#so he's like 'Another guy who dislikes me on principle'

[starcurtain]

Hear me out. I know it's unlikely that Ratio would ever have been foolish enough to directly get taken in by a scam, but considering that we know:

One of the groups specifically tricked by Kakavasha before he joined the IPC was the Intelligentsia Guild

What he tricked them about was Tayzzyronth's Swarm remnants, the exact same thing we see Ratio investigating in his very first appearance in the game, and

The researchers were described as "extremely cautious"

I am surprised that "Ratio was at least somehow connected to the Intelligentsia Guild team fooled by Kakavasha before he was ever even a Stoneheart" isn't more popular with the Ratio and Aventurine fandom.

Like imagine being Dr. Ratio. You tell your colleagues, "This seems like a scam. Are you sure you should trust this 'local guide' you've made contact with? Tell me about him. A picture? Does this even look like an Egyhazan native to you? I won't save you fools from making idiotic decisions." (You end up having to clean up the aftermath of their idiotic decisions anyway. There is sand in places on your body you didn't even know existed before this. How mortifying for the Guild. For you, by association.)

Then, next thing you know, you get a mission briefing slid across your desk from your IPC connections. They want you to work with their new Stoneheart. You open the packet to see... that little bastard with the enthralling eyes who had your moronic colleagues scrambling in the dirt on a backwater planet for months. Apparently he's made a career out of fooling you your supposedly competent guildmates.

You run off to confront him. You never met him personally back then, but you deserve compensation for the idiocy you were subjected to nonetheless. He deserves to know how much of a pain in the ass he's been in your life already without ever having met your eyes--

He proceeds to shove a gun into your hands and tries to make you an accomplice to a suicide. Apparently, this is normal behavior for the man now called Aventurine. Somehow, it's supposed to prove to you that he is a sane and reliable individual.

Absolutely nothing in your life has been normal since Egyhazo.

You would like to have mundane problems, sometimes.

How do you keep ending up in this beautiful manic clever conman's orbit, and why, like binary stars, can you not escape the gravitational pull?

[godhandler]

The Homo Economicus in Love - Noritoshi Kamo

[wc: 4k+  |  noritoshi kamo x reader  |  college au  |  fluff-angst-smut  |  tw: alcohol, weed, smoking, economics, kissing Nobara, swear words, Boys over Flowers, cunnilingus, handjob, blowjob, unprotected piv  |  three-part series, part 2 and 3 to be released next week]

Synopsis: You’re the sweet shy nerd who swears Marxist revenge on the heir of the Kamo Conglomerate, Noritoshi Kamo: You’re going to give him the worst heartbreak of his life. 

lh7-rt.googleusercontent.com

Part 1: Operation Kamo

Where do you hide away your most rotten petals, sweet lotus? Do you arrange them on your outermost ring, so that they may fall out and away before disdaining eyes? Or do you lock them closest to your heart? Where do you hide your rot, my love?

1 year and 2 week ago 

Over the cheap cigarettes and vodka-cranberry juice spilled out of plastic cups, Nobara’s voice carries weakly. “Prof Geto called yn a ‘sweet girl’ today”, she drawled. Nobara is the sort who refuses to admit they’re far drunker than they claim to be. “Everyone calls you ‘sweet girl’, imagine if they saw you like this.”

Nobara’s barely sitting upright, both from the pegs she’s consumed and your hips straddling her lap. Hey Nobara, wanna make-out, but like friends? Nobara Kugisaki, the woman that she is, doesn't back down, so here you two are, lips wet with each other’s liquor. Your other friends, all sitting on the floor in a circle like you two, had just shrugged at your antics. Fushiguro keeps an eye out on the two of you. Maki’s in a chugging contest with Itadori (she’s clearly winning even though Itadori refuses to back down), Inumaki and Panda are switching between watching them and you. Yuuta’s out for more cigarettes. 

“She is a ‘sweet girl’, though. People have layers, Nobara.” Itadori, having lost another round to a still very sober Maki, defends you. Your friends, of all people, know that. You have a ritual that once every three months all of you come together to have a casual get-together where you get blackout drunk. And you, the shy, nerdy, underconfident, mild-mannered goody-two-shoes sweet girl, drink the hardest of them all. It could get you kicked off campus and even arrested, but isn’t that the fun of it? 

“Yeah, Nobara”, Panda joins the conversation. “yn can top Microeconomic Theory at 2 pm and top you at 2 am. In fact, she can do both at the same time, I bet.”

“I didn’t top Micro, man.” You choke down a moan as Nobara nips your neck, but you have to set the record straight, as much as it hurts you to admit it. “That assface did.”

“Kamo?” Maki asks.

“Yeah, that fucker.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you two still had that little rivalry going.” Maki teases. “What is this, a little fanfic where you turn academic rivals-to-lovers?”

You turn away from Nobara to pout at Maki. “It’s not like that, I genuinely dislike that guy because of the principle of it. There’s layers to my hatred.” You’re slurring a bit, both words and thoughts getting mixed up in your head. “If he wasn’t such a looker I'd have punched his face by now. Like, even the thought of him–” You’re starting to get mad at someone who isn’t even here (is it the cross-fading? It was only a few cigarettes, menthol ones too) “– he’s so smug, so fucking pretentious! Always looking down on me! He’s a part of the bourgeoisie, he’s conservative, he talks over me in class, he literally counters every single point I make in class, what a teacher-ass-kisser, and his hair is so ugly! But he’s so not ugly, he’s almost pretty! I wish I could hurt him, I wish–  I wish I could show him the greatest love and then break his heart in the most painful way possible!”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” Itadori laughs. But he understands where you’re coming from. For someone like you, who was born poor and struggled so much to get a good education and finally get into your fancy old-money college, Noritoshi Kamo, the chaebol heir, represented everything unequal with the world. When you’ve been up all-night working at the convenience store just to pay for tuition while he just dashes up swanky-suited to classes in his Rolce Royce with organic coffee, and then has the fucking audacity to top Microeconomics Theory … you want to kill him. 

“He deserves it, to be honest. He’s got such an attitude problem.” Maki says. “But he’s a hard shell to crack. If you can actually do what you’ve said, yn, I’ll pay for a barbeque dinner.”

“It’s a bet then.” You’re gonna do it. Drunk and sober, you’re actually gonna do it.

Inumaki bets against you. Panda bets for you. Itadori doesn’t like the whole thing (he bets against you). Fushiguro doesn’t care (he bets for you). The topic’s passed by the time Yuuta returns.

1 year ago

Noritoshi Kamo isn’t having a good day. He lost his notes for Micro Theory, and then his favourite coffee (almond-milk cappuccino with organic Yemeni beans, dusted with dark chocolate!) was made too bitter, and then this traffic jam made him late to class, and now his favourite classmate is absent again. What a shame. You two have such fun discussions in class.

Little does he know that you’re sitting in the corner of the last bench in a dark hoodie looking like you’re a secret agent on a mission. You are. This is all going according to your plan. 

A week ago you watched Kamo lend his notes to Todo. Two days later, you asked Todo for “your” notes back (you never lent him any but it’s not like he remembers who he takes his notes from). You then missed two days of classes (when they covered Consumer Behaviour) to set the final act: now. 

The bell rings. People are getting up to leave. Kamo is packing his things up. Here goes Operation Kamo: Make-him-fall-in-love-with-you-and-break-his-heart.

“Professor!” You walk to the front of the hall. 

“Ah, yes, yn!” Prof Utahime, as always, is happy to see you. “Did you have any doubts about the class?”

“Yes, Prof, I’m struggling with Consumer Behaviour. But I have so many questions, I don’t think even Office Hours could help me.” 

Utahime is genuinely perplexed. Consumer Behaviour is one of the most basic concepts, how could a top student like you be confused about that? “Oh, then would you want some extra tutoring? I could connect you with some peer tutors.”

Score. You casually hold your hands behind your back, and in your hands you visibly carry Kamo’s apparently lost notes (the bait). 

“That would be perfect, prof.”

“But I don’t mind taking extra Office Hours for you–”

“– No!” You clear your throat. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“In that case, for a peer tutor I’d recommend– Oh! Kamo!” Your fish, who had taken the bait and was coming to retrieve his notes from you, looks alarmed. “So lucky you’re right here! yn was just looking for a peer tutor. You help her in Consumer Behaviour, alright?”

“Me, Professor?”  “Thanks, Prof!” 

But Utahime’s already waved you two off. Kamo is left looking at you (he didn’t even know you were in class) and you need help with Consumer Behaviour of all topics?

“Oh, Mr. Kamo” You fake some shyness. From what you’ve observed of him, you guess that he likes his girls demure and soft, so that’s who you shall be from now. “When should I attend your tutoring sessions?” 

“Please don’t call me that.” He says, “And it’s from 8.30 to 10 pm every Thursday.”

“Thank you so much!”

See, people only know u as the shy little bookish nerd. They don’t realise that you’re doing everyone a favour by putting your brains into academics instead of mischief like this, because you’re damned if you’re not winning this bet. 

11 months ago

Every Thursday night from the past month, you’ve been diligently studying with Kamo. Even though it started as a peer tutor session, it was too painful for both of you to keep pretending like you do not understand Pareto Efficiency. “It just means that the resource you’re distributing amongst people has been completely distributed, with nothing left over. So you can’t give more to one person without giving less to another.” Kamo would say with a straight face. “You don’t even know that?” 

Right now, you’re working on your assignments together in a classroom i.e. you two do your own assignments side-by-side without a word or question. You refuse to discuss your answers with Kamo citing academic plagiarism. Kamo will answer any doubt you face but not without condescension. While he’s not falling in love with you, your homework sure is getting done faster. And you two have now adapted to a mutually silent tolerance instead of barely-hidden hostility. 

“I’m tired.” You yawn at the clock: it’s 3.16am . “Let’s finish this tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow we’ll have to get started on the Macroeconomics paper, we need to finish this today, yn.” Kamo’s stern. “Don’t tell me you’re falling behind again.”

“Hardly, asshole. But unlike you, I can’t afford to constantly drink fancy British coffee to keep awake, so please, forgive my poverty.”  You’re too fucking tired too keep up this soft baby girl shit. Besides, I can seduce Kamo with just my looks, I don’t need to put in that much effort. He’s a man, after all.

That’s a new side of her. Kamo’s a bit taken aback. Not bad.

“I didn’t mean any offence.” He says carefully. 

“As if you could offend me.” You’re not mad, just snappy and really need a break. “I’m gonna take a walk.”

“By yourself?”

“Shocked I don’t have a chauffeur?”

“Stop that.” He says. “You know I can’t let you walk around this late all by yourself.”

He’s really pissing you off now. “So you’re my father now? Don’t think you can order me around like your servants, okay?”

“I wasn’t doing that!” He gets up from his seat. “Fine, you do as you like, but I’ll accompany you.”

In Kamo’s mind, he’s acting like any gentleman should, especially to a delicate girl like you. In yours, he’s being far too overprotective over a stranger. But you swallow down your irritation when you realise the situation: you two, walking under the moonlight. 

The mission is back on and you’re locking in. 

—

“It’s not British, it’s Yememi.” The path you walk on is cold and quiet. Surprisingly, college students do sleep sometimes. You note that Kamo, hands in the pockets of his stiff slacks, has quite a deep voice. “My coffee. The British do tea.” A bit rough, a little haughty. His voice reminds you of oak trees in harsh winter.

The night air has significantly cooled your temper. “I just said whatever came to my mind. I’m sorry if I was too brash back there.”

Kamo hums. A pause. “It’s better when you are straightforward like that. I spent a semester trying to figure out if you like me or not.” Huh? Isn’t it obvious I dislike him? “I enjoy listening to your points in class.”

“Please,” you retort. “You counter all my points, and only my points.”

“Yes, because it’s a discussion?” Kamo seems genuinely confused. “After all, you make the best points in class.”

The flash of understanding strikes both your heads at the same time. 

Kamo – Ah. She’s insecure of her status in the college and saw it as me talking down her opinions.

You – Ah. No one’s ever told this rich prick to shut the fuck up.

And that, folks, was the first olive branch they spread to each other. A common understanding of each other’s rotten sides, even though this was just, at best, overripe. The first shared acknowledgement of each other’s flawed humanity.

You two finish your assignments on time. Kamo has started to nod at you everytime you cross paths on campus. Sometimes he even stops for a little chat. 

10 months and 18 days ago

“You’re ethically challenged.” Fushiguro says. You both share the same Statistics class, despite the fact that he’s majoring in Computer Science. 

“Shouldn’t we eat the rich? I’m doing a version of that.”

“If you want to manipulate Kamo into sleeping with you just say that.” He disregards your outraged expression. “What is this weird Boys Over Flowers thing you have going on?”

That the resident rich-boy on campus, Noritoshi Kamo, has started to hang out everywhere with poor little nerdy you is the gossip of the college. Only your friends knew your real intentions behind this, that is, all except Yuuta, who would innocently joke about you two falling in love. The kind of jokes that make the whole friend group fall silent.

As you take your seats in the classroom, Fushiguro leans towards you. Kamo’s also in the class, sitting far in front of you two. “What will you do when you start liking him back?”

“Do you think that I’m 12 years old?” You reply back. “It’s not like either of us thinks we’re in a Disney fairytale. It’ll be a weird situationship at best.” 

“You’re just saying that because you feel guilty about everything. Why even bother going to these lengths to play nonsense games?”

Damn. That was… upsettingly correct. What can you even reply to that?

Fushiguro just sighs. “Just keep out of trouble. I don’t want to clean your puke from sad-bingeing too much ice-cream again.”

He’s talking about the time when you had a thing with Yuuta. It ended pretty badly, and even though you still remain friends, Fushiguro remembers that heart wrenching pain that you went through post the break-up. He was there for you, even though he brushes it off as not a big deal, and you are forever grateful for that. Fushiguro has always been there for you.

—--

“Yn, Fushiguro.” Kamo shook his hand. “Let’s go with Mai for the fourth team member. I can introduce you to her over lunch.”

“The group presentation is after two whole months, though.” You protest.

“We’ll start early then.” No one made him the captain of this ship, but apparently Kamo just assumes that role.

Was Mai Zenin Megumi Fushiguro’s cousin? Yes. Technically. Had Fushiguro’s deadbeat dad done his utmost to keep him from his side of the family and hence Mai lived in a totally different world to Fushiguro? Also yes. 

Because even with his full-ride scholarship and bursary grant, Fushiguro would still never be able to relate to the talk that’s been going on at Kamo’s friends lunch table. “Vacationing at the Pyramids?” “Travelling the world with his mentor Tsukumo?” “Interning at his dad’s multispeciality hospital?” He’s never even heard of Loro Pianna. Neither have you. Even when Kamo's friends aren’t actually trying to be mean, you still feel like outcasts. 

You suppose this is the world of the rich. Where you don’t belong. Where they let the majority of the world population starve to death because they fucked up the food supply chains to get more profits. Where they take the private jet from Tokyo to Kyoto and let Bangladesh suffer from global warming. Where all their luxury alligator skin handbags are made by slave children in sweatshops. And they don’t care. They don’t care at all.

I despise them. You grit your teeth. I despise Kamo to the core.   

He deserves this. He deserves what I’m doing.

10 months ago

There has been a grave development. Over trying Yemeni coffee (“I can pay for myself.” “Not this, you really can’t.”), giving you a lift to Political Philosophy class on the other side of the campus in his Rolls Royce (“There’s a TV???” “Do you want to watch something?” “Oh my god– There’s a TV in your car??”), to tipping you heavily at the diner you waitress at, you’ve realised you’ve been partaking in Kamo’s wealth. 

Especially now that you catch yourself taking notes on Marxism with a Caran D’Ache pen (¥ 65,000) stamped with the crimson lotus of the Kamo Conglomerate. This is just plain wrong on so many levels. 

It’s okay to take his money, you reason. He’s got his asshole filled with it. But the money signifies a certain amount of closeness that you two have created. You don’t even accept expensive gifts from Yuuta, the most well-off out of all of you poors, and you two were close. Very close. As for Kamo, he now texts about his archery practice (he has a tournament coming up), he sends you photos of his notes if you miss a class without even being asked, he recommends you Coursera courses that complement your degree. Noritoshi Kamo didn’t even know your first name two months ago. 

