#trying to learn how to save time with drawings more and considering each panel took me like 20 minutes each i think thats a win

[yuridovewing]

Quick Swiftpaw and Brightpaw comic...

[makeste]

literally just a giant post of Bakugou faces.

today, 4/20 (actually it is very much still only 4/19 over here, but to heck with it, we’re getting an early start dammit), is Bakugou Katsuki’s birthday. and as someone who loves Bakugou and who also hasn’t found much worth rejoicing about in April 2020 in general, it’s important to me to celebrate the shit out of this day. but these are strange times and I am le tired, and so what my tired brain ended up arriving at was “just do a post about how much you love his stupid face.”

so these are my favorite Bakugou faces. I stopped after Kacchan vs. Deku because this post was already like 100k words (slight exaggeration) with like 40,000 faces (slight), and because this already took forever and the next 130-something chapters were only going to have about one fifth as many good faces compared to the first 120, even though there are some good ones there still to be sure. but anyway, so there are no spoilers here. 

happy birthday Kacchan, and happy birthday to Kacchan’s angsty side profile with his hair covering his eyes.

why I like it: he scured.

lol but seriously. because up until this point he’s just been a complete asshole. even after he gets grabbed by sludgeman, he’s all “AS IF I’D LET THIS MUDMAN TAKE MY BODY FOR HIMSELF”, and he’s all feral-looking, and at first you��re like “eh he’ll be fine.” but then along comes this panel to serve as our narrator saying “he was not fine.” because he really is not. and on the page before this too, you can see how tired and desperate his struggles are starting to get. and absolutely no one is trying to help him. and he’s fighting, he’s straining, but he can’t. fucking. breathe.

and then this panel. and he’s just a kid. he looks so very, very young here, like this is the youngest he looks throughout the entire series except for in his flashbacks, and it’s because all the pride and bluster and anger are stripped away and he’s just a boy underneath it and he’s scared. “you looked like you needed saving.” exactly. exactly. and for Katsuki to actually ask for help is so rare. so you know that when he does ask (and he absolutely was begging for someone to come help him even though he couldn’t vocalize it. credit to Horikoshi for conveying all of that emotion in a single panel), he really, really needs it. thankfully there was one person watching who finally snapped himself out of that “a hero’s bound to come along soon” mindset that had everyone else gripped, and realized that he needed to be that hero.

why I like it: because he’s humiliated and fairly shaken up and also the most handsome he’s looked up until this point, but most of all he’s just chewing his lip and being all “god fucking dammit did fucking Deku really just save me, fuck my life, why is the universe fucking dumb.” like even after this hugely traumatizing experience, he’s incredibly resilient to the point where after he calms down, his lingering emotions are mainly just “smdh this is a new level of irritated even for me.” he is so brave and thickheaded and tough and absurdly, ridiculously petty jesus christ.

why I like it: like the old man said. his face just screams “I’m a rotten thief.”

there’s so much personality in this one expression. and then it’s juxtaposed against proto!Katsuki who I really desperately just want to punch in the face. just. my son my be a dick, but by god he’s an honest dick.

why I like it: baby?? cute baby??? mine?? my baby?!?

he’s just like. “I got it all figured out. gosh I’m so good at life.” that is the face of a child who has never encountered a single difficulty in his very young existence. everything is easy and he expects to be good at everything and he always is and he’s so, so pleased with himself. with a kid that little you really don’t want to go and shatter their dreams just yet, but maybe someone should have taken him down just a peg or two before it all got out of hand. alas. he was so cute that nobody wanted to and I can’t even blame them because he’s just that fucking cute, though.

why I like it: this is a very underrated panel which I think most people probably don’t even recall. it’s from chapter 11 just after he loses to Deku and Iida, and specifically right after Momo just completely lays into him and explains in vivid detail exactly how stupid every single one of his decisions was lmao. and it’s like he’s just had his eyes opened. he talks about her speech later, too, so it clearly had an impact.

there is no pride here at all. initially when I was reading this, I thought he was still shell-shocked. but looking back at it, and knowing what I do now about his unexpected willingness to accept criticism (something I certainly wouldn’t have expected during my first readthrough of this chapter), I think this is also a genuine “!” face as he realizes that she’s completely fucking right. YOU DONE GOOFED SON. but it’s okay because he learned from it!

also look how big his eyes are. when they get all wide like that. it’s so rare that I have to appreciate each and every time it happens. also he has no right to have such thick eyelashes. goddammit.

why I like it: because he’s strongest at his moment of weakness! because he’s upset but he learned from it! because he is such a strikingly human character with such complex emotions and there’s such a lovely mix of them on display here and that shit is my weakness! because this is when I signed the adoption papers (well, had them finalized after I initially obtained them after the “you looked like you needed saving” face in chapter 1, at least)!! because he always cries in front of Deku and doesn’t get embarrassed, but then he does get embarrassed if anyone else shows up! because his emotions around Deku are so raw and out of control! because the intensity of them is as compelling as it is confusing! but mostly because someone showing fierce determination while simultaneously showing intense vulnerability is basically the cheat code to unlocking my heart, and also the best thing anyone can ever draw in a shounen manga. thank you I’ll take infinity of them.

why I like it: because half of 1-A saw this face and instantly thought “fuck that’s hot” and then went “!! oh fuck me” but it was too late! that’s right kids. even knowing firsthand what a trashpile he can be, you’re still not immune to his charms. that confidence, though.

why I like it: the face of a boy who has just realized that holy shit, there are other people in his class. nothing gets past him. his reflexes are too fast.

why I like it: the slow motion (this is such a cool moment even if it’s at his expense lol), and the fact that this is such a weird and totally unique expression, and yet he somehow almost manages to make it look good. actually he does make it look good, let’s be real. of course, this was back when Horikoshi had more time to roll up his sleeves and really get into the art. look at all that shading goddamn.

why I like it: he cares!! he has feelings!! he has concern about someone other than him omfg whaaaaaat.

he’s so unsettled by what he just heard about Todoroki. the guy who was so strong and cool turned out to have an absolutely horrifying shounen protagonist past that he never let on about. honestly this scene is one of the reasons why I’m so strongly in favor of not interpreting Katsuki’s parents as abusive; because I just really like the character arc of him actually having a pretty good childhood, all things considered, but still having all these problems. because sometimes people actually do have everything going for them and yet they still screw up, because people are only human and sometimes you can fuck up (or be fucked up) even on easy mode! and if that happens it doesn’t mean you’re any more to blame, or more worthy of derision or scorn, or that you already had your chance so screw you, or any of that! anyway so that’s just such an interesting and relatively rare thing to explore and so I like it.

anyway. so just, the idea of him thinking of Todoroki as someone who had it made all his life, only to realize that’s not actually the case at all and that he’s actually the privileged one in comparison, just makes for a really great character-building moment. it’s a really big wake up call for him, especially given that he’s so often just wrapped up in himself and his own concerns still at this stage of the game. and it’s a moment that has a lasting impact on him and that he doesn’t forget, and it helps contribute to him starting to learn more empathy.

why I like it: my child is rabid please help.

but he’s so happy to have Ochako prove to be such an unexpectedly worthwhile opponent. she was sneaky and she nearly got him and he only just made it out by the skin of his teeth and fuck yes, that was awesome. he was really ready to throw down some more with her and it was gonna be the highlight of his fucking day. I just love seeing him acknowledge other people’s strength, because we know the value he places on being strong. so that’s a ton of respect from him, and Ochako fucking earned it, and this is just a great moment.

why I like it: just casually spittin facts and launching ships. nothing to see here move along.

why I like it: for everyone reblogging that one scene of shoujou!Bakugou from the anime over and over again, I just want to remind you all that as great as that scene is, we shouldn’t forget that in the manga he can be effortlessly handsome without even trying.

why I like it: as I said above.

why I like it: another one of the infamous “haah!?” faces. whenever he does these that one raised-eyebrow eye always goes so wide, and even though he’s trying to look like a pissed off thug it always makes him look surprisingly young instead.

also I’m not crazy for seriously wondering if Horikoshi’s art peaked all the way back in the sports festival arc though, right?? you honestly can’t find a bad panel even if you specifically go out and look for them.

why I like it: babyyyy.

I still don’t get how anyone could watch this scene and not get that he was way more upset than he was actually angry. he looks like he’s about to cry honestly.

why I like it: MY PRECIOUS SON’S ANGELIC SLEEPING FACE. all tuckered out. he’s had a hard day.

but seriously when you smooth out all of the >:O it is amazing how young he actually looks though. this one panel is shaded in such a way that you can see that he still has baby fat in his cheeks!! he’s just a little boy! HE IS A LITTLE CHILD LIKE THE REST OF THEM AND YOU MADE HIM PARTICIPATE IN THESE HUNGER GAMES AND HE KICKED ASS AND THEN GOT SAD AND YOU MADE HIM SLEEP AND CHAINED HIM TO A POST WHEN HE WOKE UP ANGRY AND TRYING TO BITE PEOPLE. anyways what a whirlwind of events huh.

why I like it: this child is literally trembling. he has been shaken to his very core. also for real though how did Jeanist even do that. anyways great internship or greatest internship.

why I like it: this is from chapter 60, right after he basically declares war on Deku and says he’ll crush him during final exams. then he turns around and is just like AND LET’S NOT FORGET THIS ASSHOLE HERE!!! and his eyes are practically bulging out and Todoroki just has his trademark “!!!” totally blank stare. this panel fully kills me guys.

why I like it: how was he THE CUTEST CHILD WHO EVER LIVED?? look at his little fists?! I can’t even deal with this???

why I like it: I actually like this one even more than the more iconic “the strongest heroes always win in the end” panel right below it, because in this panel you can more clearly see that he was crying quite a lot (he was only six!!), but it seems to me that it was more because of the unfairness of it than because he was hurt. even though he was hurt. but these jerks bumped into him and then acted like it was his fault, and it was two against one and he was much younger than them and IT’S JUST ROUGH YOU GUYS! LIFE IS HARD WHEN YOU’RE SIX! but he’s a little tough guy though so he scrubs the tears away in this very clumsy and boyish fashion because HE WON ANYWAY SO TAKE THAT! he is so little but already so determined.

why I like it: his eyes are just so intense all the time. even when it’s not an intense moment at all. also the dot shading here is so cool.

why I like it: okay so technically it’s the back of his head and not his face. but I feel like the fact that Kacchan was twitching and flinching and shaking too doesn’t get enough attention in this scene. he and Todo were both wigging out here and I love it. during the third light novel he also gets freaked out by the whole Disney Channel “we were telling a ghost story but now it seems like the story has come to life” plot that goes on at one point, just fyi. Kacchan is absolutely that kid who will refuse to watch scary movies just because “they’re dumb” and definitely NOT because he is scared, how fucking dare you sir.

why I like it: because this is the first of many scenes in this arc and the next arc in which he is freaking out but doing an excellent job of covering it up with his natural ferocity. he and Shouto have just come across one of their classmates’ arms lying in the middle of the path being chewed on by a villain in a straitjacket. his first reaction is to ask Shouto which of their classmates had been out on the path in front of them. he has immediately put two and two together, and he is immediately ready to throw hands with this dude, rules or no rules. but you can see the shading over his eyes though, and I think that -- along with the sweat visible on his face -- is a huge indicator of how horrifying this actually is to him.

why I like it: because this blank “processing...” expression that he sometimes gets when a lot of people are talking at once and he’s not really sure but he is pretty sure that he doesn’t like where this is heading, is my favorite.

why I like it: because even now it’s still ambiguous just what exactly was the prevailing emotion in these eyes and this expression, and the prevailing sentiment behind the “stay back.” I happen to think it was fear! not the same overwhelming, helpless fear as the 14-year-old who was caught up in the sludge, but a very on-edge, controlled-panic fear of a 16-year-old who’s trying to remain in control because he’s a hero in training now. and I think the “stay back” is the “stay back” of a boy who knows the look in that other boy’s eyes, and knows that it’s no use this time. it’s not protective, and it’s not hostile or defensive either. it’s just... resigned. don’t do it, Deku. that could have been the last thing he ever said to him, and it was measured and brave even through his fear and I love him so much.

why I like it: this is one which has to be viewed in juxtaposition with the panel immediately above it lol. Tomura looks like he could literally stare a man to death with those crazy eyes, and Kacchan is comparison just looks so ridiculously young and small and out of his league. but he doesn’t crack. but his eyes are super wide and even the shadows underneath them are stressed almost to their breaking point. like I’m screwed I’m screwed I’m so goddamn fucking screwed oh shit. my baby, guh. this was such a fucking scary experience though for real??

why I like it: same deal as above lol. this whole situation just keeps getting worse and worse, and here he’s just probing for more information while simultaneously trying to buy himself more time to think of a miracle plan. there really isn’t much chance of him getting out of here unscathed at this point (or at least there wouldn’t have been if the heroes hadn’t shown up), but I don’t think he’s letting himself think about that yet. but I’m sure it’s there at the back of his mind all the same.

why I like it: this is my favorite Bakugou face ever. SO MANY EMOTIONS. All Might came to save him! his hero!! he beat the bad guys (or so they think for that brief moment anyway) and it’s all okay now! he was alone but now he’s not anymore and All Might is there! and he is relieved, and he actually lets his guard down to show it for just a split second! his lip is trembling! I don’t think he even realizes for a moment, and then he does, and he immediately goes all tough guy again and the moment is gone! but while it’s there! it’s so much! I have never so badly wanted to hug a fictional character in my life.

why I like it: don’t you think this person could one day inspire thousands of others. do you see this courage in those eyes. the way he pushes past fear and panic and fatigue. don’t think, don’t doubt. just win.

why I like it: by now you have probably detected a pattern of me liking all of the Kamino faces because he was going through so many emotions that for once the walls just couldn’t keep up. he always looks so much younger when he’s not making >: faces. everything just smooths out. I also like that Horikoshi never makes his expressions symmetrical; he almost always has one eye wider than the other, eyebrows doing different things, stuff like that.

also this is when he sees All Might’s true form for the first time, and you can just see it hit him like a punch to the gut. All Might weakened; All Might weakened because of him; All Might might lose (!?!); All Might might die???? Katsuki’s entire world is falling apart in an instant, and in this moment he’s just a little boy.

why I like it: it beginsss. the angstening.

he’s not even resisting the hand guiding him. none of his usual unruliness or general aura of barely-checked rage. he just looks tired. and completely lost in his own thoughts. which as we now know were not good. I cannot fucking believe we had to wait another 25 chapters after this to finally get this kid a damn hug.

why I like it: because Bakugou Mitsuki is fulfilling my (and dating sim!Momo’s) lifelong dream of ruffling Bakugou Katsuki’s (spiky yet fluffy!!) hair. and all he can do is just chew his lip and halfheartedly glare at her all “mooooooOOOOmmm.” he doesn’t even really look pissed off here (because it’s hard to be mad when someone is talking about how worried they were about you and how relieved they are that you’re safe now, especially when that someone is your mom who isn’t normally the type to be so open about this kind of stuff at all), just begrudgingly grumpy. and I swear to god his bottom lip is made of fucking rubber the way he moves it around, just look at it.

why I like it: those eyelashes though!?!? [grabs Katsuki by the shoulders and shakes him roughly] WHY ARE YOUR EYES SO PRETTY.

why I like it: this is right after he found out he flunked the license exam, and you can see how upset he is. obviously we now know that shortly thereafter he went and had a complete meltdown. and buddy if you keep grinding your teeth like that, your dentist is also going to have a meltdown.

and yet again Horikoshi manages to strike this uncanny balance between making him look pissed off and making him look like he’s trying very, very hard not to cry. he just failed, again. it’s like the whole world is screaming at him over and over again that he’s not hero material at all.

why I like it: because he drags Deku out to the middle of nowhere and is all “I know you have All Might’s power and we’re gonna fight”, and Deku protests, and you expect Kacchan’s reaction to be just about anything other than what it actually is. this is as close to pleading as Katsuki is ever going to get. he may not be drowning in sludge but he is still desperate.

why I like it: this may be the best Katsuki that Horikoshi has ever drawn.

why I like it: super ultra mega unpopular opinion: I like this panel even more than THE PANEL!! that follows shortly after it. I am a sucker for when Horikoshi does this thing where he shows Katsuki’s face from a side profile, and his eyes are covered by his hair so you can’t see his full expression, but you know it is something vulnerable because he only ever does this when Katsuki is trying to hide his vulnerability. I could make a whole separate post just about these hair-covering-eyes faces lol. but out of all of them this is my absolute favorite. I can hear Okamoto’s voice acting in my head just looking at it.

why I like it: because it is THE PANEL. he finally broke completely; he let the walls fall away; he couldn’t hide it any longer. he’s so unbelievably torn up about this; he hates himself for it and feels like a failure; he’s lost and doesn’t have the faintest idea how to find his path again. he ended the Symbol of Peace. he was weak and wrong, and Deku was strong and right, and he can’t even hate Deku for it anymore, he just wants to understand what it is that he keeps doing wrong, why it is that he keeps failing.

why I like it: it’s, uuuuuh, angst.

lol it’s funny because at the beginning of the series, it was always Deku who was always crying at the drop of a hat. and to be fair this is still true. but Katsuki also cries way more than I would ever expect a rival character in a shounen manga to cry. and specifically he has cried every single time he’s had a dramatic and overly emotional altercation like this with Deku (and that’s three separate times now). is it because he’s always felt like he has less to hide around Deku? or because his Deku Emotions are so much more intense and volatile than his other emotions? at any rate, whatever it is, if this happens one more time (and I guarantee you it will too because A Certain Someone still hasn’t officially made an apology yet) he will officially lose all authority to ever call Deku out for being a crybaby again. meanwhile poor All Might will just be beside himself. I’m sorry dude, both of your children are just like this, you just gotta deal with it and accept their feelings.

why I like it: HE FINALLY GOT HIS HUG, BLESS.

and more hair covering his eyes! and chewing of the lip! and his head is bowed so much here, he fully allowed himself to be pulled into this hug and to accept this gesture of comfort for once in his life, just for a moment! after everything he was feeling, everything he was beating himself up over, All Might comes and tells him it’s not your fault. and there’s still so much guilt there, but he needs to hear this so badly that he accepts it all the same. meanwhile he is also CRYING AGAIN!? because this was the chapter where Horikoshi said “I am going to put all of the angst and cathartic conflict resolution into a single fight and it’s going to be the best thing ever” and it really was. do you even understand how much I love this. do you??

why I like it: OH GOSH I FORGOT ABOUT THIS, THIS IS MY OTHER FAVORITE KATSUKI HAIR-COVERING-EYES PANEL.

oh no. he’s ruffling his own spiky fluffy hair. he’s tired and he’s beat up (and whose fault is that lmao) and he’s learning all kinds of new things about himself today. he’s got basically nothing left in the tank, but for the first time in ages he has his path laid out in front of him again and he knows the way to start moving forward. he has been absolved of his guilt, the guilt which was eating a hole away inside of him. and all of a sudden he realizes -- it occurs to him -- hey, All Might finally admitted it, he really did give his power to Deku. but it’s still a secret though, isn’t it? it’s important, isn’t it? and so he tells them, hey, look, I get it, I won’t say anything, you don’t have to worry. it’s partially gratitude -- he owes so much to All Might and it’s ridiculous, that’s a fucking debt right there, and this is the least and only thing he can offer right now in return -- and it’s partially just... the right thing to do. like, common sense. honorable and shit. and it’s not like it’s a big deal or anything. but just, let them know.

I love his side profile so much and I love his hair and his ear and the scuffs on his face and his beaten up hand and his hunched up shoulders and him being soft and trying not to show how soft he’s being and he is precious.

BONUS:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY HANDS IN POCKETS GRUMPY TRIANGLE EYES ROVING FERAL HOG SON, I LOVE YOU.

[kintatsujo]

any advise for someone putting together a webcomic?

Oh boy oh boy anon I don’t happy flap often but you better believe I have advice XD

For people new here: I’ve been doing my main webcomic, The Law of Purple, since 2004, also was doing a different webcomic, Alien Revenant, for several years before having to hiatus indefinitely, have done a number of fancomics, including one that ran weekly for a number of years, and I’m in the midst of rebooting another original called Eclipse Knight.  That’s why I’m someone you might consider asking about doing webcomics.  That and I take an actual philosophy to this stuff.

Onward to my Advice, born of blood and toil!!

Make a palette and stick to it

This does keep the art of your comic looking consistent but the REAL reason is because you’re not going to be spending a bunch of time deciding on colors because bam, I have ten specific colors for different shades of wood and I’m gonna pick from those.  Note how I phrased that!  I’m not telling you to make a 500 page comic using Gameboy Classic colors or something-- I’m telling you to make a palette based on the colors you’re going to want for your project.  I personally tend to prefer to work from “master” palettes where ALL the colors are coming from but you can also make pools of palettes so that, for example, individual characters have their own personal colors.

Also: Don’t bother with too many different shades of red.  A lot of people can’t see the difference between more than a handful, so why make more work for yourself?

The more backups the better

I know that probably sounds obvious but you’d be surprised how many webcomics go on hiatus because of things like “I lost half my files.”  Alien Revenant’s rocky years started because it uses conlang heavily and my glossaries weren’t as up to date on all my backups when a certain pen drive got borked.  Even after that you’d think I’d have learned my lesson and I STILL ended up having to recover some colors from LOP’s master palette that I’d added between computers when our one desktop crashed.

Don’t feel guilty for using shortcuts that work for you, and use whatever kind of references you need

I’ve made perspective references by setting up toys and a bunch of rulers and furniture and taking pictures with my phone.  I’ve made perspective references using computer programs.  I own a model Harley motorcycle because it’s the one I wanted Blue to ride.  Use free floorplan programs.  Use the Sims.  I have straight up traced pictures of buildings I’d drawn in the past and in the LOP page I’m working on there’s about fourteen characters that are just the same guy copy pasted over and over.  (They’re going to be obscured by effects so why kill myself over it?)  I’ve also copy-pasted the lineart for backgrounds from one panel to the next when I wanted the same angle, and sometimes I just copy paste the sketch layer when a character’s going to be mostly in the same pose and adjust from there.  

(Copy-paste isn’t a sin and if you’re clever it’s barely even noticeable.)

