#arc. take these scars upon my back. (youth)

[dollsuguru]

Top 5 of your favorite jjk characters!!!

AHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOOOOOOOOOVE THIS QUESTION HEHE :3

1) toji: my FAVORITE character of ALL TIME and yes i do mean ALL TIME from ANY series… and i’ll tell you why… i have been BEGGING on my hands and knees for a MEAN HOT DILF ASSASSIN IN MEDIA FOR SO FUCKING LONG… and there like a beacon of light in the shadows was toji fushiguro… mean. hot. sexy. looks like he could and would step on me and kick my ass. also very sexy. just everything i wanted all rolled into one <3 and i also legitimately love love LOVE his character arc & backstory so much! heavenly restriction was PERFECT for him and i love that he genuinely fucked shit up + distorted fate… he came out the gate SWINGING!!!!!! also just the fact that he also Genuinely loved his wife and was truly a better man for her & himself and then she died… oh that’s just heartbreaking. him naming megumi “blessings” because names have meaning and megumi was truly his blessing… man i love toji so much. so so SO much. he’s sooooo multi-faceted and i love that no matter what at the end of the day, BOTH TIMES, his last memories were of his son and wanting to protect him. god i love toji <3 also elite character design i Love his scar & his massive tits and also. his spiky hair. Delicious

2) satoru: another elite character and design listen i looooove white-haired characters so much! they’re only second to black-haired characters <3 i also. genuinely. just love how much he loves his kids…….. him doing everything to protect the youth & always wanting them to nurture themselves/their friendships is so fucking sweet??? also i feel like some people just don’t understand that satoru is ACTUALLY, in my opinion, quite emotionally mature & also VERY responsible! he has so much on his plate/the world is on his shoulders and he carries that weight alone & willingly… i think it’s also another reason of why he wants his kids to get stronger… he knows curses won’t ever leave the world and he KNOWS he’s not infallible no matter how much he says he’s the strongest… i just think he wants the new generation to be better than him in every which way! also satoru had to do the work of essentially 3/4 special grades all by himself… yuki left, suguru went awol, yuuta only became an official sg in when he came to school and then he left during his 2nd yr… like i really genuinely truly honestly admire satoru SO much it makes me so upset when people don’t recognize that maturity and silliness can coexist! also him putting up infinity so no one can ever physically hurt him again… like i think people also forget that satoru… DIED. he DIED. when he was 16… and then he came back to life… like he’s such a traumatized character ALSO it’s another pet peeve of mine when people always attribute all of satoru’s best qualities to suguru like… i think people forget that satoru is also SUCH a good person in that he always calmed down suguru’s overthinking mind/would take the blame upon his OWN self… he’s self-sacrificial when necessary while also simultaneously easing the worries of his younger students… he’s my beloved. he’s in my lap as we speak i’m feeding him chocolate covered strawberries bc he deserves it. my baby boy my big baby

3) sukuna: BAD BITCH! I LOVE MEAN BAD BITCHES! I LOVE VILLAINS SOOOOOO MUCH I LOVE THOSE WHO ARE UNFORGIVING! WHO ARE EVIL JUST TO BE EVIL! NO RHYME OR REASON! also. listen. i fucking loooooooooove the idea of him doing this based on his whim… i just adore that when characters do it! if he’s hungry he eats, if he’s feeling murderous he kills, if he’s curious he keeps the person alive for the time being… he’s just so fascinating to me! i also just completely took sukuna and make him into bestie!sukie so i think i love him even more bc of that 😭 he’s just so fun and cool and fucked up to me! he’s everything <333

4) yuji/maki/yuuta: MY BABIES!!!!! MY BESTIES!!!!! MY REASONS TO BE 🥹🥹🥹 yuji is my son my baby child my sunshine boy and also. my badass kid <3 he’s so fucking cool i love him as a mc so much! so much abt him we don’t know esp when it comes to his backstory but you just can’t help but root for him! he’s such a genuinely good kid you always wanna see him win — and seeing him angry? pissed off? another fav of mine <3 the mahito vs yuji fight when yuji tells mahito he’ll kill him no matter the form? poetic cinema. also don’t get me started on geto & toji meeting yuji it’s in my brain all the time 😭 and MAKI IS MY DAUGHTER!!!!! literally like my fav female character of all time she’s so cool and badass and is so powerful! her reaching demon toji level and surpassing him??? DELICIOUS. also scarred maki is my fav character design ok the short hair + scars + yuki fit??? iconic. AND YUUTA <333 my bestie <333 he’s so fun to me i love that he’s babie but also an unforgiving badass! the dichotomy is everything to me! him having a creepier aura than satoru but just as strong… one of my fav panels of all time and i’m so serious. just unmatched

5) suguru: hate this bitch in canon but love this bitch in kanon (kairo canon) <333 he’s a very. interesting character. i disagree w his entire logic and i personally find it foolish (maybe bc i’m a toji & maki truther and love heavenly restriction above all else) but suguru truly is soooo fascinating. even as a high schooler pre-defection he considered non-sorcerers weak and something that sorcerers had to “protect” i think that suguru is very very VERY paternal and i think that influences a lot of his decisions… he’s a literal PATRIARCH in his cult family + he’s technically nanamimi’s dad + he wants to usher in a new age simply to protect those he loves but what he fails to realize is that… he just creates more chaos! he was his own downfall at the end of the day and i do think that no matter if satoru/shoko intervened that he still would have defected i just think he was doomed from the start… you don’t just ingest curses and then not be affected by it y’know? i think eventually he also would have been consumed by negativity the same way he consumes negativity (curses) and ultimately? he was. he’s a wonderful character to me in that he makes me feel genuine anger at certain times and at other times i just feel pity! i love him. he makes me think & feel a lot of things which is why i Write for him 😭 you’re probably wondering well why is he 5th/8th if you write for him the most??? idk maybe he should be theoretically first but i just. like him in my brain more than i do in canon i think he’s unlikable in canon to me but he’s also my skrunkly… i have duality ok i love him i dislike him i want him carnally

#asks #anon #this became more of a rant but idc listen i have lots of thoughts on the characters okay 😭 #i’ll do a read more bc this is long as hell but alas! #also feel free to disagree w my thoughts & leave your own if you’d like! :D #i have multiple thoughts abt each of these characters they’re all contrasting and similar and AHHHHH #that’s what i like abt jjk tho it’s that the character make you Feel Things #me: suguru is bad bc he killed non-sorcerers #also me: YAY SUKUNA :3 #I KNOW THE DICHOTOMY OKAY. i play favorites. sue me

[dcschain]

@cllgood​ / @ofthegun​ said: Bombardier blue eyes that find him, above the battlements of a shining city that lords over a land of milk and honey. Steven who lords over them all. "To protect Gilead, the Affiliation, and the Way of Eld – our work takes us into the dark in order to save the light. You and I are pledged to violence, Roland. Now and always."

It's hard to catch his father with his heart outside his ribs. Steven Deschain abhors weakness of any kind, if only because to open those gates would open a flood, torrential. And to his son, moments like these where there are no office walls to confine them to the role of king and son, he walks around the edge of with all the confidence of skinless cows.

But sometimes there are darknesses that cannot be broken without a light. Sometimes there are if i had lost you i would have died and with that more revelation than any magis could hide behind an open door. It is always like this: those terrible moments you discover your father is a man. The face you must remember not a mask, not featureless, not papier-machè and mythology but bone, and on it flesh, and on it skin, and in it blood.

Those moments where the light floods in. Where to be seen is the only option possible.

Were he a boy of imagination he would know what his father is trying to mean beyond the mere words. In a sense, he understands it: he lives it. The dust-blood-pain of it. The trail has left him kisses everywhere and they are nowhere as abundant as his father's. Today on this sunny day he sees the scars peek on Steven's forearms, his shirt rolled up to the elbows. He knows none of the stories behind any. He knows he never will: first there will be no time for it, and then there will never be enough.

Steven leans with his elbows against the sandstone edge, his brow furrowed against the glare of the sun, hat on the wall beside him. A strong gust and it'll fly away, were he anybody else, but he is nobody but himself: so if the hat flies, he will grab it before it's gone.

Roland leans with his back to the wall, with his hair pulled back when he is on official business and if nothing else, he knows his father's words are true because of two graves: the marble one of a mother, the bramble thicket of a hawk's. More than anything else, those graves remember, and whisper. There will be many more to come.

#cllgood #ofthegun #ofthegun: steven. #verse. let this darkness be a bell tower. (the dark tower) #arc. take these scars upon my back. (youth) #IA –– DINH TETE.

[keingleichgewicht]

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............  readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!) 

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and: 

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

#pafl #parties are for losers #it speaks #ask #in all fairness and in my defence when i made the joke i said i would write not less than one thousand words and by fuck #this has not been less than one thousand words! #jorgyjuice #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ALSO THIS WAS REALLY FUN #and thank you VERY dearly to anyone who takes the time to read all this; you own my soul now; feel free to collect at any time #metatext

[sea-and-storm]

BETTER WITH AGE : Ghoa Mankhad

PROMPT : Describe your muse at ages 20, 40, and 60!

Tagged by @afreesworn, so blame her for this rambly bit of quasi-prose because when I saw this meme, it decided to live stubbornly rent-free in my head until I finally sat down and wrote it out. But it's late and I'm rusty, so excuse the inevitable clunky writing and weird stream-of-consciousness rambling. x:

Also I haven't been on tumblr in a hot minute and I'm probably gonna go on a meme spree here soon so I'll spare people from a tagfest since I have no idea who has or hasn't done these. :T

So uh, if you see this and wanna do it, just.. consider yourself tagged!

-- AGE 20 . . .

At age twenty, Ghoa is only just gaining her first true taste of freedom. It hasn't been long since she left the Steppe behind, fleeing a life of violence and oppression at the mercy of others' cruel whims.

Kugane is still very much a foreign land to her, equal parts terrifying and intoxicating. It is a city whose lifeblood is the trading of koban, unlike the bartering and trading -- and the taking by force -- that is prevalent in the lands she calls -- no, called her home.

Even more awkward to her is the earning of coin; but for that problem, there is an unexpected solution. Her name is Ino, a hyuran native of the land Ghoa now finds herself in. The only things that come more easily to her than her usual cocksure grins are the coins that she seems to have a knack for getting her fingers on. She readily takes the wayward Xaela under her wing, and together they begin to dream of schemes to turn their lives around. Gods know they both deserve it after the difficulties they've both already lived through.

At twenty, Ghoa doesn't yet know that this relationship born of mutual survival will soon grow into something more. Friendship. Companionship. Love. She's even less aware that the same relationship that pulled her up from the darkness of the past will end in yet more tragedy. She's blissfully unaware of the scars that this loss will one day leave behind, an invisible guilt that would linger with her for many, many long years to come no matter how hard she tries to outrun it.

As for the Storm? There have certainly been times in her twenty years that she has felt the itch of electricity arc across her palms, aching to be released. Yet she has kept it pushed deep down, kept tightly under control. Her upbringing has led her to fear the power born to her. Rather than continue to train to control it, she opts instead to push it down, push it away. It rumbles like darkened clouds on a distant horizon, the occasional faint but harmless rumble of thunder carried upon the winds. That rumble begs for her to let it loose, to let the rains and winds and lightning break free around her. Instead, she turns a blind eye, pretending not to hear its pleading as she looks towards what she hopes to be a sunny future.