This is going too far. The mission was to make him trust me, depend on me, not vice versa. I have to speed this up. Now.

“Hey, Kamo.” Your whispered tone is so casual, Kamo almost missed the tacit question behind your words. “Want to revise Macroeconomics in my dorm after class? Fushiguro’s staying over with Itadori, so it’ll be quieter than the library.”

But he doesn’t miss it. He’s also a college student after all, he knows what you’re asking. Or at least what he presumes that you’re asking. This could be an innocent request... No, the way your eyes flicker down to his lips for a second as a little blush heats your ears red, he knows it’s not.

He’s gonna refuse. He doesn’t even look like he’s interested. You don’t know that his heart is thumping in his temples and his palms are sweaty. 

He turns to look at you full in the face. In his steady eyes, you see that he trusts you. He trusts that whatever happens, however this ends, it’ll be okay, because he trusts you. Cold leaden terror fills your veins.

“Okay.” Kamo’s smile is soft. You’ve never seen him smile before. “I’ll be there.”

—---

If Kamo is uncomfortable with the state of your untidy dorms, he doesn’t say anything. He takes the glass of cranberry juice you offer him in your best cup, and chats freely about this and that, sitting cross-legged on your bed (you don’t have a couch). Much more freely than he ever did. It’s as if he’s lifted an invisible barrier, letting you step into an inner part of him that he keeps shielded from everyone. Except for you, now. 

You’re scared. Whatever fringe of delusion you keep up to convince yourself that you’re still a good person is rapidly vanishing. The full weight of your guilt is settling in heavy. Your hand, wrapped around your juice, starts to shake. 

Kamo notices. Of course he does. Ever since you asked him to come to your dorms, and even before that, he’s noticed everything about you. He was very happy to be your friend (he was very happy to have a friend at all, and if it’s someone as smart, beautiful, funny, sweet and amazing as you, that’s all the better), but to hear you say that you wanted something deeper with him, how could he refuse? He’s still pretty new to you, especially in this context, he doesn’t know everything that you like or dislike. So when he notices your hand shaking, he takes the drink off of you and covers your hand with his and presses it softly against his lips. He hopes that this is something you like. You do.

“Are you so nervous?” He asks. “We can do Macroeconomics if you’d rather. I want you to be comfortable.”

This is your chance. Break it off, don’t cross this line, let things go back to how they were. This is just going to hurt the two of you. The two of you. 

You set out to hurt him in the most painful way possible. If you let this go any further, you will. Do the right thing, yn. Do the right thing. 

“I’m good. Noritoshi–,” you reply. “– I want you.”

You close your eyes. It’s enough. I don’t want to think about anything anymore. 

His calloused hand cradling your cheek, his hair falling over your neck. you feel a warm kiss on your forehead. “You don’t have to say anything. I love you. Have for a while. I don’t do this usually, you have to know.” His lips scrape the shell of your ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

You keep your eyes stubbornly closed to everything. “I don’t, Toshi–” He smiles at the pet name you’ve picked. “–love you too. Have for a while, too.” 

His chapped lips melt hungrily into yours. He doesn’t hesitate to throw himself fully onto you, pushing your back onto the bed as he climbs over you, his hand behind your head. Hot, heavy, wet– he smells of oak and cedar. With hints of dark chocolate. You can taste the desperation on his tongue. 

He moans out loud as you run a tongue down his neck, prepping to leave him littered with your bites. Does he notice when you unbutton his pressed shirt? When his heavy leather belt snaps unbuckled? Or is he only focused on you pulling your shirt off, eyes glued to your beautiful breasts and the softness of your belly? 

He pulls the cups of your bra down with a finger to lick over your cleavage, nipping at your tits, boldly grabbing the fat of your ass. He’s far too gone to use his head, and you’re making a conscious decision not to. 

“Like this?” Kamo draws a trail of kisses down to your sex. 

“Yeah.”

“Show me how you like it done. I want to please you.” You nearly choke at his words. 

Nodding, you pull his hands into your panties when you’re suddenly struck with …shyness? He just laughs and lands a kiss straight onto the wet patch through your underwear. Damn. Where did this Casanova come from?

“I do it like this.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he studies you, despite a painfully hard cock, as you dip a finger into your slick hole and rub circles on your clit with it. You softly pinch a nipple with the other hand. Your cries are sinful as you add another finger into your cunt. 

“My turn.” Kamo looks straight at you as he licks your juices off your finger (you almost faint). “Tap if it's too much.”

It is too fucking much. You don’t know where he learnt to push the clitoral hood back as he breathes cold onto it, to lubricate it with spit as he licked circles onto it, to push two curled fingers into your cunt at once, to use his whole wrist to thrust around as he felt for your g-spot, to bite your thighs that hot. But you’re not left in a state to complain as he tells you to “Cum.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you giggle. “I’ve never done it like this.”

“It’s my mission then.” 

You throw your head back and close your eyes.

You do, surprisingly, cum on his tongue. “You’re so gorgeous.” From his angle, all he can see are your boobs bouncing as you grind up onto his tongue, trying to chase the aftershocks of the orgasm. Your face is flushed, with a tear building on your lashes that Kamo wipes off. His tongue is warm when he pushes it into your mouth.  

“Are you a virgin?” He asks. “Do you want me to..?”

“I’m not, Toshi, it’s okay. Are you?”

He grins. “No, I had a girlfriend.” You laugh at that– “Me too.”

“I’m really hard, love.” He pulls your hand to touch him through his boxers. Oh my god. He really has everything in life, doesn’t he? He’s packed like he’s going to war. “Do you want to? If you want to wait, I’ll understand.”

“No, no, I don’t want to wait a second more. Toshi, I want you so bad.” He almost came in his boxers hearing you beg like that. 

Kamo knew that he was on the larger end, as far as dicks go. Girls, especially sweet ones like you, baulked at it, and he fully expected you to do that too. 

He didn’t know that you would spit into your hands and wrap them around him in what felt criminal. The way you twist your wrists. The kitten-licks to the tip. The warmth of your tongue on his balls. “Stop, yn, love.” Red-faced, bite-marked, messy-haired: he looks delicious. “I can’t– I really can’t!”

Kamo’s made a decision in his head: he manhandles you onto your back and pins you down with the weight of his whole body. Face-to-face. Finally. 

He kisses you through the initial burn of penetration, letting you bite your pain onto his lips. So full. So stretched. So fucking heavenly. A little thought floats into your head that he’s not using any protection and neither are you, but when he looks like that, brows curled in bliss as he bottoms out inside you, nothing matters anymore. Only he does. Only Noritoshi Kamo. 

You thrust against him, as if to wake him up. “Move, baby.”

He’s gentle, at first, at least. With you in his arms, he’s losing any sense he has rapidly. He ruts against you through his strained breaths and choked groans, leaving hickies on your neck, the curve of his thick cock grinding against that particular spot of yours. Oak, cedar and dark chocolate. 

Neither of you last very long. Your second orgasm tips him into his: your face writhing in throes of pleasure (that he gave you) and the way your cunt clenched hard onto him… he can't resist spilling his hot cum inside you. 

Exhausted, he just collapses onto you. His cum leaks around his cock, which is still inside you, and is dripping down the curve of your ass. It takes a moment for him to steady his voice: “I love you, yn. Other people, I can’t trust them because I’m a Kamo, and I don’t know how to make friends easily either. But it feels so easy with you, yn. You feel so true.”

bonus: Kamo helps you tidy up your room. Both Itadori and Fushiguro are shocked to see your floor without any clothes lying around. 

college majors of jjk characters are here

a/n: reposted cuz i deleted my og post by accident (╥﹏╥)

tagging: @maskedpacific

[hermannsthumb]

Hey hey could you write something about newt confronting his middle school bully a la this post: https://10001gecs.tumblr.com/post/729455540321779712/my-high-school-bully-reached-out-to-me-and-asked

(post) hmm i wonder who sent this in after we talked about it in discord 7 months ago... allusions to non sfw behavior at the end !! (edit also literally seconds after i posted this i realized this ask says middle school and not high school like i wrote. sigh.)

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

“Oh, shit,” Newton says. “Hermann, do you see that guy?”

He’s doing some strange, jerking head motion over the ambiguous vicinity of Hermann’s left shoulder, and it takes Hermann a good few seconds to realize Newton wants him to turn around and look at the fellow in question. He puts down his sandwich with a small sigh: he waited two hours for Newton to wrap up his work so he would have company in the mess hall for lunch, lunch which will continue to evade him, he supposes.

But Newton kicks his shin under the table as he cranes his neck around. “Newton,” he snaps with a startle. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but—offended at the mere principle of it—he hits Newton’s own shin back with the end of his cane. Newton is too preoccupied with attempting to hide the entire upper half of his body beneath their table to put up a fuss.

“Don’t be so obvious about it,” he says to Hermann. “Be subtle, subtle. Yeah, perfect.”

There’s no one exceptionally exciting over Hermann’s shoulder when he turns back about painfully slowly, or at the very least no one he can see causing Newton to get as worked up as he is. It’s the usual gaggle of personnel they see wandering about the Shatterdome with them. “Ugly blue shirt,” Newton whispers, “and a stupid beard.”

Hermann spots him after another glance through the food line—a stocky, unassuming man waiting with a tray in his hands, though admittedly Hermann can’t find anything particularly offensive about his shirt or his facial hair, not even by Newton’s standards. “What of him?” Hermann says.

He doesn’t recognize the man, but that’s hardly surprising. There’s been plenty of new faces about the base recently after the latest round of Shatterdomes shuttered their operations and sent their skeleton crews to Hong Kong as a last resort. Hermann expects he might be one of the transferred ranger recruits. He lacks the, ah, soft disposition of Newton and Hermann and their more technologically-inclined ilk, and is certainly built large enough to hold his own in a jaeger.

“I think I know him,” Newton says.

This is not that surprising either. Newton has a curiously long list of ex-partners spread throughout the various networks of the PPDC, partially because the instability of their employment at any given base up until recently (or, indeed, the instability of their expected lifespan) is not conducive to long-term relationships, and partially because Newton’s personality is not conducive to it either. Hermann envies the people who have had the means to escape Newton: he himself has had no such luck. “Another poor soul you’ve scared off?” he says, and takes a bite out of his sandwich more aggressively than he intended.

“Ew, man, gross.” Newton makes a face at him. “No way. He’s a total asshole. He used to make my life hell.”

Hermann swallows his mouthful of sandwich. This admission, on the other hand, is surprising. Newton doesn’t usually make his dislike of people unknown, especially not to Hermann, and Hermann had been under the assumption he was familiar with the full roster of Newton’s ‘enemies’—most of whom are academic rivals of some kind (though certainly none surpass Hermann’s high ranking in that particular category), and all of whom Hermann had Googled obsessively after being made aware of their existence. “Sounds a bit like the whole 'taste of your own medicine' cliche,” Hermann says.

“No, come on, I'm serious, I mean actual hell, just ‘cause I was out about being into dudes,” Newton says. “Whatever bullshit you can think of—stole my shit, made fun of my glasses, pushed me around, called me lots of really creative and exciting slurs. Really original content. He flushed one of my notebooks down a toilet one time and I got in trouble for it. Just—you know, stupid, immature, homophobic jock-vs-nerd bullshit.”

More than slightly alarmed, Hermann shoots another glance over his shoulder. The fellow with the beard has moved ahead in the line and Hermann has a much clearer view of him now. He’s most certainly at least twice Newton’s size, if not larger, and Hermann doesn’t like the idea of him treating Newton in such a physically aggressive manner by any means (to say nothing of the other half of the harassment he received). “When on Earth did that happen?” he says. “The Jaeger Academy? You reported him to—someone, anyone, I hope.” And if not Hermann is more than happy to do so now.

“Oh, no,” Newton says. “It was back when I was in high school for a year. Before I skipped twenty grades, I mean.”

Hermann relaxes his shoulders, which had grown quite tense. “Ah,” he says. As a child he was unfortunately quite familiar with schoolyard bullies himself.

“His name is something stupid, like Chad or Chet or something. Not actually, but you know what I mean. I used to stalk him on Facebook when I was in grad school to make sure his life still sucked shit. He got divorced the same month I got my fourth doctorate. Really poetic. Oh, fuck.”

He ducks back beneath the table. Evidently he isn’t fast enough, because when Hermann turns, Chad-Chet-something is staring intently at the empty space Newton inhabited seconds prior. If the wide-eyed surprise that flashes across his face is any indication, he has recognized Newton in return.

“He’s coming this way,” Hermann says to the rustling somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. It must be filthy down there. He hears Newton curse, though given the alarming way the entire table wobbles, it may be because he’s just hit his head on something. “Would you like me to make up a lie and say you’ve gone off somewhere? Or I can stall for a bit, and you can—I don’t know—crawl off.”

“Newt?” Newton’s former classmate says.

Newton rises back up slowly, his hair in significant disarray. Hermann fantasizes briefly—not for the first time—about going at it with a comb. “Heyyyyy, man,” Newton says. “What’s up?”

Newton’s classmate had been squinting at him with a small frown, but (to Hermann’s immense surprise) he begins to smile. “It is you, that’s wild! I don’t know if you remember, but we went to school together—like, fifteen, twenty years ago. We were in the same homeroom.”

“Oh, totally,” Newton says. “Bradley?”

“Seth.”

“What’s, uh, what’s brought you to Hong Kong?” Newton says.

Seth looks down pointedly at the empty chair positioned between Newton and Hermann. “Mind if I sit here?” he says, and though neither of them respond, he drops his tray down with a small clatter and follows suit. “I joined on with the PPDC last year, and I was stationed in Seattle up until a couple weeks ago,” he continues, confirming Hermann’s earlier suspicions. “I’m still getting used to everything. I heard there was a Dr. Geiszler working at one of the labs here somewhere, but I had no idea that was you. Did they just throw you over here too?”

Newton has gone a little red in the face, as if he’s bottling up a great deal of shouting, cursing, and possibly crying, and Hermann is somewhat impressed at his restraint in not making a scene. He feels a small surge of protectiveness for Newton (despite everything) and steps in not-very-smoothly to help him. “Newton—Dr. Geiszler I have been stationed here since 2020,” he says. “I’m Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.”

“Hermann’s my lab partner,” Newton manages to say. “We get along really awesomely. We’re, like, pretty close. Seth and I went to high school together, Hermann.”

“Mm,” Hermann sniffs. “So you’ve mentioned.”

He does not bother hiding his disdain, and Seth is astute enough to notice and jump to the logical conclusion of precisely the conversation he’d interrupted: he gives them a small, embarrassed grin, and an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, I was kind of an asshole back then,” he says, “but you know how teenagers are.” He picks up his tray and stands. “Anyway, I’ll leave you guys alone. We’ll have to catch up later, Newt? Maybe dinner?”

“Totally,” Newton says.

“I should hire someone to kick his ass,” he says to Hermann as they watch Seth find a seat with some fellow rangers—similarly fresh faces, Hermann presumes them to be his crowd from Seattle—across the mess hall. “I bet I could bribe another ranger into it, just go a littttle too hard in on a sparring match. Maybe knock out a few of his teeth. Ugh. Like I’d ever get dinner with that dick.”

“I got dinner with Seth,” Newton announces in the laboratory a week later.

“I wondered where you were last night,” Hermann says, feigning disinterest as he squints at his computer screen. In truth he’s rather peeved at Newton over it; they’ve had a long-standing arrangement as dinner companions for several years at this point, and he’d waited for Newton at their table in the back of the mess hall for an hour before he finally realized he was being stood up and stormed off to his quarters. He’d debated tossing out the extra chocolate pudding cup he had stolen as dessert for Newton but decided to eat it instead, imagining with relish the whole time how upset Newton would be if he found out. It made him feel a little bit better.

“Oh, yeah, sorry I ditched you, I kinda forgot,” Newton says. “I was on my way to the mess and he kinda accosted me out of nowhere and offered to buy me noodles downtown, as an 'apology'. Not gonna turn that down. I made sure to run up a bill. But, dude, you’ll never believe this.”

“Mm,” Hermann says.

