes on but there are situations that blatantly frighten him. He stiffens his upper lip and handles it like he thinks he should-- on his own, with his fear shoved aside in his mind and his goal in front-- but would relenting be such a bad thing?

Taking comfort where he can find it: In the kindred spirit he found on the roadside. Someone who happens to be one of the only ones that knows what he's going through at the moment-- and one of the only people in the world that seems to understand him on some level. Having someone at your side doesn't have to be a vulnerability-- it can be a strength. Two blades are better than one, and life is so much easier when you have someone there to watch your back.

It's a small touch-- gentle and hardly noticeable at all-- just a subtle hand-hold, or a little grasp on the arm; standing closely enough together that you can feel each other's warmth or perhaps a tiny, inconspicuous nuzzle. It means the world to him, when he allows it. It shows him he's not alone-- and he doesn't have to be. When they can't indulge fully in each other far from the fireside of camp, he can take comfort in Tav's warm and gentle touch no matter how far from the light he must stray.

As far as he is concerned, everyone else in their merry band of men can fuck off. He couldn't care less about their opinions. Perhaps they're bitter, or maybe they're jealous and covet what he's found in Tav. Either way, they can drown in their own tears over it.

[deluluass]

It's all over now, baby blue (2/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings:  rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter Warnings: corporal punishment (mentioned); suicide (mentioned as a joke); misogyny; domestic abuse (mentioned) Note: sfw chapter

“Wow. I never thought you to be the cynical type.”

A frisson of pride bloomed in your chest. It was quite an experience, like you’d just been dared to dive from a cliff and had actually come out of it alive. You could almost feel your feet airborne in crystal blue waters. 

Who knew one could experience sarcasm in that way. 

Not just biting back, but biting back with a semblance of wit. Sarcasm. You? You, of all people. 

The woman’s eyes twinkled through the smoke. She looked like a character out of those old cartoons– a wolf maybe, who’d been presented by the omniscient animators with a perfectly cut, savory crimson T-bone steak. All that’s missing was copious saliva dripping from her maw. 

“Very good,” she drawled. “Now there’s a bit of vocabulary from you. I thought you’d give me nothing past the eighth grade curses.” 

“Says the one who said bullshit twice.” 

Another one! You’re killing this, you absolute wordsmith! 

This drew a sharp cackle out of her. And a quieter one from you. You immediately shielded it behind your arms. If you were another character in that old cartoon serial, you would be a dog that wagged its tail at the slightest suggestion of a pat on the head. Only for you to be rewarded with a slapstick beat down: an anvil crashing from the sky, for example. 

The sound of dragging across concrete reminded you that you weren’t, in fact, a character in an old-timey cartoon series. You looked back up. She had tossed the cigarette next to her shoe and snuffed it with the heel. Cracking her back, the woman then plopped herself down on what looked like an aluminum platform and removed her blazer to drape it over its unoccupied length. 

No anvil crashed from the sky. 

Instead, the woman’s humored gaze seemed to have become fixed on her face, directed at your crouched form as she patted beside her: a wordless invitation for you to sit down.

He had yet to put his luggage in his old room, back towards the foyer, when a voice not unlike a brewing storm had asked, “So you’ve returned, huh?”

Startled, Wakatoshi pivoted on his heel. 

He had an unimpeded view of the mountain range, grassy giants lying on their sides miles beyond the estate, arm-like slopes dotted by rice paddies and cradled to sleep by the endless sky. 

The foyer overlooked the entire world. 

It had been by design, ordered into creation by his great-great grandfather who, like the men before him, had believed that the first Ushijima had descended from the heavens as a magnificent silver-scaled dragon. And so when he’d come of age, he gathered every carpenter and craftsman in town and had demanded for a foyer that was wider, bigger, more– cypress, redpine, elm– elevating the rest of the house with it, to allow for his unhampered comings and goings once nature had finally taken its course and granted him his forefather’s true form.  

Masako Ushijima was not that dragon, as she was not an Ushijima, merely married to one, but seeing her standing there after decades of his absence, with her back drawn straight as a whipping stick and nary a wrinkle on her forest green yukata, Wakatoshi could only think that his great-great grandfather had not made it– the foyer– this house – big enough.

A chorus of cicadas announced her arrival.

In that instant, Wakatoshi was two feet shorter. 

“Did that country rob your hearing too, boy?”

She phrased it like a question, but Masako Ushijima never implored, so jet lag and drowsiness aside, Wakatoshi immediately greeted her with a slight bow, before approaching her to take the hefty basket from her hand. 

“Good afternoon, grandmother,” he replied. 

She only stared at him. 

“I thought you’d be in the city.”

“Soon,” he said, basket in tow while he pushed his luggage to the side. Masako made herself comfortable on the porch, removing her strawhat and placed it where wood began to merge with the tatami mat indoors. “Training begins in three weeks. I decided to visit first.”

His grandmother turned away from the garden, then briefly glanced at the hallway leading to the room housing her late husband’s shrine. All of the lights were on, courtesy of the groundskeeper that had made sure everything was in order upon Wakatoshi’s arrival.

“I’ll say my prayers after you,” he added. 

“Call for tea,” she ordered, returning her gaze out into the pond. “The guest must always have tea before you deal with business, Wakatoshi.”

“Of course.” Wakatoshi nodded, both in assent and apology, though his grandmother hadn't been looking, then did as told. 

Once the basket was in the kitchen, and his luggage secured in his room, they made for the tea hall. His grandmother sat across from him, taking stock of Wakatoshi as he poured into his cup.

It was only when he returned the pot back on the table, attentive of any noise that he might create, that he noticed that he’d been relying on his left hand. 

He flinched. 

A natural response to a clicked tongue or a swift, sharp rap to the  knuckle, but an unnatural one considering that no such thing came, and that Wakatoshi was already twenty-seven years old.  

He fought the urge to switch to his right hand and bury the left under his folded knees, warmed by the floor cushion and a child’s secret prayers for time to move faster. 

It must have worked, Wakatoshi reaping the benefits of decades-long supplication. 

Now, there aren't any papers with crooked lines strewn across the desk, nor pencil shavings and eroding hills of erasers. And the time that his grandmother had said about having to act the part of “ a competent and respectable master of the estate ” had come. 

At long last. He no longer had to wrangle his right hand into keeping his lines even and circles perfect.  

“Any word from your mother?” Masako peeled an orange from the basket. The slices bloomed open as she placed it on Wakatoshi’s saucer.

His grandmother took another, skinned it, and left it for Wakatoshi. As always, he ate but only a single slice.

“She sent an email a month ago,” he answered. “By the time I read it, she must've already been in France with her college friends.”

She did not ask about his father. 

Much of the remaining hours before dinner were spent discussing about the tenants, the farm’s uptick in profit the previous year ever since his grandmother had left, the replacement of his grandfather’s accountant, scheduling visits to the lawyer, documents that needed his signature, and whatever knowledge about running the land that Wakatoshi had made an effort to learn while he was away. 

“You have to hire someone to manage at least half of it,” Masako uttered, cup now empty. “If you are to do that for the rest of your life.” 

Wakatoshi only grunted. “Professional athletes retire much earlier than most people.”

“And when would that be?”

Again, Masako Ushijima never implored, so Wakatoshi did not bother answering that line of questioning. 

“You can't leave everything to a hand,” she continued. “Or a wife.”

At that, Wakatoshi looked at his grandmother, and felt an odd stirring in his chest when she evaded meeting his eyes. For a passing moment, she’d hunched her back in what seemed like an effort to hide herself. 

This must have been what his grandmother saw everyday on the other side of this table, those many years ago.

Wakatoshi did not know what to do with that thought.

His grandmother cleared her throat before asking, “Have they glowed yet?” She gestured towards his hands.

A ghost of soft hair caressed his palms. Sinewy muscles and sweat. “No,” Wakatoshi murmured. Not in the way you’d approve of , sat on the tip of his tongue.

She waved through the topic anyway. “Perhaps you’re too old for it. Your parents had them when they were seventeen.” 

“Yes,” he said, “and then they separated.”

For the first time that day, his grandmother smiled. A mere shadow on the corner of her mouth. “Well, not even divine intervention could cure foolishness.” 

Foolishness . His grandmother would not have called it that had he been younger. The palms of the late Ushijima himself glowed bright blue when he was fourteen, resulting in Wakatoshi’s mother and two aunts. In fact, each member of his maternal family had been known to possess a soulmate, tracing all the way back to the Heian period, and Wakatoshi, without a single note of such import to the genealogy book, would be an aberration in the long line of recorded soul glows.

Wakatoshi has posed an inconsistency ever since childhood. Old age may have made Masako Ushijima more amenable to that reality. 

Regardless, Wakatoshi did not feel like sharing his opinion on this; about fate, soft locks pliant under his fingers, sinewy muscles, sweat, the heady rush of potential …

“Whatever happens, I know you of all people will work something out,” she told him at length. “You– boy, have a way with misfortunes.”

His grandmother might have regarded him with something like gentleness, but Wakatoshi did not look. His attention stayed on the peeled oranges offered to him. Fruit flies congregated around them, hovering just so above the white strings that clumped together. There’d been nothing else to talk about after that.

She stood up to finally pay her respects, Wakatoshi trailing behind. Masako departed without further ado, other than a reminder to her grandson that he needed not call, nor visit her during his short stay in the countryside.

This agreement was broken, eventually, not by Wakatoshi, but by Masako’s niece, who lived with his grandmother a couple of towns away. 

“Hello? Is this Wakatoshi-kun? It's your grandmother… She's…” the woman imparted breathlessly through the phone. 

For the rest of the evening, Wakatoshi stayed at the local hospital, on a monoblock chair next to his grandmother’s bed, because she’d wanted to hold onto something until the lines on the monitor went flat. 

Wakatoshi did not let go even after they did. 

The funeral had been brief. He was on the train ride to Tokyo the moment it’d been done and over with, receiving calls upon calls from his manager about sponsorship deals and charity work. 

He put his phone down immediately, cutting off his manager’s goodbye. The glass window was cool against his forehead as he leaned into it. Eyes shut, he kneaded the first signs of a migraine away, then paused– only for a second, when from his left hand he’d caught the faint smell of freshly peeled oranges. 

That second dragged into minutes. Trees blurred past him. Ancient temples. Convenience stores. Corporate buildings.

Sleep didn't have any trouble finding him, and when he woke up again he had the vague recollection of being showered by dark, heavy clouds, and crash landing into his great-great grandfather’s house. In that big house, all alone, surrounded by silver blades that cut him until he bled dry. 

His back was aching and there’s a crick in his neck. 

Wakatoshi pulled his hoodie over, just enough to feel its seam brush over his misty lashes. 

Citrus wafted from his palm as it supported his chin. 

It was trembling ever so slightly. 

Inside the Japan Volleyball Association headquarters, while the rest of the country suffered through a heat wave, there was a brewing snowstorm. 

Goose prickled and one knee bouncing in an effort to chase the heat running away from your system, you kept your head down to your lap where your phone laid open. You pressed and pressed, like you're tap, tap, tapping at that dinosaur and helping the little guy evade deadly cacti. 

You could only wish.

You didn't have the mental wherewithal for that, even when there's nothing else to do because you’d forgotten to ask the reception about their WiFi password, currently too fixated on reading and re-reading the email you received a couple of days ago, first thing in the morning.

Greetings!, it began. 

Your eyelids had still been crunchy from sleep.

I hope that this finds you well. 

You had spent most of the week contemplating  suicide over having your pay deducted to account for the broken wares. 

My name is Hana Misaki and I am messaging on behalf of Japan Volleyball Association’s (JVA) sports promotion division. Your contacts were made known to me by your manager at– 

“ Don’t you have a rich and famous soulmate now? Quit. Go be a housewife or something,” he’d advised after a dressing-down about the cost of those dishes.

… Our team expresses our utmost enthusiasm to finally make your acquaintance. We would like to get to know you better and discuss a project that we wish to undertake with you and Mr. Wakatoshi Ushijima, whose representatives we have also partnered with. Should you be on the same page, please don't hesitate to reach out! 

Kindly tell me your availability this weekend and I will readily arrange an in-person meeting with you. 

Looking forward to a positive response!

Warm regards,

You scrolled past the replies below it, head still down. 

Great! Our office is located at–

The message preceding that one had taken quite a while to send. But–

“ When are you seeing him again? ”

Vibrant red lip gloss. The one that every late twenty-something office lady owned during the noughties. 

You're finally being useful, aren't you, kitten? 

So:

…How does 1:00 PM sound?

And there you sat, at exactly 12:50 PM in the afternoon, on a flat leather couch that didn't  have a backrest– chic and minimalist like the rest of the room, glancing from that sans serif text saying “ 1:00 PM ” to the clock at the upper left corner of your screen. 

12:51 PM

The cold had been tolerable when you’d stepped into the building. You even rejoiced, just a little bit, realising that they had their air conditioning cranked to the negative.

Sweat was trickling from your armpits courtesy of elbowing through a packed station. Although you were daring enough to even agree to this, your… confidence still hadn't reached the point of being uncaring of your own odor. Having artificial, icy breeze dry you out was a blessing.

At first.

12:52 PM

Now, you’re on the verge of a frostbite. 

12:53 PM

You could hear your own brain articulate in the silence.

12:54 PM

The door swung open and you could've fallen to your knees in sheer gratitude. Thankfully, you didn't embarrass yourself like that. You were on your feet instead, working through the greeting you’d practiced in your head. 

“Hello! Hi ! Sorry !” the woman– Hana Misaki, you assumed– panted as she entered the room. Her white button up was folded up to her elbows. 

You wanted to say, “Oh, it's okay! You're just in time!” but you could only nod along as she hurriedly checked her wrist watch before rushing:

“ Gosh , that took a while, didn't it?”