Also a full-turnaround sheet for every character is HELPFUL but like, don’t actually feel like you HAVE to do it, either, especially if you realize it’s actually stalling you out.  Reference sheets are usually most important for things like somebody having complicated tattoos, or the furniture and architecture of the main character’s house, or uniforms, things like that.

Set aside Specific Comic Work Time if possible

I’m currently doing better at keeping up with my own schedule entirely because there’s time each week that I have nothing to do but work on my comic, which is Sunday mornings while I’m sitting in my office waiting for people to go away so I can wipe down the light switches and lock the doors.  When I was at my most productive as a webcomicker, I had a full set of college courses crammed into two or three days and nothing else to do once my homework was done but sit around the school lounge areas and draw.

Time yourself doing pages and try to base your schedule on that

Even if you start off with a decent buffer, no schedule buffer lasts forever.

Don’t pick a coloring style that takes you more than four hours per page

oh my god, no amount of painterly coolness or smooth airbrushing is worth that.  I should know because I did an airbrushing style for a chapter of LOP when I first started coloring on the computer and chapters of LOP are generally between 100 and 200 pages long, and I wanted to fuck off and live in the woods or something by the time I was done.  

Not even because of how much time it took-- Once I was good at it, it looked beautiful, but airbrushing the same two dudes having a Serious Conversation for fifteen pages makes you contemplate killing them both off randomly by the end and one of them was the main character.  On that note--

Style testing will save you a lot of time and tears

There’s a number of ways to style test; do a bunch of memes with your characters, do a short five page thing, just do a series of standalone pieces.  It’ll give you a much better idea of what will work for you and what won’t.

That said if you wanted to do a different art style for every page of your comic because that’s what scratches your id, go right ahead and do it because doing webcomics should be fun if you ask me.

Pick a legible font

I had a rant about this not too very long ago.  Go to Blambot and get yourself some legible fonts.  I’m dyslexic.

Try out batching your pages

When I talk about “batching” LoP pages, I mean that I sketched four or five of them, then I went through and inked all of those, then I went through and colored all of them.  This isn’t necessarily something that works for everyone but when I have consistent Work On Comics time and a buffer it’s something that usually works pretty well for me.  

Don’t pick a website for hosting that you think is ugly

Because the website your comic is on will inform a lot of your experience.  I’m currently on ComicFury and I’m very happy there, and he’s got a set of templates you can choose from and modify the colors of.  Also personally I don’t actually trust Tapastic as a hosting site, not to go into detail but someone I read had some very bad experiences with them basically trying to legalese the rights to her webcomic out from under her.  I can direct to a post of the Twitter thread if anyone wants it but you can also find it by searching “Tapastic” on my blog.

And finally, if you stop having fun it’s time for a break.

One of the things about doing consistent webcomic schedules is they don’t always allow for that “breathing in” part of the creative cycle.  It’s okay to do things like taking a break for a month to just... binge watch three different anime or something.  I thoroughly encourage a schedule that lets you enjoy other media while you’re actively working (sometimes literally; I sometimes listen to podcasts when I color) but sometimes you just straight up need a Real Vacation from your webcomic.  Definitely consider taking at least two weeks off between discrete chapters if that’s something your comic has.  Some artists do filler, some invite in guest artists, but it’s fine to just say��“see you in October.”  

Good luck, Anon, and let me know when I can read it!

[derireo]

were you surprised? / all troupes

Request: Hello hello~ I just discovered your blog and I've been reading your a3 fics and I love it!! ❤️❤️ If it isn't too much trouble can I request a scenario with all the troupes planning a surprise bday party for the reader/director? the writing could be similar to steambun and be mine sorry if it's too much ._. anyways hope you're having a wonderful day 😘

Thanks, Anon, for the support! I’m really happy to hear that you enjoy reading the fics I write! Also PS. I accidentally wrote this in third person rather than second person so it might be a little... weird. >.< Thank you for the request! And also I did not proofread this lol!

「 Read full ver. on AO3 」 「 3k words 」

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

SPRING TROUPE

"Yeah," Itaru picked at his fingernails, itching to grab his phone and play a game, "we are not doing that."

Masumi had come up with a less than original idea of popping out of a large present box to surprise their director on her birthday. He thought it'd be something that would truly shock her, and he didn't think him being the present wasn't too shabby either.

Despite the solemn, disagreeing looks on Itaru and Tsuzuru's faces, Masumi only shrugged and wrote it down on the paper that had a list of what they were going to do for the impromptu celebration.

"You know we only have a couple of hours to do something, right?" Sakuya's voice was trembling with anxiousness and he fiddled with his thumbs when he took a quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall.

They had learned it was the director's birthday when Matsukawa gleefully greeted her in the morning by placing a party hat on her head.

It was also quite the surprise for everyone in the morning when Tetsuro was seen holding a small cupcake in his large hand with a single lit candle stabbed in the centre. It seemed so uncharacteristic of such a large silent man, but it was endearing to the birthday girl.

Masumi almost crushed his glass of water when he watched her hug Tetsuro as thanks.

"We don't have to think big. Just some thank you cards and cupcakes should suffice." Tsuzuru reasoned with Masumi while Itaru and Sakuya nodded in agreement.

Citron frowned alongside Masumi, and with crossed arms, plopped down onto the sofa between him and Itaru who was fiddling around with his phone without anything on the screen.

"Doesn't the director deserve more than just that though?"

Aggressively nodding his head, Masumi dropped the pen on the table and sat back, not willing to write anything else on the piece of paper that has their plans.

Tsuzuru quickly swiped a hand down his face out of habit of stress and looked for both Itaru and Sakuya for help. The two could only shrug sympathetically.

"Itaru and Sakuya are writing cards," the university student clapped his hands decisively, "Masumi, Citron, you're helping me bake cupcakes."

And so their surprise party for the director was in full effect! It was terrifying for Sakuya considering he kept looking at the time, waiting for their director to arrive home early from work or something, but Tsuzuru gently comforted him and told him not to worry.

The cards were finished by the time the cupcakes were done cooling down and everyone helped take part in decorating them! Except Masumi had somehow escaped without Tsuzuru noticing, and he had wandered off into his room to do something.

By the time all of them were done doing their respective tasks, the director was walking up the steps. Hearing her footfalls; everyone panicked save for Itaru and Masumi (who was still gone) and tried to clean up their mess as she whistled a joyous tune. Their feet were stumbling as they tried to get the cards in order and the cupcakes lit up with some candles as the light turned on.

Quickly, Itaru used another switch to turn the light off to distract the director, and before she could question it, the boys got in position a few feet away from where she would be standing.

"Surprise!" They all shouted gleefully when she reached the top of the stairs, Itaru flicking the light switch on again. Unexpectedly, she screamed in fright, and had the business man not been there to grab her arm to keep her from stumbling back, she would have taken a small tumble down the stairs.

Suddenly, Masumi, from his bedroom, darted out and rammed himself into Izumi when she was pulled away from the staircase, a large boy wrapped around his head.

"Happy birthday." He murmured affectionately, clinging to the director as everyone sighed in exasperation.

SUMMER TROUPE

"What are we going to do?" Tenma groaned as he slumped back against the sofa with his hands sliding down his face.

The Summer Troupe had just found out it was the director's birthday just a couple hours ago from Matsukawa, and they were running out of time on what to do for her.

Yuki had complained earlier that he wouldn't have enough time to make a new set of clothes for her nor go shopping, and Muku was also panicking because he felt bad for not knowing what to give as a present.

Misumi suggested a triangle present that was gently shut down by Tenma. The only adult of the group, Kazunari, who had actual money to spend on their director, did not have money at this crucial point in time.

The Summer Troupe was at a crossroads.

"We are going to have to improvise." Kazunari murmured behind his hands that were hiding his mouth. The obvious statement could only make Tenma roll his eyes, and while everyone was brooding with how ill-equipped they were, the director was finishing up her work around an hour or two transit away from the dorm.

"Okay," Kazunari loudly clapped his hands together as he spotted a stack of used newspapers sitting beneath the coffee table, "Sakyo will hate this, but Muku, I want you to shred the newspapers to pieces. I will take responsibility." He went to grab the junk and handed it to the middle schooler who was staring at the university student in shock, his mouth falling open.

"O-okay.." The pink haired boy whispered anxiously under his breath, quickly scurrying to his bedroom to get ahold of the scissors he shared with Yuki when he wanted to cut up some manga panels or when his roommate needed to snip some threads. His feet gently padded down the hallway until he was nowhere in sight, and redirecting his attention to the other members who were with him, Kazunari grinned.

"We still have those cookies our director loves so much, right?" His eyes were glowed with hope while the rest of the troupe shrugged.

"Alright!" Kazunari began to quickly move towards the kitchen where he made a straight beeline towards the cabinet that hid all of the director's snacks, the other three members that were still with him following suit. "We're going to decorate some of her cookies. We use the pre-made icing Omi uses for Juza's desserts to spell out 'Haps BDay!' and Misumi can draw triangles on the rest!"

At the mention of triangles, the ball of energy quickly bounced towards the fridge to get the icing tubes Kazunari was talking about before while Tenma and Yuki both sent each other a dubious glance, moving to sit down at the dinner table as their second oldest member found the cookies and brought them where nearly everyone was gathered.

Everyone began to work diligently, the whole dorm quiet with the occasional tune from Misumi who was having the time of his life.

Half an hour later Muku had returned from his room with an armful of shredded newspapers in the form of makeshift confetti. Kazunari was ecstatic at the beautiful work done by the younger boy and pet his hair lovingly, causing him to beam happily.

Everyone was so distracted by their work that they didn't even notice when the director had come home with Sakyo following right behind; the older man having picked her up from her location.

Tenma and Kazunari basically screeched in terror when they saw Sakyo, but Misumi seemed to pay no mind as he threw all of the newspaper confetti into the air when the director turned her head in the direction of the kitchen. Muku shouted in shock while Yuki sighed as Sakyo's eyes widened at all the shredded up paper in the area, and the mess that the troupe made.

"Happy birthday!" Misumi sang, Yuki grumbled, and Muku squeaked.

Sakyo wasn't very happy, but the director definitely was!

AUTUMN TROUPE

"Calzones are so fun to make!" Taichi shouted as he punched his fist into a generous amount of dough while Omi and Juza were already finishing their own batch.

After Sakyo had dropped off the director at work did he tell the Autumn Troupe that it was her birthday, and upon hearing such jubilant news, everyone suggested that they make a food that she would love to eat.

Omi offered making calzones, and Taichi, not knowing what it was, demanded that they make it for her birthday.

"If you keep doing that the dough is gonna get tough." Sakyo scolded the fake redhead with a roll of his eyes while he checked his phone. He wasn't doing much to help out, considering he bought all of the ingredients with a side of party items, but Taichi poked his tongue out at the adult out of pettiness anyways.

"Move outta the way, dude." Banri complained for no particular reason. Juza was only standing at the kitchen counter trying to help the shorty make his own calzone, so, swallowing down his temper, he merely glared and went back to showing Taichi what to do.

Annoyed at being ignored, Banri opened his mouth to say something else only to have the back of his head smacked by Sakyo who had conjured himself out of nowhere.

"Stop trying to pick fights, Jackass. It never ends with you." The adult said with a steely gaze, causing Banri to snarl and put his prepped calzone beside the other ones on the baking sheet.

"Haha." Taichi laughed mockingly behind Juza who was now working on the youngest member's calzone as the redhead mocked Banri by pulling the skin beneath his eye down while poking his tongue out. It didn't happen a lot when Banri would go quiet, but today seemed like an exception considering it was the director's birthday today and they were supposed to work together to get things done.

It was Taichi's turn to get a push of the knuckles to the temple by Sakyo who was also frowning at him. "And you. Start pulling your own weight. Don't make Juza do it for you."

"Now, now, everybody. Let's focus on the task at hand." Omi chuckled and spilled out one of the proofed batches of dough onto a separate counter covered in a light sheen of oil, hands skilfully flattening it into a thin circle. The kind chiding of the tallest member had everyone else grumbling to themselves, Taichi even nudging Juza away so that he would be able to work on his own masterpiece.

Sakyo did the bare minimum by putting the ready to bake calzones into the oven, then went to wash his hands to go and get the party items he bought ready.

Everyone got into a rhythm by the time Sakyo left the kitchen to blow up like, 5 balloons and pulled out a large birthday cake out of nowhere, setting it on the coffee table as the younger members were busy finishing up in the kitchen with the food they made specifically with Izumi in mind.

There was a rattle coming from the front door not too long after Taichi's calzone made it out of the oven, and the youngest member screeched in shock when he looked out the window to see their director unlocking the door to the dormitory. Removing himself from the window, he began to slap Omi, Juza, and Banri on the back in a panic, whisper shouting that the director was coming up soon and that they needed to hurry!

Sakyo was already turning off the light switch by the time Taichi reached him and the teenager wrapped his arms around the blond's waist with a terrified whimper. Her footsteps going up the stairs were daunting as Banri and Juza stayed put in the kitchen while Omi went around to light up the candles on the cake that Sakyo left on the table.

By the time the director reached the top step, Taichi and Sakyo were already singing the birthday tune in a soft murmur as Omi started to approach her with the cake in his hands, the two other high schoolers going to grab the small confetti poppers that the blond man reluctantly decided to buy.

Taichi looked over Sakyo's shoulder with sparkling eyes as the director stood in front of all of them, frozen in shock once Omi reached her with the flames of the candles reflecting in her gaze.

When they finished singing, she gently blew the candles, effectively causing the living room to go dark. After a few seconds, Sakyo switched on the lights again only for Banri and Juza to startled everyone when they opened the confetti poppers, making Taichi squeal and the director to flinch at the loud sound.

"Happy birthday!" Each member crooned in their own special way, and she couldn't help but smile bashfully when they all came to her to either give her a hug or to pat her head.

Happy birthday indeed!

WINTER TROUPE

"A small poem to tie onto each stem." Homare said, handing thin strips of paper to the other four troupe members as they sat at the dinner table with an assortment of flowers splayed in front of them.

Tasuku and Tsumugi both gave each other a look of hopelessness, but listened to Homare anyways and poked a small string through the hole punched poems they were given as Hisoka failed to keep his head off the table. Azuma was keeping himself busy by hole punching the other poems that Homare didn't touch yet as he played a sweet song list from his phone.

The Winter Troupe had overheard the director speaking on the phone with one of her friends, laughing shyly as she thanked them for remembering it was her birthday. The five men were surprised to say the least, as she had never mentioned to them when her birthday was at all.

They thought it was their duty to make sure she came home to an exciting display, so when they saw her leave for work, they all began to brainstorm. There wasn't much any of them could do as Hisoka didn't have any ideas and Azuma's suggestion costed a lot of money, so they all resorted to picking out a bundle of flowers with the guidance of Tsumugi and his expertise.

Homare suggested that he write a few poems for the director, and as much as no one else liked the idea, Tasuku noticed that she actually liked the poems Arisugawa wrote, so reluctantly, he told everyone to listen and to trust him. Just this once.

Each and every one of them worked their best to make sure each flower had a poem connected to it, and with what little energy Hisoka had, gathered each stem and created multiple bouquets for them to give to the director once she arrived home from work. The teamwork was amazing, and it almost made Tasuku wish that his troupe would join the Mankai Futsal Club.

It wasn't very difficult for all of them to finish on time, but curious, Azuma took a look at a few of the poems on the flowers that were sitting in front of Hisoka and couldn't choose between smiling and frowning.

"Some of these have the same poems." He noted softly, causing Tsumugi and Tasuku to briefly glance at each other before looking at an indifferent Homare who was still tying a poem to a stem. The gazes that were on Homare only forced him to give them an answer, and he sighed faintly as he set down the flower that was cradled between his lithe fingers.

"My inspiration can only go so far, gentlemen." Homare frowned, gesturing towards the other members with a suggestive eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind if you all helped me produce some more. Add a little variety."

And with a collective sigh, everyone else agreed and made the necessary preparations to get their own poems put on some flowers.

Most of them had their tongues sticking out as they wrote whatever they wanted to say to the director with the most flowery of words they could muster at the time. They were taking the situation so seriously that they did not even notice how long they had been working on their present for the director; and she was to be home in a few minutes.

They were actually so focused that they didn't hear her creeping up on them, but she had no idea what they were doing at the dinner table with an ungodly amount of paper and flowers everywhere.

Tasuku jolted in surprise when he felt a small hand rest on his shoulder, and when he turned his head to look at who it was, he slightly flushed in embarrassment when he saw a soft gaze looking down at him with a curious smile.

Tsumugi was equally as flustered while Homare continued to work on his paper. Azuma merely smiled when a new presence arrived and twirled a flower in his fingers as the director stood in the space between Tasuku and Hisoka to brush her fingers through the hair of the sleeping man, head tilted.

"What are you guys doing?" She asked, still oblivious.

"Oh, you know." Azuma hummed, smiling as he reached across the dinner table to hold out the flower in his hand. "Just Troupe bonding."

Taking the stem in her fingers, the director immediately went to unravel the poem that wrapped around it to read two simple words, Hisoka grumbled at the loss of her warmth as he moved to curl himself around her waist, the other members anxiously looking at her.

With a surprised noise, the girl looked at all the men surrounding her with a bright smile, her nose scrunching up in a cute manner as cupped her cheek in her palm with the cool stem pressing into her skin, her other hand going to pet Hisoka's head again.

"You boys are so sweet." She cooed playfully, bumping her elbow into Tasuku's shoulder as the man flushed even more when she took the flower from his own hands to see what he had written, her smile only growing wider as she whispered the words to herself.

Seeing your face everyday gives me the strength to become better. And someday I hope that I can be by your side when you start to bloom yourself.

[k-s-morgan]

I just read an amazing Hannigram fic with thousands of kudos written during season 1 timeline. For people who were watching back then, did the shipping start from season 1 ? Please tell me everything in details. What was the reaction, what were the cues people picked ( no s2 / s3 in horizon) .. I am all ears and need a long indulgent read from you. What was the reaction from season 1.. and what was everyone expecting to happen to all characters ?

Hello! Ah, it’s so interesting to read the works published before all episodes aired - and S1 as a stand-alone is the most confusing since people could only guess what the central plan was. It’s difficult to figure Hannibal out based on it without at least S2 there.

I am actually a pretty new old fan. I joined after S3 aired because I tend to wait for the shows to be complete before watching them, so I wasn’t around during S1 and S2. I did read everything I could find, including old discussions, though, and I made a wonderful friend @typicalher who has been here from the very start, so her insights helped me to learn a lot.

So, S1 and the situation in the fandom. Obviously, the shipping was very varied at that time - you could easily find Hannibal/Alana and Will/Alana fans. Some were making bets on Hannibal/Bedelia since Bryan mentioned Hannibal getting a love interest in S2. Hannigram was there from the beginning, too - in fact, as it’s evident from Bryan’s pre-S1 teasing tweets, some people were hoping for some Hannigram content even before seeing a single episode. Hannigram had a small group of shippers ever since the books came out, with Hannibal being briefly drawn to Will before getting pissed off at being denied his phone number and sending Francis to attack him with his family. The movies, with all the “Remarkable boy. I do admire your courage. I think I'll eat your heart” and “How I'd love to get you on my couch” only fuelled the shipping, even though it was never particularly large-scale. The fact that one of the promos for the show presented after the pilot entailed Hannibal sniffing Will, some people caught on onto what was happening at that point already. But no one really took it very seriously, and people’s opinions differed. 

Some were swooning over Will with Alana, calling it an amazing exploration of a relationship between two mature people. Others expressed hopes that Hannibal would try to get closer to Alana to mess with Will. Some were excited to see Hannibal touching Will’s shoulder in E9 and expressing the desire to be a family with him and Abigail. A bit of discussion from those times I saved out of amusement:

Commenter 1: I thought that whole scene had a homoerotic feel to it.

Commenter 2: Gay dads. Gay dads.

Commenter 3: I thought that whole show had a homoerotic feel to it.

Commenter 4: I feel like Hannibal is sexually attracted to Will, but I might be making too many leaps here...

Commenter 5: I don't think he is sexually attracted to Will. I get the sense that he is only sexually attracted to himself. As a pure narcissist, I don't think he is capable of feeling attracted to another person, regardless of gender.I think his attachment to Will is based on the fact that somebody can finally understand him. I think he legitimately see's Will as a friend.

Commenter 6: It's great to see more of Hannibal with his own psychiatrist. The fact that he seems to genuinely want a friendship with Will seems so touching. His reaction when Will came over to his house to tell him he'd kissed Alana was priceless and almost showed a hint of jealousy (but maybe I'm reading too much into that).

Some stuff about Will and Alana:

Commenter 1:  I am so loving everything happening between Will and Alana. To have characters talk out their issues despite sexual tension, and hold off on a relationship because of them... it feels almost revolutionary in today's television landscape.

Commenter 2: A romantic relationship would weigh down the show. They really don't have time to get invested in that. It's pretty obvious from an outsider's POV that there's a Will/Alana attraction going on, and to not acknowledge it would in some ways actually draw more attention TO it. My guess is they're setting something up for season 2 or 3 (if we get them).

Commenter 3: At the rate he's going, by season three Will's going to be drooling in a mental hospital somewhere.

Commenter 4: I'm pretty glad the whole Will/Alana thing was a bust. She's right about them being bad for each other, and I feel that if they did get into a relationship, that drama would just distract from the story. Plus Will is such a tragic character, a relationship would normalise him too much.

Mads already said he plays Hannibal as in love with Will at that point, so some took it into consideration while others ignored it. People seemed to love the show: they admired how cunning Hannibal was, worried about Will, and screamed at the finale. Many were looking forward to seeing how the tables were going to be turned, with Will paying Hannibal back. 

 People’s major theories included Hannibal seeing Will as a protege / adversary - there were even fights about it since some thought he was genuine in his care while others believed he was just playing a game; many believed Abigail was still alive; Will was predicted to spend most time in jail in S2 while being consulted; many thought Will and Hannibal would be trying to dance to one up each other next. Will’s darkness was a rare topic and no one really thought Hannigram would take the central stage in a mutually romantic way. Will’s Becoming wasn’t a common topic either - few people considered that he might start indulging in his own darkness. Many were wondering how much Bedelia knew and why Hannibal was crying about his lost Murder Family when he was the one to destroy it. 

Interesting links: 

This is a panel from 2013. At 39.13, a person asks about the eroticism between Will and Hannibal and everyone starts cheering. Hugh says he thinks the connection between them is profound but that he doesn’t think it’s sexual. Bryan asks, “Oh yeah?” 

