#so at some crucial moment he’s like Boom Got Ya!

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

I cannot have been the only kid CONVINCED that Sokka was going to become a water bender after Yue became the moon, right?

[with-love-anu]

Desiderata: The Lines of Friendship

PART: 1

PAIRING: Sirius Black x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

SUMMARY: You had been best friends with James, Remus, Sirius and Peter. Read your journey of love, friendship and jealousy through your wonderful years at Hogwarts. Enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

You’d known the Marauders for as long as you could imagine. They were your best friends and were inseparable and you could die for them as they would for you. You had a special relationship with each of them.

You were Remus’s reading buddy. You two could spend hours analyzing your favorite books and T.V. shows. The two of you could be seen in the library either doing your respective homework’s or gathering new information on various subjects of the wizarding world.

You came to know of Remus’s secret 3 months into the 1st year. You couldn’t sleep one night and were off wandering the castle corridors when you saw Madam Promfey leading him towards the whomping willow. You furrowed your eyebrows following them. The matron left him in the tree and went into the castle. You kept yourself hidden and waited. Your head was booming with questions. Remus had told you that he was going to see his sick mother. What was he doing in the most threatening tree of Hogwarts? Was he lying to you? All your thoughts were interrupted by a long howl that reverberated throughout the grounds. Then it all clicked. Everything seemed to fall into place. The scars. The absences. You cried each time you heard another howl or shriek. You knew about lycanthropy. Your mother was a predominant healer and had told you about the painful transformations, losing of mind during the best hours of a full moon night. So you waited. You waited for your best friend thinking why hadn’t he told you, why he chose to suffer alone, sobbing quietly into the night.

At dawn, the matron came out of the castle and you saw her taking Remus's limp bloodied form back into the school. You sneaked into the hospital wing and watched her cleaning Remus's wounds. When she left, you made your way to his bed. You let out a sob seeing his pale exhausted form. You let your hand run through his hair and pushed them away from his face. You pulled a chair and sat near his bed deciding to stay until he got up. You did not know when you fell asleep.

“Y/n! Y/n! Is that you?” Remus's hesitant voice woke you. You sat up slowly remembering last night events. “Y/n, why are you here?”

You studied your friend intently. “Rem, why didn’t you tell me you were diagnosed with lycanthropy?” his mouth fell open. You continued, “Why did you suffer alone? Am I that bad a friend that you wouldn’t tell me such a crucial part of your life?”

“I understand if you do not want to be friends me anymore. I am a monster, I know. A selfish part of me just wanted to make friends here at Hogwarts and the teachers agree-“

“What do you mean you do not want to be friends anymore?”  You asked incredulously. “And what are you on about being a monster?”

“Wait; you still want us to be friends? Are you not scared of me?” Remus asked disbelief prevalent on his eyes.

“Seriously! Are you mad or what? You said sorry to a chair! A freaking chair! After stubbing your own foot! Forgive me for not screaming and running into the shadows at the sight of you” You replied frowning. You could see a hint of smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Tears ran down his cheek and and he uttered a few incoherent words every now and then.

After that your friendship with Remus changed somewhat. He told you about his every insecurity due to his condition and you always made him realize how more human he was than any other person you ever knew.

You and James had a sort of sibling type relationship. You two goofed around cracking jokes, making the other laugh. You knew his love for quidditch and often bought him trinkets of his favorite team. He loved every single one of them and gave his thanks by hugging you until you were out of your breath. You were there for each of his practices often bringing him energy drinks from the kitchen and accompanied him listening him ramble about his workout strategies and how he wanted to be one of the best quidditch players. He knew you like the back of his hand and cheered you up whenever you got a bad grade. He actually stayed until you could perfect the spell you couldn’t get. You frequently thought how he wasn’t at all a cocky, proud Gryffindor everyone thought he was but was a sweet caring friend who would always be there for you no matter what. You’d also seen him cry. The thing about James was that he was a happy boy. No one ever saw him sad or his ever bright smiles fade.

So when one morning during breakfast you saw his face transform into a grim expression you knew something was wrong. He did not smile, laugh or make any kinds of jokes during the whole day. In the evening he said he wasn’t hungry and left the great hall as soon as he came in. The others all busy complaining about the latest assignment did not notice him leave. You followed him to the Gryffindor quarters and into the boy’s chambers. You stood outside their dorm thinking what to say when you heard him sobbing. You knocked and asked him to let you in. He slowly opened the door and you could see his pain stricken face. You immediately hugged his and let him cry on your shoulder. He slowly told you about how his father was attacked during his duty and was at St.Mungos.

“I got a letter from my mother this morning. Merlin! I want to see him so badly but she told me that I wasn’t ALLOWED! That it was important that I stay in school and she would do her best to keep me updated.” James said sniffing.  You placed a hand on his shoulder both of you sitting down on the bed. You kept quiet and waited for him to continue.

“Y/n, what if my father is heavily injured? What if he di-“you cut him off by placing your hand on his mouth.

“Your father is one of the bravest men I ever knew. I KNOW he will be alright. He has been in situations like these before. He would fight. He would fight for you, I know it. They have bought them to my mother, right?” James nodded. “My mother would do everything before she lets any harm affect him. I promise.” You said earnestly. “Anyways, I am sure that if it was anything serious Dumbledore and your mother would have allowed you to at least visit him.” You added. You knew it was a cheap shot but you knew it would help him and you could already see some worry lift off his features. Next morning when his father’s letter came in telling him everything was alright and it was just a small mishap, he smiled again and you promised yourself to do everything to never let it fade.

You weren’t as close to Peter but you were always there to help him whenever he needed. You could see him sometimes struggling with small things ashamed to ask others, so you often sat down with him assisting him telling him it was okay to ask for help and there were many others like him with the similar situation. You stood up for him when people teased him way too much.

Your friendship with Sirius went deep. Even though you had instantly become friends with him, it took him a long time to actually open up to you. You had often seen his expression dull at the sight of letters from home. He joked about it and laughed it off but it could never convince you that he somehow had stopped loving his family. Your heart clenched thinking of the tortures his parents subjected to him at home. One morning during your first years, Sirius got a particularly nasty letter telling him not to come home for Christmas. He kept laughing but you couldn’t help but feel distressed. He had shrugged it off saying, “Who wants to back to that to that pathetic place anyway?” It had sounded nothing but depressing to you. You didn’t say anything, but after dinner you held his hand and sneaked off to the astronomy tower. The two of you laughed at Filch and Mrs. Norris antics and fooled around. You grazed at the stars bathing in each other’s company. You slowly said, “So, you are staying at Hogwarts during the winter break?” You could immediately feel him tense up. He hummed in response. You scooted closer to him and draped an arm around his shoulder.

“Good, cause I was worried about staying all alone here.” You said. He raised an eyebrow looking at you. “Well,” you explained. “I am a not a Christian. I follow Hinduism. And anyways my mother is always busy being a healer and my sister; well you know she’s back in India. Plus, now I have one of family members staying at Hogwarts.” He looked at you, his silver grey eyes going through a whirl of emotions.

“Family?” he said, his voice suddenly dry.

“Ya… family.” You said simply. “You do consider me your best friend right?” He nodded still unsure.

“But you’re always on about how much you miss your mother and couldn’t wait to go back.” He argued.

“Well, I changed my mind.”

Sirius looked away. “You shouldn’t stay back because of me. I don’t want your pity.” He said coldly.

“I and you both know this much that I don’t just do things because of pity. I do love you and I do love spending time with you. And yes, you are like a family to me, James, Rem and Pete. And I would love nothing more than beginning the New Year with you. So if you think for one moment that I am faking this, my love for you, then remember that you are hurting me more than you could by humiliating me in front of the entire school.” You replied dejectedly. Sirius looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time. There was so much vulnerability in his eyes that it made your heart clench.

“I just… I never thought that I meant that much to you, that much to anyone in fact” he croaked, tears welling up in his eyes. You held him and he embraced you so tightly that it actually hurt but you didn’t care. He broke down completely. He cried violently, like he was never allowed to before. He told you how he missed them, how he wanted them to love him, that there was still a part in him that wished to please them. You stayed there listening to him, holding this boy you had come to love so much within a short span. You would be lying to yourself if you said that you loved him the way you loved your other best friends. The way your heart fluttered a bit every time he smiled at you or the butterflies that erupted in your stomach every time he called you, “my best girl”. Now seeing him cry like this did bad things to your heart. You wished terrible things for his parents, something you’d never done before.

After the night in the tower, Sirius told you everything. Of course, he shut you out sometimes when his insecurities peeped, but you always managed to make him trust you. There were times when you two didn’t have to say anything to each other to understand what the other wanted or was thinking.

So, sitting in the common room the night after the full moon with Sirius on your lap making you run your hands through his hair, James telling the group yet another joke, Remus with such a wonderful smile and Peter listening intently you couldn’t help but wonder that you had everything you needed right now. You looked back at the past three years thinking how they went by so quickly. With marauders at your side you had spent the first three years at Hogwarts carefree, pranking, learning and having fun. It wasn’t that you hadn’t befriended anyone else. You were friends with Lily and Alice and loads other students from different houses but the best times could only be spent by the bestest of friends.  You had seen James, Sirius and Peter become illegal animagus to help Remus. You too, had helped Remus but in a different way. You had researched about the condition every free time you got. You had created innumerous healing potions and stretch potions that helped him during his transformations and various potions that did not let new wounds form any kinds of scars and even helped in nulling out old ones.

Hence, when you got your Hogwarts letter for the fourth year you couldn’t wait to hop back on the very familiar Hogwarts express.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Three

Following a jolt and abrupt halt in her uncontrolled flight, Emily shot through the air and tumbled forward. Immense heat, so fiery that it threatened her skin to blister, made way to flames licking at her nude body, triggering a visceral response; making animal instincts flare up and drive her to new heights of exertion.

She rolled after hitting the ground, stumbling back onto her feet only to run yet farther—only forward—liberating every aspect of the clashing realities and letting this hell burn to the ground with its own flame.

Running, sprinting, up until she stopped sensing her body itself. Until her entire being had become this valley of fire.

A scent of sulfur and something that reminded her of blood or rust—iron—hit her nostrils like a freight train. The heat that accompanied it was out of this world, radiating from a floor made out of red hot cast iron—but it did not hurt Emily.

She stood before a maze and in the center of that maze stood Emily. Or rather, a glowing image, a reflection of herself, lit and radiating with the dim light of that calm blue flame, contrasting the crimson glow of the inferno and lava all around.

Emily finally paused, finding that she didn’t need to catch her breath. Instead, a strange calm filled her. Smoke billowed out from between her lips even though her last cigarette felt like it had burnt down an eternity ago. Fire burnt on her skin—no, it burnt from her skin, escaping through the pores from her blood within—a raging fire. Her skin had lost all semblance of flesh, now made of pure, living iron.

The other Emily—the other one who stood in the center of the labyrinthine pattern of glowing lines—she beckoned Iron Emily to herself. Blue Flame Emily’s blue light glimmered, glowing in a steady counterbalance to Iron Emily’s red-hot rage.

Focus.

Focus.

“What the jailer does not know, is that they are just another prisoner,” Emily whispered. To herself or to anything within the infinity around her; none of that mattered. Recalling Wise Man’s words helped her calm down.

All that mattered was that her mind still functioned and the words emerged from her core, like the whisper and crackle of a flame, like the mantra that heralded an anchor being cast into the water. It didn’t sound or feel like her self anymore, but it was—unmistakably so. Even more her self now than ever before.

Reborn.

No—something was missing. Something crucial. She was still in the process of rebirth.

Iron Emily approached Blue Flame Emily. Her consciousness trailed behind her by half a step, always following, all entities connected by silver threads but remaining out of sync and catching up in a blur.

The fires would meet. Together they would burn brighter than any color.

A beacon of blinding light.

The moment Iron Emily stepped onto the pattern of the maze to cross the floor, a shock wave jolted through her body and an unseen force pushed her back. She could feel the iron of her feet melting into the searing-hot stone of the maze, making her steps weigh a million tons and slowing her advance.

“Wake up,” Iron Emily said to Emily. The words poured out like smoke, smooth and toxic. She was not appealing to a dreaming self, nor was she urging Emily to wake up from a nightmare. Emily was telling Emily to focus—to shed all things that still held her back.

The first thing that weighed her down was a glimpse of another reality—another timeline? Another dimension? A place where Emily sat inside the bright white confines of a psych ward, rocking back and forth and withdrawn from reality altogether, failing to cope with the horrors of being abducted and raped by monsters posing as human beings.

