#we can win this war and make a better future but IF YOU'RE MEAN TO MY BOYFRIEND I'LL KILL YOU

[flowerflamestars]

Timeloop au snippet

“We did it,” Nesta murmured, a different quiet entirely than the misty morning rising around them. “We’ll do it again, if we have to.”   Even under the salt-sting, even when she had sea water dripping from her hair, even now, Nesta smelled like fire. Smoke. Memory no mercy at all, home itself unchanging across lives.   Not a bond but a body, a being, Nesta Archeron watching Lucien turn his whole heart over before dawn could even rise, brighter light to her eyes than this whole blazing kingdom they’d brought such acclaim to.   “We will,” Lucien breathed, barely a sound, all he could manage.   She never changed and always changed and was, always-   “Lucien.”   He met her gaze.   Watched, spellbound, as Nesta raised one graceful hand to twist in the torn open collar of his shirt. “Lucien,” she said again, insistent. When he couldn’t find enough air to reply, she shook her head. “I didn’t do for Tarquin. For Summer. For peace.”   She moved like quicksilver.   Like a faery crouched in forest shadows, like liquid moonlight, a predator to whom Lucien’s very hope was prey.   They’d walked together for so many years now it was easy. As though all along it had been this, as they’d been accused so many times. Like Lucien, in fear and hope and heartache had always known he could lean down, and Nesta Archeron would breathe life right back into his lungs.   A tiny tug, to his shirt, just a request.   Just Nesta, curling upright, hand sliding up Lucien’s neck into his hair. An anchor, holding fast. A touch that said nothing but desire.   Lucien leaned down and kissed her.   Salt and sweet wine. Sharp stinging teeth and Nesta’s mouth falling open, plush and welcome. The world righting all at once beneath his feet, entirely familiar. Nesta. Nesta in his arms, twisting sibylline like she couldn’t get enough contact. Nesta, who’d remember this in twenty years or a thousand, real.   Nesta, in his head and his heart and his hands and-   Nesta, in his chest, pulling taut at a rope he’d never known to wind, silver fire and endless light and-  “It’s you,” Lucien breathed.   She was already gone.

[fountainpenguin]

Riddle watches New Wish - Post #21

Best of Wish

This is way more intense of a Rock-Paper-Scissors competition than I expected. I love how the stakes in this show are kid-themed, but still flashy enough to be engaging.

For some reason, even though I know Dev's surname is Dimmadome, it's still funny to hear a kid be announced like that. For years, that's been an "old man name" burned into my mind.

Are they allowed to do that?? Does apple beat worm?

He's just a little guy! You wouldn't beat a little guy at Rock, Paper, Scissors, c'mon!!

Time of his life.

Dev: I cheated! And you're supposed to be SAD now! That's the whole point!!

Dev is having a very hard time dealing with his emotions. I am definitely enjoying him screaming about how he cheated to win and that means Hazel should be miserable now. You can just TELL the words he's throwing out reflect how he feels and he's super confused as to why she congratulated him on his win.

-> Gives me similar vibes to Foop in "Blue Angel" screaming about how it wasn't fair that Chloe kept forgiving him despite his best efforts to tear her apart, although I think the emotions are being played better in this set-up.

-> With Foop, even though he also has a messed-up past (37 years of solitary confinement from the day he was born according to my frozen timestream notes), he was born with murderous rage, and his culture definitely leans in the direction of encouraging that.

With Dev, you know he's lashing out with things that would hurt him specifically and that he's having a really rough go of things. I like that.

If I'm feeling like Dev reminds me of Foop, that kind of implies Dev and Peri are supposed to me a good match that balance each other out. I like that.

That checks out- Peri has doting parents and wants LESS attention, and Dev can't keep his dad's focus and wants MORE attention. Peri's the one who keeps trying to rein Dev in and Dev is always trying to get Peri to go further.

Agency knew what they were doing when they assigned this pair, huh?

/war flashbacks to Foop being distraught that his parents left him alone for spring break back in the day.

THERE HE IS!!

Irep implying he didn't have a choice in his name change? I wonder what the reasoning was, since he even says it's "Harder to pronounce" than Foop? Curious...

As much as he hated his name when he was born (Season 7), he was very attached to it by "Love Triangle" (Season 8), correcting Goldie every time she got it wrong until he finally snapped and screamed at her about how "It's not that difficult!"

Goldie got Fairy names right, AND every character in the school play right, but never bothered to learn her one Anti-Fairy classmate's name despite all the time they spent rehearsing for the play and him making it very clear he wanted her to say it right. Big yikes.

He's very proud of his name in later episodes (announcing himself often) and has his business cards. I mean... Sure, he's allowed to change it- It just surprises me that he's heavily implying it was against his will since his attachment to his name was such a big part of his character in my memory.

He's developed an entirely new identity, lmao. Who are you?

Potentially setting up a plot about how he's mad he has to copy Peri, but I feel like there would've been easier ways to do that?

I assume the logic here is that it needs to be clear to Hazel and/or viewers that they're opposites (We got the info here, but he'll probably appear in future episodes where it needs to be clear to prevent confusion for people just tuning in), but if that's the goal...

W... why would he not just change his name to Anti-Peri?

Plot twist of the century: They bring back Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda, but their names are Osmoc and Adnaw now and we all suffer for it.

/record scratch

Hey, um. Why did they give Irep body language that was pretty much exclusive to Foop's alternate personality??

You're really gonna play me like this??

Straight out of the GATE!?

Okay, I just rewound to his first appearance of this episode and I do see the Foop-exclusive body language in Irep too, but... ???

Just really caught me off guard to see two poses I've burned into my memory as "alt personality things" back to back in like, 10 seconds, but okay. I don't care if this is a tangent; the actual episode can wait. It's important to me...

All right, the context:

So, OG Foop does fists when he's frustrated / scheming / cackling / nervous (usually above his head or down by his sides).

His alter does upturned fists when he's praising / cheerful. That's always been one of their switch cues, from the alter's debut in "Playdate of Doom" (Season 7) up through the last implied switch in "Return of the L.O.S.E.R.S." (Season 10).

Even the very first onscreen switch in Season 7 ("Playdate") depicts the alter holding his fists like that, before the double eye highlights were introduced in "Spellementary School"-

-and he does the fists several times throughout his first episode.

Other body language habits include big, flat hands lifted towards the mouth, plus clasped hands. In other words, the alter is more "dainty" and "gushy" compared to Foop- I've always imagined him "doing everything over-the-top and unironically."

Don't confuse that with him being the nicest person, though. He's very funny; I like in the OG series when he's totally down to butt heads with Poof and coos "Does Mr. Popular want to fight~?"

Like. Logically, I know that is just a weird coincidence. There's no way the storyboard folks studied that, and there's no way they're planning to bring the alter back, because if they were, I'm sure he would've been blatant in this episode.

Foop's not using his high-pitched voice here and we can't use his eye highlights as a faithful signal since that's on-model for this show, but...

I mean... He's talking about Da Rules when he does the upturned fists. That does fit the "grumpy / scheming" energy which is correct for Foop (although he usually pumps his fists above his head or clenches them down by his sides instead of upturning them like this), but... ???

Wow, that is not a pose I'm used to seeing on Foop instead of his alter. I've written this little guy in 'fic a bunch of times; I know his body language pretty well and it was a switch cue for 3 seasons??

I'm okay. It's fine.

Also, here's a video showcasing their switches. Volume warning:

I just found out I missed one switch in "Terrible Twosome" when Poof gives him chocolate (even before his Terrific Twos kicked in), and I was always unclear on the full diner scene in "When L.O.S.E.R.S. Attack" (though I don't remember why; maybe because the voice is deep despite the highlights and I'm only rethinking it 6 years later), but... Them.

-> I do count "Terrible Twosome" as essentially the alter because the eye highlights, voice change, music change, and clenched fists all match the standard, but I'd accept arguments to the contrary since it's confirmed all Anti-Fairies have some version of Terrific Twos, and this is the only one we have for reference.

I was today years old watching this old compilation when I realized the music consistently zigzags between super cheery and dark when they switch, even outside "Terrible Twosome," which was where I remembered it. No... It's been there since "Playdate of Doom." Huh.

Okay, so... This is actually really interesting. When they switch, the music does too, but their music doesn't overlap. It's a very clear, jarring switch. There's often, though not always, a pause before this switch (such as their very rapid back-and-forth in "Playdate of Doom"). I've learned something new. Huh.

... Wait a sec.

They wouldn't...

...

Hey, uh ???

why does the tense music in "Best of Luck" cut off immediately before Irep temples his hands, drop to silence, and then switch the thumping part of the music to the cheery part underneath it and put the thumping part underneath the cheery bit instead?

I already used my one video for this post, but I can post the audio. It's subjective; I'm sure it's not supposed to indicate anything, so just bear with me...

- Okay, so we have this dark "BUM-bum, BUM-bum, BUM-bum" pattern. That goes for 12 seconds into this clip before fading out. - Note that you can hear, like... a scale underneath, like a swish, 4 or 5 seconds in. Right as 12 seconds turns to 13, there's a "sparkle noise". - And then we drop. And silence. So, that's the exact moment before Irep temples his hands.

- NOW the cheery scale in the music is louder and the thumps are very faded in the background, but definitely still there. - So, the stings are no longer "always switching, but never overlapping" the way they were in the OG series, apparently.

- Irep clasps his hands and says a couple more words, then drops his hands on "quitting." - RIGHT THEN, his music switches back to loud tension.

What the fliiiippp... what the fliiiiiippp?

?? I said I could see Foop-exclusive body language in him too earlier in this episode. Are they together again? Is that why they're sharing the music sting!?

SURELY that is not intentional. That HAS to be coincidence. I cannot imagine a world where that is on purpose. I'm losing my mind.

I... I don't really know where to go from here. I gotta lie down.

Bonus notes about the fists I moved down here due to length:

Okay, upon review, there are several ambiguous moments in the OG series where Foop himself makes potentially joyful fists instead of scheming fists, such as:

- When trying to fool Jorgen into thinking he's rehabilitated in "Playdate of Doom" (and Jorgen clocks him as lying) - When he's trying to sweet-talk Poof in "Two and a Half Babies" (and Poof also clocks him as lying) - Both times he's brownnosing up to Crocker in "School of Crock" (and Crocker clocks him for it) AND when he's sweet-talking the principal to trick him into activating his door trap. He also makes the fists when he's mimicking Poof in his first scene, so... he pretty much does it anytime he's "not being Foop," lol. -> In that case, it's funny he makes those fists when telling Poof in the closing scene that he's "sorry for trying to annihilate him." That said, he DOES switch a few seconds later while gushing over how Sammy Sweetsparkle is "kind of a bad boy." -> Clasped hands (also a thing his alter does a lot) is ALSO something Foop does when he's blatantly lying (The last of the Snow Wanda scene in "Fairly Odd Fairy Tales" is a good example, but I saw other episodes too). - Continuing with ambiguity talk, he does the joyful fists both times he enters the pet shop in "Man's Worst Friend," (a scene where he seems to switch multiple times, so it's clearly a place that affects him, but he doesn't have eye highlights when he first enters the building) - When the Anti-Fairy Council names him a scary godparent in "Fairy Godcouple" and he grins and says "Bring it on!" (though I can see that as scheming about what he can do with this power) - At the end of "Fairly Odd Fairy Tales" when he's trying to coax Timmy into eating his food and Wanda hands him a treat, interrupting his scheme (and he leaves his fists in the air while expressing interest in the treat) - The first time he meets Vicky during "When L.O.S.E.R.S. Attack" (when she joins the team's plan to get Timmy, so... arguably scheming, though the alt personality is known for crushes - and had eye highlights when asking Crocker if the mystery person he wanted to bring in was single - so I'd accept that as an answer).

Yes, I did drop everything to rewatch every Foop episode for this. hey man how's it going.