And here you can read discussions of all episodes as they were airing. I think the quotes I provided above are from there as well. 

[libermachinae]

Drops in a Bucket, Splashes on the Ground

Also available on AO3! Tags: Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gen, Whirl (Transformers), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Whirl is Primus AU, Angst, would you believe me if i said i didnt set out to write another angst fic, whirl's just like that Wordcount: 4202 Notes: I would highly recommend you read "Bullets" or at least be familiar with Whirl's abuse of Rotorstorm before reading this fic. The scene containing graphic violence begins with "Tacticians always struggle..." and the scene referencing abuse begins "He shoves his way..." Please feel free to reach out if you need any further information.

~*~

“And I guess old Primus makes five.”

“Hah! No, no, no. That’s not Primus… you’re Primus.”

~*~

 Whirl has never been intimidated before. Not so intentionally, not by bots whose forged bodies have been piled on with armor and weaponry, no expenses spared by the ganglords. The Heavies rolled up on treads that left gouges in the streets, painful marks that tomorrow’s taxes will go to fixing, and their transformations took a full five seconds as excess plating moved out of the way while their protoforms tried to bend per their original configurations. They wear identical red visors and dark gray masks: faces, certainly, but only in the barest sense of the word, enough to separate them from lowlifes without affording them identity. It is impossible to tell one from the other and Whirl knows, intrinsically, that it will not matter.

 ~*~

 Rung is the only one who doesn’t flinch. Whirl stands over Adaptus’ body, freshly relieved of what they can all agree was a spectacularly ugly head, and puts away his gun.

“Right,” he says, with a meaningful glance out the window. “Want to agree none of us heard that?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus shouts. “You can’t just kill a god!”

The body explodes into a pile of dust.

“Sure I can,” Whirl says, shaking it off his foot even as he leans down to inspect the scrapple. “Hey Ratch, can you rig me to explode next time I get shot?”

“Is it true?” Nautica asks, doing her intellect a massive disservice by stepping in front of the unhinged bot with a blaster.

“Obviously not,” Ratchet says. “He was lying.”

Whirl nods.

“Yeah. You think I would keep it a secret from any of you if I was a god? You think Cyclonus would ever hear the end of it? Nah.” He stands, kicking pile and sending a spray of metallic dust into the air. “Awesome way to go, though, can’t say I’m not jealous.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him for it.”

“So, you’re not Primus?” Nautica asks. She hasn’t moved, her arms crossed in front of her. If Whirl had been her creator (and he isn’t, he already has his claws full with a nest of scraplets), he would have been pretty proud of her right now.

“Nope!” he says. “I’ve never vouched for the universe before, but that kind of joke would take on an extra level of cruel, don’t you think?”

“Got to agree with Whirl, here,” Rodimus says, a hand on Nautica’s shoulder drawing her back. “I could buy pretty much anyone else. Maybe not Rung, but, say, Velocity? She could be Primus. Or Roller. I guess not Megatron, since we saw him come online, but—”

“The point, Rodimus,” Ratchet deadpans.

“The point is, not Whirl,” Rodimus said, sweeping his hands up to gesture at him. “I get Primus is disappointed in us. We are a textbook example of why a race of sentient war machines should never be left to their own devices, combined with a case study on how to avoid learning from every mistake you’ve ever made. But I really don’t think that disappointment would translate to actively hunting us for sport. Isn’t Primus supposed to be all about forgiveness and loving your cellmate?”

“Right,” Whirl says, clacking his pincers together in his approximation of a snap. “An angry god is so cliché.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Primus believed,” Rung says. Oh no. He’s taken off his glasses. “I don’t see any reason he couldn’t be Whirl.”

“How about we start where the part where gods don’t exist, and Whirl does?” Ratchet suggests.

“I… I am Solomus, though.”

The whole group turns to the offending voice. Whirl goes for his gun and Rodimus knocks it out of his hand, a stern finger silently telling him not to kill any more gods. As if being an ex-Matrix bearer gives him some sort of say.

Tyrest has not stopped touching his gaudy mantelpiece, poking at the holes. It wouldn’t be so disturbing, except he’s staring at Whirl while he does it.

“Primus, don’t you remember?” he asks.

“Hey, let’s watch the fragging language.”

“Adaptus wanted to send our creations to pointless war,” Tyrest goes on. “Violence for the sake of violence, conquests built on the backs of others. We fought him.” He steps forward and reaches for Whirl. “Together, we—”

Whirl jerks back with his claws extended out.

“I will cut your hand off, I swear to—I swear.”

He is saved from any more interrogation by the ground violently rumbling underneath them.

“Okay, so regardless of whatever’s Whirl’s deal is, we do still have at least one Primus to worry about,” Rodimus says, looking out the window at the approximation of what Whirl, personally, had always assumed god would look like. “Solomus, you still got your teleporting rigged up?”

 ~*~

 No one ever considered giving The Institute a waiting room, so Whirl stands to one side of the hallway while the butchers discuss his case. He knows his proposal intrigues them: they have never had an opportunity to shadowplay a willing subject before. What is there to learn from a brain that does not fight them every step of the way? What backdoors exist that every other victim kept hidden? Whirl does not care about the potential scientific advancements his offer provides. He just wants to stop dreaming of gears, lose the phantom aches of his fingers. He wants to look in a mirror and see nothing: not himself, not a monster. Just an object, fulfilling its purpose.

The scientists who walk by him in the halls stare. Everyone stares, but the look they give him is different. They do not find him exceptional, nor do they feel for him pity or contempt. He is no marvel. He is a creation, perfectly engineered to suit its purpose, every detail minded with care to ensure it all works together as an ideal mechanism. He wishes he could see himself through their eyes.

The door beside him slides open and a bot he has never seen before steps out. His helm comes up no higher than Whirl’s waist and his large yellow optics do not look up from his datapad.

“Whirl of Polyhex, the panel has elected to reject your petition,” he says. “I am to remind—”

“What?” Whirl startles; his new head shoots upward, forcing him into an angle that is both unnatural and instinctual. “Why? Ice Pick said he could—”

“I am to remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement; failure to comply will result in penalty of death.” The little bot flares his plating, the click of a motor lock setting it in place. “You will now submit to full stasis and be escorted back to your home.”

The jack comes from behind.

 ~*~

 “This is my hab suite.”

Whirl knows the tonal difference between a bullet hitting living metal and a wall. He scowls and gives up, waving Cyclonus inside.

“My room’s a mess,” he says. “Think I’m gonna crash here for a while.”

Cyclonus comes in and sits beside Whirl on the berth. When the door slides shut, they are visible only by their biolights: Whirl closed the shutters when he came in, the stars too much like blinking numbers. Cyclonus is a surprisingly quiet machine. His presence comes with none of the usual hisses and clicks one would normally get with their kind, like each component was designed specifically to work with those around it. Compared to Whirl, whose body is a wreck of pieces that almost fit together, clinking and scraping through their standard functions, he practically doesn’t exist.

“This is slagged, huh?” Whirl asks.

Cyclonus thinks on it a moment, then there is a shift of plating as he nods. Is it an admission, a confession? Pri—frag, Whirl doesn’t want to have to start thinking about that.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

“Scrap, you’re right. What am I doing?” Whirl laughs. “I’m infallible now, right? It’s all been part of my grand plan for Cybertron. I should be saying you’re welcome; you should be thanking me.”

Cyclonus sighs, a rush of air out his vents.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.

Whirl pokes and pinches at his own plating, trying to make sense of it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Start praying, and keep Megatron far away from me.”

 ~*~

 He’s spent two days in the holding cell before he realizes no one else is coming for him.

That Orion Pax… he’s good, and Whirl’s not sure whether it’s the kind that gets people hired or gets people killed. Not that it matters, not that he cares. The Senate’s going to crush all of them one by one, like little cans of oil under a rolling tank. He thought being a tread would come with some measure of relief; instead, it just landed him in a hole.

He digs a claw tip into the wall, another score among a small collection. He has been trying to reconstruct the miner’s face, what it looked like in the split second between recognizing he had been struck and realizing there was more to come. He can’t relish a memory if he can’t keep it, and he’s already struggling well enough to accomplish the former. This assignment was supposed to be a release. Look down at the big thinker and imagine in his place Senator Proteus, Sentinel Prime, the faceless Functionist Council. Tell himself that this is what it would feel like to rip their plating open until their priceless energon spilled onto a dirty floor.

The face, though, it’s escaping him. How can he fell anything about a person with no face? What relief is there to be found in beating the slag out of a nobody? He is trying so hard to adapt, but it’s like his processor is working against him, reminding him how far he got before he was reeled back in. The silhouette of his sketch is familiar.

His claws hurt where he has worn the tip blunt, and the portrait is still incomplete.

 ~*~

 “I don’t make Matrixes,” he insists. The group was polite enough to knock once they found him, but they’re failing to pick up the hint that he wants all of them to go away, right now, and leave him alone forever.

“Well, Epistemus says you can,” Rodimus says, dentae blocked together. “Why do all the other gods have their memories back, but not you?”

“I dunno, maybe Needles can stick me and figure it out.”

It’s almost cute, the way Rewind steps protectively in front of Chromedome.

“Rodimus,” Rung says, trying to get between them, “this isn’t helping.”

“Thank you,” Whirl says. “Now can we get to the part where we storm the planet, guns a-blazin’?”

“That won’t help either.” Rung turns to look at him. “Your memories haven’t been deleted, Whirl. Somehow, there should still be some part of you that remembers creating the Matrix.”

“The Functionists probably took it out,” Whirl says.

“That’s not how mnemosurgery works.”

“Says the dropout.”

“You told me once about your earliest memory,” Rung says. Whirl should be furious that he’s doing this here, in front of people who have no business knowing what’s in his head, but he’s more interested in the way Rung has taken off his glasses and is squinting up at him. “What happened just before it?”

They did not bring Ratchet, a testament to the fact that they will not leave before he gives them answers. He could start lying again, or find another way to forgo the question, but something about Cyclonus’ presence at his back helps him settle down the compulsion. Everybody lies about their forging. Everybody wants to say it was overseen by the Prime, or that they settled into their form like resin poured into a mold, instant and perfect. Whirl has a set of seven stories he deploys on rotation, ranging from heroic to beautifully tragic, and he spends a moment picking through them, trying to remember which was the real one.

“I showed up at the Functionsts’ place to get my docs in order,” he says. “I was… I was trying to get Polyhexian citizenship.” Awful city, but he had always sworn the energon tasted better there than anywhere else.

“But you said you were forged in Polyhex,” Rung says.

“Yeah. It was easier that way.” Whirl puts a claw to his head. “I… augh, nope. No, this is stupid.”

“Whirl—”

“No, I’m done,” he says, pushing Rung away. “Fully done, Rung. That’s right. You were god’s therapist, and he fired you. I’m gonna go take out a planet.”

 ~*~

 Tacticians always struggle with where to put Whirl on a battlefield. On the one hand, he’s an attack helicopter, equipped with long-range cannons and advanced aiming modules. Keeping him in the sky is the perfect way to set up a terrible surprise for Cons on the ground. On the other, he’s Whirl, and facing him head-on can be just as chilling and or fatal.

In the end it rarely matters which call they make because, as stated before, he’s Whirl. He will do whatever he damn well feels like. Right now, that means skimming over the top of the battlefield, sights trained on the odd dot who tries to disgorge themselves from the fighting mass. He is supposed to be providing support to the ground troops, peppering the Decepticon line so they can break through, but no one is going to complain about a few more dead soldiers.

A truck breaks free and he pitches down, giving chase, machine guns firing before he’s got a lock on. The ground explodes in shrapnel as they try to serpentine out of the way, but he keeps firing and soon enough their paths cross.

He riddles them. Their roof is already a puckered, punctured mass of warped metal before their back tires blow and they go skidding and flip onto their side. Their plating shuffles, uncoordinated, as they try to transform, and Whirl goes for the underbelly, shattering the exposed protoform in a burst of pink energon. They slump with their legs disengaged. There is a buzzing, crunching noise as the dying t-cog tries to settle into either mode, then a jet of smoke erupts from the body. The engine has seized, locking it in a permanent limbo.

Whirl spins around to track down his next prey. He loves his job. The Autobots have a need, and he fills it with a gusto that only occasionally gets him in trouble. He’s no hitmech: he lacks the finesse, the style. But he can rain irreverent murder down from the sky, send Cons fleeing just long enough to make them think they had a chance, and he can do it without questioning an order. The war needs people like him.

Two soldiers are trying to escape together, one with their arm over the other’s shoulder, a sparkling stump of a leg between them. Whirl gets low, following them until the roar of his rotors is unmistakable, until they cannot help but turn and he sees their optics. Then he fires.

The wounded one falls first, knocked onto their front and grasping uselessly until their hand is blown off and they go still. The other gets their legs knocked off and goes spinning, landing on their head with a crunch. Whirl keeps advancing, keeps firing, tearing open their plating and reducing their inner working to molten slag, spattering the ground with used energon. They flop, over and over, until Whirl gets bored of the show and hauls off, leaving them almost indistinguishable from the carnage of the land itself.

Whirl hovers over the fighting and looks down while he scans for a target. This high up, visuals are useless for determining Bots from Cons. Little Cybertronians run around, whacking and shooting at each other, falling down, down, down. The metal under their pedes is slippery pink with energon. It splashes against their plating, over their insignias, until they are all just little wandering targets.

Whirl has his job, and he loves it, and he does it well.

 ~*~

 He should feel something, but his spark is a void as he tosses the rest of the guns into the shuttle, all the stuff he held off using because he wasn’t ready to get kicked off the ship. He is not coming back from this. He knows it, so better to take it all.

He’s just fastened the locker when he hears the footsteps on the hatch and looks up. It’s Tailgate, of course. Tailgate, who has a pack hanging from one shoulder and a gun holstered at his side. It’s a shrimpy thing, something Cyclonus taught him to shoot in case they ever got separated, more useful for making noise than taking down an aggressor. It has room for one round of ammo and Whirl doubts he brought a bullet more.

He comes aboard without saying anything and stops beside world, continuing to say nothing. The hand on his pack is clenching: he’s being brave. He’s also waiting for some grand speech, some sacred insight to the nature of their quest and their places in the universe. Well, tough. He should know Whirl better than Primus.

He lifts a claw to shove Tailgate backward and down the hatch, but it stops an inch before Tailgate’s plating. What does it matter? Cyclonus can’t kill him where he’s going and Tailgate himself is just a drop in the bucket. Standing there with his chest puffed out, optic band steely and focused, he looks like any other Cybertronian, never mind a few years left behind.

Whirl retracts his claw. Tailgate nods at him.

Another drop in the bucket.

 ~*~

 He shoves his way to the front row, slamming himself into his chosen seat just ahead of a little spy plane who had been angling for the same spot.

“Buzz off,” he says. Never mind the spy plane outranks him. This is his big day! He got here early so he could get this seat, right in front, though he can barely hold it as the audience fills in around him, so many Bots he does not know and who do not matter. The only one he cares about it up on the stage, smiling with an air of detached cooperation, off in his own head again like he always was. Whirl thought they had made progress on that, but some habits were just too hard to break.

The opening speech is long and predictably boring, lots of talk about this base he has never been on before. Whirl’s engine clicks in agitation. When bots give him dirty looks, he sneers.

“Chronic fanbelt lockup, ever heard of it?” he hisses at them, adding in a few extra ticks for good measure. They go back to minding their own business, but Whirl still catches the optics glancing at him, and his engine goes from annoyed click to angry hum. He knows what they see.

Luckily, the speaker eventually gets over himself and moves on.

“Rotorstorm, will you please step forward?”

Whirl is on his feet before the other copter has a chance to rise, his cheering rising well above the swell of the crowd. He shouts, he stomps his feet, and he bangs his claws together until the bots on either side of him wince, and he gets even louder when he knows Rotorstorm has noticed him.

“Go on, get up there!” he shouts. “You earned this, didn’t you?” The rest of the crowd has calmed down, but he stays standing, arms dropped to his sides. He stares at Rotorstorm as he crosses the stage, shoulders pressed back, each step placed so precisely in front of the last that it must be calculated. He waits until Rotorstorm has reached the edge to sit back down, and then still his optic is pointed, refusing to let Rotorstorm look anywhere else. Rotorstorm’s own optics are wide, though the rest of his expression is slack. His biolights are steady, his ventilations manual and even. He’s perfect.

“Rotorstorm,” the presenter says, “I hope you will forgive us; this is an honor that is long overdue. During the Simanzi Massacre, you singlehandedly scouted a pass through Mount Helix that allowed for the rapid evacuation of the 9th Battalion. Your commanding officers estimate that your decisive actions saved upwards of one thousand Autobot lives.” Whirl’s engine is silent. He’s drinking in every word. “Today, we present you with the Novic Medal for Outstanding Honor. ‘Til all are one.” Rotorstorm ducks his helm as the award is magnetized to the right of his cockpit, finally breaking his optic contact with Whirl.

“’Til all are one,” he repeats, though most of the crowd does not hear him over Whirl’s cheers.

Rotorstorm turns without looking up and returns to his seat. The next recipient is called forward and Whirl walks out.

 ~*~

 He can’t do it. He’ll blame it on the way Tailgate’s plating quietly rattles or Cyclonus’ entire personality as he starts to board, but he shuts off the shuttle’s engine and disembarks with them trailing behind. He retreats to his hab suite, and though he does not invite them he’s glad when they make it inside before the door closes.

“Nobody in the mutiny is allowed to have any of my stuff. I don’t care if Thunderclash is dying again and my innermost energon is the only compatible fuel in the galactic sector, he can’t have it.”

Tailgate nods along, his fingers in a death grip around Whirl’s pincer.

“And when you guys are talking about me later, no one call me anything but Whirl. I’m serious. I don’t know about anything I did before that, so what could it matter?” He looks up at the ceiling. “In fact, don’t tell anyone about the Primus thing. No point.”

Cyclonus is a solid, immobile presence on his other side.

“Am I forgetting anything? Oh, tell Roadbuster I’ll be waiting for him in the pit.”

“Do gods go to the Afterspark?” It’s not clear who Tailgate is asking.

“I definitely don’t plan to stick around and watch over you or whatever. Think I’ve had enough of this universe.” He chuckles, a strained sound. “Yeah. So, that’s it. Better get this show on the road, huh?”

“We’ll be with you the entire time,” Tailgate promises.

“For as long as you want us,” Cyclonus amends.

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs, laughs again. “I’m not even really scared of the whole dying thing. I’d made peace with that. Whenever there was something I needed to do, I took care of it, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it if the right bullet finally found its mark.” He glances between them. “Now, though… you two better behave, I swear. I’m making it your Primus-sworn duty to take care of and listen to each other, okay?”

Cyclonus nods, and the way he takes it so seriously makes Whirl almost glad he’s on his way out. He couldn’t handle being looked at like that all the time, and especially it’s the way they reach across his lap and entwine their hands that really does him in. He hates them dearly.

“Okay,” he says, winding up his t-cog for the big spin. “Okay, twelve Matrixes. No problem.”

 ~*~

 Whirl times the blinking numbers to the rotations of his spark. 1,600 exactly. He’s done it.

He leans back in his chair but cannot stop staring at the little device in his hands. It is perfect. After years of researching, studying, trying, and failing, the pieces have come together to allow him to create this one perfect thing. He loves it, and a dangerous feeling of pride fills his spark, the kind that has so long been missing from his work in the Aerial Corps. If there is a Primus (and he’s still not sure, whatever the Functionists insist), this is what he built Whirl to do.

He gets up from his desk and walks across his small living space to a shelf. Nearing capacity, it has just enough room for him to push a few previous attempts aside to make room for the latest version. Surrounded by its brethren, it becomes lost almost immediately amid the sea of blinking lights, indistinguishable even from those he considers lesser. Some defects are more obvious than others: one has sat at the same time since the moment he brought it online, while another counts one klik backward for every two forward. But most are just slightly imperfect, necessary steps to get to this point, and he loves them all dearly.

He stands back. It feels like the work of a lifetime, these clocks, though he knows he took up the pursuit relatively recently. It’s just hard to remember how he filled his time before he had this project to work on, and he is again grateful he discovered it at all.

It is a gift to be able to create, he thinks, to cast a broad eye over his creations. The numbers blink at him, all out of tune, and he lets himself imagine being content doing just this for the rest of his life.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of February 12th, 2020

Best of this Week: Pennyworth R.I.P. One-Shot - James Tynion IV and Various Artists and Colorists

Some people think Dick Grayson is the glue that holds the Batfamily together, some say that it's really Tim Drake, but we all know that it has always been Alfred.

Alfred has been by Bruce's side since the day that Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed in Crime Alley. Alfred raised the boy from a young age and watched as he became a hero that Gotham City could truly be proud of. Alfred even got to see Bruce raise many kids of his own over the years and sas there to pick up the slack when Bruce was too injured, angry or didn't know how to talk to them. Alfred was patient. Alfred was loving. Alfred was amazing and will be sorely missed.

Alfred met his tragic end during the recent City of Bane arc and even after that wrapped up, it still took time for the rest of the family to get together and mourn his passing. Bruce has been trying to cope with it all by throwing himself into his Gotham Renovation Project and various superheroics. Barbara’s been dealing with her own issues in the form of a rogue Oracle. Damian has the Titans, Jason is on the outs with the family and Dick (Ric) doesn’t even really remember Alfred.

In the end, Bane managed to do what he set out to accomplish in the first place: He Broke the Bat.

Not only did he break Batman, he broke the entire family as a whole as shown from the very first shot of this book. Eddy Barrows presents us with a pulled out shot, showing a statue of Alfred in the middle of the new Alfred J. Pennyworth Children’s Hospital - a momentous honor meant to save kids just like Bruce. However, this scene also symbolizes the distance between all of the family. Tynion IV does a great job of scripting their inner thoughts as told by an unseen narrator.

Damian, being the one who was there, feels the weight of his disobedience and sees things as his fault. Tim hearkens back to the time after Jason died and fears for Bruce, knowing the darkness inside of him. Jason was told to NOT come, but Alfred had always treated him right and Barbara feels like she knows how to fix things, but who’s to say that she’s in the right mind to do so either? And Ric… well, Ric doesn’t know why he’s there, but he feels obligated.