That image loomed behind her like a dark shadow. That alternate existence and everything else behind her—there lied madness.

Only two ways left to go: to turn back and surrender herself to insanity, or to wander the infernal maze and embrace her destiny.

Iron Emily struggled to move, finally lifting a foot and taking her first step into the circular maze. A familiar presence blinked into existence—felt but not seen, then heard but not felt.

“Gay Chris,” as they always called him back in the day. One of her best friends. He stood, leaning against one of the fiery rocks on the edge of the maze, giving off a casual air and unfazed by this surreal hellscape.

“You always rant about all the shit that’s wrong with the world, but what the fuck are you doing about it but ranting? Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it,” he said, repeating the words that had inspired Emily to become the truth-seeker she was now.

Even his expression mirrored the one on his face from that decade past—annoyed by his stoned friend’s idiotic tirades. When it clicked for Emily. When she steered her life in a new direction, one in which she would change the world, and the one in which she became a jaded journalist.

“I won’t shut the fuck up,” she replied, now smiling. Originally, she had been taken aback by his words. Now she knew the purpose she had found, the things she had done, and all the things she still wanted to do. “At least I’m fucking doing something now. Can you say the same for yourself, designing graphics for stupid little video games over in Montreal, motherfucker?”

“She won’t be silenced, son,” Detective Tanner said. The law man had appeared behind Iron Emily, seemingly out of nowhere, born from this fiery hell.

Chris chuckled and his skin melted, sloughing off like pudding. The chuckling gurgled and exploded into a bellowing, booming laughter, growing in volume. From the hideous molten flesh emerged a demonic figure, showing its true form.

Emily’s madness.

“Sure, keep acting tough, little girl. Cuffed to the curtain rod while the Grinning Man sinks the blade into your back,” the demon said.

Iron Emily squinted, pushing back the memories of her trauma. But there would be no avoiding them here. She could feel the infernal fires burning away all uncertainty, peeling away the layers of her flesh like the skin of an onion till all that was left was the stark realities underneath, and the core of who she truly was.

Thing being, Emily was not afraid of that anymore. She was not afraid of her true self. She knew her flaws, her weaknesses, all the rough edges and the inconsistencies that she believed to burden the world around her with.

Part of her true self was this thing—this demon—and she felt no shame about it. No regrets. She was more in tune with who she was than ever before. She remembered it from her drug trip in Rodney’s basement. And here it was again, haunting her.

She let her gaze sweep back and forth between Tanner and the demonic entity that had worn Gay Chris as a disguise.

“What the fuck do I call you?”

“Tanner,” said the entity looking like Detective Tanner.

“Okay. And you? You’re not Chris anymore,” she said, nodding at the demon. “Here’s your chance to pick a cool name, because I sure as hell am gonna give you a dumb one just to piss you off.”

The demon cackled and growled, “I am what lurks at the bottom of each glass of booze you drown yourself in.”

“Alright. Suit yourself, asshole. I dub thee Stinky Jim.”

This also amused the demon, prompting more mad cackling.

A sense of uneasiness returned. It reminded her of the presence of the Grinning Man. Always behind her, closing in for the kill. Murder in the eyes, just watching her.

Emily dared to shoot a glance over her shoulder, peeking at the infernal madness behind her, raging at the edges of the maze. From it emerged Hal, carrying the studio camera, approaching her.

“Clever, Emily. Now show us how much of a ‘highly-functioning alcoholic’ you really are. Not sure you ever managed to pull off that magic trick, you dumb bitch,” he sneered, keeping the camera trained on her. The red light on the camera flashed menacingly, matching the beat of the all-devouring madness, beating to the pulse of this Pandemonium.

Stinky Jim cackled more at this, and melted into a puddle of searing-hot lava on the floor. Emily chose to ignore Fake-Evil Hal and look straight ahead.

Kept her eyes on Blue Flame Emily.

Still she could feel the camera, hovering right behind her. Watching her every move. Some part of her knew this was her own insanity, a part of herself that was judging her, testing her. Prodding her with every single bad memory, and exposing everything she thought or desired.

Fake-Evil Hal reminded her of her self-destructive, self-hating streak.

“You have to keep going,” Tanner said. Emily wanted to imagine that she reminded him of her father, but Tanner didn’t. If anything, he reminded her of what she imagined a father figure to be like, and what such a man would do now. “You got this,” he added on cue.

“Are you really Tanner?” she asked him. Because while everything and everybody else felt like manifestations of her self, Tanner’s presence felt so—off. Out of place.

He turned and pointed to the wall behind him. Instead of the obsidian and granite that comprised the solid structures within this fiery hell, he stood within the confines of his office at the precinct.

A red yarn connected pins on the corkboard there, drawing lines between different photos, maps, and pink Post-it notes. She remembered this “paranoia wall” of his quite well.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get ya,” he reiterated. “This shit sandwich is made in the top echelons,” he told her, tapping the Post-its with question marks at the head of the maze-like map he had created. She knew what he meant: that it went all the way up to the police chief. “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be careful.”

A presence neared, heavy with malice. As both Emily and Tanner turned in unison to gaze upon its visage, more of the projection of the detective and his office overlapped with the fiery maze. Through the milky obscuring glass on his office door, silhouettes approached. Shadows. Nebulous, faceless, and evil.

Converging on Tanner.

“You gotta go. Never give up,” Tanner said.

Emily wanted to tell him that things would be different now, but the moment she turned to tell him so, Tanner and his office transformed into ashes, like thin sheets of paper burning up in a flash. The violent winds of the inferno swept the ashes away, scattering them in every direction, and absorbing the embers like they never existed in the first place.

Tanner was gone and a pang of guilt hit Iron Emily in the gut.

He was right, she had to go. She strained and tried to lift her legs, but her feet had fused with the smooth stone ground beneath her.

“Welcome to the Emily show, where everybody is rooting for everybody else—yelling at the screen and hoping to see you fail. Because you’re such a vile piece of shit,” Fake-Evil Hal said, still behind her, a presence holding the camera. “Did I say everybody? Hah, don’t let it get to your head. Nobody likes you, and nobody’s watching. You’re the only viewer, you self-loathing, self-involved whore.”

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled more smoke. She flipped Fake-Evil Hal the bird without even turning around or giving him the satisfaction.

Then she pushed forward, pulling her limbs with all her might. Taking one difficult step at a time, her iron legs thudding against the accursed stone with tremendous weight as she made her way into the maze.

Blue Flame Emily looked so close, but felt so far. So infinitely far away. Every step Iron Emily took, the stone ignited and burned beneath her feet, threatening to melt her down and swallow the molten metal that her body had transformed into.

Roaring jets of bright white flames shot forth from the lines of the maze. Where the walls of this labyrinth had only occupied an imaginary space, now deadly fire forced Emily to wander through its forlorn paths.

“Only you can walk this path,” Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts.

And walk she would.

Thick clouds of ashes and flames exploded from the walls of the maze, dragging deadly fog through the fiery corridors. Iron Emily felt the heat inherent, so hot that it would singe all her hair. But she had not a single hair on her body because iron made up her entire being now.

Even with this invulnerability to the fire, she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the toxic cloud of suffocating ashes. She could breathe smoke but held her breath as if it mattered. Every step she took to move forward she made in complete blindness.

When she dared to open her eyes, the world had changed again.

Unlike in the maze, the smoke she exhaled was born from a lit cigarette. Emily let her hand holding the cigarette lazily droop off the side of the bed in which she now lay. Sweat and the smell of sex clung to her and she glowed. So did the man next to her, with whom her legs were entangled. The legs of her love: Julian.

Just like she remembered, he smiled at her when he plucked the cigarette from between her fingers and snuffed it out in a glass of water.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t need those anymore if it was just that good?” he asked.

The maze faded quickly from the forefront of Emily’s mind and made way for a warm, soft feeling throughout her entire being. It crept across her face, stretching her lips into a warm smile.

“Maybe it just wasn’t that good,” she whispered coyly.

She rolled over and rested her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his arm with the tip of her index finger.

He chuckled and gingerly brushed strands of her hair aside, then fondled the curve of her ear and the back of her neck with his hand. They both radiated with heat—not that of fire and destruction, but a heat of passion and deep-rooted love.

She remembered this night. You don’t forget the ones in which the sex you had stands out as some of the best you ever had. But the inferno and the madness that had brought her back here still lingered, chipping away at the back of her mind.

Even in reality, she found Julian’s apartment incredible. Living there as long as she had always made her think she was dreaming. It never quite matched where she came from and where she imagined to be going in life. And alas, it existed only in a short-lived bubble of time, a sweet memory sandwiched in between harrowing experiences.

One wall of the spacious bedroom consisted of glass, beyond which a twinkling sea of lights sprawled across the horizon of a nightly sky—the skyline of Los Angeles sparkled in warm colors, fuzzy and distant.

Lost in this moment when it had been a reality, Emily wanted to lose herself in it again. Never again, she believed, would she experience a comfort like this in her life. She drank in Julian’s scent, basked in his warmth, and swam in a sea of harmonious bliss.

This was her home.

“I can’t wait till we get married,” he said. He rested his palm against her lower back, hot and soothing at the same time.

And there it was again—the madness, chipping away, scratching at the back of her consciousness. Reminding her that this was not real.

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils but lingered where she lay. She turned her head to gaze dreamily into the tiny orange lights of the skyline, to rest her ear on his chest and listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

Emily savored this memory and place for as long as she could before replying.

“I’m so sorry, Julian, but that isn’t real. You never said that. I was going to propose to you before Kathryn Shaw killed you.”

She hugged him tightly, holding close to him.

“None of this is real.”

The bedroom door opened. Julian entered, wearing the jogging clothing she had gotten him for his birthday, darkened around the neck and pits where the fabric had soaked up sweat. No less attractive, he brandished a feeble smile as he blinked and looked upon Emily from across the room. His eyes were wet with sadness and concern—and longing. The smile faded from his face once his gaze shifted from her to the Julian she lay with on the bed, upon which he squinted.

The Julian by the door instantly felt more real to her.

“You can’t fool her. She is too strong for that,” Real Julian said.

She pushed herself up, away from False Julian. This one smiled back at her, but his smile had an almost sinister air about it now. His body lost all definition and melted down into a pile of gray ooze, bubbling goo that seeped into the sheets of the bed and vanished entirely, leaving only sweaty stains. Emily felt like she should have been more startled at this, but everything made perfect sense here.

By the time Real Julian had approached, she sat up straight on the edge of the bed. When he cradled her cheeks in his hands, her eyes welled up with tears, blurring her vision of him. With the soft light and her sights a mess, he looked an angel.

How fitting, she thought. Just like the memories blur.

But he wiped the tears away with his thumbs and knelt by her side to match her eye level.

“You have to carry on. Continue on. Only you can walk this path, and only you can do this,” he said. And every word resonated with that sense of natural strength inherent in his being. Everything good about him that she remembered and cherished.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat and tightened, making it harder to hold back the tears, and impossible to say anything.

“I will always be with you,” he said.

His warm, genuine smile forced the sparkling tears from his own eyes.

Before Emily could answer, she had to gulp, rid herself of that lump in her throat. It was the most painful thing to swallow, because she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Tears rolled down her cheeks like pure little pearls of sorrow.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and then melded with her—passed into her, like a ghost, dissolving as they merged. Real Julian became one with her and the warmth that she had always felt in the memories of him filled her, making her soul hum and her essence scintillate. She glowed with light—constant, like a lantern, and soothing; unlike the violently flickering flames of her rage. They flashed in a blue light for a brief moment.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said, breaking the words as she choked on them.

“This is no goodbye,” he said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. It didn’t exist, yet it came from deep within. “You will always have me by your side.”

With the tears fully streaming from her weary eyes, she wiped them with her entire forearm, sobbing in silence and this strangely comforting solitude. When she looked down upon her nude body, it was iron again, with her hand clad in the strange gauntlet.

She rose from her seat on the bed’s side, shot one last longing glance at the skyline of Los Angeles—reminiscing on how this represented the one short phase in her life during which she truly knew happiness—and made her way to the bedroom door.

Just twisting the doorknob and pulling lightly on it, a gust of mighty wind blew it wide open, nearly knocking her back, and a flurry of ash and embers flowed through. Flames licked around the edges of the frame, incinerating everything and devouring this place of solace. Rather than succumbing to despair, Iron Emily shielded herself with the gauntlet and marched through, continuing through the fiery walls of the maze.