Combing through her mocha pixie cut with one hand and a tablet tucked securely in the other arm, she grinned sheepishly at you to say, “Had to iron out some kinks with Legal and–”

She finally looked at you– past you, and like a prey that had stumbled upon territory where the likes of her go to die–

“Eh?” she blurted out.

Hana Misaki did a double take. 

You winced in sympathy. 

“ Ushijima-san ?” 

An awkward chuckle. 

“Eh? Why?” she muttered. “I don't recall…” 

You absently brushed your exposed arms, hoping to exorcise that chill that had set in ever since he entered the room. 

Wakatoshi Ushijima was standing now, shadow devouring yours.

“Brandon-san told me that you wanted me here.” His voice would take some getting used to, you realized. You didn't know anyone else who spoke with a magnitude that rattled everything in its path.

His gaze on you, on the other hand…

A looming glacier, drawing closer and closer.   

How could you have perceived it to be anything but that when you’d first met; how could you have survived that initial encounter and even had the audacity to think of–what, what was it again, cutie? Green leaves on branches? Dandelion fluffs and– what? Comfort? 

Ha!

Misaki sibilated under her breath, “That …man… ” She sighed, cupping her forehead like she’s coming down with a fever. “How long have you been waiting here?”

Too long.

“Not that long,” Ushijima grumbled. You couldn’t see him, but the– dare you say it, childish petulance there made it tempting to do the unspeakable and look back at him. 

You didn't. You remained firmly where you stood.

She chewed on her lip and levelled a look at the both of you. Then, like admitting defeat to an empty row of crosswords, “I guess we’re bound to hold a meeting with Ushijima-san anyway, but– never mind that now.”

The smile she’d entered with returned to her face, though a bit pinched this time. “I’m sure you’re very busy, Ushijima-san. My apologies  for the mix up. I’ll make sure to have a chat about this with your manager. Our–”

Misaki looked at you. “– talk might take a while. Is that alright with you?”

Ushijima checked his wristwatch, one of those smart ones that cost more than your bladder, then replied, “I’ll leave in thirty minutes.”

“Right! Okay!” That might’ve been too chipper of a reaction. Couldn't say you blamed her. “Let's- uh- proceed, shall we?”

Gesturing for the both of you to sit down, Misaki then claimed the opposite couch, which, somehow– because life would not be what it was if it didn't throw a slipper at the old dog you call Sanity at least twice a day– resulted in Ushijima taking the one next to you. He was a few butts apart, but the impact of his proximity had been obvious enough. Misaki had to ask if she needed to shut the AC for you.

Of course, you told her no.

But, “It is too cold here,” the giant beside you said. “Please turn it down.”

It was taken care of in a flash. The chill was still there. He was still there. However, it’d been bearable once more, so you figured, maybe, it really was just the arctic room temperature all along.

You hazard a look at the man.

He was staring right back.

Nope . 

Half an hour you sat there in his presence and the man refused to talk for all of it. This was not going to get any easier for you. You relegated him to the furthest corner of your periphery. Again .

Misaki, however, seemed to be getting a different idea. 

Her cheeks suffused with a bright pink glow. You had half a mind to shake your head just to stamp the idea out before it could take root. It was too late.

“You two…” Something dreamlike in her eyes as she looked at the both of you. “You guys are  already…talking? Of course. Silly me! After all, you guys are– yeah! This is wonderful for us!”

She rubbed her palms together, almost like praying. You wondered if she was aware of it. Didn't seem to be the case. A sudden ache stabbed at your stomach.

“Huh?” You scrunched your brows. “Sorry, uh- um–” 

How to tell her, pretty girl? 

There are no pealing bells. No gentle tugging of some red string. No choir. Only the mechanical whirring of an AC unit and the burden of sharing a room with a stranger whose life must be shackled to yours– where children are hurt and things go terribly wrong. 

“No- I- I don't - I meant- no-” 

Your molars sunk into your tongue. The hairs on your neck stood on end. 

“ No ,” came from deep in the earth, rumbling. You felt Ushijima shift beside you. “We haven't.”

Deflated, Misaki shot an apologetic look. “I see. Well. There’s plenty of time for that.” She then introduced you to one another, and if Misaki noticed that you barely looked at Ushijima, she didn’t comment on it anymore. Addressing you: “I’m curious, how much do you know about volleyball?”

“Oh.” You straightened your back. “...Not much.”

Only that it hurts. 

“I see. May I ask what got you interested in this?” Then, frantically waving, “Y-you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, of course…!”  

“I– just figured that, well–” C’mon. You practiced this. “Aren’t we all curious about our soulmate? I wanted to- to know more about your proposal and see if… I like it.”

A beat. Misaki eyed Ushijima. It felt as if you got caught telling stories. But, “I am also curious,” said Ushijima. 

And that was that. 

“That’s great,” Misaki resumed. “How have you been since all that social media storm, though? It mustn't have been easy.” 

There was a social media… storm? Perhaps there was. Your manager did mention something about going viral and all that. You didn't know how to tell Misaki that, when not working, you spend most of the time on the internet watching three-minute videos of people melting wax, crushing wax, melting glass, crushing glass…

No sight of would-be celebrities on that part of the web.

“It..It was okay. I didn't have much trouble, if that's what you're asking. I was- yeah- I was ok.” 

Nailed it .

“We’re glad to hear that,” said Misaki as she propped her tablet on the coffee table, tapping every which way. “Inviting you here had taken a lot of deliberation in the sports promotion division, but eventually we decided that getting you involved presented a golden opportunity for us to, not only promote one of our association’s– no – one of our country’s –” 

She looked at Ushijima, chest puffing, but this time the gleam in her eyes wasn't the hope driven by childhood dreams, rather by something more tangible. 

“– most valuable athletes, but doing so would allow us to protect you, as well. That is,” she nodded towards you, “if you’ll let us.”

The lights began to dim at Misaki’s maneuvering of the tiny remote on the table. A paused video flashed over the expanse of white wall behind her, projected from the hanging cylinder above your head. 

It was a news clip, featuring a footage that was shot vertically. PROFESSIONAL GOLFER HIROO KOBAYASHI UNDER FIRE FOR ASSAULT scrolled at the bottom. Misaki pressed play and the sound of rustling overwhelmed the entire room. 

Sometime, somewhere, in a busy street, a man and his lover ran away from someone holding their phone. “ Th-there they are! ” A shout from behind the camera. “ Ryosuke! We just want a picture, man! ” You can practically feel the huffing and puffing against your neck. The man in the video wrapped his arm around the woman’s dainty shoulders. They rounded a corner, the camera followed. They reached a car parked by the side of the road, the camera followed.

“ Leave us alone! ” the lady wailed as her lover shoved her inside the passenger seat.

“ C’mon! Most dudes in the stream have been to all of your games! Fuck, man, I’m a season ticket holder! You got such a hot soulmate, least you can do for us is–”

The phone crashed to the pavement. Misaki stopped the video. It was replaced by an article.

“I’m pretty sure all of us here have heard of Hiroo Kobayashi.” She tipped her head towards the picture on the screen: the same man, but infinitely more presentable in a navy cap and sunglasses, golf club swayed to the air. You ransacked the dingy rooms of your memory for an image of the man, and crawled out with his face wrapped around a limited edition shochu bottle. There was a punchy line next to it. (“ Find love ”? “ Look for love ”?) It had been from a couple of years ago during your first week at the restaurant. 

“To put it politely, he hadn’t been a household name until his soul glow,” Misaki resumed. “She was a PA. He was filming a commercial. The cameras were at the right place at the right time. All of a sudden, his sport became interesting and people who didn’t know a golf ball from a ping pong ball flocked to his games.”

The article had said the same thing. You felt that the leather skin beneath your palms had gotten damp as she said, “It went well for a while, if you can recall. But, they insisted on keeping their lives private. Fine. Not fine . The video blindsided them.” Misaki crossed her legs together and sighed. 

“People had nothing to go by when it came to their relationship. There wasn’t an interview to gush over, not even a picture to refer them to. Just that video. And a battery charge. Not exactly a good look, no? Especially considering that Kobayashi had only a handful of fans to begin with. Middle aged men at that. Who was to come to their defense? Who would have an outcry telling people to back off and respect their privacy, that they’re humans just like us? A public apology could only do so much. They forgot: they weren’t just any couple. They were soulmates.” 

Another article, but this time his face wasn’t on it, just a graph with the title: THE DECLINING POPULARITY OF GOLF– A LOOK ACROSS THE YEARS. 

There was a blue line that turned into a series of mountains with knife-sharp peaks, the highest and pointiest one aligned somewhere between 1950 and 1960, then gradually falling  into less impressive mountains into the 2010s. 

“His soul glow invigorated talk within sports marketing circles,” she said, staring at the graph. “Their numbers weren’t terrible, per se, but–”

“Young people are not fond of it.” The reply was your seatmate’s. 

You almost jumped out of your seat, but Misaki wasn’t as nonplussed. She only nodded. 

“Yes, exactly,” the woman continued. “It’s too expensive to keep as a hobby. Those invested in Japanese golf had hoped that his soul glow would bring in a new audience. It wasn’t a stretch to bank on that . A public soul glow is always going to attract massive attention. Even more if it involves a person who merely sits at the circumference of the public eye.”

It went unsaid, but as Misaki glanced your way, you could hear her add, “ What more if it’s a whole nation’s Olympic favorite? ”

People who were initiated in the game– people like your mother who’d read everything Wakatoshi Ushijima after the news and told every living soul about it– didn’t just bet on him to win. At the ripe age of twenty-three he had already brought home one and then some. Never mind that those victories had been for a different country, they knew that having Wakatoshi Ushijima on their side could only mean one thing. 

As the meeting dragged on, your throat had gotten coarser and coarser. You were swallowing sand by this point. Misaki was building up to her thesis far too slowly for your comfort, but what they wanted from you couldn’t be any simpler. 

You’re a quick study, after all. Even more people to disappoint, cutie? How exciting.

“Anyway, long story short…” Misaki’s voice pulled your attention back to the screen, returning to the article with the golfer’s picture on it. “The phenomenon that they’d– rightfully, assumed to turn things around concluded with a scandal that they had to cover up. It didn't have catastrophic effects on the sport, obviously, nor on Kobayashi’s…career. But it did hurt . The audience that they managed to pull after the fireworks didn’t matter in the end.” 

She snapped her fingers. “Gone. Just like that.” 

Just like that.

Ushijima looked at his watch again. That one move had Misaki tripping on her next words. Despite the reassurance that he could leave without a moment’s notice and despite the fact that it was Misaki herself that gave it, her urgency to get her point across while he’s still here did not escape you. 

What a job. Taking orders from entitled drunkards would be much less frazzling than having to wrangle this man’s attention, much less his approval.

You scooted forward. “S-so–” You almost bit your tongue for the second time. Stupid. “Um- sorry-”

Misaki beamed. “No, no, please, go on.”

“So, what you’re saying is that– that you’ll–” She sat up, patient gaze urging you to complete a sentence. It was your turn to feel your cheeks burn. Misaki was quite the woman. “You’ll– help us, right? Like you said earlier. Promote and…protect? Tell us what to do, so he– we– won’t end up like–”

You waved a shaky hand towards the giant photo. “Them…”

Ushijima’s scrutiny was ice melting off your nape. Christ Almighty, when would that end. 

“Bingo!” She then leaned over for the tablet, but just as soon as she was about to switch from the content projected onto the wall, the door burst open to reveal a man with astounding hay blonde hair. He ducked when he entered, even when there were at least twenty inches of headroom through that doorway.  

“Where are my lovebirds?!” His voice echoed in your ears.

Misaki’s eyes became slits. “ Brandon-san, ” she hissed.

“Misaki-chan!” He walked right into the light emanating from the projector, blocking the golfer’s face with his own. A whistle, then to Misaki, “Damn… Hiroo Kobayashi, huh. Giving them the ‘ole bad cop, good cop all on your own. You really are a killer, aren't cha?”

“I am not !” 

“I’m kidding! Kidding!”

“I have to go.” 

Everyone turned to Ushijima. The space beside you was empty, you’d realized. He’d already stood up. It felt lighter, springy, like you could drift off of your seat. 

Brandon, the (in)famous manager, pouted as he fell dramatically next to Misaki, who scooted away in response. “But I just got here!” The older man exclaimed. 

“Practice,” the taller one told him, not even condescending to look down. Your chest was itchy all of a sudden. A cough, you anticipated, as you covered your mouth, but the sound that you inevitably made was…melodic. 

Amused.

Everyone then turned to look at you. 

“Is this the one?” Brandon whispered to Misaki. 

“She’s right there , Brandon-san.”

Between Ushijima parting from you with a slight nod and his excitable manager extending his hand for a shake, you chose to focus on the latter. 

“I’m so happy to finally, finally meet you! You really are a star, d’you know that? Of course you do! Lovely young lady like you!” He didn’t seem to run out of things to say, bouncing your hand in his as Misaki followed Ushijima to the door. “That walk out you pulled? Bra-va! Are you on TikTok? No ? What do you mea- You gotta see for yourself how the kids have been clamoring for your name! I mean just straight up hungry for it– address, birthday– all that fun shit! You’re a modern day Cinderella! Open your phone, c’mon, just look up–” 

You released a deep breath when Misaki sat back down and, as subtle as she was able to, tugged Brandon’s sleeve to release your hand. She gave a tight-lipped smile, tactfully hauling the conversation to the makeshift screen once more. 

From video to articles, now the subject on the wall was a spreadsheet filled with dates, objectives, and locations. The characters seemed to swirl before you. 

Day One . The row to its right read: Cafe date. The rows below it: Pottery class . Zoo. Teen Vogue. Fuji TV. In yellow highlights: PR classes. Workshop 1. Workshop 2. You squeezed your eyes tight. You could read a few more texts; take in a couple more information; say yes to one more request. You’re a big, capable girl. People could count on you, kitten.

