#absolutely steeped in tragedy she is.

[mechanicalchickens]

mitzi's pearl necklace as a microcosm for this whole mess....

it's a symbol of her life with Atlas and her relationship with him -- she sees it as a way that Atlas made her a 'a lady', made her feel like she wasn't 'tawdry' (note how easily she slips into reminiscing about the memories linked to it, even to Zib, who knows the story). Atlas probably purchased it with blood money. Once the necklace snaps, it's basically impossible to put it back together without covering yourself in gutter dirt, but she can't bring herself to let go. She eventually gets the physical symbol of the memories back(rethreading the necklace), but it's a hollow victory. It won't bring back Atlas, and it comes at the cost of collateral damage (rip virgil) and alienating Zib.

Mitzi, you can't go back! you can fight and scratch and claw but you can never go back! What you are searching for is not something that can be put back together. girl, you are looking back, and you are getting lost.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #mitzi may #atlas may #lackadaisy meta #Lackadaisy spoilers #'i can put it back together'. i get the feeling you aren't just talking about the necklace. #tracy really said the themes out loud with this whole sequence #sometimes the sidepiece isn't a guy. sometimes it's the idealized image of a past you can never return to & yr husband's metaphorical ghost #sometimes i think too much about mitzi and i disintegrate. i think she has good odds of surviving- but the journey. the journey wont be fun #absolutely steeped in tragedy she is. #posting

[alexfierroaf]

You know, the more I think about the finale (which is basically all I’ve been doing since it came out), the more I realize something.

The further and further I got in Miraculous up until this point, the deeper the sense of dread and nihilism I got. Because every time Marinette and/or Adrien made any significant step forward, they were “rewarded” with either a bad end or an undo button. Chat Blanc and Ephemeral are obvious examples, but there have been plenty of others too -- all the times Marinette ~almost~ got to confess to Adrien, their identity reveal in Oblivio, the few moments of happiness Adrien had with his father, etc. Even Kwami’s Choice (one of the very few moments of actual happy plot progression that we get) bends to this rule, because they were so relieved to be free of the Miraculous, but in the end, that freedom was doomed not to last.

It made me more and more anxious the more I watched. I got the feeling that no matter what happened, these kids might never get their happy ending. Even when the series ends (I’m assuming on a positive note, but after this finale nothing can be taken for granted) Marinette will eventually have to pass on her Guardianship, which means she’ll forget everything -- including not only Adrien, also Alya and all the rest of her loved ones that she met after learning about the Miraculous. Her memories (to my understanding) will revert back to what they were at the point just before becoming involved with the Miraculous. Which means her journey of personal growth and working through her trauma will also be reset. Either that or her entire memory is wiped. Neither option is happy. And then of course there’s Adrien, who will have to grieve their past relationship, supposing he’s still alive when she gives up the Miracle Box.

Realizing this made me think: How will they get out of this? How will they ever be okay? Are they just doomed to fail and suffer tragedy on repeat for the rest of their lives?

Yin and Yang. Creation and Destruction. Joy and Grief. They are all natural cycles -- forces that cannot be avoided. And none can exist without the other. 

In season five, we got one of the greatest joys (and steps forward) that we’ve received in the entire show -- Adrienette finally becoming canon. And staying canon, despite steep odds. We also got the single greatest loss in the series to date, and that’s Gabriel succeeding in making his wish. Going out on his own terms, with the knowledge that he got what he wanted. God, it makes me sick.

At first I was shocked. Upset. Disappointed, a little bit. Because of course we all expected something different. Something involving them beating the odds, no matter what.

But this ending....it’s the natural conclusion to the Bad Vibes (TM) I’d been getting from this series for a while now. That sense of hopelessness, of inevitability....All those times I thought to myself, “How are they ever going to break this cycle? What will they be able to do differently that will allow them to win?” The answer was already in front of me. And that answer was: They can’t. Sometimes tragedy is unavoidable. Sometimes, despite all your best efforts (and an absolutely badass performance by Bug Noire) you still lose.

And hasn’t that been the whole point of the series thus far, when you think about it? Making mistakes and knowing how to fix them. The entire setup of akumatized victims is a picture of this. We all have negative emotions, and we all make mistakes. But in the end, they can be fixed, and life moves on. Maribug makes all kinds of mistakes too. Little everyday ones that get episodic focus as well as life changing events like in Risk. She obsesses over her mistakes -- tries so hard to be perfect -- but no matter what she will continue to mess up, and do her best to make it better. 

She’s made a massive mistake this time by choosing to extend an olive branch to Gabriel. The world is forever altered, and it’s unclear if anything can be done to fix it. But just like always, she will do everything in her power to make things right. It’s the natural evolution of a story with this theme, to, after rectifying so many errors, finally come to one which can never be undone. It’s even more dire than loosing the Miraculous last season, since at least those could be reclaimed. But life goes on, regardless of what happens in the past. All Marinette can do is learn from her experiences and do better next time. 

Mistakes are inevitable. Pain and grief are inevitable. But so is growth. So is joy. So is life. 

I predict that the end of Miraculous Ladybug will come when Marinette is finally comfortable with her ability to mess up and recover from it. When she accepts that sometimes bridges need to be burned, and that failure is a part of life. When she’s comfortable enough with herself to admit that, she’ll be ready to take on the new Butterfly holder and, with Adrien by her side this time, finally make a decisive victory. 

Who knows what will happen after the final credits run. How the cycles of Creation and Destruction rear their heads in their lives. But by the time that moment comes, they’ll be prepared to square up and face it head on.

#in a way despite the fact that it was so dissatisfying #i'm kinda relieved by this finale cause it validates that sense of dread i'd been having about this show #like i wasn't exaggerating #wasn't overthinking it #that really was what they were going for #and i know astruc has mentioned themes of mistakes on his twitter #but i don't know much about it cause i refuse to look into his twt acc lol #this post is mostly about marinette but adrien has an arc with this too #but i didn't want to ramble too much or derail the post #ml spoilers #miraculous season 5 #miraculous recreation #miraculous conformation #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #lila rossi #tikki #plagg #miraculous season 5 finale #miraculous meta

[tigerlilycorinne]

Is It Bad If My Gums Bleed When I Floss? Review:

10/10!! Or: 5 stars out of 5!

(Yes, it is bad if your gums bleed when you floss.)

This poetry collection is utterly stunning. It gathers together so many ideas that I love to see written about (including but not limited to: the entanglement of love, desire, pain, grief, trauma and healing, and the tragedy of memory and lost youth) into one incredible, cohesive, and connected experience. It follows a dental student, Netty, through her life, from childhood crushes and naivete to sexual desire and sexual trauma, to a beautiful point even with this pain with the love of her life. It is a breathtaking experience, the kind of work you have to be curled up with, at a time and place where it’s possible for you to put it down and close your eyes and breathe deeply before you keep reading. It made me cry multiple times, at this intersection between recognition, tragedy, and joy. I’m happy for Netty and heartbroken for her and everything in between. These poems portray Netty’s humanity in such an intimate, honest, and internal way.

As someone who doesn’t read poetry that often, I was absolutely delighted to understand the narrative that runs through each poem: it is understandable, never confusing, and never so on the nose that it feels like spoon feeding. It gives so much meaning without getting tangled in cross-metaphor, it paints vivid emotion without becoming melodramatic, it draws striking images without getting stuck in descriptive tangent, and it is heartbreakingly earnest without ever crossing into cliche. Behind each pause, space, repeated phrase, and bolded letter is a careful intent—Blue is an artist creating the most authentic and meaningful art-experience with deliberation and rhythm; someone who knows how to best communicate experience in a way that’s both receivable and gut wrenching. Each poem feels essential to the work as a whole; the collection is infinitely more than the sum of its parts because each poem is so deeply interconnected with each other poem: Netty wouldn’t be the same without every single entry.

It is about so many things—exploration of the development of queer desire and comp-het, the way a trauma follows you and the strength it takes to live and love even if it cannot leave you, and, of course, teeth—but most of all it feels like a comprehensively tragic and hopeful collection about the heartbreaking process of growing up. It is steeped in grief for Netty herself. For the Netty before she learned the bad things of the world. It is full of sadness and still recognizes that everyone moves through this loss of innocence; everyone begins wishing their baby teeth meant something more to someone (“I guess I just wanted it to mean more to you / than it did.” (“2004”)) and ends up aware of the darker ideas surrounding keeping a child’s teeth (“I think I get it—what kind of / person / keeps a child’s teeth?” (“Daddy”)). Everyone makes mistakes, or gets taken advantage of, and finds a way to blame themselves, and everyone mourns and misses who they were before the pain. Ultimately, this poetry collection feels to me like an extensive, difficult, beautiful journey to find who Netty is not outside or minus her sadness and her self-grief, but who she is with it. It’s about finding love that doesn’t evoke gore and destruction.

Though it’s difficult to pick favorite poems in a collection that feels as if each poem is most valuable next to each other poem in the collection, I’d have to pick “Career Day,” “Adolescence,” “Anthropophagus,” “Apostrophe,” “Sticky,” “Butterbugs” “Coffee Stains,” and “Things That Don’t Mean Anything At All” (it should say something that I had to list THIS MANY favorite poems). Each made me take a breath before I kept reading. I’m absolutely in love with every one of them.

I love this dearly and I will never forget it.

If you want to pre-order it, go here

If you want to read its goodreads listing go here

#books #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #INSANE ABOUT THIS COLLECTION #poetry collection #rec #poetry recommendation

[thatndginger]

Writer Intro

Hey there! I’m K (she/they), currently going through my character growth arc and trying to write between the chaos ^.^

I’m a 26 year old living in the northern half of the Rockies with my partner, our four dogs, and a cat who thinks she’s a dog. When I’m not working or writing, I split my time between hiking, photography, video games, or reading.  I’m proudly asexual and nonbinary, and queerness is an inherent aspect of all my stories.

I primarily write fantasy/speculative fiction, running the gamut from world that are just-a-touch magical to planets steeped in the mystical. I prefer thriller, mystery, and horror genres, and common themes for me are monstrosity, found family, character-driven tragedy, the lies we believe, and questionable morality.

My absolute favorite things to write about are characters who are messy and terrible but keep trying to be better anyway, and magic that doesn’t quite work the way you want it to.

My main wips are listed on the sidebar of my blog, but here’s a quick rundown anyway~

Shapeshifter

Urban Fantasy Thriller series - three friends find themselves in the position of ‘fixers’ for their local supernatural and criminal communities after stumbling-ass-first into solving a number of mysteries in the city they call home.

War Witch

Dieselpunk Fantasy - an archaeology student determined to bring magic back to the world embarks on an expedition that quickly turns dangerous as forgotton histories, allies, and politics threaten not only the return of magic, but the safety of every living thing.

I apologize in advance for the chaos that is my blog. I try to keep things tagged, but it’s kind of an unsettling amalgamation of writing advice, inspiration, yelling about my wips, and things that make me laugh.

#writeblr introductions #blog introductions #writeblr

[aquaticlime]

₍ ⌨ [aquaticlime] is typing ... ₎

˗ˏˋ MY DEBUT ´ˎ˗

‘The Queen of Hearts’, my debut film, it's an adaptation of a book trilogy that I read a few years ago and fell in love with. I heard rumors that it was goin to be made into a movie but just never was and that's what gave me this idea. Since this project is so near to me I added some potential reviews of the movie and my performance in it. In my DR it will be made into a trilogy as well with each book getting its own movie adaptation.

❝ [a brief summary]

"Delve into the riveting origin story of the notorious queen of Hearts. This gripping tale of love and tragedy follows her from her not so humble beginnings in a magical kingdom, to her rise to power, to becoming the cold and ruthless ruler she is today. Witness her unforgettable journey of self-discovery, heartbreak, and obsession, as she overcomes the obstacles in her path through sheer willpower and determination. Along the way, she will become a powerful and imposing figure of authority, but at a steep cost."

❝ [Some critical appraisals]

┊i. "Queen of Hearts origins is a riveting and poignant tale of love and tragedy that succeeds at exploring its protagonist's emotional journey with depth and complexity. The narrative is gripping and engaging, successfully capturing the audience's attention and providing a satisfying emotional arc for the leading character. Furthermore, the visual and musical aspects are superb, creating an impressive and immersive atmosphere that complements the emotional themes of the story. Overall, this film is a must-see for those who love heartwrenching tales of love and sacrifice."

┊ii.   "Dinah is played by Alecsya Nevaeh, who brings the leading role to life with an astounding sense of ease and magnetism. As Alecsya's first major role, she has already cemented herself as an up-and-coming star of the industry. Alecsya's talent and charisma are truly unparalleled, and it's easy to see why she has quickly gained acclaim and attention within the industry."

┊iii. 'Alecsya's performance as Dinah is truly extraordinary."

┊iv. "Dinah is the lead protagonist of Queen of Hearts Origins, and her portrayal by (insert actress name) is truly exemplary of her immense talent. Dinah's character is rich and nuanced, filled with depth and complexity that the actress brings to life effectively. She manages to convey the various emotional and psychological struggles that Dinah faces with subtlety and conviction, making her character truly believable and relatable. Alecsya truly elevates Dinah with her powerful performance."

┊v. "It is with absolute certainty that Alecsya Nevaeh is set to become one of Hollywood's most iconic talents, and her breakout performance as Dinah in Queen of Hearts origins is the perfect proof. With her incredible talent, charisma, and striking presence, Alecsya has undoubtedly established herself as an unstoppable force to be reckoned with in the industry. Her future is truly bright, and it will be a pleasure to watch her progress and grow."

╰─▸ @[aquaticlime] has

. . . . logged off

˗ˏˋReturn to masterlist ✦ main masterlist´ˎ˗

#shifting motivation #shiftblr #shifting community #reality shifting #shifting blog #fame dr #actress dr #desired reality

[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part 5

Well hot damn, it's been long enough - and speaking of 'long enough' this part totaled out at 22 pages. Told y'all it's only gonna get longer from here on out.

Week two and week three go by, each with its high - and low - points.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 8.1K

WARNINGS: colorful language; not beta-read (we die like men); mentions of toxic family behavior

Recommended Soundtrack: Go! - Public Service Broadcasting; Kick the Tragedy - Drop Nineteens; Crank - Catherine Wheel

***

Week 2. PT does, indeed, suck on Monday. 

Everhardt decides that his class’s first PT session of the week is going to involve endurance conditioning at the base track - a lot of it. 

When he utters the dreaded words “caboose runs,” Katie groans (as do probably 5 other people, but that’s beside the point). As if it wasn’t bad enough that she and Bob kicked their asses hiking on Saturday, now she’s got 20 minutes of staggered sprints on shit legs to worry about. 

“It had to be caboose runs,” Katie mutters under her breath as she falls in line behind Fanboy and trots off for the next 20 minutes of hell. 

At least she’s not alone in her misery. Bob says nothing as he slips into line behind her. He does, however, pass her a grin of pained solidarity as he sprints his way up to the front of the train when his turn comes. 

It’s a grin she returns when it’s her turn to bolt to the front. 

It’s also a grin that Fanboy catches notice of, and one that he finds himself asking questions about when the run ends 20 minutes later. 

“Am I missing something here?” he wheezes to Katie when they’re all clustered on the side of the track, taking a much-needed water break. 

Katie, propped up beside Bob against a row of bleachers, shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe if you’d tagged along with us instead of spending all morning in bed on Saturday, you’d be in the loop.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. How was the hike, anyway?” 

“Long,” Bob winces. “And steep.”

“Hm. Explains the faces of agony.” 

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Katie mutters with a snort, which Bob underscores with a nod and chuckle of agreement. 

Fanboy says nothing else beyond that - at least, not while Bob is within earshot. When everyone starts making their way to center field for calisthenics and Bob follows along with the others, Fanboy pulls Katie aside, leans in close. “So uh, like I was saying earlier… Am I missing something here?” 

There’s no missing the sly, knowing glimmer in his eyes when he speaks. Oh Christ Fanboy, what are you insinuating?

She plays dumb. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she says airily. 

“Hell you don’t,” Fanboy retorts with a roll of his eyes and a smirk. “I saw you guys vibing together. Being all smiley and shit. Y’all got real friendly with each other on Saturday, didn’t you?” 