-- AGE 40 . . .

At age forty, Ghoa has gone through a gamut of changes that she never could have anticipated.

She has loved and lost, and she has blamed herself for it. She's roamed far and wide, half searching for a place that she might call 'home' and half attempting -- without success -- to outrun the ghosts of the past. Her life has turned towards the dark, towards the selling of illicit potions and dangerous poisons and the ever-profitable trade of secrets. She has become a creature of hedonism and selfishness, closing her heart towards those around her and putting her own needs and whims above all else. She has finally learned what it seems her earlier years had perhaps been trying to teach her all along: that the joys of the world belong only to those strong enough and clever enough to climb upon the backs of others to grasp them. And she has vowed never to let another climb upon her in their own pursuit ever again.

It would have been easy for her to continue down this path, to continue down it until nigh impossible to turn back. Yet within these twenty years, chance has once again placed someone in her path that would radically change her life's trajectory. Rather, she met several someones. She calls them friend, lover, kin.. but most of all, at age forty, she calls them family. Blood or not, she has come to share a deep and profound bond with each of them.

Through them and their various trials and tribulations, she has come to see that she was wrong. Joy is not the sole providence of those who seize it by force of will. It belongs to those whose backs have been tred upon, yet still rise up from the darkness -- often with one another's help -- time and again. It belongs to those who refuse to give into despair and anger and bitterness, no matter how tempting. It belongs to those who are strong enough to allow themselves to be vulnerable and feel, rather than closing themselves off to everything and everyone around them.

At age forty, Ghoa can say without hesitancy or reservation that she is surrounded by those she cares for and whom care for her in turn. In coming to love them, she's come to love herself. Most of all, she has learned that her 'home' is not a physical place. It exists at a table full of drinks and raucous laughter. It exists in a conversation first awkward and quickly turned warm from a man who is at once unknown and yet achingly familiar to her. It exists wrapped in strong arms, even as tears well in her eyes and her clutching fingers are reluctant to ever let go.

Home is where she can be with those she loves, and perhaps that yet undiscovered realization is why Ghoa has been so very restless her entire life.

These past twenty years have yielded to her one more life-altering realization: that she can no sooner deny the Storm within her than she can deny her very self. It runs in her blood, electrifies her soul. Suppressing it is suppressing herself and, after all, had Ghoa not long ago vowed never to allow herself to be suppressed again?

Though the reunion has been long in the making, Ghpa's bond with the Storm feels like catching up with a long lost friend. At times, it is awkward and uncomfortable and even explosive. Others, they are in perfect harmony with one another. Regardless, Ghoa no longer winces at the rumbling skies as they approach, but looks instead with eagerness as the wind and rain begin to whip around her. Her breath hitches in excitement with each flash of lightning and roaring peal of thunder. They're discovering each other all over again after so long apart, and it will take time.. But it is a start that Ghoa has eagerly made.

-- AGE 60 . . .

At age sixty, Ghoa has begun to show the ravages of time. Her hair, once the color of breaking waves, has darkened and faded in vibrancy over the years. Lines have begun to form at her eyes and at the edges of her smile; their initial coming, of course, much to her dismay. Yet for what she has traded in youthful beauty, she's gained in poise. There's a certain air she keeps, a wisdom and a knowing sense that has come from a long life full of the lowest lows and the highest highs, from a life lived well and to its fullest.

She looks back now on the past six decades and sees all the past versions of herself with renewed clarity and understanding. The scared young woman just trying to survive the cruel hand dealt to her. The one who at one turn felt hope and love for the first time, and then just as quickly replaced both with guilt and self-loathing. The woman who convinced herself that she was better off putting herself above all others, caring not for who she hurt in the process. And yet, there is also the woman who found herself caring so much for those around her that she would fling herself into the face of danger to protect them at a moment's notice.

Ghoa looks back on these women now and realizes there was no one single point at which she became herself. She is the sum of all the parts of her life, both bitter and sweet. Even the worst moments of her life, she realizes now, eventually lead to change -- growth -- within herself. Though.. perhaps not in a linear fashion, as Ghoa was ever wont to stumble along the way. But with that realization now comes acceptance, peace, and healing. For the first time, she is able to look back at her years without picking out all the parts she wishes she could change.

Now at sixty, Ghoa has likely lost some of those she cares for along the way, gone but never forgotten nor less loved. Yet as always, the Storm within remains her most constant companion. Gone are the days where she fears its power or it roars out of her grasp unbidden. There is a mutual respect and understanding between them, and with that comes a power she never knew.

Once as a girl, Ghoa watched as Elder Unegen called lightning down from the sky upon herself and walked away not only whole, but embraced by arcing jolts of electricity curling protectively around her until she released them back unto the sky. She doubted back then that she could ever be so powerful. Yet now, Ghoa has not only performed the same feat, but she has done so in front of the next generation of Stormcallers. She will fill them with awe at what is possible, and she will guide them with a gentle but firm hand as any Elder Stormcaller aught now that she has come full circle and returned to the very tribe in which her long story began.

#ghoa mankhad #restless seas #HOO BOY IM RUSTY WITH WRITING #i should have went back and edited but #it's almost midnight #yolo or smth #ffxiv rp #balmung #crystal rp

[last-of-the-jaded]

After having willingly given the last month of my life over to MDZS and it’s Live Action counterpart I wanted to compile a list of my favorite aspects of both (including spoilers). Both the original Chinese Novel and it’s stunning 2019 Summer Release counterpart are breathtaking in different manners, but if you are looking for a quick recommendation, I do recommend going for the drama first as it will simplify the further consumption of content if you decide you want to partake in more.

What I love about THE UNTAMED:

The symbolism of the cliff at Nightless City, and how that entire scene marks a clear shift in Wuxian’s mental state as well as the overarching story. Similarly, how in the end it is Wuxian who throws himself off that precipice to sure death. This detail provides a direct comparison between his mental state at this moments and Cheng’s after his core was squashed, while also touching on an unique level of disparity and regret that is unrealized in the novel at this point (considering how this isn’t how Wuxian dies in the written version)

Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo. I’ve made posts about this already so I’ll spare you another essay (Here and Here)

Jiang Cheng’s entire character arc. Seeing him fully fleshed out, utilized, and properly human within the drama made it hard for me to swallow how shallow he often felt on paper, especially in the early chapters. I get that this is partially due to the youth sequences in the book being written completely from Wuxian’s POV, but for me there is something incredibly human and genuine just lacking from the version of Cheng on paper that stood out so gorgeously for me in terms of his drama counterpart. Wang Zhou Cheng did an amazing job bringing out his raw emotion and anger on screen, lines were delivered in a manner that truly solidified this characters growth and vulnerability to me. For such a new actor within his field he did a brilliant job, and is the reason I have so many damn emotions concerning Jiang Cheng’s character arc. (I have a million analysis pieces typed up on my blog if that interests you)

The sequential order for the flashbacks was incredibly easy to consume. It helped to keep events and motivations clear. I understand why the book was able to skip around in a more winding mysterious manner, but from a drama standpoint I massively appreciated being able to consume the events leading up to Wuxian’s demise in consecutive order. The first few episodes were initially extremely confusing to me as a new watcher, and it’s only when the flashbacks hit that the plot-line solidified as well.

The female leads! Yanli, Qing, and Mianmian having larger roles and development was absolutely a plus. Everyone had the same intentions and feel as they did in the original, just more fully fleshed out since they were given time to interact within the world. As a bonus note seeing Madam Yu and hearing her bullshit on screen, said out-loud in the bitchy tone her actress gave her, made her 10X worse and from an antagonist perspective I massively appreciate that they were able to make me despise her so damn much.

Everyone important to the past storyline being involved in the Gusulan Study Sessions under Lan Qiren. This was a simple and effective manner of introducing everyone and having characters feel involved and interactive from the get-go. I was honestly a little disappointed that not everyone was included when I went on to read the novel.

Ning and Wuxian’s interactions early on. Their dynamic in the show was given life, and felt genuine in how it shifted over the course of Wuxian’s trails and misfortune. I love how they included Ning in the early on portions of the series, especially the Caiyi Town waterborn abyss debacle where Wuxian saved his life. It just added more layers to an already intriguing dynamic that plays a massive role overall.

The wolf torture scene. This added a whole new layer to Wuxian’s fear of dogs, while still completing its job of giving Ning and Wuxian a reason to interact and grow. Not to mention the example of Wen Sect Torture Tactics really added to the inhumanity of the sect while sparking our main character’s growth and self-sacrificing nature.

The symbolism behind Yanli’s and Cheng’s dreams. These dream sequences give a glimpse into the heads of two complex character’s and honestly added so much background motivation to their storylines. I loved these details and how much analysis us all as viewers can put into them.

The rain scene. Wuxian telling Wangji he would prefer to die by his hands. The first tears watchers see from an incredibly strong and willful young man who has always appeared stoic. (I cannot express to you enough how sad I was that this scene didn’t take place in the novel)

Wuxian’s mask. I understand logistically why they had to do this from a filming perspective (I mean if you have someone as good looking and Xiao Zhan, damnit you are going to let him look like him as much as you can) but I honestly really enjoyed the smaller details they included to make it work plot-wise. I also appreciate how it was designed as a prop considering it actually altered Wuxian’s features in a manner that made him harder to recognize due to its bulky and carved nature.

The secret underground cave in Cloud Recess under the bathing pool. The whole meeting between Wangxian and the female sect leader. I enjoyed this detail and how they expanded upon it when it came to the burning of their sect home and the survival of their people.

Wangxian’s relationship. Their subtle, trusting, gentle way of showing love. On an additional note I appreciate how it never once felt like I needed to discuss consent with the characters (coughNOVELcough) because everything between them was healthy and playful.

The soundtrack, costuming, and bts. I understand that this was a low budget production (compared to the majority of traditional dramas) and honestly I appreciate what we were given taking that into account. They stayed true to the essence and message of the story. I love the manner in which the costumes became a part of the characters and everyone had a clear style. The soundtrack flowed amazingly well with the scene and tone shifts (this is disregarding how fake their instrument playing looked because I’m still not over how off the finger movements appeared at points). The behind the scenes content on its own could win an award - it made completing the show a million times more satisfying because I do believe that the people working on set had fun (somehow even while filming during the hottest time of the year)

The name of the drama. When you reach that moment when you understand why it is called such - it’s a tale of the rise and fall of Wuxian.

The ending scene. I know it’s not the ‘stereotypical happy ending’ fans wanted, but it perfectly fit the tone and message of the piece as a whole. I love the ending. It felt right.

What I love about MDZS (NOVEL):

The Yi City Arc. It’s worth reading for this part alone. Motivations, logic, and everything just hit so much harder. I do appreciate what the drama gave us, but like, once you’ve tasted this version it’s really hard to go back.

Empathy. In general seeing Wuxian use empathy within the novel just works so much smoother. His little anecdotes and analysis while in stasis reliving ghost’s lives gives it a realism that it’s lacking on camera.