He hears Newton made an impatient little shuffling noise behind him. Then Newton is stomping over and grabbing onto the back of Hermann’s desk chair to spin Hermann around to face him. He boxes Hermann in, one hand on each armrest, and (with nowhere else to go) Hermann folds his arms across his chest and scowls up at him. “Fine. Go on.”

“So,” Newton begins gleefully, “it turns out he’s also gay now. Or I guess he always was, which explains the divorce thing, but you know what I mean. He said the reason he treated me like shit was because he was jealous of me for being out, and also because he thought I was infecting him with my gay cooties or whatever since he wanted me soooo bad. What a jerk.” He drops his arms away from Hermann’s chair. “Anyway, we boned.”

Hermann sits up quickly and nearly collides with Newton's abdomen. “What?”

“Eh, don’t worry,” Newton says, “it’s not like I’m into him or anything. I’m gonna hold that grudge forever, sorry, he’s not hot enough to make me forget all that, even if he isn't an asshole anymore. I know what I’m doing. It’s all part of my awesome revenge plan: I’m gonna string him along and then dump him hard after he gets a taste of what it's like to date someone as cool as me.”

Hermann is of two minds: the first is that Newton’s plan is abysmally stupid, and the second, that he can’t help but be relieved that Newton is not earnestly subjecting himself to a relationship with a man whom he’s professed to hate. Loathe as he is to admit it, Newton deserves—Hermann grits his teeth—better. “How exactly do you intend to ‘string him along’?” Hermann says. “And why would you even want to? He hardly seems worth the effort.”

“Number one, by being hot and charming as usual,” Newton says, and rolls his eyes at Hermann’s loud scoff. “Shut up. I’m irresistible. He’s already trying to get me to go out for coffee with him today. Can you believe how clingy he is? So desperate. Ugh. And number two—” He shrugs, and something uncomfortable simmers within Hermann’s chest at the sight of the light blush rising to his cheeks. “I meeean, I don’t know, dude. The hate sex was kinda doing it for me. I guess technically I was the only one doing the hating there, because I’m irresistible, but it was still pretty hot.”

Being treated to details of Newton’s sexual proclivities is not a new experience for Hermann, as Newton seems to think it both constitutes daily small talk in the laboratory when their work gets slow and something Hermann genuinely cares to hear about, but Hermann finds himself bristling at it now. He wasn’t aware such an, er, act, spurned on by hatred, was even a possibility with Newton—that Newton would enjoy it. Could they have been finding more constructive outlets for their mutual dislike throughout all these years? Simply embraced the fiery passion of it all? Certainly Hermann has crafted list after list of increasingly erotic ways he could shut Newton up, but it is the first time he begins to wonder if Newton might not have done the same.

He forcefully turns his chair back around to hide his face from Newton. He is flushing, his skin hot beneath his collar. His computer screen swims in front of him. “That’s lovely to hear,” he says, after far too long of a silence. “I’m glad you—enjoyed yourself. Best of luck with it all.”

“Right,” Newton says, after too long of a silence of his own. “Uh, I’ll be back in an hour-ish.” He adds, mockingly, “We’re getting coffee. I’ll bring you back a muffin and tea or something.”

Once Newton has gone, Hermann drops his head into his hands with a small groan.

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 2: Employed By Criminals

I can’t stand waiting any longer. I’ve been in my new room for what seems like an hour and no one has come to give any further instructions. The time I took to settle in only lasted five minutes, considering all my possessions fit in a small suitcase. So, I decide now I will explore.

I peek through the keyhole and find the kitchen outside to be empty. After opening the door I stick my head out to survey again. Still empty. Where is everyone? The least I can do now is to prepare dinner. After scavenging the kitchen I find some vegetables and spices to work with. No meat, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself around looking for the meat cellar. After I’ve started boiling water and mixed in some herbs I begin to chop the vegetables.

“You’re back,” Finn states as he enters from another side door, looking at the pot with new-found interest. “What’s that?”

“Dinner. Oh, since I didn’t get a good chance to introduce myself, my name’s Verena. Just so you know. Your aunt hired me to be your tutor.”

Finn scrunches his face in dislike. “Ugh. That again? Aunt Polly knows I hate reading!”

“What do you enjoy instead?” I try to sound optimistic as I peel the carrots.

“I like math better, like the math Tommy does for the business. Reading’s too complicated.”

“Not necessarily. What have you read before?”

“The Wind In The Willows, Peter Rabbit, all that kids stuff.”

“Well then it seems to me that you just need to find content you enjoy. Fiction may not be your choice, but you might like books of science, philosophy, or social issues. Have you heard of the Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy by Isaac Newton, or Relativity: The Special and General Theory by Albert Einstein? Maybe The Jungle by Upton Sinclair? Actually-” I set down my knife and rush to my room, returning with a book from my suitcase. “I brought this with me on vacation for light reading.” I hand the curious child the worn book. “It’s the Common Sense pamphlet by Thomas Paine. It’s American, but I’m sure it’s much more interesting than Peter Rabbit.”

Finn apprehensively scans the first page, and I can’t hide my growing smile as a look of interest begins to spread on his face. He starts reading, wandering down the hall while not looking up once. Maybe I’ll make a good tutor after all.

“Alright, enough chatter. Let’s eat.” An approaching voice speaks.

I go back to chopping carrots and don’t bother to look up until the voice speaks again.

“Who are you?”

When I lift my gaze to find the voice’s source, a pair of icy blue eyes are peering into me. The eyes belong to a man with a well-sculpted face that shows both stern and commanding intentions. He’s wearing gray trousers, black dress shoes, white shirt and gray vest, as well as a flat cap that John was wearing earlier. He’s also smoking a cigarette, which has brought a foul stench along with it.

“Who let you in here?” The man asks, not even waiting for me to answer his first question.

“Polly did. Pleasure to meet you-”

“But you can’t be here. I’ll have to talk to her.” Then he walks off and starts pouring himself some water, and I faintly hear him mutter: “We don’t take in strays.”

Excuse me? Since when does this guy get to treat me like dirt? Maybe it’s the American mutt temper, but I’ve got the urge to give him a piece of my mind!

I lean against the counter and look up with rebellious eyes. “Gotta say, your accent is a bit on the tricky side. Mind saying that again?”

The man seems taken back by the tone of my voice, as if he’s not used to people being sassy with him. He’s quick to regain his posture and has a smirk growing on his lips.

“And I’ll say that your American accent is downright pathetic compared to ours. You lot still never got over being independent, did you? Gotta flaunt it about in all our faces!”

My jaw drops. “I never even mentioned that! I think you’re the one holding a grudge based on a war you weren’t even a part of!” He tries to interrupt but I keep talking. “And for the record, we Americans are current allies with you. So instead of arguing about something that happened a hundred and forty years ago, I say we uphold each country’s honor and talk as if we’re on the same level. Do you agree?”

The man keeps staring at me, seeming to ponder whether or not to argue again.

“This book is really good!” Finn interrupts the silence from down the hall.

I grin at his enthusiasm and go back to chopping carrots, ignoring the man’s blank stare.

“Polly said you know Finn, my new student.”

His eyes flick upwards to find mine again. “Pardon?”

“I’m his tutor, or at least I have been for the past hour. Polly hired me, so that’s why I’m here.”

“Interesting…”

Now he’s looking at me in a different manner, as if sizing me up as a potential threat. Why would he do that? The man slowly walks around the counter towards me and removes his cap, allowing me to see he has dark hair in a style similar to Finn’s. He turns it over and sets it on the counter, as if he wants me to get a closer look. What I do I notice it’s got something shiny peeking out of the brim.

“What’s with the custom hat? It’s made of metal, or something?”

The man simply chuckles and holds back the fabric to show- razors?

“You sew razor blades into your hat? Now I’ve heard everything! And I thought Americans were crazy!”

“Is that soup I smell?” Another voice comes from the same way the man came. Another man enters the room and I recognize him as John. When he sees us, his eyes acquire a hint of uncertainty. “Thomas, I see you’ve met Verena. Polly was just telling me about her.”

So this is the Thomas I was warned about? I guess Polly wasn’t kidding when she said he was ruff. 

“Not officially, John. She was just telling about how Polly hired her to teach Finn. May I ask why?”

“Polly says it’s because he needs a proper education. Not one that’s only taught through bookkeeping. Can’t say I blame her. When’s the last time any of us actually sat down with him and taught him something?”

Thomas shrugs. “If he’s going to be part of the Blinders he’ll learn all he needs to know by watching us.”

The name sends a chill down my spine and I snap to attention.

“Wait- Blinders? As in Peaky Blinders…? Oh my God.” I look back and forth between Thomas and John, still holding the knife. “Shelby! That’s the name! Shelby! I’ve heard things about you, what kind of a man you are! Excuse me, but I do not want to be involved with anything surrounding you!”

I grip the knife and dash for the hallway, yanking on the door handle only to find it’s locked. Panicking, I stand in the corner with the knife held out as Thomas Shelby struts towards me- holding a pistol!

“Please, don’t kill me! I have nothing to offer! You’d just be wasting a bullet!”

There’s no answer, only Thomas looking at me with cold eyes.

“Verena! Verena! Polly, where'd she go?” Finn’s voice comes from down the hall. He turns his head and sees me, with a wide grin on his face. God, I can’t let him see me get killed!

“Finn…? Finn! Did you finish your reading?” I speak in a quivering voice.

“Almost. I’ve only got a few more pages.”

I nod shakily still looking between Finn and Thomas, who’s looking at him while still holding the gun up. “Alright, go and finish up and then I’ll be right over.”

Finn heads back into his room, and I look up to glare into Thomas’ calculating eyes. “I swear to God, if you so much as lay a finger on that boy-!”

“You’ll what?” Thomas asks in a laid-back manner. “A moment ago you were begging for me not to kill you. Now you’re threatening me not to kill my own brother?”

My mind stops. “Brother…? He’s your brother? Oh…” I shamefully look to the floor, cursing myself in my head for making such a stupid mistake. “But you’ll still kill me.”

The next few quiet seconds are so suspenseful I swear I can hear my own heart beating. I dare to look back up at Thomas, who now shakes his head.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

My brow furrows at his words. “This means I’m fired then, doesn’t it?”

By now John’s entered the hallway and comes over to stand in front of Thomas.

“Why would we fire you? From what Polly’s told me and what we’ve seen here, you haven’t given us any reason to fire you.”

“But my question is-” Thomas steps forward. “Can she be trusted? How do we know she’s loyal to us?”

I bite my lip and lower the knife I’m holding. “With all due respect sir, you’re technically my employer. That and the fact that you’re temporarily housing me gives me enough reason to be loyal. And if for whatever reason in the future I might not be, you can kick me to the dirt.”

Both men exchange looks, seeming to have a silent conversation while I stand here awkwardly. Eventually John gestures for Thomas to put away the gun, who seems to have forgotten he had it out.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Thomas says in a lighter tone. “What was your name again?”

Now that he’s not holding a gun at me, Thomas actually seems decent. I might dare to even call him handsome. Remember, this is your boss now. Keep it professional. Don’t lose your head.

I stand up straighter and hold out a hand to shake his. “Verena Nora Steenstra. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelby.” I turn to John and shake his hand too. “You as well, Mr. Shelby. I was told by Polly to wait for any further instructions. In the meantime there is soup in the pot if you’re interested.”

“Wait.” Thomas gets an odd look. “You… made dinner? Why?”

Now that I have more leverage, I hold my breath to squeeze past the two men and back into the kitchen. “I had nothing else to do, and it’s the least I can do since you’ve allowed me into your home.”

Just then, Polly comes into the room. She hesitates when she sees us, giving John and Thomas a certain look. Then she sees the pot on the stove.

“Who cooked? Ada hasn’t made anything in weeks.”

The two men look at each other, then point to me. Polly seems impressed.

“You appear to be a lady of many talents, Ms. Steenstra.”

My face goes pink at her praise and I busy myself by stirring the soup. “I know my way around the kitchen. My family thinks it’s proper for me to be a suitable housewife, so that’s what I’ve been expected to do my whole life. Cooking, baking, sewing, the works. In all honesty, this is the first real job I’ve ever had.”

When I turn back to them, they’re all sitting at the table and appear to all be whispering something. Thomas is the one to speak first.

“So you’re from America, and for the moment you are stuck here?”

“Correct.”

He nods slowly. “Welcome to Birmingham, Ms. Steenstra. Here’s exactly what you’re getting yourself into, love. My family runs a bookkeeping business, and we do our part to keep a close eye on the authorities. People know better not to mess with us.”

“Bookkeeping, like gambling?”

“Correct.”

Dear Lord, I’ve become involved with criminals!

Polly seems to catch onto my panicked thoughts. “You need not worry about being caught up with our work. You’ll only be interacting with Finn.” Polly’s eyes narrow. “If anyone asks, you’re a private tutor and only a private tutor. Do not go asking too many questions.”

I nod shakily and wring my hands together. “Seems to me like a world made up of gambling, drinking, and violence.” I shake my head and give her a skeptical look. “That doesn’t seem like a world I want to be involved in.”

“You won’t have to, and I suggest you don’t.”

By now Finn’s returned and is sitting next to John, but he’s not the only one who’s entered. Over the past few minutes a man with a mustache and a younger woman with short dark hair wearing a red dress are now standing across from me. Thankfully Polly notices my discomfort.

“Everyone, we need proper introductions. This is Verena Steenstra, and she’s going to be helping Finn with his studies. Verena, you’ve met Finn, Thomas, and John. The final Shelby brother is Arthur over there.” She points to the mustache man. “And Ada’s their sister.” She points to the woman in red.

Wow. The Shelbys are a big family. And suspicious ones at that, because they’re all looking at me as if they’re dogs eyeing a piece of meat.

“Polly, no offense, but I don’t like this,” the one called Arthur grunts. “Who says the bitch won’t tattle to the coppers the instant she leaves? How do you know she isn’t a spy sent by the new bloke?” He jerks his head to see Finn eating my soup and he swipes the bowl. “How do we know this isn’t poisoned?!”

“Because I ate it?” I shrug. “Because unlike most people I’ve met here I actually try to be nice? It’s fun, you should try it sometime.”

John starts outright laughing, leaving us all giving him funny looks. “You picked out a real winner, Polly! She’s just like the Americans I met during the war!”

Lord, what have I gotten myself into?

[opinated-user]

Lily dismissing rape allegations because the victim is someone she hates is … fucking gross

like for example I fucking hate Nekoshadows I think she’s a lying coward after she was exposed for keeping quite about someone being in contact with a known child predator…. But even with all that I still felt bad for her when it came to light how fucking terribly her boyfriend treated her especially when he admitted he never actually loved her

like I think Neko’s isn’t a good person but I still think what she went through was awful and she didn’t deserve it

so if I can believe that someone is a victim despite also believing them to be a scumbag that kept quiet about a predator… where the fuck does Lily get off not believing a victim of rape simply because she doesn’t like them like what the fuck

hell another example: I do not like Omnia and think she’s a pretty bad person … but I also believe her claims that her Ex partner Xzae abused her

you can dislike someone or hate someone .. and still believe that they’ve been abused or raped

it isn’t mutually exclusive you don’t have to like a victim personally to believe they are a victim

like this is the same shit that fucking coyote lovely got on blast for when he pretty much admitted to stopping helping a victim because he hated her like this is the exact same fucking thing

between Courtney and Sunny, LO really just told to every survivor ever "if you ever said anything against me, then your abuse deserves to be erased and i'll defend your abuser, just to spite you", which isn't just gross... that's just straight up evil.

just to make a comparison, Courtney has no reason at all to give LO any grace or compassion. yet he fully believes and understand that LO's claims of have suffered CSA are valid, only after looking at her past behavior and consider it with the knowledge of a fully grown adult. even after everything LO has lie about him and try to pin down on his name, Courtney still hasn't even attempted to say that LO never suffered any abuse in the past. that's all LO. LO is the one who wants to claim that Courtney never went through anything, at anyone's hand, ever, at no point of his entire life. according to LO, Courtney ran away from home simply "chasing a guy", no because the house was abusive and suffocating for him in part because of her presence there. Courtney had a CSA trauma response by replicating it on another kid, no because he suffered CSA at anyone's hand, but because he is just that evil. nothing that Courtney ever does or did is ever a response to trauma because he never suffered any. that's the narrative that LO wants her audience to believe in. even the abuse that had nothing to do with LO and it was cameron's fault, that doesn't get to be called out either. Sunny right now doesn't deserved to be believe in. his abuser doesn't deserved to be called out for, not even warned about. in fact, the abuser will get treated as a mere victim who is injustly mistreated by the evil community who evilly harassed the not evil "native" trans woman (who never talked with anyone from the Nation outside of one funeral and never again). all because they stopped being the yes man of LO. i'm not being hyperbolic at all when i say that this is inhumane. i know that LO doesn't have any moral, principles and she'll always, always, prefer to look for herself alone before anything else. but it can't be forgotten that LO is just a terrible person, a dangerous person, who not only perpetrates harm herself against vulnerable people, but will enable other predators to do the same. the only people i feel sorry to are the vulnerable people on her audience that still don't know there's a target on their back.