“If by ‘got real friendly’ you mean ‘hiked up the side of a mountain and OD-ed on pancakes and hashbrowns shortly thereafter,’ then yeah, we got real friendly.”

“Cute, cute. There gonna be a second date?”

“Oh my god Fanboy-”

“Ooh, that sounds like a yes-”

“Fuck off,” Katie giggles as she gives Fanboy a small shove. “Seriously, there’s nothing going on with me and Bob. We’re just friends.”

“Five bucks says that changes in a couple weeks.”

“You ready to lose that bet?”

Fanboy shrugs. “I dunno, I’m feeling pretty good about this one.” The waggling of his eyebrows earns him an exasperated groan. 

“You are absolutely ridiculous.” Despite the nature of the words she just spoke, Katie can’t help the grin that splits across her face. “C’mon, before Everhardt bitches at us.” 

He laughs, but says nothing more as he jogs off to join the others for the rest of PT - and thank god he does, otherwise he would definitely have words to say about the disgruntled scowl curling across Katie’s lips. Making bets about her love life… As if she even has one. She and Bob are friends and nothing more. 

At least, that’s what she tells herself. What she’s currently hell-bent on telling herself. 

She steals a glance at Bob, then at Fanboy - and the scowl deepens. Bastard, she thinks. 

This is going to be a long 3 months. 

***

Instruction picks up right where it left off on Friday, with two-man hops and simulated bombing runs and death by classroom lecture. The first half of the day sees Fanboy and Halfpint paired with Airbud, a single-seater pilot, and their hop goes as well as it’s expected to. 

Where it all goes to shit is during the second half of the day, when Katie finds herself paired with Melendez. 

Melendez isn’t a team player; she made that much clear during the first week. Of course, nobody really realizes it until one person or the other is paired up with her for flight ops. Nobody knows which is worse: the fact that she’s maliciously cocky in and out of the cockpit, or that she peppers her shit-talking with musings of being a TOPGUN instructor. She’s not making friends with anyone here - and it seems like everyone else is happy to keep it that way.

So why Katie finds herself jogging after her on the tarmac and calling out to her is completely beyond comprehension.

“Melendez!” she yells over the whistling roar of their jet engines. 

She doesn’t hear her. Either that, or she ignores her. It doesn’t matter to Katie. She jogs after Melendez, reaches a hand out to touch her shoulder.

And damn-near gets decked with a fistful of equipment. 

“What?” Melendez snaps. “What the fuck do you want?” 

“Whoa, hey-” Katie’s hands are up instantly, and she takes a step back, opens up the space between them. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea… “I just wanna talk, that’s all.”

“Yeah? About what?” 

Katie closes her eyes, sucks in a deep breath. She’s gonna have to make this quick. 

“Look - things got off on the wrong foot last week. I was hoping maybe we could reset and try again.”

“‘Reset and try again’?”

Melendez is mocking her, or getting ready to do it, at least. Fuck, Katie knew this was a bad idea. 

She stands tall, gives a single, curt nod. “Yeah.” This conversation may be going south faster than she would’ve hoped, but she’s not about to tuck tail. 

Laughter bursts from Melendez's mouth, a loud, raucous guffaw of… Disbelief? Amusement? Katie’s not sure - but the laughter all the same can’t be a good sign, not when she’s trying to extend an olive branch. 

It starts with a smile, a malicious one.  “Look, blanquita, I dunno what you’re on right now, but let’s get somethin’ straight. We’re not friends; we’re competition - and even if we weren’t competin’ there’s no fuckin’ way I’d wanna be friends with you.” 

Her response doesn’t really shock Katie. At least, the first part of it doesn’t. 

It’s the second part that throws her. 

“You little white girls are all the same,” Melendez says, voice laced with poison. “You try to be friends with everyone so no one calls you out for being trash. Make me look like the bad guy for callin’ you out on your shit.”

“I don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up, yes you do. Grow up, blanquita. Stop tryin’ to be everyone’s friend and do your fuckin’ job, if you even can. They can’t help you if you suck.” 

And with that, Melendez pivots on one heel, and continues her march to her jet. She spares no second glance at Katie, who stands stock-still for a moment, blinking and staring at the spot she previously occupied. 

She didn’t think it was going to go that bad, but… yikes. That was pretty fucking bad. 

And the worst part of it? Maybe Melendez has a point. 

It’s a thought that plagues Katie as she climbs into the cockpit of her F-18, and takes off for an exercise that sees Melendez push her around and leave her feeling like shit about her flying. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she does suck and is trying to distract from it. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told Katie that she doesn’t measure up and that she’s only lying to herself. 

You know you’re not cut out for this. Why do you insist on embarrassing yourself?

No. No, no, no. Fuck that. 

Whether or not Melendez is right, it doesn’t matter. Katie can’t let that get to her. She’s worked far too hard and for far too long to be derailed by some little Brooklynite trying to pick a fight with her. 

Melendez wants competition? Fine then. Competition is what she’ll get. 

She’s gonna wish she hadn’t, though. 

***

The next day is much better - Katie’s relegated to an observer position while two other teams are sent up in the air. The two teams in question? Bojack and Wolverine, and Bones, Bob, and his front-seater Rapture. 

Now, everyone at TOPGUN knows as well as the next person that each pilot and NFO has their own distinct magic, that little bit of something that sets them above and apart from their peers in the aviation community. Katie’s knack for quick absorption is unparalleled. Fanboy and Halfpint are fast, efficient, precise. Hell, even Melendez has her magic; her doggedness and tenacity in the air make her one hell of a pilot. 

And then there’s Bob. 

Bob is a goddamn crack shot. His rate of accuracy is so near-perfect that it’s almost a little frightening to watch him and his front-seater rain destruction down below them. Of course, Rapture is plenty accurate and deadly on his own - but with Bob? Their targets don’t stand a chance. Rapture’s WSO is sharp and laser-focused and on the money every damn time, a deadeye of epic proportions. 

Katie can’t help but smile as she listens in on the radio chatter in the ready room and hears Bob and his front-seater slam-dunk the exercise. They’ve got their targets zeroed and smoldering within minutes, a far cry better than most of the others in class. 

Certainly a far cry better than her and Melendez yesterday. It stings, just the tiniest bit, but she tries not to let it bother her. Besides, why should it bother her that someone who’s clearly meant to be here just killed their bombing run? 

This boy is gonna be the one to blow them all out of the water. Katie just knows it. 

“Jesus - remind me never to cross you,” she murmurs to Bob after debrief. “You were like fuckin’ Annie Oakley out there.”

Bob’s mouth screws up in a small grin. “Yeah, well, Annie Oakley appreciates that. It’s nice when your peers tell you how lethal you are.”

“Oh, you. Still wanna grab Chipotle with me, Fanboy, and Halfpint?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Bob matches his pace with Katie’s, sets his garrison cap upon his golden-brown head. “I’ve been dreaming of a double-protein bowl since Fanboy brought it up this morning.”

“You earned it, that’s for sure.”

He smiles again, wider and happier, and it sends a flutter through Katie’s chest. “I aim to please.”

And he certainly does. Bob Floyd is an incredibly gifted aviator. There’s no doubt that he will take top spot in their class. No doubt at all. 

And, quite frankly, Katie thinks, it couldn’t happen to a better person. 

***

“Do you drink coffee?”

It’s barely past 0630 on Wednesday, and Katie is already receiving texts - and from Bob, no less. 

At first she’s confused. She’s in the Navy; of course she drinks coffee. Caffeinated beverages are practically her lifeblood. 

Her brow furrows as she picks up her phone to respond. “Yeah? Lol. Why do you ask?”

A bare 10 seconds pass before a response is shooting into her inbox. “I’m brewing some in my room,” the text reads. “Happy to make you a cup if you’d like one.” 

Hm. An impromptu coffee date with Bob Floyd. Even if it is ridiculously early in the morning, Katie has to admit, that sounds quite nice. 

“Sure, I’ll swing by. What’s your room number?” 

“224. Just a heads up, I split the room with Rapture and he might be here when you come down. Sorry for that btw.”

“No worries. Be down in a minute.”

Thankfully, neither of them have to worry about Bob’s front-seater when she appears at his front door moments later. He’s stepping out as she’s coming in, heading off for breakfast in the lobby. 

Which leaves Katie quite alone with Bob in his room. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small ripple of excitement passes through as she steps into the hotel room and shuts the door behind her. 

Living spaces, no matter how temporary, have always been an interesting thing for Katie. They paint a picture of the person occupying it, shed light on the parts hidden by polite social interactions and facades. 

Bob’s living space is simultaneously everything Katie figured it would be and absolutely nothing like what she thought. Frank Herbert’s Dune rests on the coffee table in the living room area, but so too does a battered, oft-read copy of Robert Jordan’s The Eye of the World and Pathfinder’s Core Rulebook. A sticker-emblazoned gaming laptop with a pulsating rainbow-colored keyboard rests on the kitchen counter, but it’s streaming soft, soothing coffeehouse jazz. And the coffee that Bob offered earlier? He has a whole setup for it, complete with a hand-cranked coffee grinder, water boiling on the stove in a lodge-supplied tea kettle, and a small French press. Whatever images or preconceived notions Katie had about Bob’s living space have been all but obliterated at this point. 

It’s more than that, though. The contents of the hotel room prove that things are nowhere near as simplified as she would’ve thought. There are layers to Bob; that much has been apparent since the moment they first met. Still, Katie didn’t think she’d ever really get to see them. The fact that she’s now standing here, seeing these parts of him - hell, that he’s letting her see these parts of him… 

She might actually have butterflies in her stomach right now. 

Bob putters around the small kitchen space with his flight suit half-zipped and the sleeves tied tight around his waist, one hand gripping the coffee grinder while the other cranks the handle. His face holds an expression of calm, collected concentration, almost like an artist’s. It’s a creative process for him, Katie realizes. How very him. 

“Do you take anything in your coffee?”

Katie makes a noise of indifference as she seats herself at the countertop. “Not really. I kind of just drink it how it’s presented to me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Why the double-check?”

“Well,” he replies as he dumps the freshly ground beans into the French press, “I ask because some people don’t like how I present coffee to them. I drink coffee black because it lets me taste the flavors and undertones better, but I know a lot of people who think drinking black coffee is like drinking charcoal, so…” 

“So give it to me black then.” When Bob makes a noise of protest, Katie rolls her eyes but smiles endearingly. “I’m a big girl, Bob. I can handle a little bitterness.” 

Bob only nods as he pours hot water into the press, then presses the grounds to the bottom with the plunger. When he pours the resulting liquid into a mug and slides it towards Katie, he does so with a look of nervous anticipation on his face, almost like her reaction determines how the rest of the morning - maybe even the day - plays out. 

Lucky for him, Katie’s reaction when she takes her first sip of coffee is a highly positive one. She’s no connoisseur; she can’t taste any flavors or notes or undertones, but she knows for damn sure that it’s a good cup of coffee. It’s smooth, warm and roasty, but not burnt. Clearly, Bob has good taste in the stuff. 

She smirks around the brim of her mug. “Well, it’s definitely not Maxwell House,” she says before taking another sip, a bigger one. 

“God, I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It is. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a special place in my heart for the cheap shit, but sometimes I want a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like dirt.”

“Well then,” Bob replies as he seats himself beside her, “I’m happy to give you that second cup.”

“I’m happy to have it with you.” 

She says it before her brain can catch up with her mouth. It’s hardly that loaded of a statement, and somewhere in the back of her head, Katie knows that - but it doesn’t stop her from blushing, and damn-near crimson at that. Where did that come from?

What’s funny, though, is that Bob is blushing too, and just as red as Katie, if not more. It makes her wonder what’s going through his head in that moment. 

He takes a long, drawn-out sip of coffee, likely to help steady his nerves. “Uh, you know… I do this every day. Brew up some coffee, sit down, take some time to relax before class…” He takes another steadying sip of coffee, and the mug trembles in his hand, just the tiniest bit. “It’d be nice to have some company. Y’know, whenever.” 

The words hang in the air, and Katie contemplates them. It’s not like Bob asked her to marry him, but she can tell that even asking for something as low-key as a shared coffee before class is out of his comfort zone. That he’s putting himself out there like this, that he’s doing it for her, no less… 

Katie would be lying if she said her heart didn’t flutter in her chest. 

A small smile graces her face. “Happy to come by whenever,” she finally replies. 

She’s never been so glad to have accepted an invitation. 

***

Thursday rolls around with another round of paired hops and simulated bombing runs. Katie’s up first this time, paired with Fanboy and Halfpint. She’s had time to get her head on straight after Tuesday’s less-than-stellar hop with Melendez - and now? Her head’s more than screwed on straight; it’s a steel trap, a loaded spring ready to explode and execute. She’s pissed at how Tuesday went, and she wants that feeling of competence back. 

She can feel Melendez’s eyes boring into her as she passes by the ready room, can feel her smirking and sneering at her. No doubt she’s thinking there’s going to be a repeat of Tuesday’s hop. Like hell. 

The run winds up being everything Katie expects it to be and hopes for - her, Fanboy, and Halfpint all working together seamlessly and efficiently, zeroing their targets and raining ultra-precise hellfire down on them, getting in and getting out with not a second wasted. It’s everything Tuesday should’ve been, and everything the rest of her time here at TOPGUN will be. 

Needless to say, Melendez is no longer smirking when they all come out of debrief an hour later. 

And that is enough to put a smile on Katie’s face.

***

It’s Friday night, and all Katie wants to do is have a beer. A Deschutes beer, specifically. Something that she knows the Hard Deck doesn’t have on tap - not that she’s really complaining. She’s not in much of a mood to “go out” tonight. 

She could, however, wrangle up a friend or two to occupy the covered patio out back. That has the makings of a good time tonight. 

All she needs to do is grab a six-pack. 

It’s multitasking at its finest as she grabs her wallet and taps out a quick text to Bob. “Any interest in drinking tonight?” she asks him casually. “I’m about to head over to the NEX to get some beer.” 

The reply comes back sooner than Katie thought it would. “Funny you mention that; I’m actually at the NEX right now. What do you want? I can grab it for you.”

Huh. Well how about that. 

“Do they have Deschutes there?”

“I’ll take a look. What’s your plan b if they don’t?”

“Uhhhhhh Kona beer? If they have Longboard or Hanalei then that’ll work.”

“On it. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back.”

“Sweet, sounds good.”

Well, that was easy enough. All Katie needs to do now is wrangle up some more company. 

She swaps over to her chat thread with Fanboy, begins to type. “Feel like drinking on the back patio tonight? Bob’s grabbing beer at the NEX; if you want anything I can text him and tell him to grab it for you.” 

She’s slipping an old red hooded flannel over her t-shirt when she gets a reply back from Fanboy - a picture, says the notification. When she opens the message, laughter bursts from her. Fanboy’s sent her a picture of himself jutting his thumb over his shoulder - and who happens to be standing behind him, holding up a six-pack of Shiner Bock and making a face for the camera? 

None other than Bob. 

“Wayyyyy ahead of u fam,” he replies in a second text. “Also Bob says they got deschutes here. They got fresh squeezed IPA and squeezy rider IPA.” 

“Ooooooooh definitely Squeezy Rider. Please and thank you.” 

“Bet. Grab us a spot downstairs? We’ll be back in 10.” 

“Will do.”

Without another word or text sent, Katie trots off for the elevator and makes her way downstairs, shuffling through the lobby to the back patio area, which is lit by the soft glow of brass torches. Coupled with several cushy seats in the area and the soft crash of the tide in the near distance, it provides just the right amount of relaxation and ambience for an easy Friday night in. 

She folds herself into one of the lounge chairs, starts up one of her quieter shoegaze playlists, smiling to herself. Yeah, this was definitely a good call for tonight. 

True to their word, Fanboy and Bob come waltzing through the door ten minutes later, each with beers in one hand and what looks like a bag of snacks in the other. For Fanboy, it’s Takis and mini pretzels. For Bob, it’s cool ranch flavored sunflower seeds and smoked mini sausages. Sure, it’s not the most inspired bunch of snacks - but food is food, and Katie is glad they at least had the thought to get some. 

“You’re a peach,” Katie beams when Bob comes over and hands off the coveted six-pack to her. “How much do I owe you?” 