Second Siege of the Burial Mounds. The way the novel sets up this part and actually makes it feel scary with hoard mentality makes it work so much better. It feels like there is a weight to this moment. The waves of corpses are terrifying, and the exhaustion of fighting for hours gives it a level of humanity that makes what Wuxian and Wangji selflessly do stand out even more. Not to mention, the leftovers of the Wen Sect fucked me up. I bawled. This is another detail that I would legitimately read the entire novel over for just to experience.

Wuxian being fucking terrifying at points. Playing with demonic energy and losing control is supposed to be scary. In the novel it honestly felt that way. Seeing him slowly get worse was heartbreaking. Watching how people’s opinions on him skewed, and how he dealt with looks, pressure, and weight on his shoulders, took this arc to a whole new level. The way demons and ghosts flocked to and around him in public added a level of horror that was unsettling and necessary.

Wuxian actually losing control. In the drama they added another flute player to sort of work around Wuxian having to accept the result of his failure. In the novel, there is no such thing -  and I love it. It’s another dowsing to the pain and suffering Wuxian has to accept and learn to overcome.  It makes him coming back a decade later - to live and achieve and get revenge - feel different.

Action scenes and gore. If something is called “The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” you expect some blood, and damn do I appreciate that the author made stuff have impact. I wish the drama had a bigger budget so they could have done the wounds and cgi more justice.

Wangji rescuing Wuxian after the first raid on yiling, and choosing to suffer together, hated by the world, rather than lose the love of his life. I love the use of the cliff in the drama, especially the imagery of Wangji trying to hold Wei Ying up before ultimately falling, but the route the author took in the novel is so much fucking worse. Like I cannot even imagine the pain Wangji went through.

Lan Xichen opening Wuxian’s oblivious eyes. Best brother ever. This entire scene, leading up to the final battle, is like downing a shot and waiting for it to hit. It deserves a standing ovation.

The details in the Xuanyu of Slaughter cave sequence. Every little tell that Wangji gave - he really did fall in love young.

Mingjue’s corpse. The separated limbs, angry spirit, holding bags, and everything made sense because of description.

Wangji explaining how he got the brand mark over his heart. All of his scars. Fuck. There’s inferring, and then there is having it described to you from the person directly and feeling as your own heart dies.

Lan Zhan’s insane arm strength. This is a detail that deserves recognition.

Wuxian’s inner analysis of Nei Huaisang at the end. This was fully formed and actually had some payoff.

The clear comparisons between Mengyao’s fate and what happened to Wuxian himself. Once again you can infer in the drama, but having it clearly implied in the book hits different because when someone becomes a public pariah it’s easier to go with the public outcry than try and defend them. “Nobody knew with more clarity than Wei WuXian that nobody would care and nobody would believe”

Ning protecting Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng in a manner directly parallel to how he killed the people they cared for.

Jin Ling’s realization about being unable to hate anyone in the end. You feel for this kid. You want to see him grow up well.

The beginning set up chapter. Hearing what happened in the past vaguely through spreading rumors and small talk without seeing it for yourself adds a level of intrigue. It has greater mystery than just seeing the scene play-out and cutting away.

Everything making sense in general with no plot holes. It’s one of those things where in television no matter how well you do, you can’t possibly include all the needed details. With the drama you have to infer a lot, and sometimes you will get it wrong. In the novel it really is just much easier to make sense of. This also included the pacing as well. Timeskips make sense.

Kissing. Smut. Damn, it’s so nice to have actual payoff for the slow burn.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #cql #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi spoilers #mdzs spoilers #mdzs reaction #mdzs novel #my thoughts #little scene analysis #I love them both for different reasons idk #jiang cheng #lan zhan #wen ning #jiang yanli #the untamed netflix #reupload because tumblr messed up my tags #sorry if this is long the read more button wouldnt work #i wrote this for myself cuz im a sucker for lists

[mercurialmist]

Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time. 

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside. 

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle. 

Inside this house there is no letting go. 

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle. 

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

 “No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.” 

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs. 

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house. 

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.  

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me. 

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries. 

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank. 

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge. 

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest. 

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man. 

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites. 

“Try them on girls,” they whisper. 

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her. 

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right. 

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance. 

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.  

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.  

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand. 

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!” 

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall. 

I am horrified. 

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.  

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.” 

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound. 

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up. 

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand. 

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?” 

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other. 

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness. 

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor. 

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

[kittensinsocks24]

Spinel is one of the best examples of trauma and emotional parental figure abuse I’ve seen in media: an essay nobody asked for

As some may know, the television film special for Steven Universe, appropriately enough titled Steven Universe: The Movie premiered on Cartoon Network last night after being announced one year ago at SDCC. It was here where we would get our first glance at the villain of the film, who we would come to find out upon release is named Spinel. 

I as well watched this stephen university moving picture show. And, despite my initial jokes about “this bendy-and-the-ink-machine lookin’ ass bubblegum bitch”, by the time the credits rolled I looked like a drowned cat, and had wept real tears of pain over this poor, poor strawberry shortcake clown infant. But why? Why was I openly sobbing over a literal one-braincell jester girl with the color palette of magenta printer ink? Then it hit me: Spinel is many things, but she is, most importantly, a great mirror. A mirror for me, and any and all other victims of being taken advantage of by somebody you trust, look up to, and admire, most often than not, parents. 

TW: Spoilers below for Steven Universe: The Movie as well as discussion of abusive guardians, short mentions of physical abuse, and discussion of  emotional manipulation

While it’s true that Spinel is self-proclaimed to have been Pink’s “best friend”, I feel that to a more obvious extent she is coded to have had a parental, one-sided-admiration relationship with Pink. This is confirmed to me by her obvious youthful, playful and childlike behavior in her original state, her clinginess to the person she respects, and most importantly, her unquestioning belief in Pink Diamond’s love and belief in her best interests, despite obvious signals otherwise to an outsider. 

Let’s start at the beginning: Past Spinel is, self-described, “innocent, loving, .....stupid.” Spinel was created, metaphorically and physically, to keep Pink Diamond happy and entertained. Her default state was to naturally seek Pink’s approval, to earn her admiration and joy, similar to how most often a child’s first and prevailing desire is to earn their parent’s approval and love. Despite it not being Spinel’s fault that Pink decided to leave her there with the false hope of her returning, Spinel inherently blames her own naivety and desire for Pink’s love for her current predicament. Maybe if she hadn’t been so trusting, had questioned what Pink was making her do, she wouldn’t have been alone all those years. That’s a feeling I think most trauma victims have looking back at their past selves and childhood, something that further drew me to Spinel’s arc as a metaphor for such. 

“And then she smiled, that’s what I’m after: the smile in her eyes, the sound of her laughter.” 

This is a situation I believe most if not all children of emotionally and/or physically abusive parents can relate to. The tale of an abusive parental relationship often starts off with a parent either having a child they weren’t emotionally mature enough to raise, or, more relevant in Pink’s case, “having” a child for selfish reasons of personal entertainment, or to fill a void in their lives somehow, realizing only too late the independent personhood of their new “toy” outside of them. 

I’ve seen some say that Spinel was understandably left behind because she is shown throughout to be “clingy” and “annoying”, but you know who else frequently has those traits? Children. Especially children before they emotionally mature like Spinel does after her revelation about Pink. I can assure you for a fact that I was a very annoying child. Does that make it right that my parent emotionally withdrew after I was no longer pleasing or entertaining to them? Does that make it right that they hit me? No. 

When Pink first “had” Spinel it’s clear that she genuinely enjoyed her company. Most toxic relationships have this sort of “honeymoon” phase, a time before things were so bad that the victim will often wish to go back to, not unlike Spinel. Even though Pink’s later actions erase any goodwill towards Spinel and make it clear that even in joyful times she never really cared for her, as somebody scarred by trauma Spinel inherently longs to go back to these days even if Pink was not actually as happy or good as she remembers. 

Later on, we as the audience, privy to more knowledge, can see that Pink has grown irritated/bored with Spinel. But Spinel, much like a child, isn’t aware of this. Spinel loves and is devoted to Pink, and if Pink is happy, she is happy for her. Her trust in Pink loving her back and unwavering confidence in her actions blinds her to what is coming next. “Every day was so much fun! At least.... that’s what I thought.....” She even is so confident that Pink loves her back that she is 100% positive Pink will take her along to Earth. 

“I was so excited! A whole new place to play!” 

Pink instructs Spinel to stay put in the garden and not follow her, lying straight to Spinel’s openly trusting face that this request is the start of a “game”. Spinel, again only seeking nothing but the love and admiration of her pseudo-parental figure/person she obviously admires, does so without question. In her mind so full of love and genuine belief that Pink would never do something wrong to her, she never even questions that this may not be a game, that Pink is seeking to dispose of her, or that Pink may not return. Spinel takes Pink fully at her word, and thus waits, and waits, for 6000 years. 

At first, Spinel remains ever the optimist she always is, entrusting that despite the obvious gap in time that Pink, having her best interests in mind, will come back to love and play with her. 

As literal years go by, we can see that despite her best efforts the wait for Pink to “come around” (physically, but also emotionally if we view this as a metaphor) has taken a toll on Spinel. She’s visibly weathered, with tired eyes and a weaker smile. However even though this is clearly not good for her she continues to believe that, yes, Pink does love her and would never hurt her! She will come back! 

Worst of all, and something even more stinging when looked at through the lens of an abuse metaphor, is Spinel’s line during this part of the song:

“Happily wondering, night after night, is this how it works? Am I doing it right?”

Annnnnnd this is where the waterworks really burst for me, folks. Spinel has begun questioning Pink’s actions, but her continued belief that Pink, again, would only do the best for her makes it so Spinel has begun, to some extent, to blame herself for how long it’s taken for Pink to return. Spinel feels perhaps she did something to displease Pink, that she messed up their “game” somehow, and this is why Pink has not returned to love her. She must strive and continue to be the best at this “game” or she is to blame for Pink not wanting to play with her. It’s a powerfully impactful line, but even worse for any child who went through a similar trial-and-error, self-deprecating process of trying to earn their parent’s unachievable love through grades, performance, or going above-and-beyond in any other sort of field. 

Spinel is so desperate to finally get Pink’s love “back” that even though it is straining her mentally and (albeit to a lesser extent) physically, she will continue to do whatever Pink asked and even doubt herself and her ability to do things right if it means even a sliver of potential attention down the line.

Then, Spinel has a watershed moment most every child of an abusive guardian will have: she realizes she’s been abused. Through Steven’s broadcast, Spinel indirectly learns two things: 1, Pink is dead, has been dead, and was never intending on coming back for her even after all of Spinel’s silent years of devotion and trust, and 2, Pink proceeded to give others the love and attention Spinel could never earn despite all she did immediately after moving on and leaving Spinel for dead. 

It is in this moment that Spinel not only physically “snaps” and changes into her much more threatening form seen in Act 1, but that she also breaks. 

Spinel entertained and loved Pink for who knows how long before she disappeared, and even in her absence and the absence of love and affection continued to trust and care for her, and Pink instead simply chose to devote herself to new people, a new place, without them even having to earn her like Spinel did? It’s more than unfair, it rocks Spinel’s worldview.

Emotionally, the revelation that the person she adored, loved, trusted and respected and that she naturally looked up to not only did not care for her but actively chose to love others and ignore her despite all the mentally-taxing devotion Spinel gave her is more than she can bear. 