[moontheoretist]

Alteori and her fans' takes on The Acolyte are the prime example of how the media literacy is dead. Someone in the comment said that the show is trying to show that "Jedi are bad for oppressing the Sith" which tells me that someone didn't pay attention to the story that was told in the TV show. In fact the story acknowledges that the Sith is actively trying to coopt Osha's background to play a relatability card, to convince her that just as her coven was persecuted, so are the Sith, which is not true. The coven both Mae and Osha were from was not evil. They lived in peace in isolation and only wanted to be left alone, but Jedi can't even do that when faced with something they dislike and mistrust on principle even if there is no proof they should.

The story about the coven is the story about witches practicing their own religion and Jedi deeming them evil simply because witches' power is more DS than LS. They call their culture weird and demonize them for skin markings and their rituals. (Funny how that corresponds to the reasons why Christianity always demonized indigenous cultures and religions). Then the Stranger who says he is a Sith uses that and tries to preach that Jedi limit his freedom too. We all know that what he wants is absolute freedom to do whatever he wants, to kill and hurt whoever he wants (which is very right winger behavior of him) and that's also part of his manipulation. He tries to convince Osha that he is an oppressed minority just like the coven she comes from, but he is not. Osha's coven didn't do anything bad to anybody, they simply lived peacefully in seclusion. They were non-violent unless directly invaded like the Jedi did. Jedi broke into their home and demanded to give them their children because they saw the witches as evil and deemed the children unsafe even tho there was no reason to see them as such other than the Jedi ideology. (Another nod to paranoid Christianity here). Not to mention that they did that against the orders of the High Council and only because they wanted to fulfil their selfish desires (especially Sol and Torbin). Sith using that fact to his advantage is the point of the story, because that Sith is actively trying to seduce Osha to the Dark Side by trying to appeal to her as a fellow "oppressed minority" when in fact he is just a bad guy that is preying on her.

He uses the exact same type of manipulation that Sol used on her when she was a child. He uses her own desires as an excuse to fulfill his own, but the difference here is that Osha is now an adult and can make an informed decision when as a kid she didn't know that her desire to leave the coven and see the wider world (which wouldn't exist if the witches weren't actively persecuted by everyone, including the Jedi) was used by Sol to recruit the newest youngling for the Order. Which is a very nice way to showcase Sith's manipulation provess.

Jedi in High Republic era are at the peak of their power but are also as flawed institution as the Jedi in the Prequels were and exhibit the same behaviors and flaws as any church that thinks their ideology is the only true and valid one. The Jedi are only seen as the "good guys" because that's the narrative, but Star Wars has many unrelated to Jedi groups with various belief systems that try to explain what the Force is and how it should or shouldn't be used. Sith are the direct opposition of the Jedi, people who crave violence, murder and bloodshed, but not everyone in the galaxy is the same. And yet Jedi fear everybody who doesn't fit their narrow understanding of the Force, even if they're not doing anything morally wrong. You could ofc argue that the coven was a cult that Jedi tried to save the kids from. But at the same time so did the Christians when they saw any indigenous religion. The crux here is that the coven wasn't isolating the girls because it was their goal. They were isolating them because it was not safe outside for witches due to the persecution they faced. So no, Osha is not the good guy now as the whole point of the show was to portray how easily it is to secude someone who was already hurt to join the darkside. Osha is just a living proof that Jedi are not always morally right and that they also can do harm to others and that this harm is enough to push people over the edge and make them choose the side that is morally wrong and become a victim once again, but this time to the darksider who counted on that outcome by exploting people's weaknesses.

(This one positions Torbin as a rape victim. Mother Aniseya got into his head without his permission. I guess it clasifies as rape. However she did that only because he endangered her coven and she wanted to chase him away by preying on his desire to leave the planet which later on turned out to backfire on Mother Aniseya because to do so they needed to take away the girls and Torbin pushed by his strong desire to leave that was before futher amplified by Mother Aniseya came back to the coven and started the chain of events that shouldn't have happened. Still insinuating that he was killed for bieng a rape victim is so bizarre. He was killed because he was a colonizer who wanted to steal 2 kids from their family in order to go home because he had enough of doing menial tasks on uninhabited planets).

(What a way to paint a black indigenous woman as evil for trying to protect her children from the violence that would very likely occur).

“When Mae asks for help Aniseya not only starts dematerializing her own body, she makes Mae turn into a a shadow as well. What can you tell us about what exactly is happening there and why?”, the showrunner explained, “Aniseya’s main concern is that violence will be used in this confrontation.” “[Mother Aniseya actor] Jodie (Turner-Smith) and I talked about that meaning two things,” recalled Headland. “One, that Aniseya must have come from someplace that utilized violence. It’s something she would have seen when she was a child, something that she would’ve endured in her coming of age. So the main concern is obviously the safety of her children, the physical safety of them. The secondary concern is, ‘I do not want my children or my legacy to be affected by something violent. I want to remove them from whatever that is.'” “The ‘why’ (about the dematerializing) is the first thing that Jodie and I talked about in seeding the character,” she continued. “What she is doing is what Jecki says in episode four, that it’s an honor to see anyone transform into the Force. I believe that Aniseya is transforming herself and Mae into the Force in a way that doesn’t kill them.”

(Ofc they wouldn't be themselves if they didn't put some transphobia).

(The funniest part is that Osha didn't become the psycho. She went to the Dark Side, but she didn't fall like a rock into a pond and went crazy, no. She descended with some modicum of basic control even though what she did to Sol terrified her after she did it. She was still rational human being that didn't think going on a killing spree is ok).

Anyway, coming back to my point. People in the comment section under Alteori's video are a walking proof that people can't watch the TV shows or movies with comprehension nowadays, and that their own bias is making them see things that are not actually there (like suggesting that Mother Aniseya was trying to kill her own daughters which she DIDN'T TRY TO DO, or implying that Mae really was an evil crazy bitch that really tried to kill her own sister rather than a child that got angry, started a fire and then realized they had fucked up).

To be honest, when I saw what Mother Aniseya was doing I thought she was performing a very unique teleportation. Especially after when Mother Koril did the same and even after that, we could hear her voice from somewhere as if she wasn't dead, but was just no longer visible or solid. She was also not seen anywhere when we saw the picture of all the witches being dead. Those that were controlling the Jedi died the moment the link was broken, and Mother Aniseya was killed by Sol. However Mother Koril was not. She just disappeared and is now possibly still alive somewhere, but it's unclear if she can turn back from "being the force" to the more corporeal form or it's impossible.

[mittens-220]

Hataraku Maou-sama! ES!! Summary (Third Story) Part 1

So as mentioned in my previous post, the third story has a longer summary/translation from the chinese website. I'm translating it in parts and will update when I have time.

Rika came to visit:

“Hey—Urushihara-san! You’re at home, right! Can you help open the door?”

Rika was sure that she could hear the sound of rubbing cloth.

“I want to open a Gate, would only disturb for a while, let me in for a while—! Please!”

“......”

“Urushi—hara—sa–n—!”

After pressing on the doorbell a few times, a sound of someone moving slowly was finally heard from inside, Urushihara Hanzo showed an unhappy expression just as Rika predicted, looking at her through the gap in the door.

“......What.”

“I’m sorry. I want to open a Gate, thus disturbing you!”

“I’m still taking a nap?”

“Oh my, you actually just dislike troublesome things so you don’t want to pay attention to me, right? The half-eaten snack is still in the corner of the closet, and I heard you moving the first time I pressed the doorbell.”

Perhaps she hit the target, Urushihara’s frown deepened.

“.......If you want to open a Gate, can’t you just do it in the corridor.”

“This is also considered outside. And I heard Ashiya-san and Emi say, Urushihara-san usually does online shopping, right? If a delivery person, newspaper delivery person or postman enters while opening the Gate, wouldn’t that be really bad.”

“Haah……seriously. Come in quickly. I am busy.”

Even though it was not known what he could be busy with while staying in the closet, it still felt awkward to tease Urushihara, so Rika placed the angel feather pen on the tatami.

“I say, I may look like this, but I am still a demon who can get rid of a human with a finger. If you act like this some more……”

Just as Urushihara decided to at least complain with one sentence,

“Hey—”

Rika had already disappeared, the Gate also closed.

Urushihara suddenly remembered and looked towards the porch, Rika’s shoes were there.

Because Urushihara was around, she took off her shoes as if she was simply going to another person’s house.

“......Forget it, it’s not my fault anyway.”

Even though he thought about whether he should throw the shoes into the Gate, at this moment, the Gate had already closed.

“And, I am Demon General Lucifer. It doesn’t matter if you are Emilia’s friend or what, isn’t this having no sense of boundaries at all?”

Rika talked about Lucifer after meeting up with Emi:

“This is fine~but why aren’t you wearing shoes~?”

“Ah. About this.”

Rika summarised her conversation with Urushihara in Villa Rosa Sasazuka Room 201, Emerada’s expression turned stern.

“As expected~ Lucifer is scum~”

“About this, Chiho and Ashiya-san and I also frequently……eh? Scum?”

This was the first time Rika heard Emerada scold other people like this, and could not help but widen her eyes.

“This kind of person should be described like this~. Well, even though that guy is not human~”

“Ah, uh, yeah.”

“Rika-san has to be careful too, okay~. That guy Lucifer, you don’t know when he would suddenly attack humans~. Because for species like demons, in principle, you cannot be careless~”

“I, I know. Erhm, thanks for your treatment. I will pay attention next time……”

(skipping unrelated conversation)

“Based on what I understand until now, it is considered natural……but Emerada-san, dislikes Urushihara-san that much?”

“Ah…… right now?”

Emi showed a troubled smile, sitting next to Rika.

“That’s right. Because there needs to be cooperation now, so there is no choice but to interact normally, but when Em is working with the Demon King and the others, she must be trying hard to tolerate it.”

“Yeah, matters in this aspect. But, they are similar to workers who were originally in opposing factions. But, I saw Emerada-san speak with Ashiya-san, how should I put it, it feels normal.”

“When we fought with Alsiel directly, he was already a demon who could be spoken to, and additionally, Em and Lucifer, there are too many direct causes.”

“Direct causes?”

“Yeah. So, I feel that even if me and the Demon King and Lucifer are only harmonious on the surface, Em might also dislike it greatly. Even though I did not feel her showing it.”

Emi looked down slightly.

(skipping Rika wishing to listen to the story)

“Or rather, it could be because Rika suddenly became connected to Ente Isla, so I have to tell you. The original nature of the relationship between our “Hero group’ and the ‘Demon King Army’...... but with this, it might change the impression of ‘Maou’, ‘Ashiya’ and ‘Urushihara’ in your heart.”

(skip Rika agreeing to continue)

“Amongst us, Em has the greatest hostility towards the Demon King Army. Even though there are many reasons, there must be areas I also do not understand……but her hostility towards Lucifer is especially strong, there are clear reasons.”

“Un.”

Emi deliberated on her wordings, Rika did not rush her.

She was waiting for Emi to speak naturally.

“Em, lost in a direct battle with Lucifer, and was forced to submit to him. Because of this, our hometown—Western Continent Saint Aire empire, fell under Lucifer’s command.”

“Urushihara-san ruling a country, this cannot be imagined at all……but many unbelievable things also happened earlier. Demons can also rule a country huh.”

“I am also unclear on what demons in other lands can do. But, the invasion of the Demon King Army caused the areas controlled by humans to decrease rapidly, almost all of the Western Continent fell into Lucifer’s hands. My journey, started during those despairing conditions.”

Then Emi—Emilia Justina started to narrate.

The Hero’s journey of saving the world, the first story.

[cbsghostsmetasandtrevor]

CBS Ghosts - Hello! - Ghosts Don't Like to Be Ignored Part 2

Warning - Spoilers May Appear.

Pet's always so logical and seems to know what to say to keep people calm.

I love how Thor's like "Enemy hurts feelings" when he literally just cursed them and wants them to suffer so that they leave. Like - what?

I wonder if it's because he's been hurt by the being left behind thing.

OMG Trevor's so excited to have another idea. We can tell a lot about him here. Despite the fact that he knows he's at fault for Sam's fall, and he did/does feel guilty, so he's so excited about having her around that he's like "don't ignore me - not okay."

He's definitely the type to be hurt by exclusion. He definitely dislikes being ignored. And he doesn't like rejection. It's as if he's hurt that she doesn't appear to feel the same connection (which is not fair to her), but it could be why he was sulking a bit earlier in the scene.

LMAO - Trevor name drops and makes these references that frankly looks like Alberta's offended (What is a white party? It's a Labor Day dress in all white party, right? That's what Gossip girl tells me).

Also, he's such a puppy, so excited to have another idea.

LMAO - Thor wants to learn but Trevor's like the IDEA is more important. (Plus, he is not in the mood for Baby Ghost mockery right now). I wonder if that's because of the scene in Episode One where he's like "I've explained these things before".

I love the quick succession here. Thor asks, Isaac answers (so he pays attention to Trevor's stories) and Trevor's like "That's not the point". I feel like Isaac's answering so easily here is because earlier with the movie - he was messing with Trevor, just like everyone else.

I like how Alberta and Sass are looking at him like 'what?' rather than speaking.

LMAO - Pete's face, he's just shaking his head. Like no.... no... not a good idea.

Meanwhile, Trevor's so excited that he stands up quickly - probably because he feels standing gets him listened to more - and immedaitely flashes Sass and Alberta. LMAO, too funny.

No mention of it, but it gets better in a moment.

Aw, Isaac might be a good captain if he understands giving praise. He's like 'oh, Trevor has an idea, it's a good one... praise him'. I feel like they all know that Trevor needs/likes praise.

I do like that he's willing to listen to Trevor here. Trevor's had a few ideas lately and clearly trying to get a good one in.

OHHHH TREVOR.

I don't know why he's always doing these bowing things, but it's pretty clear that he's flashing Alberta and Sass, who have moved forward on the couch to avoid it.

I can't believe he doesn't think about these things, but then again, he's pantsless for 20 years so...

Feel bad for A & S though. BUT Trevor's cute. Adorable little puppy.

LMAO, Isaac is SO HAPPY about this plan and it's crazy how excited this makes everyone else. They're just like yes!!! Let's DO THIS!

Also, notice Alberta has to move forward 'cause she's getting flashed and Sass does too, and he's like not looking at that.

Meanwhile, Trevor's glowing because they like his idea again!

I wonder if there's some issues with Trevor not being listened to so he's like "It's my idea and it's good!" With his last few ideas. Especially since Haunting didn't work.

It's interesting that Sass actually agrees with this plan. Because he states plainly that he DOES NOT agree with Trevor on principle.

He must really be bored OR he's thinking ahead and figures that Sam won't leave BUT could help their afterlives get better.

LMAO - Isaac and Thor are SO EXTRA.

Isaac's like 'yes, she must acknowledge us and make her life hell' and Thor's like 'yes, and we drive them from the land!'

It's so DIFFERENT to the rest of the crew in the room. Everyone else is like .... no, guys, let's play nice.

LMAO - Pete intervening like he does ... such a peacemaker - nice friendly chat.