Her limbs weighed heavier than before, as if she had to grow stronger just to lift her legs and press on. Where she had been moving effortlessly through Julian’s bedroom, she now felt the weight of the iron in her soul, threatening to stop her in her tracks.

“You have to carry on,” Julian’s words echoed in her mind, feeding the pure flames of her will.

And she did, groaning as it took more and more out of her essence to stride forth, doubly so when the walls flared up, trying to discourage her from continuing and instead whispering to her; luring her into a false sense of security, promising an escape that the self-destructive madness behind her might offer. With the growing flames of the maze’s walls, another cloud of thick black smoke billowed out from them and engulfed her whole.

The tears had long dried—burned away by the searing heat. When the plumes parted and her vision cleared, she gazed upon her family life. Times growing up, ghostly rooms taking shape and dissolving before her eyes as she continued to wander through the maze without ever taking a wrong turn or even considering to turn back.

Here, she argued with Willow. There she played with Hannah. Being the middle child of three sisters always had been a mixture of blessing and curse. Willow, older, strong and aloof, always daddy’s favorite. Hannah, younger, sweet and doe-eyed, always pampered and cut some slack. Young Emily had to settle on the hand-me-downs from Willow but never had to feel the jealousy towards Hannah that Willow felt. Teenage Emily was cut no slack, expected to excel wherever Willow failed, and be a perfect example for Hannah.

Little Emily woke up in a panic from a nightmare and wandered into the living room. Dark, save the cold blue glow from the television set on the stand that her father was staring into. Tears streaked down Little Emily’s eyes as she approached him and told him about her bad dream. Mom was out of town on work.

Black rings of exhaustion lined Dad’s eyes from the long hours at work he had put behind him—from the time before he started his own hardware store—and he put most of his attention into the news on TV. Her repeated attempts to earn some comfort or calm from him only added to his annoyance with her that night, gnawing at his patience.

He slapped her. Stunned her. Told her he was too tired for this. Had an apology written on his face, but said nothing to that effect. She cried and went back to bed, alone, sobbing in solitude. He never did apologize, though that was the only time he ever hit her—and to Emily’s knowledge, hit anybody in his family.

Unlike in her raw memories, she suddenly heard a whisper. A thought. Then more, reaching her through the ether. These thoughts were not her own, but her father’s, forming in Iron Emily’s mind like speech, “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that. Should I say something? I’ll apologize tomorrow. I mean, she really should respect me and leave me alone when I tell her to. God, she looks so miserable and pathetic. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Maybe things would have been different back then, had she known his thoughts. Iron Emily then wondered if hearing her thoughts was not just the madness catching up to her.

Iron Emily hardened and pulled her legs up, taking one step after another with renewed vigor, finding yet greater strength to continue. Nothing would be easy—nothing ever was. Though she vowed to not forget those who helped or loved her, she would expect no help from anybody. She left the sobbing Little Emily behind, the little girl who had strangely grown from this bit of trauma.

At a party her mother was hosting, Young Teenage Emily kept telling Mom that she didn’t want to play the guitar. A bunch of grown-up friends of Mom whom Emily didn’t particularly like were there, staring awkwardly and trying to not interfere with the minor drama unfolding.

Sure, Young Teenage Emily could play the guitar a little bit. But despite being a heavy metal enthusiast, she had never really gotten into it. Instead of going to all the lessons her parents paid for, she would rather hang out with Gay Chris, Carlos, Rodney, and Jimmy—getting high and talking about politics and philosophy with the average stoner’s depth of a shallow pond.

She could play a few chords, a few riffs, and had a shaky grasp on rendering some common songs. Just capable enough to softly play a couple of pieces on her acoustic guitar.

Mom haranguing her to perform something she neither wanted to nor thought she was particularly good at embarrassed her deeply, let alone in front of all these people she didn’t even know or give two shits about.

“Mom, come on. No.”

“You’re so talented, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mom hissed at her.

“I don’t wanna. I’m not even warmed up.”

“Come on, Emily, I believe in you.”

“No! I’m not going to play the stupid fucking guitar, alright?” Young Teenage Emily exploded, and Iron Emily could almost lip-sync it word for word; with that outburst having burnt itself into her memory.

Everybody stared. Someone bit their lip in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Someone else almost cleared their throat, then changed their mind as to not draw attention to themselves.

Young Teenage Emily stormed out of the room. She went to her own room, brooded and paced for a few minutes, then climbed out of her window and went to hang out with her friends.

Iron Emily, however, witnessed what happened after Young Teenage Emily had left the scene.

Was this her imagination? The madness of this maze and her crumbling mind now manifesting in these scenarios, filling in the blanks? Or was the unfettered power of this place bleeding through reality, piercing the veil of time and space and showing her something that Young Teenage Emily had never seen?

Her mother went to the nearest couple and complained about her.

“I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. We tried everything to raise her right, but she started listening to heavy metal and smoking, and I think her friends are just a bad influence on her,” she said.

The guests did not contradict her. They nodded with their awkward, fake smiles, not trying to feed the fires of this conflict or take part in it in any way.

“She is always so angry, and explodes like that all the time. I think we really need to get her into counseling. Or therapy,” her mother said, shaking her head, explaining the situation to yet other guests.

The guests all tried to duck away from this conversation, growing uncomfortable. Emily could hear their thoughts; knew they wanted nothing to do with any of this. Disgust and rage welled up in the heart of Iron Emily, who silently and invisibly watched this unfold.

Foreign memories and minds broadcast their thoughts into her own consciousness; it was the only explanation. She couldn’t just be imagining this.

“You can change this,” Stinky Jim said from behind Iron Emily. He chortled, smoky and sinister. “You can make her pay.”

“For what?” Iron Emily asked. “She’s not all wrong.”

Stinky Jim cackled, “Oh, just wait, then. It’s going to get even better now.”

The guests were not impressed. Emily’s mom didn’t seem to understand that those nearby just wanted this awkward situation to end. They would nod and smile but those smiles were strained and their participation and compassion feigned. Some of them wanted to leave the party.

“She talked her older sister out of her relationship with her boyfriend and into lesbianism,” her mother lied, shaking her head with a theatrical sigh.

“The fuck,” Iron Emily growled. Her teeth screeched like a fork on the chalkboard as she ground them together as a result of the anger welling up in her gut.

Stinky Jim’s cackling erupted into full-blown laughter.

“She wasn’t even twelve years old when she started shoplifting. And that was after we caught her stealing toys from other kids. We did all we could, but she just—she never listens. There’s only so much you can do to raise a kid right, right?” her mother lied.

She kept inventing things to make Emily look bad and garner pity from her friends. Those same friends averted their eyes, exchanged nervous glances, and paid less and less attention to her; not engaging and only causing Emily’s mother to pile more and more brazen lies on top.

“She stole our car when she could barely reach the gas pedals and gave us quite the headache when we had to foot the bill for repairs.”

“The police brought her home one night and let her off easy, you know how it is.”

“I think she tried heroin.”

Stinky Jim’s laughter swelled to ever greater volume each time she lied about misdeeds Emily never committed. All the while, Iron Emily’s insides boiled. She refused to let the rage take control any longer. What if her mind could slice through space and time and change this? Stop this bullshit? But what if that obliterated her mother’s mind? The minds of her guests? Her morals clashed with her wrath.

“You have sworn to expose the truth. You could do that right here and now if you put your mind to it. You have real power now. Even greater power than you’re willing to embrace. You can punish liars. Just gotta use your head,” Stinky Jim said, egging Iron Emily on. He stoked the fires of wrath in the depth of her being. Part of her wanted to give in and test the limitations of her power; wanted to make her mom pay for doing this.

But Iron Emily gathered herself. Breathed. Focused. Took control over the rage. Just like the old homeless man told her to. She wanted so badly to lash out, but she had to get out of this. She remembered where she truly was: inside the fiery maze. Not in this moment.

She would let it slide. The realities of future times slid into being, overlapping and overlaying this scenery.

Nowadays, Emily visited her mother regularly. Mom would talk about conspiracy theories after her long combined shifts of dog sitting, working at her backwater supermarket, and work in a retirement home. Emily would take the time to debunk or confirm whatever nonsense she had picked up from the yellow press and Facebook.

Maybe their relationship would transform, now that Iron Emily knew of this day and what horrible things her mother had said about her in her absence. Still, she wondered if any of this was even real.

Stinky Jim laughed and didn’t even need to say anything.

Iron Emily knew this was real. Realities clashing, connecting; she stood in an intersection of worlds.

The imagery faded away like smoke being dragged away by a gust of wind. As it cleared, only more imagery unfolded beyond it: places Emily had never been. Moments of minds that never reached her, thoughts that bounced around in her skull.

Her mom sat alone in the glow of a TV set in a dark room, when Emily’s exposé on the human trafficking ring aired on national television. She sat up in surprise when she saw Emily on screen, personally delivering some statements, followed by voice-over narration for the segment.

Surprise. Pride. Mom was proud of her now. She cried tears of joy and she was proud of what her little girl had become: exposing those monsters, cracking the veil wide open and revealing those injustices for all to see. She wiped her tears and could not stop listening and watching. The content of the exposé upset her; learning of the personal fates of individual victims—such as Tran—caused her mother to feel sick. But above all the emotional upheaval lingered a profound happiness and pride over her daughter’s accomplishment.

Not only her mother felt this way. As the fiery winds carried embers and whisked away these images as well, they revealed a room in which her father, Sean, sat on the couch next to his second wife, Christine. They, too, watched TV and saw the same exposé airing on national TV.

He stared into the glow of the device, wide-eyed and surprised. His mind swam in the same place: proud of his daughter’s achievement. Sean also regretted how little contact they still had and for the first time in his life, realized how much of that had been on him.

By contrast, Christine’s thoughts circled in different, darker places. She saw Emily’s success on clear display on the television and only wondered how she could help her biological daughter to be more successful than Emily. These pieces of thoughts and feelings did not just reach Emily’s being like spoken words, intercepted by her mind, but they took more tangible forms.

Stinky Jim’s laughter had long gone silent. Though Iron Emily felt his presence, his quiet only spelled out a tense anticipation. A curiosity. Emily stood on the precipice of discovering something new, and the demon of madness could hardly wait to see her experience that breakthrough.

She tasted Christine’s personal vice. Sour and bitter and artificial and unsatisfying, like sucking on a piece of plastic-covered cardboard. Christine’s pride burned brightly, and Emily tasted it as clearly as the aftertaste of coffee and cigarettes clinging to her tongue.

Christine got up in a huff and switched the TV off.

“Enough of that,” she told Sean.

“What if you could burn that nonsense right out of her?” asked Stinky Jim.

Iron Emily shook her head and shut her eyes.

Smoke and fire tore through this memory, tearing Emily away from the insights it delivered. When she opened her eyes again, the memories of her parents had made way for the inferno of the labyrinth once more. Iron Emily had seen enough, anyway. Daddy, for whom she was never good enough, was proud of her. She dismissed the spark of defiance that threatened to arise in her, and decided to embrace this little victory for what it was. She would hold onto that.

Emily could have touched their minds, changed their being, but decided against it.

The smoke billowed past her and violent winds fought her progression. Still she continued on, one deliberate step after another. Every time, the heat threatened to melt her, she forced her legs to lift and take another step, yet again.

“You’re not special,” said the demon behind her. “You’re no better than anybody else, sitting on your high horse. You and your stupid moral high grounds. Fictions you cling onto to make yourself feel better when all you’re doing is looking down on the rest of the shit-stains that populate the world around you. You probably think you’re so great for not using your newfound mojo, not reaching into their petty little human minds and wrenching around in there. So noble I could puke. So responsible. But let’s see just how long that lasts.”

With a thunderclap, a torrent of flames exploded outwards, cascading through the maze’s corridors towards Emily. She braced herself, leaning into the massive weight of her iron body. She clutched her hand in front of her—the iron gauntlet—it pierced her mind, cutting through every thought when she closed her eyes. Always there, even when she tried not to think about it. Now shielding her from these infernal forces.

The maze took her to another place.

“Let’s see who you really are when you stare into the abyss,” growled the demon.

After a double take, Iron Emily knew she stood in Starkford Penitentiary. A different part of it; a section she had never seen with her own two eyes—the mess hall where the inmates ate.

Kathryn Shaw sat in between other women, all of them dressed in their bright orange jumpsuits. The woman who had murdered Julian with a two-by-four. She ate from her tray, stuffing her face; a face deformed by too much plastic surgery.