“You keep on turning pages, for people who don’t care, people who don’t care about you. And still it takes you ages to see that no one’s there, see that no one’s there, see that no one’s there. Everyone’s gone on without you.” 

Spinel transforms, a transformation symbolic of the venom and bile of her trauma. Despite her cocky attitude and speech about her “new look” upon initially showing up with her injector, Spinel notably is not proud of her new form. She views herself as broken. 

Scarred beyond repair by Pink’s abandonment and actions. Something too messed up and warped to love, unworthy of affection and friendship.

Traumatized.

I’ve never met another person traumatized by parental abuse who didn’t also feel like they were too far gone. A monster, transformed and shaped into something horrible by their abuser’s actions.  

“All that stuff’s easy for you to say! When you change, you change for the better! When I change, I change for the WORSE! I used to just be not good enough, not good enough for Pink,- but NOW, I’m not GOOD AT ALL!” 

~                                 ~                                       ~

“Spinel, you’ve met The Diamonds before, right?”

“Yeah, but.... (notably hesitant) they’ve never seen me like this.” 

With Pink gone, Spinel has nobody direct to confront about her traumas. Without any better coping mechanisms, Spinel’s only desire is to lash out at somebody, anybody for her pain. She specifically chooses Earth and The Crystal Gems for having been the objects of the affection Pink never gave her, despite not actually having a personal relationship with them. 

“Y’know, I came here to take my anger out on a bunch of strangers, [...]”

When I first wisened up to the fact that what my parent did wasn’t normal, wasn’t something I should have gone through as an innocent child, I lashed out at any and everybody I felt was involved in some way. My father for never being around when it happened, never stopping her when it did, never getting her help, never calling CPS. My brother for never having to deal with her wrath, for always raising the bar with his good grades, making it feel harder and harder to earn the love I felt like I had to have.

Spinel’s maladaptive way of handling the situation is an all-too-common chapter in the life of the abused, and something that further strengthens the connection her arc has to real life people in similar situations.

When Steven confronts her that this isn’t the way to handle things, Spinel doesn’t see any other way. She doesn’t feel like she can trust anybody again, and doesn’t feel herself worthy of love. During “Found”, she’s noticeably hesitant and even resistive to Steven’s assurance that she’ll find somebody who truly does love her one day, too scarred by Pink’s deception to open herself up to the idea of healing.

Even when she does, it’s notably a delicate process. After turning off the injector, her own insecurity and trust issues due to her traumatic incident leads her, without any real evidence, to assume that Steven and the Gems value her as little as Pink did. She is both afraid of what she has become, again feeling she is too traumatized to be accepted and loved, and also afraid that they will leave her as easily and quickly as her abuser. 

After failing to ever earn Pink’s love fully and the physical and emotional transformation her trauma has had on her, Spinel doesn’t genuinely believe anybody could ever want her company ever again. 

“I’m the source of all your problems. Don’t pretend you want me here.  What’s your plan for me, huh? Ya gonna put me somewhere? Gonna - LEAVE me somewhere? Gonna LEAVE ME ALONE?”

However, after the emotional catharsis of lashing out, sharing her traumas with Steven, and then spiraling into another emotional rage over what happened to her, Spinel, having begun to process her trauma, realizes that her hurting those only vaguely, tangentially related to her abuser and situation will do nothing to heal the pain inside her, and, more importantly, realizes that doing this is only pushing people away from her and failing to allow herself to open up to loving again. 

And, of course, this is via a breakdown complete with agony-driven laughter, because Rebecca loves rendering me bald and taking an icepick to my similarly traumatized heart.

“(cracking with emotion)....What am I doing? Why do I want to hurt you so bad? I’m supposed to be a friend. .....I just want to be a friend.”

As low of a point as this is for Spinel emotionally, it shows that she has begun the slow but ultimately fulfilling process of healing. This new path continues in her next scene, where she opens herself up to The Diamonds with Steven’s coaxing, despite the person who spurned her having been a Diamond herself (this also easily could be viewed as a metaphor for opening yourself up to trusting mentoring relationships again and finding a healthy new parental relationship in someone either non-blood-related or in other members of your family). 

In probably the most heart-wrenching scene of the movie for me, as The Diamonds reprise their song about opening their hearts up to a new member of their family (this also furthers my argument of spinel = child figure to Pink, considering the last person the trio sung this to was Pink’s literal biological son), Spinel sings part of Found again, finally believing Steven’s statement that she will love again, as she connects and converses with people who genuinely like her despite all she’s been through and become. 

Spinel learns and accepts, for the first time in the movie, that she is worthy of love, and is not too broken or changed by her trauma to receive it. 

And so I cried like the winner of a horseradish paste eating contest. 

In summary, to me, and I’m more than sure to other experiencers of childhood emotional and/or physical abuse at the hands of somebody they trusted, Spinel is one of the best media representations of the complex moods, highs and lows, and experiences of going through, repressing, and processing trauma. Not only that, but unlike some other characters I can think of, Spinel gets a hopeful ending. She’s not so warped and broken that the writers deemed her too far gone and thus only worthy of killing off. No. Spinel is a trauma victim who goes through a dark period of coping in negative ways, but then comes out the other side ready to open herself back up to the idea of healing and moving on from her trauma and abuser. Despite all her baggage and scars, the movie assures us Spinel is just as worthy of a happy ending as any other person. 

And I don’t think I’m alone in saying that if MY pained ass at the beginning of my traumatic processing years ago had seen that I could, that I CAN be okay despite it, that it would have meant so much to me. 

And even though I’m still still learning to love again myself, I think deep down all victims hope we can become our own Spinel someday. 

Somewhere.

Somehow.

We’ll love again. 

TL;DR Rebecca Sugar wrote one of the best arcs about abuse on television ever and its star was a rubberhose baby who sounds like Betty Boop and whos shoes make the spongebob walk cycle noise sample and thats why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

#su #su the movie #su the movie spoilers #su spinel #media essay #essay #parental abuse #abusive relationships #toxic relationships #su movie #su movie spoilers #rebecca sugar

[the-god-of-nihon]

Writing Idea: It’s called an AU pt2

Future Jaune cleans up, shows off his middle-aged man bod, then has a long story time with Ozpin. Also his semblance comes in real handy.

_______________________________________________________________________

As his three teammates went about their business, getting dressed preparing for their day. Team RWBY coming and going out of JNPR’s room as they did the same. Jaune sat on his bed engrossed in watching them do tasks he hadn’t seen them do for years. A stab of sorrow pierced through him; this was all so familiar, but far away in his memory.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha called out to him as she brushed her hair, “the shower is free if you want to clean up.”

He looked at himself, at his ragged clothes, and the dirt on his skin, “yeah that’s probably a good idea.” As he pulled off his shoulders the remains of a cloak, revealing attached at his left shoulder a metallic arm. Clean, not pristine, but clearly better maintained than the rest of him.

“Jaune! You’re a cyborg!” Nora rushed over to him taking his mechanical arm in her hands and examining it in wonder.

“A prosthetic . . .” Ren trailing after her, eyeing the appendage noticing an engraving of a rose on the shoulder plate.

“You lost your arm.” Not a question, but a statement Pyrrha had halted her brushing as she stared at the arm as Nora handled it, “when did you lose your arm?”

“Around 10 years ago,” he said simply, the image of Nora messing around with Jaune as he tolerated her antics was nothing new, but the context left an uncomfortable silence in the air. “Guy’s it’s really not that big of a deal, given our career path it’s pretty par for the course.”

“Right. You’re right. Apologies I shouldn’t have stared,” Ren quick to apologize went back to straightening out his bed.

“Do you need help taking your clothes off?” Pyrrha asked genuinely concerned, eyes still on the mechanical limb.

“Why Pyrrha I never thought you’d be so forward,” Jaune teased, almost immediately grimacing. Although nobody noticed, as Pyrrha turned red like a tomato, sending Nora giggling back onto her bed as Jaune waved apologetically, “thanks for the concern, but I’ve had this thing long enough to know how to handle it.”

After the first hot shower in who knows how long, Jaune was feeling better than ever. Trimming his beard from extremely shaggy, to sort of shaggy, and tying his long hair back in a ponytail.

“Jaune we borrowed some clothes from for you to wear until your clothes are clean.” Pyrrha called from the other side of the door.

“Thanks, “Jaune replied as he wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door. Something his team had clearly not expected when they all did a double take at the sight of his topless form.

“Jaune, lookin good!” Nora whistled at Jaune, then pretended to root around in her wallet, “how much to lose the towel?”

“Nora!” Pyrrha again beat red, shoved the borrowed clothes into his arms, and rushed out the open doorway.

Jaune raised an eyebrow, and looked at Ren for some clarification as if he being topless was something unusual.

“For someone with your aura, you have quite a number of scars.” Ren returned Jaune’s look before going back to examining the scars scattered over his torso.

“Well you know me, never know when to quit,” Jaune said as he slipped the large shirt, and pair of pants on, “ran out of aura few too many times, but I learned my lesson. For the most part.”

“We have classes soon, will you be okay alone, should we stay?” Ren asked placing the book he was reading in his lap.

“Don’t skip on my account, those are valuable lessons Oobleck and Port are giving you.” Jaune gave a derisive snort, smirking as he waved them off.

“Okay, well just behave yourself, and we’ll be back in a few hours.” Pyrrha calling out as she was exiting.

“I’m not a puppy. I’ll probably go finish telling Ozpin about my timeline, then take a walk around campus. Haven’t seen this place in nearly 20 years after all.” Jaune smiles fondly, then laughs to himself, “You have fun with Oobleck, maybe tell him I’m absent because I got switched with an alternate universe version of myself, see how he reacts.”

“Will do!” Nora piped up giving a salute before marching out the door, Ren in tow shaking his head.

Jaune stretched out with a groan, and then went on his way to Ozpin’s office. His memory was reliable enough, though he could have sworn the carpet had been a different color. Jaune stopped in front of the elevator up to Ozpin’s office, “maybe I should take the stairs.” He sighed as the opened the doors, and stepped inside, “Up, not down. Not down.” Jaune clenched his eyes shut when the walls suddenly felt like they were closing in, and counted until he reached the top floor.

“Ah Mr. Arc, you are looking much better now,” Ozpin sat at his desk, a bundle of papers in front of him. Glynda standing to the side, turned to see Jaune, her eyes catching onto the mechanical arm.

Jaune face slightly pallid approached Ozpin’s desk, taking a few labored breathes, before smiling. “It’s surprising what a shower and shave can do to a bum,” Jaune quipped resting his good hand on the back of a chair.

“Please sit,” Ozpin motions to the chair infront of him, moving the papers in front of him to the side, “I’d like to hear more about the world you come from, is that alright?”

“I can only tell you what I know,” Jaune points out as he settles into the seat, declining the offering of a beverage, “where should I start?”

“Of course, of course,” Ozpin sips from his mug, “as for where to start, how about from the beginning.”

And thus Jaune recounted his life’s story all the way up to the Vytal Festival, Glynda growing somewhat agitated as the story droned on.

“Mr. Arc, while I appreciate learning about my students, that was not quite what I meant,” Ozpin adjusted his glasses, and filled his mug again.