Bob waves the question off and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, c’mon, lemme pay you back-”

“Sand Trap, seriously, it’s fine.” He grins at Katie as he takes the lounge seat opposite hers, all nice and easygoing and good-natured, but the glint in his eyes makes it clear that the issue is no longer up for discussion. 

Well. Bob might not have taken very well to growing up in the South, but he sure as hell has the ‘southern gentleman’ mannerisms down pat. Isn’t that nice. 

Still, Katie can’t help but grumble. “Fine, but I’m buying next time.” She settles back in her seat, twists off the top on beer number one. She doubts he’ll let her pay for whatever it is they buy next time, but damned if she’s not going to try. 

“Yeah,” Bob hums around his first bottle of Shiner Bock, “we’ll see about that.” 

“I’m sure we will.” Yep, she was right about that one. Not giving it up that easily. Not that it’s a bad thing. Katie likes a guy with a sense of chivalry. “Pass me some of those sausages.”

Bob obliges, holding out the open bag to her, and she grabs a handful and fastens one between her lips. It’s punchy, full of minced hatch chilis and spice, a nice counter to the languid citrus haze of her beer. Not bad for cheap snack food from the NEX. 

“These are good,” she murmurs after a bite of sausage and a swallow of beer. “I’m gonna have to start buying these.” A snicker bubbles out of her mouth after a second. “Maybe that’s how I’ll repay you, Bob - just buy you a giant bag of hatch chili sausages.”

“Sand Trap-”

“Oh, c’mon Bob, I gotta repay you somehow! Lemme be nice!” Katie laughs, giggles tremoring in her chest as she takes another swill of beer. “Lemme be your friend and repay the favor.”

“You’re a plenty good enough friend without having to buy me stuff.”

And so the banter circles, and circles, and circles again. Katie’s not going to lie, it’s tiresome - but she keeps it up all the same. After all, it’s nice seeing Bob relax, nice seeing him engage in the dumb antics and arguments most others get themselves into. 

It’s nice seeing him comfortable. 

Speaking of being comfortable…

“Hey Bob?”

“Mmm?”

“You can call me Katie.” She can feel Fanboy’s amused side-eye boring into her the second she says it, but she doesn’t give a damn. Bob’s been her friend long enough; he’s certainly earned the privilege. 

His blue eyes glimmer behind his glasses, and the corners of them crinkle in time with the grin that spreads across his face. He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to - the look on his face says everything. 

“What about me? Can I call you Katie?”

“Loser - we literally established this the day we met!” 

“I know, but I wanted to get in on the moment! It was too cute to pass up!”

“You are the absolute worst,” Katie snickers before flicking a bottle cap in Fanboy’s direction. 

And there the three of them sit, drinking well into the wee hours of the night, snarking and poking fun at each other, vibing, laughing, living, basking. 

Few things truly are better than drinking with one’s fellow aviators. 

***

Week 3. Coffee with Bob in his hotel room at 0630 is a fairly daily occurrence now. Katie makes a note in her head that Monday morning to get her hands on some good coffee beans later in the day. It seems like the only proper ‘thank you’ for the man who’s been sharing his small supply of caffeine with her this past week. 

They’re sitting at his counter, scribbling their last little bits of homework before the day starts, sipping from their mugs while the usual coffeehouse jazz streams from his computer. Katie should be kicking herself for not having this done the night before, but she can’t be bothered to care too much. If anything, doing it now gives her a chance to cross-check things afterwards with Bob. 

Or so she says. 

“Y’know, it really is fascinating, what you can accomplish when you procrastinate,” Katie muses. 

“If stress and anxiety weren’t side effects of it, I’d do it more often.”

“Agreed. Although I’m not sure what you have to be stressed or anxious about. You’re easily the smartest guy in our class. If anything, I feel like this whole thing should be a slam dunk for you.”

Bob shrugs. “It’s only easy because I have my setup to worry about, nothing else. Point, shoot, done. You, on the other hand, have my ultimate respect because you do that AND fly at the same time.”

“I don’t think I’m very good at it, though. I’m doing my damnedest to prove my worth, but… I dunno.” Katie’s lips purse as she looks down at her work, scribbles in her final notes. “Honest truth? I dunno how I even wound up here. There are definitely way better pilots out there. They’d be more deserving of a spot here than me.” She’s stopped writing at this point, gaze downcast and jaw clenching tighter and tighter. God, how it pains her to admit that, but she knows it’s true. She’s been told that her whole life; it’s not like she can just wipe it from her mind, her entire existence. Hell, she heard it from Melendez last week. No amount of anger, hard work, or successful hops can erase that.

Why do you bother? You’re not good enough. You’ll never be good enough for them, Katherine Mae… They don’t know you like I do…

They don’t love you like I do.  

“Well, I think that’s a crock of shit,” Bob declares, voice cutting through the poison swirling in Katie’s head. “You’re a hell of a pilot, Sand Trap; someone clearly thought you deserve to be here. And I know that whoever sent you here, they’re not the only one thinking that.”

“Oh yeah? You one of those other people?” Katie mutters. 

There’s a beat of silence. Then…

“Yeah, actually, I am.”

Katie blinks, looks over at Bob, finds herself looking into his eyes, that endless stretch of cerulean. There’s an earnestness in them that makes her stomach clench and her breath hitch, just the tiniest bit. It’s not often that she hears serious reassurance like that. In fact, it’s rare, so rare that Katie finds herself at a bit of a loss for words. Or proper response. Or anything, really, because not only is it coming from a colleague of hers, it’s coming from him, from Bob, and how the fuck is she supposed to react to that, to someone like him actually giving a shit? 

She feels her face growing hot, burning red. She drops her head down, low enough so that he can’t see the embarrassment scorching across it. “Thanks,” she mumbles. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bob smile. “I’d fly with you any day of the week and twice on Sunday, Sand Trap.” 

Her whole body is burning now, and whether it’s with pride, pleasure, or shame, she’s not sure. Whatever the case may be, it’s a first for her.

She needs to speak. That’s what she needs to do. 

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell Bob ‘thank you’, to say some sort of one-and-done pleasantry - but all she can think to say, in that exact moment, is…

“Thought I told you to call me Katie, Bob.” 

Though he seems momentarily taken aback by the answer (maybe he was anticipating her saying ‘thank you’ too), Bob chuckles, his cheeks tinted with the barest hint of red. 

“I’ll keep that in mind from now on, Katie.” 

This time, Katie doesn’t even try to hide her face when heat tears across her cheeks. Something about Bob using her first name the way that he does, so innocent and personal… It does something to her. What the hell’s happening to her?

She coughs, cobbles her things together and tosses them into her black backpack. “We don’t, um… have that much time left before class. I’m just - I’m - um, I’m gonna go-” It’s abrupt, out of nowhere, and certainly nowhere near the calm, cool, and easygoing responses she usually gives, and all she wants to do immediately after saying it is kick herself, because Jesus Christ, could she look like any more of a psychotic dweeb? 

Bob, poor thing, seems just as confused. “Okay… Um… Guess I’ll see you in class then.” 

Katie’s bolting out of the room and shutting the door behind her before ‘yep’ has even passed her lips. She doesn’t want to stick around long enough for him to see the internal meltdown she’s about to suffer. He definitely doesn’t need to see that. 

“Seriously, Katie?” she hisses to herself as she marches down the hallway to the elevators. “What the fuck was that? He used your first name - after you LITERALLY told him to! Could you have reacted any more weirdly to that?” 

Well, I don’t know - when was the last time you let yourself entertain ANY sort of male attention? Especially from someone that you, oh, I don’t know, MIGHT HAVE AN INTEREST IN?

Could she, though? Could she really? 

No, Katie decides - no, insists - in the elevator ride down to the lobby. She and Bob are friends, nothing more. That’s the way it will be - the way it has to be.

Anything more than that and she risks opening wounds and exposing truths that should never see the light of day.

She shakes her head with a quiet snarl, makes her way out of the lodge and off to her car.

She’s gonna have to have a long conversation with herself when she’s done with everything for the day - a very fucking long one. 

***

It’s Tuesday evening, a late one. Katie’s been staring at the same piece of instruction on aerial bombing maneuvers for the last half hour now and none of the information has absorbed into her brain. Whether it’s due to the late hours or the fact that it’s fairly complex material, it’s refusing to stick - and Katie is rapidly losing her patience with it. 

With a huff of exasperated resignation, she tosses the paper away with no concern about where it lands, and thumps back against her bed’s headboard. What use is there in trying to force memorization? At this point she’s been reading and rereading the same three sentences with no clue of what they’re saying. Better to just say ‘fuck it’ for the night and pick up where she left off tomorrow, when her brain - and patience - is refreshed. 

She lets her eyes slide shut with a sigh, thoughts tapering off into nothingness, welcoming the call of a peaceful night’s sleep…

Until the sound of her phone buzzing, rattling on the nightstand jars her awake again.

The phone continues to buzz on the nightstand, her sister’s name and number scrolling across the screen. Katie frowns. Naomi’s talkative, sure, but she’s not really the type to reach out with a phone call - not unless there’s something going on. What could be going on at close to 2230 on a Tuesday, Katie’s not sure, but she hopes it’s nothing too serious.

She rolls over, grabs the phone off the nightstand, accepts the call. “Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

“Katherine.”

Katie’s stomach lurches and her blood runs cold. Her. Oh god, her. 

It’s a fight to maintain composure, to not fly into a seething, furious rage at the mere sound of her voice. Four years since she last saw her and Katie’s still licking the wounds from her last encounter with her. This bitch is the last person she wants to talk to. 

“Carrie.”

She makes a sound on the other end - a ‘tut’ of disdain, Katie realizes. Jesus - is she actually thinking of scolding her, of shaming her?”

“‘Carrie’? Is that any way to address the woman who gave birth to you? I-”

“You lost that ‘mom’ title a long time ago and you know it,” she hisses before immediately closing her eyes and clenching her jaw. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, she can’t be snapping like that. It’s how she pulls her into her bullshit; it’s how she’s always done it. Katie needs to calm down, and fast. 

She inhales through her nose, exhales forcefully, grips the phone tight in her hand, evens her breathing and pitch. “What do you want?”

“Well, I want to talk to you,” Carrie replies, as if the answer is obvious. “I just found out that my oldest daughter’s on the West Coast; why else would I be calling?”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to talk to you?” No, of course not, Katie thinks. This is her mother; the only person she’s ever paid close attention to is herself. The feelings and boundaries of her kids don’t matter to her. They never have. 

“Why would you say something so horrible? What have I done to deserve that?”

Katie doesn’t even try to swallow her cackle of incredulity. “Are you serious? Do you want a list of all the shit you’ve done? I mean Jesus Carrie, you stole Naomi’s phone to get to me!”

“Let me remind you that I pay the bills in this family, and that includes the one for your sister’s phone. I may allow her to use it, but this is MY phone, understand?”

She’s pulling her into her bullshit already; Katie can feel it. Her immediate response should be to cut her off and end the conversation right here, just like she’s done countless times before - and yet, she can’t. It’s been a long week and it’s not even over yet. She’s tired, her guard is down, and after the last two minutes, her blood pressure is climbing and threatening to spill over. If anyone should know how pissed off and exhausted she is, it’s Carrie. 

“Do you hear yourself? What kind of fucked up ‘no privacy’ bullshit are you on?”

“Oh, don’t you lecture me, Katherine Mae. I do what I do to keep this family together. And if this is what I have to do to keep my other daughter from abandoning it like you did, then so be it.” 

Oh, that’s it. That’s fucking it. Katie’s not doing this anymore. 

“Well, you clearly haven’t changed, so I no longer feel compelled to keep this conversation going.” 

“Katherine, don’t you dare-”

“I’m done, Carrie. Give Naomi her phone back and don’t call me again.” 

Katie then disconnects the call before Carrie has the chance to protest, the action decisive, unwavering, final. She should’ve ended that call a long time ago, and she knows she’ll be kicking herself for it later, but she’s out of it now and that’s all that matters. That bitch isn’t getting to her anymore tonight; she won’t let her. 

But goddamn, did she come close to it. 

Worse still, Katie knows it probably won’t be the only time that it happens - that Carrie finds ways to pull her back into her lies and abuse. This is only the start. And though she might’ve had the strength to shut Carrie down this time, there’s no guarantee that she’ll have it for the next run-in with her. 

And that? That scares Katie. It scares the living shit out of her. 

She needs an escape. Now. Before the memories threaten to consume her. 

She slips in her Airpods, puts on Drop Nineteens’ Kick the Tragedy, cranks the volume to drown out the voices and nightmares swirling in her head, and pulls her knees tight to her chest, trembling. 

It’s a position she stays locked in for the rest of the night. 

***

“Does this instruction make any sense to you or am I just stupid?” 

Katie’s currently sitting at a corner table in the buffet area with Bob, surrounded by notebooks, scattered sheets of paper, and small stacks of flight manuals. The piece of instruction Katie’s currently focused on is the same one from the night before, but she’s reading and poring over it with a renewed sense of determination (and spite, if she’s being honest) - or, at least, she’s trying to. It’s still as dense and heavy as when she last read it and it’s still not willing to stick in her brain. 

She groans loudly when Bob glances over at the paper and shakes his head, thumps her head into her forearms. “I’m so fucked for this test on Friday,” she moans. “This is 65 percent of what we’re being tested on and I can’t” - thump - “fucking” - thump - “understand it.” 

“Maybe put it down then, focus on something else?” 

“I dunno. Maybe. My brain’s soup at this point.”

“Hm.” Bob drums his fingers contemplatively on the tabletop, seems to rack his brain for a solution. It isn’t until he glances down at the watch fastened around his wrist, though, that he comes up with something - and that ‘something’ involves him packing up all their study materials, rising to his feet, and gently pulling Katie to her feet by her elbow. 

At first, she’s confused. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping for the night. We’ve been at this for the last four hours and it’s almost 11.”

“So?”

“So, that would explain why you’re having a hard time absorbing material,” Bob explains. “You’re tired; your brain’s not gonna absorb much when you’re tired.”

He says it so calmly, so simply. Fuck, it is simple, and Katie knows it. But, somewhere in the back of her mind… she can’t bring herself to go along with it. She’s a fighter pilot. More importantly, she’s a 1% fighter pilot in arguably the most challenging course the Navy has to offer. She should be soaking this material up, not getting stuck on the particulars of two-man air-to-surface strikes, literally the simplest shit. What kind of pilot is she if she can’t even figure this out? A lousy one, that’s what-

“Katie.”

Bob’s voice seems to melt through the nagging in her head, rendering it to little more than a whisper. She blinks, slowly, drifts back into reality, her very tired, very sleep-deprived reality. 

Okay. Maybe he has a point. Exhaustion is definitely doing a number on her. 

But hell if she’s going to admit it out loud. 

Somewhat thankfully, Bob seems to pick up on that reluctance and speaks for her. “Here, I’ll walk you up.” He reaches a hand out, as if to touch her, but seems to think better of it after a second and pulls it back, choosing instead to nod in the direction of the elevators. “C’mon.” 

They’re quiet as he escorts Katie up to the third floor and down the corridors to her room. When they finally come to a stop at her door, the exhaustion has set in with a swiftness and intensity she hasn’t seen since she was in OCS. She wonders briefly how she ever managed to power through it.

Bob takes her key card, swipes it across the reader and opens the door for her. “Get some sleep,” he tells her, voice soft. “I’ll hit you up in the morning, ‘kay?”

Katie nods mutely, steps over the threshold, allows Bob to pull the door closed. The exhaustion is weighing on her so heavily now that she doesn’t even react when it thuds shut more loudly than she’s used to. 

Bob’s right - she really does need to sleep. 

She trudges into her bedroom, fingers fumbling as she sets an alarm for 0600, then tosses the phone on the nightstand and falls face-first into the bed. She’s asleep seconds after her head hits the pillow, but not before her thoughts give a final whirl ‘round the study material, her pride in being a pilot, and her soft-spoken, bespectacled WSO classmate - the one who will be there for her in the morning. 

And sure enough, he is, for when Katie wakes up the next day at 06, there’s a single-word text waiting for her in her messages:

“Coffee?”