Julian’s murderer didn’t look like she had aged a day. Iron Emily realized that this must have been some time after she had gone to the prison to get answers from Kathryn. Probably a good deal after, or she would have still been a sporting a black eye or two from when Emily lost her mind and attacked her.

Iron Emily cringed as a sea of thoughts and emotions crashed in on her from every direction. The minds of all the inmates and guards here washed over her, drowning her in waves of despair and contempt and surrender and negativity. The tempest of emotions clouded her with such intensity that her own rage towards Kathryn Shaw had no room to well up again.

“You know you can do more than just read minds, right? You can reach into them and clutch. Grab. Tear. Squeeze. Rend,” said the demon. His growls came through gritted teeth. Emily could hear the sadistic grin growing on his face without even looking at him. “You can kill with a thought, little girl. Just think hard enough and focus your mind like a blade. One precise thought, sharp like a guillotine’s edge. That’s all it takes.”

Iron Emily focused. The world froze for a split second and she pushed all the thoughts back. The chatter, like a million radios running different programs all at the same time, all went silent. Even Stinky Jim choked, unable to taunt her any more for now. All minds blocked out at once—all but one. The screech of microphone feedback died down and all she heard was a faint whisper, coming from Kathryn’s direction. The only thoughts Emily was curious about now.

Sadness.

It hit her like a truck, overwhelming her senses, making her light-headed and dizzy. Iron Emily didn’t feel tethered in place by her iron body at all any more, rather as light as a feather, like she teetered back and forth and nearly fell down.

Stinky Jim’s claws gingerly clutched her by her shoulders and helped her stay standing.

“Why would I kill her now?” Emily asked. It took her a moment until it dawned on her: the same sadistic grin she sensed to be forming on the demon’s maw was now plastered across her own lips. “She’s right where she belongs. Getting what she fucking deserves. Rotting in prison for the rest of her life. Justice isn’t served if I kill her now. Being a husk and withering away in prison would be the right punishment for this crazy bitch. Fuck her.”

The sadness made way to imagery. Emily could see the movie playing in Kathryn’s mind; glimpses of her own little world. A bizarre fantasy that defied all semblance of reality.

Full-on delusions. Kathryn saw herself getting out of prison soon. She had fooled herself into thinking she was some sort of A-list celebrity. Had all the famous directors lined up, ready to talk to her once she was out of here. She would be even more famous than before going into the slammer. Her private army of lawyers would get her out long before she had served her full sentence. Make a mint off of an autobiography book deal, too.

Julian wasn’t dead in Kathryn’s little fantasy world, either. Part of why she’d get out so easily.

Sure, none of it was real. But Kathryn believed it with all her heart and soul.

Stinky Jim roared with laughter.

“Justice, huh? Ten years later, she’ll still be happy in her blissful little make-believe castle. And where will you be?” he asked, egging her on. “Kill her, killer. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Emily rocked back and forth in the padded cell. Iron Emily screamed and willed that image away. Nobody in the mess hall heard the scream. They just carried on with their lives, lips smacking as they ate the slop served up as meals.

“Fuck this. And fuck you, Stinky Jim. Killing Kathryn serves no one,” Iron Emily cursed. The inner fire of defiance exploded outwards, wreathed her in fire. She spoke in multiple menacing voices when she added, “I am being reborn now. And this is what I was meant to do—reveal the truth.”

Iron Emily focused. She breathed fire, like a dragon. Holding out her hand, the gauntlet around her fist was real. She unfurled her fingers, marveling at their claw-like shape. She focused harder, and the world breathed her, sucking her towards Kathryn, pulling her through a vortex of intertwining realities. Iron Emily stood behind Kathryn and reached into her mind with the gauntlet-clad hand.

She tasted the pride in Kathryn’s mind, for it tasted the same bitter disgusting plastic way that Christine’s vice shared. With the gauntlet, she gripped at the barriers inside of Kathryn’s brain with all her might—taking hold of the prison bars and expensive doors and beautiful illusions that Kathryn Shaw had erected around her core self to protect her mind from the horrors she had inflicted and the horror that she had become.

The gauntlet clenched shut into a fist. Crushed, shattering glass and mortar, bending steel like it was nothing. Iron Emily tore away at the walls of Kathryn’s delusions, peeling them back until Julian’s murderer could glimpse reality for just one moment.

She was here for murdering Julian Stone. She was serving a life sentence in Starkford Penitentiary. Her career was over. Her cell mate hated her. One of the cooks probably spit in her food. Her life was hell, and all of it was her own making.

Emily didn’t even need to construct these thoughts. They all came pouring in on their own, the stark and cruel weight of reality crashing inside like a lake flowing in through a breaking dam.

Kathryn’s fork dropped into her food tray. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. The harsh truths of the world outside the fantasy she had created caught up with her.

Iron Emily wept tears of fire and sealed the illusion again. Just a glimpse. Just enough to make her suffer for a brief moment. Just enough to make her pay. But it rang hollow. It gave Iron Emily no satisfaction. Kathryn’s evident suffering even filled Emily with a short pang of guilt. She shrugged it off and screamed into the void again, getting no response from anybody in the prison.

Only Stinky Jim responded—with more sadistic laughter. The inmates and guards all melted away, transforming into smoke and embers. They spiraled upwards until the fiery walls of the maze subsumed them all, and Iron Emily was surrounded by the inferno again.

“How the fuck was that better than killing her? You heartless bitch,” the demon said. “Can’t wait to see what crimes against humanity you’re capable of committing.”

Iron Emily ignored him and swiveled, struggling to find her way through the firestorm. Her heart beat faster when she gazed upon Blue Flame Emily, an unsteady beacon shining out from the center of the maze. The flames grew larger and obscured that vision, but Iron Emily had seen her clearly enough to know: she had gotten much closer. Halfway there.

She refused to be the Emily in that padded cell. She refused to give up now. Just thinking that, realizing that—it filled her with new vigor. Her soul flared up with newfound determination. The next steps she took to brave the maze came much easier; each one of them much lighter than the last.

She would make it. She would see what destiny had in store for her.

—Submitted by Wratts

[madamslayyy]

Random M’Baku Headcanons Part 2

A/N: Sorry this took so long y’all, my life’s been crazy busy lately but I’m still gonna try to release one more story this week because I said was gonna shoot for three a week! If you haven’t already, please read my “Random M’Baku” HCs and then my “Is This Love” Blurb to catch up, they’re crucial to the story! Hope y’all enjoy!

- The stares were the worst. The stares were definitely the worst. Anything else you could handle but the way people would openly stare at you as if you were some sort of disgrace amongst the village. That was hard to take.

- “The Prince could do much better anyway,” an old woman in the market said as you completed your purchase. Okay maybe the stares weren’t the worst part.

- Ever since the nature of you and Morkurra’s relationship had been know to the village... along with M’Baku’s intentions, it was as if you were even more of a social pariah than before and you didn’t think that imaginable.

- When most of the men your age avoided you like the plague before, it hurt but it wasn’t unbearable. But now it seemed almost everyone scurried out of your path now, men, women, and children alike.

- Girls you’d went to school with, known since you were in diapers, would whisper “Whore” as you walked by. You tried to pretend it didn’t hurt but it did. You were by no means the most loved individual in the village (that was M’Baku by a long shot) but to see them all turn their back on you was something completely different.

- All but one.

- Morkurra stood by you as always, his love just as gentle and sincere as it had been from the start.

You knew they weren’t giving Morkurra as hard a time as yourself. Hell, you knew they weren’t giving Morkurra a hard time at all. He was huge, intimidating, skilled in battle and could knock even the crowned prince flat on his ass. Nobody had the gall to approach him the way they did you.

- Nobody but one.

- M’Baku made it very well known he wished to obliterate Morkurra the first chance he got and challenged him to a rematch, which Morkurra, of course, declined in respect for you. He knew if he stepped into battle with M’Baku again, one of them would have to die and the odds did not look to be In M’Baku’s favor. So he refused the Prince’s Challenge.

- Well finally the day came, much sooner than anyone expected, that M’Baku would be crowned Chief of the Jabari. Everyone knew it was inevitable but it was presumed that the current chief had many years left in the throne, yet he suddenly decided to just give it up to M’Baku.

- “My son is ready. More ready than I’ve ever seen him.” The elder chief M’Boka said the day before his crowning. You planned on staying far away from the event entirely. It wasn’t like anyone wanted you there anyway.

- How wrong you were. The night before the ceremony, there was a loud pounding at your door. You were going to open it before Morkurra quickly shooed you away, saying he would handle it. You went to the far side of your living room and peeked around the corner to see what was going on.

- There were about roughly five (that you could see from your view) huge Jabari warriors standing at your door. The second they saw Morkurra, they all saluted their Commander.

- “What is the meaning of this?” Morkurra said in a harsh tone you weren’t used to hearing him use.

- “We are under the orders of the crown to deliver strict instructions to Miss (Y/N), Commander Sir.” One of them recited seamlessly.

- “And they sent so many of you why?” Morkurra growled.

- “.......” silence.

- “I asked you a question, underling!” Morkurra’s voice boomed, nearly shaking the walls.

- “For our own Protection sir.” The same one recited with much less confidence. You chose this moment to step out of your little corner and make yourself known.

- “Instructions for what?” You said trying to squeeze by Morkurra’s giant frame but he was having none of it, pulling you behind him just in case this visit still had any hint of ill intention to it.

- “Your presence is required at the naming of the new Cheiftain tomorrow ma’am. You are to be the bearer of the crown and to report to the sacred ceremonial hall two hours prior to the event taking place. If your presence is not punctual, you will be fetched.” The same officer spoke.

- “Who ordered this?” You gasped

- “Chief M’Boka himself,” the officer replied before they all let out a series of three barks and departed. Morkurra slammed the door behind them.

- Normally, Morkurra was the calm, peaceable one in the relationship and you had never seen him this angry. He went and sat down on your bed, you climbed behind him and began rubbing the tension out of his shoulders.

“Something foul is at play,” he groaned, your hands working his thick muscles. You had the same pit in your stomach today as you did in the Hospital with M’Baku. You knew whatever this was, it wasn’t going to end well.

- You showed up the next day as requested much to your dismay. M’Baku had yet to arrive so at least that was something to be gracious about.

- They fitted you in a fine Jabari wood chest plate and skirt that was had the same Jabari wood woven with the fabric. Your hair and makeup was also done much to the disgust of the two women who were assigned the task. They somehow managed to do their job and work your hair and makeup flawless without looking you in the eye once. They shared a knowing look amongst one another and then left, walking away from you without a word. You felt lower than dirt.

- The rest of the village began to arrive, along with the various councilmen, royal advisors, Spiritual Leaders, etc. etc.

- Finally you were given a silk pillow and the crown was placed upon it and you stood in your designated area, which just happened to be right next to Chief M’Boka.

- “Chief M’Boka,” you said in a small voice, unsure if you even had permission to speak to a man of such importance. Of course he’d seen you before, you and M’Baku were best friends growing up and would often play together but he’d never actually uttered a word to you, nor you him.

- “Yes my child,” he said and his voice was fragile, giving away his true age even if he didn’t look as old as he actually was.

- “If you don’t mind me asking, as I intend no disrespect, why have I been chosen to bear the crown. Wouldn’t this be a position for someone more.... familiar in the royal circle?” You asked.

- “No it’s a position typically held by the same person every time. Ah, I still remember the day such an honor was bestowed upon me. Long before you and M’Baku were born, I’m afraid,” he smiled nostalgically.

- He never really answered your question but in that moment you didn’t care because Morkurra walked in with the rest of his Military men and the second he entered the room, his eyes locked on yours. He immediately made his way to you.

- “Y/N...” he said slightly mesmerized.

- “Does my appearance please my Commander?” You smirked and Morkurra couldn’t help but biting back a laugh.

- “As a military official, I never allow myself to underestimate what someone is capable of due to their physical appearance.” He tried keeping a straight face but lost it the second you burst into giggles.

- “However,” he said eyeing you up and down, “as a lover and as a man, I must say you look like the personification of beauty.”

- “Just Beauty? That all ya got?”

- “Beauty, Lust, Desire, S-“ in that moment the horns went off indicating the ceremony was ready to begin. Morkurra went to his designated position and the remaining few Jabari citizen who had yet to sit quickly found their seats.

- M’Baku entered, his usual gang of Jabarimen flanking him, barking as they entered. You resisted he urge to roll your eyes.