Barrows does an amazing job of showing the pain through their forlorn expressions and lowered heads. I assume that Adriano Lucas was the one who colored these scenes because they make excellent use of cold blues to emphasize the sadness of the Family. Barrows also does something that a few artists struggle with in distinguishing each of the boys from each other. They each have distinct hairstyles and facial structures and it’s a nice touch for such a tragic event. Soon after, Tim finds a little dive bar for them to meet in and they each bicker a bit before Bruce arrives for toasts and memories.

This book also does an excellent job of showcasing personal moments that we never see between the kids and Alfred. Beginning with Damian, Chris Burnham draws a flashback to one of the first times that Alfred bails Damian out after he disobeys Batman about going out on patrols. Tynion IV and Burnham capture Damian’s early petulance through his childish pouting superiority complex. We see that Damian loved Alfred because he was willing to be patient with the young boy and Bruce was just getting used to having a trained assassin as a son. 

Damian is still widely considered the worst Robin, but that idea has long passed its expiration date as the young lad has grown significantly over the years. In the beginning he could have killed anyone and not felt a lick of remorse for it, but over time, thanks to the softening of Bruce and Alfred, the boy has learned to care and take responsibility for things that weren’t even his fault. He tears up thinking that the rest of the family blamed him for Alfred’s death and regrets that he didn’t do more to stop Bane before leaving the bar. 

Tim speaks next and Marcio Takara takes over art for Tim’s flashback. The third Robin is still arguably the smartest, but during a hectic fight with Firefly, he leaves some of his gear and Alfred bails him out by sneaking into the GCPD to retrieve the items. It’s very action packed and does well to show that sometimes Tim loses his cool too, but after the recollection, Tim says that he would step in for Alfred if Batman ASKS him to do so. When Bruce refuses, Tim makes a point that this is exactly like how Bruce was after Jason, but this time he has to pull himself through like an adult before he too leaves.

Tim is usually the Robin that’s touted as being the one who saved Batman during his most destructive period. He’s always been the level headed one, but in recent years he’s been put through the ringer. From being kidnapped by an unseen entity and thought dead for almost a year (Detective Comics, 2017), to fighting an alt-future, villainous version of himself (Detective Comics, 2018) and finally reuniting with his Young Justice friends and dealing with the chaos of that (Young Justice, 2019). Tim is tired and even more so of the darkness that shrouds Bruce and the Family.

Jaybird raises his glass to Alfred next and offers a counter to Tim. He says that maybe Batman would have worked out his issues after Jason’s death if a new kid didn’t swing in and just try to relieve him of the pain. Jason has always been the most extreme of the family, but he’s never been above asking Alfred for help. As a street urchin, Jason doesn’t trust most people, but despite this Alfred always thought to check up on Bruce’s second son and tried to bring him back to the side of the angels. Jason never bit, but he appreciated the effort.

He tells Barbara that he won’t chastise Bruce for how he feels because they’re all in that same spot right now, but he does want Bruce to work towards fixing it. Jason knows better than the rest of them what it feels like to have lost (Heroes in Crisis, 2018), but he also knows what it’s like to be there on the fringes with no one there to help.

Batgirl is often lost in the conversations that usually revolve around the boys, but she shouldn’t be. Barbara’s intellect exceeds that of Tim by a wide margin, but that intelligence also comes with an intuitiveness given to her by her father, James Gordon, as they live in the heart of Gotham. Barbara makes the most logical statement about the general fear swelling in Gotham after Bane’s rise and defeat and the lack of trust in Bat themed heroes given everything that The Batman Who Laughs has done. Bruce’s reconstruction project isn’t helping either as it’s just another shiny coat of paint over a city whose problems run down to its roots.

Babs may not have grown up in the mansion like the boys, but Alfred cared for her just the same, effectively being Batman’s first daughter...niece maybe the better description? David Lafuente does the art for her flashback and it’s a more cutesy style with thick defining lines and lots of faraway shots as we see Alfred and Barbara hiking up a mountain just outside of Gotham City. The actions of Killing Joke absolutely still happened and to celebrate the anniversary of Barbara leaving spine rehab, Alfred wanted to celebrate with a hike and a cupcake.Barbara says that they need Bruce to come back and be the person that they all need him to be before she leaves as well. 

Finally, we hear from Ric Grayson. The former Dick Grayson was another victim of Bane’s vendetta, getting shot in the head by the KGBeast in an attempt to further hurt Batman. Aside from his Flying Grayson memories and a few scant ones with Alfred and Bruce, he doesn’t remember his life as Nightwing, with the Titans or the rest of the Batfamily and that probably makes this book harder to swallow. Dick has always been the elder brother to each of them and truly is Batman’s voice of reason after Alfred, but Dick is gone. 

So Ric, knowing he needs to step up and say something to get Bruce to help himself, asks him to tell whatever story Dick Grayson might have if he were still around. Bruce then speaks up about a time where Dick found out that Alfred had been leaving flowers at the sight of the Waynes murder to celebrate the anniversary of their marriage where Bruce had been leaving flowers on the anniversary of their deaths. Dick tells Bruce that Alfred always wanted to tell him that their deaths had saved countless lives and even the world at times.

It’s grim and kinda dark, but in the grand scheme of things, Ric is right. Batman has given everything he can to the world under his mission of Justice and that never would have happened if the Waynes survived, just look at Batman: The Gift (Batman #45 - #47, 2018). In that timeline, the Waynes did survive and it was a nightmare world where crime was rampant, Dick was crazed Batman like Flashpoint Thomas Wayne and everything was just wrong. Ric may not have known all of tht, but he did know that Alfred was right and that Bruce needed to be strong for him.

Before Ric leaves, he hangs a picture on the bar wall while Tynion IV and Barrows convey the emotional impact of Ric’s act through four panels without dialogue. Bruce looks at the picture and not only can readers feel the tears swelling up in the corners of their eyes, but we almost feel as if Bruce is as well as he stars upon a picture of the core Batfamily with Alfred as the focus between them.

I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if I’m emotionally ready to deal with a Batman future without Alfred. He’s always been such a faithful companion and foil to our dour hero and his passing has only made Batman that much darker. The cynic in me knows that DC Won’t keep him dead forever, especially with an incoming Crisis that may undo everything from the last four years of storytelling, but at the same time it might not. I think the idea to kill Alfred was a good one to create awesome moments like it did in this book, but who will take his place?

Could this really be Tim’s time to step away from the masks and go behind the scenes like Oracle did? Could Alfred’s daughter, Julia, see a return since she hasn’t been seen since I think All Star Batman in 2016? Will Lucius Fox actually stay in the position as he’s there now in Detective Comics? Who knows?

All that matters is the life of Alfred and the mark he left on our favorite characters.

Also, support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/TyTalksComics

[princeanxious]

Cracked Ribs and Old Promises -

TSS Analogical superhero/villain au fic

Warnings: mentions of trouble eating, anxiety, dark/misguided Roman, severe injury, let me know if i should add more!

Thank you to @the-modern-typewriter for the scenario prompt that inspired me to write this!!

“The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?”

A new Superhero in town was quickly becoming known for his super strength, and ability to pull objects temporarily from thin air, his chosen name? The Knight. Dressed in galiant and knightly garb and known to speak like a true fairytale prince.

He was also known for constantly disrupting the balance code between villains and heroes.

Some villains were labeled dangerous, others not so much, some were simply suspicious, others weren’t quite villains by definition. Some of those that had powers chose to avoid the hero scene, with the sad disadvantage of being mistaken as having suspicious intents with secrecy. The Knight had been going after anyone he could deem evil, and it had gotten to the point that The Knight had to be leashed in, forced into a league of heros to keep him from going wild. It slowed him down in the end, yes, however, not for good.

Why did Virgil know this, you might ask?

He knew this because The Knight had recently zeroed in on him, a bystander to most, but a non-threatening villain to those few heroes who knew of him. Perhaps, though, he was more of a vigilante, bordering hero terms but always mistaken for a villain. What could he say? Black and purple looked good on him!

Perhaps it was because The Knight had zeroed in on his powers, apparently no one was good if they had control over shadows and darkness, right? The Knight’s morals always seemed too black and white, nevertheless, The Knight seemed to trail him wherever he went. It was a surprise that The Knight didn’t assault him at work or at home.

Seriously, as if Virgil didn't have enough of an anxiety disorder as it was!

Still, there were upsides to it all. The Knight was in a league with a couple of nicer superheroes, ones that spared him or directed The Knights agressions away from him. In fact, one of Virgil’s favorite superheros from that bunch was his own ‘nemesis,’ L.O.G.(Logical Omni Genius, though only Virgil knew that). Truly, there was very little rivalry between them, in fact it bordered on companionship.

Their first fight had been one of wits, moves, and careful actions. Riddles and brain teasers, ‘answer me this and I won’t shut down the factory’s powergrid’ questions and more. There was little aggression, nor any hostility. L.O.G. knew of Virgil’s environmentally friendly motives, or at least learned about them quickly. In all reality, L.O.G. took place in making sure Virgil's plans were both foolproof and harmless to the people it would affect. Virgil even had a little sense of pride in that L.O.G had verbally deemed him a worthy ‘nemesis.’ Still, Virgil was a villain, if only because he could no longer bother the breath to defend himself from having the label.

Today, though. Today was different.

Virgil had nothing but his shadows, he was built for stealth, for mind games, for eliciting existential fear. Virgil was not built to fight, no, he actually bruised very easily, he couldn’t even throw a proper punch despite L.O.G.’s best attempts to teach him self defense. Virgil really wasn’t built to be the villain people made him out to be.

The Knight, for whatever reason, was more fired up than ever to get at him this time. Virgil had been cornered on his route to visit the site of his next strike, weaponless and with nothing but his mask to hide his identity. Well, it wasn’t like Virgil needed weapons, of course, but a holstered dagger sounded great right about now, anything to defend himself from The Knight’s wrath!

From the get go, The knight had already managed a solid surprise punch to the back of his shoulder, he would be surprised if his shoulder wasn’t dislocated already from that one hit alone. Thankfully though, Virgil(or, in his current situation, ‘Nightmare’) didn’t need his shoulder to control the surrounding evening shadows.

The Knight didn’t take kindly to that, growling out rude comments about Virgil’s very existence. Virgil tried to remain in his calm, sarcastic demeanor, firing back witty remarks and snide comments to keep Roman distracted while he formulated an escape plan. Virgil hadn’t eaten well in the past few days due to the stress, so his energy was almost too low to use his shadows to teleport himself, so that was saved as a thread to grasp as a last resort.

Still, though, The Knight had cornered him good, thankfully but also sadly away from civilian life, away from superhero patrol routes, away from anything that could have saved Virgil if he had just begun screaming for help. There was no way out.

The Knight was quickly losing patience with Nightmare, tired of the wordplay and tired of the mind games. All too soon The Knight had Nightmare in his grasp, ignoring how frail and light the villain was as he tossed the man around, expecting the real fight to start. But it didn’t, no shadows came to attack him, but instead worked to cushion each blow, or fall that was administered to the shadowy villain.

He was getting angry, why wasn’t this awful villain fighting back!

The Knight finally tossed Nightmare against a close by brick wall, trying to ignore the sickening thud of the man collapsing to the ground. Thankfully, the man was still breathing, and even struggling to sit up. Still alive, that was good.

“Some chivalrous Knight you turned out to be..” Virgil muttered, though not really expecting the other to hear him.

“You are one to talk, you vile Villain.” The ‘hero’ spat back.

“God, oh chivalrous one, if you hate my guts so much why haven’t you killed me yet? Poor taste, I’m tellin ya, leaving an injured animal in its misery.” Virgil joked sarcastically, growing tired of the other drawing out these exchanges. There was no doubt that a few of his ribs were cracked, and his right shoulder was definitely dislocated now, a possible fracture or brake on the same arms wrist. He didn’t even want to consider the hell that was going to be hiding the bruises at work, if he could even make it that far. He just wanted to get home already.

However, Virgil’s choice of words rung out in the air, and for the first time the prince was silent, staring at him with a mix of unreadable emotions. The next few words out of The Knight’s mouth as his eyes narrowed at Virgil made his blood run cold.

“You know what? Maybe I will.” Next thing Virgil knows, there's a sharp sword in the other’s grip, and hes stalking solemnly up to the injured villain.

Panic seizes Virgil, flooding his senses and throwing his frazzled mind into overdrive. Shadows zip around him, coalescing around him as his physical body quickly fades to teleport, but not before seeing The Knight running at him with the sword drawn. The danger recedes as his body dissipates.

“Where now?” The shadows ask him.

He responds, weakly, “Safety.”

He expects to be deposited in front of his home, where he can curl up and sleep the pain off, and perhaps take a trip to the doctor to investigate his wounds. Expects a night of weak painkillers and an uncomfortable couch, an aching chest and another lonely, hungry 24 hours.

What he doesn’t expect, is to be softly placed in front of L.O.G.’s private lair’s door. Despite the confusion and disorientation, Virgil knows his time is limited before he blacks out and is really put in danger, so he stumbles up and presses the right button to be let in. L.O.G’s hyper intelligent A.I(aptly named Data) system’s voice answers the call.

“Hello, Nightmare. Welcome back.” Virgil sags against the side of the wall, wheezing a bit as his exhaustion finally hits.

“Hey, Data. I-is L.O.G home?”

“Negative.”

Virgil curses, “Do I have permission to enter?”

“What is your reason for this emergency?” L.O.G’s only rule for Virgil entering the lair without himself present was that it had to be an emergency, and Data was simply confirming to inform L.O.G of said emergency upon his return.

“Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.” Virgil wheezed, and was grateful that Data asked no more questions to let him enter. He stumbled inside, thankful to be in a safe environment to black out in.

“Nightmare, do you require any assistance? You are disoriented, I could assist you.” Her voice was calm, obviously concerned that Virgil was going to drop dead. In all reality, Virgil’s energy had just been overused. The recliner looked tempting, but his ribs ached at the thought, he needed to lay flat.

“Is there a bed anywhere?” He asked, hoping that he wouldn’t have to sprawl out on the floor.

“Yes, let me bring it out of the wall for you.” Data’s voice was calming to his rapid beating heart. He watched with a bit of amusement as a panel slid down from a wall to reveal an extra room, set with a bare bed and a dresser, some posters and even a pile of folded clean clothes yet to be put away. “You can rest here until L.O.G. returns from his current patrol. Feel free to ‘yoink’ one of L.O.G’s hoodies if you feel so inclined, so that you do not get cold. I can assume you do not have the energy nor the time to make the bed before blacking out.” Virgil snickered softly, knowing data’s verbal slang was his own doing. Still, Data was right, he was most certainly running out of time.

Slowly trudging up the few small stairs to the opened room, he expressed his gratitude to Data before he lost the energy to talk. He made quick work of a deep blue hoodie, not even bothering to take his roughed up suit-top off when considering how much effort and pain it took to even pick up the hoodie and put it on.

He was lucid enough to toe his boots off, but at that point, the edges of his vision were darkening, and he knew he needed to lay down quickly. Carefully, he laid down flat on his back, distantly thankful for L.O.G’s choice in memory foam, adjusting the hood over his eyes and attempting to get comfortable. It took another minute before Virgil’s vision gave in, and he was out like a light for the next three hours to recharge his energy from overusing his ability.

….

….

Logan was glad that this patrol had been one of information gathering rather than of action. It was something he could do well and keep himself occupied while the others were off doing who knew what. Most currently, no one seemed to be up to much, not even his nemesis, whom he hadn’t heard from in just under a week.

Now that the patrol was over, everyone was returning to their secondary abodes/lairs to recharge for the night, considering how late it was. In fact, Logan was anticipating coming home to a quiet, normal morning, perhaps even with the chance to read more of his current book. What he had not expected, was for Data to greet him as L.O.G. at the door, instead of Logan.

That meant only one thing.

“I must inform you that Nightmare is currently resting within your bedroom, and to be careful not to spook him.” Logan barely registered why, striding up into the lair to find his nemesis resting in his bed. No contact for a full week, not even a hello, and Nightmare is resting in his bed.

He got so far as to reach out and rest his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder, expecting him to awaken with a start. To his surprise, the man whimpered but otherwise did not wake.

Strange.

“Data. What was Nightmare’s reason for entry?” Now that Logan was getting a good look at the other, he noticed a bruise peeking out on Virgil’s neck, and another poking out from Virgil’s hand. He knew the other bruised easily, but these were dark and fresh and angry, a worrying combination.

“To recite the recording exactly,” Data began, before switching over to the recording of Nightmare’s labored and pained voice, “Critical injury, as well as imminent threat of blacking out in about 7 minutes, 10 tops.”

“When did he get here?” Logan took notice of Virgil’s breathing, each breath still labored as if it hurt to expand his chest. Normally Nightmare was the type to curl up no matter the position or place of rest. Seeing the other laying flat out and stock still was highly concerning. “About two hours and 34 minutes ago. I am sensing concern, L.O.G., if it helps, a body scan of Nightmare’s current health indicates that it is stabilizing and not depleting.” Logan nodded.

Nightmare was experiencing an energy blackout, which meant that he would be out for the next 30 minutes to an hour, likely the latter due to his injuries. For now though, Logan draped a blanket over his injured companion and set to work on preparing a late meal and some coffee. Sleep would not be an option tonight.

He’d settled on a frozen pizza, it being too late to make a full meal. He set aside a tall glass of water and strong painkillers before he forgot, then had Data upload and present his league’s daily task logins for the week as well as send out a request to his league’s best healer, Patton, for possible assistance, looking for something to do to pass the time. He was much too stressed to read for leisure now.

He felt his eye twitch as Roman’s log sheet remained a mess, knowing he’d have to sit down and force Roman to fill it out correctly before lecturing him on why he was in the league in the first place. Strangely, Roman’s current log for the day remained blank, which was for one, against the rules. And secondly, entirely unlike Roman. He’d ask Roman about it later, and hope that Roman did not go completely awall.

Logan manages to busy himself until Nightmare wakes up, eventually hearing Data answer to Nightmare’s soft question. There's a bit of shuffling, it taking much longer for Virgil to arrive into Logan’s kitchen than he would have liked to see.

“Goodmorning, V. Coffee?” Came Logan’s strained voice, the question was rhetorical, obviously. Virgil was hugging his right arm with his left, which was odd because it was always the opposite. Virgil said nothing in return, a guilty look passing over his pale face.

Indeed. Something was definitely wrong.

“Sit down.” Logan ordered, “You are not going anywhere until I’ve taken care of your wounds.”

Virgil complied without complaint, sitting slowly in a chair instead of on his usual counter perch. He waited, watching Logan pull out the pizza and set it out to cool after cutting it into slices. And yet, still, Logan’s silent questions did not get directed at him.

“You're not interrogating me? Or angry?”

“Oh no, I’m furious. But, shockingly, not at you.” Logan looked up, a fiercely passionate glint to his eyes as he stared at Virgil’s obviously injured wrist, unconsciously being cradled in his other arm.

“If I ask you what happened, you will run, won’t you?” Virgil could not confirm nor deny this, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. The Knight was part of L.O.G.’s league, an obvious conflict of companionships and oaths. He looked up at Logan, and said nothing.

The unnerving silence from his usually snarky nemesis spoke plenty, Logan could tell his nonthreatening companion had been completely and utterly broken.

Justice behind bars for such a heinous act would not suffice for the rage Logan felt. And L.O.G. had a sneaking suspicion he knew just where he needed to begin.

“Data. Call Roman.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

After more than a decade, Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg's YA classics The Plane Janes are back!

[I adored Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg's YA graphic novels The Plain Janes and Janes in Love, which were the defining titles for the late, lamented Minx imprint from DC comics. A decade later, the creators have gotten the rights back and there's a new edition Little, Brown. We're honored to have an exclusive transcript of Cecil and Jim in conversation, discussing the origins of Plain Janes. Make no mistake: this reissue is amazing news, and Plain James is an underappreciated monster of a classic, finally getting another day in the spotlight. If you haven't read it, consider yourself lucky, because you're about to get another chance. -Cory]

Cecil to Jim: How interesting or difficult was it for you to go back to match a style from 11 years ago?

Jim: It was impossible!

When I started drawing Janes Attack Back, I was so anxious. You can’t unlearn how to ride a bike and a lot of my style from 11 years ago included my limitations as an artist. I hope I’m much better now than I was then. But when it comes to style, I just couldn’t quite do it the same. After a page or two, I stopped trying. I figured that as long as the character designs, grayscaling, and lettering were consistent that it would be a 90 percent match. Combined with the different ink colors, I think it flows pretty well. But it was definitely tough to figure out in the beginning.

It was interesting for me to revisit the original art and to get back into characters that I had spent so much time with, but that was over 10 years ago. It was a very strange feeling in my head. Nostalgic but also filtered through thousands of pages of progress since I drew the first two books. It was like studying a different artist, trying to get back to that style.

How much of an issue was this from a writing perspective?

Cecil: It was the same!

When we first did Plain Janes it was my first time moving from prose to comics and I remember that I called you up crying once because moving the story from panel to panel was so difficult to figure out at first. Comics is not prose! But now I have a better understanding of comics and I would write those books way differently now. So it was hard to go back to being more naive. But it was an interesting challenge for sure.

Cecil to Jim: We had sort of hammered out this story as a four book thing back in 200. For Janes Attack Back, we compressed. Is there anything that we left out that you kind of wish we’d been able to keep?

Jim: I’m very happy with how this turned out. I remember we planned to have the Janes all go their separate ways for the summer. I think you did a terrific job compressing that. We still see them do their own things and drift apart. I like these characters so our original plans were fun--seeing them on their own allowed a different side of them to emerge.

But I think the story works best in this final version. I don’t miss the longer solo adventures. Although I refer to the Janes as my X-Men, since they are a team, and team books often have spinoffs where characters have solo adventures. So maybe a longer solo adventure would be fun. I did draw quite a bit of Brain Jane at space camp many years ago! But overall, I say no. I’m so happy with this final story that I don’t regret anything we cut to make this final story! Who knows, we could always follow the Janes as they go off to different colleges and post high school adventures...

Cecil: I’m glad I have those Brain Jayne space camp pages. But yeah, I don’t miss their solo stuff. I’m glad that we just really follow Main Jane. But it’s interesting because I think that kind of goes with the question above. I think writing that whole Janes Go Summer was the book that I would never write now because I’ve learned that you can just go to the next best part and you don’t have to tell every part. Like moving time from panel to panel.