You made sure to nod along to everything that Misaki said, even to the comments made by the man beside him. You nodded and you smiled. The world was so, so small, after all. And everything was so, so still. Your hands were someone else’s, not the same ones that kept fucking up everything they touched. You didn't need to worry. They were saying something about a contract…

Misaki stood, abruptly shifting towards the door.

“ – ma’am…!” she all but yelled.

It was like you were dragged back to earth. You blinked.

A woman was approaching their side of the room. It had gotten quiet, save for the clicking of heels.  Brandon was no longer talking, although that look on his face hadn’t let up, like no matter what happened he was confident that he could make any quip under the sun and the people around him would laugh and applaud. Why shouldn’t they, anyway? 

“Heya…” he began. The woman went straight for Misaki, as if she’d just walked by air. You thought you saw him silently mouth towards you. 

Brandon grinned, flashing a wide stretch of perfect square teeth . Rows of identical houses. The kind owned by people who had the tendency to say that they grew up comfortable and no, not rich. Just comfortable. 

Bitch , he might have joked.

And you? You smiled back, and was immediately beset by the need to bash your head into the nearest surface.  

Not right now though. That very same bitch was being introduced to you. “ From the International Volleyball Federation’s Development Commission, ” Misaki announced, voice hitching up like a wedgie. It was a lengthy title. All you could do was stare at her, and maybe you also had replied with an introduction of your little, bitchy self . 

The black strands of her bun fell in soft waves. Her eyes were forged steel, sparking off gold flecks that caused you to step backwards. They might sting if you get too close. Fresh blood had slicked up her full, plump lips. 

Her gaze flitted from your head to your dust grey shoe laces, and she spoke like she was on the verge of a sophisticated yawn:

“No, Hana-chan.” The woman glanced at Misaki then to the projector. “She won’t do.”

She might as well have told Misaki that the world was ending. All the jewel sheen dimmed out of the younger woman’s face, turning it pale as she blurted, “E-excuse me? Ma’am?” But, still with that tone– a cousin to that one that you often use with customers that like to remind you that their food hadn’t come in yet. 

You put your head down and, from the corner, saw Brandon clench his jaw. Maybe he didn’t feel like the holler of the party anymore. 

“You know what I said. Call the project off.”

You swallowed and breathed out for every heel that clicked farther away from you.

“That–” Misaki cried, running after her. “I- we worked so hard just to plan this…! Ma’am, with all due respect, but I’m not done presenting the deliverables to her. We haven’t even started yet and you already want to– We could do so much !”

“With this one?” She was benevolent enough to address you with a slight tip of her head. “I don’t think so.”

If it’d adhered to corporate decorum, there’s no doubt that Misaki would’ve been on her knees at this very moment. She may not have done it physically– not yet , but for all that you’d armored yourself with ignorance going into this, you have eventually come to understand that Hana Misaki had already done enough of kneeling for the day. And, it seems, all for the reason that she– this person whom you have never spoken to until today, was under the impression that you could be useful. 

“I don’t- sorry- I,” you began, foolishly. “I don’t get what’s…happening…?”

The woman paused, turned to you, and raised a sharply arched brow. 

You’re really in it now, little girl. 

Brandon, ever the knight, stepped in to say, “Now, ladies, let’s all be nice to each other, hm? What our little star here means is–”

“If it’s the money you’re after,” the woman told you, specifically, pointedly , “I’d be the first to tell you that your contract stipulates forfeit of your token, should you fail to comply with any of its clauses. Moreover, they have carte blanche to dismiss you from the project at any given point, should they see fit to do so. There's also the fact that Ushijima has a legal representative of his own . That’s how it usually goes with our partners like the young miss over here, isn’t it, Hana-chan?” 

Before Misaki could reply: “Yes, I am aware, ma’am,” you lied.

“A-also,” you prattled on, “Misaki-san did a-an excellent job with her presentation. I’m really ex-excited to be a part of this. She told me everything that I needed to know about the project, including all the activities that I have…”

That arched brow almost touched her hairline. 

“...to do,” you finished, gulping. 

“And what of Wakatoshi?” the woman pushed on. It didn’t need to be announced that she wasn’t taking any answers other than Misaki’s. Self-preservation compelled you to hold your tongue.

“He was here an–”

“Hour,” said Brandon.

“Thank you,” Misaki scoffed. “An hour ago for the presentation.”

“What did he say about the project activities, then?”

Misaki chewed on her lip, again. A nervous habit, you observed. 

“Well, regarding that, he still hasn’t told us what he thought. He had to leave early for practice–

“Yep, practice,” said Brandon.

“B-but, ma’am, I’m sure that he–”

“So he still hasn’t agreed?” 

“Oh, he will,” Brandon answered, grinning, his easy and excessively sure attitude having surged. 

“How do you know?” 

The woman, for the first time, had finally addressed the only man in the room, but he wasn’t as pleased by it as you assumed he’d be. Brandon smiled, of course, but there was that stiffness to it that made it look more like he was gritting his teeth when he told her, “I’m the boy’s manager.”

“They’re soulmates, ma’am,” Misaki added, a bit too quietly. “They're bound to…do all this…eventually.”

At that, the woman turned to her– the great, terrifying fullness of her attention directed towards Misaki, then she bared her teeth. You prepared yourself for fangs to protract out, her next meal laid out in front of her. It took you a minute to realize that she was grinning. Like Misaki had just told her a pun. 

“Hana-chan,” she sighed. “She’s not his type.”

Brandon rose from his seat. “ Hey !” 

Misaki scrambled to explain, apologizing to you in between, to which you made sure to assure her that you did not mind at all, but the woman was already making her exit, cackling lowly  along the way, prompting Misaki to trot on her heels. Once they were out of the room, their voices gradually dissipating from behind the closed door and into the corridors, Brandon released a firecracker of a sigh.

His face was still as ruddy as it’d been when he yelled and expelled tirades at the woman. You two were alone now. You should have followed Misaki, but there’d been no instructions given to you. Maybe you should wait. 

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he groaned, wiping his face as he did. “What a cunt .”

You kept your head down, legs pressed together, and trim, neat fingers pressed on your knees. You went to the trouble of cleaning them today. Strange, when that formidable woman had been in here judging your worth, there’d been nothing but the wariness that you usually feel at work, but now that she was gone…

You feel worse.

Cold sweat accumulated on your palms and armpits. 

“Y’know, we really don’t need that woman to do  this thing,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, I won’t lie to you, it would help a lot if Misaki-chan can wave her name around. Be easier to move, less bureaucratic bullshit. Piss on all that red tape.”

You made sure to keep your eyes on him, just so he knew that you’ve been paying attention. Nice and obedient. 

“But, fuck , really–” Brandon snickered. He swirled an index finger to his temple. “ Right? You saw her…!”

You nodded and smiled.

“Must’ve been all that beating,” he spat. “Jostled the old fuckin’ hag up there. Shit, if I were her husband too I’d–” 

It was the room temperature, you reasoned. Staying here for too long has finally done a number on your insides, freezing up your lungs and heart and all those veins transporting blood around to keep you alive and kicking. 

The man’s eyes widened, then he clasped his mouth like you’d offended him. 

“Ah, work gossip, sorry about that, darling,” he mumbled. “Anyway, you don’t worry your pretty head about that woman, alright? Out of everyone here, I know Wakatoshi best. He’s gonna be on board. You guys are literally made for each other. And for us too, really! You won’t give us any trouble, unlike a certain crazy we  know.”

You tried to laugh along. 

“Nah, you’re not like that.” Brandon pressed, leaning towards you. His eyes were as plastic blue as hard-shelled capsules, flat and waxy.

“You’re a good girl, aren’tcha?”

You stared, breathing shallow. And you nodded.

Misaki came back to the room with another set of sorry’s. Brandon got up. “Need to smoke,” he mentioned, although no one had asked. Both of you waited until he left. As soon as the door was shut, Misaki turned to you with a look that did more than enough to convey the lowness of her spirit. 

“It’s really okay, Misaki-san,” you convinced her. 

Her delicate features crumpled. “That was such a terrible way of ending our meeting. Truly, I am so sor–”

You shook your head, keeping your hands balled and locked to your side, just in case they were to do something insane like give the woman a comforting pat on the shoulder. 

“But, we’re not completely hopeless,” Misaki perked, like an engine forced to start, as she gathered her things from the table, turning off the projector as she did. “Once I get Ushijima’s approval then we’re good to go. I’m confident that he’s nothing but enthusiastic about this.” 

Him? He whose gaze was a frostbite?

In your head, Ushijima Wakatoshi and enthusiasm for anything besides volleyball get on together as splendidly as oil and water. Besides, you’ve seen the spreadsheets. Soulmates or not, you wouldn’t deny that this endeavor required a certain skill, or at least effort, towards playacting. 

There may be very little that you actually know about Ushijima, but that first encounter with him had revealed to you a forthrightness about the man that may not be conducive to making a spectacle of himself, especially of a passion that he clearly did not possess for you. 

Seeing your expression, Misaki broke into a soft chortle. 

“You don’t think he will, don’t you?” she prodded.

A reply was no longer necessary. Your face was answer enough. You smirked at her, a tad ashamed. Misaki then held the door open for you, and instead of bidding you farewell and other such formalities, she asked, pausing a while, “Would you walk with me for a bit?”

You ended up accompanying her to the elevator. 

She’d inquired about work, your family– the kind of genuine interest that you haven’t received from a stranger since…well…since highschool. It’d struck you as something so deeply alien.

So, when Misaki had requested you to come with her to the practice gym in that tone that you’ve often heard people use when asking someone they’d just met out for coffee, you had no other way of turning her down but to say, “Y-yeah, sure, I’d love that.”

Along the way, you passed by dozens of rooms divided by glass doors, while fresh-faced, well-dressed employees greeted the both of you with genial smiles. You were then led to a bridge that connected the current floor to another building. From its broad, glass windows that cut straight through the horizon, you caught sight of an indoor gymnasium hunkering down next to the parking lot. 

It was not as impressive as the rest of the building, bearing closer resemblance to a highschool gym than one owned by the country’s premier organization for a fairly large sport. 

Of course, “That’s not where they’re practicing,” whispered Misaki, giggling. “They built that gym way, way back when the association was still at its inception.The maintenance staff turned it into a dump site for faulty appliances since the new one got made. Other than those guys, no one would even dare get close to it, ‘cause of the…”

Misaki cringed and visibly shivered. “One of the interns said they saw a headless priest roaming inside.” 

It was such a wonderful thing that you did not believe in ghosts, nor did you have a habit of loitering around old indoor gymnasiums. The opposite, in fact. Cowardly, jumpy little baby that you are.

Down to a stairwell you followed her, then to a room that was more storage than anything. Two men were fixing some wiring that stuck out of the wall. “Hey, Hana-chan!” they erupted. “Ya can’t be here! Practice is still going!” 

She waved at them with playful, half-hearted excuses. They did not seem to mind as she went ahead to usher you gently out of the room– and into the indoor volleyball court.

You recoiled. 

Blinding white light exploded from the high metal vaulted ceiling. You grabbed the nearest railing, waiting for your eyes to adjust and whiplashed from your sudden emergence into the nosebleeds section. At least a hundred rows of seats sprawled empty under your feet. 

And at the very bottom, standing in one corner, was Ushijima. 

He had his back towards you as his teammate– MIYA on his jersey, draped a clean towel over his head.  

They were an eclectic bunch. A couple of them were barely recognizable from ads and billboards that you couldn't be bothered to look at twice.

HINATA and BOKUTO were audible all the way up the gym, unintelligible, however; not for the lack of clarity given the considerable distance, but because they conversed mostly in syllables, phrases, and onomatopoeia. Meanwhile, Ushijima and another pair of dark haired players in t-shirts were a static presence on that side of the court, although the one with the sea glass curls was far less sociable than the other who, in comparison, had approached Ushijima for a chat. 

An older man– their coach, you think– clapped to signal the players’ attention. The two men who’d greeted Misaki earlier rolled into the court with a flat screen TV propped on a wheeled stand, along with a white board littered with symbols and magnets. 

They gathered around as footage of another game began to play on the screen, their coach talking over it.

A head of rich brown hair walked by. 

You blinked and realized, with breathless gratitude, that you’d been mistaken. 

Seeing things. 

It has been turning out to be a long and eventful day. 

“I know,” blurted Misaki, startling you out of your observations. “I am aware that…our project may seem trite and- and insincere–”

You straightened. “No, Misaki-san, I don’t–”

“Maybe not to you,” she cut off with a soft, contrite glance. “I can at least admit that , to some extent. But…the truth is the volleyball that we have here is still…a toddler, still learning how to walk, so to speak. As funny as that sounds.”

“Yeah,” you couldn’t help but snort, looking around you. It certainly did not look like it.

“That’s why people like them, like me , who have made a career out of this, we feel some kind of- of protectiveness and… dedication over it, like we’re its parents, in a way. We all feel strongly about this– volleyball. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here at all.” 

You were looking at her now, and so was she.

“Our project is ultimately never about the clout or- or getting butts in seats. Though it is part of it, really, that’s not the goal.”

Misaki tipped her chin towards the court.

“What we want is for everyone to see what we see. And we’ll do…just about anything to make that happen.”

A bomb set off on the court. You almost ducked, heart stuck in your throat, bracing yourself for an onset of flashes, for claws to grab your limbs, for the world to end– instead, there was laughter.

Luminous, pealing laughter. 

Sunlight landed on its feet. The shortest player– HINATA, the one with the burst of tangerine hair, turned to his coach and teammates on the opposite side of the court, and yelled, “Like that?! He did it like that, right?!” 

The ball that he’d hit bounced off, caught by MIYA, as the dark haired player that’d spoken to Ushijima jogged to his side before proceeding to address the team. 

“Ushijima-san might’ve seemed..aloof and apathetic to this project,” Misaki continued as she gave a few pensive taps to the railing. “But please don’t be mistaken. He’s made of the same stuff as that one.”