***

Two days later, after an extended study session with Bob and Fanboy the night before, Katie walks out of the test on Friday with two errors shy of a perfect score. The ironic part? The errors were on material completely unrelated to what she’d been stressing over two days ago. 

When she tells Bob and Fanboy as much on their way back to the lodge, they each respond with a shake of their head and a quiet laugh. 

“See, smartypants?” Fanboy says. “Told ya you’d be fine. Gotta learn to trust yourself more.” 

“Yeah, I’m working on that. Celebratory beer at the Hard Deck later?” 

“Don’t have to convince me.” Fanboy looks over at Bob, raises a questioning, but friendly eyebrow at him. “You tagging along or are you laying low?” 

“I mean, I gotta take a nap and catch up on the sleep I lost last night,” Bob replies casually, “but, uh… I could be persuaded.” He looks directly at Katie when he says the last part, making it abundantly clear that if anyone’s going to persuade him, it’s going to be her. 

And goddamn, if that doesn’t set the butterflies afrenzy in her stomach.

“Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll let you know what’s going on.” Katie’s attempt at replying in equally casual fashion is damn-near a failure; the pitch of her voice squeaks higher with each word she speaks. She’s not sure why it’s happening, but speaking or replying to Bob these days seems to be doing a number on her nerves. “Honestly, I’m probably gonna take a nap too; I’m feeling kinda’ dead.” 

“How late did you guys stay up after I left?” Fanboy asks them quizzically. 

Katie shakes her head. “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.” She herself is running on five hours of sleep; nerves and stress made it difficult for her to rack out at her usual time, wiring her awake well into the wee hours of the morning. A nap is an absolute necessity at this point if she has any desire to socialize later. “Meet up in the lobby in a couple hours?”

Bob nods. “Works for me.” 

The three of them pile into Katie’s 4Runner and putter their way back to the lodge, Catherine Wheel thrumming from the speakers as the mid-afternoon sun brightens the world around them. Were it not for the fact that she wants to be horizontal for her nap, Katie would be damn tempted to put her seat back and catch up on sleep in the warmth of her car.  

Bob splits off from Fanboy and Katie in the parking lot, leaving the two of them to stroll into the lobby together and ride an elevator up to their respective floors. For the most part, it’s quiet, comfortably shared silence between two friends. It’s short-lived, however; just before the elevator dings to a stop at his floor, Fanboy leans in towards Katie, eyebrow quirked inquiringly, smugly. 

“So, not a whole lotta sleep between you two… Was that all code for something and I just completely missed it, or-”

“Fanboy, I swear to God-”

Fanboy only snickers before splitting off for his room on the second floor, leaving Katie alone and red-faced in the elevator. Jesus Christ - if he keeps making comments like that, she might actually have to kill him. 

“‘Code for something’...” Katie mutters when the elevator reaches the third floor and she stomps off to her room. “Fucking menace.” If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that Fanboy was actively trying to push her and Bob together. 

Whatever. She’s not going to dedicate anymore thought to it, no sir - especially when she’s tired and still coming down from the stress of their test earlier. 

She loosens her laces and kicks off her flight boots, falling into the mattress with her hair still bunned and flight suit still zipped, settling in for some sleep that practically blacks her out for the next few hours. 

Later, after a nice, long, well-deserved nap and some dedicated relaxation time, the three of them are clustered around a high-top table at the Hard Deck, a small bowl of salted peanuts in the middle, beers of various brands in hand as they muse about their first three weeks at TOPGUN. They decide that, for as hard and as break-neck fast as it’s been going, all in all, it hasn’t been a bad experience so far. They’re conditions befitting their jobs - and lord knows, it hasn’t been boring. 

“Kinda’ makes me worry, though,” Bob murmurs. “We’re only three weeks in and it’s already been a helluva challenge. What are the other ten gonna be like?” 

Fanboy snorts, takes a swill of his pilsner. “You’re not telling me you’re scared, are you?”

“Apprehensive is more like it.”

“Eh, same difference. Not like you need to be scared though. It’s obvious you’re top brain in the class. You’ll get through this shit just fine.” 

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” Bob’s eyes dart over to Katie for the briefest moment, holding her gaze for an even briefer moment before returning to the bottle in his hand. “I’m just waiting to see where Everhardt takes us next, and, y’know, trying to prepare myself for it.” 

“Understandable.” 

“I mean, if the next ten weeks are anything like the last three, just assume he’s gonna try to run us into the ground and proceed from there,” Katie shrugs. “I’ve already resigned myself to getting my ass handed to me; you might as well do the same.”

“Says the girl who aced her test earlier,” Fanboy scoffs. 

“Almost aced her test earlier.”

“Oh whatever. You’re smart. You’ll be fine. Fuck, you’ll both be fine; you guys’ll probably take the top two spots.”

“Well, I’m certainly gonna try,” Bob murmurs with a bashful smile. “Can’t be helped if I get bested by this girl over here though.”

Fanboy shakes his head and sighs, but he does it with a smirk on his face. “This guy…”

“Nah, you’ll definitely best me, Bob; there’s no question about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” he replies. “May the best aviator win.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Katie raises her bottle. “While we’re at it, here’s to making it through air-to-surface.”

“And the first three weeks,” Fanboy chimes in as he raises his. 

Bob’s the last to raise his, and his accompanying sentiment really rounds the evening out. “Onward to the next and best.”

Clink. 

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @luckyladycreator2 @docdetective @airedale17

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob top gun #robert bob floyd x female oc #female oc #lewis pullman #bob my beloved #movies #film #fanfiction #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun 2

[fatefulfaerie]

Hell Hath No Fury

Been a while since I dropped 3k and ran. Let’s see how this goes.

“Of all the people to survive the calamity, it should have been him.”

“And yet here you stand with not only the sword that seals the darkness, but the power of the goddess who you once claimed abandoned you. Is all hope truly lost?”

Yes.

The conversation with Impa still remained in her mind as she left Kakariko holding the Master Sword, wrapped in rags and bounded by rope. She still held it like something foreign, similarly to how she held her powers.

Sahasra Slope was one Zelda had descended just yesterday, Link’s hand tugging her so fast she feared they would tumble down the hill. Back then, the fires were raw and newly burning, rising and crackling with excitement and fury.  Now, Hyrule was in ashes, ridded of screams and cries, of life and structure. But for a few lucky havens, the kingdom of Hyrule was no more.

Guardians littered this hill. Zelda knew of Kakariko’s tactical advantage, but it seemed her surge of light came just at the right time, for the Sheikah in Kakariko, not to mention the citizens of Hateno and Lurelin. Southeast Hyrule was spared the tragedies of Central Hyrule, which should have brought Zelda solace.

But she was a selfish princess, thinking more of the few people she knew than the several people she didn’t, thinking more of those who were no more than those who have a life to live because of her.

Her shoulders had risen towards her ears as she looked out onto the horizon to her right. Vah Ruta was illuminated in a distinct magenta light and it glowed like northern lights against a backdrop of stars, slowly shifting as if it were any other night.

A trio of Hylians raced past her panting as they ascended they hill, seeking shelter and sanctuary in Kakariko. They didn’t acknowledge her but for the question she heard when they were barely still in earshot.

“Was that the princess?”

She could only imagine what the kingdom thought of her now, every single one of their doubts in her confirmed as they watched their loved ones burn alongside a once safe kingdom. Her father likely cursed her name as he fell, and his people likely prayed to the goddess Hylia to please, please save them, spare them, let them go as painlessly as possible.

Zelda stopped herself from the selfish thought that then, they would know how it feels. I was uncouth to think of the dead in such a manner. It was filthy, and it made her loathe herself more.

Zelda took fledgling steps down the grassy hill, charred unevenly by the fires of war. Ash freckled her blonde hair as she continued. The distant forest looked farther than anything ever had. She had no horse, no carriage, no detail of soldiers, not even a knight attendant to spout encouragements no one would believe he actually employed his vocal chords to say. It was a long, lonely road as she stepped onto the path next to the Millennio Sandbar.

She didn’t dare look to her right too closely, for she could smell the smoke and rotting flesh that emanated from what was once Goponga Village. The lack of screams, the absolute quiet, they told her everything she needed to know. It was as if the goddess Hylia shushed her people, and they listened. A kingdom-wide game of silence.

And she won.

Calamity Ganon had the last laugh. Occasionally in her trek she would hear him growl in the distance and it made her blood boil, just like the red moons of legend. But he was gloating and it was rude.

The castle in the distance was now his sty, not her home nor her future, but his place to grow and gorge and steep and stew and Hylia, it made her stomach churn. If she wished away reality well enough as she stood leaning on this tree, she could see everything, she could see victory, honor, respect, prosperity, the smiles of her people, Link’s hand in hers and everything that came with it, old age and stupid, stupid things like that. Zelda’s throat constricted as she forgot her lungs, her eyes stinging and her even her breathing unsure of itself. She fell to her knees as she hiccuped to breathe again, looking at the now warped castle. WIth shaky breaths her tears became angry. She seethed, seethed like she never had before, ired like no princess had ever had the freedom to. And when a Lizalfos advertised their jumping attack on her with a screech, she turned around on a whim and blasted it with just the palm of her hand.

Eyes puffy and red around the green, her eyebrows furrowed, no mercy, no hesitation as more monsters followed. Did they not learn? Did they not comprehend? Throwing themselves at an obstacle so clearly marked as impassable? Her hate for herself cascaded into the monsters that had such reminiscent idiocy as she let the Master Sword go completely and threw down her fists, two waves of light brutally halving each and every Lizalfos in the ambush.

Zelda denied herself the pleasure of sobbing and scanned the area cautiously as she picked up the Master Sword, ears penned for any noise that disrupted her silent kingdom. An arrow lodged into the ground next to her feet. She turned around but it wasn’t meant for her.

It was a silver Bokoblin on a resisting peach and white horse, and thus it had terrible aim. It was chasing a couple surviving Hylians, who looked as if they escaped the carnage of Hyrule Field only to be chased by a Bokoblin straggler. Afraid she would accidentally hurt the horse, Zelda elected to throw the Master Sword instead. Although she aimed for the Bokoblin’s chest and threw it with a distinct impassioned scream of effort, like Link often did, the sword clattered pathetically two feet in front of her.

The pair of Hylians were far too busy running for their lives to notice Zelda’s embarrassing attempt to rescue them. She spared no second to dwell on it either, picking up the bounded Master Sword and the fallen arrow and running after the Bokoblin.

She scanned her surroundings for a reasonable bow left behind in a former battle, hoping for a knight’s bow or a phrenic bow, yet all she spotted was a couple twigs roped together terribly, likely by another bokoblin archer.

It was crude, but it would have to suffice.

She scooped it up as she ran, preparing her one shot as she remembered her grand total of three archery lessons. The first was from a knight named Derrin, told to entertain the seven year old princess somehow while the King attended to other matters. Impa gave her a lesson when she was twelve. The Master Sword had just been pulled by a thirteen year old boy and Zelda began to panic. Properly learning how to shoot a bow eased her worries for a time. The last lesson she had was about a month ago, Link showing her how to better her aim as well as making her heart flutter when he got closer than he technically needed to.

Zelda channeled it all as she aimed for the spherical head of the Bokoblin, General Derrin’s manufactured surprise, Impa’s genuine frustration, Link’s unwavering support. With a distinct wail, the Bokoblin was shot off the horse. Zelda breathed a sigh of relief as the horse ran from the corpse, and as the pair of Hylians ceased running.

They turned around to see Zelda, who picked up the bounded Master Sword and treaded towards them.

“Are you all right?” She asked them, the couple catching their breaths. The woman nodded as the man jogged off to grab the wayward horse.

“Yeah,” the woman said with a nod and a clear fatigue straining her throat. “We were able to get away from the guardians because we were one of the few with a horse, but that Bokoblin nabbed it when the Guardians were deactivated. We are indebted to your heroism...”

“Zelda,” the princess replied.

“Zelda?” the Hylian woman asked, in partial disbelief. “As in princess Zelda?”

Zelda winced, preparing herself for terrible words flung her way.

Oh so now you have the sealing power.

Great timing, Your Highness.

But the woman took Zelda’s hand, encapsulated it in hers and made sure Zelda’s eyes met hers, hazel and entreating.

“Thank Hylia you survived,” she said. “We feared the worst for everyone.”

“You don’t hate me?”

The woman looked at Zelda as if she were crazy.

“Of course not,” she said. “You inherited a doomed kingdom. The past is gone and our goal now is to survive. There’s nothing more to it now. Perhaps with your powers awakened you can save lives like you did ours.”

Zelda blinked as she registered those words, thinking of the eternity of survival guaranteed for her people. If only she could just hold Ganon back for a bit, making it easier for Hyrule to survive. Maybe, just maybe. Could this sealing power work like that?

The sword she held seemed to whisper in agreement, but Zelda told herself not to jump to conclusions. The breath of the wild could be taunting her.

The man returned, leading the horse by the reins.

“Carmel is soothed and ready to take us up the hill,” he said, but the woman shook her head.

“We can walk,” she said. “Princess Zelda needs him more than we do.”

“A-are you sure?” Zelda stammered, taking the reins she was offered.

“It’s the least we can do for Hyrule’s last hope.”

The pair of Hylians were as raggedly beaten as her, covered in splotches of both mud and blood. Their eyes oozed with loss that they did not dare advertise, and Zelda withheld the apology she knew they wouldn’t take and nodded. The safety Kakariko offered would soothe them in ways she never could, she figured as she watched what was probably the last of the survivors run up the hill.

“Come along Carmel,” Zelda urged the horse. “Our journey will not be an easy one.”

Zelda knew that her surge of sealing power in Blatchery Plains had a limit, that soon Guardians would not be so easy to pass. Sure enough, as she reached Thims Bridge, a guardian scuttled past. Knowing how lucky she was that the guardian didn’t look her way, Zelda quickly got off her horse and guided it to hide within one of the large oak husks of Crenel Hills.

“How will I ever get past?” She asked herself as she peered at Korok Forest in the distance. She longed for Link’s opinion, or even his silence. She longed to be able to look behind her and ask ‘what do you think?’, yet behind her was a horse grazing on green grass. Zelda couldn’t blame the animal, as such a luxury was in short supply amidst a kingdom of charred fields.

Zelda looked down at the Master Sword she held, the one that needed to return to the pedestal from whence it came. It was damaged and battered from corrosive malice, and even the voice Zelda had heard when Link collapsed was spotty and incomplete in places. As much as Link needed healing, so did the sword that chose him.

Zelda closed her eyes and breathed. Even though she wasn’t sure who it was she called upon for aid, nor who would answer, she did so nonetheless.

“Give me an ounce of the bravery that almost killed him,” she said. “So that I may perhaps live to see this sword safe.”

The sword chimed and brightened, which made Zelda open her eyes and look down with a soft gasp.

Even through the wrappings, Zelda was worried the light would give away her position, it was so bright. With a deep breath, she untied the ropes and wiped away the brown rags, allowing the Master Sword to shine in its full splendor. She furrowed her brow with a newfound determination, thinking perhaps the sword was boasting its confidence in her. It may have been, but a red targeting laser out of the corner of Zelda’s eye made her immediately regret her moment of calm. The sword was warning her.

Zelda looked up to see a Guardian perched over the rim of the hollow oak stump like a vulture eyeing its prey. She stumbled to stand up and run out of the way of the blast radius, but the explosion still hurled her down the hill, tumbling with ears ringing and practically thrown barely conscious onto the shores of Hylia River.

She felt a quite distinct soreness in one of her left ribs as she pushed herself to her knees and elbows, wincing as she tried to logic away a headache. Where was that guardian? She wouldn’t know. She couldn’t hear a damn thing past the ringing in her ears. Where was the Master Sword? Certainly still not yet in Korok Forest. Was it still up there with the guardian? Had it fallen down the hill with her? Was Carmel okay? Did he stay and die? Did he run and live? Either way he was gone as she dared a glance up the hill. It was probably for the better that he ran, she figured, seeing no corpse.

The Master Sword was only a couple feet from her, and the Guardian was nowhere in sight, probably having thought her dead. Her ears ceased ringing slowly but her injuries and her fatigue kept her down.