[cinememed]

₍ 📻 ₎   the mountain goats lyrics  rp  starters  ! featuring violence, explicit language + subject matters & mature topics . some lines have been slightly adjusted for rp purposes .

let him who thinks he knows no fear look well upon my face.

bring your heroes, watch them all get crushed.

everybody's got their limits. nobody's found mine.

some things you will remember. some things stay sweet forever.

i can see the future, it's a real dark place.

who will mop up all the blood?

there's no promise sweeter than a blood pact.

i'm as happy as i'm ever gonna be. you're by my side.

wrap this around your head. don't let anyone see that you're bleeding.

if you can't beat them, make them bleed like pigs.

and i am coming home to you with my own blood in my mouth.

every moment leads towards its own sad end.

i am coming home to you, if it's the last thing that i do.

i am this great unstable mass of blood and foam.

i think i hear angels in my ears.

some days i don't miss my family. some days i do.

lend me your hand. let me look in your eyes.

when i try to open up to you, i get completely lost.

some days i think i'd feel better if i tried harder.

i woke up afraid of my own shadow. like genuinely afraid.

keep your head low. try to leave no traces when you go.

don't even question your senses, you can be sure it's me.

it was their love you wanted, not mine.

you know and i know, everyone knows it. i'm the one.

i may have failed you once before. but this means war.

the best you've got is powerless against me.

please don't send me back to where i came from.

you're going to do what you want, no matter what i ask of you.

all your little schemes break when they come crashing up against me.

what did i come down here for? you.

i've got you. you've got whatever's left of me.

i hope you blink before i do.

i hope you die. i hope we both die 

i want to say i'm sorry for stuff i haven't done yet.

would you look at that? we're throwing off sparks.

what will i do when i don't have you to hold onto in the dark?

i don't know why it's gotten harder to keep myself away.

i saw the future in a dream last night. there's nothing in it.

somebody's gonna get hurt. i hope it's not me.

i couldn't help myself. i don't know what i need.

i hope the bad guys win. i hope the good guys get their skulls bashed in.

i waited here all by myself.

down there in the dark i could see the real truth about myself.

when you came in, i could breathe again.

you're the last, best thing i've got.

some things you'll do for money, and some you'll do for fun.

the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one.

it's not nice to try to kill the same thing twice.

i used to love you so much i was sure it would kill me.

i want you the way you were.

we can leave a nasty mark when we're gone.

i know you don't want me to hurt you tonight.

i don't want you to hurt me the way you do.

i am right here where you want me.

the stars would come out of hiding for you. and i would too.

i will do what you ask me to, because of how i feel about you.

you have questions only a masochist would ask.

your bright eyes are gonna kill me for sure.

nobody is innocent here. i've got more blood on my hands than you do.

you've done something awful. i've done something worse.

you can stand up, or you can run.

we both know know what you've done.

some things you do just to see how bad they'll make you feel.

we both know you're leaving. you just don't want to say it yet.

i've got no good reasons left not to let down my guard.

you were warm. that's all i remember.

i feel guilty, but i can't feel ashamed.

hang on to your dreams until someone beats them out of you.

when the time comes to loosen your grip, you'll know.

you found my breaking point. congratulations.

nobody gets away. even the best of us come back someday.

[greenerteacups]

also just read your favorite weasley post and !! love that Ron is your favorite he gets so much bashing in dramione works im like grrggr he’s not so horrible omg! he has his shortcomings but if you’re literally diving deep into draco as a character who in canon is overtly an ass then why are we destroying Ron’s character to justify the dramione relationship TT poor story building imo, but to each their own!

love your work, excited for what’s to come!!

I think Ron would've had better reception in the D/H fandom if — I mean, for one, if he wasn't a major obstacle to their ship going canon, which is like, not his fault, but also means he's never gonna be the most popular dude on the block — but also if the later books hadn't done him a bit dirty. Without even getting into how their characters change, Hermione becomes a lot more likable in later books when her enduring flaws of bossiness, paranoia, and know-it-all-ing become incredibly useful and appropriate in a literal war. Ron, in contrast, starts as an almost idealized "hero's best friend" archetype, friendly and witty and loyal, and then gets his flaws uncovered slowly. Whereas Hermione wears her faults on her sleeve from day one, Ron's self-esteem issues and empathy problems emerge realistically over time as the plot brings them to the fore. But because JKR doesn't conclude emotional arcs, he doesn't get an actual moment to overcome those flaws and triumph, restoring audience faith and making himself more likable by having overcome struggle.

Draco canonically exists to be a bully and antagonist. The stories are not terribly interested in him beyond that role. But there's something honest about that, since the reader never feels like the text expects you to like him. Draco is awful and owns it. He's narcissistic, cruel, and mean from the first interaction, so he has nowhere to go but up. If you like him, you like him because (probably) you're interested in where he could go in the future or in alternate universes, and how he could overcome his faults (making him extremely likable, because we love characters who struggle and win). He's not a three-dimensional character so much as he is the possibility of a three-dimensional character, and all that potential is really easy to like. Meanwhile, Ron is a three-dimensional character, full-stop. He fucks up sometimes, but in general, the text wants you to like him — problem being, the text doesn't always know how to make that happen, and sometimes it fails. Which can be doubly annoying, because then you feel like you're watching a character getting rewarded for bad behavior.

Now, me? I'm a consistent bitch. Blond or ginger, I'm equal-opportunity: give me a witty asshole with empathy problems and a fanatical devotion to the people they love, I'm locked in. I like Ron and Draco for a lot of the same reasons. I think they're very similar in a lot of ways that get overlooked. And if you ship Draco/Hermione, that should be great news, because you might suppose Hermione has a type.

[itsnothingofinterest]

I think that the LoV deserves to win in the Final War because if they win, they will be able to create a world for themselves. The Heroes never meant to deserve to win at all considering the fact that most of them are morally corrupted (like the HPSC) and they are more interesting when they lose all the time.

If Spinner were able to win against Shoji, that would prove that his point will be always right and he would be able to save Shigaraki. If Toya succeeded, it would be the punishment that Endeavor deserves for abandoning his eldest son. If Toga succeeded, she would be able to do anything she wants. If Tomura Shigaraki wins against Deku and destroys Deku along with the entire Hero Society, Tomura Shigaraki would be able to have peace with his friends.

If I may be allowed the opportunity to rant: I'm sure some will say this is crazy at this juncture of the story but honestly? I get where you're coming from. Or at least 90% of it.

I mean for starters, I sympathize with the League far more than the heroes (no surprise from a villain fan). I think they’ve earned the happy endings they want after how hard they’ve struggled against the towering odds they’ve faced, an area which I feel they far surpass the heroes. I want them to win, I want them to prove the strength of their bonds, all that fun stuff for them.

And just logically, if you look at the worlds both sides are trying to make…the villain's world kinda seems better? Because after all, isn’t the plan to just take the current world, tear it down, and rebuild it without a whole bunch of its glaring flaws? The easy world Toga wants where kids like her don’t fear for their lives. Where corrupt heroes like Endeavor and bigots like the CRC aren’t left to their crimes. In a warped way, they’re almost like young All Might.

Compare that to the status quo the heroes want back, the very one that brought us here, which I don’t see much reason to root for. I mean even if you say “but all the people who’ve died���; first off, I swear mha civilians frequently act like horror movie victims so I can only care so much for them. But if I did, they want back the very status quo that led to all that death in the first place so…it feels like it’ll just lead back here again. A return of the status quo? This chaos is part of the status quo by now, you sure you want it back?

(Granted this is all hampered a little bit by Shigaraki’s sudden decision to sink the country and really where did that come from? Did Tomura just say that to appear more inhuman? Did Hori make him say that to appear more threatening? Because that kind of interferes with a lot of the League’s goals y’know. Sure he doesn’t want to give the status quo loving heroes a chance to rebuild what he destroyed, but society still needs replacing as part of the plan. The PLF are still supposed to rebuild according to their desires. I may make a post about just this plot point soon.)

Not to mention that I totally get what you mean about the heroes not narratively earning a permanent win here. Not only have they as a whole not really developed and surpassed their old flaws, but just the fact that they’ve been doing their own war crimes in this arc (when you’re really supposed to stick to your morals and beat villains by the book against make-the-world-better-by-extreme-measures-type villains) really makes me think they just don't deserve the win because they kind of can’t be trusted going forward. I mean the final arc's supposed to show where everyone is ending up; how they'll be in the future. And the impression being left is that the heroes, even the kids to enough of an extent to worry, have shown the same corruption we know the HPSC for.

About the only thing I disagree with out on is that I don’t want Deku specifically to die. He can be, to put bluntly, a self-righteous moron about things he doesn't understand at times, and can be a bit of an AM clone a lot of the rest of the time; but I'd hardly wish his death for just that. Especially since it seems any hope for the heroes side not repeating their mistakes rests on him pulling his head out of his arse and getting a clue on how to be better than All Might. Not that I think that'll happen anytime soon, but that's why I keep insistently hoping for an MHA part 2.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Sorry I took so long with this. Mix of being busy with real life and being in a writing funk. Which is why this may not be my finest post either. Hope you understand.)

[checkoutmybookshelf]

I Beg Your Pardon...WHAT Was That Cliffhanger!?

Sarah J. Maas is seriously going to make me sit through Chaol's Desert Adventure before she resolves the cliffhanger of this book, and quite frankly? That is just RUDE. Let's talk Empire of Storms.

This is your SPOILER WARNING and I'm going to spoil the end in like the first sentence after the cut, so if you're not through this book, this is your last chance to scroll by.

Holy gods Aelin is good at 4D chess and thinking on her feet in a clinch, because despite Maeve putting her in an iron box, she kept the wyrdkeys, Elide, and Terrasen's future safe. (I told you I was going to spoil the end.) Girl figured out that because Elena screwed up, she would have to die to keep the world safe from Erawan and the Valg, so what does she do? She secures her kingdom's future, gives Aedion and Rowan and army with which to win the war, and even gets Lysandra involved to give Terrasen a royal bloodline. Like...I am seriously impressed by what Aelin managed to pull together. And she did it without help or input from her court because she's so tied up in it only ever being her who pays the price.

A price that Maeve is bound and determined to add one hell of a tax to...Faerie Queens are historically somewhat fraught figures, but this Maeve is one hell of a stone-cold bitch. She is also damn good at identifying wounds and applying pressure to them, so pretty much everyone who loves Aelin is absolutely devastated at the end of this book. There is an impending war, a deception to uphold, a rescue to enact, and a Valg king to destroy. And yet I still have to sit through Chaol's book before ANY of that and I am so salty about it. (Yes, I was aware of the tandem read option. I chose not to because that is so much unnecessary effort.)

Empire of Storms was super plot-heavy though; SO MUCH happened in this book. So let's dig into that a bit, and try to take it peice by peice.

Elorcan

Ok, so if I thought Elide was a bit damp in the last book, she got BADASS this book. This poor girl was abandoned, locked away, and finally given a chance to escape at the cost of Kaltain's life.

And I'm just going to take a second here to say that Kaltain got one hell of a raw deal. Girl was a bit of a bitch and out for money, but she absolutely did not deserve to end up at Erawan's mercy like that. Kaltain absolutely deserves justice. It's not just the stabby and stubborn girls who deserve to be treated with respect and care.

But Elide runs into Lorcan early in this book, and the two of them sort of...quietly accidentally fall into a relationship. It's one of those where you kind of have to tilt your head and squint, because its just...I mean if it works for them, then fine, but wow these are two deeply traumatized people and the trauma bond to relationship pipeline is SUPER odd.

We have Lorcan ceding authority right off the bat and letting Elide lead, he uses his magic to brace her bad ankle, she is giving him crap every five minutes, he's tearing up his shirt to make her pads, and ultimately they work to keep each other safe. Right up until Lorcan fucks it all up by summoning Maeve and handing Aelin over. Which Elide is taking SUPER personally because her mother died buying Aelin time to get out when Terrasen fell. And also because Lorcan lied to her. It's really fucked up in the BEST way, because it's clear that Lorcan and Elide are down BAD for each other, but Lorcan still thinks he's in love with Maeve. Who then immediately kicks him yo the curb because she can see what's plainly out in the open in front of her eyes, even if Lorcan can't.

I actually really enjoyed watching Elide and Lorcan figure out crossing paths with Aelin. He's grumpy and traumatized AF, and pretty much against his will and better judgement, he gloms onto this little lost girl. And his confidence and support gives her the courage and feeling of safety to actually grow into her own badassery. It's adorable, which makes his betrayal make me want to headdesk into oblivion. Like...Lorcan. SIR. You put all your plans on hold, walked into danger, and killed multiple people to keep Elide safe and happy. You seriously think Maeve is still the most important woman in your life???

Lorcan desperately needs therapy, but my god it's fun to watch him ruin his life.

Manian (and Also the Witches Generally)

Dorian and Manon are in the running against Aedion and Lysandra for best couple in Throne of Glass, especially since they're both deeply prickly, deeply wounded, and deeply ready to hop into bed with each other instead of dealing with the prickles and wounds.

Dorian is already protective as hell over Manon, despite his all-too-recent losses, trauma, and the fact that he's currently a king in exile. Which actually I think he's handling decently well--his little chat with Rowan about losing a loved one worked beautifully, and he is smart enough to ask for help with his magic. Although if the bigass battles with the Ilken and Maeve's fleet at the end are any indication, he's fine. He's just a fire hydrant of power, similar to Aelin.

Manon is...having a ROUGH TIME this book. Her grandmother keeps trying to murder Asterin, she keeps having this really inconvenient conscience, and it finally comes to a head when her grandmother disowns her after coming within about a quarter inch of disembowling her. It's really lucky that Abraxos is as smart as he is darling, because finding Aelin is pretty much the only reason Manon survives. And Abraxos gets all the wildlflowers he wants for being the goodest boi. He not only saves Manon's life, he also tracks down the thirteen and reunites everyone.

These parts of the book were honestly just delightful to read, and I am a fan of Manon and Dorian.

Aedion's Daddy Issues

Hoo boy, ok. Aedion has every right to have a METRIC TON of trauma, given his life. So to add daddy issues to his childhood, teenage, and adult trauma, his stress about not having an army or allies, and some feels for Lysandra is a LOT. And even Aedion is surprised by the depth of the emotion of his reaction to Gavriel showing back up in his life.

Thing is, though? Even if it's largely background and subtextual, we do get Gavriel and Aedion getting...if not reconciled, then accustomed to each other, and they work well together. I'm actually massively curious to see how their relationship continues to evolve now that Maeve has severed the blood oath to Gavriel and Aelin has been captured and Aedion has found out that she volunteered him to make babies with Lysandra to pass off as the Terrasen heirs and royal family.