“You did say from the beginning, you need to be more specific,” Jaune smirked, feeling a little self-satisfied. Although he flinched when Glynda raised her crop in warning, “okay okay, sorry. Now onto the Vytal Festival.”

Jaune explained what knew, and what he’d seen, it was all very normal. Students everywhere, food stalls, fights, camaraderie, and youthful exuberance. He spoke about how nearing the finals of the tournament Pyrrha became unsure on herself, and came to him with some questions he hadn’t understood at the time, how she’d seemed so distraught. Honestly it made Jaune a bit happy to see Ozpin and Glynda subtly shift when he told them how worried he’d been about Pyrrha. Then came the first match of the finals, Yang against Mercury Black, when Yang had been tricked into being disqualified.

“So then the matches after that were pretty standard, no maiming or over the top violence,” Jaune gesturing as he spoke, “but then Pyrrha went up against Penny Polendina, a huntress-in-training from Atlas. Who we found out was actually an android.”

That got their attention, Ozpin’s eyes grew wide and he hastily set his mug down, while Glynda uncrossed her arms and stepped forward, “An android? As in a robot?”

“From what Ruby told me about her, Penny was the first artificial human ever capable of generating an aura.” Jaune spoke recalling Ruby opening up about another friend she had lost in the Fall of Beacon, “ask Ironwood about it, he helped make her.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to do that,” Ozpin sat back into his chair, fingers entwined in front of his face, “continue please.”

“Well Pyrrha killed Penny,” Jaune stated simply, “due to her unstable emotional state she lost control of her semblance, which made Penny’s own weapons turn against her.” Jaune clasped his hand together and rested them on his knees, “and that- that was the start of one of the worst nights of my life.”

“Do you believe you were sent back to divert these events, Mr. Arc?”

Jaune spoke quietly shaking his head, “I doubt it, I was in the middle of nowhere before I woke up here, not exactly near any singularities or mad scientists secret labs. Besides if the whole multiverse thing has any standing, it wouldn’t matter what I did here, it wouldn’t change my future. I don’t know how far back, but at least the events of the Vytal Festival had been orchestrated by someone, the person who is hunting the maidens.”

The sound of a mug being dropped could never be so sweet, as the contents of Ozpin’s mug spilled across his desk. “I’m afraid I do not follow Mr. Arc.”

“Don't’ bullshit me Ozpin,” Jaune sat forward, slamming a hand on the desk, “I know about the woman in the vault. I know that the woman in the machine was a fairy tale maiden with magical powers. I know you’re planning on choosing Pyrrha to take her place.” The three sat in silence, Jaune hoping to whatever gods there may be that this was a timeline where all that was going to happen, and he hadn’t just made an ass of himself.

“Yes, you are correct,” the headmaster sighed, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe up the mess, “where is this going Mr. Arc?”

“You die.” Jaune looks Ozpin in the eye, “well kind of, given later events.”

“I die?” Ozpin inquired casually as if he hadn’t just been told of his own demise.

“Sort of. A woman named Cinder follows us down to the vault and kills the fall maiden. Partially my fault, I was supposed to keep guard.” Jaune exhales and rubs his neck, “but to allow Pyrrha and I to escape you stay to fight her, and lose. You ended up in the head of a young boy named Oscar, but we didn’t find that out until later.”

“Ah, I see.” Jaune had never expected to see Ozpin, as well as Glynda, at a loss for words.

“After you lost to Cinder, Pyrrha took it upon herself to stop her,” Jaune’s gaze fell to the floor, “you can guess how that went.”

“I . . . am sorry, Mr. Arc,” Ozpin offered remorsefully, Jaune nodded back.

“But due to that, Ruby activated her Silver-eyed warrior powers,” Jaune continued, lacing his fingers behind his head, “I guess there was some kind of magical power bargain sale I missed.” “But that sent Cinder running, and froze the giant Grimm Dragon that had taken a perch on Beacon Tower. Oh yeah, a giant Grimm dragon came out of a mountain, and started dropping grimm juice all over the city.”

“Gods,” Glynda breathed out, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I got launched into Vale, so I’m kind spotty on what exactly happened for the stuff I missed,” Jaune cupped his chin, “Yang lost her right arm, and went back to Patch with a comatose Ruby; Blake got stabbed and disappeared; Weiss was taken back to Atlas; Sun and his team went back to Mistral; Ren, and Nora came back with me, Beacon was destroyed with a monster frozen on the tower, and Vale was devastated but still mostly standing.”

“What of the other kingdoms?”

“Well the CCT was taken out in the attack, so we didn’t have any contact with them afterwards.” Jaune leaned back in his seat, expositing events after the Fall, “I didn’t find anything out until Ruby, Ren, Nora and I made it to Mistral almost a year later. But Atlas closed its borders, no trade or dust shipments to other kingdoms. Mistral & Vacuo were largely unaffected, or that’s what it seemed.”

“A dust embargo? Closed borders?” Glynda adjusts her glasses a sharp look to her eyes, “for what reason would Atlas cut them selves off like that?”

“Well the CCT didn’t go down until after video of Atlas androids and mechs attacking the people of Vale was transmitted to every kingdom.” Jaune tilted his head, and closed his eyes as he went on, “they were wary of the other kingdoms suspecting them of being involved in the attack.”

“So obviously the thing to do is stop all outside contact and not answer any questions,” Glynda crossed her arms, her mouth in a displeased frown.

“And you said that Mistral and Vacuou ‘seemed’ unaffected?” Ozpin inserted himself back into the conversation.

“Well Vacuou was a mystery until much later, but as it turns out Professor Lionheart was in bed with the enemy.”

Ozpin stilled, “such accusations are grave Mr. Arc, the headmaster of Haven Academy is a trusted personal friend.”

“Not an accusation, just saying what happened in my timeline,” Jaune shrugged, then turned his to return Ozpin’s stare, “he thought by aiding Salem, that he would be spared.” His expression turning neutral, and cold, “in the end he died, a fool and a traitor.”

 Ozpin and Glynda exchanged looks, mulled the thought over for a moment. The older man pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, “I suppose the possibility should not be completely put off the table.”

“After Beacon & Vale, then it was Mistral’s turn. The kingdom was brought down from the inside, and from there it was just race to keep the kingdoms standing.” Jaune gaze lowered to the Beacon emblem on the side of Ozpin’s mug, “we just kept going from place to place trying to stop Salem and her ‘Council of Evil,’ but in the end we were just playing catch up. The seeds for their plans had been sown years in advance, for kids like us, who didn’t even finish their first year of training. We didn’t have a chance to begin with.”

“You never struck me as a defeatist, Mr. Arc,” Ozpin cleaned his glassed before placing them back in place.

“I’ve always tried very hard to hide it,” Jaune grinned, but his eyes weren’t playing along, “all the kingdoms fell, at least from a governmental standpoint. Whatever citizens and huntsmen remained were scattered to the wind. Our group joined up with anyone else we could find and tried to reclaim some of the ruined cities. But in the end none of us could rebuild a kingdom.”

“Is that it?” Glynda seemed agitated, hands on her hips, “you lose, and give up?”

“If only it were that easy,” Jaune replied to Glynda with resignation, “No any still living civilians, and huntsmen are either trying to live out in the wilderness, or made their way to Amity Base.”

“Amity Base? As in Amity Coloseum, it still existed even after all that?”

“It was actually one of the few things still functional, the left over huntsmen organized to set up there, and turned into a mobile base, and refuge for anyone seeking shelter.” Jaune smiled at the memory, “converted the thing to solar, stocked up on supplies, and it’s been the closest anyone has gotten to rebuilding a society, outside of temporary shanty towns.”

“What had you been doing at that point Mr. Arc?” Ozpin noticed Jaune hadn’t mentioned himself in all this.

“Oh, I was around for all that, I was part of the group that reclaimed Amity, and did a lot of searching for survivors to send back there,” Jaune’s expression fell as he went on, “up until around ten years ago, we directly went up against Salem’s lackies again. The first time in a while, it was bad, but we were stronger than we were as kids.” His hand went up to his left shoulder, “we got some of them, and they got some of us. Nobody lost, but sure as hell nobody won. That was when I lost my arm, and what remained of my team.” Jaune’s face fell, “and . . .”

“And?” Ozpin looked at Glynda out the corner of his eye, who nodded, “is everything alright, Mr. Arc?”

“Fine. Just bad memories,” Jaune didn’t seem particularly emotional, mostly just tired. “Long story, short. I was around doing things, until I wasn’t. I haven’t been back to Amity in a while.”

“You left?”

“After that battle I felt it better to go,” Jaune continued, “I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one.”

“What did you do after that?”

“I had a prototype prosthetic arm bolted onto me, got a new weapon, and went anywhere other than Amity, just searching. I figured I’d either find what I was looking for, or get killed by something,” Jaune shrugged, a good-natured smile on his face for such a morbid thought.

“And what was it you were looking for?”

“Survivors to send back to Amity, any leftover huntsmen that could help, the Maidens, supply caches, my family; if any of them are still alive.” Jaune crossed his arms, and slouched in his seat, “just about anything I can find really, I’ve spent the last ten years doing that and haven’t set one step back on Amity since.”

“Did you find the Maidens, or your family?”

Jaune jaw set in a line, “Nope.”

“And you have been gone for ten years, you said?”

“Around ten or so,” Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, “If I find any resources, or supply storages, I send the location back to Amity. If I come across survivors I try to escort them to safety, so I’m kept busy at least.”

“You do not return, but act in its interest, why?.”

“What else would I do?” Jaune laughs softly, “It’s just about the only thing left to fight for. And even if I don’t go back, there are still things I care about there.”

“There are?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.”

A silence settled, as everyone in attendance understood that this conversation had come to an end. Ozpin stood smoothly, and offered his hand to the younger man across from him.

“Well that was an enlightening experience Mr. Arc. Regardless of whether or not events in this world will go the same way, what you said has given us quite a bit to think about.”

“Yeah well, it felt kind of nice to talk to someone for a change.”

“And if you are ever in need of someone to listen, we are here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, haven’t had these kinds of luxuries in a long time, I’ll be sure to take full advantage,” Jaune chuckled as he stood up, leaning forward to shake Ozpin’s hand.

“If you need anything please tell me,” Glynda offered as she placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Well actually, there is one thing . . . “ Jaune intentionally drifted off, before fixing Ozpin with a look, “take me to the Fall maiden.”

The interior of the elevator felt smaller with more people in it, Jaune tried to focus on the sound of his own breathing.

“You believe that your semblance can heal her?” Glynda was rightfully skeptical, glancing at Jaune out of the corner of her eye, arms crossed in front of her.

“Heal? No. My semblance enhances the natural capabilities of aura, from what I know, the Fall maiden had part of her soul ripped out of her body along with the maiden powers. Jaune still had has his eyes closed, “with part of her gone, and the constant pull of the other half of the maiden powers, her aura probably can’t recover enough to stabilize her.”

“So you believe if you can amplify her aura enough, she will start to recover on her own?” Ozpin sounded as dry and mundane as always, but there was a tint of curiosity to his voice.

“I don’t see any harm in trying.”

Ozpin hummed, his lips pulled into a small pleased smile.