“Link,” she breathed, speaking to the pebbles and grains of sand below her. It wasn’t the blow that disheartened her, not even the guardians, those she knew she could destroy. It was the weight of the world, heavier than ever. She never realized how much Link eased the burden before her shoulder ached with such ferocity, before she buckled with every step, before the wild she once saw as sanctuary became riddled with all the traps and falls of a once-stalwart castle.

Impa once told Zelda that soldiers of Hyrule were taught to cope with loss, so that when one is struck down in battle, the judgment of the others is kept intact. Soldiers are forewarned against attachment between the arms among them, and told that sacrifice in battle was an honorable and celebrated way to die. Death happens so that those who remain can live. In a sense, soldiers are meant to be expendable. Link was always meant, in the worst case scenario that was now reality, to die for Zelda. And Zelda was not meant to care, at least not as much as she did. She was meant to carry on with appreciation of that sacrifice, yet instead she used her pain to stand up, her anger, her sadness. She picked up the Master Sword by the hilt, and it was so heavy it dragged on the ground as she limped to Thims Bridge.

Mipha wasn’t there to heal her, nor was Urbosa there to support her weight as she walked. Daruk wasn’t there to inspire her with strong words of perseverance, nor was Revali there to offer his prowess in battle to aid her along her way. Her father wasn’t there. Link wasn’t there and it hurt.

She was conscious and alive and remembered everything and it hurt. The tears she shed as she limped across the bridge had a golden sheen, and her eyes too began to shine angrily with the same resplendent hue as every bit of the riches Hyrule used to boast. But this was not a proud gold. This was an angry gold, a fear-inducing gold. The ebbing sheen that burned like smoke off her skin even scared away Guardians as she walked with ghosts she couldn’t see. Across Trilby Plains and Pico Pond and Minshi Woods she limped with uneven steps. She passed the Military Training Camp and only shaky breaths and small gazes could be given in the mourning of the corpses she saw there. Ganon wanted her to stop and be upset and horrified, so she blinked away more tears as she tread along, subduing the anger in her heart.

With this sword safe, they will be avenged.

Once she got to the pedestal, she fell to her knees, and braced the remainder of the weight on her left hand, holding her side with her right. The sword had clattered, and Zelda let the Koroks who ran to it in intrigue peer and poke at it. Their innocence, though not enough to soothe her grief, was slightly uplifting.

“Great Deku Tree,” she said, not even daring to look up at the entity. “I trust you know of Hyrule’s many failures, the losing battles that even now are fading away for the worst.”

“I do, child,” she heard from above, the deep voice evoking and calm and rest she felt guilty for letting drip into her bones. As if by some unspoken command, Zelda felt healing fairies land upon her, not just to heal her but to express their own grief. Hyrule bore a great wound, and so their small hands imparted support onto Zelda, as if paying their respects to everything that was lost, before spiraling away into the beyond.

“I assume you mean to store the sword here under my protection,” the Great Deku Tree continued. “For the next hero.”

Zelda looked up quickly to object.

“No,” she insisted far too swiftly to not be backed by emotion, standing up. “For Link. He heals in the Shrine of Resurrection as we speak. He will return, I know it.”

The Great Deku Tree smiled and closed his eyes, letting out a thick hum.

“Indeed,” he spoke, with such confidence that Zelda felt assured. Perhaps Hyrule had hope after all.

She knelt again before the sword, sat on her heels, and, for the first time in her life, could feel her prayers were going somewhere.

“Your master will come for you,” Zelda told the sword, somehow feeling that it was listening. “Until then, you shall rest safely here. Although the Slumber of Restoration will mostly certainly deprive him of his memories, please trust me when I say that I know he will arrive before you yet again.”

“If I may be so bold…what is it you are planning to do next, Princess?”

The question caught her attention.

Next, she pondered as she stood up.

All her life, next was something so unsure, the next prayer, the next day and whether it would bring Calamity. Even now she was unsure as to the extent of her powers, and the way her doubt trembled made her certain of only one thing concerning her future.

Holding Ganon back the way she planned on attempting may be the last thing she does.

“The Master Sword…I heard it speak to me,” Zelda fibbed, knowing the Deku Tree would not approve such a drastic plan if not for the agreement of the goddess. “It seems that my role is unfinished. There is still something I must do.”

“I sense there is great strength in your dedication,” he said in reply. It seemed her fear was well hidden. The powers of a goddess did not make her impervious to Ganon’s strength, if her powers should wane…

“Great Deku Tree…” she began, thinking and hesitating upon her lasting words, what she wanted to say, who was left to hear them. “I ask of you…when he returns, can you please relay this message…” She stepped forward and let her arms fall to her sides. “Tell him I-”

“Now, then…” he interrupted. “Words intended for him would sound much…better in the tones of your voice, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Zelda said with a nod, the notion filling her heart. Perhaps she could make it through. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, she thought as she plunged the sword in the pedestal. Perhaps all this loss will not be for naught.

Perhaps.

Her nerves were still unsettled and her anger still raw as she walked to the castle. But every corpse she passed gave her steps just that much more of a newfound determination, Zelda glowing brighter and brighter as she prayed to Hylia to bargain these deaths for hers, as she mourned the families that held each other cold, as her grief was accepted and denied, reality accepted and denied again and again until she was angry all over again that she once walked these grounds in peace and complacency and all those stupid things that came with being a damned princess of Hyrule.

She stood at the ruins of the Sacred Grounds, where she once wished upon Link all the things that almost killed him, courage, strength, competence. Her eyes burned with fury as Calamity Ganon swirled to meet her, laughing in her face with a snarling growl. With all her heart, Zelda wished Calamity Ganon deep pain and devastating failure, weakness beyond the most fragile glass. She employed her own snarl, lips curled in disgust and brows furrowed in determination. She held out her hand, her palm facing the scarlet-swirling swine. A wild gale whipped her blonde hair and yet she’d never felt less protected.

“No more,” she said, the last thing spoken before a century-long battle between two calamities. A new day dawned upon Hyrule with grace, and the golden ghost faded into legend.

#zelink #the amount of sad songs I listened to to get this right #botw #breath of the wild #zelda being badass #and also having a really bad birthday night #tloz #the legend of zelda #it's that one paragraph that gets me #I legit cried writing this

[fanthatracks]

Yoda: Dark Rendezvous As the Clone Wars rage, Jedi Master Yoda must once again face one of his greatest adversaries: Count Dooku.... The savage Clone Wars have forced the Republic to the edge of collapse. During the height of the battle, one Jedi Knight escapes the carnage to deliver a message to Yoda on Coruscant. It appears that Dooku wants peace and demands a rendezvous. Chances are slim that the treacherous Count is sincere but, with a million lives at stake, Yoda has no choice. The meeting will take place on Djun, a planet steeped in evil. The challenge could not be more difficult. Can Yoda win back his once promising pupil from the dark side or will Count Dooku unleash his sinister forces against his former mentor? Either way, Yoda is sure of one thing: this battle will be one of the fiercest he’ll ever face. Author: Sean Stewart Cover artist: Andrea C. White Release date: May 23, 2023 Pages: 320 ISBN: 9780593599488 What’s it’s about? Count Dooku faces a period of uncertainty as he questions the choices he has made in his life, the decision to join with Darth Sidious and his role as his apprentice. So while the Clone Wars continue to blaze throughout the galaxy he contacts his former master, Yoda. But is it a trap or is Darth Tyranus genuinely having doubts Yoda accepts Dooku’s invitation, but is reluctant to inform the council of his meeting and so he invents a cover story for his absence from the Jedi Temple. Taking with him two Padawans, Scout and Whie, he leaves and embarks upon his journey. But do Whie’s visions of himself and Scout in the custody of Asajj Ventress mean Yoda’s mission will end in tragedy. Should I read this book? In a short space of time Dark Rendezvous has come to be regarded as one of the very best Star Wars novels released, with the feel of the film series and accurate depictions of the main characters. Along with a strong plot and interesting new characters, this instalment of the Clone Wars is among the very best. Sean Stewart writes a great Yoda that mixes both the solemnity of the prequel Yoda with the impish humour of the original trilogy. It is never forgotten that this character is 800 years old, and so all aspects of his characters are touched upon, the humour, gravitas and the wisdom. And it all makes Yoda a character you would like to see a lot more of. As well as Yoda, Dooku is written impeccably, showing the doubt and uncertainty of his path to the dark side. Secreted in an ancient castle, Dooku ponders on his choices and at times gives the reader serious doubts as to his devotion to evil. Expertly written, this adds great depth to the story. What did you like? Of the new characters Scout and Whie are the most intriguing. Scout is an underachiever in all things combat, and as such makes you root for her even more, especially when she figures out clever ways of hiding her deficiencies. Scout is far more powerful, with a mysterious history that comes to him in visions that include dreams about his parents and his death at the hands of a Jedi Knight (Anakin most likely, in Revenge of the Sith). Asajj Ventress is shown in vivid detail, highlighting her dedication to the Sith cause and her unique skills. The novel as a whole links in with the movie mythology in a smart way, showing Ben learning of Anakin’s relationship with a woman (but not knowing precisely who), Yoda’s conversation with a spirit Qui-Gon and the decimation of the Jedi order, leaving many Padawans without masters. What did you not like? Nothing glaring, all in all a very satisfying read released during a time when Del Rey and Dark Horse were absolutely smashing it with content and adventures set during the time of the Clone Wars. What’s next? All in all Dark Rendezvous is an excellent novel that tied in and filled in many gaps of knowledge concerning the Clone Wars. At the time it was the final official chapter of the Clone Wars novels, and as such made for a heavyweight ending to an engrossing three-year campaign.

#BookReview

[innerkerlon]

Dr. aruna khilanani.

Yale did nothing to distance itself from her talk until conservatives started publicizing it. Liberals need to know that their expressions of moral superiority will not appease the White haters. Above all, they confirmed to me that what we see unfold before us is both tragedy and farce, and that our situation is no less dangerous for that. Some of the anecdotes in this regard, from DiAngelo’s “Whiteness” seminars are priceless, normally involving some weak-minded woman breaking down at the revelation she’s “racist,” and they went some way to compensating me for the purchase price and hideous ideology of the book. DiAngelo is probably correct in asserting that this is a self-indulgent demonstrative act designed to heighten status (“I’m moral, good, and empathetic”) and get attention from men of all races (“I’m vulnerable right now, and need attention and resources”). Titled “White Women’s Tears,” it’s an indictment of that infamous sight - bawling, wailing, and normally overweight White women clutching themselves in feverish grief over the death of some poor Black gangbanger who just happened to get shot while rushing a police officer. Andrew Joyce’s review of Robin DiAngelo’s White Fragility:īy far the most entertaining chapter of the book comes within the last 50 pages. Obviously she is steeped in Critical Race Theory which is especially targeting White liberals for not being self-hating enough. They can say it, they’re not covering it up or like ‘Oh my god, I’m amazing, I love all people.’ There’s not all this liberal fluff of goodness.” In fact, in a later interview, Khilanani said she thinks conservatives are “psychologically healthier.” “They are more in touch with their anger and negative feelings. Maybe some liberals will start to rethink their fantasy of a harmonious multicultural future and start thinking about how their children and grandchildren are going to be treated when they try to get into a good university or apply for a job. Notice her statement: “We are asking a demented, violent predator who thinks that they are a saint or a superhero to accept responsibility.” Here she is doubtless thinking about virtue-signaling White liberals who think they are saviors to POC. And in the story on the border disaster, he made it clear once again that it’s all about Democrats getting a permanent majority. Exactly the sort of thing that Whites need to hear repeatedly. Whatever you think about Tucker, it’s good that he is publicizing this. Here’s Tucker Carlson from last night (~40′). Yale did absolutely nothing about her talk until mainstream conservatives started talking about it. It’s just, like, sort of not a good idea. It’s like banging your head against a brick wall. We are asking a demented, violent predator who thinks that they are a saint or a superhero to accept responsibility. I had fantasies of unloading a revolver into the head of any white person that got in my way, burying their body and wiping my bloody hands as I walked away relatively guiltless with a bounce in my step. The cost of your own life, as they suck you dry. This is the cost of talking to white people at all. The lecture was not held at a local BLM event, but at Yale University and attendees could use it for course credit-it would “ fulfill the licensure requirement set forth by the State of Connecticut.” Some of her statements: They are part of the culture now, and emanating from very high places. Recently it has come out that a psychiatrist of Pakistani background expressed visceral hatred toward White people in a lecture titled, appropriately enough, “The Psychopathic Problem of the White Mind.” You’ve probably read about it, but it’s important to emphasize these things. As I noted in Individualism and the Western Liberal Tradition, explicit expressions of anti-White hate are one of the most important of the psychological mechanisms that will wake White people up to identify as White and have a sense of White interests (section titled “ Expressions of Anti-White Hatred Promote White Ethnocentrism, here).

#Dr. aruna khilanani.

[yourbespokeartisanalapocalypse]

A Game of Chess

I’m a big fan of chess - I play a lot (though not very well!) and I love hearing about chess in literature and art. So it makes sense that I’ve been absolutely loving The Queen’s Gambit. It’s ticked quite a few boxes for me, and it’s so rare to see a show involving chess that not only understands the game and features real, plausible moves, but which is steeped in the lore of the game. Characters often discuss the lives and games of the greats - players like Morphy and Steinitz and Capablanca are common points of reference for these characters - but the way the show uses chess itself is an intelligent nod to the role of chess as a literary motif. 

For young Beth, chess gives her a contained, controlled world in which to escape from her harsh reality. 

Later, chess is a social interaction, a way of making friends, of spending time with friends, and of flirting and even seducing and being seduced. These symbolic roles of the game are subtly and cleverly done in the show and they draw on a long history of protrayals of chess games. So how can I not ramble on about it for a bit? I make no apologies.

You probably know the famous motif of a game with death, immortalised in The Seventh Seal...

When you think about chess, you might well think of serious, concentrating old white dudes as in Honore Daumier’s 1863 painting The Chess Players...

...but chess is always a bit more playful than that. The game with Death in The Seventh Seal draws on a tradition in medieval romances of games and riddles. Tales like “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” revolve around the allegorical (though heaven knows what for) use of riddles and games, and some of the Grail romances, for example, the hero comes to a chessboard castle where he meets a water-maiden. 

Modern chess really came about in 19th-century Europe when people like the first World Champions, Wilhelm Steinitz and Emmanual Lasker, helped codify it into systems of play (”openings”, “middle” and “end” games), but before that we had the “Romantic” era of chess filled with dramatic gambits and sharp, tactical play rather than the slow-burning positional strategy that came later. And chess has always featured women. In 15th-century Italy, for example, chess was respectable for women because it did not rely on chance (and so wasn’t gambling) like dice and cards. 

Sofonisba Anguissola’s 1555 painting, ‘The Game of Chess’, is a nice example of chess being playful, social, and not at all just stern old men. Anguissola, just as a point of interest, was a court painter at the royal court in Spain, having trained informally with Michelangelo, and she tutored the queen, Elizabeth of Valois, who was herself a keen amateur painter. She painted ‘The Game of Chess’ when she was 20, and it broke from convention at the time in its informality and lack of allegory - it literally just shows her three sisters, Lucia, Minerva and Europa (great names, right?!), playing chess. 

Most things in the renaissance were allegorical and chess was no different. In Elizabethan and Jocobean theatre, chess was often used as a symbol for human life and government. Thomas Middleton’s satire A Game of Chess (1624) for example is structured around a game of chess, using it to satirise conflict between England and Spain (so controversial was its satire that it was shut down after only 9 days). Chess is a political allegory, as well as both a battle between Virtue and Vice, and a metaphor for the transience of human life. Ah, ambiguity, my old friend...

I first came across this tradition via T.S. Eliot’s long poem The Waste Land (1922) in which part two is entitled “A Game of Chess”...

Eliot draws on a range of Jacobean drama, including Middleton’s Women Beware Women (1657) where chess is used as a foil for seduction and rape (it being a bloody Jacobean tragedy after all). 

But chess seductions are not all forceful and morally uncomfortable, nor are all these references purely of artistic interest. Because there weren’t many chess “manuals” before Steinitz and Lasker came along in the late 19th century, a lot of our chess history comes from literature. For example, the Centre-Counter Opening or Scandinavia Defence was first recorded in Scachs d'amor (Chess of Love) a Spanish poem from the end of the 15th century where chess symbolises love.