And Thor and Isaac being so opposite "Punish her, kill her" - ALL SHE DID WAS MOVE INTO A HOUSE THAT IS HERS and they're acting like she murdered them. Chill, boys.

and Everyone else is like "No, no - bad - let's just get her to talk to us."

I love this ending gif.

Pete's Face.

Alberta saying "It's too much"

Sass saying "Roll it back."

And Trevor's gesture and saying "You're making it weird."

I love that they're just like "Stop it - you need to be a little less."

I wonder how everyone dealt and continued to deal with Thor's extraness over the years.

Anyway, This was fun. Mainly for the faces in the background. This cast rocks with background faces.

Feel free to chat :)

[northwest-cryptid]

wait. another one. smash or pass adam from lobotomy corporation

OH ADAM CAN GET IT!

Like it's a bit odd because if I'm being honest he's a part of A, and while I don't vibe with pre-X A I do vibe with post game A, like Day 50 Ayin can get it hands down, and Adam is absolutely a part of that; and if I consider Adam to be a piece of Ayin's personality but just a really hot cool guy version of Ayin then it's a very high A tier smash from me.

I understand a lot of people dislike Ayin on principle that he was a shitty person and I absolutely do not blame you for that because yes he was a shitty person, and ironically in a story with time loops; it sounds weird to say we can't go back and fix the past, but that's true you can't undo his previous actions but you can through your actions in game; atone for them; whether or not you believe he's a changed man by the end of the game is entirely up to you and your personal views but as someone who used to be a shitty person and grew out of it and bettered myself for it I have a soft spot for that sort of character.

Adam to me feels more like a piece of Ayin's personality. Adam, Abel, and Abram are basically his counterparts/alternate selves; to me they are all still Ayin.

So we can consider Ayin to be the base rating at Smash, with Adam being a bit higher on the Smash meter since I think he's more aesthetically pleasing. Abram to be about the same and still a Smash, and Abel kinda a pass not gonna lie I don't vibe with him aesthetically.

[crusherthedoctor]

3, 5, 6, 13

Have you ever unfollowed someone over a fandom opinion?

No. I would only unfollow someone if they're being extremely unreasonable, and their asshole behaviour is escalating.

Has fandom ever ruined a pairing for you?

*looks over at Sonamy*

I was always indifferent to it, but the sheer spectacle made over it has made me beyond sick of it. In fanworks, Sonic is often made OoC for the sake of the ship, or his side of the matter in general is an afterthought at best, because it's said that Amy deserves his love because "she's earned it". They'll waste valuable question time on the Twitter Takeovers over Sonamy stuff. If Sonic and Amy are onscreen together for even a moment, no matter what it is they're actually doing, everyone will hail it as proof of Sonamy. And of course, they'll go crazy when they actually do tease it, using it to shut everyone else up because "Sonamy is Canon, deal with it", even if that teasing is incredibly minor and fated to never go anywhere.

It's a weird feeling looking at all the Sonamy VS Sonally wars over the decades, and not giving a solitary fuck about either of them. And yes, this was already the case long before a certain cardinal sin was initiated on my end. *coughs over horse noises in the background*

Has fandom ever made you enjoy a pairing you previously hated?

Can't think of any.

Unpopular opinion about XXX character?

Sonic: I'm sick of people going one extreme or the other with him. He's not Mr. Principles, nor is he completely selfish to the point of only helping others for his own enjoyment. And I especially dislike when fans misinterpret his role in Black Knight and use it to claim that he's a full on anti-hero. No, he's a legit hero and good person who just so happens to enjoy what he does rather than adopting the usual superhero mantra, and has to make the occasional tough decision for the good of the long run for everyone. What's hard to get about that?

Tails: "I'm wildly inconsistent" does not count as fixing him. Neither does repeating the exact thing that Forces!Tails got slack for to an even more inexcusable extent.

Knuckles: The idea that he tries to see the good in people despite his standoffish nature is fascinating to me, and it's a shame that it's only been brought up for the sake of making him look stupid when he falls for another one of Eggman's tricks. It'd be nice if this got delved into more, in a way where it doesn't screw him over for once… Just don't turn him into Principles the Echidna.

Amy: Like @colony-drop-program, I recognize the… importance(?) of Amy's crush on Sonic, but I find all her other traits infinitely more intriguing.

I also wish people would remember Tails was the one who actually blasted his way through Prison Island. It's become common for fans to give Amy all the credit for that one.

Bean and Bark: Not that I'm super invested in them or anything, but I suppose it'd be nice if they got more opportunities to be the good guys they were intended to be rather than always being pigeonholed with Fang as the Hooligans thanks to Archie. Fang strikes me as a loner type anyway.

Shadow: I don't think I'll ever be on-board with him officially joining G.U.N. I'm fine with him forgiving them, and maybe having a connection of some sort with them afterward, but being a full-on agent himself? I dunno man. After his long life as Gerald and Black Doom's tool, I'd rather he carve out a future where he can be truly free, without needing to answer to any superior.

Rouge: She's not a villain. She's not a villain. She's not a villain. She's. Not. A. Villain.

The entire point of her role in SA2 is that, oh shit, she was only pretending to be on the bad guys' side, and ever since SA2, she's been a loyal ally to Shadow and helped out the other heroes with little hesitance on multiple occasions. She may be a jewel thief, she may have her rivalry with Knuckles, but she's proven time and time again that she's a far better person than most people and comic writers give her credit for.

Cream: I've seen some Amy fans hate on her for supposedly stealing some of Amy's traits, but that's a disservice to her. You can have more than one character in a franchise with similar traits, since they can be explored from different angles. Compare this to a character like Eggman Nega, who really is nothing more than a leech who requires the real Eggman to be split in half in order to seem more impressive.

Silver: Of the many reasons why I'm not interested in him, one is that his schtick gets old very quickly. There's always something to turn his future into yet another Bad Future, and after a while it becomes comical how often his efforts to avert one catastrophe and make a Good Future get revoked by the following catastrophe. Combine that with how he has actual friends in the present, and he might as well just stay in the present full-time and kill two birds with one stone… but then fans would complain about him losing something special to him. Cue frustration.

Also, fans can insist all they want that Silver trusting Mephiles was due to sheer desperation, but until they release the Snyder Cut of '06 where this is actually shown, it's nothing more than a headcanon. You can explain writing fumbles with headcanons, but you can't defend them with headcanons.

Elise: She's not a bad character. Underdeveloped, yes, but the hate she receives is largely exaggerated.

Marine: Her accent annoys me far less than Bunnie's. *mic drop*

Eggman: This notion that he needs to be softened up in order to be fleshed out is ironically a shallow one. He was fine the way he was. There's more than one way to expand on a villain.

Also, he shouldn't be underestimated just because he's a human instead of a god, a demon, an alien, etc. Bowser is an overgrown turtle who can breathe fire when all is said and done, and he still came close to conquering the universe on two occasions. If Bowser can do great things, so can Eggman.

Metal Sonic: It's possible to explore his identity crisis without making him turn traitor. If anything, him staying devoted to the guy who is the real Sonic's arch-nemesis adds an extra compelling layer to his insanity.

Lyric: I actually like his design? Yeah, he's still a crap villain and another one to throw onto the Fucks Eggman Over pile, but his design is at least more interesting than Mephiles the Druggie and Dark "Waiter, There's An Eyeball In My Taco" Gaia.

Infinite: Even if he was meant to be played completely seriously, and the idea of him being parodic to at least some degree isn't actually true, he's still a better maybe-parody of tryhard villains than either Scourge or Surge.

Sage: While Eggman using her for his own ends is preferable to him genuinely caring for her, the mere idea and circumstances of her character is something I'm very opposed to. I just don't like anything that could even vaguely be fitted into the role of Eggman's Bowser Jr, because no matter how it's presented in canon, fans will reduce Eggman to little more than Sage's father regardless. And I'm forced to see a shitton of "wholesome" family bonding regardless.

It doesn't help that beyond her relationship with Eggman, she doesn't have a whole lot of character anyway. The Heavies had more character in Mania, and they had no dialogue whatsoever. Black Doom arguably had more character, because at least with him, I can remember that he doesn't know what lightning is.

The Egg Bosses: They don't work. There is no reason why Eggman would forgo his robots in favor of anthros who, despite his ways of keeping them under his control, still talk back at him, something that the doctor has consistently been known to hate. Eggman having one organic right-hand as the Lefou to his Gaston is fine (like Starline or Agent Stone), but anything more than that just feels wrong IMO.

Tangle: Out of all the IDW-exclusive characters bar pre-Flynned Starline, Tangle is the one I'd be willing to give a chance if she were in something where her characterization wasn't exaggerated to the point of having room temperature IQ. I like the basic concept going on with Tangle, with her being well-intentioned but just a tad overeager for her own good, so I feel kinda sorry for how hard she got flanderized. Compare that to many other characters exclusive to this comic, who I instead wish would just fuck off and never return.

Starline: YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE. IT WAS SAID YOU'D SIMP FOR THE DOCTOR, NOT USURP HIM. CAST ASIDE THIS TIRED CLICHE, NOT FOLLOW IT TO THE LETTER. *cries like Ewan McGregor*

Surge: If a character has been shoved in my face relentlessly as the central focus of a character study for over a year, yet I feel as though I know nothing about who they really are by the time it's concluded, I'm gonna say that character might not be very good.

Mario: I cheered when he appeared at the end of the second movie, but why Chris Pratt?

[redwayfarers]

On Theokleia, my mother

Fandom: Wayfarer IF Characters: Cassander Inteus (OC), Theokleia Inteus (OC), Aiantes Inteus (OC) Rating: Gen Words: 2985 A brand new soul-wrenching angst, straight from my favourite Vestran elf and his dysfunctional family! Mind the fact that this features all sorts of pain, but mainly the pain of ‘my parents hated my guts growing up and still do, 10+ years later :))’ Seriously. Volatile parent-child relationship ahead. Hurt no comfort, emotional variety. Another note: it’s part of my Ties that sever, ties that bind series exploring Cass’ relationship with his family. Read this piece, as well as one centered on Cass and his younger brother Nikias, here on ao3.

If Vasco has any supporters, I sincerely doubt he attracted them because of the charms or, gods forbid, virtue of his character. In fact, to call any of his good traits virtues is to give genuine virtues a huge fucking bitchslap. If this guy wins the crown, I well and truly pity the people they send to his court.

And beyond that, anyone with Vestran blood who comes even within the proximity of his radius.

I absolutely hate whenever my path crosses with his. Not only because of the people whose company he keeps, but because he never misses a chance to try and sway me to his cause. Or threaten. His sycophants nod along and there’s one aeda whose face I just want to level with the ground whenever he opens his mouth to speak. Vasco always speaks in saccharine tones, but when he realises I’m not gonna fall for that, he switches tactics. He offers information, I refuse it on principle. I don’t even care all that much about these highborn brats who decided to have an adventure and realised the world’s bigger than their towers. I’ll dig out whatever the fuck I need myself, thank you very much.

He’s the lesser evil in all of this, though. A cover, really. He’s simpler to dislike, distant and annoying, even though he makes my hair stand on edge whenever he speaks. It’s my parents I see as well and that brings up a whole host of worms I want safely lidded shut. My father looks pristine as always, though his hair’s braided a little more simply than I remember from my childhood. He’s even removed his earrings, because he sorely needs more air in that vapid head of his. 

He’s not vapid, per se. Aiantes is actually rather bright or he would’ve been kicked out of diplomatic service ages ago. But his smiles are cheerfully empty, weirdly serene, a stark contrast to the twist his face got whenever he was privately angry with me and decided to pull on my ears to reprimand me. Asshole.

And where Aiantes goes, so does Theokleia. It sometimes feels like sniffing her out, like there��s a peculiar scent she gives that makes my stomach wrap up in knots. Last time we talked, she dislocated my nose and affirmed, in no uncertain terms, that I’m no son of hers. We’re through - legally, formally. In all ways save the one link we cannot break, I am not her son, nor is she my mother.

It’s a weird sort of pain. I don’t know what I was hoping would happen; that she, who’s hated me since the day I left the womb, would now turn a new leaf and warmly hug me, that she’d apologise for all the shit she’s done to me, that she’d make amends? That I’d find it in my heart to forgive, to grit through my bloody mouth how I take her back, how we can be a fucking family again? Not really. But there was a corner nobody’s shed a light on for years and I had to try. I had to cut that last tendon any way I knew how.

But I can’t cut the umbilical cord. She is my mother, but I am not her son. So by the power of shared blood, I can feel her presence whenever she’s around. She makes my lungs constrict and release and my jaw clench. She makes me want to push her off a cliff. I want to squeeze my giant fingers around her long throat and choke the life out of her the same way she choked the life out of the little Cassander.

However, I don’t think I’ll ever have it in me to do it. She’s my mother.  

So when she joins the other nobles, I can feel her approach. I’m on my way out and my legs can’t move fast enough to get out of Vasco’s presence, but she’s approaching the entrance of the tent with an impassive, hard face and suddenly my legs don’t know how to sprint anymore. My heart aches and I look on ahead, transfixed by the sight of her practical, military serithan and the messy strands of her deep, red hair. People salute her; she nods crisply, acknowledging their presence. The line of her nose and jaw is sharper than a blade.

Why are my hands so wet all of a sudden? I can’t let her see that, for fuck’s sake. I grip my pants tightly, rubbing some of the sweat away. She’s within line of sight. My legs refuse to move. I need to get away.

“Wayfarer,” she says, tersely. Fuck.

“Theokleia,” I respond, frowning.

“Are you leaving or entering? Either way, do something. Some of us have business to conduct here. You’re standing at the entrance.” Each sentence feels like a rap. A part of me wants to burrow here just so she can’t pass.

“It’s not like I find either yours or Vasco’s presence enjoyable,” I bite out. “Anyone who does is masochistic.”

“There are plenty of spaces in which we are decidedly not, Wayfarer, if you feel this way.” She speaks rather forcefully, like she has to remind herself to make sounds. Like she has to remind herself you need words for a conversation. I make her uncomfortable.

Oh what a delightful thing! Her own son makes her uncomfortable, before all of her noble and oh so dignified friends. If only I wouldn’t seem mad if I laughed at that.

“I shall have mercy on you, my lady,” I say instead, with all the joy in my heart, “and let you pass. Maybe you learn a thing or two from me, you gods-forsaken bitch.”

She looks away. My heart soars. “Go fuck yourself, Cassander,” she whispers. It’s only after a few moments more that I let her pass. It’s not every day I get to torment Theokleia Inteus. I might just enjoy it while it lasts.

***

Daylight’s waning. I actually forgot how pretty Vestra’s sunsets were, clad in orange and shining over lakes. Even though there’s distant chattering of people and soldiers behind me, watching the sunset from a safe distance of the patriotic Vestrans does provide some semblance of tranquility. As much as I can get it, anyway, with the strange joy that sits heavily in my belly.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve replayed that conversation with Theokleia. Her stiff tone and obvious discomfort only stoked the joy further, coupled with the memories of her shutting me up with a single glance when I was under her paw. She only had to look, I only have to exist. In hindsight, I probably made her uncomfortable even then, for the very same crime of being born.

Difference is that once she would’ve stared me down, towering over me. Now, she looks away and it’s her turn to be small.

I shouldn’t be happy about this, a part of me thinks. After the initial rush of the encounter passed, I was able to see how childish my behavior was. I should be the bigger person and maybe not forgive, but certainly not relish in her discomfort. It’s hard not to, though. I know intimately how powerlessness tastes and I want to pour the same fucking poison down her throat for a change. It’s not fair how only she gets her moments of glory and not me, whose life she ruined day in and day out before Cenric took me out of Vodena. Best thing someone ever did for me, truly.

Thus, I decide with a barely restrained tug on my lips, I am allowed to enjoy this a little. It feels like competence, like possibility and like power. Power I was often denied by virtue of being myself.

And I would’ve been content to move on the next morning, go do what I was contracted to do, and never see any of them again. Truly, I would’ve. But demanding footsteps interrupt my thoughts, boots press on grass like they want to smother it beneath their steps and I turn my head to see who’s bothering me.

My mother’s face is so dark it could beat the night itself.

“What?” I ask, not wanting to let her have the first word.