Which...I get why she did it. But AELIN. DARLING. Guys have bodily autonomy too, and you can't just VOLUNTEER your cousin and your best friend as stud and brood mare, respectively.

My guess is Gavriel has some experience with serving a powerful, capricious woman who doesn't always tell you the whole plan, so if we don't get that conversation at some point, I will riot.

Lysandra Being the Best Ever

Lysandra is the best secondary character in these books, full stop. Our girl has really come into her own with her shape shifting, as we see in both Skull Bay and the battle with Maeve's fleet. She has to figure out a truly unique magic basically on her own, she is asked to go into battle in shapes she hasn't had a whole hell of a lot of time to practice with, and yet by the end of the book, she is MIXING AND MATCHING TRAITS to create an effective murder form that is capable of taking out fae ships.

And this is WHILE she is backing up Aelin's 4D chess shenangins, periodically messing with Aedion, supporting Aedion emotionally, and getting over her own trauma. Lysandra is the unsung queen of this series, and frankly she deserves 1000% of the credit for everything she does. Especially the popping up over random people's shoulders as a ghost leopard. Because I too would use that ability to scare the ever-loving shit out of people for funsies. We have to find our fun where we can during a war.

NOT TO MENTION that Lysandra is entirely willing to take not one, not two, but SEVERAL for the team. Aelin fully asks Lysandra to 1) impersonate her for the rest of Lysandra's life, 2) be fake married to Rowan and help rule Terrasen, 3) let Aedion impregnate her multiple times with children she will have to pass off as Rowan's to give Terrasen a legitimate bloodline, and 4) deal with Rowan and Aedion's lifelong grief and trauma over losing Aelin. That's a SIGNIFICANT ask, and Lysandra is full-on over here like, "Yeah, I'll do that, and sure, I'll also keep this plan secret from Rowan and Aedion until you're dead or as good as dead." Lysandra does not get enough credit for her role in this book, and this is me giving her all the credit.

Aelin Playing 4D Chess

Aelin gets so much credit for being stupid competent as an assassin. She gets weirdly less credit for her ability to play 4D chess. Because the LITERAL MINUTE she realizes that she's doomed to die to win the war and yeet Erawan back into whatever void he came from, she is calling in every chip and favor she can to get Terrasen an army that has a chance of winning the war. But she's also thinking long-term. She knows that for Terrasen to survive, it needs a royal family and legitimate bloodline, and she wrangles that too by legally marrying Rowan, and roping in Lysandra and Aedion to produce the crotch goblins that will pass as "hers" and Rowan's.

In addition, she is clocking Lorcan's betrayal and planning around it, ensuring that she can keep the wyrdkeys safe, and getting her people out of a REALLY Bad situation. Quite literally, Aelin's competence is just insane and I love that she is allowed to be this competent. It should get talked about more.

Seriously, That Ending

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the last 200 pages of a Sarah J. Maas book will contain approximately 70% of the plot and 85-95% of the emotional angst of the story. That holds EXTREMELY true for Empire of Storms. The entire showdown with Maeve and its aftermath was devastating for everyone, reader included. I full-on got teary when Aelin told Elide that her mother would be proud of her, and wanted to deck Lorcan SO HARD. Gavriel is going to need SO MUCH THERAPY after that nonsense, and I think Aelin and Aedion are going to need to literally just fight it out once she's safely retrieved.

Also, the "Rowan and Aelin were married for like two days" reveal was...a whole thing. Like...it potentially could feel a little contrived, but honestly I'd be lying if I said I wasn't invested and kicking my little feeties in joy over the angst. So as an ending, HELL YES. As a cliffhanger with a WHOLE OTHER BOOK before I get resolution on the Maeve and the iron box thing? JAIL. JAIL FOR SJM FOR 1000 YEARS.

We Just Briefly Need to Talk About Ripping Off Tolkien and Robert Jordan

Siiiiiiiiiiiiigh. Y'know guys... The bare amount of credit I am willing to give here is that clearly SJM has done her reading. You can't rip off the giants of the fantasy genre without READING the giants of the fantasy genre, and she's clearly read Tolkien and Robert Jordan. I just... she didn't even bother RENAMING the dead marshes. It's just...hotter and missing the phantom bodies. It's almost like she mashed up the dead and midgewater marshes but make them tropical.

And then we come to the box. The iron box in which the bad guys keep the super magical chosen one. Which is quite literally what happens to Rand Al'Thor in Lord of Chaos. Which like...I'm low-key over here going "WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY????" Because now I'm just expecting the last book to be Dumai's Wells in Throne of Glass drag.

I realize that homage and allusion are standard in literature. And honestly it's fine. Except that I have been around the block with SJM enough to be DEEPLY SUSPICIOUS of this. So we'll see.

[sage-nebula]

I was Team Present, because I believe we can only become better by moving on from the past, but at the same time focusing too much on the future makes it impossible for us to live the lives we have now. So while I believe it's important to build a better future, focusing on the present is what I cherish most.

With that said, Team Present—I did my best. I was the sweatiest I have ever been during a splatfest. If we don't win, it's not because of me.

Team Past, y'all went hard in the paint. If you win I won't be surprised, because just about every Turf War match I had against you was ferocious. With the exception of the two Team Past attackers who screwed us over in the Tricolor match by killing us repeatedly and gave it to the Defending Team Future, y'all knew what you were doing. Ggs.

Team Future, that means no shade to y'all, it's just that Future matches were a lot more balanced. Some were cake, some were not. Kind of like with my own Team Present peeps, where sometimes I was in lobbies with Team Present people who went hard, and sometimes I was with Team Present people who cowered in base because they were too scared to push. (Guys, please . . . you're going to get splatted whether you push forward or not, so PUSH. It's the only way we can win! I can't solo four people by myself!!) You still did well, though. Our maps looked like Goosebumps. True 90s flair.

Grand Fest was lit. I'm sad it's over. No telling who won, but ggs either way. Here's to Splat 4!

[tireddovahkiin]

CW: VENT POST!!! mentions of depression/indirect mention of suicidal thoughts/unhealthy coping mechanisms

Y'all I've come to a conclusion that seeing self ship doubles MAKES ME MORE SAD THAN SEEING CANON X CANON SHIPS-

Like bc- they actually dont bother me THAT much, I think of them more like a 'alternative cursed universe where there could always be a posibillity for crazy stuff' ship. Yk, like, how there COULD be an alternative universe out there where every president of a country have to wear a maid dress or something idfk-

the world is vast and we don't know SHIT about it

BUT THE FUCKING- ... DOUBLES...

It actually really really breaks my heart... Almost like I'm watching a "thief" take away my most valuable treasure, yk... No offense to any doubles out there, you're valid, and you're no thief, you cannot choose who you love.

But I dunno... I also am very scared of "shadowbanning" in the self ship community... Like VERY scared.

With "shadowbanning" I mean, there being some bigger, more popular users on social media who are famous for being the (character's) spouse. The character we both self ship with. But of course, the popular one is going to gain much more attention and interactions because they have been self shipping for longer time, or their art/ s/is are very popular and likeable.

So, if I tried to break the ice through and consider myself the (character's) spouse, and share my self ship stuff on the platforms, I would be DOUBLE IGNORED, and FORGOTTEN above all.

And I cannot have the same mindset with the canon x canon ships, because I know that person DOES exist in real life. And that they the character much longer than me... And have merch... And celebrate anniversaries... And treat the relationship as a real one.

It's literally like a war... where the more 'loved' one wins.

Don't get me wrong. I ALSO want to do that form my own f/os. I WANT to build the a shrine, I WANT to treat my ship serious, I WANT to draw us, and to gather merch, I WANT to love my f/os as much as I feel love for them.

But sometimes, people are not able to fulfill their needs because of the situation/environment they're in.

For example, they could either be financially unstable, the country they live in has no 'merch' of the said media, the family is unsupportive and abusive, or just... Be VERY busy with life in general. Not being able to give attention to even the smallest things, like stuff they love to do in free time, let alone their beloved f/o.

.. I myself am in that situation. My country is poor, I am about to enter university, I am still healing from my past traumas/trying to get better and fight off the problems on my own, even if it is VERY difficult, and no one understands. I should already work and have a job, have MY money, ACT like an adult should, and become independent. But I am not. I was emotionally scarred, which left big impact on my (concerning) social, (terrifying) future, and (nonexistent) work life.

I basically depend off my parents, and know absolutely nothing in general, like- I feel hopeless, dissapointed. Scared above all. Because I think a part of me is still not ready to move on and grow up, and I already did.

So, if I cannot take care of MYSELF, how can I take care of the sacred relationship me and my f/os have, love I feel for them? The attention I oh so, DESPARATELY want to give them, yet I don't even give attention to my life, and try to hide away from everything? How can I even think about them if I cannot think about anything else?

... I dunno. I'm just... I just sometimes think I am underserving of such recognition, and to be called the (character's) lover/friend/family. Because, not do I "ignore" us, but I ignore my life, too.

With ignore, I mean, I TRY to survive every single day as the best I can. Get over it, then repeat again. For quite some time now. Cope with "stress" (when there IS NO actual stress) with unhealthy maladaptive daydreaming methods and isolation. And the stress is just... Life, in general.

Being a depression survivor is hard, because you're supposed to find a purpose for yourself, when you didn't even PICTURE yourself being THIS far. Keep going, while you're actually still somewhat struggling to find the path, and will to continue.

You isolate yourself from the world in your mind, your safe, comfort zone. Where anything good can happen, there's no stress, no duties, adultery, no work. You ghost people, avoid everyone and everything, stay in your home, and LITERALLY survive the day to the best of your abillity. Try to avoid thinking about ANYTHING else but you, your f/os, your perfect little world. You struggle with most simple things like getting up, eating the right ammount, doing things you like, taking care of yourself, but you're supposed to be an ADULT. To already KNOW how to take care of yourself, because FAR more worse things are waiting for you out there.

I love my f/os. But I don't love myself, what I have become. And that is what makes me worried the most. I cannot become what I want if I already act this terrible.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

“Rather than talk down to you and tell you what to believe,” he argued, Democrats should “listen to hard-working Americans.” [which does not include trans people who want their rights protected]

So here's what comes of holding election victories as the highest moral good: Why, it looks like there are more voters that want to crush minorities than there are minority voters. Funny how that works out. Perhaps, in order to continue the "harm reduction" we should be a little more flexible about who is a human being deserving of human rights. For heaven's sake, of course it's more important to [insert other issue here] than to make sure your "daughter" can participate in track and field like a real girl... or go to the bathroom... or get healthcare... or live. What do you mean some of you also have "sons"? Or... whatever that is. Please, their existence is of limited political value, stop confusing the issue. Look, we've already accepted that a certain amount of children are going to die to keep us in power, are you really that upset we want to roll the dice on yours?

By the numbers, the fascist/war criminal outreach didn't cause Republican voters to get right with centrism and ask for slightly less fascism/war crimes as a compromise. Nothing succeeds like excess! However, they have an explanation on deck for that, it's not new:

“They painted her as something I don’t think she is,” Rendell said. “They painted her as a far-left liberal.”

As always, there are Democrats pushing back from within the party, but courting fickle leftists who won't let you kill their child and blame the child posthumously just doesn't have wide appeal. The authoritarian lockstep voters won't hold politicians accountable! Please-please-please can't we have some more money for the claw machine, so we can try picking some of those up again? They'll help us win lots of elections! A half-fascist, half-nonfascist voter base would be philosophically ideal! Can't you all just get along? Come on, you all want cheaper groceries! It's a big tent!

"Who shall we alienate from their inalienable rights? Show of hands!" is not a winning situation for minorities of any kind. If we're doing trolley problems, we're going to pull the lever and aim for the less populated areas. And we'll congratulate ourselves on a job well done while wiping the blood off our hands.

(I suppose I should add that teaming up to form some kind of solidarity-based minority supermajority, if all we're going to do with it is pull the lever and mow down the people who've been mowing us down, would be kind of a lateral move. We really ought to stop the trolley, although I am seeing a lot of people who prioritize lever access.)

The way we count votes, assign representatives and allow ballot access is very good at muting the voices of the marginalized. All the little things, and a few big things, really add up. We're not going to vote it all better under the circumstances - we haven't done it in over 250 years, and, in fact, have put a lot of effort into making the stacked deck more subtle and entrenched. That's not what I asked for, but that's what I got. You too?

Democrats aren't the good guys. Supporting them unconditionally doesn't help them fight the "bad guys" it makes it easier for them to be bad guys too. Don't quiet down and fall in line, or if and when they ever win an election again, this is what you're gonna get.

But, in case this is all you're gonna get for the foreseeable future, team up and take care of each other. Draw outside the lines. Circle around the children like musk oxen and make a safe space. The school doesn't own sports - and, frankly, they might push your kids to permanently damage their health for trophies and funding. Hell, the school doesn't own education. There has to be someplace your kids can learn AND use the bathroom AND not get shot AND not be exposed to COVID on a regular basis. If you can't drag the school system there, what can you build as an alternative?

Same goes for every other institution under attack.