Cecil to Jim: What was the hardest thing to draw? And which art attack did you love the most?

Jim: Not exactly an art attack, but I think my favorite art thing was when Jane visits the museum in France and she appears in several paintings. That was fun to draw, but also it fit the story perfectly. As a cartoonist, that’s the best I can hope for--when the art gets to shine within the context of the story. That moment feels magical to me--in terms of both the story and the art.

Does the school dance count as an art attack? I like flowers so when the gang covered their dresses in flowers and Brain Jane hit them with a spotlight, that was something I enjoyed drawing.

Cars are hard to draw. Kissing is hard to draw. Crowds are tough. Perspective...I could go on and on!

Jim to Cecil: Craft--is there a difference between writing a novel and writing a graphic novel? If so, what are those differences?

Cecil: There are more words in prose. That seems obvious, but it’s a big deal because that’s what you paint your pictures with. So you can really dive into the minutiae of a moment but it’s very different than with comics where you dive into a moment because you are really dictating what you want the brain to pay attention to. And you have to really understand that each reader is going to have a wildly different understanding of what that picture should be. In comics, it’s right there. So you can be very specific and focused and the words are not really important. They are but I throw out a lot of them.

I think I over-write my script as a scaffolding for you, the artist, so you don’t have to do all the mental heavy lifting. But the best thing about comics is the throwing out of words. And silence. You can use words to describe silence but it’s still very busy and loud. But in a comic, a silent page or panel speaks for itself, and you can have a pause and rest that you can’t have in prose. I love writing both and that is why I really think that a story tells you how it best wants to be told. Because prose and comics have different gifts in terms of telling the tale.

Jim to Cecil: I sometimes describe The PLAIN Janes as my X-Men comic since it is a “team” book. So I’m curious if you have a favorite character in The PLAIN Janes?

Cecil: Oh! That’s so hard! I mean of course it is a team book and I love that you always referred to it as an X-men comic. They are superheroes in my mind; each overcoming things inside of them and bringing their own special skill to solve a problem.

But it’s too hard to pick which one I love! I mean, I identify with all of them for different reasons at different times. I guess that is what makes a good team. But I do have a soft spot for both Brain Jayne and Theater Jane. I think that they both have such distinct voices and points of view that they were fun foils to write for Main Jane.

Do you have a favorite?

Jim: I love Theater Jane’s exuberance! And of course there are things I love about all of them. Good job on giving them unique traits and personality. But I would say in the end, I enjoyed Payne. She was a foil and heel and that brought the best out of all of the Janes. She was like a mirror that forced the Janes, especially Main Jane to really think about her values and what she wanted to do in her art practice. We had talked about Payne for a decade. Seeing her in action and seeing Main Jane play off of her was the best. Plus her anger at the status quo is something I remember feeling as a teenager.

Jim to Cecil: Write what you know, right? With that in mind, what parts of The PLAIN Janes are closest to your own personal experiences/truth?

Cecil: Yes. Although the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, of course it is put through the ringer and shook up to come out as something very different. Like Main Jane, I was in a bombing when I was young. The IRA blew up a stage where the British Army band was playing. I was in the most damaged house, a beer museum. A window shattered above me and it was very scary. (I write about this incident in my memoir, Girl on Film).

I remember the next day, my family took me to an art museum and there were huge skylight windows everywhere, and I thought they would explode down on me. So I kept focusing on the art. And so while no one was injured in the attack that I was in, and I did not find a John Doe, I certainly found solace in art when I most needed it.

Another thing that came from my life directly was just engaging in street art and loving conceptual art. How that kind of art can say so much and be so profound. I’ve talked before about walking through subway stations filled with Keith Haring chalk drawings in the 80s and that being so inspiring. That idea of art being everywhere and being a delightful surprise. The core truth of The PLAIN Janes is that ART SAVES. That is probably the most true thing I believe.

How about you? Was there anything that you brought to the book that was close to your experience or truth?

Cecil: I was an art kid in school, so that made sense. And also the feeling, like I was an outsider and wanted more than school and a small town could provide. Some of the art class stuff brings back memories. The biggest thing for me were the friendships. The way the Janes pulled for each other and supported each other as they followed their own interests. I’ve been lucky to have that kind of support in my life. Some of those moments felt true to my own experience. And yes, I believe art saved my life--whether it was the stories and art I consumed or made. It had a huge impact on my life and helped through good and bad times.

The Plain Janes [Cecil Castellucci and Jim Rugg/Little Brown]

https://boingboing.net/2020/01/07/janes-janes-janes.html

[aboyandhisstarship]

SICON verse: we hereby withdraw

It’s the end of the bug war arc!

Watson:

The Alien pulled out a something about the size of a dinner plate holding up, Churchill whinnied As Ericson eyes went wide sprinting forward tackling he Alien  yelling “CODE 9 authorization Dagger 1 Alpha PI 9”  

The ships light went red as he demanded “Sargent get them out of here now!”

Francis dragged the squad out as the door sealed behind them with a clunk a few seconds later the ship rocked with an explosion

The PA system crowed “Warning code 9 has been initiated, a hostile presence on board the Watson Security teams follow your planned routes…”

Francis tuned out the Pa as he said “Depoint!”

The medic was already grabbing an emergency kit saying “ready Sarge.”

Francis wheeled “Futuba!?”

The Techy was already working on the door panel “working on over riding the LT’s command codes and getting in there.”

Francis nodded “Abebi!”

The handler was already nodding saying in Dutch “Churchill Check!” the dog started to sniff moving to a different part of the ship leaving only T’Mai and Kvella not doing anything.

Francis sighed “Hitchhiker what was that thing?”

T’Mai answered on a daze “Fuilgrtum.”

Francis frowned “excuse me?”

T’Mai sighed “it’s a mining explosive…not accessible to the public.”

A couple of security personal arrived and Francis sighed “Take these two to holding.”

Kvella said “Sarge!”

Francis answered “it’s for you own protection…the council just tried to bomb an SICON ship do you know what that means!?”

Before either Alien could answer Francis stormed away saying “I have to brief the captain,” he looked at Depoint “make sure he lives Corporal.”

Depoint nods “yes sir.”

SICON Command:

A General stepped into the Main room of The Strategic Coordination center Saying “Sir, we received a transmission from the Watson.”

The Prime minster of the Strategically integrated coalition of Nations looked up “must be something serious if you involved me Bill.”

The General nodded “yes sir it is…” handing over a data pad.

The Prime minster read it over saying “is this Legit?”

The General “It has been verified by the Ground team that was given it, the Ship it self and ourselves…it is real Sir.”

The Prime Minster sighed “the implications of this…are massive.”

A Yeoman ran in saluting “sirs…The Watson has just been bombed by a council Intel officer.”

The Prime Minster took a deep Breath “Cover up?”

The General nods “seems likely Sir.”

The Prime Minster nodded “Bill…”

The General sighs “you know what you need to do sir.”

The Prime Minster sighs “Get me our ambassador to the Council, Bill Get our people out of there.”

The General asked “full with draw?”

The prime Minster sighs “bill we might be about to fight a war with the Council.”

The General nodded “yes sir.”

 Watson: Captain Hernández walked down the Corridor saying “Confirm orders?”

The Officer walking to her says “we are to withdraw from Council space and detain all Aliens until no more Sabotage can be confirmed.”

Francis cut in “Ma’am Specialist T’Mai and Kvella are already in the brig and Churchill is making a sweep now, but for the record I don’t see them trying to hurt us.”

Hailey nodded “Agreed, hold them there for now through…we don’t want any angry humans making mistakes.”

Francis nodded “The council officer was killed in the blast The Lt…Lieutenant Ericson is currently in Surgery.”

Hailey stopped touching his shoulder “I’m worried about Will as well but Depoint is with him.” Her face went serious as he spoke again on the record “Sargent you are currently the ranking Orbital Assault Core officer onboard this ship correct.”

Francis nodded “that is correct ma’am.”

Hailey nodded “I want you leading those sweeps not missing anything.”

Francis sighed “yes ma’am” as he went towards engineering as she kept walking saying “Commander how is our propulsion?”

 The Galactic Council Floor:

The tension in the room was palpable as the Ambassador entered flanked on all sides by a detail of Orbital Assault core in full power armor, The ambassador Adjusted her suit as she stood in the middle of the room, A Kalber spoke “you have called this meeting Ambassador.”

The human took a deep breath before she held out a tablet causing the evidence of the council misdeeds to appear in holographic form in the massive room she spoke saying “this Evidence was presented to us at 1600 hours earth time. It has been verified and it shows clear intent to harm humans and use us for this council own ends. As Such Effective as of now The Strategically Integrated Collation of nations hereby withdraws from the Galactic Council , and all Person’s or things considered Assets of this government will be ejected from any position of Military or governmental power within SICON, including Intelligence officers, Exchange program Soldiers, Council sponsored News reporters among others, these Person’s will be returned unharmed to Council space, any attempt to harm any human will be met with extreme force…the joint chiefs of staff suggest that you do not test our resolve on this point…Good day.”  

And without another word the Ambassador left the building where a ship was waiting to take her back to earth.

 Watson Infirmary:

Futuba sighed “so that’s the word LT.”

Ericson Lay in his hospital bed Churchill in his lap as he saying “at least we did not declare war.”

Depoint adjusted the IV bag saying “Parliament did not approve that course of action.”

Will smiled “that’s always good.”

T’Mai and Kvella were escorted inside and armed guards looked they were going to say But Ericson said “you can leave”

The guard said “sir…”

Ericson sighed “That’s an order.”

The guards nodded “yes sir.”

Kvella said “LT…”

Ericson smiled at them saying “None of that, neither of you had anything to do with this mess your good people and it was a pleasure serving with you both.”

Francis stopped playing with his Paddle ball “so what now for you both?”

T’Mai sighed “I’m resigning my commission first chance I get…it can’t stay not after what I learned, maybe get a job on Kalbus somewhere.”

Kvella shrugged with her tentacles “they will chew me out, I’m going to quit…maybe go independent…the Council controls to much of the News service anyway.”

Depoint said “LT you need to get some sleep.”

Will sighed “right…hey listen if I cant be there for when you guys go back…I just wanna say…”

T’Mai smiled “I know sir, but honestly I should be thanking you. You saved my life and showed me something worth fighting for.”

Kvella took the LT hand saying “you won’t get out of being interviewed by me that easily Will.”

Will felt himself falling back to sleep saying with a chuckle “the hitchhiker and the Tourist…just be careful out there not everyone is as nice we are.”

T’Mai chuckled “you got it Boss.”

Kvella squeezed Wills hand Gently as Hailey entered the door, the humans snapped to attention but Hailey waved her hand “I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

T’Mai shook his head “no Ma’am just saying our goodbyes to the LT.”

Hailey nodded “for what it’s worth I  was very impressed with everything you guys did this last year.”

The guards reentered saying “you are going to have to come with us again.”

 Fleet station nine:

Kvella and T’Mai approached the shuttle to see Dagger waiting for them.  Francis stepped forward saying “T’Mai…Listen about what I said this past year…”

T’Mai stopped him “were good Sarge.”

Francis smiled handing him the Paddleball saying “something to remember our time among the death worlders.”

T’Mai gave Francis a slight hug as He turned to Kvella “hey look at it this way, no more being ordered not to fly your drone around.”

Kvella hugged him briefly with her tentacles, before the Irish man whiped away some tears saying with a smile “look I got to go file some paperwork cause the LT is laid out stay out of trouble huh?”

T’Mai shook his head “your one to talk.”

Francis walked way chuckling. T’Mai turned around to see a barely holding back Tears Futuba who says with a small voice “you will call right…”

T’Mai nods to Futuba saying “whenever I can.”

The girl lunches herself at him saying “I’m going to miss you!”

T’Mai adds “And I you.”

Futuba still hugging T’Mai says “Don’t just stand there Kvella Get in on this.”

The Squad like alien Adds her tentacle’s to the large mass Futuba said again “I’m really going to miss you guys!”

Kvella flexed one of her tentacle’s saying “it is not over yet, I have a feeling we will meet each other again.”

Futuba nods “I hope you are right.”

Futuba reluctantly Lets the two go allowing them to advance closer to their shuttle. Depoint says with a smile “Well looks like this is it.”

T’Mai nods “so it seems.”

Depoint reaches out shaking their paws/tentacle “Thanks for not getting hurt too often.” She finished with a chuckle

T’Mai returned “you already had the LT we figured you had that quota filled.”

Kvella flexed her tentacle “thank you, for what you told us on earth…for helping me to look at the stars not us as a simple place that exists but a roadmap of possibilities.”

Depoint shook her head “Happy to do it…even if you don’t have long to enjoy it.”

Abebe said awkwardly “I didn’t know you guys that long but still I’m sorry you lost your place here with us.”

T’Mai smiled roughly “it is alright, as you humans say all good things must come to an end.”

The two looked back at Fleet Station nine for a minute shuttle which wasted no time taking off and jumping into hyperspace.

 Kalbus:

T’Mai wondered the streets of his home world most people didn’t look at him with anything more than whispers about him being among the humans, the word traitor was thrown around but T’Mai didn’t care. Just an hour earlier he had turned down the promotion they tried to give him and resigned his commission in front of the whole admiralty, he felt good laying out his displeasure with everything they have done before leaving without anther word. T’Mai looked up at the Night sky of Kalbus seeing the Gas giant his world is a moon of he sighed as he saw how close the stars were.

[roguepaladin]

Silver Light

ShallurAngst Week 2019: Prompt 1: Dusk/Twilight

What was meant to be a drabble got lengthy, so much more under the cut. 

In the darkness of outer space, I try to remember the feeling of a Sunrise. Searching for a faint glow below the horizon, but this still night never ends. I found something that came close to that feeling. Silver Light framing deep coloured features, but it doesn’t shine for me. It’s a light on the horizon of a planet I don’t inhabit.

Shiro opened his eyes, to find himself pressed against the large glass windows on the castle ship bridge. It was dark, with only stripes of cyan lights that seemed to line the castle walls like bright blue veins.

He must have dozed off, a rare but not unwelcome occurrence. Okay, his stiff neck was a bit unwelcomed. The sensation pulled him out of his slumber. He was dreaming, but he couldn’t remember what it was about. Dreams always seem to do that, one minute you’re being consumed in thoughts and then your mind is completely blank, the next.

As his vision focused, he looked back out the windows. The ship was still docked in the orbit of a small moon. Close enough to see the texture, craters and ancient dried up riverbeds. Like every bit of moisture fell through the cracks.

A Soft exhale filled the air and it was then he became aware he wasn’t alone. The presence behind him, shifted in their own similar seated position. Jumping to his feet and with fists clenched, he turned to see a small figure curled up against the adjoined window.

‘It’s only me Shiro’ came the steady voice of his companion.

Allura’s small frame turned to face him.

‘I was going to move you, but you looked…really peaceful’

She gave him a small smile at the end of the last word, her eyes somehow still glowing in the darkened bridge.

Shiro unclenched his fist, feeling a bit embarrassed at his instinct and stepped back from the windows. Allura seeing his retreat, rose to her feet.

‘I’m sorry, I should have known better’

‘No-No...’ He cut her off, but stopped moved.

They stood fixed until Allura’s voiced picked up in the silence

‘Usually, I find you in your chair, so I was surprised to find you here, looking quite comfortable’ ‘Surprise, surprise, I’m more at ease sleeping on the floor’

This made them both laugh in way that seemed to dissolve the previous tension.

They took their seats against the windows again. This time side by side. They didn’t speak, both staring down at the moon. Enjoying a view, they only had for a few more vargas before they set off on the next stage of the galaxy saving agenda. Eventually, Shiro felt her eyes on him, no longer invested in the view as he was.

‘Something on your mind, princess?’

A small ‘eep!’ sounded over his shoulder. He turned to see her looking back out the window but clearly holding her knees closer to her face in humiliation. As he watched her, he noticed how her long silver hair framed her small face, and down her back like a protective cape. An image he felt he saw recently.

Where?

Allura turned him, with a look that said she was ready to answer his question.

‘You looked peaceful again, but there’s not so much to look at out here, I can’t possibly believe this grey rock is really that interesting?’

Shiro laughed, ‘That’s true, there isn’t much, I’m mostly staring at the horizon’

‘…and that’s more interesting, how?’

Why was it interesting, he didn’t know, but he felt like he had to look at it, waiting for something to happen. What would happen? In this dark space, of distance stars and floating debris. What could change? What could-

‘I’m looking for the light on the horizon’

‘The light?’

‘You, know, from the sunrise. I haven’t seen one in a long time, I found myself missing it’

Allura turned and seemed to consider what Shiro had just said as she stared out at the moon.

‘Do you want to see one now?’

‘What?’

Suddenly Shiro became blinded by light, and for a moment thought Allura had conjured up a sunrise, before his eyes adjusted and saw the holographic panel she made instead. She swiped through quickly as if doing a quick calculation.

‘Perfect!’ she said finally and getting up from her seat, she put out a hand to him, ‘let’s go see one’

Geared in their space suits, Allura led him to a part of the castle that kept the handheld cruisers and after a quick instruction, they both shot out the docking and down to the surface of the moon.  Allura landed gracefully, with a movement Shiro suspected was learned from many a similar escapade. His landing was a little rough, something his years of bike riding didn’t seemed to help with.

Once on the surface they climbed up a ridge which according to Allura’s map, was the perfect lookout point for this ‘sunrise’. They settled on the edge as if they were back on the castle and waited.

‘Allura, how long is this going to take, we have to be leaving in few- ‘

‘SSH! - soon, I promise’ She looked very determined, confident her plan was going to work. Shiro found himself now being the one to stare, her distance gaze not noticing. This moment felt, strange but also familiar. There was nothing more natural than to be sat here with Allura, but it felt new all the same. She was only close to him physically; this could be nothing else.

Suddenly his gaze was locked with hers as she turned to him, her blue eyes quizzing him.

‘Shiro? What’s wrong?’

He froze as her expression was not like before, it looked pained. What expression did he have to make hers that way? Allura’s mouth moved to say something but he didn’t hear as a yellow light drowned out her face from inside her helmet, and he seemed to go deaf to the world. He only saw that faint light, the same light he knew only from a dream, take the place of her face. He stared transfixed as the sun seemed to rise right on her visor. The light bent and twisted, it was no longer yellow, it was red and a little blue. He felt himself experiencing a new kind of sunrise. It excited him and his chest beat wildly. It wasn’t what he expected to see, it was better. Allura moved closer to him, the outline of her face resurfacing under her helmet, her silver hair framing the light in the centre. He must have been dreaming again, there was no way this was real. Moments like this was never meant for him, to feel so at peace with a person he could trust again. He felt a touch against his shoulders. A touch that couldn’t happen in a dream. He blinked, and the mystic curtain raised to reveal Allura shaking him.

‘Shiro! Shiro!’

‘Allura?’

‘Oh my gosh, Shiro, you scared me, you just fainted!’

He fainted?

‘Oh sorry, I guess I’m more tired that I noticed’

‘Tired!? You dropped like a rock, perhaps this atmosphere is not suitable for humans, my biology naturally adapts unlike yours’

He then felt himself hoisted up by Allura, his arm slung over her shoulder and with a motion of practiced ease as they paced side by side back to the cruisers. With his cruiser set to auto pilot they made their way back to the castle, albeit slower as Allura held onto his other hand.

‘I think we should check your vitals just be sure’ she half suggested, half ordered once they were docked back on the castle. They made their way to the infirmary, where she performed the check.

‘Nothing seems to be wrong, ...how strange’

‘Did I really faint?’

‘Yes! …well somewhat, you were about to fall over when I caught you and your eyes were open, but you didn’t respond at all’

He didn’t black out? then did he really see what he thought he saw? The light that burned on her face and in his chest. Was it real after all? He looked up at Allura, she looked at him, worry etched into her features.

‘Did I scare you?’ he began.

‘A bit, yes’

‘I’m sorry’

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘You tried to do something nice for me, and I made you feel bad’

‘Don’t be silly, I should have checked the atmosphere more carefully, it was reckless judgement on my part to go there in the first place’

‘No, it wasn’t, we just got a little excited, it’s not your fault’

‘Well it’s wasn’t yours either, so don’t apologise’

A silence came over the infirmary as they ran out of reaffirmations to tell each other, but it was a pleasant silence. Shiro could see a small smile playing on her face as she looked over his vitals for the last time. He noticed her hair again, and it seemed to glow under the light.

Silver Light framing deep coloured features.

A realisation that seemed to reboot his memory and his dream from earlier began to replay. It was a dream about a sunrise, but he was on earth, laying in bed as the soft light came through the half-drawn blinds. He turned as the person laying next to him leaned over to him. Allura’s face and body came into his vision, her long silver hair rolling down like running water. Her form glowing in the growing light. She touched his face as if trying to memorise it, before she got off the bed and quietly left the room.

‘I was going to move you, but you looked…really peaceful’

‘Shiro?’

Broken out of his dream again, he was once again in the infirmary, Allura standing closer to him now.

‘Are you sure, you’re okay?’

He could see her growing worry, but he had to think about how well to phrase his troubled thoughts.

‘Allura…’

‘Yes?’

‘How often do you move me?’

A slight confusion replaced her worried expression, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Earlier on the bridge, you said you were going to move me. Move me where?’

Now her expression to turned to understanding and she seemed to draw back in the same humiliation from when he caught her staring.

‘…Some nights, you’re usually up all night, but whenever you do fall asleep, I-…I bring you back to your room’

She looked up him sheepishly, ‘…I thought you didn’t notice’

He didn’t but he never thought that maybe his dreams were never all dreams. That the faint glow of a remembered sunrise was just refracted light from her alien features. She was the night sky itself personified.

Allura watched as Shiro’s face clouded over in an internal debate. Feeling herself perhaps once again to have inconvenienced him.

‘Does that…make you uncomfortable?’

‘No’ He replied quickly.

Quite the opposite, but how was he going to tell her that he fell in love with her act of kindness. He looked at her and she looked at him. The only sound, a low hum from the castle walls as their lips were tied with words that shouldn’t pass their lips.

They knew that soon the rest of the castle inhabitants would start waking up and the bustle of their duties would soon make this moment a distant memory. Now knowing the truth about his dreams and her actions been discovered, it couldn’t be continued without emotional detachment. Allura was the first draw back, and he watched her leave room, the same way she did in many a twilight dusted dream.