- The ceremony began, M’Baku swore his undying allegiance to his people, and before you knew it, you were stepping forward with the pillow cradling the crown. It was placed amongst M’Baku’s head and the the Jabari people roared with excitement. He beat his chest, and followed the Jabari chants that had broke out. Even you couldn’t help cracking a smile. Maybe M’Baku was cut out for the position of leader. Maybe his time had come and he was ready.

“Silence,” M’Baku commanded and the crowd quieted, not too much but enough for him to be heard.

“I’ve waited a long time for this day,” the cheers erupted again but he held his hand up to silence them once more.

“And as your leader, it’s only right I announce my Queen.” Where there was still a low murmur before, the crowd completely quieted now.

“And my Queen shall be none other than.... Y/N! We shall wed before the New Moon.” M’Baku said and you felt like your heart had sunk into your stomach. Did he just say Queen? Where was your say in this?

- The ceremonial hall was so quiet, you could hear if a pin dropped. You looked over at Morkurra but his eyes were firmly set on M’Baku. There was not an ounce of compassion in that stare.

“HOW COULD YOU!?” A girl yelled from the crowd. You recognized her as Anika, an old flame from M’Baku’s youth.

“SHE’S A WHORE! WE’VE ALL SEEN HOW SHE GAVE HERSELF TO THAT BEAST. SHE HAS NO RIGHT TO BE ANYONE’S WIFE LET ALONE A QUEEN.” She yelled. M’Baku notioned to his guards and they grabbed her by the arms and drug her out of the palace.

“Any further objections?” M’Baku roared. He was met with silence.

“Then let the celebrations commence!” The joyfulness started once again but it wasn’t like before. Or maybe it was just you. Your blood had gone cold in your veins and you couldn’t move.

How could he? He couldn’t force you to marry him could he? And so soon at that? The next Full moon was in 20 days, that didn’t even give you three weeks, what was he thinking?!

- “M’Baku,” you were finally able to croak out but he was much too entwined with the festivities to notice you.

- “M’BAKU,” you called louder, finally gaining his attention.

- “My future Queen,” he said giving a little bow as he approached you. You wanted to throw up.

- “I will never be your Queen because I will never marry you.” You snarled and M’Baku laughed as if it was the funniest joke in the universe.

- “My sweet, naive Y/N. I’m Chief now. It’s my decree. Whether you like it or not this wedding is happening and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop it. But don’t worry, you’ll grow to love me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will and would you like to know why?”

“I’m not humoring you, M’Baku.”

“You’ll learn to love me or else I’ll have the Commander executed for treason against the crown. It’s an easy choice Y/N, your love or his life.” M’Baku shrugged, walking away.

- You looked over at Morkurra, his eyes never leaving M’Baku. Morkurra was the love of your life, everything you’d ever thought you might want in a man and more. And M’Baku was about to steal away your one shot of happiness after robbing you of it for so many years. Your blood was boiling in anger. How dare he give you such an ultimatum! One last glance and Morkurra and it was clear what your choice would be. You loved that man and you wouldn’t stand to see him die over someone as insignificant as yourself. He had the entire Jabari tribe to protect, you couldn’t stand in the way of that. Your limbs felt heavy and you could feel your heart physically breaking at the thought of what was to come.

~*~

Tagging all the people that commented on my last two post or asked to be tagged in everything and a few others! If anybody would like to not be tagged, just let me know!! 😊😊

Want to be tagged? Check out THIS POST to find out how! (Warning: Taglist is not updated at any consistent rate nor is it updated before every story. Viewer discretion is advised)

Taglist:

@queennanayaa @muse-of-mbaku @greennightspider @myjerseygirlblog @shesakillerkween @crushed-pink-petals @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @sonofnjobu @yofavcocoa @marvelmaree @pananegra @destinio1 @mbakusmbitch @dawva @notsomellowmushroom @mzbritt @ultracrii @jesforpres @thehomierobbstark @thadelightfulone @amelatonin @quietstorm-73 @wakanda-inspired @wawakanda-btch @steampunkprincess147 @purple-apricots @macfizzle @caswinchester2000 @supersizemeplz @all-the-blog-names-were-gone @chasingsunlight @annabella789 @royallyprincesslilly @chaneajoyyy @lady-olive-oil @mbakusthrone

[kbstories]

Here’s the promised update to my Charles/Arthur (Charthur?) fic:

Only Lost The Night

Tags: Angst, Blood and Injury, Aftermath of Torture, Slow Burn

Major spoilers for Chapter 3, specifically the mission “Blessed Are the Peacemakers”.

>>Read on AO3

<<First Chapter

Three days.

Patrolling the edge of the woods, Charles' gaze turns northward, and not for the first time.

Three days ago, he stood guard at the very same spot, raising a hand in silent farewell to the group of three leaving camp: Dutch, easily recognizable by his snow-white Horse and booming voice; Micah, bowed low, handling the reins with too-rough hands; and Arthur, caught between the two and shoulders visibly tense, even from afar...

A glance of striking blue filled with concern and a grim nod, that's all Charles got before Arthur's brown mare had galloped past and they were out of sight. Hours later, the rumors of a possible truce between them and the O'Driscolls finally reached him, and when Charles' eyes met Javier's over the dwindling firelight, he only saw his own worry reflected.

This is a mistake.

The words went unsaid, as they often did as of late. Instead, Charles tossed and turned in his cot, and paced the perimeter for three days–

In the dead of night, only two had returned – and Charles gave up on sleep altogether.

*

“Dutch.”

Calm, collected, neutral. Charles' indifferent mask can be nigh-impossible to read if he wants to – Arthur has teased him about it countless times, ya ain't foolin' me, though, smile bright and usually weary eyes glinting with quiet pleasure – and yet, Dutch's jaw instantly clenches with annoyance.

“Not now, Mr. Smith”, he says, dismisses him with a pointed look, but Charles doesn't budge. He's faced down raging bison, snarling wolves, storms and blizzards and a dizzying variety of human cruelty only those remaining of his people could attest to; nothing Dutch van der Linde could throw at him could be worse, short of death, and maybe not even that.

Then again, something tells him Dutch knows that, too.

“I volunteer–“

“–for more patrols, yes, if you feel like running yourself ragged, be my guest, Mr.–“

“–to lead a search party”, Charles finishes icily, hands linking behind his back to hide how they clench to fists. “I'm the best tracker we have. And Arthur's horse is too well-bred to be worth shooting. She'll lead us right to them.”

Dutch's expression hasn't moved a single inch from the aloof-slash-assertive air he surrounds himself with, and his voice is too forcibly amicable to be anything but. He steps closer, placing a firm hand on Charles' shoulder.

“My dear Charles, I'm afraid you have jumped to conclusions. Yes, things got a bit heated – but Arthur knows what he's doing. He'll rejoin us when the dust has settled. Until then, I can assure you: He is safe.”

“Dutch...”

Fingers dig deeper, hard enough to hurt. The understanding smile on Dutch's lips turns forced.

“Enough, Charles. You have been with us a while now and put in commendable work. Arthur is a dear friend to you, so I'll let it pass this once. Don't make me regret it.”

Charles holds his gaze for a moment longer, nods, submits.

“Understood.”

Night falls, and Charles pulls himself silently into the saddle, leading Taima through the woods and out into the open with the silent presence of the moon as his only companion.

*

The rising sun casts dewy clarity over the planes lying ahead. Charles takes a deep breath, allowing himself a brief respite. The provisions he chews on go down without taste, merely fuel to keep his gears in motion for the difficult track ahead.

His mind doesn't, can't, rest. Not yet.

It's impossible not to be aware that Arthur has been gone half a week, now – and yes, maybe he is laying low and unharmed but Charles' gut feeling says otherwise, and in the long years he spent on his lonesome, his gut has never failed him.

Below him, Taima – finnicky at first from the rude awakening at an unusual time – finds a confident pace she can keep up for hours, exhaling in short bursts with every step. Charles rubs her favorite spot high on the crest of her mane.

With enough effort, he could convince himself this is just another hunt.

That's the thing about not being alone, though: Once you let people close, their presence grows familiar, and it is easy to forget how life was without them.

Charles scoffs. Right. There is no need to pretend this – his current predicament, the last three, no, four days, the past year – is a people-thing. Because it's not.

Keeping Dutch's gang at arm's length, not letting himself get too attached... It wasn't such a struggle until he started noticing how gentle Arthur handles new horses, even the skittish ones; how hands so adept at killing become nimble, almost graceful, provided little more than a pen and some scraps of paper; how the tension around his eyes eases with the first draw from a freshly-lit cigarette.

No. This is definitely an Arthur-thing, and Charles is powerless to stop it.

It was after the run-in with those bounty hunters weeks ago that Charles realized maybe... he doesn't have to. Now Arthur only has to manage to stay out of trouble and alive long enough for Charles to do something about it.

“C'mon”, he mumbles, letting Taima fall into a light canter. “Let's find that fool.”

Knowing where to start is the first crucial step of every hunt – fortunately, the only person seeing him sneak away was Javier, and from him Charles got the gist of what happened in low whispers. Dutch is gonna be pissed, he'd cautioned, shaking his head, bring him back or don't return at all, and Charles had given him a tight-lipped smile and said nothing.

The steep Heartland hills put Taima to work, and she's huffing and sweating by the time they reach the location Javier named. Charles dismounts stiffly, his thighs aching from riding and protesting all the more as he crouches down to inspect the ground.

Criss-crossing hoof prints, too many to tell them apart, relatively fresh. Good enough. He whistles for Taima to follow, and sets off.

*

Minutes blur into hours, and Charles has made his way further east when he finds Arthur's hat. He almost misses it, trampled and half-covered by dust and bits of grass as it is – for a moment, he just stares, heart twisting in his chest like a living thing.

Like the sky is blue and water is wet, Arthur always, always goes back for his hat.

“Fuck this”, Charles hisses. He's in the saddle and galloping ahead before he knows it, the reins in one hand and the hat pressed to his chest with the other. The tracks are easy to see, now: at least four, five horses passed through not too long ago, cutting straight through the landscape without regard.

Confidence, or recklessness? It doesn't matter; they'll regret it either way, and soon.

Up ahead, he can make out the Dakota River, glinting silver in the bright midday sun. A lone figure appears before it, outline hazy, almost hallucinatory in the heat. Charles squints, gathers Taima into a ball of tension beneath him, ready for anything–

Is that–?

“Arthur!”

They burst forth, the thundering of hooves and the beat of his heart mixing into one. Charles calls out again, cursing between clenched teeth because he's not reacting, why is he not–

“Morgan? Hey, say something you damn–“

The momentum carries them in a wide circle around the familiar brown mare and Charles holds his breath, catching sight of Arthur slumped over her neck and blood, lots of it, all over his back and the horse's shoulder, too.

Shit. Dyani looks ready to bolt, nostrils flared wide open and eyes near-frenzied with stress as she pants in loud bursts. Charles glances at her rider's precarious position, mind rushing a mile a minute – calm the horse, or grab Arthur first?

If he's alive, that is.

There's no time to panic; keeping the adrenaline pumping through his veins out of his voice, Charles soothes, “It's okay, Dyani”, pressing ever closer to grab the reins. The horse trembles in place, ears dancing from left to right. “Shh, girl, calm now. You're safe.”

He's got her by the second try, and coaxes Taima beside her, mindful not to squash Arthur in the process.

Please be alive.

With the horses' flanks touching, Charles reaches over and pulls, sliding back to drag Arthur's limp body into his own saddle. “Arthur?” – nothing, not even a groan or a strained breath, and blood readily soaks into his shirt as he holds him tight with an arm around his waist–

But there's a pulse too, beating weakly against his, and Charles clings to it with everything he's got, vowing never to let go.

*

The clear trickle turns red, then pink every time Charles wrings out the cloth.

Arthur lies on a hastily spread bedroll little ways up shore, on the first patch of dry grass Charles could find once he decided they're far enough away to risk a temporary camp. It's certainly not perfect – somewhat secluded from the main road by a line of bushes, it still leaves them wide open and vulnerable in many other aspects – but Charles'd rather fend off any trespassers than leave Arthur's wounds to fester uncontested.

Kneeling by his friend's side, Charles glances over the progress he's made. Dressed in worn, clean clothes he found in one of Arthur's saddlebags, days worth of blood, sweat and grime had given way to purple-green bruises in various stages of healing. Even now, with the worst of it tended to, Charles' lips thin to a tense line at the obvious signs of torture and malnourishment.

Fucking O'Driscolls.

Before, he'd been largely neutral towards this feud between Colm and Dutch – it happened long before his time in the gang, and wasn't as much of a problem then as it is now – but this happened on Charles' watch, and if Dutch isn't willing to avenge it...