[artsycervidae]

Moksha: Chapter 10, Intermission

Nobutoshi has an unsettling dream. Tetsuya names his price.

Word Count: 6.3k

Chapter list and trigger warnings are listed here.

The only quadrant left for Nobutoshi to patrol was due south. Of course, it was impossible to clear out every single demon in such a large area-- he only needed to target the stronger ones that proved more of a potential issue. But ever a perfectionist, he had hitchhiked and doubled back the long way. Whether it be by horse, wagon, or trolly, Nobutoshi took advantage of passivity by resting. He practiced Junko's meditative teachings in the meantime: she would catch naps completely sitting up, eyes open, for no longer than thirty minutes at a time, and her ability to set her own internal clock had been enviable. To the common public, Nobutoshi was a handsomely rugged man swathed in a deep cerulean garb, immune to conversation, staring intensely at the passing landscape. This extreme form of maintenance saved him time and effort better expended elsewhere.

Unfortunately, he never had mastered lucid dreaming. Even Hinata had improved to the point they could hear and feel their surroundings while asleep, though there was a lag before they woke on command. They were laywaid by their own mind, but not when it came to controlling its practical functions. This personal failure of Nobutoshi's made the last couple days insufferable, riddled with wasted time, minutes spent sitting in place as his thoughts waterfalled over him in his most vulnerable state.

-----

The Demon Corps resting grounds were massive: the Ubuyashiki lands held what scraps and memoriam remained of valiant souls at peace. Rows engraved with the family names of fallen Slayers had grown significantly over the years. Like many others, Junko found herself an orphan-- after she passed Final Selections, she returned to a world where she was totally alone, forbidden from her communal home and barred from mourning the loss with her three-year-old brother.

The only family she could visit now stood before them as polished stone, 'Hashimoto' carved into history. "I wish you two had been here when they were buried," Junko told Nobutoshi for the thousandth time. "I really wish you met them before they died... They would have liked you."

"There's always your brother," Nobutoshi suggested hopefully, before realizing he already knew where this line of dialog went.

"I hope not. It'll be impossible to answer for all our absences. Children rarely forgive abandonment and they never forget. Not to mention," her chin lifted, steadfast against her misery, "a sword in his hands means I've failed at making a safe world for him... No. I can't face him until this is all over."

Premonition weighed heavy on his chest. She always wanted Tetsuya to live in a future where children could play outside without fearing the dark. Even if the boy himself wasn't a marechi, it wasn't enough for her that he had been spirited away with the other Garden survivors, sequestered under the care of endangered shinobi clans. He needed to be secure and carefree; her goal was for his life to be free of demonic influence. That thought led elsewhere-- somewhere Nobutoshi wasn't ready to face yet.

"You're doing amazing work so far," he instead praised. "You're already a Hashira. You've met with Master before anyone else I know."

"It's not good enough," she smiled wanly. "We're still losing the war."

"I think someone like you can tip the scales in our favor," Nobutoshi told her. "You guide others into battle and safety, your fighting is efficient and unparalleled, anytime you arrive it's as if you know exactly what we need to do to win."

"You're probably the only person who appreciates that," she chuckled. "Grown men don't like being bossed around by a little girl." And she looked past him when she said, "Isn't that right? Remember, Hinata, when that old guy nearly fought me?"

"Grown men can have a say when they're able to distinguish a dirty mouth from authentic offense," Hinata defended, suddenly making their presence known. "Your bark is worse than your bite, anyway. I would rather have you drag me through the dirt than get chewed out in front of everybody like that... you can be pretty cruel." Although this made the girl snicker, Nobutoshi discredited their opinion wholesale, agreeing only with Hinata's sentiment. If others could see what they saw, fellow fighters would know that swears and an attitude mattered very little in the grand scheme of her impact.

Hinata stepped past them both-- suddenly, the graveyard was different from before. They had transported to the corner where the Rengoku Pillars and their kin rested; Hinata crouched and spoke softly to both Kenzou and Kosuke. "I'm sorry I could never repay you," they apologized. "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough yet." Junko kept an appropriate distance and let Hinata have their say: Nobutoshi scanned over the rows before it dawned on him: this was a fantasy. Even outside the dream, humanity was losing this secret war.

"Uh oh," Junko sighed as Hinata rose to their feet. "Here comes Kai."

Indeed, Kosuke's eldest surviving son was incoming, his scalding eyes blazing through Hinata as his brother-tsuguko Shiori tagged along, trying to dissuade him of any violence. The eldest's fist had flexed and closed-- Nobutoshi didn't want to see this again: the way Hinata would roll over, would let Kai verbally assault them for daring to consider paying their respects-- or 'disrespects,' according to the beholder. The newly-appointed Flame Hashira drew a deep breath, Shiori relaxed. But then Kai moved past his sibling, deadset on reaching the interloper who had taken his family from him: Hinata, of course, stepped forward to meet him halfway.

"Hinata, don't--" Nobutoshi pleaded. 'He's going to really hurt you this time. It's going to break your heart.'

"It's the least I can do," Hinata said, not heeding the mental warning. "Taking the blame might not save anyone now, but... he feels better, afterward." It would take a couple spats-- a bloody nose, a broken finger-- before Hinata learned to stay out of sight and mind. To abandon the grave markers forever, for the sake of peace. No physical retribution would salve Kai's heart, Shiori's interventions would never smother the fires of passionate hate, and it was a debt that no amount of Hinata's blood would repay.

Before Nobutoshi could close his eyes to block out the incoming scene, Junko reached forward and grabbed Hinata's hand, dragging them away at a full sprint. This surprised Nobutoshi-- he followed, wondering for a moment how running away from such problems could ever help. Hinata would never change, would always be like this. They could never face humanity except for punishment; they would rather bury their tears in Junko's shoulder, as if she were at all responsible for them.

Demon Corps headquarters folded and unfolded, and Nobutoshi found himself facing one of the oldest wisteria trees, dead center in the courtyard. He was indoors, but the friends he had been chasing were all the way under the blossoms, as if they had always been there. The two were exchanging combat techniques, and the dissonance struck Nobutoshi as humorous: it would be like them to start a scuffle in the same space where their superior officers held meetings, to get amped up on each other's excitement.

As usual, Hinata was soundly outperformed by Junko. She effortlessly flipped them over her shoulder, watching their own erratic movements bring them down before holding her wooden sword to their throat. "See, if you were a demon, it would be all over now," she said, chipper. "Well. Besides the sunlight and the wisteria, which would have gotten you first." And she laughed, a musical and boastful noise that Nobutoshi couldn't help smiling for.

"Again," the loser pleaded. "Tell me. What did I do wrong?"

"You keep underestimating the naturally ambulatory motions of Foliage Breathing," she told them. "You can go left, right, up, down. Stop reacting and start predicting. Get into my head, dumbass."

"It's hard," they said, curling up on the ground, picking up fistfuls of wisteria petals to drop over their lap. "If I get in your head, then you'll get into mine."

"That's the point," Junko scolded. She knelt down, scooped up stray flowers, and rained them on Hinata's head. "You need to open your awareness, which means being receptive to others." Hinata hummed, allowing their superior to lecture on. Nobutoshi wanted to get closer, but the afternoon was so warm, the scene so placid, that he leisurely observed from his vantage point as he adored his friends. Indeed, these two had become Nobutoshi's dearest companions. Even Hinata, as off-putting and histrionic they may be, had grown on him with their eccentric interests and constant desire to please. They were each Slayers worth knowing.

Junko still held the superior control over her body's nervous system: of her nearly-psychic connection for up to five days after physical contact with any human. Additionally her range of sensing air currents had expanded to fifty meters; the Kakushi benefitted from her presence in search-and-rescue, often preferring her command despite the usual tension between pillars and their subjects.

Hinata was trying to learn to emulate that: emphasis on trying. They could trail any demon or Slayer to impossible lengths with their needle-sharp attention to them: which landed them, more often than not, in the particular role of capturing demons alive for training purposes. These demons were analyzed by others like Hinata, whose years of knowledge and experience lended familiarity to the sorts of demons that initiates could and couldn't beat. This intense curiosity in demonhood had developed its own niche, and encouraging them to learn her craft hands-on had never presented an issue. Junko's biggest obstacle with this pupil was their inability to cast their mind about, relying too much on object permanence for a single target as their crutch: "You're stalking like a jungle cat, but you haven't honed in on your reflexes. Really, it's the most inefficient thing you could do with such a specific ability. You'll never become a Hashira like that."

"I can't become a Hashira, period," they pouted.

"Well, what are you even fighting for then?"

"To hunt demons."

"Besides that."

"To learn about--"

"Besides demons."

They paused before shrugging, their imagination limited to the confines of Demon Corps obligations... much less outside of Junko or Nobutoshi. "The best I can do is hope my death benefits someone else." They shook the wisteria out of their hair and added, with a note of humor, "Yeah. I won't mind dying if someone gets something out of it. Just have me walk in front of you when things look scary."

"At least you're optimistic about it," Junko said-- which had to be sarcastic, but her aura was missing-- and Nobutoshi remembered, again, this was a dream. Junko wasn't really here, and Hinata would never be the same. After watching her student meditate in petals for another second or two, she scooted on her knees in front of them. Their eyes rose, reflecting a muted green hue. The two had an entire conversation without speaking. It was a bond Nobutoshi sensed, yet was not privy to. Something he knew existed but could not understand, and what was the point of seeing everything if what he saw made him so bitter? They had their own language: twin tactile sensors existing on their own private wavelength, discussing complicated subjects with a twitch of an eyebrow, a grunt in her throat, a slow tapping of their finger.

Then Junko rolled her head back. She looked directly at Nobutoshi. A chill prickled the back of his neck, and he whispered, "Junko? Is that... you?"

"You know what that's like. Right?" She asked-- it was her voice, her unmoving lips. "When the facts get hard to believe. That despite all the evidence, you can never quite match it up with the life that exists in your head."

'This is just a dream,' Nobutoshi reminded himself. And he asked again. "Junko, tell me it's you."

"I know the feeling well," someone solemnly calm said from behind Nobutoshi.

It took Nobu a moment to recognize the sound of his father's voice. It had been so long since he heard it even in his sleep. Junko had been looking at Jin, not Nobutoshi; sometimes he conjured her so vividly in his mind, he swore she was a spirit come to deliver some otherworldly message that only he could interpret. Alas, this was always his own overactive imagination...

"It's hard to believe that my wife passed away, though it's been years," the former Mist Hashira went on, an uncharacteristic display of open honesty. Nobutoshi's father never spoke more than five words to even his own son, unless the situation demanded it. And he never brought up the permanent mourning shrine that remained of Ishikawa Chihiro, the woman who had been caught by a demon only weeks before her son's Final Selection.

This did not mean his father wasn't kind. He was terse, yes, but a good man. Such a good man that when Jin had met Junko and Hinata, he refrained from saying anything remotely uncharitable about them. He simply saw them for what they were: Nobutoshi's comrades, his son's dear friends, fellow Slayers. They met at the Corps-aligned refuge that had once housed the expansive Ishikawa family; the family's numbers were far fewer, allowing the location to better serve general Demon Corps activity.

Recollection of the Ishikawa graves made it hard to breathe. Nobutoshi didn't want to go back to the cemetary. He willed with all his might that they stay away-- praying that for once, he could persuade his dreams to go his way.

Junko stood before helping Hinata up. The wisteria tree had multiplied and regressed, turning into the safety perimeter that existed outside the Ishikawa compound. This was a welcome sight: when the three Slayers had the fortune of working together, they would often spend their recovery periods at Nobutoshi's childhood home. "Finish your training," Jin commanded. He took only a few steps before stopping and looking back. Nobutoshi tried to put his father into terms that he could see: dark hair, sharp features, fox-like eyes, and thin lips. But these couldn't really ever define Ishikawa Jin, Nobutoshi's father, hero, and critic. He only remembered the man as the pinnacle of power. "Dinner in an hour."

Never more than five words, unless absolutely necessary.

The crows dotting along the rooftops honked and ruffled in greeting to each other. Hinata and Junko faced each other again, the former chancing a glance to Nobutoshi-- the latter struck, kicking her sparring partner's legs out from under them, sword to the throat, and the declaration made, "I win again."

"That's cheating! I wasn't ready!" But Hinata laughed, throwing up their arms and falling back into the grass dramatically.

"Which do you pick?"

"What?"

When Nobutoshi turned to his father, the scene had changed again-- it was spring, crisp and cold in the morning. He could see clouds of exhalation, but the two fighters, his only friends in the world, were frozen mid-lift; Junko smiled down at Hinata as though they shared some joke in this freezeframe. Jin looked irritated, and Nobutoshi flushed at the shame of forcing his father to repeat himself:

"To the coast. Which do you pick?" No wonder the sunbeams were so saturated, the harsh light so blinding and the colors so washed out. This was the day... "Hashira make hard decisions," his father said. "Pick one."

It felt like such an easy choice then. The Corps weren't even sure if the suspicious activity in such a rural ocean town was truly demonic in nature. It sounded like runaways. Like people fleeing a dying way of living so out in the sticks. Suggesting to send Junko, a Hashira, would have been overkill. Hinata, though, knew how to find the nocturnal monsters, to discern their behaviors and abilities. "Yasumoto Hinata," Nobutoshi said. "Send them to investigate the barge. And the other lower ranked Slayers, just in case."