“Are you alright, Mr. Arc?” turning to face him Glynda her head tilted concern coloring her features.

“Fine.” Jaune said a bit too snappish, taking a deep breath. “Fine, sorry. I’m just bad with small spaces.”

The elevator lurching to a stop as the final ding sounded, and the doors open to a massive, dark hallway at the end of which stood a peculiar machine. The walk towards the end of the room was silent, the sound of footfalls and clicks of cane and heels echoed off the walls eerily.

Jaune breathing steadily once outside the confines of the elevator, couldn’t help to think how Pyrrha felt walking these same areas for the first time. The memory of how Ozpin had led her down her, how he imagined she must have felt in those moments. It made his stomach turn.

Ozpin and Glynda came to a halt before him, looking at Jaune expectantly.

Stepping forward, gazing through the frosted glass of the pod on the left, his gaze fell onto the figure of the women inside. How long had she been in there? How aware is she? Has she just been in eternal torment since she’d been attacked? Jaune’s chest clenched at the thought, he’d get an idea soon enough. “Can you open it?”

Fingers dancing across the console Ozpin had the pod open in short order, a chilled air spreading out from the source.

Coming as close to the pod as he can, Jaune reaches in to take the stranger’s hand, the cold stiff skin making it almost seem as if she was already dead. But he could feel it faintly, her aura, her soul. Reaching out to it with his own, he felt the connection take hold, almost desperately the other aura latched onto his, suckling at his in an effort to live. Rather than resist, he pushed his aura forward allowing the woman to take all he had to offer. He felt her fear, and anxiety. The pain, the burning hunger. All of it subsiding as he fed her his aura, the shine of his semblance enveloping both of them, and filling the dark, underground vault with warm light.

“Astounding.” Speaking for the first time since they had arrive, Glynda standing in awe of what she saw, pressing her clenched hands against her chest.

The headmaster in contrast staring silently at the display fluctuating on the console, but rising nonetheless, daring to hope. Pressing his lips into a thin line, eyes darting over to and fro, hands clenched white on the edge of the console.

A groan, a small groan rising out of the throat of the once comatose woman, her body shifting slightly for the first time. Her eyes opening just a crack, looking into the blue eyes of the man holding her hand.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Jaune softly whispering to her, smiling in what he hoped was a nonthreatening way.

The woman attempting to speak, but her throat too dry, having gone too long without use, croaking out sounds instead. Her eyes beginning to tear up, squeezes his hand with what little strength she has.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” Jaune taking her hand in both of his, beginning to hum a soothing tune, as the woman’s eyes drift shut again. He continued until his aura gave out, slouching slightly with exertion, the woman’s chest rising and falling steadily in a slumber.

“All vitals are green and staying there; she’s stabilized.”

“I don’t believe it.” Glynda moving to Ozpin’s side to examine the console along side him. “She’s really- she’s going to be okay.”

“She’ll need time to re-acclimatize to having her aura at full, I imagine having gone so long without, it might be a shock to her system.” Jaune standing a bit shakily, but stepping away from the pod without issue, looking at the sleeping woman with a small smile. “I’m no doctor, but I’d recommend she take it easy for a while. You probably shouldn’t take her out of the machine, until we can be sure her aura is capable of regenerating on it’s own.”

“Of course. I-” Glynda turning on her heel, to face Jaune with a look of elation, before straightening herself out, “Yes, we’ll be keeping her closely monitored, and while notify you if your services are needed again.”

Ozpin back still to both of them, hunching over the console like some kind of buried treasure.

Jaune wasn’t sure he’d heard a thing he had just said. “Well, I’ll be around.” Turning towards to elevator, with a wave.

Glynda’s voice halting his progress calling out softly, but carrying impossibly well across the massive room, “Jaune, thank you.”

Jaune smiled at her, before he moving to the elevator, and he raising his hand to lightly slap his face thinking, ‘still not a dream,’ to himself. Inside looking down at his good hand opening and closing it. The dings of the elevator resonating deep in his ears, pressing his eyes shut, and clenching his fist. Inhaling deep, deliberately keeping his breathing steady as the elevator continued upwards.

#RWBY #JNPR #Roosterteeth #Jaune Arc #Nora Valkyrie #Pyrrha Nikos #Lie Ren #Professor Ozpin #Glynda Goodwitch

[neurodiversenerd]

Madoka Magica’s Beautiful Queerness

I must confess: Puella Magi Madoka Magica is my all-time favorite anime and manga.

I first got into anime when I was 8, sitting down in front of the TV gleefully watching Sailor Moon swinging her sparkly wands around and declaring justice against monster after monster. I’d heard of it from somewhere on the internet, and upon asking my dad, he described it as a story about “a girl who turns into a superhero.” I’d later learn there were countless shows like Naoko Tekuchi’s classic, all falling under the aptly named “Magical Girl” genre.

To be frank, I’m not licensed to talk about Magical Girls as, by being white, I lack that cultural context to fully analyze the common tropes of these kinds of media. As such, I will NOT be talking about Magical Girls as a genre or about how Madoka Magica and Sailor Moon changed it. However, Sailor Moon was what kicked off my interest and from there on out, I sought out other similar anime and stumbled upon something… different.

That was when I came upon Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Unlike many unfortunate (and mentally scarred) fans of the surprisingly dark deconstruction, I was lucky enough to read the Wikipedia article on it and have some foreknowledge on its mature themes. I didn’t actually end up reading or watching the series then and there, and almost forgot about it until the first 3 volumes of the manga appeared in my school’s library.

I’ll admit; I mostly checked it out because of the sparkly rainbow covers, but briefly I remembered that all was not what it seemed. As much as I love girly fluff, I’m also really into psychological horror, and Madoka Magica delivered both.

PMMM follows Madoka Kaname and her friends as they make contracts with an alien cat called Kyubey, allowing them to obtain magical powers and a wish for their souls. Each of the girls realizes, though, that this contract is far more dangerous and sinister than they thought, and that Kyubey may not be fully honest about his actual motivations. It starts out adorable, but then in episode 3, a dark twist quickly turns this innocent show into an emotional and horrifying thrill ride.

The manga’s beautiful art and readability got me obsessed, and I ended up picking up the spinoff manga series and watching the 12-episode anime. Each of course, was equally magical and fantastic, only making me love this fictional universe more. The characters were incredibly human and had a depth that made me care for them, and the series managed to perfectly balance and contrast both its horrific and heartwarming moments. That’s not even mentioning the plot, which was unpredictable and enjoyably surprising, with a perfect ending.

By and large, though, my favorite thing about Madoka Magica was how beautifully queer the story was. The show has been criticized for queerbaiting and pulling out some problematic tropes, as the relationships admittedly are not as obvious as they could be, but upon watching it’s blatant that the main girls are anything but straight. Despite the flaws of this representation, the story manages overall to create an enjoyable narrative about the lives of these girls and the relationships between them.

When the series starts, we first get to know shy, pink-haired Madoka and her spunky, blue-haired best friend Sayaka. In the first episode, a romantic relationship is already teased between the girls, Sayaka hugging Madoka and explicitly calling Madoka her wife.

Sayaka and Madoka are unfortunately something of a rare-pair in the fandom, but their relationship is so genuinely wholesome and loving during the series that it’s a surprise that not many people ship them. They can be seen holding hands and supporting each other through whatever comes, and up until episode 8 they are together through everything.

Sayaka is unashamed to tell Madoka everything she’s feeling, and both are motivated mostly by protecting each other. Unfortunately, they have a falling out because of Sayaka’s increasing distress about her contract, but this is eventually resolved when they are brought back together at the end of the series.

These two aren’t the only couple hinted at, either.

When a new girl, Homura, transfers to Madoka and Sayaka’s class, Sayaka develops somewhat of a crush and remarks about how beautiful Homura is. This is quickly overwritten when Sayaka and Homura become more antagonistic, though.

After Homura joins the cast, Madoka and Sayaka are saved from a “witch” (the monster contracted girls must fight) by a girl named Mami. Both Madoka and Sayaka become fast friends with Mami, both talking a little too much about how “cool” they think she is.

While fighting another witch and alone with Madoka, Mami reveals that she struggles with loneliness and what could even be read as symptoms of mental illness. Madoka responds by holding hands with her, comforting Mami and reminding her that she isn’t alone. Mami then calls the two of them “a magical girl duo,” and monologues about the newfound emotions she feels about her companionship with Madoka. Note that this is only on episode 3 out of a 12-episode anime!

This beautiful moment of non-heterosexuality, though, is again unfortunately brief. Mami becomes careless and is killed by the witch she intended to defeat, leaving Madoka and Sayaka scarred. This is of course, somewhat problematic, given that Mami’s death could be read as an incident of bury your gays. The series does seem to invoke this with the characters’ deaths, and I will concede that I can’t exactly justify this especially since it really seems to take a while to even confirm that character’s queerness. Even so, the deaths are relevant to the plot and drive the story, so avoiding the characters’ demise would actually hinder the story and the message it attempts to deliver.

After Mami dies, the start of Sayaka’s primary arc begins. It’s hinted that Sayaka may have had some deeper feelings for Mami than she shows. She regrets that she didn’t make a contract in time to save her, and fights (and dies) to model how Mami used to. Most of how Sayaka acts from this point forward is in memory of Mami, which is both beautiful and tragic for her character. It’s a testament to the queer undertones of the show that Sayaka is willing to fight in honor of the girl she loved.

Another character named Kyouko is introduced as an antagonist, another one of the “magical girls.” She fights with Sayaka over witch hunting territory, and their philosophical disagreements on how to kill the monsters make them at odds with each other. Despite this, there’s an aspect of Foe Yay to how they interact with each other.

It’s revealed that Kyubey takes a girl’s soul when she makes a contract with him, causing Sayaka to fall off the deep end, while Kyouko begins to see herself in Sayaka and tries to rescue her before it’s too late. Kyouko’s character goes from a villainous one to that of someone who pushes other people away because of their fear of abandonment, supported by what she experienced prior to the series.

She wished for her father’s church to become popular again after he was excommunicated, but once he discovered that his daughter is what he labels a witch, Kyouko is outcast and her family dies by her father’s hand. Her story is reminiscent of the rejection that some queer youth face when they come out to bigoted religious family and can be read as metaphorical for that predicament.

Unfortunately, the series pulls a “bury your gays” moment yet again. It turns out that magical girls are only contracted so they too can turn into witches and so Kyubey can gather energy for his civilization based off this transformation. Sayaka, unable to cope with all the pain that comes with being a magical girl, turns into a witch when she becomes too filled with despair. Kyouko attempts to restore her original form but fails, destroying herself and Sayaka’s witch so that they can be together in death.

It's a sad ending for Kyouko and Sayaka, but it does strangely add more subtext to their relationship considering that they get to a point where they would literally die for each other. The song “And I’m Home” by Wowaka also plays after their deaths, which is a love song between the two of them expressing how despite their sadness, they’ve found safety in each other. During the song, a still image of them holding hands underwater, as if they’re drowning together, is pictured.

Madoka and Homura then become the couple most alluded to during the final 4 episodes of the series. Homura tells Madoka that an apocalypse-wreaking witch is coming to their town, and that she’s been going back in time using her magic to save Madoka from that witch, or to stop Madoka from becoming a witch herself.