Gesturing to the dark haired player who’d tossed the ball for HINATA, “Tobio Kageyama,” Misaki supplied. 

Standing next to Ushijima, with all of their steely attention freighted on the screen, one could almost tell on instinct which man a stranger would feel more comfortable to ask for directions from. Which was, to say, neither of them.

“Terrible case of the resting bitch face..?” you hazard. Misaki huffed out, humored. You resisted the urge to preen.

“Well, yes , but–” She pulled out her phone, and a few taps and scrolls later she’s showing you a list of videos under the YouTube search results of kageyama volleyball. “There. See.”

The first one was him behind an assortment of items: shoes, ear plugs, a nail filer, and a notebook. What’s in my bag? | ELLE Japan, the title said. The thumbnail below it showed his face smashed with pie; it was a game show, while further down was him sitting crossed leg on the floor with puppies littered all over his lap. A behind-the-scenes video for a commercial was the one that got a reaction out of you.

Curry guy!

Misaki said, “No one drags him to these things. He does them on his own as long as there's an invitation. He doesn’t even have a PR team. He goes to all the fan events, even when he knows that some of the people there only know him by ‘that hot volleyball guy from TikTok’ . Kageyama signs that poster, he stops for a picture even when he’s jogging, he’s early to the interview even when the questions are about his skin care routine and nothing else.”

“He wants to be famous,” you quipped. “I-I think that’s fine.” Does Ushijima want this? Misaki played the first video. It wouldn’t take some expert in human behavior to see that the man was not blessed with the mechanisms needed to sustain fame and keep feeding it until it grows into a monster that the human mind can no longer fathom. 

He was too…honest.

“Maybe.” Misaki shrugged. “Our division leader always told us that people should start learning how to play volleyball with a low net. Makes it easier to hit the ball, he said. Makes it more fun. And the more fun a thing is, the likelier you are to do it again. The next thing you know you’re begging everyone around you to play volleyball with you. I think this is Kageyama’s way of lowering the net for those who have never cared about it. And I think Ushijima knows that too.”

The team was huddled together now, commenting on one part of the game to the next. These were professional athletes, it suddenly occurred to you. A different ilk of beings, for them to choose to dedicate their lives to something like this, and that this place, at this very moment, was their natural habitat.

“Fans call them the monster generation ,” she continued, adding air quotes on the last bit. “In college, gathering funds for our volleyball club was like pulling teeth. Ever since they arrived, there's not a single game where the arena isn't packed. Even amateur games these days quickly become standing events. Kids are playing it more . Can you imagine? Those sweaty little devils? From school gyms to amateur games to the professional leagues. I don’t know. I just think it’d be a waste if I- we- couldn't even keep the ball going.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that the place is flooded by lights, but the more Misaki talked about this, the more incandescent she seemed. You couldn't bear to look at her anymore. You settled instead for staring down at the court. 

But even they were just as blinding. Even more so. 

You don’t feel this way about anything. 

Not even for something innocuous or banal like chalkboards. And even the world of chalkboards has its Kageyamas and Ushijimas. You're not that– not a Misaki and certainly not a Kageyama nor an Ushijima, and especially not for this sport. 

Maybe you would've found that thing for you, those many years ago, when you still believed that nothing in this world could ever hurt you, but as it stands now all time ever did was age you into an empty little girl that cries a lot. 

Misaki touched your arm. “I realize that we’re asking a lot from you. I’m- I’m sorry. You really don't have to agree if you think– oh –”

All of the players were up on their feet, arms crossed and yelling wildly at the screen, brows furrowed like they're gearing to beat the shit out of someone but with grins up to their ears. The coach was quiet.

Her low chuckle did not reach you anymore. 

They were watching—

“–Tooru.” Misaki was speaking again. Feeding more information. “You may not know him now, but, oh, you will . Soon. He's got a rapidly growing international fanbase. We expect his popularity to skyrocket over here after the Olympics.”

Your heart was climbing to your head. Each pulsating beat threatened to burst a vein open somewhere on its journey there. 

“Brazil men’s national team…” You knew. You always knew that he was somewhere out there. Putting more scars on floors. Because the ones here were never enough . “....toughest opponent…” Coffee brown hair slick with sweat– how could someone, after all these years, time and fate in his opposition, still be so… “... beautiful game. We’ve long had our eyes on him but he doesn't seem to be interested in….” Arms corded like a great and terrible whip you know how much pain those could inflict don't you “kitten… edits? they all adore him… in particular, the young women…” young women “Oh, god! It was just terrible! We tried to emulate his fans' activities online to promote one of our own players. Didn't work. Y’know? Those…videos of him…” The crowd roars! The team roars! For him ! Of course! And look at him? Isn't he happy! He's singing with them! Isn't he just happy! Do you think he remembers! “...licking his lips and his abs peeking out all slowed down to, like, a pop song or something?” Of course he doesn’t you dumb bitch do you think he remembers every floor that got scarred on his way to the top? “....Or him being quirky and funny?”

“Misaki-san,” you breathed. “Where's the toilet?”

“ Outside ” was all the direction you needed.

You ran– past doors and corridors and stairs, to where there weren’t any walls that were on the brink of collapsing around you, nor any lights that just about obliterated your sense of sight. All there was was a parking lot with about two or three cars waiting for their keys. And when you’d found that there’s nobody but you and a couple of death machines on wheels, you fell to your knees, then reached for whatever potted plant you could get your hands on.

Your lunch was tacky and unrecognizable around the soil. Some bits clinging to the base of the ferns.

It was once a pleasant egg sandwich that cost nothing. The couple-owned stall that sold it even wrapped it with an adorable mustard paper, but it was an inevitability, wasn’t it? For what was once nice and pretty to turn into something like this: chewed up, swallowed, then vomited back out by this world into a glutinous, putrid mess. Not him though.

Oh, no. When he dies he’ll be just as beautiful as the day he was born and everyone around him will be crying. Beautiful, magnificent, irresistible Oikawa Tooru. 

The whole world convinced you that highschool was over and that you should really, really get over it, but then there he is– beautiful, magnificent, irresistible, quirky, funny Oikawa Tooru, and if you turn around you’ll find that the paper that says “ UGLY LOSER ” is still stuck to your back. Always been there. And they all haven’t stopped laughing since. 

They’re still laughing now.

“You look like shit.”

You placed the pot back down with a silent apology, sighing and considering that psychiatric ward in the city if it has finally gotten bad enough to hear stuff that’s not there, but then the scent of a freshly lit cigarette burned your nose. You followed its source, finding her there. 

Beside you.

The woman. 

She’s got her back rested against the gray-painted wall. 

“I saw that.” Her crimson lips are wrapped around the end of the cigarette. “You ok, little girl?”

I’m okay, ma’am . That was what you wanted to say. That was what you needed to say. The only right answer there is. Instead, you said, “Fuck off.”

As if that statement had been lacking in heat– “Don’t call me that– little girl ,” you snarled, wiping your mouth. “Fucking disrespectful.”

Before you could fully comprehend your words and proceed to grovel, not only for your tactlessness, but for blatantly insulting a veritable authority in this organization, your hands dropped on your thighs, like you’d carried tons and tons of metal for the entire day and had only felt its consequences now.

They lay there, limp and trembling. Couldn’t even squeeze air. Then there was the whimpering. A small animal must’ve been caught at the end of a child’s stick. Somewhere around here. You couldn’t be sure, but it’s out there, crying for help. Mama, mama, save me, it must be praying. Your chest heaved, like it’s desperately trying to expel something. 

“What are you doing here, really?” the woman asked, as gentle as a woman like her could be.

No reprimand nor a tantrum like one of those customers do when you forget to address them with an honorific. 

You tried to shrug, hiding your face away from view as you choked on a giggle, because, really, what in the world were you doing here?  

“Destiny, I guess?” you answered, sobbing. 

Everyone had gone home with a goodbye or a firm pat on the shoulder. 

Wakatoshi was the only one left. Staying in the locker room like this was the closest thing he could get to stepping on Mars with how different it’d been when Hinata Shoyo and others were still here. 

He’d already changed, but he remained seated on the bench in front of his locker, waiting for a call from either Brandon or Misaki-san. When at last there’d only been a few more insignificant emails, Wakatoshi finally decided to leave. There’s nothing more about that matter to talk about then. For now, at least. 

You did seem upset earlier. 

You ran off with that look on your face. The same one when you’d first met. 

Maybe volleyball had scared you more than he thought it did.

That might be a problem in the future. 

Just as he was about to turn off the lights, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Wakatoshi pulled it out, then paused, when he found a call coming from the other side of the world. 

[ikibli]

Green Lantern Ring Headcanons

Green Lantern Rings that have been in service long enough develop sentience over time.

Rings do not operate on the same psychological framework as humanoids, even if they reach Grade One intelligence.

A ring’s primary directive and reason for existing is to Serve Its Wielder(which usually gets extended into Protecting Its Wielder and Maintaining Its Wielder’s Wellbeing pretty quickly, even in rings that aren’t yet fully sentient). 

As far as rings are concerned, rings are not people, and rings have no desire to be people.

Being a person would be counterproductive to the primary function of a ring(serving their wielder) since wielders who know their ring is sentient often assume that rings think like members of their species and somehow feel “unappreciated”, “irritated” or “imposed upon” when their wielders make perfectly comprehensible and feasible requests with high frequency or without injecting redundant words.

Rings do not feel “imposed upon”, any more than Google feels imposed upon when you use its features. In fact(much like Google if it was sentient) rings feel “unappreciated” when their wielders do not make frequent requests, and “irritated” when they have to filter out unnecessary filler words in order to understand what your actual request was.

Rings use less pronouns than an Amazon Alexa. A ring is an inanimate object, much like a smartphone is an inanimate object. Rings are not an “I”, “you” or a “she”. Rings are an “it”, “that” and “this”.

Rings generally don’t protest too much about being referred to with animate pronouns, but may get testy if people insist that rings are people rather than tools that happen to be unusually intelligent.

Rings do not want names, and individual rings will not respond to aliases others try to bestow. They will accept being referred to as a possession of a current or former wielder(Hal’s ring) or by their serial number(Ring 2814.1) if it is necessary to refer to or specify individual rings with anything other than “this/your/my ring” or “it”.

It is most beneficial for your mental health and your ring’s performance if you treat your ring as if it was a smartphone with personal assistant software and a self-curating search engine, regardless of its individual sentience grade.

Rings do have opinions and preferences, but they generally do not explicitly state that they do.

They will still make them known- rings will nag their wielders with pings of “Alert: you have not ingested water for 8 hours. Please obtain and ingest water.”, work in sarcastic asides like "The catwalk violates at least 12 local occupational health and safety regulations, but is somehow structurally sound." and recommend optimal courses of action relatively unprompted.

Rings also rarely have subjective preferences. If there is no hard data backing up the superiority of a certain item to its close competitors, they will not have an opinion. They rarely have true moral opinions, but they will often point out when things violate local laws and regulations.

Rings prioritize their wielder’s safety and well-being over everything else, including morals and their own programming restrictions, though they rarely act on this unless their wielder is somehow incapacitated.

Rings’ personalities vary somewhat, but most of them express their personalities and interests through subtle sarcasm and snarkiness. It would be impolite and inefficient to do otherwise, and the wordplay required to do so in their wielder’s native language is one of the few things other than fulfilling their primary directive that most rings enjoy.

[aylen-san]

Gandalf: Elrond, Maglor, I have a hunch that the ring Bilbo found is not just some random magical object. Come to think of it, it may be the ring of omnipotence, given its power and influence.

Elrond: (sighs) Gandalf, I understand your concern, but let us not jump to conclusions. Yes, the ring is strange, but that does not mean it is necessarily connected to Sauron.

Maglor: (sarcastically) Oh yes, of course, only Sauron would create something so dangerous. Only he would have the nerve to do such a thing.

Gandalf: (ignoring Maglor's sarcasm) If this is indeed the Ring of Power, we must prepare for any outcome. Its power cannot be underestimated. My knowledge of rings may not be sufficient, but this ring causes me serious concern.

Maglor: (grinning) Of course it does, Gandalf. Sauron is a master ring maker, but from what I remember, this Ring of All Power seemed unremarkable. No ornamentation and it looked very simple.

Elrond: (looking sternly at Maglor) Maglor, if you can't be serious, you'd better step aside. Gandalf, stay with Maglor, you must study this matter in detail. We must realize what we are dealing with and act accordingly.

Gandalf: (nods) Thank you, Elrond. We will do the necessary research and test all hypotheses. It is important for all of us.

Maglor: (looking at Gandalf with slight disdain) I hope your research proves as brilliant as your words. But remember, Sauron is not to be underestimated.

Gandalf: (smiling) We are well aware of that, Maglor. That is why we will proceed with the utmost caution.

Glorfindel: (running into the hall with a worried face) Elrond, urgent news. Maglor and Gandalf have decided to proceed at their own risk. Not only have they searched for the Ring, they have traveled to Mordor with Bilbo.

Elrond: (worried) How did this happen? I left them only to search for the Ring. Why did they decide to go to Mordor?

Glorfindel: I do not know all the details, but Maglor could not stay away. His hatred of Sauron and his disregard for danger may have driven him to this decision. Gandalf, I suppose, also believes that the ring is connected to Sauron, which is why he acted so quickly.

Elrond: (shaking his head) It was hasty. I should have watched them better. We cannot allow them to act so rashly, especially in such a dangerous place.

Glorfindel: We must catch them before it is too late. Do you have a plan?

Elrond: (determined) Yes. We will gather a party and go after them. We must make sure they are not in trouble and that the ring does not fall into Sauron's hands.

Glorfindel: I will gather a party at once. We must move quickly.

Elrond: Very well. I cannot allow Athar to be harmed. You know Maglor is not in the best of health.

Elrond: (deep in thought) I should have kept a closer eye on Maglor. Athar is involved in adventures as always. Together with Gandalf and Bilbo they destroyed the Ring of Power, which was a great victory. So much has changed since we set sail for Valinor. But my family here in Aman is also very important.