Charles shakes his head. Nothing to be done about it, now.

The wound on Arthur's shoulder is his biggest concern; its edges are torn and only partly-cauterized, leaving it a welcome breeding ground for infection or worse. Having dealt with guns and the damage they can do all his life, Charles can imagine all-too-vividly what must've happened.

A bit further down and he'd be dead on the spot, goes through his mind, and not for the first time, he pauses to breathe.

The cloth leaks small rivulets down Arthur's discolored skin as Charles digs into the wound and twists, ignoring the weak moan coming from the downed man. Only when it turns into a soft plea that sounds sickeningly close to “stop” does Charles look up, caught utterly off guard by Arthur's feverish gaze on him.

“Charles...?”

Easing up on his shoulder, Charles leans into his field of view, cupping Arthur's flushed cheek with his not-bloodied hand. He tries not to think too much of the difference in body temperature.

“Yeah, it's me. Stay put, okay? You've been shot.”

Arthur blinks, slowly, resting his head against Charles' palm. “'s Dutch 'kay?”, he rasps, eyes closed and brows drawn tight against the pain. “Trap. 's a–”

“Dutch is fine”, assures Charles with a little too much force; calmer, he says: “Don't worry about anyone else, alright? Just... keep still, I'll get us out of here in no time.”

Arthur wheezes out, “'kay, boss”, and the trace of humor is so unexpected Charles laughs.

“Don't sass me, you crazy fool. I'm not the one who got himself captured, escaped, and rode dozens of miles while bleeding out.”

A wet chuckle. Arthur grimaces. “'s a talent, Charles. Stopped questionin' it long ago.”

“Doesn't stop me from worrying, though. Now shush, I'm almost done.”

The wound is as clean as it's going to get – Charles wraps it in generous amounts of gauze and hopes it'll hold for a few hours, at least. The horses should be good to go too, having spent the time grazing on every available tuft of grass around them.

Arthur has quieted down considerably, enough so that Charles thinks he's lost consciousness. When he buttons up his shirt, however, his lids flutter open again, squinting against the sun high in the sky.

Charles meets his questioning glance with a sympathetic wince. “We need to move. Want something for the pain?”

Arthur nods, too exhausted to speak. Carefully, Charles props him against his knee, holding him upright and letting him sip some whiskey within measured pauses. “Let's get this over with”, he mutters, whistling Taima over and trying not to aggravate any of Arthur's wounds as he manhandles him into the saddle.

Like before, he slides behind him, and with Dyani following dutifully, they set off up-stream.

Arthur falls into an uneasy sleep soon enough; Charles shifts to allow his head to rest against his shoulder. Listening to his rough panting, he tightens the steadying grip against his chest, gaze fixed on the far horizon.

>>Read on AO3

[otp-bumbleby]

Do you hear that? Bzz bzz. It’s the sound of another Bumbleby reasoning post! I’m focusing on coincidences, similarities, and links. And a whole lot of everything. Bonus points for being a bee shipper true and true.

I’m warning you now, this is like over three fuckin thousand words long plus pictures. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, go!

Okay so look

Is this purely coincidence?

Their outfit’s accent colours yes I count a robotic arm and makeup as accent colour ok:

Are each other’s eye colours:

Right, right. Everyone knew that!

So…

“Yang has two eye colours!” I hear from the back.

Well my friend, what colour is that? Red you say? What colour was Blake’s ex-partner’s accent colour? OH THAT’S RIGHT, red!

Her ex-partner? Argued to be the beast to Blake’s beauty in her Beauty and the Beast story.

Except: Blake has definitively left him behind. Before the show even begins, she abandons him after realising that he had become somebody she didn’t recognise. She said it herself in ‘Mountain Glenn’:

“When I realised my oldest partner had become a monster, I ran.”

So, Blake’s a lone beauty. Hold up! Not really.

Enter Yang!

In the Yellow trailer, we see Yang using her good looks and charm to mess with Junior. Yet underneath this exterior, we see a raging monster burning with rage. Literally. She’s on fire.

Hell is unleased upon Junior’s henchmen, the Malachite twins, and his club.

Then, Yang loses it when Junior pulls out some of her hair; her eyes turn red, she finishes him off with a devastating right hook to his face and he flies out the window like a chump.

Did I mention she was a raging beast? That’s how Yang fights. Her semblance allows for this. Energy-absorption; which she stores and uses against opponents. It is a little unclear the details of it, as she often just becomes angry and her eyes turn red and boom.

Like at initiation, where an Ursa cuts a little bit of her hair – she goes on a one-woman rampage before Blake cuts in and finishes the fight off.

And it feels like nay a moment passes before she’s angry again; with Nora riding in on an Ursa and Pyrrha running towards them with a Deathstalker on her tail. Yang wants two seconds of peace before something crazy happens again but ya know, that’s impossible.

Or when RWBY fights the Paladin that contains Roman; Yang is smashed through a highway pillar, comes out strong enough to stop the giant robot hitting her in its tracks, and executes a one punch hit that destroys it (with Blake’s help of course).

Let’s not forget the well-discussed scene in ‘Burning the Candle’; she is angry outside of battle when Blake is running herself into the ground over the dangers of the White Fang and Torchwick. Blake refuses to listen to her, and she even goes as far as physically shoving Blake to get the point across that she’s too far gone. Also, “coming out” is mentioned.

And in ‘Never Miss a Beat’ we have Neon Katt aggravating Yang by taunting her with jabs at her obvious bust size and boiling rage as a consequence. Here, Weiss and Yang had trouble with the opponents they faced off against. Weiss was defeated by Flynt, and Yang couldn’t hit Neon. Yang trumped Flynt (get it? That’s not a Trump joke, by the way), and Neon literally tripped up to give Yang the easy win.

Then things start to go wrong, big time. In ‘Fall’, it looks like Yang’s finally shown how much of a Beast she can be. In the 1v1 versus Mercury, she taps into her semblance at a very low aura level (16!) after he unleashes some sort of super barrage of bullets. She punches her way to a win – even though we can’t be sure if Mercury deliberately lost, or went into the fight not expecting he would lose without throwing the match. But he loses, as is crucial to Cinder’s plans.

And in typical Yang fashion, she hits Mercury first, and asks questions later, when she sees - what is Emerald’s illusion – him trying to attack her after the fight is finished. The whole world watching sees Yang break an innocent kid’s leg, after she defeated him.

Those watching thinks that she is a ruthless, violent, monster. An interesting parallel to say the least. Blake, a Faunus, judged because of something she cannot change. Yang, judged because she was tricked.

They share a sad truth – the world doesn't like them.

Not to mention, once again, Blake’s partner has become what she fears most.

(If only she had seen Cinder, Mercury and Emerald when they visited Adam while she was still with him; this might have been avoided! But, plot)

But we have Yang trying to convince her team she saw Mercury attack first – Ruby and Weiss easily believe her. Blake has trouble because, “this is all just very familiar”.

“But you’re not him.”

So, Blake chooses to trust Yang. She does not see her as the Beast.

Thus far, Yang has won almost every fight we’ve seen using her semblance. Her semblance is dangerous. She takes hits and deals them back at twice the power. But to take hits, is to take damage. She’s not invincible.

Yeah, let’s touch on the even more discussed scene in ‘Heroes and Monsters’.

After dealing out some physical abuse to Blake, Adam Taurus, mister Blake’s ex-partner, delivers this chilling threat:

“I will make it my mission to destroy everything you love,”

“starting with her.”

Aaaaaaaaaand Adam stabs Blake to bait Yang, Blake pleads to deaf ears for Yang to not do the thing; Yang charges in eyes red fists blazing and does the thing anyway (say that to the tune of Vanessa Carlton’s ‘A Thousand Miles’) and her arm is dismembered for her effort. Blake knew she’d do that, and she knew Adam would hurt Yang just to punish her.

Suddenly, Yang has become the victim, and she’s become the victim because of Blake’s past betrayal of Adam. Not to say it’s Blake’s fault – it’s not – but it is to say that Blake believes it’s her fault and she totally feels guilty.

No longer is Blake Beauty; she’s become the Beast that has brought this misfortune upon her friend.

What’s my point in all this? That they fit together in the basis of Beauty and the Beast. Not just that Blake is Beauty, and Yang is the Beast, but they both fit both roles.

This one’s a bit more symbolic:

The song ‘Red Like Roses’, which plays during the Red trailer, describes each colour (and thus also each member) of team RWBY.

Red ‘like roses’; White ‘is cold and always yearning’. Ruby’s surname is Rose; Weiss comes across as cold, but obviously has deeper reasons for this.

But the point lies in the next two lines.

Black ‘the beast descends from shadows’; Yellow ‘beauty burns gold’.

So, Black is the beast here. During the Black trailer, the song ‘From Shadows’ plays, which is the ‘theme song’.

Blake is Black – the beast descending from shadows.

Yang’s colour is Yellow (or, gold, same thing yo).

Yellow Beauty burns gold – the song that plays during the Yellow trailer is ‘I Burn’ - well, the remix. Which consists of excerpts of ‘Red Like Roses’, ‘Mirror Mirror’, ‘From Shadows’, and finishes with ‘I Burn’. But it’s still ‘I Burn’.

The text that prefaces the Yellow trailer reads:

A spark becomes a flame in most cases, and again we have the motif of burning fire and beauty associated with Yang.

Because let’s face it. Typically, Yang is beautiful. I don’t have to explain this one. Her symbol is a burning heart. Hot and…hot. Two kinds of hot.

Blake is her beast, the Faunus that the world thinks ill of. The Faunus that was part of the White Fang. The Faunus once partnered with the dude that cut off her arm.

I feel like I’ve made the Beauty and the Beast argument here, not to mention it’s been made a lot already. These are all details; big and small; obvious and subtle, that surely cannot be coincidental. (SURELY????)

Now, I gotta take a small thing from the Yellow trailer’s preface text, this discussion’s not really that significant, but I had to do it anyway.

“Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical” and “misshapen spark”.

The public wants symmetry – but we have Yang, that shows off anything but symmetry. She must be that misshapen spark. (FORESHADOWING!! WHY MONTY?!)

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LET’S PLAY!: spot the asymmetries!

Obviously, Yang’s arms are technically are asymmetrical now. That one’s a given!

But, let’s take a look at Yang’s original outfit, y’all:

Her symbol is on her left breast; it is a heart after all!

That belt, girl! Satchels on the left, a bit of fabric over the top on the right. Burning heart on the right, as well. Even a bit of fabric that I don’t know what to call that tapers off to one side only.

Then you got them socks. The left one is above the knee, and the right is below. And a piece of purple fabric peeking outta the left boot for good measure.

Then we have the Hunter outfit featured in ‘Painting the Town’:

It’s a little less prominent in this outfit, but we have an overcoat that crosses over the torso, rather than doing up right in the centre. This one even tapers off to her left hip at the hem!

She’s also got another belt with a satchel just on her left side.

Then that piece of purple whatever the heck it is attached to her left hip. This one’s all left (insert arm joke here).

A little observation of her ‘don’t give a shit’ outfit:

 Ya gotta notice the sleeves being different lengths accommodating the loss of her right forearm.

The left sleeve bears her father’s emblem.

There is an extra pocket on her right thigh, above her emblem. A little Grimm patch is on her right hip too.

Her current outfit which debuted in ‘No Safe Haven’ combines a little of everything to me. It’s hard to get a good look at every angle with what little we’ve been given, though:

Ditching the scarf, Yang’s now got a collar that buckles up on the right.

It looks like her overcoat/vest zips up on her right side, that opens across her chest diagonally. It’s not in the center to me, at least.

I can see her belt has brown fabric attached to it, and on her left hip the fabric folds over the belt and reaches around to the back.

The purple fabric is back at it again on her left knee!

Never symmetrical.

Who else has got some asymmetries in their outfits? (EVERYBODY, I HEAR YOU SAY?)

Yeah, there’s something odd in everyone’s outfits. But if we look at team RWBY, it’s most prominent in Yang’s, and then Blake’s.

Blake’s original outfit:

She’s only got one asymmetry, which is fairly obvious. There is a long black sleeve she wears on her left arm.

The ribbons on each wrist only differ slightly, and I mean slightly, I barely count that.

Her intruder outfit, that’s almost completely symmetrical:

There’s one oddity on her belt – a satchel on the left hip.

The belt itself is a little lopsided.

There’s also a similarity here though, one of those fabric skirt things that I still don’t have a name for!