[moonsandstar-s]

for the first time.

[a post-battle heart-to-heart between the shadow that stopped running from the light and the sun that stopped being afraid to shine in the dark.]   "It's over," Yang says, the words delivered like a promise. "You and me, we made it out."             Blake's stuck on the gorgeous view outside the airship's window, words blooming and dying just as quick in her mouth. Somewhere outside of her chest, her heart beats a half-remembered song, flying fathoms above the white-capped ocean, suspended miles below the moon, learning what it's like to be winged again.            "This is what freedom feels like," she tells Yang, believing, for the first time, that it's true. 

read on the archive / other works [for the first time by the script leaves my heart half-broken and half-healed each time i listen to it. & many blessings to the devil/angel erin @twelveclara​ who is. the. best. editor. in. the. universe.]

Seven years since that story began. Two years, three months, seven days since it swerved off-course. A train uncoupling and sending the world flying away with it. Two years and six days. A candelabra extinguishes in the dark; she’s never known how to read the language of her life. Now she watches the treeline by the ocean skip past the fogged-up airship window and tries to breathe without fear hissing down her neck for the first time since she was twelve years old.     Blake’s cross-legged on the floor in the cargo-hold of the airship, freezing her ass off because her coat is history. Her heels lie abandoned off to the side, feet sore and aching from the heat of the battle. It’s just her and the grumble of the engine and too much to be remembered. Sometimes, it’s really nice to ditch the brave-face. In the weak winter light that filters through the vents, she can’t stop staring at her hands, stained with the color of a sword that must be halfway to the ocean right now, slowly drying to rust on her shaking fingers. She scrubbed off most of the the blood an hour ago, the cleansing waterfall mist beading like crystals on her knuckles, but minuscule reminders are still trapped beneath her nails, embedded in her skin. She sits and aches and agonizes like a blocked-up dam. Feeling untethered. Gravity suspended. Every blink sends her vision reeling back like a video that can’t properly load, spurts and flashes of a winter sky, perfect and blue as a mirror, Wilt curling through the air, the icy mist flurrying from the thunder of the falls, Yang’s eyes like the dangerous dawn sky before a storm, Adam’s; like oceans, like ice. So much red and so much blue and nothing between. She is drowning in the fire, her battered body remembering it all, her cheekbone still sore, her abdomen whispering of today and a ghostly night months and months ago. She’s not reliving it anymore, but she still remembers. And it’s the memories that hurt more than the leftover wounds. She’s in her body still when the past comes knocking on her door, but it’s like a spectator sport, almost, a shadow-clone that can take the blame, a shadow of herself, picking up that broken blade as Adam lunges, because it’s not her that lunges for Gambol Shroud. It’s not her that kills Adam. But it is. Every time. She’s the catalyst; she’s the broken balance. Her hands slipping against the too-hot blood that slicks the weapon’s hilt. Her body electric with the memory of the metal grinding up against his ribcage; her shaking fist bumping up against his broken chest. Adam, staggering, stopping, falling out of sight: she kills him, every time. No other choice to make. And no choice but to watch the summary of a whole life vanish in between one heartbeat and the next.

These memories are hers and this will take some days, she thinks, undoing him from her world. She’s never known a life without Adam, never known a heart that doesn’t jackhammer out of her chest when he’s close, but she’s coming to understand this life. Coming to learn how to paint new colors over the stain of his soul on her skin, lilacs and golds and whites. Trying to remember how an artist creates instead of destroys.

“Blake,” says a voice from the doorway. Blake looks up and sees the sun. “Oh,” she says. “Hey.” 

“You’re shivering. Are you cold?” Blake presses her knuckles against the ridge of her brow. “Yeah. My coat’s probably blown halfway across Argus by now,” she says ruefully. “Maybe Cordovin will use it as white flag to plead for Ironwood’s mercy, do you think?” “When hell freezes over,” Yang says sincerely, still hovering on the threshold. In her hands she’s clutching a blanket, fingers knotting nonsensical patterns in the corners. “Can I come in?” 

Blake inclines her head. “Please.” Yang’s steps are light, but there’s a gravity there that’s not familiar, each movement measured, exact. She pauses in front of Blake only to offer her the blanket, which she gratefully accepts, before circling around to her side and sitting close enough that Blake can smell the faintest scent of old smoke, close enough to see the faintest shadow of a bruise threatening her cheek. Yang hooks Blake in closer with her arm, the weight a warmth over her shivering shoulders, and Blake welcomes the respite she provides from the cold. “Bad news about this whole Ironwood-swooping-in-to-save-the-day ordeal,” Yang says suddenly, “is that he’s bound to notice I’ve banged up his gift to me.” She laughs, a low sound like the purr of the engine, as she walks the metal tips of her fingers across Blake’s wrist. “Charity has its limits, especially for boneheaded military commanders. I think he’ll be pissed.”

“Let me see it,” Blake says. Obligingly, Yang rests the prosthetic across Blake’s lap, and she stiffens at the traces of rust-red on the fingers and joints. The past that won’t be washed away just yet. Happiness has a cost and it’s remembrance of what you did to get there. Some shadow stirs behind Yang’s eyes, but all she says is, “I couldn’t get all of it off, either.”

Blake’s fingers explore the ridges of singed metal, goosebumps exploding up and down her forearms. The prosthetic’s side panel is destroyed, steel curling and charred from the heat of Adam’s charge, exposing a fine meshing of wires and chambers on the inside. It’s a tangle of intricate clockwork, each gear blackened but unbroken. The damage is undeniable, but it’s still functioning as well as it ever has. “I’m thinking of installing a new panel,” Yang continues, frowning slightly at the charred gashes. “Battle wounds are overrated, and this just looks cheap. Do you think Atlas shops carry purple spray-paint?” “Purple?” Blake grins. “Why not yellow again?” “Complimentary,” Yang retorts. “You look good on me, you know.” She runs a considering finger down Blake’s arm, brow knitted. “Maybe we should get you something gold once we get there. A new coat, maybe, to keep you warm.”    “You keep me warm enough without having to waste lien on some ornate Atlas frippery.” Blake pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and curls closer towards Yang. “If a space heater and the sun had a kid, you’d be that kid.” Yang returns the smile before it sloughs away, a solemn lilt entering her voice. “The others were asking about you, earlier. Wondering where you were. They asked what happened up at the comms tower that kept you from responding to Jaune’s signal.”

Blake wonders if one day she’ll be able to take the mention of it without seizing up, but today it’s fresh, closer than her own skin, suffocating her. “What did you say?”

Yang breathes out, golden strands of hair fluttering in the slipstream, and despite her misgivings Blake’s still caught up in fascination at the sight of her, of all these little details; a precious thing lost and found and then almost destroyed again. They’re not whole, but they’re getting there. “I didn’t have to. Weiss told Jaune to bug off, Ruby jumped in to stop them fighting, and I took the chance to come and find you.” Yang shifts, pulls Blake a little closer against her side. “It’s crazy, after everything, and that huge fight with the mech, they’re all happy that we’re all okay and celebrating together because we’re finally on the way to Atlas - after everything we went through - I just can’t get into celebrating. I just wanted to be with you.” Blake feels like a storm run out of rain, charged and boiling with nothing left to give. The clouds won’t subside and there’s no lightning left to strike. Just the wet pavement and the heavy, heavy sky. Yang makes a small noise of alarm and Blake realizes she’s digging her fingers into her arm hard enough to draw blood, her knuckles bloodless-white. Gently, Yang reaches over and squeezes Blake’s vice-like grip until it slackens, delicate as a bird broken on the ground. “Oh, baby,” she says, so softly, her voice aching. “It’s okay. We’re still here. We’re going to be alright.” “He’s gone,” Blake whispers, head falling against her knees. Her eyes burn, but no tears are forthcoming; in that spinning, stretching silence, she’s infinite. She’s run through the uncertainty and fury and sorrow and resignation over and over and now they feel like something tired, an obligatory pain that no longer hurts. But looking out the window at the dull white light reflecting off the snow-choked sea, the gulls crying out as they climb higher into the beautifully empty blue sky, the high whistle of the wind as it runs over the surging waves below them, she finds her heart twisting in her chest with something new. In the center of her soul, some unbreakable cord, stretched tight enough to strangle for seven years, unraveled at the last, and the newfound freedom feels like falling foot-first into the sky.

“I feel empty,” she gets out. “I should feel relieved. I should be happy. I just feel… nothing.” She swallows around the lump in her throat. “I didn’t want any of this. I just wanted… I wanted...” Her voice shatters, and she goes with it.   Yang’s fingers tighten on her shoulder, clinging as desperately as Blake clung to the slick stone on the waterfall bridge. For fighting on. For life itself. “You didn’t want to kill him, Blake. I didn’t want to. He didn’t give us any other choice but to choose the worst option.” She splays her prosthetic hand wide before the two of them, shining in the dim light. “It’s easier for me to believe I was trying to kill him during the whole fight, but I wasn’t, and neither were you, and I can’t lie to myself. Even if he was throwing his best into cutting us down. We just wanted him to give up and leave us alone. I just wanted… I don’t know.” She laughs, a helpless, choked little sound. “I wanted for him not to have happened to you. To us. Or I guess for him to just… realize he couldn’t make you love him again.” For him to realize a heart can find another home, Blake thinks, but Yang’s still going on, her voice more distant than the mountains touching the shallow sky. “I thought… when he lunged at you… when he tried to grab that blade before you did, that I was going to lose you again if I didn’t do what I wasn’t strong enough to do back at Beacon. I knew there was no going back from that split-second, you knew it, and he must have, too. And we ended him so he wouldn’t end us. I just… sometimes you’re defined in a moment by the choices you make in a heartbeat. The choices where you have to be yourself without thinking about it at all. And we chose to survive.” Her eyes burn like an oath in the dusky light. “And that’s okay.” “A choice.” A sob extinguishes itself in Blake’s throat. She’s had an armful of choices, of decisions, of vows, kept close to her chest for her entire life. She should hate that in the moment it mattered most, only one promise was not worth her own death, but worth the death of someone who was once worth every choice in the world. “I never wanted anyone to die. I never...”

Yang stares hard at the flaking blood trapped on their hands, both of their hands. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll feel real, you know? That he’s dead. That we don’t have to be scared anymore. We’ve killed hundreds of Grimm, and I don’t think that’s the hang-up - taking someone else’s life. Killing is just another part of what we do. It’s defense. Against evil and hatred. And we were just acting in defense. But I understand, I do. It’s like you’ve lived in the same room as a ghost for all of your life and you’ve only ever seen the pieces of your life shift around from the influence of this thing that you can’t even see, but you know it’s there, it exists.” Yang shakes her head, frustrated. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that… you can’t feel bad because you chose us, Blake. For choosing yourself. You can’t blame yourself for wanting happiness over wanting forgiveness for someone who never deserved it. ”

“I spent so much time in the shadows because Adam always made me feel like that’s where I belonged,” Blake chokes out. “I don’t know what else to believe now that he’s gone.” Yang traps a lock of Blake’s hair between her thumb and index finger, tucks it behind her ear. She leans in and presses lingering lips between Blake’s brows, her breath slow and stuttering, the kiss a thing gentler than snow against the sea. “I know, Blake,” she whispers. “But the shadows are just shadows. They’re not you.” Blake closes her eyes, giving herself over to the singing rush that dances through her head at Yang’s touch, like sunlight glancing off a stream, dispelling the shadows bearing Adam’s blue eyes. Louder than a shout in the dark. The thing that makes the scars seem smaller. It slept dormant ever since she ran from Beacon all those months ago, but she’s been relearning it day by day. It’s Yang’s presence, Blake thinks, the inexplicable ways she makes tomorrow not seem like such a scary thing. Her resolve and her grin and her fierce devotion. Something about Yang makes her fall in love with summertime all over again. “Thank you,” Blake breathes. Yang pulls back by degrees, still kneeling inches from Blake’s nose. Foreheads almost touching, but not quite. Her calloused hands rest on Blake’s knees, the distance between them so close, much too far. Blake can see new details, freed from the weeping that prevented it before: the dusting of freckles across the bridge of Yang’s nose, the tilt of confusion in her lips, the way the winter ocean reflects gray in her eyes. “For what?” Blake surrenders to the impulse she’s had since the train’s journey to Argus, since since the afternoon falling gold through the windows, since Yang; she brings a hand up to cup her jaw, but Yang doesn’t need the encouragement; she leans in, meeting Blake halfway through, their kiss softer than sunlight. It’s brief; Blake knows this because her heart crashes like thunder in her ears, she tastes salt and smoke and something sweet, and then the crash subsides and they’ve broken apart, foreheads still leaned against one another. Time steps to the sidelines and leaves only this: the purr of the engine, the distant song of the ocean, two mismatched heartbeats finding solace in the stillness, after everything. “For loving me,” Blake says. Yang’s eyes blaze and she closes the distance between their lips again, her kiss hungry now, seeking, hands sliding up from Blake’s knees and drawing her in, close, closer. Her thumb, patterning out slow circles, finds the ridged rise of the scar and stays there, the contact sending lightning strikes down Blake’s spine. Where Adam’s touch brought fire, fury, Yang’s brings warmth - just warmth. Just safety. Her touch says home. 

“Don’t thank me like it’s some big thing,” she murmurs against her lips. “Way too much credit. Loving you comes easy.” Blake leans back a little, runs a finger down the side of Yang’s face, lost in what she sees there; the hectic flush on her cheeks, the glisten of her lips. Now that she’s kissed Yang already, the impulse hasn’t died down; if anything, it’s stronger than it ever was. She just wants to breathe her in and never stop. “You make me start to believe in that again.” Yang breaks away, sitting back on her knees. She reaches out to wind a loop of Blake’s hair around her thumb, nibbling her lip. “Okay, I’ll be honest with you here.” She lets the curl spring free, a nervous grin flitting across her face. “I know I wing, like, everything, but I don’t wanna wing this. I want it to be, like…. I want great. I want us to be great. I just… is there a way to do this proper, or do I just…” She gestures expansively, suddenly pensive. “Ask you flat-out?”

Blake leans in and plants a swift kiss on her lips, searing like flame. It’s addictive already. Brew happiness and bottle it; that’s kissing Yang. “That depends,” she says, mock-sweetly, folding her hands atop her knees. “What is it that you want to ask me?” Yang socks her in the leg, laughing loud. “Blake Belladonna.” Blake mimics her irritation by folding her arms. “Yang Xiao Long.” Her laugh subsides into a lopsided, flush-cheeked grin, lighting her expression from the inside-out. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, I’ll tell you.” She clears her throat and leans forward, the intensity in her eyes taking Blake aback. “I’ll tell you that you’re my better half. That you make me happy. You make the moon shine twice as bright in a night sky. When you’re in the room with me, you’re who I wanna be around. When you leave it, I miss you. I wonder when you’re coming back and if it can be sooner than it already is, because when you’re with me I’m at home. In a fight, there’s no one else I trust more at my back. You’re who I want to talk to, who I want to share my secrets with, who I want to make smile. When you’re here, the sun shines. When you’re gone, everything is grey.” Yang’s smile has died down under the weight of her words, but it’s still there, flickering in her face, at the edges of her lips. But it’s earnestness, more than anything, knitting her brows and shining in her eyes. “I’m tired of only you and then just me. I think we work better as an us.” She catches Blake’s hand, hugs it between her own, warm skin and cold metal, and brings it close to her chest. “What do you think?” “Girlfriend,” Blake says, unable to force back the smile threatening to spread over her face, “the word you’re looking for is girlfriend, Yang.” “Ass. You could’ve just said yes or no.” Yang brings Blake’s hand to her mouth, her breath ghosting against her knuckles as she huffs out a laugh. “I was trying to do some profound speech, to be all - poetic and poignant and shit, like you, and you’ve gone and made it seem all - ”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It was a beautiful speech. I loved it.” Blake’s laughing and she wishes she could bottle up the feeling flooding through her veins at that moment; it’s the antonym of Adam, the antonym of every thought that’s anchored her to the belief that she’ll never discover light again. Maybe love, maybe joy. Maybe a combination. It’s a glow with Yang’s name written all over it. “Okay, here’s what I think: I think that the best thing fate ever did for me was pushing you to come talk to me in the ballroom two years ago,” she says. “I think the best thing I ever did for myself was choose you. And I think - ”

She’s interrupted by Yang leaning in and kissing her, smolderingly, achingly slow, but it’s hardly an interruption she protests. Anyways, it’s a spectacular exercise in self-control, Blake thinks, breaking away from it to manage on a choppy, breathless breath, “Yes.”

“Huh?” Yang wrinkles her nose in an adorable confusion and Blake can’t resist the swelling of her heart.

“Yes,” she repeats. “I’ll be your girlfriend.” “Oh,” Yang says, and then the smile that bursts across her face has nothing on the weak winter sun struggling through the clouds. “Come on, don’t sound so smug. Like you were ever gonna dream of saying no to all of this in a million years - ”

“I don’t regard myself as being incredibly stupid, so, no,” Blake admits. “But don’t get too cocky with yourself. We’ve still got a long way to go with each other.”

“Noted,” Yang says, and then: “Just think how disappointed Ilia and Sun are gonna be when you see them again, though!” “Why?” “You’ve been on the make-it-to-Atlas-or-bust mission for only six days,” she exclaims, “and you’re already hitched.” “We’re not married, Yang.” “Maybe not,” Yang announces, “but I’ve got plans, great plans.” She leans in, her prosthetic stroking across Blake’s stomach, erasing the pain of the scars, the nights of lonely uncertainty, promising something new, light, together. “And we’re gonna be together in every single one of them. That’s a promise.” “A promise,” Blake whispers, daring to believe it, surprised to find that the belief comes easy. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” She leans in, then, presses a kiss to Yang’s temple, her lips lingering close to the warmth. Yang’s hand tightens wordlessly on her own. The silence fallen between them is close, but it’s comforting, like a friend long-lost and then returned in the aftermath of chaos. Blake thinks it might be restoration. The thing that makes fault lines shift back together again. Outside the airship window, the sun finally breaches the gray bank of clouds, shining against the sea like a beacon.

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 25)

Jaig Eyes (25/?)

***THIS CHAPTER RATED M FOR MENTIONS OF PAST RAPE***

Always can read here.

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Chapter Twenty-Five: Threat on the Coronet

I remembered everything about the day Death Watch had attacked the transport. The rattling of the ship beneath my boots--sand so far imbedded into them, I’d long since given up trying to get it out. The deep booms that echoed down the halls as the attacking ship pried open our access hatches. 

Screams tore through the air when we lost pressure, creatures and droids being sucked out into space. I’d been lucky enough to be within a part of the ship that had safety latches close. I grabbed a young Rodian boy--a slave, like myself-- and pulled him into a supply closet. Jabba’s minions were swarming around, trying to defend against the force that had already crippled our engines.

It was a surprise attack. I’d been on the bridge with the trip’s leader--a surly Weequay with a bad attitude--translating between him and our Bothan contact. The proximity alarms were high-pitched and deafening. By the time they went off, though, it was already too late. The transport shit Jabba had provided for us was far from battle-ready, preferring swift movement and stealth over cannons and shields. 

We were doomed from the start.

The young Rodian boy clutched at my waist as we cowered in the supply closet together. I wasn’t sure what to do. Jabba had tracers on all his ships, but would that be enough? If the beacon died, his search party may not find us. Or perhaps, despite how much he claimed to value me, maybe the resources needed for my rescue weren’t profitable. I considered staying hidden, hoping that we wouldn’t be found. But what if the ship was destroyed? Maybe death was better than whatever tortures the attackers had planned.

Looking back, maybe it would have been.

Warriors dressed in the dark Death Watch armor hadn’t given me any ability to choose my fate, ripping open the closet door and dragging us both out. The Rodian boy was beaten for wailing, having not yet learned to take the punishments without opening his mouth. He was young, used for grunt work in the kitchens in Jabba’s palace. Jabba had sent him along to try and get him more accustomed to the life of a slave.

For his sake, I hoped he learned fast.

A man appeared where we were all held in the hallway, strewn with the sparking remains of the defensive droids. There were some bodies, too, but I chose not to look at them. Chose not to feel. What were slavers’ lives to me? Still, I knew if I looked, I’d either betray myself with tears, or tremble in fear.

I prefered to do neither.

The man that entered the hall, peering at us all through his dark visor, was certainly in charge of the militant group. They spoke in a harsh tongue to each other, my language-keen ears recognizing some of the sounds. I’d rarely ever heard it, since the man I’d heard it from rarely ever spoke. There was a man in armor that nearly resembled those of the warriors before me. Jango Fett. He was a renowned bounty hunter, often running jobs for Jabba, who respected him greatly. He usually spoke the common tongue, and when he did, it was brief and to the point. 

But once, while scuttling about in the darkness of the back halls, I’d rushed around a corner and slammed into the hard panelling of his knee braces. Slapping backwards, he almost looked like he was about to reach for me and help me up. He stopped himself. Whether it was out of a sense of superiority or the knowledge that Jabba allowed no one to touch me, I couldn’t say. Nor did I really care. His emotionless mask, strong posture, and spotless track record of bringing in bloodied bounties made me wary of him.

He mumbled something to the open air, his voice modulated through his helmet, but it certainly wasn’t common. I didn’t know what he said for years, later piecing it together to be something along the lines of “damned kids running around everywhere” and “watch where you’re going.”

At the time, though, I couldn’t understand an ounce of Mando’a. But I’d pick it up quickly after being dragged aboard the Mandalorians’ ship, the group dividing those of us that remained.

“You,” a male voice said, the figure approaching and gripping my chin harshly in his hand. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” I answered immediately, mentally slapping myself. I wished I wasn’t fed well at Jabba’s for a moment. Wished I looked like I did when I was a street urchin, or even back when I was with the Zygerrians. I was waif-like. Small. I could pass off as younger then.

The warrior hummed within his mask. “Tell me, girl,” he chuckled. “Have you bled yet?”

Thinking clearer now, I feigned confused innocence at his question. We all did. None of us aboard Jabba’s transport were pleasure slaves, apart from the three that were being delivered to our Bothan contact. But we would be, we all came to realize in that single moment. 

“They’ll make do,” the leader sighed as he walked by, shoving my head down as he walked by. He went on to sort us between slaves they’d keep for their own means, whether it was pleasure, labor, or sadistic means. The rest were to be turned around and sold to fund their cause...whatever that was at the time.