That was the reasoning he told his father... and the truth. It was the truth. It just happened to work in Nobutoshi's favor that by sending Hinata away...

Nobutoshi glanced to the courtyard again and jumped-- Junko was standing right in front of him. No, he was in the courtyard now, his feet finally moving in slow, sluggish gestures to carry him where he wanted to be. Everyone else had vanished. He reached out for her hand. Her other one came up to cup his cheek and jaw, her smooth and round fingernails curled into his skin comfortably.

He wanted Hinata to go away, as dear as they were: he had wanted her to himself again. When he dipped his forehead into her shoulder she snorted and giggled-- giggled, God -- and nuzzled into his head in return. Was it so bad to want something for himself? To make a decision that felt sound and safe? Hinata could always keep her as a mentor and rival and soulmate, but Nobutoshi would make due with the bare minimum of her affections... he wanted to braid their lives together, but he could never ask her to pick between her values and him. He wasn't so cruel as his father. Maybe one day in the future, when demons had been cleaned off the face of the world, they could be married. But not until he helped her to usher in that new age.

A massive shadow disturbed the crows along the rooftop, a few fleeing to new perches; the caressing Slayers paused and looked skyward. Junko's raven, nearly twice the size of an albatross in dream logic, stopped its descent with a powerful beat of its wings before settling on the ground. It opened its mouth:

-----

Nobutoshi opened his eyes to an average-sized crow settling onto his knee, momentarily preening the feathers under its aqua bandana. The open-roof carriage hadn't yet reached its destination, and he had already received Tetsuya's confirmation. What could this message be? His messenger looked up to him and said, "For Ishikawa Nobutoshi, from Yoshiwara base. A communications blackout has been enforced for the next 72 hours. Personnel has been dismissed. I also have a personal message!"

His bird cracked its head both ways before making a series of hiccups and clicks with its throat and chest-- the rhythm, duration, and pause of each mimicking an encrypted code. One that Nobutoshi recognized immediately. It thrust him back to that day, staring out at the sea barge. Where he lost everyone he had to possibly lose.

The message translated to: Kizuki activity confirmed. Siege is underway. Hope you're almost done. Bring friends.

"Yasumoto! Damn it!" Nobutoshi stood and ran, abandoning the horse-drawn vehicle with a jostle from his harried leap. He had half a mind to abandon the deal altogether: to raise the alarm and summon another Hashira, 'bringing friends' so to speak... but then they would have questions. Why was he humoring the scheme, why had he sent his tsuguko with Yasumoto, why on Earth had he lifted Yasumoto's restrictions to begin with? No-- he had to get to Yoshiwara and settle this himself. He had slain Lower Ranks singlehandedly before, and this wouldn't be any different. Hinata had already begun moving their pieces: they were likely striving to break new ground several times before anyone could show up and stop them, forcing the rest of the Corps to follow through by holding their own life-- and the life of Tetsuya-- hostage. Nobutoshi's only mistake had been trusting Hinata, hoping their plan was a bluff or cry for attention; he didn't expect Hinata to put Junko's brother in such a dire situation.

When Hinata had first recommended the seige to Nobutoshi, the plan sounded so simple it was stupid: starve the demon by isolating it, determine the target's potential and ranking as Kizuki, then maintain a stalemate until reinforcements, refreshed and rested, came in for the killing blow. So much had happened so fast before Nobutoshi's walking headache made their proposal. The sudden disappearance of the Water Hashira, leading to another unexpected promotion within the ranks, Tetsuya's recent graduation, the complications in his training that arose... Hinata cornered him, armed this time with maps and reports of disappearances, the perimeter of a larger space carved out around Yoshiwara and a couple other areas.

"We'll create a power vacuum," Hinata had said, all shark-toothed smiles and broken-glass eyes. They argued that the Corps had been busy reacting to death counts-- graceless, as always-- then intoned there was a smart way to feed bodies to the ever-hungry war. (This was also a trick. If Nobutoshi struck Hinata for their blatant disregard, they would have touched for the first time in five years, though neither would be happy.) "If there is a Kizuki there, then we've already cleared the whole area out. We kill the Kizuki, we see what Kibutsuji does. We see what his minions do. If there's none there, then you get to lord it over me for all eternity."

Nobutoshi-- torn between his obligations to Ubuyashiki Rin, his failures to rear Tetsuya properly, exasperated by Hinata's preparedness-- gave in. He didn't truly think there was any suggestion of a Kizuki's presence, nor any demon's in such close proximity to a Corps base. Whatever Hinata wanted to do was null, and something as harmless as an extraction could be a good starting point for Tetsuya, if he too could parse the language of the wind and sense other living creatures. He had gambled on Hinata being either wrong or sensible; the odds should have been in his favor. Yoshiwara was much too populated... but then again, it took a cold-blooded, diabolical genius to seed oneself among their enemies. To take advantage of a false security and parasite off the belly of society.

The Demon Corps wasn't ready for an intensive operation like this.

No... Tetsuya wasn't ready. It was entirely too soon for him to be accompany someone like Hinata, no matter how proud Nobu was of the boy. Hinata wanted the mission to be a success. Nobutoshi could see that now in hindsight, and Tetsuya was so trusting with a heart of love and a mind of respect; he had yet to see fairy tales as anything but truth, and looked to his guardians like they held the world, skies, and stars. Such as the same caretaker who landed him in the line of danger.

The vague recollection of a memory tugged at the back of his mind, somehow connected to the dream he had, but he ignored it promptly. He no longer had the luxury to review the past; he had to keep his eyes forward for any and all potential danger. He would slay all the demon he could on his way, but his priority shifted: to return to his tsuguko's side and protect him from the real danger, the person Nobutoshi knew better than to trust. He had to contain this situation before anyone else caught wind of it.

-----

"What have you done?!" Tetsuya cried by way of hello. He swept his arm to the patch of destroyed land that ranged at least fifteen meters, the damage merely thinning further out. The mess was partially tidied up, courtesy of the kinoe's meddling; Hinata had already begun to break down the more thoroughly-destroyed trees and put them into man-made piles. The aforementioned Slayer was taking a break, their kimono robe parted at the front to expose more of the shirt underneath-- and the belted pouches attached to their torso.

They had been staring ahead, gazing over their construction site before stirring. Rather than face their scolding, they raised a hand. Their fingers twitched, stretched, and curled-- Tetsuya didn't know what that was about. He stamped across the clearing to his too-calm companion. "Look at this place! And right off the path, where anyone can notice. This isn't covert! Have you lost your mind, Yasumoto?!"

The yelling brought no satisfaction or reaction. Tetsuya almost wished his company would try and fight back in this instance. In fact, there was a pause as Yasumoto straightened their spine, looking upon all their current project. "Hey Tetsu," they replied, nonplussed. "This works alright, I suppose. The weather has been beautiful. Maybe we'll see campers." As though they hadn't just committed the greatest faux pas known to the Demon Corps by making a public display. "Hey, did Nobu ever teach you those hand signs? Nonverbal commands can come in handy if we ever need to be quiet somewhere--"

"No! This is terrible!" Tetsuya interrupted, refusing to be distracted. "Has anyone happened by yet?"

"One or two. But they didn't see me." Yasumoto curled forward, wrenching a basic hand-sized hatchet from the log next to them.

"Where did you get that?"

Hinata glanced down to the item before setting it aside. "... Borrowed it."

Unbelievable. Tetsuya slapped his hands over his face and groaned into them, praying to a distant Nobutoshi that he rendezvous with them soon. "I can't believe this."

"It's fine," Yasumoto said simply. Tetsuya removed his hands from his eyes so he could narrow them at the other Slayer. Only then did he get a good look at them: their face, their languid body language, the rip in the front of their clothes and how the fabric there seemed... crunchier.

"Are you okay?"

"Look," Hinata coaxed. "I brought you food." Not addressing the question at all. Instead, they presented him with a little purchased bento box, not some scavenged or hunted thing that Hinata had brought down like a disobedient cat. When Tetsuya's eyes flicked back up, Hinata had returned to their stolen hatchet and the project, shrugging the kimono off so that it hung off of them by their belted waist. One-handed, they resumed chopping wood into smaller pieces with surprising efficiency and speed.

Tetsuya sat down on the felled tree next to where the other Demon Slayer had been. "Maybe you should eat something too." Or sleep. He wondered how much trouble that demon had been as he slowly split his chopsticks and began to eat. There was no ignoring the state his supervisor was in. With their salt-and-pepper hair framing their jawline, the dark lines around their eyes (and the suitcases beneath those) were all the more pronounced. Their back muscles flexed and rippled, but in some strange springing way that made Tetsuya worry he would hear something crack or tear. As the Slayer worked, sighing and stretching, Tetsuya tried to recall if Hinata had always looked this tired. And then, as though Hinata had read his mind, they tilted their head his way and smiled. It returned them to some of their former rumpled loveliness, but Tetsuya couldn't be convinced.

They casually sauntered closer again. "You escorted the target out of town, right?" Once again, evading the question. If anything, Hinata looked past Tetsuya, passing the hatchet carefully to their prosthetic, and their able hand stretched to take the saddle bag from the boy's shoulders so he could eat unencumbered.

"Yes," said Tetsuya uneasily.

"Good. The next step in the plan is underway now."

"Plan? What plan?"

"Siege operation," they stated.

"A siege?" Tetsuya tried to comprehend, gripping his utensil a little too tightly. "Why?"

Hinata was slow to respond, jostling the bag to rifle around the supplies. "Good!" False enthusiasm? "You've brought it all. We can set up the fires outside of the city limits, though it's only a precaution. Driving demons further into society is a possibility, but with you here, that possibility is reduced."

"Hold on," and Hinata did, pausing in their preparations. "What happened to that demon? Back then."

Hinata leaned back-- Tetsuya felt a wash of cold water down his back as they eyed him. Not with disdain toward a mere child here to slow things down, but with acute wariness when faced with a possible danger. A weak point. After looking down on him, Hinata's eyes slid away.

"I have confirmed the presence of one of the Twelve Kizuki," they stated as though scripted. "In compiling my report on his abilities, I failed to terminate him before sunrise. As such, he ran into the red light district--" The lunch fell from Tetsuya's hands as he stood abruptly. "Oh damn. Your food--"

"We need to stop him," Tetsuya declared, already reaching for his sword.

"I can no longer track him," Yasumoto said, patience infinite in this exhausted mindset, apparently. "As things stand, we have your Hashira's permission to proceed, Tetsu. We reinforce a barricade and reduce the afflicted area, locating and killing Gyutaro if the opportunity arises. Most of all, we have to weaken him."

Gyutaro. Even the name was viscerally greedy, taunting and luring, and Tetsuya's weak knees couldn't bear his disgust with Yasumoto. He fell back into his seat, not quite struck into compliance. More like numbness. Whether they named the demon or asked it for its input, it didn't matter to Tetsuya. Either one felt inconceivable.

Yasumoto finally chanced sitting with Tetsuya, setting the bag down by their feet to rifle through its contents. "These wisteria blossoms and oils will help make a smoke blockade. There's a regular supply in town too, for courtesans' perfumes and such. I made sure getting more in large quantities wouldn't draw too much attention."

"You..." Tetsuya's mind floundered in panic. He failed to formulate his incriminaton properly, "You let it go! You didn't even catch it for the sun to burn it up! That monster could be anywhere, eating anyone." To have allowed a demon to flee to safety was beyond low. It was practically fraternizing. An act of mercy like that could cost lives and Yasumoto's stupid obsession had caused a landslide of terror.

Yasumoto tidied Tetsuya's fallen lunch, too restless to sit still under judgement. "It may make no difference, but I doubt I could have killed him. He was more likely to murder me instead. He's nowhere near the threshold of his power either; his fighting abilities are beyond any demon I've encountered yet. His Blood Demon Art is incredible. I don't think he was expecting us or else he wouldn't have engaged combat so near sunrise... and he clearly hides out somewhere around here."

"So you let him run?" They had yet to fight any of his accusations-- all they could offer was excuses.

"He was too fast for me to catch," they said, as if explaining a simple concept to a dumb kid, "and I needed to collect information on him so that we could prepare accordingly. I needed to live another day to tell you. His close-range is impeccable and he made a perfect home for himself, with magnificent camoflague and readily available humans. We can't reject the possibility of a den--" a den?! Of demons?! "-- or of communication to their leader. Twelve Kizuki operate as their own isolated pockets of chaos and death, but there is always the possibility." A beat. "To put it simply: things are going to get dicey."

Tetsuya, mute, watched as Hinata talked helplessly on about demons, the dark cloud surrounding them seeming to clear a little. "We know Gyutaro is local and we know his food source. I know his face and his voice. I know how it feels when he moves," which Tetsuya could have gone without knowing, "and the siege is set up to give us field advantages: it weakens the target before reinforcements arrive and serves as a small countermeasure if we should fail."

"All of this is so complex."

"Welcome to the front lines," Yasumoto said. "Hashira only arrive when the threat has been proven to be too much, after we've lost scores of Slayers."