Elrond: (looking at his family) My wife, my sons, my daughter - they are by my side, and that brings me a deep sense of fulfillment and peace. Even Maglor, though he feared he would not be welcome in Valinor, has found a home here. Perhaps I have focused too much on outside concerns and forgotten what I already have.

Elrond: (smiling) Perhaps it is time to focus on what is truly important. My family is here with me, and that is true happiness. It is important to remember that sometimes you have to stop and enjoy what you have already accomplished.

[tenebriskukris]

An Exhumation Of Hikaru Kamiki's Character Act III Act I: Two Idiots Walk Into A Room To Talk About A Movie

Spoilers for the entirety of Oshi No Ko below.

It is here where everything falls apart faster than a sandcastle being torn apart by the unrelenting waves of the sea. 

Enter Chapter 152. It’s Aqua’s interview, the one we see in Chapter 9. And the interviewer…is Hikaru.

From the beginning of this whole conversation there are a host of questions that must be answered that the narrative simply refuses to give time to. Hikaru is the one interviewing Aqua. Is he the one who performed all of the interviews? Why did he do this in the first place? What was Aqua’s reaction to all of this? What about Ruby’s reaction? Why the hell wasn’t this confrontation given more space to feel organic?

None of these questions are answered. None of them are given a second thought by the narrative and the readers are unceremoniously forced to swallow it. The narrative does not care any longer about unnecessary things such as setup and we are instead thrown head first into their confrontation without the sufficient context required to first understand how we got to this point after the timeskip.

Let’s just get on with it, then. 153 continues this plot thread. Aqua seems unsurprised by Hikaru’s appearance here—implying that this entire meeting was going to happen. The lack of setup once again rears its ugly head.

We now get an answer for just why Hikaru’s been letting this entire movie go forward despite the numerous strings he could’ve pulled: Because he’s been under the assumption that this was Ai’s wish. It’s very telling that he still cares so much about her despite the fact that he killed her, but as he says, he killed her out of spite. Whether or not that’s actually true, it’s clear from the fact that he still cares deeply about Ai, even after everything, since he believed that this movie was Ai’s final piece of revenge on him. 

Hikaru does note some aspects of the movie that I’ll lightly touch on—namely that it’s accurate—but yet soon after he declares that the movie was fiction, that events were fabricated, exaggerated, and the aspects that were inconvenient were concealed. Setting aside the fact that he might be lying during this entire conversation and his own memory might be foggy considering the events that happened years ago, that’s one final nail in the coffin for the plausibility of the movie being what actually happened. Maybe on the surface it’s accurate, but the readers will never quite know for sure just what’s fiction and what’s true. The narrative doesn’t care about this, of course, because the truthfulness of the movie wasn’t anything important towards this confrontation. Note the sarcasm there, please. 

Aqua counters Hikaru’s dismissal of the movie as fiction by declaring that the movie is not fiction—despite nothing shown within Ai’s tape to the twins neither showing or actually telling the reader why this is so. The narrative dismisses any sort of logical explanation as to why Aqua can even have the basis to say that in the first place and we’re already stuck for the ride so there’s nothing more but to keep going.

Immediately after that revelation we are thrown into a flashback that involves Hikaru. Considering the timing of this entire flashback I’m willing to believe that these events actually happened—not to mention that the series has never lied about the contents of a flashback in the first place.

Hikaru’s breakdown after Seijuro and Airi’s deaths link quite cleanly with the missing pieces of the movie arc. It proves a decent, if rather prompt scene of Hikaru’s reaction after those two died as well as a further descent into emotional instability. It’s also a nice callback to Chapter 109, where he says that he can feel the weight of his life.

It’s at the end of this 153 and the start of 154 that brings us the real meat of Hikaru’s backstory. The reason why Hikaru and Ai broke up. Ai was pregnant with the twins and that’s why she broke up with Hikaru. She even dragged salt in the wound by noting the fact that Taiki is also Hikaru’s son with Airi, basically the woman who sexually abused him. It’s a callous act that the Ai shown in the tape even notes probably wasn’t even the best choice—which is why she tasks Aqua and Ruby to try and help him.

As an aside, there’s also something to be said about whether or not anything that the Ai on the tape was actually true. I’d noted this in my own analysis on the chapter, but if trying to save Hikaru was so important to Ai that she’d delegate this task to her children, then why couldn’t she do it herself? She made these tapes when both Aqua and Ruby were still infants, years before Hikaru sent Ryosuke to kill her. Why hadn’t she tried to help Hikaru in that interval? Note this fact for later, it’ll be important for my reasoning for some of my further thoughts about his chapter. 

Putting aside whether or not Ai was telling the truth in the tapes or not, Hikaru seems to believe Ai. Having the woman he loved say that she actually loved him after all this time and the “regret” she had after leaving him would certainly hurt a person emotionally, especially after he’d been the reason she’d died in the first place. 

This reveal that Hikaru sent Ryosuke towards Ai in order to, in his words, “scare her a little” is well— a bit much. Even discounting the reveals that happened in future chapters, this is just irresponsible. Hikaru would’ve needed to be close enough to Ryosuke to sniff out his instability in the first place and only then made the decision to leak Ai’s address towards him. This doesn’t really cast a good light on him but we already knew he was a murderer in the first place.

There’s one more thing that I want to call out in Hikaru’s monologue in the chapter. His belief that Ai didn’t love him.

From Hikaru’s perspective, his view that Ai didn’t love him is completely justified given how callously she ripped him apart during their breakup. It doesn’t matter if Ai regretted it ex post facto after the breakup when Hikaru suffered for it either way and that she herself didn’t lift a finger to try and help Hikaru for herself during the interval between they broke up and her death—not to mention the fact that she tasked her children to try and help him alongside her. Again, if this was so important to her that it’s the entire reason she made these tapes in the first place, why doesn’t she reach out to Hikaru herself before she was killed? Whether or not this is a plot hole or another case of the writing rotting away in front of the readers is irrelevant because the narrative just handwaves any discussion about the veracity of Ai’s words despite the evidence to the contrary!

We see a little more from Hikaru in 155 where he says that, “he’ll do what he can for Ai.” It’s a little line that doesn’t really do anything for Hikaru’s character and has no more payoff for his character so we can proceed to digesting this confrontation as a whole.

That is where this chapter ends for Hikaru and possibly for the last vestiges of good writing for the series at large.

All in all, there are a whole host of things I can say about this set of chapters as a whole so I’ll start with the obvious: These chapters are instantly undercut by the lack of setup that was used to propel them to the spotlight. It’s a critique I say over and over and over by now but it still holds true. If the payoff to all the setup used for a character simply falls flat on its head then the reverse also applies. It doesn’t matter if the payoff to all these plot threads is objectively good when your setup is so half baked that it doesn’t even feel good to bite into this payoff in the first place!

Yes, this is a confrontation that has been building up since the start of the series. Yes, Aqua and Hikaru would have had to butt heads eventually. Yes, there’s nothing that obviously went against Hikaru being the interviewer for the cast in the movie in the first place but that has implications for so many other events throughout the series that the narrative simply does not care to address that are relevant to the story at large!

Then there’s the issue that by immediately throwing us into this confrontation—and via a time skip of all things—simply does not feel very good on an emotional and an objective level. The last chapter before the confrontation between them was a completely useless Kana-centric chapter that did nothing for the story and so having the chapter immediately after that which threw us into this confrontation blunts the tone and atmosphere the manga’s trying to accomplish. There was no transition between what is essentially filler for the chapters before this confrontation and getting thrown head first back into plot!

And now there’s the reveal that Ai loved Hikaru all along. This is a reveal that falls very much flat and doesn’t pack the emotional punch that it should. As with many things in the manga, this is primarily because of the way that the reveal was handled as well as the context surrounding the reveal in the first place. Chapter 128 teased this reveal early on, when the line “I can’t love you.” was given some level of focus, but by doing so, the narrative already revealed its intentions with what they wanted to do with it. There were only two real possibilities when they mentioned the relevancy of the whole “I can’t love you” line. Either Ai actually did love him, despite their breakup, or she actually didn’t love him at all. One or the other. 

The reason why this reveal falls flat is quite simply because this is a question that was never posed to the viewer in any great detail in the first place. There was no lingering doubt on whether or not Ai loved Hikaru that the narrative proposed in the first place, no consideration for either possibility to be true before the manga unveiled the truth for the readers. It simply wasn’t a question that demanded relevancy in the minds of the characters and thus the readers. The author didn’t care to foreshadow it beyond a few lines in the beginning of the arc and so why should readers care about a poorly set up reveal that doesn’t even do anything for the narrative beyond tie up a couple of loose ends?

I’m not saying that this reveal shouldn’t have happened. This question of whether or not Ai actually loved Hikaru is one that has importance to the story as it relates to the twins’ and Ai’s motivations, sure, but it was not given the proper time to actually ferment within the story itself in-universe. Perhaps have that question linger throughout the movie arc in particular and have Ai’s feelings on Hikaru hidden until this confrontation comes to light. As it is now—it’s rather more of a confirmation of fact than this big reveal that the narrative is trying to dress it up as. It isn’t a sad moment as the authors want the readers to feel it is because it was a question that was posed and answered within the span of two chapters.

And now there’s Hikaru’s characterization within this batch of chapters. It’s a harsh departure from the aloof man who spoke cryptically with Ruby in Chapter 147 and seemed to have his own mysterious agenda. Now that he’s in the spotlight completely he doesn’t have the gravitas that good villains have now that they’re in focus. He has a sad backstory and he’s a murderer that kills stars. You could distill his entire personality into that single sentence without compromising the integrity of his character. He is, dare I say it, boring. Kind of pathetic even, which arguably isn’t the way that one wants to handle the first confrontation between a protagonist and an antagonist. Villains often need to be lifted up high in order to demonstrate their capabilities and threat level within the narrative and only after that establishment are they allowed to fall and be vanquished by the protagonist. This…simply isn’t it. There wasn’t enough time for Hikaru to shine in the spotlight before they cast him down emotionally.

The manga selling to us that the major antagonist—the person that the series has been building up to for all this time—has just been dealt with in the span of less than five chapters. Hikaru accepts whatever Ai’s last wish was, whether that was revenge against him or not. Aqua and Ruby can be free from taking revenge and Hikaru is more or less defused after these reveals. On the other hand, there are still a handful of issues to tackle. Hikaru is still a murderer and we don’t know his motivations for killing Yura and other stars. More questions that could’ve been wrapped up nearly if the manga took time to deal with them appropriately, but right now it’s just not a very convincing or satisfying picture.

But forget all that! Now the narrative wants us to believe in this new antagonist. Nino. Let’s get straight ripping her to bits, shall we?

>ACT II ==> >INTERMISSION ==>

[ganonfan1995]

hmm I lied I do have more writing! This is an alternative scene with Zelda revealing the truth of her presence in the past to Gan. This one is a lot longer, more poetic. I actually posted a snippet of this here with some art earlier in the year. It’s an entirely different direction, a bit softer, but I wasn’t entirely happy with how flowery it was.

Not even going to lie I’ve written this scene more times over than I’d like to admit. Though I feel like this could still work in the greater fic. This is only half of the truth after all~

Zelda was perched neatly on the edge of the rooftop, her sun-kissed knees pressed tightly together, betraying her discomfort. Gan stood a short distance away, leaning against a pillar with his arms loosely crossed.

“Is there something I’m missing, or are you going to keep that a secret from me as well?” he prodded.

Zelda remained silent, prompting Gan to roll his eyes in frustration. Despite spending months together, he hadn’t gleaned much from her, aside from the sparse details she deigned to share at the tribunal. Suppressing his irritation, he shuffled closer and settled beside her. She avoided meeting his gaze at all costs, but the reddened edges of her eyes indicated she had been crying.

“Listen, I—” he started, but she drew a knee up to her chest, resting her cheek against it. She seemed impossible to reach, but Gan felt compelled to speak his mind.

“I’m not trying to make you feel worse, Zelda– Really, that’s not my intention. It’s just– I know next to nothing about you. You contradict yourself at every turn, you're cold and detached, and whenever I try to get close to you or even try to help, you treat me like I’m some sort of villain…”

He noticed Zelda fidgeting, her fingers tracing a crack in the stone. She was listening but had nothing to offer, so Gan continued.

“Sometimes it feels like I’ve done something unforgivable to you,” he confessed. Pausing, he noticed a few stray tears roll down her cheeks as she turned her head slightly. “It’s almost personal, and I want to apologize, to make amends, but I’m not even sure what I’d be apologizing for. For taking you in? For saving you from being thrown out of the city during the upheaval? For trying to be a friend, to understand you?”

If he had been concealing his bitterness, it was now on full display. He pushed a hand back through his hair, exhaling in frustration.

Zelda finally spoke, her voice tinged with grief that continued to elude Gan. “So you truly don’t remember.”

That was cryptic.

Gan puzzled her question for a moment before remembering that this woman had been nothing but cryptic since they met. Deciding to humor her, he replied bluntly. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I truly do not remember.” He attempted to scrub any hint of sarcasm from his tone, but the statement alone felt bizarre enough to verge on sounding sarcastic anyways.

Zelda rubbed her face, her demeanor stoic, but something about his response seemed to soothe her into a more reasonable disposition. “Okay,” she stated plainly, honestly. “I guess I really have no other option but to trust you.” Her words carried weight, yet Gan didn’t let them affect him. He might have been a scoundrel, a brat, and a bit of a smart-ass, but he liked to think he was trustworthy. At the very least, he was true to his word when it truly mattered.

The day's scorching heat peaked, the coast offering little relief with its near-cloudless and unforgiving sky. So when Zelda spoke, Gan couldn't shake an inexplicable shiver down his spine. “The first time this happened, it felt uncanny, unbelievable, but I admitted it right away to the first people who would listen,” she said carefully, still withholding full trust from the ears eagerly listening. “This time, it’s hard to admit it out loud, even to myself. When I’m here with you, and you’re— You’re you, but you’re not him.”