Which is perhaps what is happening in George Goodwin Kilburne’s painting A Game of Chess...

And is definitely what is happening in The Queen’s Gambit when Beth plays Benny where fast, frenetic, transactional games of speed chess symbolise the heated, superficial attraction between them...

And when she first plays Townes, the game is slow, full of adolescent nerves...

...and her games with Beltik are so calm and thoughtful that no one seems to have made a gif of them! 

#chess #the queens gambit #literature #art #history #bibliophile #anya taylor joy #queen's gambit #the queen's gambit #netflix

[centaurianthropology]

Far-Too-Specific Predictions for Critical Role C3 that will Absolutely be Wrong (but I like)

Setting and Flavor

I would love to see a group of veterans after a massive war that left both sides devastated.  Matt likes to play with difficult moral conundrums, and a setting where two warring parties both came off poorly, and now they’re both limping through a reconstruction could be really interesting for a long-play game. I would also really like to see both sides of the conflict represented in the group.  The one thing I wanted to see more of in campaign 2 was a native Xorhasian perspective in the group (aside from Essek, who wasn’t a PC).  I’m placing this as post-major Dynasty/Empire conflict at some point in the future, so it would be the same geographical setting as campaign 2, but time skipped enough that we don’t really have a ton of recurring characters.  Cameos from the longer-lived Campaign 2 characters are still possible, though.

Player characters

These predictions are based on my perception of player preferences, interesting roleplay opportunities, and focusing on things that the players seem interested in but haven’t been able to explore yet.  I have also built prior relationships, because I loved having PCs come in with relationships to build the group on and give early opportunities for trust and character building:

 Travis: Human Cleric (Order), with possible multi-class Fighter (Battle master). I would love to lean into a tactical, Imperial battle-commander type character for Travis, who can hit, but leans more support.  I also would love to see him play a cleric with wavering faith in how he used to believe and practice.  He has seen too much of war, too much of dying, to be overly-devoted to a single law or side, and is on an active quest of faith to find a higher sense of order and morality.  He maybe left the army in disgrace, or went AWOL, but either way he is persona non grata on his former side of the war, with only one ally having followed him into exile.  Prior relationship: Ashley’s fighter.  When he went AWOL or was driven into exile, she was the only soldier who followed him. He struggles with his choices and his faith, and she acts as his rock and has become far more of an equal because of that.

Ashley: Warforged Fighter (echo knight).  Ashley loves a straightforward fighter, so I wanted to give her something without complex rules to stress her out, but one that still has some really interesting flavor and possibilities once she gets into the groove.  Echo knight is ideal, because it’s not a hard subclass to play, but it can be seriously fun.  I like the idea that her character was built as an answer to Xorhasian dunamancy, to double herself and fight as two.  As she evolved and became less a machine and more a person, she became more and more attached to her commander rather than blind patriotism, to the point that when he left, she went with him.  Prior relationship: Travis’ cleric.  He was her commander, and she still tends to act as his soldier, despite his wavering faith. She followed him when he lost faith, and she continues to be the one who follows and believes in him.

Laura: Full Orc Barbarian (wild magic).  Laura loves to hit things, and has clearly wanted to play a hardcore tank for a while. I want her to be able to wade into any fight and tank a ton of damage, and full orc and barbarian both play into that. I figure her character would be Xorhasian, was a soldier for a while, but could never fit in because of her taste for wild magic and her chaotic nature.  Having her be a full orc would also allow her to explore playing a character who can’t be traditionally sexy, which would be a fun change from Vex and Jester. I see her as someone who rapidly went AWOL from the army, and is generally unaligned and doesn’t want to think about the war or what it did to her country or her people, and wallows in wild magic to avoid it.  Maybe she went to the Menagerie Coast during the war to get away from the fighting and dive deeper into her path, at which point she met Sam’s character.  Prior relationship: Sam’s sorcerer, as they walk the same path.  They share a faith, and that drew them together before the campaign, and they’re chaotic, happy best friends.

Sam: Satyr Sorcerer (wild magic).  Doubling up wild magic would be nuts, but would allow Sam and Laura to play with some crazy combos in roleplay and in combat.  Sam loves unpredictability, and so I could really see him leaning into the dice roll and relishing when things go wrong as a wild magic sorcerer.  Satyr would also lean into this chaotic bent, and would stack well with the charisma-based sorcerer build.  I see him as being from the Menagerie Coast, unaligned in the war, but touched by it somehow (possibly lost someone / his home / etc to the fighting?).  He and Laura’s character met due to their mutual inclination and tie to wild magic, and are very close friends who have tried to spend the entire war pretending there isn’t a war.  Prior relationship: Laura’s barbarian.  They are on the same wild path, but perhaps have different connections to it or opinions about it to give them different flavors and different approaches to the same chaos.

Marisha: Yuan-ti Pureblood Rogue (swashbuckler).  Let Marisha play high charisma!  Let her play a pirate!  I would love to see a snake-y pirate lady, unaffiliated with everything, acting as a sarcastic outside observer.  I would love to see her lean into snark and the scoundrel-with-a-heart-of-gold archetype, especially in a race than is stereotyped as evil.  Maybe she’s getting out of the pirate’s life, or did something horrific that riddles her with guilt that she covers with snark.  I would just love to have her get a dark, but non-political backstory.  Prior relationship: None.  She is a wildcard character, deliberately.  She comes in and adds a very different flavor and perspective, and as such, probably shouldn’t have a relationship with any of the other characters.

Liam: High Elf Artificer (artillerist).  Liam’s love of describing his spells’ mechanics in C2 was what inspired this. I think he would enjoy being an inventor steeped in tragedy, possibly as someone who invented a weapon of mass destruction for the Empire, and still wants to believe in his homeland, despite what he did and what they did.  Give me Liam as the man who has become death, destroyer of worlds.  It plays into his love of tragedy and redemption, and I am here for that.  Prior relationship: Taliesin’s wizard.  His shame has kept him a hermit, but chance brought Taliesin’s character to him, and he saw Taliesin’s character as a means of redemption or better understanding. Having his closest tie be to someone from the other side would also play into the tragedy of his character.

Taliesin: Drow Wizard (homebrew dunamancer).  Taliesin has always been Matt’s go-to for exploring homebrew content, and introducing dunamancy into C2 was a ton of fun.  I would love to see this get expanded and explored with a Xorhasian dunamancer character PC, and Taliesin has a talent for taking something Matt has played with (Firbolgs, blood hunters, etc.), and making it unique.  He’s definitely the player I could see taking the dunamancer and making him very distinct from Essek and the pre-established notion of what a dunamancer is.  This would also fit with my notion that his character was tightly tied to Dynasty politics, possibly a courtier background, prior to the war, and found himself tied up in it.  I would love to see Taliesin play a character more politically tied to the central story than Caduceus was, as he has a talent for driving plot and being a lynchpin for Matt’s larger plans.  So centering the deep-lore plot on Tal and Liam could be really great.  Prior relationship: Liam’s artificer, though theirs is not a long acquaintance.  They met shortly before the campaign, and though they have a bond, it’s new and somewhat untested.  Not to mention that the combination of an artillerist who built a weapon of mass destruction and a dunamancer make for the potential for some explosive blowouts as secrets get revealed.

#Critical Role #C3 Predictions #travis willingham #taliesin jaffe #marisha ray #liam o'brien #sam riegel #laura bailey #ashley johnson #These predictions are far too specific #and absolutely pulled out of my ass #so I don't expect any of them to actually happen #I just had a fun time trying to fill all the necessary party slots and cater to apparent player interests #feel free to add your own thoughts #can you tell I just dove into CR finally #and am really enjoying getting back to my TTRPG roots? #matt mercer

[butchhamlet]

hiii im acting out act 5 scene 5 from macbeth for my english class and i was wondering if u have any tips/any hcs or staging ideas? (im playing macbeth btw)

oh that's so rad!! best of luck!! very flattered that you thought of me but for the record i know absolute jackshit fuckall (and the fuckall that i do know about is usually more related to the text than performance) HOWEVER one of my best friends is a very talented actress so this post is like... a mix of my opinions + her opinions/expertise

so macbeth is. he is in the shit in this scene. this is the scene where stuff really starts falling down around him - he's been in this bubble of mania (the first two mini-speeches say as such; he has total confidence in his ability to withstand a siege and he seems to at least want to believe that nothing can frighten him anymore), and then he finds out in quick succession that 1) his wife is dead and 2) the fucking wood is marching on him (you know, one of the signs of impending doom). how does your macbeth's "madness" manifest - is he scary-serious, driven, hungering for war? is he in a state of hysterical amusement about the whole thing? is he angry? is he laughing? both? where do the mood swings hit?

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. god, it is such a good fucking speech, and it's the hinge of this scene (and, really, the final major shift in his character imo). this is the moment he realizes that It's Not Working - it being the murdering his way out of this. actress friend said "he thinks his previous attempts to cover things have mostly worked up until now, and he doesn’t think anything can touch him, this is his first tragedy in a while" and i think that's exactly it; finding out lady macbeth is dead is a tangible and VERY final sign that he fucked up BAD - and of course he crossed the threshold of being able to step out of it a long time ago (too far steeped in blood and all), but this is the first time he really has to look that in the eyes.

actress friend's thoughts:

in my opinion there’s two ways to play the tomorrow and tomorrow monologue: you can do it in more of a numb state, like this is the first thing in days/weeks that to maccers right now seems like a failure or something that’s truly gone amiss... i like this approach because the first line of the monologue is definitely kind of trying to downplay or pretend this news doesn’t actually effect him when like,,, bro that’s your wife. then the second part can still be played this way like he’s like yeah this doesn’t effect me whatever she was gonna die anyway, life has no meaning what do i care (pls get therapy). the second way is to have him devolve into madness as he goes through the monologue. this way you still have the first line as like him trying to seem numb and play it off, but as you get through the monologue you really see how much he is effected by this and how this can be like the final straw into true just unhinged madness, like dude loved his wife so much she convinced him to kill his king, shits gonna fuck him up.

(of course, this does depend on your interpretation of macbth's relationship with his wife - not that this scene sees an interaction between them, obviously, but how you envision their relationship is gonna drive the tone of this monologue. i personally am partial to "yeah, their marriage was dysfunctional as fuck, but they also loved each other to a point of near-madness, and while they've been drifting since killing duncan, this is The moment he 1) really realizes how much has come between them and 2) fully loses his hope")

i think which approach you choose of my two favorites can depend on how you want his interaction with the messenger to go. like do you want him talking to the messenger to be an extension of his further decent into madness and anger and loss of control, OR if you’ve played the monologue like numb and hateful of the world, suddenly he could explode on the messenger, and you see really how MUCH the death of his wife is affecting him, but he’s still attempting to maintain a guise of control, even as he goes more and more insane.

i think you can use his second monologue after he gets the news about the woods to do a few different things. you can try to really get like a wide range of emotions in like when he tells the messenger hey i’m gonna kill you if you’re lying, that can be super angry, and then the next line could be like joking with an old friend, to this clearly terrified messenger. the aside where he’s talking to himself i think definitely needs to be panicked, it’s pretty straight forward i think. his last lines where he says he’s tired of living can also be played few different ways depending on how like,,, truly unhinged you think he is. you could play them more jokingly to maybe show a bit of the old confident commander coming back, or he could be the opposite just like totally beaten down and like literally i wanna die so bad rn my wife is dead, the prophecy is coming true, fuck. OR another way is like excited, like yeah I wanna die and im proud! i’ve gone totally insane! if you’re gonna practice your lines at all, definitely try those last few lines a few different ways, and see what you like the best, and what fits your interpretation of the play and the character the best

yeah i'm just quoting my friend because her brain is huge & i think this monologue could be a super cool place to play with the mood swings. and i think that last bit is the most integral part: where does his mood end up? i personally always envision this scene as ending with a full slide into Losing Control. "at least we'll die with harness on our back!" delivered in total frenzy because okay, yeah, they're gonna kill him, all the signs are pointing to it and god, he doesn't even care anymore, he hasn't been happy for so long! but at heart he's still a soldier. the difference between he and his lady is that macbeth isn't the type to fall on his own sword: he doesn't know how to give up, and if they want him dead they're going to have to kill him. (even at the very end, when he Knows it's the end because macduff slots so perfectly into the prophecy, he'd rather go down in blood than be kept prisoner.) of course, you can play it however you want - i would just consider what energy/tone you want the scene to end on, and how it contrasts with the opening energy (even if both are manic-desperate, there's an added element of hopelessness bleakness now because it's officially impossible to ignore that everything is crashing down HARD. i don't think he's ever afraid, necessarily. i think this is just the first moment the despair breaks through the numb).

*i have no idea how in depth you're acting this out for class. there is a chance you can get away with just phoning in this assignment and reading the lines and that this post is like completely long-winded and overthought. oh well

#max.txt #asks #macbeth #when i got this ask i was like oh no now i have to pretend i know things. but actually analyzing scenes is so fucking fun #i miss shakespearean acting [gnawing on wires] #i realize i didn't give actual staging ideas here but the only thing i can think of is that in my high school's macbeth #he actually grabbed the messenger in a chokehold #but i'm not sure i recommend doing that. we had a stage combat guy we didn't just Do that #anyway i hope this is even a little what you wanted

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1979

The X-Men, those globe-trotting mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 117 - 128, X-Man Annual 3) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Terry Austin, George Perez

See Jean? Dark Phoenix is nothing: this is how you turn evil properly. (X-Men 123)

So, these things have been getting longer. Whoops.

Last year, plotlines tended to bleed over in one another, but this year is a lot more arc-based, jumping from location to location. This is basically X-Men: World Tour. After hitting Antarctica and the Savage Land, our team of merry mutants visits Japan, Canada, Egypt, Scotland and even a theme park! (And really, both Murder World and Disney Land are run by capitalist scumbags who pretend to be in it for the art, the only difference being that Arcade purposefully murders his guests.)

But, before we check in with the X-Men, we return to the Institute. See, there’s a mutual misunderstanding that wouldn’t be out of place in a Shakespearian tragedy: Jean and Charles think Beast and Jean were the only survivors of their fight with Magneto in Antarctica, while the rest of the X-Men believe they were the only survivors and Jean and Beast perished. Since the X-Men have been trapped in the Savage Land, nobody has been able to clear up the confusion.

With their grief driving a wedge between her and Charles, Jean leaves the mansion to deal with her feelings on her own. (She’ll end up on Muir Isle.)

This is adorable! And, if the whole "Empress of the known Universe "-thing blows up in her face, she can always become a barista at Starbucks. (X-Men 117)

Lilandra successfully persuades Xavier to leave Earth as her consort, now that there is nothing left for him. Xavier agrees, but not before having a flashback to the time he met another telepath named Amahl Farouk in Egypt. (The Shadow King isn’t relevant just yet, but he’ll become an important villain later on.)

The X-Men, meanwhile, cross a treacherous ocean on a raft and are picked up by a Japanese vessel. The Japanese do not allow them to call anyone, for some reason. Sure. When they finally dock in Japan - six weeks later - some arms dealer named Magnum Moses has put Agarishima is on fire. Like, literally an inferno of such big proportions that even Storm can’t do much.

What follows is an uninspired, slipshod adventure. For some reason, Misty Knight and Colleen Wing are there too, because the president needed American detectives to investigate Magnum Moses (?) and for some reason, Misty doesn’t know Jean thinks Scott is dead, nor does she mention she just saw Jean to Scott. AUGH. It will take almost a year for Scott to figure out Jean isn’t dead and it becomes increasingly more contrived. I get that Claremont needed to isolate Jean to make her susceptible to, er, a certain someone’s machinations, but holy fuck do I have to suspend my disbelief for all of this bullshit.

The only good things about this little arc are:

Sunfire is still a dick.

Wolverine meets Mariko Yashida, a Japanese girl who actually reciprocates his feelings, as opposed to Jean. I’ve mostly been ignoring his budding feelings for Jean, because I stopped finding love triangles interesting since I was 16 and watched The OC, so I can only applaud this development. Mariko brings out Wolverine’s soft side and it’s very adorable. Later on, she moves to NYC for some reason and they start dating.