"What I mean is," Tetsuya criticized, "this puts civilians at risk, doesn't it?"

"They're always at risk. This improves the chances of a successful kill, and if we can accomplish murdering Gyutaro before Nobu arrives, all the better for everyone else."

Tetsuya wondered, not for the first time, why exactly Nobutoshi sent him along with Yasumoto. Was this what his Hashira wanted him to learn? The struggles of those who scout the area? The ground-laying of a future battlefield? Was he supposed to question the leadership and guidance of his superior, by all rights a pariah and menace, to this degree?

"We'll also be in a communications blackout," Yasumoto announced. "At this point, our cover is as compromised as Gyutaro's. We cannot assume we're safe during the day either. From now on, the scheme calls for commitment to the siege. We close the noose around the demon's throat and murder him if we can."

Murder. Tetsuya couldn't keep ignoring it. He wished they would stop. "Alright," he groaned, relenting. "Alright. I'll send a letter to Nobutoshi and--"

"The blackout is already in effect. I sent all the crows away, and the Demon Corps base is on lockdown. We'll only find the head doctor and administrator there."

"Why?!" Tetsuya hollered. Acting first and answering questions later only made things more difficult, and it was something adults especially found most convenient when they didn't feel the need to explain themselves. Tetsuya hadn't had any expectations but felt betrayed anyway. "You can't do that!"

Yasumoto blinked slowly. "I can. And I did. I was in town and we aren't going to be utilizing the Ubuyashiki facilities anyway. The wisteria emblem is innocuous enough, but the Kizuki are notoriously clever. If he gets even a whiff of the Ubuyashiki's involvement, Gyutaro will be all over us, Tetsu."

"Stop calling me that." Tetsuya seethed. His righteousness must've wounded them, because they faltered.

"Sure... but that doesn't change the fact that we are in his territory. So long as he doesn't suspect the reverse, we have our connection to reinforcements."

Tetsuya heard out Yasumoto's plan: the older Demon Slayer certainly had a way of scheming. Of imagining what they would do if their heart were a little more rotten, their intentions a little more misaligned. It was hard to tell how much of this planning was a healthy wariness of death and how much was a twisted projection. There was so much to do. And it was so unorthodox: "This isn't right," was all Tetsuya could say in response. "You should have killed him. You should have tried to kill him or died trying, whether there was a demon nest or not. You don't know how many people he will hurt."

Yasumoto looked at Tetsuya with curiosity. "I can't do that." The silver ring around that empty pit of a pupil made the boy look away, disappointed that Yasumoto's cravings came before their integrity.

Tetsuya couldn't do anything about it now. He was here, and here he would be until the Demon Corps sent reinforcements, or until his Hashira returned to him. He simply sat and stared at his lap until Yasumoto crouched in front of him, a second lunch in their hands. An offering. Supplication.

"Hey," they murmured. "That's how I plan to kill the demon. Now it's your turn."

"My turn?" What did it matter? He was used to being spoken over. Though a tsuguko, he was still only a child. That's all anyone would see him as.

"I kill demons. That's what I do best." Hinata rested their hand on the boy's head, hesitantly, then comfortably when he did not flinch away. An unspoken apology, followed by a request for forgiveness: "You tell me: what do we do to save people?"

Tetsuya didn't want to look at the kinoe, but did want to be taken seriously, so he made his price firm: "We stay in the district. We patrol, and we do it covertly. We don't threaten or hurt anyone else. And if we see anything, we intervene."

"Whoof," Hinata exhaled. But then they mussed his hair, raking their nails a little too hard into his scalp. "You drive a hard bargain. Okay. We need to narrow down parts of Yoshiwara anyway, to carve up hunting grounds--," their hand lifted again when Tetsuya's expression stoned over, and they decided not to babble.

"You promise," Tetsuya was suddenly hopeful, "Promise you'll protect whatever person needs protecting."

Tetsuya couldn't explain the sensation that followed. Nor could he parse the blankness that flickered across Hinata's features, as if something had just gone click! in their head. It was only when they said "I promise" that Nobutoshi's warning came flooding back into Tetsuya's mind-- had he messed up? What had just been agreed upon?

Adding onto that... what was this heaviness? It was full-bodied: his skull felt leaden, his stomach felt knotted, and his heart felt repulsive. 'Not mine,' he realized-- there was a strange distinction, the fabric of which felt different than 'Tetsuya.' This was a relief: he couldn't imagine being this haggard himself. But then, what was it? Was he sick, fatigued, both? Had Hinata somehow robbed Tetsuya of his hopefulness? He squirmed in his seat, slouched, and sighed.

"Here," they said distractedly, pushing the food into Tetsuya's hands before gathering up their inventory with ease. "You can have mine. Then get some sleep. You need more rest than I do: and this time, use Total Concentration Breathing. No gasps or interruptions. Your practical lessons could use more honing, but don't tell Nobu I said that."

"What about you," Tetsuya asked. "Don't you need to eat?"

"I had a dumpling earlier," as if that could replace an entire two meals.

And despite his wariness, general distrust, and lack of understanding, Tetsuya's stomach ached at the thought of theirs being empty. "We can share this," he insisted, "You need to be in shape too."

Hinata stood and smiled-- and this one reached their eyes. It changed them, still jagged at the edges and down to their core, but rather than having a knife aimed at him, Tetsuya felt armed and ready; he was relieved that Hinata was on his side, after all.

"I ought not fill up yet. There's more to do, and hard work builds an even greater appetite. Don't worry, Tetsuya. I won't let you down."

[companionwolf]

Prompt 14 for central?

prompt: 14. discussing your futures

au/verse: isekai AU

cw/tws: uhhhh I dunno

summary: Wolf and Central talk about that nebulous place, that thing just out of their reach for now-- after the war.

Central finds them standing out on the flight deck, drumming their fingers against the railing and staring absently up at the sky. Out here, in the wilderness, there's little light pollution-- the stars gleam overhead, and Central wishes he felt the same sense of wonder they must feel.

Instead the stars just make him sick.

As he approaches, Central calls out quietly, as not to startle them with silence-- "Commander."

Wolf turns, looks at him, and for a moment he sees their face alight with terror. Then they calm, inhale, exhale.

"Hey, Central," they say as he joins them at the rail. "I know why I'm awake-- why are you awake?"

Central places a hand on the rail, feels the cold of the metal bite into his palm. He does not look at them. "Just couldn't sleep," he says finally.

Wolf hums, gazing back skywards now. "Same."

For a while the pair stand in the quiet, and then Central begins to point out constellations, planets. Wolf listens with rapt attention, nodding and asking questions.

"You know," they say after another stretch of quiet lengthens between them, "I used -- where I came from, I couldn't see stars." Their voice chokes a little; Central frowns at them.

"Before the war, yeah," he agrees.

Wolf shakes their head. Central frowns deeper.

"I mean, yeah," they say. "But I-- my body--"

They cut themselves off, obviously trying not to cry. For a moment they struggle to keep composure, and then they ask, voice cracking, "Is this forever?"

"I'm not following," Central says.

"When this is done," Wolf explains. "Whether we win or we lose, is this-- am I this forever? This body, this world? I don't-- everything I know isn't here. All my friends, all my stuff, everything."

Central hesitates, gingerly reaches a hand to cover the one of theirs still tap tap tapping fingertips on the railing. The noise ceases.

"You have the troops," he offers. "The senior staff. Me. We can find somewhere nice for you; we can make this a place that you know."

"But this would be after," Wolf presses. "If there even is an after--!"

"There will be, Commander," he says, and his face softens. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't be building the house if I didn't believe there will be."

Wolf looks at him, teary eyed. "You're building the house?" Their voice wobbles something bad.

"It was a personal project I was doing just to fill the time at first," Central admits, "but when I met you, I realized I had a actual reason to make sure it got done. Give you somewhere to live, after."

"By myself..."

Central shakes his head. "I'll be there."

Wolf rubs at their eyes with the back of a wrist. "But is that what you want? After?" they ask.

"Honestly, yeah," Central says. "Some peace and quiet when this is all done would be really nice."

Wolf gazes past him, at something he can't see. "Is it what you'd imagined?" Their voice is quiet. "Did I screw it up for you? By taking their place, being here instead?"

"No," he says, "it's not quite what I pictured. You're much nicer than they ever were." He smiles a little. "I think you made it better, really."

"...Why rescue them at all, then?" they question.

Central leans against the railing.

"First it was just a sense of duty," he says. "Not leaving a man behind. Then I thought maybe if I could save them, we could-- I don't know, I could make a better impression."

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter now, anyway."

There's quiet again.

Then, Wolf whispers, "I guess in a way I'm free now. Right? It just... I'm without everything I had. The cost of it is everything I knew and loved."

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Central says, and it feels odd, to use his superior's name, but it feels correct too. "None of us asked for this-- for the war, for you to get caught up in it, but it's here and so are you."

Wolf sighs, meets his eyes. "I'm not gonna ask you to promise," they say shakily. "I'm not, but..."

"But what?"

"You're set on being there? With me? After?"

"It's one of the few things I know for sure," Central answers. "I'll be there, Commander."

"Don't say it like a certainty, like it's a promise," Wolf says, and their face is in his shoulder now. "Don't say it that way; you'll jinx us both, Central."

Central cautiously reaches around them and brings them into a hug. For a second he feels them stiffen, and then relax again.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, no certainty, no promise."

Wolf doesn't reply, just cries softly against him. Central holds them, and stares past at the moon.

If there's a God in this place and he's actually listening for once, he thinks, let us have after.

[odysseywritings]

It's a Hard Road, but We're Making It

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Reina was exhausted, reeling from an emotionally exhausting fight against the invaders. Haven had just removed his armor and went to sit with Reina as she started to cry. He'd known her enough to know what might be weighing on her and he held her closely and firmly.

"It's never going to stop, is it," she shivered. "How many years of this? I can't think of a normal life anymore."

Haven let her talk, being her anchor in the neverending stormy sea. He got up and offered her some fruit, knowing she wouldn't eat it, but that she would appreciate the gesture of sharing.

"I keep thinking," she continued, "maybe it would be better if we just minded our own business. I don't care if it sounds selfish. There's people out there more qualified to fight this. Hell! What a nightmare this is!"

The rest of her tears burned up, and she hated feeling this weak, though Haven knew this made her real. His expression didn't change much outside of these moments, where sadness and grief were clear, and that he did not have to second guess what someone was feeling. He liked that about Reina, how visible her reactions were, how he could know when she needed help even if he wasn't sure what to do.

"Reina," he started softly, almost boyishly. "Do you remember when we first met? I don't have the best memory, but we both hated these guys, but we were too weak and scared to do anything while they made our homes prisons. And I think we both knew it in some way. Just speaking for myself, it made me angry how nothing seemed to matter. Even when these things were ruining things, I just wanted to live my life. And then... Well, you know about my family..."

Reina sniffled and leaned on his head, looking down. She compared the scars on her arms and his, how similarly pale and deep.

"I don't know if things happen for a reason. Like, if fate is real or if we're cursed. But I know this much." He held her hand and looked at her with big sad blue eyes and a pained smile. "We can still dream. This doesn't have to be our life forever. And look at this journey we've made! All the things we experienced, not just the bad, but the people and animals we've helped. I wish it came with better circumstances. But if we had given up in the past, we wouldn't see how much that's great about life, why we fight for it."

She exhaled, uncertain about his words and if he was talking sense. Still, she lifted her head up and looked at him with her dark eyes.

"I know I want to go exploring, rescuing life from hazards, learning about the universe, making things! And I know who I want to," he blushed with a small smile, "start a family with."

"You are hopeless," she chuckled, wiping away the final tears.

"The opposite, though. I had no confidence in my future or myself. But now I get it. Life is dumb, and mean, and you wish it were different. But life that we can create can be good. There's more children around, there are trees and rivers turning normal, and more people joining our side. It's BECAUSE we're kicking ass that these war freaks keep throwing everything at us. They're scared we'll win. They were arrogant when we were younger and insecure and they could just get stronger and do whatever they wanted. We have a chance now. I think it's good to know the things we went through aren't wasted. If we're both alive after all these years, we can do anything, like dreaming."

"You're... Ugh, when you get so optimistic? You're like a dog sometimes."

"I'm just paying it forward when you saw something in me. I didn't think you were right back then, but I'm glad I trusted you. You're more like a queen now than before, too."

She stifled a grin, feeding off that desire for pride, and she gained a lighter mood. It still took time for her to recover fully, but she soon could match Haven's energy, and it wouldn't take long until it surpassed his. Perhaps this all was inevitable, or just they are both going to be unlucky no matter what, yet she did not want to give in to a bleak future. It was harder, but she had more freedom, and she would have more of it once these interdimensional tyrants were stopped for good. Dreams of a scientific, enlightening future appealed to her as well. Altruism and creativity were still decent. As for a family? She'd think about it but she couldn't think of a better person to make one with.

[patricia-von-arundel]

The more I think about it, the more I wish that there was a completely independent FE game like Engage, but not Engage - one that isn't relying on nostalgia and recognition of past characters. Or if it does, have it be something fun where you can just pick whatever older characters appeal to you and put them on a team together, regardless of how ridiculous it would be to throw Tiki, Robin, Corrin, Ninian, Rhea, and Alear together (because they're all dragons, but very, very different types of dragons).