Episode 10 is arguably the best episode of the series, where we see the various timelines Homura has lived through and how she bonds with Madoka every time. Madoka and Homura’s relationship during these periods are sadly brushed off as “friendship,” but Homura’s dedication to saving Madoka and Madoka’s willingness to die for Homura in several timelines alludes to something much deeper.

The best scene from this episode is by far when both Madoka and Homura are about to become witches and the two make a promise to destroy the world together as monsters. These two are perfectly willing to fall right beside each other, but when Madoka is able to save Homura from her fate at the last minute, Homura is forced to kill Madoka before she becomes a witch and reset again. The scene is heartbreaking and is really when Homura begins to drastically change compared to the other timelines.

Episode 11 features what’s basically Homura’s confession of love to Madoka, wherein she promises to keep Madoka safe at all costs and embraces her. When the giant witch finally attacks in episode 12, Madoka runs out into the ruins of the city to save Homura, and finally decides what to wish for to become a magical girl.

These final moments of episode 12 are particularly beautiful and filled with things that cannot be brushed away with simple friendship. Madoka wishes to erase witches, and through loopholes in the rules of the magical girl contract, is able to ascend to godhood and save every last magical girl from witch-hood. She basically rewrites the universe in her ideals but has to say goodbye to Homura as she leaves earth.

Madoka calls Homura her “very best friend” and gives Homura her hair ribbons to remember her by. Oh, and did I mention that during this time they’re hugging and naked in space? Yeah. Just gals being pals.

This ending is emotional, cathartic and gives a depressing series a strangely happy ending. Other than the naked space hugging (*suggestive eye raising*), it also summarizes the queer themes built up through the series.

The character Kyubey, an alien who uses these girls to his own advantage, manipulates them and profits off of their despair and personal trust. Many people have written about how he could be metaphorically read as an entitled man who views women as objects and resources to be used. Considering that queer women in today’s society are particularly marginalized due to how cishet men often feel entitled to fetishize and marginalize their gender and sexuality, the subtext in Madoka Magical also plays into this.

When Madoka finally manipulates and one-up’s Kyubey for a change, Kyubey is shocked because of what he doesn’t anticipate. From him predicting Kyouko’s death to his original contract with Homura, Kyubey has used the girls’ love for each other as a weapon against them as many straight men do towards queer and trans women. He doesn’t expect Madoka’s love for Homura and for her friends to win over him, and it creates a fantastic ending because of how Madoka’s love is literally able to rewrite the universe. Yeah, gay love saves the world.

One of the key ideas of the show is the relationship of hope and despair, but the emotion of love can easily be included in either, so even though Kyubey can tip the balance of hope and despair he is incapable of doing anything to the love the girls feel for each other. Though he can weaponize it, as shown by Madoka’s wish he is never fully able to erase it. What gives Madoka the hope to continue standing against Kyubey is nothing but the love she’s felt between herself and her (more than) friends.

The whole of Madoka Magica can even be read as Madoka’s coming out story. In the beginning, she’s shy and unsure of herself. Sayaka is blissfully ignorant to the pain of the world (metaphors for discrimination), and Mami is lonely because she’s set apart as a “magical girl.” Kyouko was also rejected due to religion.

The girls are eventually all taken by the whims of Kyubey and his need to use them, but even so they find solace in their relationships with each other. Madoka witnesses these events and gains a full understanding of what it means to be a magical girl, and instead of giving up, chooses to hope for a better world and actively change it.

But the story is also arguably about Madoka falling in love with Homura and gaining strength from the experience. In the end, she literally becomes a goddess when she embraces herself and defies Kyubey’s (and society’s) expectations.

Madoka Magica isn’t perfect. Bury your gays, and almost canon subtext are features that fall under queerbaiting and are somewhat problematic. Beneath it all, though, Madoka Magica is a great story about a group of queer girls of color opposing a system built against them. It’s got flaws, and more steps need to be taken so that the series improves in this manner, but Madoka Magica is a good start and I hope that the 4th Madoka movie will continue to improve its LGBT themes and perhaps even explicitly confirm the relationships.

Until then, I’d highly recommend Madoka Magica for its storytelling, animation, and it’s beautiful (if not perfect) queerness.

#madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm #sayaka miki #kyouko sakura #kyoko sakura #mami tomoe #homura akemi #godoka #madokami #madoka kaname #manga #anime #fangirl #fandom #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbt+ #lgbtq+ #queer #tw: queer #tw: homophobi #tw: homophobia #tw: q slur #feminism #intersectional feminism #analysis #spoilers #spoiler warning

[cyb-by-lang]

Shell Game (11/?)

Kei and Hayate spend a day strolling around Mustafu and meet a friend.

“What’re we gonna do today?” Hayate asked on Sunday morning. After omurice and tea, the day was theirs. And perhaps feeling generous after the sleepover, he even did the dishes.

“I thought about visiting the beach,” Kei said, holding up her shinobi sandals. “What do you think?”

“Sure!”

Dagobah Beach Municipal Park had apparently been completely trashed before Kei moved into town. Whether due to ocean currents or people being jerks, the accumulated wreckage and waste electrical appliances of an entire civilization ended up on one poor stretch of beach. But over the course of ten months, somebody or something had stealthily removed all the trash and cleared the beach from one end to the other.

It was also within walking distance, since Hayate had gotten fairly burned out on trains the day before.

…Wait a fucking second.

Hm?

Dagobah. Uh, that’s…a planet. In Star Wars.

I do not understand the reference.

It goes…um… “Go to the Dagobah system.” Something, something, Yoda. It could be a star system, I guess?

Isobu sighed deeply, which was impressive for someone without lungs. Kei.

Yeah?

Please go to the beach. I need to see a real one again.

Kei and Hayate made it to the park pretty damned fast after Kei explained that.

In mid-spring, the ocean was still cold as all get out. Isobu wanted to head in and have Kei lie down in the surf, but she sharply vetoed that plan upon putting a toe in to test the temperature.

Meanwhile, Hayate darted down the beach with no difficulty, kicking up plumes of sand as he went. Though it probably wasn’t obvious to onlookers, Kei could feel the little pulses of chakra being emitted as her brother prevented himself from sinking too far. He wanted to goof off, not work out.

“Hey, if you want shaved ice, only one of us has money!” Kei called after him, but that was really an afterthought. Kei was still barefoot and walking in the surf, instead of living up to Isobu’s wish of swimming in the ocean at nine in the morning.

Besides, Hayate was already happily running loose at the water’s edge, arcs of spray following him as he went. The sand, apparently, wasn’t his first love after that whole Chūnin Exam incident in Suna.

It took a little longer before, belatedly, Kei realized Hayate had never seen the ocean before. With Konoha as deeply inland as it was, only shinobi tended to get out often enough or range widely enough to see all kinds of cool climates and piss off the indigenous wildlife. Hayate was still a typical curious kid in some significant ways. Kei had been to plenty of strange places, both on missions and when she counted her previous lifetime, though this gravel-free sand was still novel.

How spoiled she’d become. Not just by her opportunities here, but by what knowledge she carried in her soul.

Isobu gave a deep sigh of contentment, though Kei hadn’t rushed into the sea. He seemed to be okay with the results of today’s morning adventure.

“You can see forever like this!” Hayate declared to the sea and the encroaching gulls.

Kei called back, “Try skipping rocks! My record’s five skips!”

Hayate flashed her a breathless smile, then promptly ignored her idea to try and snatch the miniature fish lurking in the surf. To be fair, this world had more interesting things going for it than Kei.

Hayate did eventually get bored, but it took a few minutes. He also managed to feed the seagulls his tiny haul of fish fry, which made him a troop leader in their eyes for the next few minutes. Perhaps it was youth, hidden viciousness, or just pure silliness that kept him interacting with the seagulls long past the “Mine!” stage.

But once they discovered he did not, in fact, have any more food, they all abandoned him in favor of a man eating takoyaki.

“I feel like I’ve accomplished something,” Hayate said, while the poor guy was being chased to the other end of the beach.

Kei didn’t have it in her to criticize much. Instead, she said, “So, after all that training with your team, how’s your taijutsu?”

Most bladed implements bigger than kitchen knives were highly regulated in Japan, so Kei hadn’t actually been able to spar with her full complement of melee skills. On the other hand, Hayate hadn’t specifically stated that he was training with, say, Gai on weekdays. Iruka and Yūgao were perfectly nice kids, but neither was a melee powerhouse just yet. Hell, Kei had been teaching Yūgao how to use her katana before this mission cropped up, so it was hard to tell if Hayate was getting rusty.

Rust. For a kenjutsu specialist. Isobu snorted. Hah.

A pun for all occasions.

Hayate blanched. “Um…”

A not-so-nice smile stretched across Kei’s face before she managed to hide it. “Lucky for you, I think public fighting is illegal. But you’re gonna catch hell later.”

Hayate seemed to consider this, but Kei felt the spark in his chakra in the split second before he threw a punch.

Kei instantly caught his wrist and judo-flipped him into the surf for being a brat.

Now, Mustafu—how the hell had she missed that little chestnut for two months—was in the same city as UA. It was also the same city as Kei’s apartment, primarily by design, but the point was that running into classmates was not the statistical impossibility it might’ve been if she lived, say, in Hosu. Sure, the greater Tokyo area was a big place, and she didn’t really know if anybody preferred hanging around their super-special high school.

“Is that how you’re training for the Sports Festival?”

Then again, Shinsō had already randomly come across her once. For a kid who didn’t look like he slept much, he was up early on a weekend.

“Hey, Shinsō-san.” Kei waved up at him, because it appeared her purple-haired classmate was actually a cyclist on his days off. Nobody with sense would take even a folding bike into the sand, though she could see Gai making a training exercise out of it. Thus, Shinsō had propped his bike up on a railing and was leaning next to it.

Put him a bit out of splashing range, though. That wouldn’t be a problem for long, because Hayate had caught onto Kei’s lack of attention.

In fact, both of the Gekkō siblings promptly trooped up to Shinsō, though Kei used the access stairs and Hayate hurled himself up and over the railing in a single leap like some kind of saltwater-encrusted kangaroo. Either because of watching Kei during PE or just being too used to a world full of Quirks, Shinsō didn’t react.

“Since when are there two of you, Gekkō-san?” Shinsō pointed past Kei to Hayate, who was sizing up the newcomer.

“Since I was three. This is my kid brother, Hayate.” Kei stepped neatly to the side, allowing Hayate to sidle forward.

Hayate, who was about tall enough to reach Shinsō’s collarbone, sized him up like he expected to have to get into a fistfight. While Shinsō probably outweighed Hayate by a fair amount, Kei’s adorable baby brother was also the next in line to mastery of their mother’s kenjutsu style and had been participating in their family training since he could walk. Now a genin, he could probably take on most of the local toughs before Quirks got involved.

Then everyone blinked and the trance was broken.

Hayate dropped a fist into his open palm, as though something had just occurred to him. “Oh, wait, is this the guy with the mind control power? You didn’t say what he looked like.”

“I didn’t?” Kei tried to think back, but they’d discussed so many things over the previous (extremely tiring) day that she couldn’t remember. “Well, this is Shinsō-san. He’s in my class and… You’re at the top of the class, right?”