There is something sweetly disarming about calling Wolverine ‘beautiful’. (X-Men 120)

Anyway, Magnum is holding Japan hostage: either they give him what he wants - I think that might be money, sorry, wasn't paying attention - or he sinks Japan by activating the fault lines and you guys, I am sooo bored. Unsurprisingly, the X-Men stop him and for once, it’s Banshee who gets to play the most important part.

It’s a good thing I was terrible at science, otherwise I might have to point out that earthquakes and sonic waves don’t work that way! I simply get to be entertained by little rascal Colossus, plugging his ears like a toddler, and Sunfire’s gritty determination to not be impressed by some silly screaming Irishman. (X-Men 119)

Banshee pays a steep price for the victory, however: his vocal chords end up damaged, leaving him effectively powerless for the remainder of the year.

Oh, and here’s interesting fact about the above spread: you may or may not know that Chris Claremont and John Byrne were notoriously terrible at working together; this issue became a particular sore point between the creators. See, Byrne wanted to run the above panel without the sound of ‘Kra-Koom’, believing the art was strong enough to convey the destruction. He was livid when the finished product ended up containing a sound effect after all. I get your frustration, man, but if you want a writer who knows how to say less with more, you should maybe not work with Claremont?

(One of the reasons Claremont liked being so verbose and descriptive in his scripts was because otherwise, the artist would fill in the blanks using his own imagination. It’s no wonder these two found it hard to work together.)

On the flight to the US of A, Colleen Wing hits on Cyclops. It has to be the jawline, right? It can’t be the personality. All of a sudden, a snow storm causes their plane to be diverted to Calgary. The cause of this delay is Alpha Flight, who want their Wolverine back!

When even the narration is all “and they think they’re equal to any team of superheroes”, you know you’re a bunch of C-listers. Ugh. (X-Men 121)

Vindicator, previously known as Captain Alpha. He changed his name after accidentally shooting Moira that one time, which is exactly the kind of hollow gesture this dude would make. Ugh. If you think his new-found remorse won’t let him threaten an airplane chock full of innocent passengers, you would be wrong.

Shaman, doctor by day, magic user by night. Him and his magical little pouch are to blame for the snow storm.

Sasquatch, Canada’s answer to the Hulk. (Hilariously, the theory on why he turns furry instead of green is because he’s closer to the Aurora Borealis and this somehow messes with the radiation?)

Snowbird, a young Arctic goddess. Precious. To be cherished. Barely there for this adventure, sadly.

Northstar, an arrogant, hot-headed speedster, the twin brother of

Aurora, a lover, not a fighter. Together, they have light powers.

Vindicator and Shaman hog most of the spotlight, so Alpha Flight continues to be the ever-loving worst. They’re really wasting Northstar’s first appearance here. Here's why they suck:

Alpha Flight accidentally smashes a plane and keeps threatening to drag Wolverine back to the military against his will.

They push the cover price of the comic to a whoppin’ 40 cents.

Johnny fuckin’ Hudson even provokes Storm into an attack in the middle of a mall.

Shaman lets his blizzard get out of control.

After Storm fixes this mistake for him, Northstar has the gall to knock her out, “because she’s obviously the strongest”. Like, you’re not wrong, but damn, y’all a bunch of unpleasant superheroes.

To stop the fight, Wolverine decides to turn himself in. The X-Men leave, but while flying back, they already make plans to save their teammate. Wolverine saves them the trouble, casually sauntering into the cockpit while claiming that pulling a fast one on them was the easiest thing ever.

To be fair, I understand why you’d want to put a country between yourself and those bozos.

And finally, the X-Men are home! Xavier left them the equivalent of a Post-It saying “off to space”, so they try to pick up their life as best they can. None of them contact Jean’s parents, make an attempt to visit her grave or happen to see Beast on TV and by now, my suspension of disbelief is stretched so far that it could replace Reed Richards on the Fantastic Four.

Ororo, meanwhile, makes a little pilgrimage to Harlem, to the building she grew up in before she moved to Cairo.

I have failed you as a recapper, because I have absolutely no idea how to parse this scene. (X-Men 122)

I think I’d have to write a full-on thesis before I could properly analyse this, because so many things intersect here: poverty and racism, the boundaries of a superhero comic, confronting a (shared) past. I can’t even fully gauge if this is a clumsy, privileged attempt at tackling a serious topic or rather, a valuable moment in a comic that continually tries to expand on its themes of racism, exclusion and prejudice. One thing I will note is:

Luke Cage delivers the sort of trite conclusion that they’re superheroes: they’re better at fighting Galactus than at fixing the human condition. Point is, he kind of has to believe that, doesn’t he? It’s the sort of blind spot we all permit ourselves: you can’t fix everything. None of us have the power to fix the earth, or humanity, or the economy, or whatever: if you’re lucky, you can maybe tend to your own garden and leave it better than you found it, ensuring some happiness for yourself and a few loved ones.

Chasing bank robbers is easy. Superhero stuff. But here? Who do you attack here? These kids, or the system that failed them? You can’t really punch a needle exchange into being. Maybe that’s the appeal of superhero comics: there’s a clear villain, which is so sorely lacking in our day to day lifes. There, we are ruled by systems that are rooted in inequality, patriarchy, gender...

But Storm isn’t like Luke Cage, not in this regard. Before she became an X-Man, she used her powers to help people that came to her. And the whole point of the X-Men - other than beating up villains in colorful spandex - is that they want to change the system. They want to fix things, they want to fix a dark part of human nature, the part that hates which we fear.

Storm doesn’t really respond to Luke Cage here, but we know she’ll keep fighting the good fight, despite insurmountable odds. You can’t fix mankind, I don’t think, but you can sure as hell try.

*coughs*

Anyway!

Black Tom and Juggernaut hire Arcade… to kill the X-Men! I’m not sure why? I thought these two usually attempted to solve things on their own and Arcade’s fee is, like, a million bucks, so…? Maybe Black Tom asked his boyfriend what he wanted for his birthday and Juggernaut clenched his fists and said “I WANT THE X-MEN DEAD” and things escalated from there.

So, Arcade is a subtle villain. While Scott and Colleen Wing are on a date, this happens:

I can’t decide which is funnier: kidnapping people by sneaking up on them with A GARBAGE TRUCK or the fact that Spider-Man deduces this is Arcade’s doing by the noise alone. (X-Men 123)

Spider-Man doesn’t really figure into the rest of the plot, by the way.

Arcade successfully kidnaps all of the X-Men (and their dates: Colleen, Amanda and Betsy). Who is this Arcade? Well, he is an assassin who lets his victims run through a gauntlet of some sort, testing them with potentially deadly results in his Murderworld. He’s like a discount-combo of Saw and the Joker, except a lot less competent and a lot more spoiled rich kid. He barely kills anyone, ever, until maaaybe Avengers Arena, some forty years later.

Arcade veers heavily to the silly side of the silly-to-sinister scale, but he at least commits to a theme. Bonus is that trapping your heroes in a bunch of ricocheting balls fubars them ever-so beautifully. (X-Men 123)

This whole adventure is very silly and has very little bearing on the overarching plot, but it’s a fun enough romp: Cyclops nearly gets squashed by a hydraulic press, Nightcrawler gets attacked by bumper cars with chain saws attached to them, stuff like that. The absolute best part is when Colossus is hypnotized by an illusion of the KGB and becomes THE PROLETARIAN.

His insignia is Vladimir Lenin, y’all.

After various shenanigans, everybody is freed from their respective booby traps, everyone except Colossus. See, Piotr has been feeling down, torn between the exciting new loyalty to the X-Men and the more dutiful loyalty to his family and his motherland. (Also, he’s been feeling like a failure because he came up short a couple a times, aw.) Those feelings are exactly what Arcade has been abusing, but when Colossus comes in for the kill, Storm gives the most heartfelt plea:

I’m not crying, you’re crying. (X-Men 124)

Arcade’s all: “Eh, can’t win ‘em all” and yeets the X-Men out of Murderworld. The story has barely any other repercussions, except we stop seeing Colleen Wing and Betsy (Piotr’s date) after this. To be fair, being kidnapped by a super villain is a good reason to stop seeing someone.

Even more inconsequential is the adventure in the Annual. The only important thing to glean from there is that, when Thor is unavailable, Storm is a suitable substitution. Couldn’t agree more.

The quality of the comic has been steadily ascending throughout the year and ends on a supremely high note: Proteus. Because I think it might be Claremont’s best work so far, I’ll be dedicating a full post to that. (Man, that 10-picture-limit is a real bummer, huh?)

Ugliest Costume: I don’t care, I just want someone to cosplay the Proletarian.

Best new character: There’s actually a few options - Snowbird, Northstar, Proteus - but both Jean-Paul and Narya don’t really show their best sides this year, so I’m going in a different direction. My pick is the Shadow King. He is a very effective foil to Xavier, perhaps even moreso than Magneto. I know I rag on Xavier and his cavalier attitude to bending others to his will a lot, but imagine if you had his powers: wouldn’t you just make people do whatever you want? Just, like, all the time? The Shadow King is an effective reminder of what Charles would have been like, had he been immoral. (Well, more immoral.)

No matter how cool your psychic battle may be, this is what it looks like to the rest of the world. (X-Men 117)

Turns evil: Colossus, for the first time!

What to read: 117, 125 - 129.

#abridged x-men #x-men abridged #cyclops #phoenix #storm #colossus #wolverine #banshee #nightcrawler #Terry Austin #George Perez #chris claremont #john byrne #arcade #colleen wing #luke cage #lilandra #mariko yashida #the shadow king #alpha flight #sunfire #vindicator #snowbird #aurora #northstar #shaman #sasquatch #professor x

[luimnigh]

Also, ever wondered why warriors were coming to the Tower to free Salem?

Salem wrote down her own story, hundreds of time, and tossed the papers out of the Tower's window and into the wind.

Ozpin outright calls the fairytale "metafiction", and "It is steeped in an awareness of the nature of fairy tales and, in a sense, it's own status as one."

Like... I have to transcribe the whole "Ozpin's Notes" section:

"The Girl In The Tower" is unique among fairy tales in that it is the only one in which the protagonist is credited with penning their own story; the girl essentially writes herself out of danger. It is steeped in an awareness of the nature of fairy tales and, in a sense, its own status as one of them. As a metafiction, this tale more than any other in this collection demonstrates the power of stories to create reality and shape our destinies, and the subtle influence storytellers have over their audiences.

This is how propaganda works, of course. Arguably, every fable was originally told for a purpose, either overt or hidden. Some were design to communicate a moral lesson or instruct children on how to behave, while others were meant as warnings or to persuade people into believing a certain thing. The girl in the tower shared a version ofnher story intended to elicit sympathy and motivate people to come to her aid - but in the process she also doomed many warriors to die in the attempt. Her story did not include the whole truth, and how much of it might be false? One must always be prepared to think about and question everything they read ir hear, especially if they are told that it is absolute truth.

To me, this tale is also a reminder that the familiar stories we know are just small parts of a larger one - other moments came before "once upon a time" and still more follow "happily ever after." it is the storyteller who decides where a tale begins and when it ends, and if you look far enough ahead, even a story with a happy ending may reveal itself as a tragedy, and heroes may turn out to be villains.

Hopefully the reverse is also true.

This is... basically a thesis statement on RWBY itself, stated from within the show.

Like... wow.

#rwby #fairy tales of remnant #ftor spoilers #luimnigh reads ftor

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Gundabad - Thranduil x reader

Hi, I saw you posted about requests so I wondered if I could request prompts #20, #37 and #45 with Thranduil x fem reader. Thank you ❤

Hey, thanks for requesting @aduialel​ !  This is for everyone requesting, IF A PROMPT HAS BEEN CROSSED OFF, YOU CAN NO LONGER USE IT! Sorry, I forgot to cross off #37, but I’ll write the other two.

20. “I’ve been forgotten…” 45. “Where is Y/N? She was meant to be with you!”

Type: Imagine Pairing: Thranduil x reader Summary: the war-grounds of Gundabad are steeped in tragedy and sorrow. Warnings: deviating from original plot (i.e. time/cause of Thranduil’s wife’s death), death, sadness,  Word Count: 2,116 words

All non-English words are in Sindarin.

Y/N looked casually to her side, taking in the silver-robed King in her peripheral vision. He looked straight ahead, a cool elegance in his gaze that matched the coldness of everything he was - from his ‘war tiara’ as Y/N teasingly called it, to the way he sat. Such arrogance in posture Y/N had never seen before then, but she didn’t mind it. In some ways, she was much the same.

“You know, Y/N, we need to get you an elk,” he said, turning to her with a smile equal parts warm and cocky, so characteristic of him.

“A moose?” Y/N raised an eyebrow in response, patting her horse’s neck that matched that of every other Elven soldier. “Please. I would sooner die.”

They continued in a comfortable silence, leading the formidable army of Mirkwood to Gundabad, realm of the Witch-King of Angmar. Y/N knew the other Elves of her realm, Taur-nu-Fuin (Mirkwood), found her strange, for being so close to the grief-stricken Elvenking, who had shoved away everyone else after the death of his beautiful wife, Elerrian, in a tragic Orc ambush. Fifty to one, she hadn’t stood a chance … not when she was surrounded and unarmed. 

Y/N, too, had mourned for the kind and beloved Queen, and she remembered fondly when she was placing flowers on Elerrian’s memorial statue, she’d run into a young blonde ellon (male elf) child. 

“Wow! You’re Lady Y/N!” he said, and she bent down, hands on her knees to make eye contact with him. “You’re so pretty!”

Y/N laughed, smiling at this adorable child. “Thank you! How do you know my name?”

“I’m me,” he said mysteriously. “I know everyone.”

“Who’s ‘me’?” Y/N asked. 

The child put his hand to his heart, extending it towards her with an endearingly cute formality. “Prince Legolas Thranduilion.”

Thranduil’s son … Y/N copied his greeting. “Lady Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“You should come to dinner with me and my Ada (Daddy)!” Legolas suggested enthusiastically, already taking your hand and skipping back towards the underground realm. 

Y/N had indeed come at the young Prince’s invitation, and Thranduil was captivated by her beauty from the moment he met her - her e/c eyes that sparkled in the torchlight when she laughed, how her h/c hair moved as she tossed her head back and forth, the way her s/c hand looked on his pale one whenever she handed him something and their hands brushed for the briefest of moments. Y/N had never known why Legolas had been so far away from the palace when he was fifteen autumns old (y’all, that’s like, five. and i think the mirkwood elves counting in autumns is a very romantic concept), never found out that Thranduil had sent him out to find this entrancing elleth (female elf).

Now, a few years later, Y/N was in a very comfortable friendship with Thranduil himself, though she would only admit to herself and no one else that her feelings for him extended beyond platonic infatuation. She knew that she shouldn’t feel this way - Elves only married once, and Thranduil’s wife had passed.

Valar, I should be grieving for her, not lusting after her husband! Y/N growled to herself. But then she would be distracted by how soft his white-blond hair felt when he asked her to brush it out, how he would reserve his rare smiles for her, and her heart would flutter away again.

But she could not let herself be distracted.

Gundabad was dangerous, and she had to fight to the best of her ability.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, Y/N noticed that Thranduil had held up a hand, and all of the Elves stopped immediately. 

Y/N drew her sword, Gweleth (it means woman of air, or something along those lines) with a clear shing!, letting the silver blade shine in the dwindling sunlight. Thranduil gave her an almost imperceptible nod, copying her motion with his familiar smirk that told her he anticipated the battle ahead. 

Guttural chants echoed off the tall walls before them, as the Elves stood in a formidable barrier, ready to end the Evil approaching from this land. 

“Orcs,” Y/N spoke, not needing to turn to her King to know he was listening. “The Witch-King sinks so low.”

He tilted his head forward in response, spinning his sword in a fluid movement. “He will not be able to sink any lower after we have buried him in the blood-soaked war-grounds of his fortress.”

Y/N grinned, running one of her fingers along Gweleth. “By all means, my King. Lead the way.”

It was then that the chants drew closer, and without warning, Orcs began to flood from behind their barriers.

Thranduil raised his sword with a roar, and Y/N kicked her horse into motion, following Thranduil’s elk with a cry of her own. As the Elves met the Orcs in a mess of a massacre, Y/N’s sword sliced through body after body. She felt a throb of worry when she could no longer see Thranduil, but forced her mind back to the far more pressing battle at hand. 