Before Engage came out, they literally made a video introducing the gameplay like you might have a "My First Book of Numbers" for a 3-year-old. But... Engage isn't that. It relies quite heavily on the player knowing the Emblem characters, and that comes at the expense of the new characters (who are tropier than a Disney princess movie).

But a similarly simple plot and solid gameplay (rather than social micromanaging) with either all original characters (who are well developed over the course of the game) or all nostalgia characters (as mentioned above) would be perfect to gently guide those who've never tried an SRPG into the genre. (Especially since until FE took off with Awakening, the genre had been all but dead in the water for quite some time. The only somewhat similar games I can think of from around the same time are XCom - which was M-rated sci-fi - Valkyria Chronicles, and Disgaea. Other games of the same ilk - FF Tactics, Tactics Ogre, and the Shining Force games come to mind - had not been dusted off for a decade or longer, but with FE's success, we got Triangle Strategy and Tactics Ogre Reborn, we're [theoretically 😭] getting a polished up version of Advance Wars, and I suspect Square Enix is watching sales of Tactics Ogre carefully before potentially announcing a new FF Tactics.)

What I'm trying to say is: as amazing as Fates and Three Houses (and to a lesser extent Awakening and Shadows of Valentia) are, they're a lot to deal with on top of the strategy if you aren't comfortable with the genre. Fates and Three Houses' route choices, Awakening's lean on nostalgia and uneven difficulty, and Shadows of Valentia's throwing in dungeons and retaining some really, really tedious maps that hinder progress (either because of terrain or because of the fucking witches) are a lot to take on if you're still trying to figure out the weapons triangle and permadeath and recruiting. Engage is much closer to old-school FE (games before New Mystery of the Emblem, FE12).

Especially considering how difficult it is now to track down the games before Awakening, a Switch (or next console) game that is battle-focused and possible to win without micromanagement and supports seems like it would be a perfect game to recommend to those interested in the genre but a little reluctant to try because of the possibility of multiple routes, rough difficulty curves, same-turn reinforcements, etc.

Just a thought. I usually recommend Awakening of the more recent games to total newbies, but it's over 10 years old (in Japan) and will likely get increasingly difficult to find (not to mention the option to buy it digitally will be gone by the end of March). Shadow Dragon might be even better, since it's absolutely barebones story and 99% battlefield, but it's already hard to find. Someone unfamiliar with the series would likely enjoy the gameplay and be able to handle Engage, but much of the fun of seeing older characters brought together would be lost on them, and the otherwise silly plot/new characters might be enough to see them dismiss the game quickly, and potentially then any future games. (I mean, look at how many people who came in with Three Houses are whining about Engage...).

Then again, Nintendo could just do what Square Enix has done, and make the older games available on Switch. 🙄 FE7's Lyn chapters, Sacred Stones' relatively easier difficulty, Shadow Dragon's straightforward "the plot is just there to justify maps," or Awakening's ability to grind would all make decent intros to someone who just wants to get the hang of the gameplay.

Plus, then, y'know, ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO FOUND THE SERIES THROUGH AWAKENING OR THREE HOUSES COULD ACTUALLY PLAY ALL THE GAMES THAT ARE ALL BUT IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND, AND NINTENDO, YOU WOULD MAKE MONEY, NOT SCALPERS AND SECONDHAND SELLERS.

But... it's Nintendo. Not holding my breath on that one. 😕

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Twelve - The Hand Fate Deals You (Sneak Peek)

20 BBY Coruscant

"I sent these men with you to keep you safe!"

"Am I not alive and well, sir?" The snark has slipped into my tone more each day. On Kamino they teach you the Jedi are something to be respected. Force wielders, protectors of peace. Good guys.

The amount of spittle on my face from General Nidor's yelling has me convinced otherwise. Jedi are no different than these sith that oppose them. They have power, and they abuse it all the same.

General Nidor about faces and scoffs. "You dare defy me."

"I asked to work alone, unless you've forgotten promising me that."

"Alone does not mean unaided."

"All due respect, sir. I'll disagree."

Nidor flashes a disgruntled glare. "Get out of my sight, clone."

I bow my head and mock a salute. Then I leave. Our arguments have grown into a habit. The General seems to think I need backup wherever I go, and that means every mission I have to take Headshot, Raf, and Booker with me. Nidor doesn't realize all he's doing is putting more men in harm's way. I make sure to correct his errors when I can.

Sometimes I'm not sure how I harbored any respect for the man. For any of the Jedi. They use us like expendable pawns. No one cared then, and no one will care now, so why he pretends to care about my life, I'll never know. Maybe it's just another way of showing off his power.

Kriffing force. It's deluding them to the point they can't even see the ground beneath their boots. A bunch of sages should have never been put in charge of a war.

I stalk down the block. I've gained other habits here on Coruscant, mostly so I don't have to spend time in the barracks. There's plenty of gossip around my tenuous relationship with the General and I'd rather not hear it. I'd rather not see the empty bunks either.

Thankfully the Casino isn't far. The dim lights flicker on and off. I slip inside and a haze of smoke covers everything. There's solace in the fact that half the people here are too stoned to care who I am, what I do, or why I'm here. We're all just doing what we do best. Drowning our sorrows in misplaced confidence.

I slip into a table at the back. The usual faces wait for me. A Rodian with a discoloured face and a scarred eye. A Wookie with matted fur, surprisingly gentle guy for his type, and some humans too. The old man with the droid eye looks at me.

"Back again?"

"Just so I can take your money?"

"What's a clone got to spend money on?"

The Rodian snickers. "Girls."

I slam my boot on his foot and he yelps. "I'm just holding it all hostage," I snap back. "So you can't go spending it on booze."

They break into raucous laughter and I smirk. A droid comes over to deal. The hand isn't great, but I can make it better. Sabbac is an easy game if you know what you're doing and no one cheats. But someone's always cheating. Usually it's Rodo, the man with the droid eye. He hasn't cheated his way to a win yet, though.

I glance at my cards again. Funny how life deals you a hand and you either get a winning or losing one. If only I was as good at life as I was gambling. Maybe then I'd get out of this hellhole, away from that kriffing General, and find something to do with my earnings. Maybe I'd get the rest of the Dar'Aliit, as the other three have been calling us, out of this war machine too.

The future end of this war is a million parsecs from anyone's mind, though. Maybe it'll never end. We've got the Seps on the run from some sectors and they've got us with our tail between our legs in others. It's bound to keep going, bloody and brutal.

"Hah," Rodo throws down his cards.

I lay mine flat. The table groans as I scrape the chips to myself. "What?" I smirk. "You knew it was coming."

"Someone oughta knock you down a few pegs!"

"I'll throw him in the city core."

Kindi, the Woodki, slaps Rodo across the back of the head. More laughter fills the smoky room and we're dealt another hand. I could stay here all night, stewing over what happened. The General doesn't understand, and really I ought to stop expecting it of him, but I can't let him put more people in harm's way.

If life's a gamble, I won't put others on the line.

Another few rounds. Rodo folds. I hold onto my hand but before we can show, my commlink beeps. Kindi looks at me as do the others. I slap down my hand.

"Gotta go, huh, soldier boy?"

I glare at Rodo. "I'll take your money tomorrow, old man."

"I'll take yours ya overgrown sperm!"

Kindi takes a peek at my hand. He busts out into loud Wookie laughter and waves off Rodo's comments. I would've beat the old man anyway.

My commlink beeps again and I sigh, leaving them with a simple wave as I jog out into the alleyway and accept the transmission.

"Report to base immediately." Captain Addie's voice is stiff.

"Sir–"

"Now, Kian. We're deploying."

Deploying? Where?

"Yessir," I mutter. Someone shoves open the door behind me and stumbles out, vomiting into the alleyway. It stinks of alcohol and bile. I wrinkle my nose, give the man a side-eye glare and he returns it.

These people hate us because all we mean to them is an ongoing war. I wish sometimes they knew how much we wanted it to end. How much I wish I could be just like them.

I step over the man's stomach contents and walk back to the barracks. I can dream all I want, but this is the hand I've been dealt.

Full chapter coming tomorrow on Wattpad and Ao3!

[aardvark-123]

~The Silver-Heart Chronicles Part 3: It Helps to Have Friends~

One fine morning in Kynesgrove, Yngvar was finishing a good night's sleep when he heard an angry clamour outside the inn. He slid the pillow over his head and lay there until Iddra ran over in a panic, shouting that the guards were demanding to see him.

Fearing the worst, Yngvar leapt out of bed, brushed his teeth, had a long soapy bath, ate a sweetroll and some grilled leeks, downed a bottle of mead, and did his morning stretches.

The innkeeper bit her lip, listening to the guards threatening to break down the door and the cheerful melody of Radio Taiso on Yngvar's portable FM set. Finally she grabbed him by the ear and shoved him out to face justice.

Half of the Kynesgrove town guard were waiting for him. "We all knew you were a strange one, Yngvar, but none of us had you pegged as a traitor!" one of them explained. "You're wanted in Windhelm for desertion. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

"De... sertion?" Yngvar tilted his head in confusion, trying to look innocent even though he was sweating profusely. "Oh, is this about the army?! I didn't desert, I'm having an extended holiday! Don't tell me my letter never made it to the brass!"

"Do you have no shame?!" another guard spat. "You were one of the best warriors in the Stormcloaks! Er, unless it's a different Yngvar I'm thinking of. Never mind! You should be out there, fighting for Skyrim's freedom, not skulking around here delivering packages to goblins!"

"I- First things first, I was FETCHING a package from an ORCISH stronghold," Yngvar corrected her. "Second of all, there were creative differences involved-"

"Don't you remember the oath you took?!" the guard insisted. "You swore your blood and honour to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim! Er, unless it's a different oath I'm thinking of. N-never mind! The bottom line is, you swore your fealty-"

"To death! I swore fealty to murder and devastation, nothing that could actually make our world better. But most of all I swore fealty to a bitter, raving lunatic!"

For a few seconds, Kynesgrove was silent but for the chirping of crickets and Dotira sharpening her pickaxe.

"I want to see Skyrim win her independence," Yngvar said firmly. "I want us to cast off the Empire's yoke, and the Empire to cast off the Dominion's yoke. I want an end to all yokes! But Jarl Ulfric isn't going to be the one who brings us that future. Just look at the futures he brought to the Reach and half his own people."

The gathered guards shared some uncomfortable looks, but the man with the axe would not be dissuaded. "Only one without honour would try to bring politics into an honest civil war. Get ready to die, traitor!"

Yngvar was not ready to die, but the guards were too many, and Drayvnea's pet guar seemed to have joined in as well. Yngvar fled through the foggy hills, dodging arrows and crossbow bolts, until at last he ducked behind a some bushes and lost them.

"If any guards come... Running by this way... You never saw me!" Yngvar panted to a passing giant. "Kyne's leg hair... Now what do I do?!"

As he thought about his predicament, Yngvar realised there was somewhere he could go. While he hadn't appreciated it at the time, fetching the Forgemaster's Fingers had earned him the name of blood-kin, meaning the stronghold-dwelling Orcs around Skyrim would see him as family.

And so, a beaten and dishevelled Yngvar made his way up to Narzulbur, where he found the chief waiting in his ceremonial garden chair.

"Chief Mauhulakh, I find myself in need of a place to stay for a few days," Yngvar declared. "I can work for my keep. Does Narzulbur need an extra pair of hands anywhere?"

"Well, let me see..." Mauhulakh stood up and took off his helmet. "First of all, let's see if you can take a good pounding. Marquess of Queensberry Rules, one round, stake of one hundred septims apiece. En garde!"

Although he was deeply confused, Yngvar set to work and beat the stuffing out of Mauhulakh.

"You certainly have... A good arm..." Mauhulakh panted. "Not many Nords can say they've bested an Orcish chief!"

"You certainly gave me a good match." Yngvar wasn't sure what to say. "You, er, wouldn't be the first man I've left sweating- I mean, it wouldn't be the first time- Er, anyway."

"Anyway," said Mauhulakh warmly, "I believe it's settled! With those strong arms of yours, you'll make an excellent miner! It's up on the hill, just past my son's workshop."

Yngvar's smile vanished. "Did you say miner?"

Yngvar was now a miner. It was better than fighting for his life against the armies of Eastmarch, but only by a small margin.

Um, don't look now, Yngvar, but I think there's a...

"What in Shor's name is that?!" Yngvar screamed, diving away from the roaring, spinning cloud of metal chunks. It had burst from a vein of ebony while his back was turned and was now tearing through the mine.

"Oh, that?" one of the orcish miners said, noticing Yngvar's distress. "That's an ore guardian from Skyrim Immersive Creatures Special Edition. Don't worry, their barks are worse than their bites."

Not believing him for a second, Yngvar shot the creature from a safe distance.

It was a busy afternoon for the ore guardians, with two more of them showing up to bother Yngvar before the day was done. The other miners, though, were all too happy to help smash them to pieces, seeing it as a fun little diversion from their work.

"I suppose you're well used to dealing with these things," said Yngvar, helping himself to some of the ore guardian's remains. Some of their floating chunks contained the purest ebony ore he'd ever seen.