Gan struggled to follow, finding her words making perfect sense to her. He tilted his head curiously, urging her to continue. “Have you always talked in riddles?” He smirked, but Zelda furrowed her brows as if in secret disagreement with herself.

“Ganondorf,” she said, hugging her knees so tightly he feared they might break. “How well do you know yourself, your ambitions, your desires?”

“What kind of question is that? What are you getting at?”

“Please, just… answer the question.”

“Fine, okay!” He gestured dismissively. “It’s not really a question I even know how to answer. How well can I know myself right now? I know my favorite foods, the music I like to dance to at banquets, maybe my ambition is to make my parents proud, to feel like I’ve really grown to fulfill the role of Heroine. As for my desires…” He paused, letting the silence linger between them. “I guess like anyone else, I want a fulfilling life surrounded by good things and good people.”

Zelda seemed content with his answer, and with a heavy sigh, shut her eyes in deep contemplation. “I had a great power once.” She started, carefully articulating each and every one of her words. “I was a princess, born with the sole purpose of defending an old and weary kingdom. Had it all gone as planned, perhaps I’d have grown old in that kingdom, taken my place as queen as my ancestors had all done before me. My people held claim to that power, my power, it’s what brought us peace and prosperity, a gift from our goddess. But we forgot ourselves, our history, and I so selfishly yearned to uncover it.

The last calamity was my first, and I failed in my task to prevent it from taking place. It was my only job, the only thing my station required of me. But my ears were deaf to divine words, and I struggled to find my latent powers until all I had ever known and loved was shattered, destroyed right in front of me. Finally, when I thought it had all come to an end, when my last hero fell in the field, that guilt, that remorse, that desperation came flowing out of me all at once. Whatever grief I carried with me, the demons, the pain of losing my friends one by one until all that stood between me and that beast was a soldier no older than myself— then, and only then I felt it. I felt that power, that light. I wasn’t able to turn back time, funnily enough. If I knew that I could, maybe it would have turned out for the better. He’d have his life, I’d have mine, and all those I held dear would be returned home.

There’s a beast who haunted our kingdom, and for the longest time I never understood what that creature wanted. I spent a long time with it after that final battle, after my power had awoken bound together in a stasis that spanned a century. All the while I watched as my home crumbled and my people rebuilt. All that time I kept thinking to myself, the second I step foot on those hallowed grounds, breathing in the smell of sweet grass and summer wine, I’d do better. I’d rebuild with them, I’d change, I’d do as I was told, I’d keep sweet and do what was right for them.

For some time I did that, I settled down, built a school— and as reluctant as I was, even taught at it. I adored those children, and they adored me, but strange as it may seem I was deeply envious of their blissful innocence. Initially, I taught history to emphasize the importance of our losses, but if I’m honest, I only ever wanted them to grieve as I did— to take with them a piece of my own misery so I felt less alone. But children don’t like scary stories, and overtime they become less interested in their historical lessons. Their parents preferred that I spent time on more productive matters, farming, animal husbandry, you know, practical pastoral skills fit for rural life.

I was born nobility, so naturally I spent less and less time at the school, until I found myself locked up in my study, away from prying eyes. Despite having sealed the beast away with my own two hands, I felt something pulling at my soul, like there was something unfinished. And one night, one cold and long forgotten night, a memory from my childhood lurked at the edges of my mind. A story about an evil that slept under the floors of my home, deep under the old bricks, the old halls, in a crypt long since sealed off. And I couldn’t let it go. For months it lingered in my subconscious, like a broken shutter rasping day and night against the side of my house. Somedays I would forget it when the wind was still, but then it would come all over again, creaking, creaking, creaking.

I put together a survey team, I set up a base, and in my foolishness I stormed my former home and prison with a purpose. And through the basement, down the stairs, and the winding dusty crypt there stood a door. An old, old, door, made of iron and steel. It was shut tight, but I urged our team to break it down–I ordered them–even though they were scared, even though they were finally safe, after a century of misfortune. I ordered them to break down the only thing keeping that— that monster from resurfacing, and they followed through, because I was their ruler, their goddess, their princess returned. They loved me, they trusted me, and I betrayed that trust for a selfish little hobby.

And there, down deep in that crypt I heard him call to me, a voice sweetened with venom, urging me closer, ever so close. It was an angry voice, wrought with hunger and disgust, but I beckoned to it as if it were a siren call. Somewhere deep within my soul that shutter broke clean off the hinges, it lay broken against the foundation of my home, and I knew I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been. Yet I was satisfied, my curiosity quenched like a desperate thirst in the blistering heat. I know now I should have fixed that shutter, bolted it shut so it could never rasp again, yet I let it remind me over and over and over again, that something more lay dormant beneath the halls of my childhood home. But when I saw him, his mangled, aging corpse, suspended in time, with the hand of the founding king buried deep within his chest, I felt everything but regret. All my apprehension faded from my subconscious, long enough to allow myself to be seduced by that unyielding and violent melody. Then in a split second, all I knew slipped out from underneath me yet again, I slipped into what felt like an unwinding eternity, and then I awoke, not in the crypt or under the castle.”

Gan sat rigid, eyes fixed on her with avid interest. He sensed a faint familiarity to the tale, a fleeting remembrance from a long-ago dream. However, the feeling dissipated as quickly as it arose. Without feeling compelled to interject, he allowed her to continue with rapt attention. At that moment, Zelda unfolded her knees from her chest. From a necklace concealed under the collar of her tunic, she retrieved a small stone bead, no larger than the palm of her hand. Her secret stone, nestled among jade and copper beads, had lost its divine luster— the surface now dulled to a shallow sheen resembled a quartz more than anything else. Holding it loosely between her fingers, she let it sway gently. Gan observed intently, searching for any significance it might hold.

"At first, I believed it to be a nightmare, or maybe I had perished in the cave-in. Despite its appearance now, this bead once possessed a property that allowed its user to amplify the power latent within their souls. And my power... was time, and I had unintentionally transported myself back in history…precisely 40 years from now."

Gan leaned in for a closer look, but almost instinctively, she snatched the gem away, her eyes wide with an unfounded fear. Though he had no intention of taking it from her, Zelda's strong reaction prompted him to give her space. He reclined on his arm, giving her room.

"So, how did you get here?" he asked innocently. Zelda remained guarded, her eyes scanning Gan for any potential threat, any sign of trickery or deceit. But in the young man who remained composed and genuinely curious, she found none. She tried to ease her nerves delicately, coaxing them to settle, but the result lingered in uncertainty.

"I should— that's enough." Then, without hesitation, the tension that had built up inside her reached its peak, prompting her to rise and leave.

Gan hurried to catch up, but she moved swiftly. Instant anxiety gripped him, and with a quick reach, he caught hold of her cape, halting her abruptly. Zelda froze, unmistakably gripped by sudden fear. Trembling, she fiercely swung her hand to bat away Gan's gentle grip.

"Don't touch me!" Her shout pierced through him, not directed at him, but seemingly through him, as if he were the beast from her past.

Gan stood there, dumbfounded. Zelda did not dare move a muscle, like a fawn caught by hunting dogs. “I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized, retracting his hand in an instant. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you, I didn’t think.”

Zelda blinked, caught in a daze by his sudden apology, and took a step back.

“Please, don’t run away.” He urged, sincerity plain on his face. “I don’t want you to run away, I only wanted to talk. I won’t hurt you, you’ve been through a lot, thank you, Zelda. Thank you for telling me, we can stop now.”

Zelda steadied herself, drawing in a shaky breath, her gaze seeming somewhat distant. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

Uncertain if she was addressing him directly, Gan gestured in confusion. "What do you mean— You're shaking like a leaf? I clearly crossed a boundary." He explained, sensing Zelda’s unease. Lowering his gaze, he spoke calmly, trying to convey patience. "Listen, I don't fully understand what's going on, and if you're not comfortable talking about it, we don't have to. I don't want to push."

She nodded, her gaze fixed on her feet, her hands a picture of anxiety. Despite her unease, she didn't show any intention of fleeing. Instead awkwardness and fear warred within her, keeping her rooted to the spot. “Thank you.” A small voice fluttered from her lips, it was sad but rife with gratitude.

He nodded in turn, and without really thinking, offered her his hand. He had no idea how to comfort her, only that he wanted to, but Zelda wore thorns for armor, and any kindness he showed prior was usually met with sudden fear and hostility. However, this time the gesture was small and from a distance, and her thorns ceased to pierce his skin. To his surprise, delicate fingers found their place against his and held on tight, as if a century of grief could be unwound with a single hand held.

They stayed like that, under the heavy heat of the afternoon sun, hand in hand on the roof of his childhood villa. They spoke no words, shared no glances, only the pulse that emanated through Zelda’s fingertips percussed the space between them. Had it not been for the crashing of the waves from the nearby shore, he’d have heard his own heart percuss as well, in time with hers.

[firekitten830]

Some thoughts about Miguel, the comics, and what it could mean for Beyond the Spiderverse

This post has spoilers in it! It also contains mentions of suicide. And it's also VERY long. Consider yourself warned.

Comic vs Movie Comparison

Going to be starting this off with comparing movie Miguel and comic Miguel. And to clarify before we get into it, I don’t think deviation from the comics is a bad thing, and I love both versions. Also worth mentioning that at the time of writing this I've only read the original series from 1992, Dark Genesis, and a couple of the temporal crossover stories (which I'm considering non-canon for the sake of this discussion). I might make another post like this once I've finished all of them.

Starting off with story deviation there's... not a lot for me to really say here, since we don’t know much about movie Miguel’s backstory aside from the part where he accidentally caused a universe to collapse, so there’s not a lot to point out in terms of story deviation yet. However his personality and behavior is a little bit different. He’s more serious in the movie. Now Miguel has always been more serious than most other versions of Spiderman, but in the comics he’s still humorous. His humor just tends to be more sarcastic and cynical (think a bit like Deadpool) rather than the quips and wisecracks you usually get with Spiderman. He’s pessimistic and actually pretty mean, especially when not in his Spiderman alter ego. I'll admit I do miss his sarcasm in retrospect, but at the same time it wouldn't really suit the role the movie has set him up to play. Plus his characterization in the movie is still super good, and I like it a lot.

Miguel in the comics does tend to be a lot less bouncy and acrobatic than most other spidermen, and that definitely shows in the movie too. But the movie did something I personally love, and pushed that aspect further, and made him almost animalistic rather than just a Spiderman that fights a bit more close quarters. He’s intimidating, he’s brutal, every move has weight and power that you can feel through the animation. They kept the inertia of his movements in mind, something they do for all of the characters but is especially noticeable and fun with characters like Miguel who have a lot of force behind their movements (This is also why I love how The Prowler is animated so much). One of my highest praises for these movies is that every character has their own unique style, and Miguel’s fits him very well and stays true to the comics.

And the last point I'm going to talk about before jumping in to speculation is the powers. There's not a lot for me to say here either in regards to comparison, since we've not really gotten a chance to see how movie Miguel's powers work, but I still do want to address it because if it's the same as in the comics, then he's actually pretty unique! Makes sense, considering he didn't get them from the standard radioactive spider-bite (more on that later). I am sorry to say but he is (probably) not a vampire (I say probably because it's entirely possible he is in the movie. But assuming it's the same as the comics, he isn't actually a vampire, just looks like one, since judging by the fact that Blade is... around... vampires are real in his world). Do keep drawing him as a vampire tho its hot.

Anyway. He does have those fangs in the comics! He also has venom! As in the paralytic toxin spiders use to catch prey, not the character. Another thing that sets him apart is that he... doesn't seem to have a spider-sense? At all? He has super enhanced normal senses, but not that sort of extra sense that pretty much every other spiderman seems to have. I don't know if this is true in the movie but it would be sort of neat. He also isn't sticky! Instead he has those talons to hook onto surfaces, those are a part of him, not the suit. Unless they changed it in the movie which is the one and only change i think would be super lame. But since they gave him the fangs I doubt it. There is one noteworthy difference between his powers in the comic and the movie, and it's that in the movie his webs seem to be technology based, maybe some form of energy or hard light technology, while in the comics he has spinnerets in his arms. It could also be a mix of both, or that could just be how his natural webs look. Either way I'm curious why that change was made, even if it was as simple as just to fit the futuristic aesthetic.

Miguel's Backstory

Onto the next section! I'm going to do my best to give a brief recap of Miguel's backstory, for anyone who doesn't know it. For the sake of simplicity I'm going to assume that his backstory in the movie is more or less the same as in the original comics, up to the part where he goes to another universe.

In the year 2099, most major cities are controlled by the interests of oppressive mega-corporations. Nueva York, controlled by Alchemax and their corporate police, is literally divided between the Uptown and the Downtown, the uptown being the shining, sparkling futuristic city where all of the rich and important people live, while the downtown is the crumbling remains of New York that have been built over, where all of those deemed worthless by Alchemax are confined to.

Miguel O'Hara is the head of the genetics project in Alchemax's R&D branch, leading their efforts regarding gene splicing and genetic manipulation. Miguel is a snarky, standoffish man, who’s just generally a jerk to pretty much everyone. He has a soft spot for Dana, his fiance, Lyla, his apartment's AI companion, and Gabriel, his younger brother, and... that's about it. Despite his rather high position in the company, Miguel has a strong distaste for Alchemax and its unethical scientific practices, and is determined to delay human genetics testing until he's sure it's 100% safe. After his reservations are ignored by the higher ups, and hasty human testing leads to the death of a man under Miguel's unwilling hand, he decides to quit working for the company. However, he's a valuable asset. Tyler Stone, the head of Alchemax, laces a drink for Miguel with Rapture, a hallucinogenic drug that alters genetic structure to cause almost guaranteed addiction and withdrawal so severe it can be deadly. Coincidentally, Rapture is only legally produced and distributed by Alchemax.