The moon they brought us to was chilly and rocky, but also blossoming with newfound life. Their camp was made of tents and unused ships. I wanted to escape on one for some time. But for the first time in my life, it didn’t take long for me to break.

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

“Don’t I know you?”

His voice was like ice sliding under my skin, my hair rising on the back of my neck. I didn’t respond, trying to keep my focus on saving the duchess, Merrik, however, saw me clench, smiling deviously.

“You do, actually,” he said with a smirk, glancing at Vizsla’s hologram. “This girl is Kida Fett. She claims to have been enslaved at your camp once, years ago.”

“Fett?” Vizsla seemed surprised, his helmet tilting to look at me closer. “I wasn’t aware that he had a daughter. If he did, I didn’t have her here.”

No one responded, Merrik chuckling darkly. “She seems to know you very well,” he implied, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I did my best not to tremble as Satine struggled. “Stop it,” she pleaded with as much fierceness as she could muster. “You monster!”

Vizsla hummed from his hologram as I silently willed Obi-wan to move his ass faster and get here. “You’re not a legitimate child, are you?” I didn’t answer, of course, still staring down Merrik. “No,” he surmised, chuckling as it likely started to click for him. “You were that girl he took as payment from us, weren’t you?” He snapped his fingers, remembering now. “The translator from the Hutt’s ship. Or should I say,” he laughed now, my eyes averting from Satine’s pitiful gaze. “Pleasure slave.”

“If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, it won’t work,” I warned, forcing myself to look back at Merrik and steady my shaking hands. 

“No,” Vizsla teased, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “I know how to get a rise out of you, don’t I?” he implied, my stomach twisting. “Do you remember?”

“Let her go, Merrik,” I said, still ignoring the hologram. “Before I lose my patience and shoot you.”

“A bounty hunter, now?” Vizsla continued. “Look how far you’ve come. Though, unfortunate end for your father, no?” His hologram turned to follow me as I moved opposite of Merrik’s walk across the bridge. “I do recognize you now,” he admitted, his helmet tilting. “I recognize the mark I left.” He dragged his gloved finger down the side of his helmet, mirroring my scar that marked my cheekbone. “You’ve certainly grown,” he mocked, still trying to get me to lose focus and let Merrik go. “I’d like to see you again. Maybe I’ll ask Merrik to bring you with the duchess. I miss those nights where you’d be so silent. Such a good slave. Until I pushed you so far that you’d fight back. Your fire. How you would-”

I shot the hologram console with one of my pistols, anger boiling in me enough that I was shaking. “Last chance,” I growled as Vizsla’s image faded. Something inside me told me that if I released all the anger bubbling inside me, I could shake the room. Maybe even shatter the windows.

I kept it inside me. For now.

The door hissed open behind me, the sound of a lightsaber igniting as Obi-wan entered.

“Come in, Kenobi,” Merrik said with a smirk, officially ignoring me. “You’re expected.” Satine started in her struggling again, her face a mixture of fear, determination, and sadness as what she’d heard Vizsla say. I didn’t want her pity. I’d dealt with everything I’d been through under Death Watch.

At least, I thought I had.

“Tal Merrik,” Obi-wan said smoothly, unknowing about what had happened in the room. “You are under arrest. Release the duchess.”

“You know,” Merrik mocked. “Your little bounty hunter didn’t even offer arrest. She just wanted to shoot me.”

Despite Obi-wan’s look, I growled, still fighting my unbridled anger. “For good reason.”

“I took the precaution of wiring the ship’s engines to explode,” the traitorous senator explained, drawing a trigger mechanism from beneath his cloak. “I press this remote, and we all die.”

“Obi,” Satine spoke now. “If you have any respect for me, you will not take such risks with so many people’s lives at stake.”

Merrik smirked, but I only rolled my eyes. What kind of request was that? Obviously we were going to save everyone. Even if that meant I had to shoot through her.

Of course, Obi-wan may not have felt the same way.

“Satine,” he breathed, his brow furrowing as Merrik forced Satine to move towards the door. “Don’t.”

We followed the senator and his hostage through the halls, our weapons at the ready for whenever he would take a wrong step. “I suppose we can safely say that the Death Watch is backed by the Separatists now,” I mused, hearing the sounds of battle coming from somewhere on the ship.

“Our influence is more widespread than ever,” Merrik stated smugly. “Everything has already begun. It’s too late.”

“You’re going to be sadly mistaken,” Obi-wan rebutted. Despite his confident words, I could feel the anxiety rippling off of him. Similarly, he could feel my festering anger...and how badly I wanted to shoot something. “What happened?” he muttered, knowing that I was feeling him prod at my mental wall.

“Later,” I responded curtly, rounding the corner after them.

“This is Merrik,” the senator said into his wrist comm, backing towards a Seperatist boarding ship that had crashed into the side of the hallway. “Standby to disengage.” He smirked between Obi-wan and Satine. “Say farewell, Duchess.”

“Obi-wan,” Satine said breathlessly, my eyebrows raising as a wave of desperate sincerity rose from her. “It looks like I may never see you again. I don’t quite know how to say this, but...I’ve loved you from the moment you came to my aid, all those years ago.”

Merrik and I shared the same expression of shock, perhaps mixed with a mildly amused exasperation. “I don’t believe this,” the senator said with a roll of his eyes.

“Satine.” Obi-wan was flustered. Shocked. “This is hardly the time or place for-” his voice cut off under her earnest gaze. “Alright,” he sighed, catching me by surprise as sadness rippled from him in the force. “Had you said the word, I would’ve left the Jedi Order.”

“That is touching,” Merrik mocked. “Truly it is. But it’s making me sick, and we really must be going.”

Satine scoffed. “You have the romantic soul of a slug, Merrik!” Finally, she did something, slamming her heel onto his toe and twisting away, grabbing his blaster as she did. “And slugs are so often trod upon.”

I lifted my brows at her. I liked her ferocity, but I admitted that it took her long enough to do something. I wondered for a moment if her confession was a plan to rattle Merrik enough for her escape. Maybe it was, but it didn’t change the fact that her words had been genuine.

As had Kenobi’s…

“Interesting turnabout,” Merrik chuckled, looking at all the weapons trained on him. “But even if I do not deliver the duchess alive to the Separatists, I still win. The second I’m away, I’ll hit the remote and blow the Coronet to bits!”

“I will not allow that!” Despite the surety in her words, Satine couldn’t keep her hands from shaking around the blaster.

“What will you do?” Merrik teased. “If you shoot me, you prove yourself a hypocrite to every pacifist ideal you hold dear. And you, Kenobi,” he said, looking between the jedi and I. “You and your lacky are no strangers to violence. Either of you would be hailed as a hero by everyone on this ship.” His eyes cut to Satine. “Almost everyone.” The senator chuckled, Obi-wan raising his hand to lower my blasters gently.

“What are you doing?” I whispered harshly. I knew it was because he valued what Satine thought. As per my usual demeanor, I really didn’t give a damn.

“Come on, then,” Merrik asked. “Who’ll strike first and brand themselves a cold-blooded killer?”

Satine still shook, Obi-wan looking unsure of how he wanted to act. I rolled my eyes, stepping sideways, and lifted my pistol. A quick squeeze of the trigger left Merrik with a smoking hole in his chest, the man falling to the ground.

Anakin had entered, ready to take out the senator as well. Instead, he scooped down and swept up the falling detonator. “Good timing, Kida,” he smirked at me.

“Kida,” Obi-wan said my name again, more disappointed sounding than Anakin.

I shrugged at him. “He was going to blow up the ship. And you might care what the duchess thinks of you, but I really don’t.” I glanced at her, seeing her throw the blaster away from her like it was vile. “And she knows I worked on my own decision, not yours.”

“Obi-wan,” Satine said gently, approaching the jedi. I stepped away to be beside Anakin, returning his small smile. “I-” she was cut off as Cody entered the room.

“General Skywalker,” he said, giving me a nod. “The last of the droids have been defeated, sir.”

“Very good, Cody,” Anakin responded, glancing at me before looking back at Kenobi and Satine.

The duchess raised her head, turning away from our jedi friend. “I must get back to the business of diplomacy.”

“As you say, Duchess,” Obi-wan said with a bow. “Another time,” he added, his voice lower. Sadder.

He walked by us with a nod, his expression slightly worried as it passed me. I understood why. He’d confessed love. Confessed a wanting to leave the order. And I was the only person not directly involved who came out of the confession alive.

Still, his secret was safe with me. He was keeping mine, after all.

“It looks like I missed all of the fun,” I mused as I walked beside Anakin, feeling the ship shift into hyperspace again. It wouldn’t be long until we made it to Coruscant now.

“You did,” Anakin chuckled, giving me a smile. “But there will be plenty more in this war.” I hummed in response as we met up with Rex to walk towards the landing dock to prepare for docking on the Coruscanti platforms. “What did I miss on your side?”

“Mostly just more of Merrik’s annoying voice as he monologued his way through his villain speech.”

“His what?”

I laughed, earning a few chuckles from the clones, too. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard Grievous or Dooku monologue.”

“I mean, I guess. I just never named their speeches.” Still, Anakin was laughing now too. “That was really all that happened? Obi-wan seemed...upset.”

I shrugged. “He was mad that I shot him, considering Satine asked us not to be violent. I didn’t really care.”

“He was going to blow up the ship,” Anakin commented.

“That was my thought process.” I sighed. “So yeah, apart from monologuing and finally getting to shut up the annoying senator, you missed a wonderful stroll down memory lane with Vizsla and a whole lot of following Merrik and his hostage through the Coronet.”

“Woah, you talked with Vizsla?”

“It was mostly Vizsla talking at me while I threatened Merrik.”

Anakin slowed in the hangar, turning to look at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “It rattled you, nonetheless.” It wasn’t a question.

“Why do you say that?”

The powerful jedi fixed me with a look. It was true. I could lock off my thoughts, but my emotions were high strung at the moment...far from being under lock and key. “I can feel your anger,” was all he said.

I lifted my shoulders at an attempt at nonchalance. “He was trying to rile me up.”

“He succeeded.”

“He didn’t keep me from saving Satine, so did he really?” Man, I really was angry. Even Skywalker was pissing me off. I needed to separate myself and cool off. Maybe punch something for a while.

Anakin’s eyebrow lifted, his arms crossing. “I’ve never seen you like this. Do you want to talk about it?”

My eyes dropped, some of my anger shifting to sadness. “No. I really don’t.”

His hand touched my shoulder, nearly making me jump. “If you ever want to, know that I understand more than most. I don’t tell a lot of people this, but when I was younger, I was--”

“A slave,” I completed softly, keeping the men from hearing. “I know.” He gave me a questioning look. “Padme told me when she found out I’d been a slave, too.”

Anakin hummed, squeezing my shoulder gently before removing his hand.

“May I ask a question?” He only nodded in response. “Were you happy with how you were freed?”

His eyebrow lifted at the question, but he shrugged anyways. “I suppose. In a way, I won it myself, since I was freed on a bet on if I’d win my podrace. Master Qui-Gon brought me to Coruscant where I found purpose. A family within the Jedi Order. The strength to fight for what’s right.” He looked over my features as we leaned against the crates in the hangar. “Were you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Jabba didn’t treat me poorly. Of course, no one likes being a slave, but I could have had it worse. But I wish I could have saved myself in a way like you did. By the time Jango freed me, I wasn’t even me anymore. I’d lost a part of myself in the Death Watch camp.”

“Maybe,” Anakin mused. “But maybe you found something inside you, too. Something stronger than what you’d been before.”

“What do you mean?”

“You hide your thoughts well, Kida,” he smiled gently at me. “But in the moment when you were on that bridge, your mind was like a battering ram through the halls. I didn’t see much,” he defended at my small jump of fright. “But I saw enough.” He leaned closer to me, his hand gripping my shoulder again. “Not many people can endure what you endured, Kida. Not to mention come out on the other side as strong as you are. Be proud of what you’ve survived. What you continue to survive. And keep fighting. Because you’re damned good at it.”

I chuckled lowly, fighting down the emotions Anakin was clearly determined at rooting up. “Are you sure jedi is the right line of work for you?” He seemed unsure at my words. “You seem much more fitted for a motivational speaker,” I teased effectively getting his attention off of my emotional turmoil.

“Change the subject all you want, Kida,” he said with a laugh, waving his hand as I felt the Coronet enter Coruscant’s atmosphere. “But I’m here if you ever want to talk.” He stopped as he began to walk away, turning back slowly with a sheepish, uncomfortable expression. “And,” he added, softer. “Padme is a good listener, should you ever want to talk to her.”

I smiled, appreciating it, but not taking genuine kindness like his very well. It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It was more that I had seen so little of it, that I wasn’t entirely sure how to react. “Can I use your private channel?” I teased, earning a look and a blush from him before he hurried away to avoid further jabs.

I stood as the Coronet docked smoothly, the duchess and her retinue entering to disembark. “You alright?” I turned to see Rex approaching slowly, his helmet tilted to examine me closely.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured, walking beside him as the gangway descended. “How did the fighting go? Is everyone alright?”

He nodded. “No fatalities from the Seperatist attack.” His voice quieted with a bit of sadness, despite his training to detach himself. “Apart from those lost in the cargo hangar.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be. Those that survived did so because you were here to help.”

I glanced at him with some surprise, smiling as we stepped off of the Coronet. “So does that mean you’re finally alright with me being part of the war?”

“My opinion shouldn’t influence yours.”

“I never said it did.”

He chuckled lowly, my own smile finding my lips despite seeing the chancellor on the platform below. Obi-wan and Skywalker approached behind me, the latter giving me a nod with his head to have me follow them. I parted from Rex with a small smile, staying behind them as they greeted the chancellor.

“A job well done, Master Jedi,” Chancellor Palpatine said, surrounded by Senate guards.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” Obi-wan replied with a bow.

“Your Excellency,” Anakin said.

“And Miss Fett,” the chancellor continued as the jedi stepped aside. “I’m glad to hear you’ve officially joined with the Republic cause. I’m glad to have such a capable warrior fighting alongside our forces.”

I swallowed thickly, my inability to read the man unnerving. Still, I kept up my cool facade and bowed with a cocky smile. “Thank you, Chancellor,” I said, mimicking what Obi-wan had said. “I’m glad to be of service.”

I followed after the jedi, walking past Obi-wan as Satine approached him, to stand beside Skywalker a few feet back.

“How ironic to meet again,” I heard the duchess say. “Only to find we’re on opposing sides.”

“The needs of your people are all that matter,” Kenobi assured. “They couldn’t be in better hands, with you to guide their future.”

“Kind words, indeed, from a mindful and committed jedi.” I glanced at Skywalker, seeing him sporting the same raised eyebrows that I did. “And yet,” Satine continued, looking lost in thought.

“What?” Obi-wan seemed worried.

But, Satine only chuckled. “I’m still not sure about the beard.” Her manicured fingers brushed through the reddish hair, Obi-wan grinning slowly.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Is he blushing?” I whispered, leaning towards Anakin, who could barely contain his laughter.

“It hides too much of your handsome face.” I smiled at Satine’s words, despite the amusement I felt at their lack of attempt at subtlety. Then again, like master, like student, right? I guess I could understand where Anakin learned it.

As the duchess walked away, Anakin and I stepped forward again, the young jedi knight putting his hand on his master’s shoulder.

“What was that all about?” he chuckled. Obi-wan didn’t respond, his former padawan sobering. “A very remarkable woman,” he admitted.

“She is, indeed.”

As Satine boarded her Senate transport with the rest of the political figureheads, I leaned closer to Obi-wan giving a smile to his mildly worried expression. 

“Relax,” I assured. “Your secret is safe with me.”

[thecomicsnexus]

CAMELOT 3000 (PART 3 OF 3) DECEMBER 1982 - APRIL 1985 BY MIKE W. BARR, BRIAN BOLLAND, BRUCE D. PATTERSON, DICK GIORDANO, TERRY AUSTIN AND TATJANA WOOD

SYNOPSIS (CHAPTERS 9 TO 12)

King Arthur tells Tom the story of the Holy Grail. It is supposed to perform miracles, for it was twice associated with Jesus Christ. First the holy communion, and then, in the moment of his Crucifixion, someone used to to collect his blood. Percival prays to get a hint of where it is and he finds out it was in Glastonbury Tor after all. To prevent Morgan from learning this secret, all of them start wearing a cloaking charm.

Morgan reveals to Jordan his role. She makes him remember his old life, a baby, being drown by King Arthur (Arthur thought a son of his would pose a threat to his throne). Jordan remembers he was Modred.

In New Camelot, Arthur divides the group, one will search for the Holy Grail and the other one will search for Merlin.

Percival finds the guardian of the Holy Grail and discovers that he has holy blood. With the grail in his hands, he saves Tom’s life, but then transfigures, leaving Lancelot as the guardian of the Grail. In just a few panels he loses the Grail to the enemy. Jordan, in possession of the Grail, starts giving Morgan orders.

Jordan makes an armor with the Grail embedded in it. He is now immune to everything. He starts killing all the world leaders.

Arthur and some knights travel to the tenth planet in a spaceship. Lancelot, Guinevere and Tom got to the nuclear plant to ask the lady in the lake (Elaine) to send them to the tenth planet. Everyone is on the tenth planet now.

On Earth, King Arthur is considered a traitor. The propaganda machine is blaming him for the murder of the world leaders. Isolde finds out that Jordan is allied to Morgan La Fey and sens a message to the spaceship. When Tom sees the message, he sees that Isolde sends her love to Tristan. He burns that part of the message. Arthur and the knights, led by the women, are sent to meet the queen of the alien race. They make an alliance to free them in exchange of soldiers.

Tristan once again has to deal with McAllister, this time she learns that only Morgan Le Fay’s magic can kill him, she uses the talisman against him (the one that is supposed to make her go back to being a man). Now with it destroyed, she wants to end her life, but Tom tries to convince her that being a woman cannot be “that bad”.

The knights use the ship as a battering ram. In the middle of the fight, Galahad sacrifices, blowing up the ship, to make an entrance to the castle. Arthur faces Jordan and Lancelot tells him that the holy armor is incompatible with Merlin (son of the devil), he then pushes Jordan into Merlin and this ends his life.

Morgan Le Fay tries one more attack. Merlin transports the rest home, while he takes care of Morgan. He detonates a neutron bomb, sacrificing himself to put an end to Morgan.

Back on Earth. Tristan and Isolde try to rekindle their love. Tristan starts learning how to love her in this form (and she finally seems happy).

Guinevere is pregnant (they do not know if it’s Arthur’s or Lancelot, both of them hope it’s Arthur’s).

Some time later, we see an alien escaping bad guys, he finds a sword in the stone and the cycle begins anew.

CONTEXT (FROM WIKIPEDIA)

Barr came up with the concept of Camelot 3000 in approximately 1975, having been inspired by a college course he took in Arthurian literature. He submitted the proposal to DC Comics several years later, only to have it rejected. He then submitted it to Marvel Comics, where it was accepted for serialized publication in one of their black-and-white magazines, but for unknown reasons the project did not get off the ground at this point. The Camelot 3000 concept was resubmitted to DC the following year, and this time was accepted. DC decided to run it as a maxi-series. Barr enlisted Dr. Sally Slocum, the teacher of the course which first inspired Camelot 3000, as a creative consultant for the series.

Camelot 3000 was British artist Bolland's first major work in the USA. At the time the logistics of transatlantic collaborations were difficult, and the series was created using the full script method in part because it was the easiest way for Barr and Bolland to work together while an ocean separated them. This was also the first time that Bolland's work was inked regularly by someone other than himself. Bolland was not comfortable with this and made his pencils very heavily detailed in order to leave the inker as little room for creative reinterpretation as possible. This, combined with Bolland's personal goal to top himself with each new issue, made it difficult for him to keep up with the series's monthly schedule, and the last several issues were late. Barr recounted that Bolland spent nine months drawing the final issue.

Barr originally had the role of Tom Prentice filled by a girl, but editor Len Wein strongly felt that the character should be a boy. Though the series's exploration of gender identity themes (and presumed homosexuality) was published without opposition from DC's editorial staff, Barr recalled that Camelot 3000 received a number of letters from children who were confused and/or upset by this content.

The series also briefly experimented with reproducing art directly from the pencils (i.e. without inking). However, printing techniques at the time were still relatively primitive, and Bolland found that creating pencil art which could be reproduced by the printers was more work than actually inking it. As such, only two pages (specifically, the first two pages of issue #2) were produced in this manner.

REVIEW

As you may have imagined, this story doesn’t take place in the DCU (there is, however, an Arthur, Morgan and Merlin in the DCU). I would have to say that this maxi-series was ground-breaking. Not only because it was part of the “British invasion”, it was the first of its kind and proved it was possible, and it also explored themes like gender identity. Some people have problems with it, and I can understand it (as Tristan ends up accepting her forced gender). But you also have to see that Tristan wasn’t a good man before. I think in the context of this story it’s ok. Also have in mind two things, it was 1982, and this man, as well as all the knights, belonged to the Middle Ages.

As an extension of the Arthurian legend, you just have to accept this is a sci-fi comic-book. But it has very interesting points of view. I think the moment Arthur is flying over England and finally gets to see it from space is a very powerful scene.

I think it’s a great story and YOU SHOULD READ IT. I think it would also work well as a movie, but I don’t think the world is ready for something like this. It would probably flop.

Bolland’s art is obviously the best of this series. I cannot imagine it being so important without him. Of course, the last issues took years to complete, let’s say I am happy to have all issues at my disposal now, but at the time it was probably very annoying for readers (kind of like how we feel waiting for the last issues of Doomsday Clock).

There are some things that are barely touched in the story. Arthur at some point killed a lot of babies... that’s not how a savior acts. These characters are not perfect, it is implied that there was a lot of raping and adultery in their previous lives (it’s a bit like Game of Thrones).

Sure, there are some things that don’t make sense. Like the ship getting to the tenth panel very fast because it travels at the speed of light (even at the speed of light it would take years to get there).

But the story keeps twisting and surprising you. I read this story for the first time five years ago, and I forgot almost everything... but Tristan’s story. I think that is the conflict that you will remember for the rest of your life.