"Of course we are! Didn't you ever wonder why all the veins of ore in Skyrim are renewable?" Bor laughed. "They're alive. The world is alive! That makes us kind of like tapeworm."

"That's nice," smiled Yngvar, lugging his haul of ebony out of the mine.

Dushnamub remembered Yngvar from a couple of days ago. When he saw him trudging down the hill with a sack full of ebony ore, he smiled and waved him over.

"I had a feeling I'd be seeing more of you," Dushnamub chuckled, taking the sack of ebony. "That's some good ore, Yngvar. Here, this is your pay."

"Thank yyyy..." Yngvar's jaw dropped at the enormous bag of coins being pressed into his hands. "Th-that's... That's a sum of money if ever I saw one!"

"Ebony does fetch a good price," said Dushnamub. "All of us in Narzulbur are actually very rich, but we don't like to be ostentatious about it. So..."

"Well, now that I'm rich, can I commission you for some equipment?" Yngvar proposed.

"I could do with a helmet, perhaps one with horns, and a hood for not letting people recognise me. Perhaps a new greatsword, too. This one's almost run out of magic..."

"Of course," smiled Dushnamub, taking back his bag of coins and hanging Yngvar one septim. "In the mean time, keep that ore coming!"

Yngvar smiled and nodded. He had to get out of Narzulbur.

A couple of days later, with a sharp new blade strapped to his back and a comfortable hood over his head, Yngvar left the stronghold. The guard had given him her porridge recipe and a spare wheel of echatere's cheese, which was strange, because Yngvar hadn't seen a single echatere in the stronghold.

Where was he going? Well, Yngvar had one or two ideas in mind. He needed to get to a neutral hold, or at least one outside Windhelm's jurisdiction, and then try to build a new life. Dawnstar could be a decent place to start. For the time being, though, he needed to hide until the heat was off.

And for that, where better than a place no soldier with a brain would be expecting him? Where better than Windhelm?

[nsfwhiphop]

Conversation About the Revival of Blaxploitation Films with Ryan Coogler and Angelo:

Ryan Coogler (Twitter@ theblackpanther)

Ryan Coogler: "Are you serious? Do you really want to revive the Blaxploitation films?"

Angelo: "The revival of Blaxploitation films, that's what I'm all about, bro!"

Ryan Coogler: "Who are you, man? Everybody's wondering—who is this guy? Why is he so educated, so smart, and always in the mood to work harder than anyone else?"

Angelo: "I'm the nightmare of white supremacists because I make Black people look good on our TV screens."

Ryan Coogler: "Say what? Come again, did you say you’re the nightmare of white supremacists? How? Tell me more about this."

Angelo: "These white supremacists don’t want to see a revival of Blaxploitation films because those films represented the pride of Black Americans. They were the only medium that made us look like heroes—real badass heroes. Sure, there were stories about drugs, pimps, and hoes, but the most important ones had Black heroes. They kicked ass and looked good doing it too."

Ryan Coogler: "So, this is why you want to revive this era of Blaxploitation, right? You want to make Black actors look cool again? I get it. They've been trying to dim our lights lately—it's true. I can attest to that."

Angelo: "I understand you made Creed and Black Panther, but what's coming after those blockbusters? Do you always anticipate your next blockbuster? I don’t know, I’m just asking because I think there’s a very slim chance they'll let you do better than Black Panther. The success of Black Panther was a one-time thing. After that, they’ll try to silence you because they don’t want to see you win all the time. You’re dealing with sick individuals, never forget that. They’ll try to block all your future blockbusters. They want to see you subservient to them. You're not allowed to have success unless you obey them—and they’re racist white supremacists."

Ryan Coogler: "I know how they operate, but what do you want me to do? I’m just a newcomer in this game, and I do as I’m told. You know, I don’t want no trouble."

Angelo: "I know, Ryan. I know. I’m not judging you at all. I respect your work ethic—you do amazing work in the African-American film industry, and you have a bright future ahead of you."

Ryan Coogler: "But what do you suggest? What's your plan? Because I know you have a plan. Tell me—what's your plan?"

Angelo: "My plan is to weaponize the Black film industry. I'm gonna flood the market with so many Black films, they can't stop us. We'll have success after success, after success, and another success after that. White supremacists will get shot if they try to stop us. When I come up in the spot, I bring guns—big ones."

Ryan Coogler: "Wait, wait! Hold on, did you say guns? What do you mean, guns? Explain this to me. What does it mean to weaponize the Black film industry?"

Angelo: "Let me explain. You see these white people who control Hollywood and the film industry? They control all the white actors because those white actors need them to feed them. They give the best roles to white actors because those actors bring in a lot of money to their film companies, get it? Notice how everything I just said contains the words 'white actors'?"

Ryan Coogler: "Yes, I get it. Now, please continue your explanation."

Angelo: "Well, there are two types of Hollywood—you've got white Hollywood and Black Hollywood."

Ryan Coogler: "Okay, continue."

Angelo: "I'm gonna revolutionize Black Hollywood so much that these white actors will find no jobs in our movies, get it? They will never appear in any of my Black films. I’ll make movies exclusively for Black actors and Black actresses. This is how we take back control of our image. And our box office success? That will go into Black-owned companies. What are they gonna do then? Arrest us? Kill us? They can't kill us all; they’ll start a civil war. They have no choice but to watch us win again and again, again and again, until we become so rich that their eyes will bleed because they can't do anything to stop our rise to the top."

Ryan Coogler: "I'm amazed by what I just discovered. They control us through their white actors and their white filmmakers, but if we refuse to work with them and work exclusively with Black actors, Black directors, Black everything—an all-Black everything—they'll be forced to surrender because we kicked out all their white collaborators who wish to sabotage our success."

Angelo: "Correctamundo! You should ask yourself why you’re hearing this from me and not from the many Black entertainers in Black Hollywood. They’ve all given up the fight and turned the other cheek, but I haven’t. I will never turn the other cheek. I’ll always be strapped. They get away with a lot because you turn the other cheek. Don’t let them get away with it this time. You should have film companies with only Black employees—from the upper levels to the lower levels. Everyone with Black skin, that’s how you win."

Ryan Coogler: "This is the price we have to pay for justice in the film industry, right? No white people allowed in our film company. This is so sad, but it’s what we have to do now. The only way to make all our films Black-owned is to ensure the money goes into Black bank accounts."

Angelo: "You can call Eddie Murphy. He made a movie recently about Rudy Ray Moore. That man was a Black genius who refused to accept defeat. Rudy was independent and made his own movies, even though his screenplays weren’t top-notch. He still made them and got rich."

Ryan Coogler: "You want to follow his path and do it all independently? That’s amazing. You don’t have to answer to anybody; you’re your own boss and you write high-quality screenplays, so it shouldn’t be a problem."

Angelo: "Yeah, I’m not Rudy. I’m way more trained than he was. I write only high-quality screenplays—that’s my weapon of mass destruction. My screenplays will annihilate everyone in my path. I don’t write wack stuff; I write only box office hits. That’s why I’m so confident. I know I’ll put an end to white supremacist bullying in Black Hollywood; they can’t do anything to stop me. Not even the White House can stop me. Call them, they’ll confirm. I’m the Black man who refused to obey. I will never obey these racist fuckers. I always have guns with me. What are they gonna do—kill me? I don’t care about death; I don’t fear them. That’s why I’m a headache for white supremacists. They just don’t know what to do with me. I’m overflowing with so much talent; you can’t stop a guy like me. You just have to accept that I’m unstoppable and let me live, you know what I mean? I’m that dope, bro."

Ryan Coogler: "So, tell me, what kind of budgets do you plan to begin with? Give me more details."

Angelo: "Let me teach you something about the film industry. When the screenplay is dope, it doesn’t matter if your movie was made with a two million dollar budget. As long as the screenplay is breathtaking, you get success. To answer your question, I will start with four million dollar budgets for all my Blaxploitation films."

Ryan Coogler: "And what kind of box office success do you plan for a budget like that? Give me an approximate figure."

Angelo: "Two hundred million dollars in box office success for each of my four million dollar budgets. That’s who you’re dealing with."

Ryan Coogler: "Get the fuck outta here! You will do this for all your movies?"

Angelo: "Yeah, because all black people want are dope screenplays. They don’t care about big budget films; they just want to vibe, you know? Only white people spend lots of money on their movies. We don’t do that over here. Black people want to vibe, we want stories. These big budget films are boring; they give us headaches. That’s why I’ll make low budget four million dollar films to revive the Blaxploitation era in the 2020s. We don’t need big budgets. Never forget this important fact: we don’t need their big budgets; we will be successful without them."

Ryan Coogler: "Man, you are amazing. Where did you learn all this stuff?"

Angelo: "I’m a cinephile from the 90s. I’ve watched movies from 1994 until 2024. It’s been thirty years of preparation. Trust me when I say, I won’t miss. I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life (to quote Phil Collins)."

Ryan Coogler: "What kind of movies will you make with a four million dollar budget?"

Angelo: "I’ll make a lot of horror films. These movies sell like hotcakes in the industry, you know? Horror is my meal ticket."

Ryan Coogler: "You know your stuff. I didn’t know that horror was a meal ticket. I will try to learn more about horror. Do you think it’s the safest bet?"

Angelo: "Oh, yeah! It’s the safest bet in the entire film industry. No other film genre is as successful as horror. That’s where Jason Blum makes all his money. Ever heard of Blumhouse Productions? Yeah, those guys are on top of the horror game right now."

Ryan Coogler: "Do you think I should diversify my portfolio and add a few horror movies to make money at the box office?"

Angelo: "Hell yeah! How else will you get the money you need for your other film projects? If you want to be independent, you have to learn the craft of horror screenwriting. It will make you a lot of money. And when I say money, I mean two hundred million dollars of independent film money. Get it? Independent film money."

Ryan Coogler: "Man, I didn’t know that either. Why am I the last one to know about these things? It’s fucked up. I don’t like being the last one to know about stuff like this. It’s vital information that can help me get ahead in this ruthless film business. Thanks, I really appreciate you sharing this info with me. From now on, I will add a lot of horror films to my portfolio to make some money. This will help me become more independent because I’ll have so much box office success with my horror film projects."

Angelo: “I understand, Ryan! You’re welcome. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You have your whole career ahead of you. I suggest you reach out to Jordan Peele. He can confirm what I’m saying about the horror genre. It’s what’s made him successful—without it, he wouldn’t be where he is today.”

Ryan Coogler: "I used to think the horror genre was wack. I didn’t realize it was such a money-making machine. Now I get it—it's a freaking printing press. No wonder Jordan Peele is so rich; he makes only horror films because he’s literally printing money."

Angelo: "Do the math. Regular films make zero money, but horror films? They rake in 200 million dollars at the box office."

Ryan Coogler: "So, we should expect a lot of horror films from you, right?"

Angelo: "Oh, definitely! I’m going to flood the market with horror films and laugh all the way to the bank. I’m a student of Jason Blum—I’ve watched all his horror films. You should check out their Wikipedia page here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blumhouse_Productions. They’re dominating the horror game right now, but I’ve got some hot horror screenplays in the works too."

Ryan Coogler: "Man, why do I feel like I just walked into a crackhouse? It’s a metaphor, don’t get offended. I mean, you talk about horror films like the dudes in the hood who cook crack and sell it to the fiends. That’s how I feel about horror films—I'm just being real."

Angelo: "We cook it, we cut it, then we sell it. That’s how a crackhouse works. Don’t worry, I’m not offended. I get it—selling horror films can feel like selling crack. It’s the same concept. You need to learn the craft or you’ll struggle in the film industry. You’ve got to make at least four horror movies a year if you want box office success. Watch a lot of horror films and learn the craft. There are tons of horror fans out there buying tickets every time. That’s money you can use to fund your independent projects. I know you’re smart; you’ll figure out how to add horror films to your portfolio."

Ryan Coogler: "This has been a very eye-opening conversation about surviving in the film industry as a black director. Thank you, I appreciate it."

Angelo: "No problem. One love. You’re welcome."

Ryan Coogler: "Before you go, can I ask you a question?"

Angelo: "Yeah, sure! What’s up?"

Ryan Coogler: "Who is this girl, @iamcatdagreat? I’m curious because she doesn’t seem to know how to act. You suggested she take acting lessons, so why do you have so much faith in her?"

Angelo: "Oh, CatDaGreat? That’s my sister. I promised to make her a star one day. She’ll be the star in all my future films. She’s going to knock everyone out of the park. You might not know her yet, but she’s the 'Pam Grier' of the 2020s. She’s a Dominican woman but pro-black, representing the black community in all its ghetto fabulousness. If you catch my drift."

Ryan Coogler: "Will she be open to working in my Blaxploitation films too?"

Angelo: "Why not? Yeah, you can ask her. I’m sure @iamcatdagreat would be open to working with you on your future projects. But she needs serious acting lessons first, so make sure to send her to India. They have some of the best acting coaches in Bollywood. They’ve got dope actors there, too."

Ryan Coogler: "Okay, thanks."

Angelo: "Bye!"

The end.

P.S.:

Here is a Hip-Hop song that will show you how I write, see below:

Royce Da 5'9" - Hip Hop (Prod. By DJ Premier) [HD]