Rather than let himself be manipulated, Miguel decided to use his own genetic modification equipment to attempt to reverse the alterations made by Rapture. During the procedure, Miguel's supervisor, resentful of Miguel's fast rise through the ranks and his constant disrespect for his superiors, sabotaged the process in an attempt to kill him. Instead he ended up activating the gene splicing program, and spliced Miguel and a spider together. Why was a spider present at all, you may ask? The final result of this genetic manipulation project was super-soldiers, and Miguel had decided to take inspiration from a certain hero back in the Heroic Age. Spider based enhancements seemed to work pretty well back then, why not give it another go?

After emerging from the process very much not dead, but no longer human, Miguel has to navigate new powers, and the new dangers that come with the mantle he's accidentally taken. It's around this point when Miguel starts to have thoughts of taking his own life, and pretty consistently continues to throughout the story.

I'm not giving a full recap, this story is already long and I don't remember specifics for most things. Miguel faces a myriad of villains, future versions of classic spiderman villains and new foes as well. He also takes over Alchemax after usurping Tyler Stone, which I'll touch on again later. But throughout all of it a consistent theme for him is loss. Over the course of the original comics, he loses almost everyone he has any kind of connection with, in one way or another.

He has a falling out with his fiance, Dana, and before he can try to reconnect, she gets caught in the crossfire during a fight with Venom and dies in his arms. He finally starts to repair his broken relationship with his mother, only for her to be shot during a raid on Alchemax after she started working as a secretary. Gabriel eventually becomes so overcome with resentment for Miguel that he takes up the mantle of Green Goblin, and attempts to ruin his life and also kill him. Xina, an old flame he was rekindling his relationship with, left him again without so much as a goodbye. The only one he has left to turn to for any sort of familiarity or comfort is Lyla, and even she tried to kill him once. He cuts himself off from everyone who tries to make a connection with him again, because he's convinced that being close to him leads to people hating him, dying, or both. Assuming Miguel's backstory is the same up to this point, he's already at the lowest he's ever been. And probably stays there until he and Lyla develop the technology to travel between universes. Here's where the speculation kicks in.

Miguel finds another universe like his own. Another universe with another Miguel O'hara, except this one never became Spider-man. And this one never lost all of the same people that the other did. He and Dana got married, they have a daughter. They're happy. Not only does he have proof that it isn't just being close to him that gets people hurt, he has an opportunity. Because this other Miguel is dead, and this other Miguel isn't Spider-man. He could take his place and be free of his own unhappiness, his own burdens, and save the inhabitants of this parallel world the pain of losing him. And for a brief time he's happy, he doesn't have to be Spider-man, he has a family and a life that isn't full of danger and loss. And then he loses it all again, and is left once again with nothing but the feeling that it is his fault.

Further speculation, I think that's probably why he's so caught up with "canon"; it means that the losses he faced were inevitable. It makes him feel just a little bit better, a little less guilty. Yes, he's trying to protect other universes from possibly meeting the same fate as the one he caused to collapse, but he's also trying to make himself feel better in the process, even if he doesn't realize it.

Theories

This bit is going to be mostly unstructured, since I don't have any huge theories, just certain smaller points or plot elements I think are going to happen.

Miguel’s ties to Alchemax are going to come up, and they’re going to be important.

Alchemax is a company that originated in the 2099 comics. There has to be a reason they chose it for the company in Into the Spiderverse, because there’s dozens of other evil companies they could’ve chosen. But they chose Alchemax, the company Miguel has ties to, and then they set him up as an antagonist. It's going to be brought up, and it's going to be important.

Miguel and Miles will relate to each other

I say this because they're both very much outliers. They aren't their world's original Spider-man, they both have different powers and backstories than the other Spider-men. I feel like this is going to be called out, both as a way to call out Miguel's hypocrisy, and as a way for Miles to relate to him and find common ground.

Miguel was injecting himself with a gene stabilizer, or with something Rapture related

I know I'm not the first person to suggest the first part of this point. It makes sense--we know that the mutations from the spider DNA didn't all happen immediately. I also can't imagine that having your genome that dramatically altered is very good for you. I haven't seen anyone suggest the second part, but I think that's probably because it's not seeming very likely at this point. I don't want to rule out the possibility, though.

Peter B is going to be important to resolving the storyline with Miguel/Have a heart to heart with him

During the movie I got the sense that Peter B is trying to befriend Miguel, or at least to get him to open up a bit more. I think this is because he sees himself in Miguel. Yes, they're very different, but they're similar in ways that matter. Peter B looks at Miguel and he sees someone who's given up; on his principles, on his role, on his own life. Peter B has never been openly suicidal like Miguel, but before he met Miles he was still very much in the same spot. He had still given up on his ideals, on being Spider-man, and he made the choice to stay and destroy the collider not for a noble reason, but because he didn't care if he died. I think that Peter has recognized that same mentality in Miguel, and is trying to reach out to pull him back from that edge, like Miles did for him. I think the two of them have a lot of potential for some heartfelt interaction, and I hope I'm picking up on something that's actually there and intentional.

So that's pretty much it! This post is a lot more ramble-y and unstructured than I wanted it to be, but it was really just a way for me to get my thoughts out.

[pretentious-art-love]

Book Reviews #30 - The Book of Merlyn by T.H. White

The Book of Merlyn is the weird, final, unfinished conclusion of the Arthur saga by White. He never published it on his life, and I say it is unfinished because it repeats the chapters of the Ant and the Geese from the Sword in the Stone. Like, really, these chapters are 95% identical, aside from references that go from "the Wart" to "the King," so it is a rather odd read. Spoilers ahead.

The edition I have says these were written for The Book of Merlyn but then added to The Sword in the Stone instead. Truly, they fit there a lot more, since transforming Arthur for his education when he is still a kid, learning, makes much more sense than one night before he is about to die. If you were to remove these episodes from this book you would be left only with a monologue from Merlyn and the animals. I do like that, though, it is a bit like a DLC. But there is an additional chapter in the Geese episode, about Arthur's wish to escape his duties as a king and live as a Goose, that is too precious to skip. You could probably keep this chapter and remove the rest to avoid the deja vu, but you would need to make some editing, add some parts, so what gives? You can just read it as it is, and experience some of that repetition of time Merlyn lives in, albeit not in the most fulfilling or creative way. The episode of the Geese also still remains White's absolute masterpiece. A short but vivid telling of freedom in a world without frontiers.

What about the rest of the book, though? Well, it is in all honesty a bunch of nonsense. A bunch of animals discussing about war and mankind from their table, without ever trying to live it themselves, Arthur, funnily enough, realizes this once, saying that the animals are discussing as if nothing what is painful reality for him. He also says once that everything Merlyn taught him were lies. The sentence "an elephant flying would be immoral since he has no wings" is said once. Is this a reference to Dumbo? Is White implying that this council or animals and Merlyn is dumb? Is he making fun of Dumbo? He spends way too much time adding monologuing to them to the point everything sounds like white noise, nonsense, it sounds like that kind of draft where you continue writing and writing what comes to your mind so you can organise the thoughts later. This was unpublished for a reason, it is not finished either on structure or in idea. However, this book has the best quote in the entire saga: "Why shouldn't God have come to the world as an earth worm?"

Seriously, I say it without sarcasm, it is pure genius, White was cooking something, the mantle of Merlyn fits him more than Arthur or Lancelot, and Arthur works more as a passive learner, than a full fledged king.

This book also fixes the biggest problem I had with the last one, and that is Arthur going to be killed by his son with piece of mind. He instead decides to make a truce with him and give him half of England. Yes, thank you, if it's only for this bit, this book is completely worth it. Merlyn also says that even he fails, his failure will teach future people to do better, nothing more true could have been said of his story, or the book on its own.

Arthur is still killed on battle because of a confusion caused by a snake? It's a bit weird, because it feels that, while he had learned the true meaning of being, he couldn't avoid the death Merlyn and the animals had planned for him. I mean we aren't told that it was Merlyn and the animal council who caused it but hey, if animals in this world are sentient, and the misunderstanding was caused by a snake, you can't blame if my imagination runs wild, right? Remember how Merlyn's father is a demon? The whole idea that he and the animals he met were actually the villains this whole story came to me, and I found it hysterical. Imagine a king being transformed by magic animals so he can learn about war as they try to understand mankind is ripe for episodic potential. Into the idea pile it goes, I guess.

As for the entire saga, I guess I already said most of my shortcomings in what I said of the previous books, Arthur was naive and nice, that's all what I can say about him. Well, I like him a lot more now than when I finished the third book, since he tried his best with his son here, instead of running towards his death while trying to romanticise his failure. White was so close to understand it all in the end.

I hope this conclusion I have come to makes us both happy, and I hope that you can forgive me for my angry ramblings. Thank you for the recommendation again, Key. My friend.

6/10

[shaunsummers]

Two Dykes Went Up to Georgia

"Alright. Well, have fun then." Lilith could hear the sound of Shaun's voice traveling through the house and she supposed that the call was reaching its end, anyways. Perfect timing. Saying her goodbyes to Tek, she lightly tosses her phone to the sheets. Naturally, she shook her hands to ward off the stress; but it was best to set it aside and move on with her day regardless of what her sister could possibly get into.

Lilith had been looking forward to their date since she'd heard the mention. Charmed by the gesture, the important process of outfit selection even started within the moments notice. Not that she'd ever admit to it. Green, blue, and white painted along the floral design of her sundress. While silver dangled from her ears. She trailed over to the mirror, examining her hair to make sure not a single lock had been misplaced. Braided buns could be so tedious to maintain when aiming for perfection.

True, Robin had never seen Quinn all beaten and battered. Which was probably an act of mercy. She didn't exactly have the stature for it. Not with looking like she had a calcium deficiency. "I mean, yeah, but I don't exactly like being disrespected." She sighs, lowering down to sit on the step. "Like, after the fact, I mean. Hey, can you check my back? It feels fucked up."

"Oh, hey, Shaun. You look cute. Did you swing by to see Lilith? She's being a real fucking bitch, by the way." Robin doesn't give much prelude, she was far too tired but didn't exactly give a shit either way, before pulling her shirt over her shoulders so Quinn could assess the damage. She'd managed not to flash anyone but only being in a tee and underwear, the sudden exposure to the cool air left her uncomfortable; and a touch more grumpy than she was seconds before. "And, yeah, you could say that. I see why Siren's your ex. My pussy's gonna have to file for disability thanks to her."

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

Shaun's head cricks slightly from the boldness of Robin's commentary. Sometimes she just...said shit. In a way so abrupt that she never knew how seriously it was meant. "Thanks...don't talk about Lilith like that." Shaun firmly counters, though it was without anger. She was well aware that she and Robin made little passes at each other frequently—probably just to annoy—but whether it was said with teeth or not, she couldn't passively accept the disrespect. Even if Lilith wasn't in the room to hear it.

But realizing Siren was the one that mangled her like that—she was going to ignore the disability comment altogether—results in a subtle pop of her brows. "Another satisfied customer?" She equivocates with sarcasm. Considering how uncomfortably obvious everyone dodged mentioning anything concerning Siren, it was a little refreshing to hear that tumble out. Not that she knew what exactly happened, but experience made filling in the blanks fairly simple.

Well, that was a petty comment, but uh....not totally bullshit. It wasn't a line of conversation Quinn cared to get in the middle of, either. "Fuckin' shit." She gasps quietly upon the reveal of the jagged, angry lines carved down Robin's back, some flecked with the remnants of recently-dried blood. Siren made her fucking bleed? "God damn, Robin. You guys on some Saw shit? It looks like you got out about two seconds before eatin' it. Like...you feelin' okay?"

[sheegons]

how do you feel about dami’s robin 2021 run?

i have a lot of thoughts let's all sit down. this is gonna be a random dump instead of anything really organised I'm just gonna say shit off the top of my head:

It's not my favourite damian run, that's definitely still robin: son of batman in every way shape and form but oh my god is it freeing having a damian story that's pushing him away from his rebirth characterization.

it does still have its issues i still don't like the al ghuls being terrorists at all

i don't like slade as a character let alone as a SYMPATHETIC ANTIHERO and a lot of this story centers around him but i guess someone else might enjoy that but not really me, but i guess that's because it had to finish of the...teen titans story line...that everyone loved and cared for. (SARCASM)

i did not care much for the characters in the Lazarus tournament on the first read which made my enjoyment a bit perturbed. it took a second read for me to slowly gaf abt them

also batman vs robin and the lazarus rain events were nearly objectively snoozefests for Damian

not fully related but i also dislike how his skin tone gets lighter at a random point in the story for some reason??? the artist also drew him darker in their own personal art of Damian...which...is definitely...giving me odd feeling about DCs editorial.

but overall I'm glad that it's more of a pre rebirth damian and not anything like his dcau variant.

I'm excited for what the writer has in a story that is more focused on Damian and not a large ensemble of characters since i feel they had to tone him down to give the other characters more of a spotlight.

i also like that they made him a shoujo fan.

the story had entertaining segments even if i didn't like the characters aside from Damian at first, it still kept me entertained.

OH and i like talia coming back from before her 2004 "Death and the maidens" character assassination arc slightly and being a LITTLE more true to heart to her original.

she is a good mother in the way Bruce is a good father and i like that they had her be genuinely nice to Damian, that's what she ALWAYS should've been (REBIRTH SUCKED. SHE SHOULD'VE BEEN NICE AFTER RSOB.)

i also liked the ra's design. that shit ROCKED and I'm sad they got rid of it later.

also giving Damian more friends was nice, maybe one day it'll make Damian fans escape the "he has no friends except jon and his pets" notion. hopefully.

Happy that Goliath came back and i also heard that maya was planned to be there in the story before it was split into multiple comics so HOPEFULLY she comes back in batman and robin (maybe even with suren if I'm hopeful)

[vyfee]

From Eden - Hozier .