I give this series a score of 10

[nuclear-reactions]

Hi! I love your writing so much! I don't know if I submitted this ask. So sorry if I did and forgot. Given Shaun somehow is able to "age" or progress as a person, could you write the different kinds of childhoods he'd have and what type of person he'd become based on the companion Sole raises him with. (And could I pretty please have a bonus where he's raised a little by everyone?)

(Thank you! Andyou’re fine, as long as you don’t spam me with a bunch of requestsyou don’t have to worry about resubmitting the occasional ask.Dogmeat and Codsworth excluded in the solo reactions)

It takes a villageto raise a child; Sole and their compatriots take this phrase maybe atad literally. On the bright side, Shaun has a deep, deep pool ofaunts and uncles to draw knowledge from on subjects he isn’t familiarwith. Danse and MacCready often fight over who should teach him toshoot (“I can hit a bloatfly from two miles out, I think I canteach a kid how to handle a gun.” “If he doesn’t plan on scoutingout sniper nests for a hour before every altercation, he’ll learnfrom me!”). Strong is the cause of his first broken bone when Shauntries to have an arm wrestling match. Curie is the one to set it andscold Strong. Cait and Hancock sneak him his first tastes of alcohol,each thinking they’re the only ones who do so. Cait in particular,after an intense round of day drinking, gives him an impromptu sex edlesson, and it’s an almost too honest -and descriptive- answer toShaun’s question of what sex was, not to mention quite different thanthe diagrams Curie showed him on reproductive organs. Piper isundoubtedly his best aunt, or at least, the closest thing to awell-rounded adult figure in his life. She’s usually the one he comesto with problems, and also dispels many of the myths Deacon handsdown (“No, you do not become a werebear if you eat charred yao guaimeat.”) Nick is more of the grandfather that knows card tricks.Codsworth is Codsworth, remaining the same mildly overbearing nannybot he’s always been. Preston never really gets the hang of him. Hetreats him a lot younger, being unsure what kids Shaun’s age are “into”. X6 isn’t the most helpful when it comes to rearing kids, andShaun only really turns to him when he wants brutal honesty.

Between the lot ofthem, Shaun ends up fairly well-rounded, with an…eclectic set ofskills, to say the least. He’s taught a little of everything. When itcomes time for him to leave the settlement, he leaves on dozens ofhandshakes and more than a few proud tears.

Danse- With Danse, he is groomed intothe picture of an army brat. It goes without saying that hisupbringing is strict, sometimes even a little harsh, but loving andfull of happy memories as well. Danse is not entirely warm, but then,he’s not entirely cold either. Sole never lets Danse treat Shaun toomuch like a Brotherhood initiate. They have to remind him now andthen that they’re not going to shoehorn their son into a militarycareer when he’s instructing him on the meticulous way a soldiershould make his bed in the mornings. He does learn a lot onmaintaining power armor and firearms, and leans more into becoming amechanic when he starts working. That, or following his father’sfootsteps into the Brotherhood (though he’s not popular, consideringDanse’s history with them). Making his father proud is tantamount inShaun’s mind, he pursues any life that would do just that. Danseraises him to be brave in the face of doubt, do what feels right, andto never let others decide your fate.

Hancock- Despitehis laz a fair approach to his own life, he does try to set Shaun ona better path than the one he ended up going down. He cleans up alittle, weans himself from the harder chems, and if he does keep afew habits, he doesn’t do them around the kid. He’s very much the “goask Sole” type of father, and Shaun gets away with a lot aroundhim. Just enough to be considered a mischievous kid and not adelinquent. He gets his first taste of beer early, his ownswitchblade, his own tricorn hat when he’s old enough it doesn’tslough off to one side of his head. Shaun adopts a lot of Hancock’svirtues, his self-confidence, loyalty, leadership skills, charm, butis taught to avoid many of his vices (which is mostly Sole’s doing).If he doesn’t end up taking up Hancock’s mantle of mayor, he likelyends up leader of a group like the Minutemen, leaving a string ofbroken hearts along the way of whatever path he treads. He’s acharmer, quick witted, and is taught to use his head above all- whichalso consists of keeping it clean. He doesn’t take up the casual chemuse that Hancock suffers from.

Deacon- Littlewhite lies are all Shaun is really allowed, yet he makes the best ofthem, and he develops a good poker face early on. Deacon is morehonest with Sole than anyone else, but first and foremost, he is apathological liar, prone to wild stories, and Shaun adopts that alittle too well. He impresses his school mates with all the storiesof his heroism, like the time he took down a radstag single-handed with nothing but a hunting knife. His tall tales either earn him agullible flock of followers or a beating from the kids smart enoughto see through his bravado. But he doesn’t just learn lying fromDeacon- he also learns compassion, fighting for what you think isright, protecting the people who are most vulnerable. And he is thesingle hardest kid to trick. He sees through deception just as easilyas he carries it out, so he quickly unravels most of the stories kidsget told (Sole has a nightmare of a time trying to convince him ofSanta Claus). His tendency towards “exaggeration” places him inthe position of a salesman later in life, hyping up his wares justenough that they seem shiny and appealing. If not that, then he’dfind himself with the Railroad, helping in whatever cause they followwhen the Institute is gone. Learning from Deacon’s mistakes, hebecomes an honest liar, easy going, and fights for the marginalized.

Piper- Havingmostly raised her little sister on her own, Piper sidles prettyeasily into the role of a mother, and his childhood is earnestlyclose to “normal” with her and Sole as parents. As normal asthings ever really got in the Commonwealth. He does, however, getinto scrapes in search of stories for Piper to cover. Being aninvestigative journalist is on par with being a spy in his mind-keeping your eyes and ears open, finding contacts, meeting in secret.He mostly grows out of this, but Piper still instills in him a loveof the written word and a desire to educate the Wastes on thingsbeyond the farms and cities they relegate themselves to. He takes totraveling at a young age, writing of his experiences in theCommonwealth and eventually, the rest of the ruins of the UnitedStates. If he doesn’t become a writer, he likely goes into lawenforcement, making sure (like Piper always taught him) that justicecomes to those who wrong others. He’s as silver tongued,compassionate, and as worldly as the woman who helps raise him.

Curie- She’slearning how to act human as much as Shaun is, so she mostly goeswith whatever Sole says when it comes to raising him. They knowbetter than she would; despite knowing how to keep kids healthy, shehad little experience with their emotional needs. Still, she does herbest. She reads him stories, partakes in nightly rituals like tuckinghim in and humming him to sleep, and when he’s too old for all that,she giddily encourages him in his studies. He learns more from herthan anything taught in school. She teaches him not only how to treatdisease, but passes on a genuine compassion and desire to help, tolearn, to make the Wastes a little better in some small capacity.When the time comes for him to strike out on his own, he travelsfurther than Curie ever has in search of knowledge, and exchanges theknowledge he brought from the Commowealth. He saves lives, being akind and caring figure all the while. He becomes everything Fathercould have been before he was twisted by the Institute.

Nick- Having arobot detective as a father is probably the coolest thing a childcould experience, and Shaun is in near constant awe of Nick. Nickhimself takes easily to being a dad and enjoys it. Shaun is his son,and really, with them both being synths cast from similar molds, itnever once felt like he wasn’t family. Having someone he could passthings on to… it was more than Nick had ever really hoped for. Hespends much of his childhood in the glow of the heart-shaped signoutside Valentine’s Detective Agency, reading through old case files,picking over evidence from new case files, and each case is a puzzlefor him to piece together. He grows up sharp and inquisitive, eagleeyed with a nose for lies. He also learns as much about synth’s innerworkings as he does humans. Nick needs the occasional tuneup whenSole isn’t around, so he helps now and then with the screws andpanels he can’t reach on his own. With this knowledge, if he doesn’tend up taking over the agency, he goes out to help runaway synthsstill wandering the Commonwealth, confused and with heads full ofmemories that aren’t their own. He grows to be perceptive, a naturalproblem solver, and sets the wrong things right wherever he goes.

Cait- Her biggestfear, besides sliding back into old habits, is becoming her parents.She does her damn best to be a good parent almost entirely out ofspite. Shaun is absolutely spoiled rotten. If Sole won’t give himsomething, he asks Caits, and nine times out of ten he gets what hewants. She’s as short tempered as she’s always been, yet for him, shekeeps it together. For him, she does better. She’s also wildlyprotective, and unsurprisingly, teaches him most problems can besolved with his fists. He’s reared knowing how to stick up forhimself, and the two of them spar a few times a week until he’s oldand skilled enough to actually beat her in a fight. By the time he’sready to leave home, there is no doubt in anyone’s minds that he’sbeen raised to take care of himself, whatever is thrown at him.Strength and fighting skills usually don’t amount to much more thanfalling in with a gang of raiders, but Shaun knows that’s not thelife either of his parents want, and the thrashing he would get ifCait knew he even considered it, so he goes into work as a bountyhunter, a body guard; anything that lets him both use his skills andsleep with an easy conscience. He’s a little wilder, a little louder,and grows up to be a fighter.

MacCready- Havingsome experience raising kids, he takes in Shaun without secondthought. Duncan has a big brother when he arrives in theCommonwealth, the two of them taking to each other almost right away.There’s hardly a day they’re separated, playing catch and shooting BBguns with their father. Shaun is protective and immensely proud ofhis younger sibling, and MacCready can finally loosen the tight griphe’d kept on his youngest son. He still keeps a watchful eye over thetwo of them, but he feels like, finally, there was someone he trustedimplicitly to keep Duncan safe. Of course, the more he gains, themore he fears losing, and he can sometimes be a bit harsh if eitherone of them do something dangerous. He couldn’t take losing them.This drives Shaun to leave at a fairly young age, learningMacCready’s stubbornness and the bravado of his youth, and Duncan isquick to follow. The two, having been taught to shoot guns beforethey could read (as well as stay out of the thick of fights) endup becoming a formidable pair of snipers. They know better than tojoin up with the Gunners or other mercenary gangs, instead becomingguns for hire. Freelance killers with a bit stricter moral codes thantheir father. If only a bit. He’s cunning, careful, and a hell of agood shot.

Preston- Being asyoung and new to parenthood as he is, he isn’t entirely prepared toraise a child who came to them fully formed. He’s anxious, alwaysconcerned he’s doing something wrong, but he does the things hisfather did for him. Teaches Shaun to shoot, the importance of a goodbook, that being kind is a reward in itself. He also teaches him thethings he had to learn for himself; that it’s fine to cry, to not beokay, to rely on others for strength when you feel like your own isfailing. Shaun’s childhood is as bumpy as any child’s is in theCommonwealth, but with Preston, there’s light even in the darkesttimes. He carries this indomitable sense of good and rightness withhim even when he’s grown, and if he doesn’t settle into a simplerlife in a settlement, he joins the Minutemen, carrying on the valueshe’s been taught. Preston teaches him the strength in community, thathope and mercy are not weakness, and to always lend a hand, whateverhe does.

X6-88- He hasspent more time with Shaun (this version and technically, the humanShaun as well) than Sole ever has, only, just not in any kind of parentalrole. He ferried him back and forth from the Institute and theCommonwealth and their relationship never went far past that. It wasstrange, suddenly being a role model for someone. Siblings, parents,family, they weren’t really an option for synths in the Institute.For Coursers, even less so. The first few years, he’s more of abodyguard than a parental figure. Learning to let go of the deathgrip he has on Institute protocol and the image of synths as tools,that takes awhile. Shaun helps. He loves him, which meant a synthlike X6 was capable of that. It was a comforting thought that one dayhe’d feel for Shaun what Shaun felt for him. He relies more on Solefor getting through the emotional turmoil of youth, as most of X6’sresponses to trivial things like school and first loves is fairlycold indifference. Not like he really understood it, he’d been madewithout thought for such things. He was still navigating some things(like first love) himself. What he does instruct Shaun in mostlypertains to combat, though he does teach him a skill that helped X6survive in the Institute- masking your true emotions. He’d have beenreprogrammed a long time ago if he hadn’t picked up that talent.Shaun grows up somewhat cold with him, making a habit of keepingthose pesky feelings to himself early on, to the point not even Solecan really coax them out of him. Not fully. As X6 learns how to bemore human, Shaun learns to be more machine. His nature andintelligence veer him, oddly enough, into politics. From X6 he learnscold calculation, the importance of keeping your cards close to yourchest, and that there’s little use for remorse.

Strong- Childhoodwith Strong being a co-parent is… weird. To say the least. Soledoes everything they can to keep him from feeding the kid human meat, eventhough he insists it will help Shaun grow big and strong, but now andthen there are a few bits of mystery meat sneaking their way into hismeals whose origins Sole couldn’t quite suss out. Regardless of hispotential foray into cannibalism, Shaun does, surprisingly, learn athing or two from his Super Mutant guardian. Mostly the things a mancan say that will make their fellow man spontaneously shitthemselves. More than a few scrapes with older children ends withShaun bellowing in his closest approximation of Strong; “THIS ISWHAT DEATH LOOKS LIKE UP CLOSE!” Despite Sole’s best efforts, Shauntakes after him, even beyond shouting his throat raw.Many arguments with him end in headbutts. He grows into a young manwho takes no shit from anyone, who understands brutality can be anecessity, and who fights with the feral tenacity of a mutie. Ignoring family protests, he goes into raiding (ever the lucrative business)and is renowned for his uncanny ability to shout down Super Mutantsbands that encroach on his band’s territory. That, or he’s a respectedfighter in the nearest Thorn. Sole might have more influence on hismorals, but Strong passes on the knowledge of Super Mutants. Whichisn’t much beyond violence and shouting. He grows up pretty confused.

[sparda3g]

Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 171 Review

Emotional attachment can lead to complexity within a person. “Easier said than done” is one quote that will be thrown around a lot when it comes to settling the issue. It’s up to their companion to relieve them from despair or among themselves to accept it. The arc is drawing near to the end as one battle ends, another one coming to a close. After a long period of waiting, it was well worth it for this emotional driven chapter.

It’s a bit challenging to say which scenario is the best part of the chapter. Sometimes I like the first half more, sometimes I like the latter. Both scenarios carry the similar theme of attachment to the world and its people, human and ghoul. When it comes to connecting themes and character’s growth, Ishida shines brightly with his delivering on his compelling characters.

I thought the last chapter concluded the battle between Yomo and Uta, but instead, we got a definitive ending here and it’s all for the better. It’s good to know Uta didn’t die from that devastating attack. Granted, I had a hunch he was going to live, but if he did die, that would be a bit easy. The chapter treated us with a really delightful ending to their bout and if there’s more room for the series, a really good future for the two.

Uta goes into greater detail on his thoughts on life itself. The way how he described his life in the past compare to the present somewhat reminds me of Citizen Kane. In that film, there’s this “checkpoint” of a man’s life that often look back and think that’s where the path was decided. Uta had fun back then because nothing in life mattered, even when they break their legs, him and Yomo. It began to change when Yomo was heading towards a different path alas Anteiku with Yoshimura. If Uta doesn’t follow or move anywhere else, what does he have left?

I thought it was pretty sad that Uta did in fact try to help Yomo to avenge his sister because it was like his way to keep him together. You know how many stories go about revenge won’t reward you greatly, if not any. This one is no different but it doesn’t address the obvious, rather use strong words to not only address the morale but connect to Uta’s despair. They couldn’t avenge for Yomo’s behalf, but now, Yomo has move ahead of it, because the world is changing.

Uta is a man that watches the world change but don’t adapt any of it. He has tried enough to adjust, or rather recover from the losses but he just couldn’t change. Every man adapts differently; he’s just harder to crack open. Honestly speaking, I am amazed and moved by Yomo as of late, which is funny considering how much of a mute guy he was. I know he let out his inner feelings when the moment is right, but his connections and thoughts speak to me.

Yomo comes off genuine with his words that it’s a bit unbelievable. Okay, no more knocking on him; I actually like his character a lot. The thing about his words is the fact they are sincere and relatable. He doesn’t come off as a leader or spokesman for a noble peace prize; it’s just two friends talking like friends. Surprising how Yomo did once come close to become another Uta on simply saying life sucks. He lost many loved ones before joining with Anteiku and convinced himself that cruelty is inevitable. When the café was burnt down, his reaction didn’t match up to his thoughts. Easier said than done.

It’s relatable to his thoughts about what should he have done instead of following orders to stand back and watch it fall. Many of us would often think about the past action and debate if it was a mistake or not. What I really like about Yomo transcribing his past is how we get a better view of his character. He was a mute person, but his subtle reaction clued you in how he really felt about it. The most obvious display is against Arima, but it’s also the moment of change for the better.

It’s ironic due to how Arima revolved Yomo’s character for past vengeance yet it intertwined with the present with Ayato and Touka. It’s no longer about fighting for the past cause. It connects very well to theme of attachment since Yomo is now fighting forward to see what rewards him, good or bad. Uta was avoiding the change around him, so nothing seem to progress. He’s there to adjust other’s life. Yomo is part of the world changing and contributing it till the end, hence soon to be a grand uncle. Best grand uncle ever, that’s for sure.

It has a charming way to end the grudge with Yomo willing to allow Uta to earn his desire. Yomo only wants for the best for others and prefer to be taken alone and him alone. It makes sense since Uta was only part of Clowns to change shape of others, even though his target has been only on Yomo. I like how Uta’s reply simply state that they are adults now. These two had a good sit down chat over their problems and reason each other like adults. It also implies he is finally stepping forward and hopefully for a better path.

The charm is how they start talking like good friends again. The topic is amusing because even the characters themselves can see the obvious pairing that is Kaneki and Touka. Who knew that they’re shippers since the beginning? I still remember when Uta asked Kaneki on his opinion on Touka; now it makes sense. The parallel panel is a nice way to end the battle; past or present, some things never change.

The rest of the chapter belongs to Amon and Donato though not without some new revealing details that was well timed for connecting themes. You got to credit Amon to keep on striving against Donato, even against the odds. I know some fans are tired of him getting wrecked, even though most of them are understandable; however, this time is actually relatable, reasonable, and powerful.

To my surprise, Takizawa isn’t there to join along the battle with Amon or even watch him to die. I was certain that the former was going to happen. It came close that Takizawa was pulling the old Shounen method of “Don’t interfere. He is fighting for his honor!” However, the reason to not to interfere is valid because Amon is actually struggling to himself. It wasn’t because Amon is weak or outclassed completely, though wouldn’t mind to be the case. He simply can’t kill Donato due to his attachment.

Whatever the missing pieces from the last chapter were are found here, including Tomoe. Like I said before, she had the perfect chance to kill Amon, but she didn’t do anything. Although she has some pity, it shouldn’t stop her. What stopped her is fear of losing a purpose. All she has left is vengeance and that can be settled now if she like, but then what? Not a single word came out from her after that thought. It’s a small yet valuable moral to exploit on fearing to fulfill their selfish wish.

The part that got me compelled is the flashback scene with Takizawa versus Houji, back at Rue Island. It was a bout that was skipped entirely, and I never knew why. With how Ishida put two and two together, I can understand clearly why it was on hold. In retrospect, fans including me believed Takizawa overwhelmed everyone, but the truth is in and it turns out that Houji held back and accepted death.

It humanizes the theme further because that bout was more emotional influence than a typical a monster versus humans. I was left believing Houji was a cold guy that had no remorse, even though I believed he drew a tear while confirming their next target. Takizawa was a loose cannon but that one expression opened his mind; Houji did care and felt sadden to end up this way. You can argue on why he was sad like regretting to save him before, but the bottom line is he was hindered by emotion and Takizawa technically took it for granted.

Basically, Takizawa’s purpose is to watch Amon develop or die before anything. If he steps in and somehow defeats Donato, what does Amon gain from it? It’s equivalent to a guy who wanted revenge on a criminal, only to be killed by another. No lesson will be learned and if there’s no other way around it, the man is lost. Amon has always been one of my favorite characters of the franchise. I find it appealing whenever he gets a development. While the bout as a whole is pretty solid, it transpires to one of the best humanized development that the series has offered so far.

What intrigued me about Amon the most is his justice system and his origin with Donato. Normally, it would be a simple premise with a boy who grew up with an evil father-figure, now against his kind. While he did embark that journey, he however remained attached to him despite everything he stands for. This portion would challenge readers if they are fine with his struggle despite one is clearly evil. The context is what saved it for me and bonus, shined his character deeper.

It’s a complicated scenario where a character meets his/her faithful enemy who is also the one who fathered them. It has a great parallel display of his tie with Kaneki and the current situation. The two prime examples of his divine character development. He has stuck to the code of justice system based on CCG. His hatred from his past went on Ghouls and killed them for what he believed was right. Once he becomes a ghoul, his view started to change.

It’s a shame that those who are so high up on their code would be forced to be a Ghoul alas force them to wear their shoes. He established a while back that not all Ghouls are evil but they are classified as one, so that may never change. I do wonder about the aftermath, which I still press on for part 3 as long as there are other elements left unsolved. Basically, Amon established both Human and Ghoul are largely the same, and yet he can define who is real evil and Donato is one. So why can he kill him if that’s the case?

The most powerful part is how he finally developed his view about the world being twisted. Remember how he told Ghouls or Kaneki to be specific that they’re the one that ruined it. After what he has gone through, he realizes the world would be twisted by anyone and among them is him. If he let Donato roam free, he is no better than anyone he’s against; a cruel irony. It’s intriguing with Takizawa realizing late of Houji’s emotional attachment result to a sad end while Amon realizing late would result to a good end. Not everyone have a same meaning and he has to deal with it.

The ending is interesting. Amon makes a sword shape weapon, though it can be considered as a cross; a fitting design. Donato looks at him and smiles like a proud father. Amon finally pushes through and takes a huge portion of his left’s side body; similar with Kaneki to Amon in Part 1. Amon actually concludes that he loved Donato and he can’t be hold back because of it.

If it wasn’t for its context and delivery, it would be difficult for readers to accept to like a murderer. The point is Amon and Donato did come a long way in their life in the orphanage. It’s hard to dispute any connection and detach any love they harbored in the past, especially since childhood for Amon. Growing up as such isn’t easy to forget and set free. Even if he seeks for vengeance, it didn’t grow out of air. The bond exists and he had to accept that fact no matter if it is wrong.

After a long break, this chapter was a great return with emotional connection with these characters. The art is pretty solid with its nice use of parallels and expressive feelings. Yomo and Uta have a relaxing bromance ending and Amon and Donato are closing their feud soon with a strong message. It seems like this arc will end in this volume. It’s a only matter of time.