“What was that in the king’s tent all about?” she says - borderline yells, really - and crosses her arms. “Maybe your kind does not know, but we have a reputation to uphold. We are one of the most honorable families in Vestra and I represent us in the world. And this is how you behave?”

“It’s called tit for tat,” I deadpan, straightening my back fully. From up here, she doesn’t look quite as terrifying as she did when I was a child. “You should be familiar with the concept, really. If you wronged someone, for whatever reason, they may want to retaliate. You guys do it all the time. And it’s suddenly a bad thing when a Wayfarer does it? Oh, it’s bad when Cassander does it! I understand.” I stare her in the eye. “I could never do anything right in your eyes, I forget. I can’t be a good son, I can’t be a good Inteus, I can’t exist the way you wanted me to and now I can’t even hate you the way you’d approve. How   convenient.”

“Do not presume things, Wayfarer,” she breathes harshly. “You are not my son. You are not even a true Inteus. We don’t have a place for the likes of you in our midst.”

How easily she washes her hands clean of me! How easily she wills me to be a pretender to the name and suddenly, that’s what I am! The conviction in her voice feels like a punch in the gut. Sharp pain of my estrangement comes in full force, like it did when their letter of disownment reached me all those years ago. She never wanted me around, she never wanted to listen, she never thought of me as anything but a waste of breath, and here I was, an absolute fucking fool, offering her a chance to make amends! To apologize!

“Shit out of luck, because that’s not how that works! If I could choose my parents, do you really think I would’ve chosen you? Do you really think I would’ve chosen you in particular over every other mother in fucking Rhesainia!”

“I repeat, Wayfarer,” she continues and her face twists fiercely, “I am not your mother anymore. I don’t know what exactly you think gives you the right to speak to me this way, but cease. Do your contract for the Guild and remember exactly where you are.”

How mightily I am compelled! I dig my nails into my palms because that’s better than just fucking tackling her to the ground. “Then you shouldn’t have given birth to a kid who looks exactly like you, Theokleia,” I breathe through my nose. “Then you should’ve considered not having any more children after Despina.” I remove the near painful press on my palms. My nails left indents in the hardened skin. She stares at me, breathing heavily, eyes seething with rage. Her hands are shaking.

“You are such an insolent brat it’s a marvel that Grandmaster of yours let you out of that glorified ruin in Artanis,” she says suddenly. “Amali Sero, was it? Whoever they may be, it’s clear they made a lapse of judgment in that.”

“Don’t take Sero or the Spire in your fucking mouth!” I seize her by the arm and pull her close until we’re face to face, nose to nose. My grip tightens and I hope to whoever's listening up above that I leave bruises. “They’re golden compared to you and you have no fucking right to ever mention them, least of all in my presence.”

Am I spitting on her? I don’t care. Maybe it somehow turns venomous and burns her skin.

“You’re nobody,” she replies, and there’s a shake in her voice. Once she hears it, the fury in her eyes turns into a sweetly horrifying realisation. “You have no right to set terms here. You’re a mercenary and if it were up to me, we’d just find our missing members ourselves instead of hiring a Wayfarer. There, you can set the terms if you so wish. But here, with Vestra’s great and honorable, you’re a barely tolerated pest. I can talk about whoever I want in whatever way I want and you cannot do a thing about it.”

“Vestra’s great and honorable?” I bark out a sharp, angry laugh. “Can’t speak for the rest of you assholes, but you? You’re nobody’s great and honorable. You’re just a brood mare for the family legacy. You, Theokleia, are insignificant, there to give little heirs for the other part of your name, Inteus. If I called you by any other name, it would still remain the same. A brood mare for this fucked up legacy of flawless magic. That’s all you are.”

She goes still. She’s staring at me, looking me in the eye, gold against red. For a few heavy, long seconds, that’s all we do, stare, face to face, and the wall against us grows thorns with each passing moment. Then, in the deathly silence, she lets out a little sob and a tear slides down her cheek.

Holy shit. It took me fifteen years, but finally, I managed to knock my all-powerful mother down. My heart beats rapidly in my chest and my grip on her tightens. For a moment, I remember a nine year old Cassander, brought down by the force of his mother’s strong hit, sobbing incoherently and holding his bleeding cheek as she towers over him and screams that he’s a waste of breath.

This one’s for you, little Cassander.

“It’s not fun when it happens to you, is it,” I sound tearful - when did I start crying? “It’s not fun, is it, whether you’re a hundred years old or nine years old! This is what you did to me for the first ten years of my life! This is what–”

“Shut up,” she croaks out lowly. Tears are running down her face freely and her teeth are bared. Slinking through my astonishment and rage, instinct reminds me that an angered beast is when it's most dangerous. And I should know just how dangerous my mother, a battlemage, can be.

Let her attack. I am not afraid. This time, I have the means of fighting back. This time, I don’t depend on her approval of my behavior. This time, I am my own man and not a helpless boy under her paw.

“Make me,” I hiss back, ready to defend myself if I have to. I’m not giving up this power just yet.

Suddenly, she aims her leg high for a kick. I dodge, but release my grip on her arms in the process. Her magic’s useless directly, but she can use the environment against me. Shadowfall’s at my belt, as well as a dagger if it comes to that.

I draw the sword; it’s a comforting sound. She watches it for a moment and frowns when she sees the watery surface. “I said make me, Theokleia,” I stare her down. “If you dare.” She’s powerful, but angry. Angry enough to slip. Angry enough for a misstep. Sero made sure that won’t happen to me.

“Theo!” a male voice calls and both she and I freeze. My father. The bastard is fast approaching and the tension drains so suddenly I can almost hear the air fill the empty space.

“Sheathe that sword, Wayfarer,” she says sharply, voice marred with tears.

“Yes, because I’m always the bad guy around,” I bite back, sheathing it. I’m not dumb. It’s too late, though - Aiantes has seen it and whatever he wanted to say died on his tongue in favor of burning me alive with the power of a scowl.

“Wayfarer–” he starts in a tone that subtly bucks behind the force of his anger, but I raise my hand.

“Cassander, if we’re gonna have a family reunion here. Where’s Despina, so it can be just like the good old days?” I squint. My heart beats wildly in my chest.

“Do family members threaten each other at sword point, Cassander?” Aiantes says, rubbing a hand down Theokleia’s arm. She holds herself cautiously close, as if afraid to seek the comfort of his embrace. I cried myself to sleep, alone, when she hit me. She has a husband to kiss her tears away.

I suppress a sniffle.

“That wasn’t a threat,” I whisper against the storm of emotions in my chest. “That was an escalation.” I raise my head in defiance. I will not be cowed by my parents anymore. “I’m sure your darling wife will tell you all about it. But nothing will come of it besides my personal satisfaction, because last time I checked, there was an Inteus on that list of missing Guild kids. And I was contracted to find them.”

Theokleia raises her gaze. “Aftonio,” she says, strangely strained. Aiantes’ eyes harden and he nods softly at her.

“That’s their name? Can’t seem to remember.” Of course I remember. But the pain in her voice when she says that name scratches at a wound that will never heal. She cares more about a meaningless cousin than her own son. Aiantes too.

“Go find them,” Aiantes says coldly. “And do remember Vestra has no further need for the likes of you after this.” He tugs her to leave and she nods imperceptibly. She’s holding her tears as much as she can.

I don’t deign to respond to him. Once they’re far away enough, I plop down on the grass. Sheathed, Shadowfall sadly hits the ground. Only after the sound settles do I bury my face in my hands and cry.

[greatwyrmgold]

I've spent a few posts talking about things I like about Bleach. Now for me to talk about things I don't like.

The Soul Society arc.

Thank you, have a good day.

Okay, yes, I will explain myself. I recall that the Soul Society arc is one of the parts of Bleach that its fans generally like, and I...don't. There are several reasons for this.

Why I dislike the Soul Society Arc

Rukia

I've made a bit of a running gag about how Rukia is my favorite character, which I might actually try to explain at some point. She's determined, she's resourceful, she tries to do the right thing (even if it means breaking the law), she can switch from being the straight man/voice of reason to being the silly punchline guy without feeling like she's out of character. And while I wish she'd kept a meaningful fragment of her powers, having her fight a Hollow without them was pretty badass.

And she spends basically the entire Soul Society arc as a damsel in distress. She thinks that doing anything will make things worse for the people she cares about, which is a better reason than most damsels in distress have, but it still feels like an excuse to let the deuteragonist gather dust in the corner while the series focuses on a bunch of new soul reapers. Speaking of which:

I lost track of how many new characters were introduced

In principle, introducing dozens of Soul Reapers isn't automatically a bad thing. There are some bit-part Reapers who add a lot to the texture of the world without taking up too much narrative real estate. That one officer who hits on (what he thinks are) female Reapers in the middle of a crisis does a good job making the Reapers seem both varied and...banal, in a three-dimensional sort of way?

But then there are the dozens of Reapers (and non-Soul-Reaper souls) who are supposed to be main characters. There's the thirteen captains, and most of their assistant captains, and a bunch of others besides. And I like some of these!

Hanataro is a nice weakling, contrasting the overwhelmingly powerful and callous captains. He's just...a nice dude. And despite being weak, he's allowed to do stuff.

Renji, aside from being a vehicle to explain Rukia's backstory (yay, Rukia when she wasn't damseled!), is a

Kenpachi is just that shonen fight-loving dude, but...he's the most that dude I have ever seen. And despite that, he's absolutely shit at using his zanpakuto; he has to get by on raw brute force. He feels like a subtweet about all the worst anime heroes.

Yachiru is adorable and I love her dynamic with Kenpachi.

But there are also plenty of Reapers who I dislike, like Mayuri the generic mad scientist, Gin Ichimaru the obvious villain, or Rukia's brother Byakuya (who isn't as evil as Gin, but is also a less audacious and interesting flavor of evil). And worse, there are a bunch who I just don't care about, like...the guy with a fox head, or the old leader guy, or the glasses guy, or the other six captains, who the series tries to make into main characters.

It's too much to keep track of. And so is...

All the fight scenes

I get it, this is a shonen battle manga, shonens are gonna battle as the manga goes on. But do the battles need to seem so superfluous?

It could be worse. I've been reading Jump manga long enough to know that. Lots of Big Event arcs turn into chaotic melees, almost impossible to follow. Others throw fights back-to-back at you, with no room to breathe.

The Soul Society arc doesn't do either of those. The participants in each fight are well-defined, the fights separated from each other by several blocks at minimum. There's space in between them, time to reset the tension and explore some character stuff that comes up. But it still has a lot of superfluous-feeling fights.

(Aside: While splitting the party this way and giving everyone periodic downtime is good, it also makes the timeline feel less cohesive than it probably is. It sometimes feels like one group is resting up and having lengthy conversations in the middle of another group's action scene.)

For instance: We're supposed to be invested in a multi-chapter fight between the mentor character who barely existed before the Soul Society arc* and her ex-student who barely existed before this fight? Really? The student's backstory had to be explained midfight for it to have a semblance of emotional...anything.

I assumed that fight was just introducing the sleeve-destroying lightning technique, but the wiki says it's only used by those two and the mentor's sister. Which is a shame, because A. it means we don't get to see Ichigo in one of those goofy open-sided uniforms, Hawkeye Initiative style, and B. it means we really were supposed to care about the student who got mad her teacher left.

I realize I've harped on this one segment, but...well, it's mostly the recency effect, but also that segment knocked me out of my reading groove and made it hard to get back into it. No offense to either Yoruichi or...(checks notes) Sui-feng, but your backstory was introduced in the worst way, and there doesn't seem to be that much to it.

Anyways, that's just one fight out of dozens. Some of them advance the plot, or help the heroes understand/develop their powers. Some are just obstacles for the heroes to overcome. And some are just squabbles between Soul Reaper captains over everything from the dumb, violent version of Machiavellian scheming to "Why didn't you bring me with you when you left, sensei?!?"

Anyways. Circling through the technique introduced two pages before it was used to win a fight to the mid-fight-scene exposition, we come to another problem.

Maybe Bleach deserves its reputation?

Before reading Bleach or watching Geoff Thew's Bleach video, I had heard some stuff about the series. One of those things is that it had bad power creep, with new powers being introduced on a dime as the plot requires. For the whole pre-Soul-Society monster-of-the-week segment, this didn't come up.

Then we get to the Soul Society. The main characters are faced by overwhelmingly powerful Soul Reapers, with far greater spirit energy (power level) and a variety of special techniques and powers among them. Ichigo &co struggle against low-level Reaper officers, knowing they will have to fight captains who can mop the floor with those mooks. And then...they get stronger, and have about the same level of struggle against the strongest captains, and win.

The worst has to be Ichigo getting his bankai. For those who don't read Bleach: I hope this has made sense, and also bankai is kinda like a super-mode of the magic swords every Soul Reaper has, which can summon monsters or deadly flower petals or a bone snake whip thing. I don't really get it yet. Anyways, bankai is super rare; only a fraction of Soul Reapers ever get a bankai, and it takes a decade or more of training.

Of course, Ichigo takes a shortcut. It involves a quasi-symbolic fight against the incarnation of his magical sword; the goal is to find his real magic sword, which is stated to be the one piece of his spirit made for fighting. This has the potential to be an interesting training scene, forcing Ichigo to introspect and figure out why he fights, what he's fighting for.

...it happens offscreen. We cut away from Ichigo's training for a while, stuff happens, Rukia's about to be executed, Ichigo appears a day ahead of schedule, having figured his bankai thing out. There's no flashback, we don't get to see Ichigo figuring out why he fights or anything. He just comes back, and he's stronger now. And when that's not enough (because of his shonen BS), he gets a spooky Hollow mask.

But it's not just this kind of convenient power-up. There are also a lot of techniques that are explained in flashbacks right before (or after) they win a fight. Some of these make sense; Quincies can manipulate reiki in the world around them, the afterlife world is made out of reiki, it makes sense that Uryu would be able to draw power from nearby buildings and stuff. Others really don't; the thing Uryu pulled in the same fight which boosted his Quincy powers but then made him lose them at the end of the fight came out of nowhere.

There's a lot of backfill, a lot of mid-fight exposition, and yet a lot of stuff that isn't explained. Orihime and Chad getting powers still isn't explained beyond "Hanging out with Ichigo and Rukia awakened dormant magical powers," and it's weird that two of Ichigo's friends would have those. And while the way Orihime's powers work is explained decently, I still have no idea what Chad's armor arm does. Strong, tough, draining? Iunno.

But I guess it's not surprising that some stuff would fall by the wayside.

It's Too Much

This isn't so much a new point, as a new angle on the points I already made, synthesizing everything.

I liked the small-scale conflicts in Bleach's early monster-of-the-week arcs. One chapter, there's a cursed parakeet (there's a Hollow involved). A few chapters later, soul-Ichigo needs to chase down his body and the artificial autopilot soul that was supposed to be safeguarding it. Then he meets the Hollow that killed his mom, then a TV psychic who understands spirits just well enough to accidentally make everything worse, then a different kind of monster-hunter who thinks Soul Reapers need to back off and let humans handle their own world.

It's episodic, and that's not a bad thing! It gives us time to get acquainted with the world and how it works. And, of course, how Ichigo's Reaper magic and Uryu's Quincy powers work. Plus, it's just kinda fun? Every few chapters, you get a different flavor of urban fantasy nonsense, which all feels like it fits in the same world.

Then all of a sudden, Rukia abandons the Kurosaki household, and Ichigo sees her getting kidnapped by her brother, a high-ranking Soul Reaper, who is going to execute her. Ichigo and his friends (and Uryu) need to train fast so they can go to the Soul Society, where they're promptly smacked in the face with a whole mass of characters and powers and technobabble and politics, both class politics and powerful individuals maneuvering for more power.

And I like some of these elements. The divide between haves and have-nots in the afterlife is worth exploring, bankai seem neat (especially that one tidbit from when Ichigo was training, which never paid off and I'm still mad), plenty of the Soul Reapers are interesting and fun, some of the fight scenes are cool.

But I don't have the time to enjoy those elements. They're drowning in a sea of other things introduced at the same time, and a stream of new things being constantly introduced. New characters (and characters we technically already saw getting developed), more part of that big scheme coming to light, more technobabble, more powers, more training.