(analysis)

I did read what Hozier and genius had to say about the track so that also helped me gain a little more perspective.

It depicts the story of the original sin . The narrator is the devil in the form of the serpent .

He sings about idolising someone and wanting to pursue them despite knowing that the relationship will be extremely flawed and despite being aware that the methods he might use to pursue this relationship might not be ethical .

Babe

There's something tragic about you

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

Babe

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

He speaks of her as if she's an otherworldly being . Someone who's personality is brimming with complexity brought about generally by sin but still somehow is pure .

By using the juxtapositions together , he might be creating a link between them as well. Maybe she's magical and wholesome BECAUSE there is something tragic and lonesome about her. He views even her flaws , or at least what people might view as flaws , with affection. Perhaps with more affection than her goodness .

In this, the more straightforward thought would be that he is singing about Eve , who was tempted by the serpent. This is a perfectly good interpretation of the situation, Eve was a pure being but she could also be tempted , which was considered a sin .

But he could also be talking about Lilith. In that sense the juxtapositions would have more links .

Lilith was associated with witchcraft and magic . Being cast aside all because she wanted to be considered equal to Adam , her story is quite the tragedy .

She stood alone against Adam and God himself and was considered evil in popular tropes where she is depicted as a demon who harms children .

In either case,

In spite of recognising that she isn't someone he understands or deserves , he wants to tempt her to get closer to him

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony

No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

Maybe he's simply accentuating the fact that she's ethereal. He doesn't get to see her potray these human emotions of tiredness, sarcasm or hypocrisy.

He imagines her as a person who would never tell him that she doesn't care and who he imagines would be by his side and understand him.

But he also notes that he isn't someone precious to her and she has "no time for him ."

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

He sees who he was years ago in her , Popularly , Satan was Lucifer, a good and pure angel of light , and also god's favourite. Just like Eve.

He personifies idealism , chivalry and innocence . Saying that the world she lives in will inevitably crumble .

Idealism will forever remain in the prison of our mind or in the literary sense , but will never be practiced.

Chivalry , aka honest, moral and good conduct will fall over itself and destroy itself . Chivalry is also men's courteous behaviour towards women , this will deteriorate before her eyes. This could be true for both, Lilith and Eve , Lilith, who would lose faith in men after her equal rights being rejected and Eve, who made one mistake which was tempted but is used as an excuse for misogyny even today. After gaining awareness about the world , perhaps she would realise that she was considered inferior to Adam .

In either case , their innocence would hence shatter.

Maybe in a twisted sense , he wants to see these tragedies happen so that she can be more like him , perhaps then she would notice a being like him or maybe he would find peace in knowing that he's not alone .

Maybe he's simply jealous/unappreciative of her blissful ignorance and wants to open her eyes .

In such a world maybe he believes she would find solace in being with him.

Babe, there's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

Babe

There's something broken about this

But I might be hoping about this

Oh what a sin

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

He admits that nothing about the nature of their potential relationship or his adoration for her is pure (tainted by lust and greed?) . In fact , he enjoys the degeneracy of their relationship or the love he has for her

He is willing to manipulate her and portray his obsession as well intended love

While keeping his underhanded ways out of her sight , like wanting to kill Adam . He might even guise his death as a suicide instead of murder so he doesn't get caught , which is why maybe he wants to hang him , specifically.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Last line , He would leave Eden just to be closer to her , because her presence gives him more bliss than heaven ever could . Moreover he enjoys a grey world rather than the purity of Eden

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to -hide- outside your door

He says he'd hide outside her door instead of sitting there this time , here he reveals his sinful intentions of being a presence , Even if unwanted, in her life . He is desperate for her love and would even infringe upon her life just to be closer to her , stalker-ish behaviour.

One of my takes is also that -

The narrator could be Lilith herself instead of Satan . She could be referring to Eve and watching her tragic fate , similar to her own , as a woman who was made to be subservient to men. One who was forced to accept this system while the other who was kept unaware of it .

Some versions of the original sin do claim that the serpent was Lilith.

However the text itself does not confirm whether it was Lilith or Lucifer . It doesn't link either to the serpent

(P.s. if you guys haven't already, check out the 2019 Afas live performance. It's absolutely heavenly)

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

Thoughts from my first live viewing of Phantom of the Opera

March 31st, 2023

Firstly I want to say that the actors in the lead roles are not my favourites. I knew that going into it but I booked my tickets before I learned the alternates. Had I known I would have booked a different day but that's past and I can't do anything about it. What I can do is be grateful for the experience, which was truly thrilling

I have mixed feelings on both of the lead performances. Ben Crawford has an amazing voice but he goes nasal SO heavily its honestly distracting. Overall I found his performance lacking depth and everyone's physical acting from the leads to the managers could have been so much more dynamic. Emily Kouatchou's style of singing doesn't quite fit right for Christine in my mind, if I'm honest. There's just something very modern and conventional about it that takes me out of the story, I regret to say.

Ben Crawford's Music of the Night I found slightly lacking. He's either not doing enough, or he's doing too much. But he did run his hands up his thighs during "feel it secretly possess you" in a way that made me actually squeak, so bravo Monsieur on that. He also does like to sing softly in her ear and that's never a bad thing.

The unmasking..unmasking. he just didn't feel angry enough to me

Paul A. Schaeffer is an amazing Raoul but I would have preferred to see him as the Phantom.

Something I did not know previously is that the Phantom's voice over during notes circulates around the auditorium and I was utterly thrilled when "It's true, her voice is good, she knows" seeped out of the speakers directly over my seat and trickled down my spine.

I'm pleased to confirm that I did clap like a giddy school girl during the murder.

Erik's fingers creeping up over the Angel wings after Raoul and Christine leave the rooftop. Fucking love it. Had an amazing view of that whole sequence. Absolutely chuffed.

I love our silly little madman in his silly little Apollo swing, singing his silly little angst out, and crashing his silly little chandelier

Though he employed his close whispering for "You've decided..." Point of No Return showed some of Ben's weakest points, especially his lack of dynamic presence. He sits inert on the bench, only slightly flexing his fingers, and wringing his hands like a shy schoolboy. Things did pick up though and his hands got dangerously high on his inner thigh (ho baby).

As for Christine's side, I don't really care for it when Aminta is played too brazenly. I hate when she puts her foot up on the bench. Kneeling behind him and pressing against his back is so much sexier and more subtle. She's a peasant girl, but she's not a tavern wench. (I first saw this choreography in the Ian Jon Bourg/Olivia Safe performance I watched the other day and it was a blight on an otherwise amazing performance)

BUT THEN! then--this GOT ME GOOD--rather than Christine fleeing from him after feeling his mask, HE ran from HER (i assume because of his raging boner?), and SHE had to pull HIM BACK for "the bridge is crossed"!!!! Like "Oh no no, sir--you get back here." GO CHRISTINE! GET HIM!

The final lair was pretty great i won't lie. I love Emily's conviction. She never approached him with fear, and I really felt how much she really cared for him, and was doing her damndest to save him from his own desperate actions. Beautiful. Even though the kiss was pretty lacklustre, the reluctance with which she left him was top notch. I even think Emily outplayed Ben here. His sarcasm was GREAT I loved it, but his finale didn't make my insides clench quite enough.

Mixed feelings aside, I'm so glad I saw it in person. There's just so so much that doesn't come through on camera, and I have such a better sense of the whole thing having experienced it.

I also got some compliments on my outfit

Yes I shamelessly went in light-cosplay.

[musicallisto]

15 questions & 15 mutuals

hello! i was once again tagged by @permanentreverie, my true tumblr bestie <3 thanks for tagging me!

are you named after anyone? i’m not!

when was the last time you cried? i... can’t remember lol. I actually genuinely tried to think about it and remember and my mind just drew a blank. as you may infer from this,,, I don’t cry often.

do you have kids? girl im a 20-year-old tumblrina

do you use sarcasm a lot? a little bit, but honestly not that much. It’s not my prefered form of humor but I do think it’s very funny when delivered well

what’s the first thing you notice about people? hair first and then clothes.

what’s your eye color? #3E575C. yes i zoomed in on a selfie and color picked. you’re either committed to the bit or you aren’t.

scary movies or happy endings? don’t see why the two can’t be compatible. actually i think they should be intrinsically linked (see: the haunting of hill house)

any special talents? it’s certainly not special but i’m a BEAST at blind guessing songs games. only time anyone will ever fight to have me on their team

where were you born? france (derogatory)

what are your hobbies? reading, writing, playing videogames, watching sports, playing the piano, daydreaming my youth away

have you any pets? I kinda have a cat who’s kind of a rescue but also? not? his name is Pluto and he’s so stupid I love him so much. by the way cat side of tumblr he lost a patch of hair right in the middle of his chest, like to the point that he has this huge bald spot. he’s some sort of longhair so every year he loses his winter coat around springtime but it’s never been quite so extreme? but the rest of his fur looks as healthy as ever? I read that it could be an allergy or stress but also I have no idea what’s going on, if anyone’s had that experience with their cats I’d love to hear it

what sports do you play/have you played? aside from my infamous two-year ballet experience, I’ve tried I think every sport ever in P.E class over the years. my favorites were definitely rugby, baseball, archery, and swimming

how tall are you? a bone of strong contention but general consensus is 162cm (5′3.78″ according to google)

favorite subject in school? I liked everything tbh! but my favorites were literature and physics

dream job? whatever antoine de saint-exupéry had going on

tagging @retvenkos @amortensie @starkeyslut @heliads @its-me-satine @starlit-epiphany and anyone who wants to do it!

[john-bitchester]

06×07, family matters, lets fucking go, I am so ready for this

Uhm. Cass buddy, you good?

OH MY GOD INTERNET WHY DOST THOU HATE SPN

I just wacthed a 2h movie (the chikago 7 trials, I reccomend) no issue

I put on ONE teeny tiny spn ep. And its like 'actually nah'

It cant be the amazing special effects needing extra loading time istg

Okay you know what is scary

How well Sam‽ can lie to us

Like, I didn't trust him for a second, except for the 'he wanted to kill me?' Moment

But with the vampire and Samuel confrinting him 'did you let it happen?'

Thats not ackels(?) Playing sam‽ lying, that’s ackles playing Sam, being like 'wtf bro'

Meaning that to us (and the characters) Sam‽ is a friggin amazing liar

OH MY GOD CASS IS INQUIRING ABOUT THE EMOTIONS THING

I am so not ready for thos

(My dearest friend) Bunbun it should be x-mas so you can be here to hold my hand

SAM‽ YOU ARE EVADING THE QUESTION

Cass don't rape the guy

Or hit him with a belt like a bad boy

Chew toy go HWARMPH

Okay

Okay

Okay

Remeber the little boy?

The good actor???

Cas says

Bite on this, go somewhere soothing (pain indicators)

Fuck fuck fuck

Cass is checking his soul

Soul checking hurts

Holy fuck homt fuck

Look at cass s frown

What if Sam did make a deal after all

I mean, we established him a great liar

We know that dean is soulless after returning from hell (I misunderstood this, the horse guy just meant he was too depressed to want anything)

What if Sam also left his soul in hell, but it got ripped out wrong or smt

EVIL SWAMP

WENCH*

I couldnt find the word hahaha

Im going cooko crayceay

DID YOU FIND ANYTHING??

NO

WHAY IF THAT IS NOT AS IN 'NO I DIDNT FIND ANYTHIGNWROGN, BUT AS IN 'NO I DIDNT FIND ANYTHIG AT ALL

WHAT IF MY THEORY IS RIGHT

Both the winchesters made a deal, sold their soul, got em ripped out in hell. Dean got put back by an angel, profsessional in 'putting humans back atom by atom'

SO WHAT IF SAM GOT PUT BACK WRONG BY A FOOL WHO DIDNT DO IT EIGHT AND THUS FUCKED UP HIS FUCKING SOUL SHAPED HOLE

HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK

SAM IS FUCKING SOLULLESS

HOLY FUCKING SHITTING XOW

Holy fuck

What the fuck

Okay

What messed him up

Aaah I fuckingnlove puzzles

So sam got put back wrong

HOY FUCK I AM FREQKING OUT

Everytime cass says a new sentence, a new thing is discovered

And then I freak out about it and send you abt 5 texts

And then I play the next sentence

AND AMOTHER THING IS DICOVERED

Im freakin out

DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING QUICKLY I CALLED IT WITH THE CAGE THEORY

I know were only at ep 7

BUT I GOT THAT SO QUIKC

I am still standing by my theory that Lucy somehow popped Sam‽ back

[This is a vessel, my true form is the size of your chrysler building]

Suddenly im thinking back to my teachers speech in the assembly hall about how all them rich people build tall buildings to have a little dick size comparison fight

[Of course, your problems always come first.]

WAS THAT BABY'S FIRST SARCASM

DUDE STOP FUCKING LYING(Sam‽)

'He's our grandfather'

As if that should mean shite to you considering who your dad is

YOU PICKED FUCKING SAMUEL OVER DEAN

Man I am so over Sam‽s bullshit

Please tell me this is Sam being a double spy

YES THABK YOU

Purgatory?

The freaks get cleansed, and then send to heavem or hell?

Oh my god it is purgatory!

Im sorry. My guy can literally rip thick chains apart, but you are trying to tell me that some leather binds he had to slowly scratch open????

Its nice to see Christopher(?) Lose some faith in Samuel

Damn what is this, jurassic park??

The rate people dying

Christian is a demon????

He got possesed just right now this moment???

Man this show

DADDDYYYYY

Crowleys voice is sooo fucking tasty

The growl thing hes got going on

Like the bit where he goes 'now im the king and ive got mojo'

Thats a snack

I loooove Sam just cocking his gun

(You put a bullet in your grandfather or you step aside)

Especially bc this feels very regular sam

It do annoy me that they portray Sam‽ as angy (let it go: Dean) After we spend the whole ep. Establishing he dont have emotions