Blake’s current outfit has a little more asymmetry than the rest:

There’s a strap that she uses to carry Gambol Shroud. This goes over her right shoulder, rather than the pack she used to have on her back.

Then her belt, yet again, has a satchel on the left hip.

And on her boots (the longest boots probably in existence or they’re just accessories I really can’t tell I’ve tried to see if they’re not actually all boots and still am undecided), there’s another strap on her left thigh.

And I also note here that Blake’s got some major coattails going on too. Another similarity!

I hear you though, “THAT AIN’T SHIT”

Yeah, you right, the outfits aren’t such a big overlap. But that’s where they fit in the flow of this post; I still find that the outfits play a part, however small, in all this.

There are a lot less asymmetrical features in Ruby’s and Weiss’s outfits overall. Combat skirts, y’all!

But I suppose we need a bigger link between these two for this to seem worth it. I’ve seen plenty of arguments against why these two shouldn’t be together.

Recently, I saw something that went along the lines of the main character’s stories don’t have to focus on romance; a sub-plot is okay, but to say that their stories are so definitively focused on a romance between them isn’t right (okay that’s probably really inaccurate but it’s close enough to the point).

Except I think that’s kind of a lame argument. I don’t think this story focuses on romance between them. It focuses on all the things that are similar, or are a link between them, or how they balance each other out enough for it to seem part of the story without taking away from it.

Blake’s main flaw is that she runs away. She ran from her parents when her father stepped down as leader of the White Fang. She ran off with Adam to try and fight for the Faunus’ cause, but eventually she ran away from him when she couldn’t face what he had become. When Blake let slip she was a Faunus, she ran because she didn’t know how to deal with the reaction from her team. When Adam cut off Yang’s arm, Blake ran in fear that he’d come back to finish the job and then some if she stayed.

Her semblance, as Blake so eloquently described:

“I was born with the ability to leave behind a shadow of myself, an empty copy that takes the hit while I run away.”

I felt the way she says this makes it seem that she’s almost ashamed of this, like she’s enabling herself and this is a defect that allows cowardice.

In her face-off with Adam in ‘Heroes and Monsters’, he begins by criticising this as she looks fearful at the sight of him,

“Running away again? Is that what you’ve become my love? A coward?”

Blake fends him off a wounded student, angrily stating,

“I’m not running!”

His response,

“You will.”

And she does.

This fault of character is “coincidentally” what Yang has the biggest issue with in life!

Yang’s birth mother, Raven, abandoning her – she left without giving Yang a chance to stop her. Yang was a baby; she couldn’t stop her as a newborn infant, but she’s still asking the question of why.

Summer Rose, however unintentionally, left her as well.

Her father was devastated by this, and so he mentally checked out of life for a while and the parental role in her own and Ruby’s life fell to Yang.

Yet Yang’s search for Raven is the purpose of her visit to Junior in the Yellow trailer. She’s still searching for answers as the show progresses.

Yang explains to Blake the story of Summer Rose’s and her real mother’s disappearances, she describes that when she was a young child, she almost got herself and Ruby killed trying to follow a clue,

“My stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.”

In the moment, that line is to reason that Blake is exhausting herself to the point where, if she had to fight, she would die. Just like Yang did as a child searching for her mother.

Yet it looks like it could have been more foreshadowing. Yang’s stubbornness is a part of why she relies on her semblance in fights. That’s just the way she does it.

When Adam cut her arm off, he was going to kill her. She was defenseless! Her stubbornness should have gotten her killed. But once again, someone swoops in to save her – this time, it’s Blake.

Yes, she wouldn’t have been in that situation if it weren't for wanting to help Blake. But she wouldn’t have been in that situation as well if she tactfully approached fights. (ADAM WOULD HAVE SLAYED HER ANYWAY. PROBS.)

Blake knows Yang has an issue with abandonment. Yang knows Blake tends to run. And here they run into an issue, because Blake runs from Yang, and Yang is angry that she ran. It’s like star-crossed lovers or some shit!

In ‘End of the Beginning’, Ruby and Yang have a little catch up when Ruby wakes up. Yang tells her that Blake ran, and Ruby questions why.

You hear how devastated Yang sounds when she says,

“I don’t know,”.

She looks like she’s about to cry, actually. Remember the last time she cried?  When she was afraid Blake didn’t trust her? Yeah…

Anyway, Yang then stops herself. She becomes bitter and claims,

“and I don’t care.”

Poor, innocent, sweet, naïve Ruby says there has to be a reason why Blake left.

“No there doesn’t. Sometimes bad things just happen, Ruby.”

Yang’s resigned herself to be somebody people just leave. For no reason. And she’s upset.

I mean, we’re all like 1000% sure that Yang totally cares why Blake left. She just can’t admit that she cares that she’s been abandoned. Again. Did you hear ‘Armed and Ready’? I think Yang cares. (I’ve written care so much it doesn’t look like a real word anymore)

IS THIS ALL JUST A COINCIDENCE? (IS THIS THE REAL LIFE, IS THIS JUST FANTASY? CAUGHT IN A LANDSLIDE, NO ESCAPE FROM REALITY, OPEN YOUR EYES, LOOK UP TO THE SKIES AND SEE. I’M JUST A POOR BEE, I NEED NO SYMPATHY.)

Is it just a fucking coincidence that Blake runs and Yang is run from? (Better fuckin not be)

This isn’t a focus on building a romance story between them. It is crucial to their character building. This is building the foundations for the fuckin plot. The core of their characters, yada yada.

Their team is split apart. How will they become team RWBY again if they don’t sort this out? They’re going to have to sooner or later. The show is literally called RWBY.

They’re gonna have to address the Goliath in the room. Yang lost her arm to protect Blake. I think there’s gonna have to be some “you leaving hurt me more that losing a stupid arm” talk. Sun already said the whole, “you pushing us out hurts more than anything the bad guys could ever do to us” line, and he makes a lot of sense! Blake seemed to have a good reaction to that. And Yang’s talked sense into Blake before, and I can see that happening again, since Blake’s all guilty about her.

She hopes that her team hates her for leaving, so that she has an excuse to stay away, even though she misses them. That’s guilt.

She wants to deal with the consequences of her choices, apparently. Sun tells her she can’t make the choices for her friends.

Because that’s the exact same way that Raven left Yang. Without giving her a choice. Blake left before Yang even had the chance to ask her to stay! I bet Yang’s sick of that, huh?

Remember when Blake said,

“They were my friends. I loved them like I never thought I could love anybody.”

(Cue the tears. Arryn did such a good job VA in V4).

Blake’s gonna go back to them. It’s just a matter of time.

Ahhhh. What was my point again? I’m so caught up (USHER!) in all this analysis of things that my brain is just overloading. Every day, I think of something else. I really tried to consolidate my thoughts on the topic for real, just so I could get a new perspective and see if I make any sense.

There’s been so many sneaky hints in this show. So many.

Which is why we all kind of freaked out when Yang left Patch and went on that fuckin boat:

THAT. FUCKIN. GAY. BOAT.

Because it had to be the same boat Blake traveled on, didn’t it?

TELL ME IT’S NOT (BUT DON’T. I KNOW IT’S THE SAME BOAT. THIS ISN’T SOME TITANIC CONSPIRACY THEORY).

YOU HAD TO DO THIS TO US, DIDN’T YOU, CRWBY?

This post is a mess and so am I!

After all this talking, I gotta leave my real opinion here.

I just happen to think that this all makes a pretty good reason for a realistic situation where they realise that Blake found someone she does not want to run from, and Yang has someone that she really doesn’t want to lose.

Then you factor in things like they level each other out; Blake is mellow and Yang is boisterous; Blake is reserved and Yang is an open book (thank you Arryn for pointing that one out [RWBY ladies podcast from yonder years ago]); Blake’s dry sarcasm and Yang’s bad jokes; black and yellow is a good colour combination; “I love it when you’re feisty!”; *insert your favourite bee moments here*; etc.

Maybe it won’t turn into a romantic relationship, but the possibility is there.

I mean, you don’t have to want it, but you don’t need to be negative about it. If you don’t like a ship, just ignore us that do. I ignore all those people that argue for a ship I don’t see happening, because who am I to go there and crush all the things they believe in? Did we notice how I did nothing but talk about Bumbleby here? No other mention of any other ship. No hate. Just love.

People write these posts to give insight as to why they enjoy and choose a ship. Not so they can be pulled down and ridiculed; I don’t come on here trying to find common ground with people and celebrating a possibility that two badass chicks might be a little bit gay for each other.

You celebrate your ships, I’ll celebrate mine. And we can all bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone can eat and be happy, no matter what happens.

I just have a lot of feelings.

(Okay, go home.)

[traveling-sircus-blog]

Japanese Garden Design - A Great Yard Landscaping Choice

Murder and trouble are not the normal topics for songwriters nevertheless we have actually discovered 10 of the very best so here's some harrowing tunes for you to get your teeth into.

Bodnant Garden In Northern Wales Is Where Nature Puts On Its Finest Show

1st - Miami Dolphins; Vernon Gholston, DE. I understand the Dolphins are working out with offensive take on Jake Long. However, I do not think they will be able to pertain to an arrangement with him prior to the draft and their general supervisor slipped and mentioned taking a protective gamer (though I do not know if we truly need to read into that or not). The factor for this choice is the truth that Jake Long and DE Chris Long are safe picks. But, Gholston has the potential to be a superstar and I think the Dolphins, who have a great deal of work to do, will take the threat.

Week 7 (Sunday, Oct http://www.bestonlineflowers.co.uk/ 23, 3:05 p.m., CBS) - Chiefs at Oakland Raiders: Psst. hey Brandon flowers. cover Raiders WR Jacoby Ford this time, will ya? As a Chiefs fan, this winning streak Oakland has more than us needs to end. Now.

Sending Out Flowers To Your Woman - 4 Crucial Pointers To Seal A Happy Moment

Nickelback is most likely the most despised band by some rock fans purple flowers considering that Creed. So? I'll refer you to the statement about what 75 cents will buy you earlier in the post.

The fact is that when we're singing at the top of our lungs in the cars and truck, shower, or ex-girlfriend's lawn, we do not desire deep rivers of significance. We desire anthems that plainly speak of yearned for love and distress. We desire continuous mantras of hurt and regret. When we provide John Cusack-style boom box serenades, it isn't necessary to use complex rhyme schemes and metaphor. James Blunt's simplicity works. When he sees the girl of his dreams with another guy in the train, "My life is brilliant/My love is pure" is all we need to become aware of brandon flowers You're Beautiful.

Photo Scavenger Hunts: Putting A Twist On An Old Game

AC/DC - Dirty Deeds Done Inexpensive Trying to find a hit man? Look no further. AC/DC offer their services here at bargain prices. They even leave their number for you to call! You won't be requesting for your refund either, when you see what they have actually got in store; we're talking 'cyanide', 'TNT' and erm 'concrete shoes'??

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Gamers! 1 | Chronos Ruler 2 | Boku no Hero Academia 28 - 29 | Katsugeki 3 - 4 | Princess Principal 2 | Saiyuki Reload Blast 3 | Classroom of the Elite 2 | Reflection 1

Gamers! 1

Apparently this is an alright comedy, so it’s the second-last debut of this season I’m trialling. I probably won’t attend most of my anime club sessions as a result of tackling most of the debuts within my reach, but I never really socialised at my anime club anyway…(?)

Kiniro Memories…Like, a parody of Kiniro Mosaic or Tokimeki Memorial or something?

I don’t see what’s so appealing about her, despite the flowers and such cueing me into how I should see her.

Super Chips, LOL. That makes me hungry, but I just ate.

…Gah? I’m only a casual gamer, so I don’t get the appeal of the back of the box.

Tasuku grabbed the cat by the plastic ring? Well, I’ll be. That’s inventive.

This guy is…such a…jerk!

The joke about King Koopa is because he uses itadakimashita at the end of his first sentence, which is really formal.

I don’t find it very surprising that girls like gaming. After all, these days, we’ve basically gotten rid of the stigma around “nerdy stuff” being “not for girls”. *thinks for a bit* Although the IT industry still suffers from a lack of girls…

This show has some gorgeous cherry blossom scenes. I pause just to observe the level of detail in each tree.

These fanservice shots are downright disturbing…

Another Gakuto this season (the second after Sasajima in 7O3X). It’s a shame I dropped 7O3X from the commentary…

G-Guh! I-It’s COD (Call of Duty)! Never thought I’d see an anime parody of it, ever! I’ve heard people speak about it, but I don’t bother with it.