Bonus: Shonen BS

I couldn't fit this into the neat stream of segues, but there's a lot more shonen BS in this arc. You know, characters doing things that help set up fight scenes but don't make a lot of sense in-character.

Some shonen BS, I can accept. Kenpachi, for instance. Shonen BS is his whole character; he wears an eyepatch because binocular vision would make fights too easy. (Also, there's something in it that limits his spirit energy.) It makes sense that he'd go out of his way to let his opponent fight. And even characters who aren't pure, unadulterated shonen BS, sometimes shonen BS is in-character. That's fine.

But when Ichigo has his sword to the throat of Rukia's evil brother, who he considers irredeemably evil for callously trying to execute his sister (fair), and backs off for no apparent reason so they can fight for a couple more chapters...why? Why did he hold back his bankai until after Rukia's brother cut him up with his flower bankai? Why did he not kill him when he had such an easy chance? If you're gonna kill him, kill him!? You could have finished this with one fewer convenient power-up!

I don't have any big point here. Some shonen BS is expected in any battle manga, Bleach got a bunch more in the Soul Society arc, it's starting to get on my nerves.

What do I wish had happened?

I think the big problem is how suddenly Bleach goes from pre-Soul-Society MOTW stuff to a big, dense plotline in a whole new world. It's a sudden change of pace, a change in place, a whole herd of new characters, and a bunch of new powers and setting elements, introduced all at the same time.

So instead...don't do that.

Keep up the monster-of-the-week format, and introduce these things more gradually. Maybe Ichigo starts running into tougher Hollows after Uryu's stunt, so he needs to recruit Orihime, Chad, and Uryu to help him fight. Then they start training their supernatural abilities to stay on top of the problem.

Meanwhile, spirit world stuff starts getting introduced. Maybe Uruhara sends Ichigo and Rukia on an errand that takes them into the spirit world, or pursuing a Hollow takes them there, or Renji visits the mortal world to figure out why Rukia's been gone so long, or something.

Or if nothing else, have some Rukia flashback chapters. Those could introduce basics of how the Soul Society works, and since Rukia was adopted into one of the big spirit world families, she could plausibly have met most of the major characters in the Soul Society arc. Plus, more Rukia is rarely a mistake.

My biggest problems with the Soul Society arc come down to dumping so much information on the reader at once (too much to be contained in organic-feeling scenes) and how much of a disconnect between Soul Society and what came before. But that's an obvious problem, right? It makes me wonder why Tite Kubo wrote Bleach this way. But I don't know enough to meaningfully speculate, and I shouldn't baselessly speculate.

Anyways, beyond that...Rukia should actually do stuff. This would require a lot of rewriting about why she was imprisoned and how she felt about her execution, but it's not like you could adjust the pacing without changing all of that stuff. Also, I don't like it. "I'll let my brother kill me and hope that the other captains don't have any reason to go after Ichigo, who they hold partially responsible for the thing I'm being executed for" isn't the worst motivation a damsel can have for accepting her distress, but it's still not a great one.

Finally, cut down a bit. I can't get specific without toeing into the "fix-it fic" zone, but I feel like all thirteen Soul Reaper captains and most of their assistant captains and a bunch of their flunkies and several people living outside the spirit city is a few more principal characters than a single arc needs. Part of the problem is that the Rukia execution plotline has a lot of scenes setting up some kind of big conspiracy plotline that I haven't really gotten to.

I feel there should have been more space between them. That might be tricky; Rukia's execution was a step in the conspiracy's plan, and I'm not sure how close it is to the end or how easy it would be to restructure the conspiracy so that there was more of a gap. For all I know, something not yet revealed about the conspiracy will make it seem like as crucial a part of the Soul Society arc as Rukia's execution, and not just the next thing that happens. But at the moment, I feel like jamming them together weakened both.

Conclusion

The Soul Society arc is not bad; I just like it less than what came before. It feels like too many things are introduced too quickly, with loads of characters and powers and worldbuilding details being dumped in at once.

Those things are not bad, just crammed in too tightly for my taste. I could have found Sui-feng a compelling character, if her story wasn't crammed into the middle of a fight scene which feels like it has no purpose except introducing her and showing off her ex-master's powers. It could have been a side-story about a character dutifully following the path laid out for her by her ancestors and superiors, only for that path to stop making sense when her mentor bailed.

But instead, it's a backstory that was squished into a fight scene that felt like a big plot cul-de-sac. And that stinks.

(It also stinks that Rukia was just kinda tossed into the corner like a forgotten toy.)

[ghostjelliess]

One time, I was chatting with an old friend and prom got brought up, we were nearly a decade out of school at the time. Anyway, she said "yeah, it was weird that you just started dancing with those random boys that crashed it with those [our closest thing to popular girls], but we knew you liked to dance, it was just weird." and I absolutely lost it as I realized that I'd never paused to explain anything to my friends at the time.

Imagine, 2009, the awkward girls who are so unimpressed by boys their age, dedicated to angsty boy bands, GPAs, and future dreams, and among them is the overworked poor girl who usually cares for her siblings, finally getting a night off after changing into her prom dress in a van. She's either quiet or obnoxious, zero scale for in-betweens, and her beloved friends she's trying to make dance with her shoo her off jokingly, only to see her crash into her jock soccer teammates (we didn't really have bad cliques, tbh, but pretend), who brought their cool dates from another school because they go to parties and meet peers outside their bubble, so cool. And to their shock, surprise, and maybe horror, their over-active dance-y friend has roped these mysterious dates into her circle. They've lost control of her, what can they do but watch her make a fool in front of the cool girls and boys they never aspired to be—but disliked on the principle of being unfamiliar and having no common ground.

And then, finally, a slow song played. Their weirdo friend returned, and they exhaled a collective sigh of relief and dragged her to the other prom activities, determined not to let her near the dance floor again.

And I had to sit our late-20-something-year-old asses down as she reminisced, absolutely cackling, and explain to her that I knew them. They weren't strangers to me.

I'd gone to school with those dumb boys since we were seven and they were neither suave nor cool, and in fact one of them had worn the same hat for so long, and refused to wash it, that he gave the whole 4th grade class lice, and the other lived down the street from my house and we had matching knee scars from biffing the same dumb skateboard jump that someone's dad never should have built us. They'd kicked me out of their treehouse when it was too crowded, but also lifted me onto the roof of the abandoned building across the street in Sandlot style feats to retrieve the soccer ball/ football/ baseball, and we'd been to so many school-sponsored events that I could pick out their lunchboxes and overnight camp pjs if i had to. Lol, I knew their moms. Their families still live by my parents back home like a frickin' Hallmark movie.

I had to remind her how I transferred high schools sophomore year and draw up a whole timeline of moving schools, and she was just like "ohhhhhh. Wow, honestly, you did just appear at school one day. At prom, we thought you were drunk. Except Ashley. Ashley thought you were secretly cool."

I was still laughing, but also shook at how deviating reality can be. Like bro, they were that concerned but never asked??? It is so strange to think how much you can peripherally know about a person, like how I know everything about the kid versions of those guys, but I have no idea who they are today. Like, I could pass them in the street when I go back home and maybe recognize them, but probably not. But my friend who I still talk to has no concept of my life before I met her at our shared school or beyond our shared experiences. It's wild.

No wonder making adult friends is hard. It's weird to get to know new people when old people remember shoving you into a broken window to get a Frisbee and ripping your back open, when you don't have to explain yourself because they were there for it all. But it's also kinda sad cus those are usually the best stories to retell. I'm not someone who will track those guys down just to say "hey remember when..." But it's strange to hear the juxtaposition of reality from a close friend who maybe isn't that close. In that moment I realized how much more effort I put into understanding her and communicating with her. Now, I'm seen as strange and outgoing and secretly crazy, but really I just remember the details they forgot, the parts of myself the assumed or dismissed or didn't care enough about to clarify their judgements.

It was so funny at the time, looking back on our prom nearly a decade out, but now, five years later, I'm a little haunted by it. I was the only one seeking connection, interested in their lives, curious about who they were becoming as they grew, and they were only interested in having a weird, crazy friend who danced with strangers and got drunk at prom.

There's no moral of the story here, I'm just working out how to make friends now that I'm in my 30s and moved so far from what was home. Why are adults so scared of connecting, they say it takes so much energy and effort, but when I meet them as strangers, they share all their secrets, from California to Washington, to Michigan, to Rhode Island. It's cross cultural. It's weird. Open up, tell your stories, be interesting. Let people friend you. New people help us evolve and listen to the newest version of our best stories. I want to hear about your matching scars and old friends who broke your heart more than any first love ever could. I don't know why empathy becomes so scary to us as adults, I just know that I want to connect with people, but whether it's a product of moving so much in my 20s or where I'm living now, or my generation group, I'm finding a lot of people are extremely attached to the people who know them as they are, with no room for new people who might learn them as they want to become. I think we need both... maybe I'm wrong. I dunno. Adult friends are hard.

[unknownjpegs]

casualty

He dislikes working with Robson. Not just because the idiot is from some fucking ass-end rich hovel in Bedfordshire. A little bit for that, of course, because Benji hates that sort of man on principle. 

But no, he holds a grudge; doesn’t like the man because, on holiday leave about a year back, in some dirty hole bar, Robson had snatched his phone out of his hand. Benji does not like his space being invaded, despises the disrespect of it, having his things being touched. To make matters worse, he’d opened his camera roll, found a picture of Saha, and whistled like a heinous goddamn rat. 

“Now then, this one you’ll be gettin’ me in contact with, Sticks,” Robson says jovially, thumping him on the back. Hearty, familiar. He’s not being cruel or condescending. And it’s not more than he’s used to hearing from the fellas. It’s just… Benji does not like his space being invaded. More than that, Saha is off limits. She’s so disconnected from all this ugly fucking business, untouched by what his life has become, and he is absolutely determined to keep her free of it. Separating those two — the life before, the life now — makes thinking less muddied, too. 

“Over my rotting corpse,” Benji mutters. His knee is bouncing in anticipation. He’s not sure why. The half-full glass of liquor before him, cold against his knuckles, is almost grounding. Almost. 

“Aye well I’ll chat her up at the funeral then.” Robson bellows, looking around for approval from the rest of the guys. A few, the ones who don’t know Benji as well as they should, chuckle. “Make a step-brother out of you, huh?” 

It incenses him. Maybe because he’s in a mood to begin with, head pounding from getting walloped last night by the butt of a rifle. Maybe because he’s looking for somewhere to throw all the energy bouncing around in him — it always gets that way, ricochets  off his insides, when he’s trying hard not to think after a fight.

“She’s not into blokes,” he sighs, exasperated. “Especially not ass-ugly dickheads like you, mate.”

Robson’s lingering hand on his shoulder would be comforting, if they were friends. They’re not. Even if they were, Benji thinks he might’ve responded the same when the next words out of the other man’s mouth hit his ears. 

“Feel like I got a shot at gettin’ her into blokes.” He laughs again, but the rest of the counter is silent. “Or gettin’ a bloke into her.” 

“Awh,” says another soldier near the end, “that’s his bloody sister, mate.”

He makes the information known little too late, because Benji’s up out of the stool and behind Robson in a flash. Fists the back of his shirt tight, vision shaking with anger, and pulls Robson right out of his seat to the ground. 

He’s not sure what happens — either the alcohol or that place in his mind pulling the details fuzzy like wool, out of his brain’s reach. All he knows is that he comes to from the fight bloodied…

But not more bloodied than Robson. 

The rough end of it is this: Robson only grows more fond of him. Nothing more inspirational than putting your hands on another man in a violent fashion, Benji supposes. Just not the manner that he usually prefers. Robson thinks they’re friends now, that they’ve bonded or something over the experience. He can’t even be pissed about it, because the comments about Saha stop entirely. Worthy of respect only as she relates to Benji’s own humanity.

Ghost puts them together on more than one mission to even them out, so he says, leaving Benji with the warning that if he can’t manage it, there’ll be consequences. He doesn’t say ‘consequences’ like he means the fun sort, so Benji puts on his well-reprimanded soldier face. Promises true and good (aye aye, Lt!) that they’ll get along, be the best of friends, and watch each others’ backs. 

Benji’s doing that now. Watching his back, keeping his six clear. 

“Three inside, I think,” Robson says into his earpiece. Benji adjusts himself on the embankment, drifting his scope along the dilapidated warehouse’s window line, scanning for said three. He doesn’t see them, and lets Robson know as such.

“Reckon they’ve not seen the approach,” the soldier says, and now Benji can see his helmet bob along the bottom pane as he works through. He clears the hall and disappears into a door on his right, gone from observation with a speed that makes Benji anxious. “Bet you two on Saturday that I can get the drop.”

“Mate, I can’t cover —“ he’s cut off by the sound of gunfire, of several masculine grunts, of a savage, raw shout. Sounds like a wild fucking animal in the room.

“There were four.” Robson croaks, and then the earpiece goes quiet. 

“Fuck.” Benji hisses, slapping his glove down on the grass. “Fucking shite for brains piece of…fuck!” 

He leaps up, quick to action. Shoulders the rifle in favor of his sidepiece and nearly chews dirt as fast as he descends the hill. He’s not being careful, not clearing proper for anyone watching him, but all he can think of is how much he’ll hate himself — how guilty he’ll feel — if Robson goes like this under his watch.

Doesn’t like the guy, but doesn’t hate him. Certainly doesn’t want him goddamn dead. Fuck, he’s not gonna get there fast enough. 

The hallway is empty as he strides down it, quick yet noisy, fueled by haphazard anxiety. Good grip, praises his brain distantly — despite one one thumb tapping away on the back of the other. He’ll never be rid of the habit.

The pat pat pat keeps him sane as he checks each door, looking for Robson keeled over or worse, bloodied not from Benji’s fist but bullets. 

Relief like little else when he finds him, back to then doorway, knelt over the prone form of a combatant. Nondescript, black-clad uniform. One that Benji recognizes - Shadow. Tough fuckers, scary when cornered. There are three others in the room, and from the looks of them they’ve gotten a more favorable out than the last guy.

“C’mon,” Benji cringes, watching as Robson clutches his fists together, swings them above his head, and brings them down. There’s a thump, a wet crunch, and Benji is reminded of how brutally savage the man can be in combat. The way he can be, too. Robson is worse. Frightening, not because he’s particularly skilled, but because he always seems to enjoy it a little much. Like he’d be doing exactly, if allowed, on the outside.

“You gottem, you wanker. Real fuckin’ done in, this one,” he tries again, tries to keep it humorous. Robson is usually fine for it, satisfied by a bit of banter even in moments like this, but something wicked is in him now. Psychotic. 

“Naw,” he growls, and does that over-the-head swing again. The body beneath him kicks its legs, and Benji realizes it’s not a body at all. The poor fuck’s still alive. And more than that, putting up a respectable fucking fight. Robson isn’t a small man, but the merc nearly manages to buck him off after the next more blow. Benji is distantly impressed about it, but his stomach is also rolling dangerously at the blood that pools under one of the other soldier’s knees — not his. 

“Naw,” Robson says again. It’s a breathless grunt, sharp with unmanageable anger. Benji recognizes that he’ll kill the poor sap before anything else, and thumbs off his radio. “Tried to fuckin’ choke me.” 

“Alright, mate.” Benji hisses nervously, kicking the other bodies’ guns away as he trudges over. “You gottem, c’mon.” Even though he’s certainly done as violent and gory, Benji does not want to witness a man be bludgeoned to wet, red meat this way. Especially not one who can’t fight back. It feels — evil, even if that’s all they do now. Evil and intimate and personal. 

“Fuck, no. Sticks, you shoulda heard what he said —“

Robson settles back a little, head tilted inquisitively, then bellows and brings his fists down again. The body beneath him groans and then, to Benji’s shock, snarls out an unintelligible mess of half-words and syllables. Likely from a mouth filled with blood and teeth. Another punch, this time a familiar thing of which Benji has been on the opposite end. Close over Robson’s shoulder now, he can see how the mer’s cracked helmet is split down the center. Benji’s focus drags over a bloodied, black balaclava near the combatant’s elbow. Pieces of the helmet visor are scattered on the ground like glass. 