Thranduil, too, immediately noticed Y/N’s absence, and shouted to one of his generals, Authon.

“Go to Y/N! Make sure she’s safe!”

Authon nodded, turning to find the mounted girl, who slashed her sword with deadly accuracy.

A clawed hand wrenched Y/N suddenly from her horse, and she hit the ground hard, groaning as she spat some blood from her mouth.

“All right,” she growled. “You asked for it.”

She drew a second, shorter sword from the sheath on her back, and spun them around her, being absolutely covered in blood in a matter of minutes.

However, no matter how good things were looking for the Elves, it was an illusion. A sudden coldness sunk  over the war-grounds, and even the inhuman Orcs shivered. 

“The Witch-King…” Y/N breathed. Indeed, the black-robed thing strode through its army, and a terrifying silence fell upon the war-grounds. Everyone parted for it, and the Elves were too petrified to strike it down.

For some inconceivable reason, came towards Y/N. Maybe it saw she had not lowered her swords, maybe it felt her fear, but, for whatever reason, it still walked towards her.

Eerily quiet. Step by step.

“I am not afraid of you, Witch-King,” she declared, her words ringing through the heavy air. It had begun as a lie, but even as the words left her mouth she felt her fear leave. “I will never be afraid of darkness - it will always be overpowered with light.”

“Is that so?” the Witch-King’s words were frighteningly inhuman, booming and towering as he did over the (height) elleth. 

Y/N swung both her swords towards him, and he met them with his own, and as the weapons met with a harsh cry, the battle resumed. 

Thranduil had heard the exchange between Y/N and the Witch-King (who hadn’t?) and he fought to get to her, to help her, but wave upon wave upon wave of Orcs came at him all at once, and it began to become a struggle to defend himself, let alone Y/N too.

With a stab of desperation, he recalled the news of Elerrian’s death ten autumns ago, how he’d been unable to save her.

No, he pushed images of Y/N lying dead in the same position, her h/c hair soaked with blood as she lay face-down with a sword in her back. I won’t let the same thing happen to her.

Y/N met the Witch-King’s blade again, wincing as he pushed one of her swords out of her hands, slicing her flesh on the way. The cut was shallow, but it stung. Y/N tried to ignore the pain, lunging forwards and cutting at the Witch-King with a relentless rage. Authon, who had been previously occupied with some Orc, rushed forward to help her, but the Witch-King thrust out a hand and shoved him back without even concentrating on it, and the ellon let out a pained gasp as he landed hard. 

“Authon!” Y/N cried, sparing a few glances his way. But her distraction, in addition to the gashes all over her body, proved to be the last straw in an extensive haystack, and the Witch-King came at her again.

Strike after strike, Y/N tried to bar, but after a dozen, a particularly jarring attack made her arm useless. The elleth screamed as pain shot up her shoulder and through her body, and just as she suppressed the cry, another one was caused as his sword left a cut across her face. Unable to stop him, all Y/N could do was try to leap out of the way as his sword scythed through the air, mostly meeting its mark. 

Finally, the Witch-King had had enough of the stubborn elleth. He grabbed her injured arm, twisting it as she screamed, and plunged his sword straight through her stomach.

Y/N gasped as the weapon pierced her through, the white-hot pain so intense that tears rolled down her face as she let out another shriek. 

Thranduil whipped his head around, desperately trying to locate the source of what he somehow knew was Y/N’s cry. He plowed through Orc after Orc, his hair swinging as he moved in a fluid dance as quickly as he could. 

He found Authon and blanched when he realised they were the only Elves he could see. “Where is Y/N? She was meant to be with you!”

Authon’s eyes widened. “She was fighting the Witch-King, but he threw me aside. I didn’t- I couldn’t-”

“Y/N!” Thranduil yelled, panic bleeding into his voice. “Y/N!”

He saw the Witch-King of Angmar moving away, and his heart dropped. He ran as fast as he could to find where the Witch-King was walking from, not caring when his crown fell from his head, not caring as a sword bit into his arm in passing.

And then he saw her.

The h/c elleth lay on the dirt, blood pooling around her, and her e/c eyes were wide with pain. Thranduil fell to her side, pulling her head up into his lap and gently pushing aside her cloak to reveal …

“Oh, rhaich (curses), this is not good,” he cursed, looking at the hole in Y/N’s stomach that was quickly being obscured by her blood. 

“Th-Thranduil,” Y/N said weakly, coughing up a red mess. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Y/N, do not be sorry,” Thranduil insisted, pressing his hand against her wound and shivering at the wet blood already covering him. “This is not your fault.”

“No, I…” Y/N swallowed heavily. “I’m sorry for loving you.”

“What?” 

Y/N winced at the confused expression on her face. “I’m sorry for loving you. I know it’s wrong. I know Elerrian died only a few autumns ago. I know we only marry once. But could not stop myself from loving you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thranduil asked, letting a tear fall down his face. “Why?”

“I … I was afraid,” she managed to say, the ability to speak becoming more and more difficult now. “Of hurting you, of being brushed off, of making Elerrian become forgotten. I would never wish to dishonour her.”

“Oh, Y/N, you would never dishonour her,” Thranduil reassured you. “I know she would love you.” 

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he said next. “You know, when Legolas first brought you back to have dinner with us, I looked across the table and thought to myself ‘Valar, she is absolutely beautiful’. Then, I thought I saw Elerrian sitting next to you. She was crying, and she told me “I’ve been forgotten…”. I felt guilty, but when I next ‘saw’ her, she told me she wanted me to be happy more than anything, and that she saw how you loved Legolas and I just as much as she did.”

By this time, Y/N’s tears came not from her pain, but from her happiness. “Why didn’t we tell each other this earlier?”

Thranduil choked out a sad laugh as another tear fell from his eyes. “I don’t know, melleth nin (my love). I don’t know.”

Y/N reached up weakly, brushing her blood-stained fingers against Thranduil’s cheek, truely allowing herself to see how handsome he was for the first time. “May I ask one last favour of you?”

“Don’t talk like that-”

“Kiss me.”

“Sorry, what?”

But Thranduil did as she asked, and, lying on a battlefield with him bent over her broken body, he felt her sigh against his lips, and then she was.

“No,” his voice cracked on the agonisingly tiny word, clutching at her cold hand and searching for a pulse. “No. No, no, no, no …”

But Y/N couldn’t hear him. She was gone already.

@aduialel​ thank you so much! i hope you enjoyed it!

everyone reading this PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REQUEST AND LIKE THIS IMAGINE! I LOVE YOUUUUUU

#thranduil #sad #thranduil x reader #x reader #the hobbit #you #submission

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

Finally watched Hello Future Me’s video floating around my recommended feed, and halfway through his excellent analysis struck a spooky thought! Here’s a theory for the girl in red.

Sane at the Time of the Finale:

Azula’s Downfall Was in Spiritual Revenge

The poetic justice of Zhao drowned by the moon spirit’s other half, Ozai’s power stripped by a full-fledged Avatar... part of what makes Azula’s defeat so unique is her crumbling sense of self, an introspective enemy instead of an outside one. Katara, whose confidence and network of support are pointed out as the mirror image of what Azula could have had, finally gains the upper hand and pins her down.

From birth, the princess endures an environment that perfects and hones her nature to the shattering point. Plenty of signs point to her devolution: the betrayal of Mai and Ty Lee, getting sidelined by her own father at the literal crowning moment, and her irreversible childhood at the center of the snowball effect. But how ‘bout I do anyway, and tie in the mechanisms of the spirit world with Azula’s last moments? The connection is far from obvious, but well and present. The role of another world in weakening such an iron-fisted character visible in the first GIF itself.

I. “Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.”

The spirit world is one fundamental half of the Avatar. Its guidance and power are endowed to a messiah-like figure, who masters the four bending disciplines in order to restore and keep balance. It’s constantly reinforced that the Firelord is meant to be brought down by him, that a century of bloodshed is repaid when the warlord’s life is taken, and the end of his corrupt regime is the beginning of a fuller, more peaceful era.

“Aang, you must defeat the Firelord before the comet arrives.” (Roku)

“Your destiny! This is incredible. You will be involved in a great battle, an awesome conflict between the forces of good and evil.” (Aunt Wu)

“I should have seen this war coming and prevented it... But I believe you are destined to redeem me and save the world.” (Roku)

“Because I know my own destiny. Taking you down is the Avatar’s destiny.” (Zuko)

“Everyone, even my own past lives, are expecting me to end someone’s life.” (Aang)

A seemingly inconsequential detail is that the Firelord at the time of the final battle is not Ozai - it’s his daughter. By then, the title of Phoenix King is exchanged for her coronation. The nail on the head isn’t nitpicking terminology, but that Aang already suffered defeat at Azula’s hands. She herself plays a masterful and instrumental role in the war, literally her father’s will embodied. She’s there to hunt the Avatar, lead the massive drill against Ba Sing Se’s walls, orchestrate a coup, oversee the takeoff of the airship fleet, suggest the annihilation of Ba Sing Se in the first place. It’s a long time before we see Ozai at the warfront in the flesh, and even then, the damage dealt by Azula in Book Two and Book Three resonates. Keeping all this in mind, jump to Aang’s death.

“I went down! I didn’t just get hurt, did I? I was gone! But you brought me back.” (Aang, to Katara)

At the end of Book One, when a spirit is killed and revived, balance is reduced to moonless havoc, and all hell descends on the guilty party. The Avatar-slayer would be far from an exception to this counterbalance. So what we witness in “Into the Inferno” - Azula, gruesomely unmade - may just be the most brutal act of vengeance onscreen, and as a direct consequence of this:

While Aang is not directly responsible, it’s safe to assume the spirit world often acts of its own volition. Notable spirits possess harsh views on modernization, and lash out at humanity for its flaws: Wan Shi Tong’s disappearance, the ocean spirit’s wrath, the aye-aye spirit in LoK antagonizing any human presence, the Mother of Faces admonishing vanity and disrespect.

In this vein, the Avatar spirit remains a powerful source of Aang’s strength, weaved into the very outcome of greater forces such as fate and salvation. In the crystal catacombs, Azula threw a wrench into a universal narrative - for an instant, the world really was lost.

And, truth is, we’ve already watched as an entity descended from the Avatar��s power - one who Azula identifies repeatedly as her lifelong plague - haunts her to the point of systemic delusion. Ursa herself, granddaughter of Roku.

II. “You’ve turned my own mind against me...”

Time to reconcile show canon with the comics!

There’s no one who ties more into the tragedy of Azula than her mother. Hello Future Me dredges “The Search” and “Smoke and Shadow” for panels where her condition is exacerbated by fear and animosity. She’s obsessed with the idea that Ursa was pitted against her from day one, and even claims her influence strangled the loyalties of her friends and forced Ozai to “break free of her control.” The possibility of the slightest truth to Azula’s more elaborate fears raises a host of alarming implications. Especially when acknowledging her character is as sharp as a tack - a dulled edge when madness factors in, to be sure, but not negligible.

Is it logical to develop the belief that Ursa was an agent of evil in the royal court? The death of Azulon and her subsequent disappearance... It wouldn’t take long for Azula - aware of Zuko’s fate at the time, and her mother’s resignation to prevent it - to connect the dots. Ursa’s blood relation to the same Avatar that rivaled Firelord Sozin is another thorn in the side of trust. Whether Azula was aware of it or not, the strife born in Zuko, the eternally entangled red and blue dragons, exist to her biology as well. This makes it difficult to ignore a spiritual side to her illness, which draws primarily from Ursa’s “ill” intent.

Azula is also seen embracing the idea that spirits risen solely to take revenge can derail lives, legitimacy, and loyalty. The comics give us a chance to absorb the hidden subtext at face value.

The Kemurikage were born when robbed mothers abducted the children of others as punishment. Fear of the spirits crumbled the warlord Toz’s support and ended his cause. The masquerading dissenters in “Smoke and Shadow” are able to undermine Firelord Zuko’s authority, create a divide between Mai’s family and her father, and sow widespread fear. Curfew, searches, and interrogations shape the beginnings of a “ruthless” rule, eerily evocative of Azula’s much more rapid descent...

So how do Azula’s visions of Ursa, conjured unconsciously or from a little something more, and her steep debt to the world and Avatar link together - forge the ideal weapon and circumstances for retribution?

^ Just like that.

This only covers Ursa’s side of the family, the redoubling of spiritual balance after Aang’s fall like the snap of a rubber band. Azula’s complete undoing has to do with the lashing out of both families.

III. The blue dragon

Now, what was it about that first GIF?

Azula’s health begins to spiral right as she’s slated to become Firelord. Her identity is unraveled and called into question - Ursa made manifest slips through the chinks in her armor, prying at insecurities. Her inner turmoil admittedly makes her a poor candidate for ascension, and at the pinnacle of Fire Nation victory, - the crucial, final stages of the Hundred Year War - past rulers would look down on Ozai’s decision to usher her onto a seat of absolute power. Sozin’s Comet itself is an event that imbues firebenders with enhanced abilities, and it’s been theorized before that the “acting up” of royalty during the finale could be explained as such. The phenomenon may have also caused the reemergence of imperial spirits... and it isn’t too far of a fetch. More on that shortly.

It’s made clear that Azula’s destiny is far from holding royal court. The comics throw around that word, “destiny” a lot, but it’s a given signpost for any projected arc in the world of Avatar. And it ties in nicely with the will and workings of spirits.

Roping predestination with the probable dissatisfaction of the lineage, we finally have a whole picture. The combined force of an upended natural order, demanding the Avatar-slayer’s penance, and a royal bloodline destabilizing her reign in its infancy... planting mistrust and paranoia, and causing rash decisions. From a cherry pit to five minutes’ tardiness, Azula’s clarity and self-assurance are hacked away.

This is inviting the subversion that it wasn’t all in her head. That the Azula who readily accepts the Phoenix King’s declaration is rattled and isolated at best, but far from the composure that took just one afternoon to shatter. Zhao and Ozai face justice at the hands of the spiritual. The third main villain of ATLA might not have escaped due consequence either.

Finally, this scene. Azula, ensconced in blue flames. Is there any suggestion of the presence of spirits?

Azula’s fire is blue for purposes of flaunting her skill and sheer drive for perfection. The hottest temperature is blue in color, exactly her achievement. The technique isn’t bothered with because it saps extra effort, and so Azula’s signature symbol of power is hers alone. Fitting. But the fact remains: after leaving her hands, the fire quickly cools to orange. See below:

This color change isn’t seen in Azula’s throne room. The fire surrounding her is definitely detached from her body.

Now, it’s obvious why the animators didn’t suddenly decide to give the iconic blue a rest... but it’s incredibly intriguing from the imperial spirits angle. If Azula herself wasn’t keeping up the blue flame, then at the time of “Into the Inferno”, we’re staring into the faces of invisible devils on her shoulder, supplying the driving energy from the beyond. Onis whispering unseen evils down her ear that cause her, inevitably, to snap - the voices of Sozin and Azulon, a hundred sprawling generations. The cherry on the top is Ursa, descendant of the liaison between mortal and spirit that Azula personally killed, who torments her long after she’s relieved of the crown.

“Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way.”

Hello Future Me describes Azula’s personality as a Machiavellian type, named after the guy who coined “It’s better to be feared than loved.” Watching her escalation unfold, it’s sad to wonder how someone as fearsome as her responds to being the recipient of that fear - when her own weapon turned on its hilt cuts too deep.

IV. End!

I think the scene above - the girl who opens with this directly after the demise of an admiral who engaged the incarnate of the tides (and swiftly lost), is a bit telling of her fate.

*To clarify, my framing of Ursa’s appearance as spookier than just a figment of Azula’s imagination - *cough* possibly the personified revenge of the Avatar spirit - is NOT meant to demonize Ursa herself! It just offers up an alternative explanation to what Azula hears and sees. Their bond is a poignant standalone, and I don’t mean to hate on the real Ursa/Noriko. Neither does any part of this discredit the impact of Azula’s childhood and history of neglect on her future.

That is all. Thank you for entertaining my theory!

#atla #avatar the last airbender #azula #atla theory #it’s 3 am no regrets