A crank is “a pejorative term used for a person who holds an unshakable belief that most of his or her contemporaries consider to be false”, while a scrub is “a now generalized term used as a synonym for a “noob” or “newb,” which is someone who is bad at a video game or activity in general”. I’m not very used to gaming lingo. *sweatdrops*

Wow, that slap in the face really got me by surprise. I howled when I saw Amano’s reaction face though.

Now there’s an honorable guy! I still prefer Shiki from 7O3X, but at least now he’s not a no-face harem protag.

Who the heck is Choshinnomori? The illustrator?

I think Gamers is good enough to continue, but not enough for a commentary. Aside from Reflection vs Chronos Ruler, the lineup’s pretty much settled.

Chronos Ruler 2

Wooser’s…Casino? Never saw that one coming. Was that an intentional riff on Sanrio?

As soon as Kiri starts spouting off about negligence and goals, the Kunikida bells go off.

Nice pun! Kiru can mean “to cut”, and since there’s a metaphor involving “homeland” already, it’s a pun on a pun.

Michiko Yokote’s on this? Wow, she must get a lot of my views. I’m seeing her and Natsuko Takahashi everywhere ever since Boueibu happened.

This kaeidoscope thing reminds me of Kiznaiver. Lay Your Hands on Me is sad when you remember it was a last project of Boom Boom Satellites’ lead man.

Nyuh-huh-huh-huh…(what? That’s just a weird laugh!) Why would you call a city C’est La Vie? Well, if anything, the name is appropriate.

Wait, I just realised they had Victo naked without his strange orb in his body…for the sake of fanservice. I didn’t mind because naked dudes are my cup of tea, but still…lack of consistency is a real markdown for this show.

Kiri looks like he’s floating on that stone floor…what.

Wasn’t Victo here earlier? Why is Kiri here now?

I-It’s Hellsalem’s Lot! In Chronos Ruler! Well, wonders never cease.

Victo doesn’t even look remotely angry as he faces his old foe.

*trying not to giggle* Why is eating pasta through the nose always a punishment in anime?

Yeah, it’s now too inconsistent for me to deal with. I’m dropping it until The Reflection comes along.

Boku no Hero Academia 28

I thought it was Full Cowl…? By the way, for some reason Izuku passes an Indian restaurant twice…or is that Arabic, or Thai? I dunno, it’s hard to tell without pausing…

LOL, I laugh so hard at Bakugo’s combed down hair. It reminds me of neat!En from the Boueibu manga.

I haven’t seen Tsukauchi in a while. Hisashiburi! (Long time no see!)

Stain’s just said what Hans (Rokka no Yuusha) said about a year or two ago…hmph. It seems quite a few assassins follow that belief, eh?

Huh, that’s actually very logical…to have lots of crime where there are lots of people, so on so forth.

Manual has Tsukauchi’s eyes. Are they related somehow?

Oh no…There’s a winged Nomu, and the only one with wings in this show is…a kid from Bakugo’s friendship group! *tries not to cry*

It’s Gran Torino, kids. Regardless of whether it’s the car or the movie he’s named after, it’s Gran Torino.

I realised Shigaraki really likes spectacles. Not glasses, though.

It’s honestly so scary to see Iida this mad…

“My name is Tenya Iida. You crippled my brother. Prepare to die!” – That’s the line you want, right, Iida? Take a note out of Inigo Montoya’s (Princess Bride) book.

Boku no Hero Academia 29

Wow, I knew Endeavour wasn’t liked, but I didn’t think his sitch was that bad…

The framing choice (white, insular fadeout) was a good one, I think. Shows Deku’s blinkered thinking at a crucial moment like this.

W-Wait. They have a hero called The Fly?! You’re kidding, right? That’s a great name! Creepy, because heck, just seeing screenshots of the Cronenberg movie is enough to make you pee your pants, but…heck yeah! What a name!

Seriously, how does that hand stay on Shigaraki’s face???

Japanese society is full of modesty, but Tensei is something else.

As much as I hate to admit it, Stain’s right Iida…sorry. Thinking selfishly doesn’t work in the hero biz.

Didn’t I say Deku looked scary back in ep 13-ish? Yeah, you can see the shadow of the monster right here…Gotta take note for Half-Paid Heroes!

I was going to use the ping-pong technique in Half-Paid Heroes, actually (the same one you saw Gran Torino use a few eps back in his apartment). I think Deku might use it here…

I see! That’s why Shinso had to apper before this!

A-hey. Stain’s kinda like a vampire. How didn’t I think of that earlier? (because I already kind of knew the secret behind his Quirk)

See? I knew Deku would use that ping-pong technique! It’s perfect for covering your defences simply through speed, which is exactly what I needed for one of my characters.

Well, today I reaffirmed why I love BnHA, and why even something like Katsugeki can’t beat it! That is the love of a superhero fan, right there!

Katsugeki 3

Seriously, is it “alright” or “all right”???

I never thought Kane-san would be so willing to kick butts and take names. Or…just the kicking butts bit.

Wait, what’s a roushi?

I still don’t know what a roushi is, but it seems the Time Retrograde Army are just giving catastrophic events in the time they’re in a nudge. The ripple effect, y’know?

A touken is a sword.

Were those roushi…CGI?! Blasphemy!!! Just when the backgrounds were looking really lifelike too.

Ah, a roushi = a ronin. There you go.

Mutsu’s surprised face is…hilarious!

Tosa people have accents? I don’t know much about accents, so I gotta learn…

Come to think of it, I’ve never seen a rogue touken danshi (sword boy)…hmph.

That constable looks like Heizo Hasegawa (Onihei).

The saniwa should be a gal, didn’t I say that in a previous ep?

Kitsune are meant to love deep fried tofu.

Whose line is “I’m going to seize the world”? Mutsu’s, probably.

Katsugeki 4

The closed shop appears to be called “The Tsuda Shop” or something like it, due to something that’s been written on to the paper screens.

Satchou is this alliance.

The shop you see Tonbokiri in the doorway of is called the “Murata Shop” (Murata-ya).

Again, foxes are meant to love tofu, but here’s what a pipe fox is.

There’s a sense of foreboding looming over this anime, and it kind of scares me, but it’s par for the course in a show like this.

Mutsu’s eating an onigiri. “Same old, same old” really are the right words to use here.

An ootachi should be significantly weaker in smaller quarters, like a bridge. However, they have longer range, which means that multiple swords in the party this Saniwa has could defeat it. By the by, I consulted the wiki, and it seems we’re going through era 1 (Meiji era), so there shouldn’t be any closed quarter battles here (I think there was one in the first ep of Hanamaru).

I bet Mutsu’s gonna pull out his gun sometime during this battle, eh?…Yep, a few seconds after I predicted that, it came true. Mutsu, you nut. I know this is close to the Meiji restoration if not in the middle of it, but still, don’t go showing off your gun everywhere…

Cue “You shall not pass!” moment from Tonbokiri. (I think I should say “again”, but my memory’s being sketchy right now.) LOL.

Everyone has that one experience as a Touken Ranbu rookie where their tantou has had way too much and dies…it’s always so sad, and often a player’s first death in their party. I know, because my first tantou was a Sayo and of course, he died on me.

I wonder if Kiwame will be shown in this show…hmph.

Wowsers, I held my breath so hard at that point where Yagen seemed like he was going to lose…but hey, what a great debut for Tsurumaru! Unfortunately, I don’t know the relationship between Yagen and Tsurumaru, since I don’t own a Tsuru, but I’ve been trying to get one for the longest time. Update: Oh, that “are you surprised that someone like me came here so suddenly?” is his line when he’s obtained, meaning the saniwa must’ve smithed him and dropped him into the fray.

Princess Principal 2

I think they’re trying to pull a “moe” route with Ange right here…which is not my style, but I’m neutral on it…

S-So…Dorothy sucks at smoking? L-LOL.

How do these women live with their metal dresses? Corsets are one thing, but actual metal, like knights but all over the dress? Yeah, definitely a sign of “no pain no gain” fashion.

Wait, there’s stolen blueprints?…Oh, okay then.

Really? CGI dancing couples? *rolls eyes* This is probably second to the fedora monster (Rokka no Yuusha) as to how bad CGI can get.

This Duke…he reminds me of Rosenberg (Royal Tutor), and that is not a good sign.

Saiyuki Blast 3

Go! Play them cards, Hakkai!

The concept of a sky burial could probably make an entire anime. I should keep better notes on this stuff. Plus, birbs. Even if they’re vultures, they’re cute!

I think the thing that makes Saiyuki special, despite it being a reboot of an old show, is that it’s able to convey deep themes without ruining the mood. I think that’s missing from a lot of modern anime, especially some of the more apparent commercials.

Y-Yeah, Goku…kicking a man through the roof is overkill. (laughs anyway)

Mmhmm. I like me some dudes in tight shirts like Sanzo’s. Azrael from Ro.Te.O is designed the same way, which is one reason why I love him so much.

Trigger warning for death but, “He died from the epidemic six days ago…”

“I thought really hard about what you asked me yesterday.”

I’m not gonna stick around for UraSai this time. So not worth it…

Classroom of the Elite 2

Oh gosh. I come here for a good time and they go with Gainaxing? Really?

Well, that was unexpected. I thought Ayanokouji was going to be a blushing wreck, but he’s less harem protag and more Houtarou Oreki (Hyouka).

Mm-mm. I like me some bishie like that, Horikita. You’ve got some good taste.

Dangit, this lunch is making me hungry, and I just ate!

Well, I can’t see how you’d have bad grades if you got into an advanced “nurturing school”, so I get Horikita’s point, but I can see how people can fail with the S-System. Ayanokouji and Horikita are basically Misora and Kei from Sakurada Reset though, and that’s bad news for this show…I might need to put Youkai Apato and 7O3X back in the places they used to be in.

I think this show is focussing on Kushida fanservice too much, too early into the game. Fanservice shouldn’t be this early into a series unless the series is fanservice from start to finish (e.g. ecchi).

Best moment of this entire show was Horikita shutting down Ayanokouji, LOL. See? I work a lot better without fanservice in my commentaries.

Ah! A tiger mum, but in the form of an older brother? I see, I see *nods*.

Actually, I now think Ayanokouji’s martial arts skills passed off as “piano and calligraphy” is the best moment.

Hmph. I never thought that Horikita’s inability to get along with others was what got her into Class D. Come to think of it, Ayanokouji is probably there because he rigged the scores and isn’t very sociable either…

It’s interesting that they list the points next to the cast credits. I was losing interest in this show, but the small things are what make me sit up and pay attention!  

Reflection 1

I’ve been waiting for this all season now, so here it is!

The first thing that hit me about this show was the colour palette. It’s like I’m watching a moving painting. Or a moving comic book, which I think was the point.

*sighs, somewhat happily(…?)* You know it’s America when the skyscrapers are plastered with the Stars and Stripes…Only American creators can be so proud of America, y’know? People naturally write about what they know, including the patriotism of their homelands.

It seems they even have WcDonald’s in this too, Plus DNN and so on, so forth.

Seeing the skyscrapers light up with relevant effects is cool! Real cool!

Now, if only comics would learn to empower their women better, then I’d be happy…*grumbles into distance*

Also, can someone please stop making all the minority races evil? I think I’ve seen enough evil dudes from that genre, and I haven’t even watched majority of the superhero movies that make the genre what it is.

The background scenery holds on for a little too long, a la Tsukigakirei.

Holy ninjas, Batman! That was a Russian ninja, apparently! Much cooler than an ordinary Japanese ninja, eh? (By shonen standards, at the very least?)

“At least tell me you did a ‘good job’.”

Why is it that everything in America is handled by the FBI, from aliens to superheroes? I don’t get you sometimes, America.

“Sorry, I actually live in LA.” – L-LOL!!! What even, don’t go around revealing your place of residence! Villains will come after you, don’t you know that, I-Guy???

The flat aesthetic means CGI doesn’t stand out too much, thankfully…

Huh, I never thought in my entire lifetime Stan Lee would be tackling the discriminatory nature of the term “hero”. He just never seemed to be the sort who would.

Yeah, I kinda knew 9Nine were involved with the ED, but I never quite guessed it would result in something like this. It’s a fairly typical ED, by anime standards, but still – you can tell it was done well, by a superhero great (better than trying to imitate anime a la Heroman), but it’s not to the same highs as Boku no Hero Academia or Katsugeki can take you. Therefore, Classroom of the Elite will be going on hold while I try to figure out what’s so good about this show.