Benji takes a step forward.

“Face won’t do you much good when it’s fuckin’ mash, will it?” Robson sneers, gripping the guy by his tactical vest and shaking violently.

There’s a pause, and then the merc gathers spit and lobs it directly into Robson’s sneering face. 

“Still would get laid more than you, ugly,” says the combatant. His unhinged laugh, driven out by at his own goddamn insult, rings off the concrete walls. 

Benji freezes.

“Robson —“ he says weakly, stomach churning. “Stop.” 

He doesn’t. In fact, he doubles the effort. The next punch makes a sick sound against flesh, and then Robson adjusts his seat on that chest so he can get leverage to wrap meaty fists around the Shadow’s neck. 

“I wanna watch you die, mate,” he says coldly. “M’gonna watch it fade.”

 Benji takes another step forward, eyebrows drawn tight in anticipation, and feels his stomach sink.

Now, with a clear view, he notes the mess of the Shadow’s face. Unmistakable red hair springing from the split in the helmet, reminding him of a fragile little plant pushed through a crack in the sidewalk. Benji’s fingers twitch. 

“Robson.” He tries for a third time, and the plea is now a warning. “Don’t.” 

A pair of familiar eyes cut over to him. Well, one — the other is swollen shut, an ugly red knot that’ll bruise fiercely. There’s a hairline split across one cheek, torn maybe from the studs on Robson’s gloves. Benji finds himself assessing the injuries when that mouth drags open in a charmingly demented grin, teeth soaked red. 

“Hey,” says the Shadow. Benji blinks rapidly, feels his arms raise. He’s still gripping

 his sidearm. 

“You gotta stop,” he whispers, feeling ill. “You have to stop, mate.” 

“I’m fit to kill ‘em, Sticks,” Robson laughs, and he reaches down to retrieve his own weapon, cramming the muzzle against the pale, blood-soaked edge of Xavier’s chin.

Bad grip, his brain supplies.

Then it leads him away into the dark as his fingers squeeze around the trigger of their own accord.  

He comes back to himself to wheezing. He’s sat on the floor, knees pulled up and spread, his gun hanging loose between them. The wheezing — wet rattling, really — is coming from Robson. He’s got a bullet lodged in a lung, from the sound of it. Benji glances over. His squad mate is slumped face down, unmoving, a pool of blood soaking the back of his vest. 

Xavier is still laying in the same spot, just pulled upright a little higher on the wall Robson had him against. 

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath from having the weight on his chest for so long, and staring up at the ceiling. They’re both quiet.

“Wow. You just did a war crime.” Xavier says, finally. “You…good?”

“Oh, fuck,” Benji groans. He clutches his temple with his free hand. He’s gonna freak out, in just a second, can feel it. “Fuck. I killed him. I —”

“Nahhh,” he hisses, and somehow drags himself to his feet. Benji isn’t sure how he can do it, as absolutely walloped as he is, dripping blood. He limps over to Robson. Spits on him again, kicks him in the stomach.

“Nope,” he says cheerfully. “He’s alive.”

And then he lifts one long leg, ended in a black steel-toed boot, and stomps very fucking hard on Robson’s face, his skull. It makes a sick, wet noise, just as the blows to Xavier’s face had. The next one makes a sloppier sucking noise, the next a crunch, and the final stomp is sodden and heavy as the bottom of Xavier’s boot connects mostly with concrete floor.

“There,” he chirps, “Now he’s dead. You didn’t kill him, don’t worry. I did.” 

He sounds different, like his nose might be broken. Benji looks up in time to watch as the other man sits down with him, legs spread out on either side of his hips. 

“Come here often?” 

Benji swears under his breath, and puts his head in both hands. His ears are ringing. 

Xavier prods him with the side of his foot, leaving a patch of Robson’s blood on his pants.

“Hey. Look.” Benji does, face taut and twisted. Xavier’s grinning like he hasn’t just gotten beat within an inch of his life. “Be honest, Benji. I still have the money maker, right?” 

God, his stupid fucking accent. Benji can’t help the way his lips twitch.

“Bloody hell, mate, shut up. Yeah.” It’s the truth. As much as it pains him to see the injuries, Xavier manages to look good — maybe better — dripping his own blood, hair matted to his forehead. He glances over at the corpse. “I’m so fucked. Lieutenants gonna have me dragged ‘fore the goddamn court.”

“You killed someone for me. Shot your own guy.” He says. Benji groans. “Sorry. I killed someone for me.”  

“We went out for drinks a few times,” Benji says, ignoring the responding pout. Clarifies: “With the squad.” 

“I was about to say. What a downgrade.”

Benji pushes to his feet, and is not shocked to find himself shaky. Xavier follows with a pained grunt. The hand he places on Benji’s shoulder is comforting, and also serves to keep himself upright.

“I don’t know what to do.” He’s thinking about what he’ll say, how his life is about to be ruined, how Saha or his mom and especially his dad will never be able to look at him when they find out what he’s done. The turmoil must be evident on his face. 

“Lie, duh.” Xavier laughs, then doubles over and vomits onto the ground by his boot. “Ugh. I think I have a concussion.” 

Benji frowns. “Are you —“

“Yeah, we got a pick-up inbound.” That pretty eye opens wider. “Oh, shit. You should get out of here.” Xavier backs towards the door, opening it a crack to check the area outside the warehouse. “Now, probably. I’ll spare you now, but next time you might have to bribe me.” 

He tries to wink, but with his other eye swollen shut it just looks…fucking stupid. Despite everything, Benji’s chuckling when he brushes past and out the door. He’s going to have a panic attack, can feel it rolling sharp in he is veins, clutching at his chest, but he’ll at least be a safe distance away before it really kicks his ribs. 

“I’m a dogshite liar,” he calls back, halfway down the hall, and turns to jog backwards. “Bail me if it doesn’t work out?”

Xavier’s standing outside the room, bent in half with his hands on his knees. He lifts one to shoot Benji a thumbs up. 

•

His sitrep on the casualty goes well. Ghost is the only one who clearly thinks he’s leaving out detail. Benji doesn’t think he suspects anything nefarious — certainly nothing like what actually happened, and that’s a blessing. He doesn’t think he has it in him to lie to his Lieutenant. Especially, well, considering context. 

“How many Shadows?” Ghost asks, looking just as bored in such a meeting as he does on the battlefield. He hates casualties, Benji knows they eat him up just like they do for him, but he’s been at this long enough that losing a trooper like Robson is just another mission. 

“Three.” Benji lies. It’s more convincing than expected.

[startanewdream]

“His sister didn’t really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. “She gave him an easy save.”

“Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed."

Or they were both right. (1k, HBP missing moment, Ron and Ginny being siblings here)

The ball went through the first of the three loops they had improvised in the orchard. Ginny allowed herself another triumphant grin. “That’s the fifth goal in a row!”

Ron’s face was dangerously red when he came back from retrieving the ball, but he didn’t say anything. Ginny moved back to her position, about twenty feet distant from the goals, following the point Harry had marked on the ground. She ran three steps then threw the ball; as in the other five times, Ron jumped to the wrong loop, and she scored another goal.

“Sixth!”

“Oh, shut up.” He grabbed their improvised quaffle and sat on the ground. “This is stupid—it’s not really Quidditch.”

“There is a ball and there is a goal. If you can’t save it on the ground, you’re not going to be better in the air.”

“It’s different!”

“How so?”

“You will be flying also, duh.”

“Except I fly so much better than you, so that’s not a vantage for you.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed at the same proportion his face got scarlet. “Why are you so mean? Oh, sorry, I meant meaner than usual.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, annoyingly aware that this made her look like Ron, one of those few times where no one could deny they were siblings.

“Perhaps if you concentrated more on Quidditch and less on my love life, you would be a better player.”

“I don’t care about your love life.”

“Then how do Fred and George know that I’m dating Dean? Because I didn’t tell them.”

To his credit, Ron looked a bit ashamed, his expression softening a little. “I was just expressing concern, that’s it. You can’t blame a guy for worrying about his younger sister’s life.”

“I am your only sister,” she replied coolly. “And as said sister, yes, I can blame this guy. What’s your problem with Dean?”

“It is not—Dean is okay-ish—look, you just have to dislike the guy who is dating your sister. It’s a principle. You should know it.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Now there was a smirk on Ron’s face. “You and Fleur are already braiding each other’s hair, are you? Discussing the flowers for the wedding?”

She reached for her wand, only to lament the fact she’d left it inside the house.

“It’s not the same,” insisted Ginny. “I didn’t even know Fleur before she burst into the house as if she owned it!”

“Oh, right.” Ron crossed his arms, clearly at upper-hand here. “Tell me you wouldn’t hate anyone that Bill — favourite brother Bill, don’t deny it — would date.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Ginny at once, though lacking a bit of confidence this time. Bill wasn’t her favourite brother because a girl shouldn’t have a favourite sibling, only… Bill was Bill. She expected more of him than… Fleur. “I just think he is rushing things here.”

“So you breaking up with your boyfriend and soon after dating another guy—that is not rushed?”

“How long?"

"How long do tou think I've been friends with Dean before we started dating?"

"Ah... three weeks?"

“Three years. I was friends with him before I even dated Michael.”

His eyes widened. “Friends? I never saw it!”

“It’s not my fault you were too busy with other things to realise I have friends. Or that I can play Quidditch better than you.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get mean again.” Ron bit his lips, thoughtful. “Were you really friends?”

“Have you ever talked to Dean and Seamus? And I don’t mean only because you are aggravated with Harry or something stupid as this—I mean really enjoyed their company?” He shook his head. “Well, they are really fun. A lot of dirty jokes also, they give Charlie a run for his money.”

“Hum—I’ve heard a few…”

“Nice. The thing is, you, Hermione and Harry are so busy with your own drama that you forget that while you three are conspiring to defeat the dark villain of the year, other people are having a life of their own.”

“You were glad to join us last June.”

“Of course I was! Just because I don’t do it regularly, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about this war.” Ginny looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I know what You-Know-Who can do to someone.”

There was a moment of silence, then Ron patted her shoulder. The gesture seemed to make him as uncomfortable as it made Ginny, but she appreciated all the same.

“Dean is a nice guy,” she said, her voice calmer now. “Don’t be a jerk to him.”

Ron seemed to debate the matter with himself for a moment, but then he nodded. “I won’t say anything,” he promised. “Not even to Bill.”

“I don’t think he would care at the moment,” she admitted, throwing an annoyed glance towards the house; Fleur had arrived with Bill for lunch and had stayed, the main reason why Ginny had agreed to Ron’s suggestion of a practice that afternoon, no matter how hot the day was.

“Don’t be silly.” Ron sounded amused. “You are still Bill’s favourite sister.”

“I’m his only sister, prat.”

“He only got one of those, exactly. There are other quarter-Veelas in the world. Somewhere.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but she could find some comfort in Ron’s words.

“I guess,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. It didn’t seem to fool Ron, so she just grabbed the ball on the ground and resumed her position. “Go on.”

“Aren’t we past humiliating me? I can’t save it, there, I’ve said it.”

“You should have added that I’m a brilliant chaser,” Ginny said unashamedly. “And because I’m also a brilliant sister, I’ll give you a hint. Stop looking at me.”

“What? How is that a hint?”

“Look at the ball. It's the ball you need to stop,  not me. You already stay at a right distance from the posts to reduce my angle, you already face my direction–you are only missing the goals because I keep misguiding you where I am throwing it."

"So I ignore you and focus on the ball?"

"Don't ignore me, I didn’t say it–are you listening to me?"

"You are one that’s saying rubbish–of course I am looking at the ball!"

"If you were then you'd save something, wouldn’t you?" She threw the ball on the ground, letting it bounce away. "Don't be mad when the other teams score because you can't take advice from your little sister!"

"That has nothing to do with you being my sister!"

"Oh, right, because if Hermione had said it, you would have listened to it!"

"Hermione doesn’t understand Quidditch."

"Harry, then."

"He is the captain this year, and he's youngest–"

"Seeker, exactly! While I am a Chaser, and a Seeker in my spare time. But do what you want, I don’t care."

"Ugh, you are impossible." Ron shook his head; Ginny crossed her arms and neither moved for a few minutes.

Then there was a laugh coming from the house and she saw the door opening; Fleur's silver hair was glistening under the sun.

She sighed.

"Do you wanna play Exploding Snap in the living room?" She asked. "We can wake up Harry, he has napped enough already."

Ron smiled. "Let’s go, I bet Hermione is back already. She gets all flustered when the cards blow up in her turn."

"You know, there are other ways to get Hermione flustered, if that’s your goal."

"What are you talking about?"

Ginny smiled to herself. "Never mind."

[courtney-deserved-better]

one of the reasons i dislike the writing for world tour is that it bends over backwards for the sake of alejandro and heather. team amazon doesn’t have to face an actual elimination ceremony until gwen kisses duncan which is insanely overpowered! they go through half the season without losing a single team member! and it’s all because heather would be the first one voted off on principle because she’s heather. the thing is, they didn’t have to do that. they could’ve had cody trying to ally with heather and gwen to get sierra kicked off, or heather purposefully sowing discord to turn courtney and gwen against each other before duncan got brought back. that team dynamic could’ve been more interesting if they were actually at risk of elimination. and heather could’ve exercised more skill and power if she really had to work not to get voted off once that was a possibility, it would’ve added to her character, but the writers took the easy way out.

similar things happen with alejandro. the only elimination his team has before duncan returns is izzy, and that’s due to injury. and to be fair, noah did get voted off in the episode duncan came back, but the writers structured the first half of the season so that teams chris and amazon barely took any hits. alejandro is well liked in the beginning, so why didn’t team chris have any eliminations earlier on? maybe izzy’s craziness could’ve botched a challenge for them, maybe alejandro schemes against noah and owen because those two are besties and that’s practically an alliance. also, noah’s suspicion of alejandro is what got him booted off, but that’s shown in literally one line before the episode of his elimination! other than that, they’re fairly friendly, so what if we saw more hints to noah not trusting alejandro but not acting on it? team chris had such an odd yet great combination of people that could’ve lended to an interesting (and let’s be real, zany) dynamic but besides a few funny moments/interactions, they honestly fell pretty flat to me

and then there’s team victory. poor team victory. so much of what kept season one fresh is that a different team would be on the chopping block almost every other challenge. because things were so structured to keep alejandro and heather in the game, it became clear early on in the season that teams amazon and chris would always take first and second (usually respectively) and that team victory would lose. and again, this was to make alejandro look like this big bad guy for getting an entire team booted. which maybe could’ve worked well if the writing was better, but it wasn’t! it felt so out of character to see bridgette, who was clearly in a relationship with geoff, cared for him, and got angry when he looked at/called other girls pretty, immediately fall for a guy and become completely unable to communicate her relationship status to him. not only that, but she kissed him by accident and then willingly went in for another kiss?? huh?? and then leshawna, who doesn’t trust easily (especially those who aren’t on her side) but had a newfound friendship with heather, who immediately ignored heather’s warnings to the point of attacking her when egged on by a handsome guy on the opposing team who kept flirting with her?? 

that was painful to watch, especially because it’s clear that these female characters were just being used as a way to bring alejandro up. you know how they could’ve done that? having him mess with people to turn teammates and friends against one another. orchestrating some eliminations on team amazon as well, or when team chris loses, manipulating his other teammates to vote out someone he doesn’t like. him doing that while heather fights to keep her place in the amazons and take him down, possibly allying with sierra who was also immediately suspicious of alejandro, would’ve been so much more compelling. what if alejandro had swayed team victory to his side so that they worked together to beat team amazons in challenges, forcing them to face elimination and heather to work to not get voted off? what if the distrust heather sowed between courtney and gwen came to a boil before duncan came back, and then he was thrown into a mess heather created? what if cody took alejandro’s side because sierra was on heather’s? what if noah and leshawna pretended to be friendly with alejandro to lull him into a false sense of security while they actually suspected the guy, but didn’t trust heather enough to directly side with her? while i do believe that heather vs. alejandro is one of the best finales in total drama, the leadup to it was heavily structured in their favor to the point where the overall story of the season greatly suffered