“You can’t remember the name of our class rep and you can remember that?” Shinsō shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”

“If he’s at the top of the class,” Hayate said after a second, looking between the other two, “where are you?”

“Well…” Kei began, belatedly realizing that this was probably a poor conversational topic.

“Dead last,” Shinsō said, throwing her under the bus as though on reflex. It was a well-developed instinct for people who hung around Kei for any length of time.

“Shut up,” Kei grumbled.

Hayate very pointedly reached up and pinched his own ear. “Okay, not dreaming.” He took a deep breath, then jabbed a finger into Kei’s chest. “But seriously, what the hell? You were at the top of your class back when you were like eight, and Obito keeps saying you slept through everything and you transferred in late. Again, what the hell?”

Called on the carpet by her very own little brother. And with a witness! Kei jerked her head away, feeling her ears heat up under her hair. “It’s different, okay?”

“I really don’t think it is!”

“She makes up for it,” Shinsō volunteered, after Hayate had started to build up steam.

He demanded crossly, “How?”

“Scaring our classmates to death.” Kei’s glare was redirected to Shinsō instead of her brother. Smirking, Shinsō went on, “It started with the scar, then they saw her Quirk, and then she’s been ignoring them all ever since.”

Hayate smacked his hand directly to his forehead. “You are my favorite sister—”

“Only sister,” Kei muttered.

“—but you’re supposed to be nice to people at least a bit, and I know you’re smart enough to do well in school anywhere. Just put your back into it!” Hayate finished. Then, perhaps realizing that he was still half-soaked, he started scrubbing his hands through his rapidly-tangling brown hair as though it would remove any of the salt or sand.

Kei and Shinsō both leaned back a little from the sudden spray.

“Anyway,” Hayate said before Kei or Shinsō could think of anything to say. “Mind control. How does it work?”

“…Why?” Shinsō asked, notably more hesitant now.

Kei hid her initial reaction, which was the urge to quell Hayate immediately. Though she often pretended not to know what people were feeling or disregarded it, and being unable to read any chakra from the locals made that problem slightly more genuine, she did have compassion. Shinsō didn’t need an interrogation from Hayate.

But her brother was already on a roll.

“Inoichi-sensei can do something like that,” Hayate said. “He just went like this—” here, Hayate made the hand seal for the Mind-Body Disturbance technique, “—and this guy punched himself in the face. It was really cool!”

Shinsō looked at Kei over Hayate’s shoulder as though to confirm that Hayate wasn’t bullshitting him, and Kei said with a shrug, “His sensei’s whole family can do something similar.”

“And that’s…cool.” Shinsō raised an eyebrow. “Not creepy, or villainous, or dangerous.”

“Of course it’s dangerous.” Hayate shook his head. Counting off with his fingers, he went on, “So is setting fires, being a walking thunderstorm, or almost drowning people. Any type of power is dangerous if you’re an asshole about it. And Inoichi-sensei even gave us this huge talk about that like…last month? There was a lot about ethics.”

Ironic, since shinobi education tended to go light on those. Then again, Hayate’s batch of genin were growing up in a more peaceful era. Maybe that meant something.

“If you’re trying to get Hayate to admit he thinks you might randomly go evil,” Kei said in a mild tone, “even jokingly, it’s not gonna work. Mind control Quirks are really common where we come from. You can do a lot of good with good intentions and strong morals.”

Madara notwithstanding, the Uchiha were a respected noble clan. And, while not as rich or as popularly known, the Yamanaka clan sat proudly among the Konoha elite when they felt like putting on airs.

“Besides, I don’t know you,” Hayate said, “but you don’t feel like a bad person.”

Kei dropped a hand onto her brother’s shoulder and asked in a complete conversational left turn, ”Are you hungry?”

“Uh, sort of?” Hayate kept his eyes on Shinsō, however. “Do you think they have taiyaki?”

“Maybe.” Kei had not exactly made a habit of scouting beaches for snack stands.

“I’ll look!” Hayate said, and ran off.

Kei and Shinsō watched him go. Sooner or later, Hayate would remember that he didn’t have any local money.

“So,” Kei said after a few seconds. “Sorry if that was a lot to dump on you all at once.”

“It’s…It’s different, I guess.” Shinsō grabbed the handlebars of his bike and looked around for a second. “I’m going to park this, but I could…stick around. See what you’re doing for training.”

“All we’re doing right now is getting a mid-morning snack,” Kei said, and the pair of them followed vaguely in Hayate’s wake.

It turned out that, much like parking spaces for cars that had timers and pay meters, Japan also had such spaces for bikes. Kei poked at the strange devices while Shinsō locked his bike in one of the empty slots, paying the fee with a few coins.

“Are you looking forward to the Sports Festival, Shinsō-san?” Kei asked, while she idly pinged for Hayate’s chakra signature. Though she’d seen his reaction to the announcement, and perhaps the aftermath of everyone declaring war on 1-A for whatever reason, she still wanted to hear his answer.

As her brother’s lightning signature lit up further down the street, Kei heard Shinsō respond, “Isn’t it obvious?” When she glanced at him, he went on, “If I win, it’s a chance for me to get into the Hero course. I can’t afford not to win.”

Kei blinked slowly. That was a bit more intense than she’d been expecting.

“What?” Shinsō seemed almost offended that she didn’t have an immediate response.

“Good luck?” Kei tried. “Some of the kids you’re gonna be up against are pretty tough, aren’t they?” Kei was fairly certain Blondie McSplode would be totally okay with blowing up anybody near him, Shinsō included. Hell, his own classmates most definitely included.

“It doesn’t matter,” Shinsō said dismissively. “I know you don’t care about this kind of thing, but…people have been telling me my whole life that I can’t become a hero with a villainous Quirk.” Yes, Kei had rather figured that. But she kept silent so Shinsō could continue with, “But that’s my dream. I’m going to prove them all wrong.”

What, exactly, was she supposed to say to that? “Okay. I mean, you’ve probably got a strategy and I’m sure it works for your Quirk, but do you have a backup plan?”

Shinsō clearly didn’t want to listen to suggestions, but managed to grumble “I’m all ears.”

Kei was game enough for it. “Learn to fight?”

“The Sports Festival is in two weeks,” Shinsō said flatly.

“It takes just a few hours to learn basic self-defense.” She crossed her arms. “If your Quirk doesn’t cut it, that’s all you’ll have left. Do you even know how to throw a punch?”

“Of course I do.”

They continued half-seriously arguing this way for a while, following Hayate’s constant window-shopping more than anything. Apparently, in the months since the beach had been cleaned up, more businesses had cropped up to take advantage of the view than Kei had thought. Most of them didn’t have customers this early, but it was actually better that way. It meant no one really had to hear Kei and Shinsō’s ongoing debate regarding his fighting skills.

Hayate interrupted a round of Kei gesturing empty-handed while trying to explain the principles of punching someone in the face or the throat with, “Hey, what’s the law on Quirks again?”

“I know I’m not supposed to use mine in public,” Kei said, which Hayate accepted without elaboration.

She’d given him a very bare-bones explanation of Quirks and Quirk legislation, but it boiled down to about the same reason non-shinobi weren’t supposed to use chakra-based techniques outside of clan holdings. Hayate understood that, and then spent two hours over one summer weekend cheerfully tossing ideas back and forth with Obito and Kei about what his Quirk could be.

Hayate’s decision, in the end, was based on his chakra sensor ability. Besides being the only person in Konoha who could use their mother’s samurai-trained technique, Hayate didn’t expect to be able to carry a sword here or even to fight. The ability to sense other people’s emotions and intent was good enough for wandering the streets, and it covered neatly for shinobi hyperawareness.

“You can use them for self-defense,” Shinsō put in, when Kei was going to let the subject drop. “Technically, you can defend yourself or others, but just enough to run away.”

“Given the number of heroes running around, that can’t be that bad.” Hayate folded his arms behind his head, content to join them while they walked. “And everyone has cell phones, so contacting somebody would be easy.”

“You’d think,” Shinsō said. “There was a kid…last spring.” Shinsō rubbed the back of his neck, though the expression that crossed his face wasn’t particularly kind. “He got captured by a villain and nobody could get him loose until All Might showed up. Three heroes, and between the kid’s explosion Quirk and the villain possessing him, none of them could do anything besides try to keep people away and put out fires.”  

Kei couldn't help but notice that Hayate’s presence seemed to calm both of them down. Or rather, Kei stopped dominating the conversation and Shinsō had a chance to educate a twelve-year-old. Maybe he liked non-judgmental kids?

“Was that kid the blond jerk from 1-A?” Kei asked, unable to think of anyone else who could create explosions on demand.

“The very same,” Shinsō confirmed. Okay, that was definitely a bitter sort of smirk. “Guess that fancy Quirk didn’t do anything for him.”

Lots of bitterness.

“We might both have to face him in the Sports Festival,” Kei said, while they turned toward a shopping district instead of the beach. “Your strategy’s set, right?”

Shinsō nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard to piss him off.”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to see that while it happens,” Hayate grumbled. To Kei, he said, “You haven’t done an exhibition match since you were eleven. How bad do you really think it’s gonna get?”

Good of Hayate not to mention the Chūnin Exams by name. The death toll was rather higher than would be accepted in a peacetime society. Sure, nobody tended to die in the finals, but the Second Exam was the obstacle course round and fairly unrestrained. Certainly people tried to kill each other, with varying levels of success.

“I’ll be fine,” Kei said.

“I know that,” Hayate griped, as Kei affectionately ruffled his hair. “But are you aiming for the top? Do you have a strategy?”

“Dazzle everyone with my skill,” Kei suggested sarcastically. When Shinsō and Hayate both gave her skeptical looks—disturbingly alike, actually—Kei huffed and said, “Depending on what the events are, I might be able to just use my athletic ability to get past them. But up against people like the explosion kid…yeah, that’d be about when I should bust out my Quirk.”

Kei needed to figure out what mechanism allowed Blondie McSplode to act like a walking minefield. If his Quirk was anything like the half-magic fūinjutsu explosions she favored, countering him would be harder. If he relied on a chemical balance, though…

Shinsō shook his head slowly as they passed a bank. “Are you sure you should be talking about this with me? We’re going to be rivals in the Sports Festival.”

“Whatever.” Kei flapped a hand dismissively. “If we both get that far, then I’ll worry about it.”

“She said the same thing before her last exhibition match,” Hayate said to Shinsō, in a stage whisper. “And then she and one of her friends beat the crap out of each other.”

“It was Gai,” Kei defended herself. “If I wasn’t prepared to use everything I had, I’d lose.”

“Shots below the belt are illegal everywhere else,” Hayate muttered, while Shinsō paled.

“Hey, we both knew there weren’t any rules,” Kei argued.

“What the hell kind of dojo did you two join?” Shinsō demanded incredulously. When both of the Gekkō siblings looked askance at him, he clarified, “Who was your teacher?”

Kei and Hayate exchanged looks. Then, in unison, “Mom.”

Shinsō’s purple gaze flicked rapidly back and forth between them, and then he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “That explains so much.”

At least Shinsō knew now that Kei came by her weirdness honestly. Couldn’t be anything else if Hayate was also affected.

It was at this point that the bank next to them started to rumble.

Hayate’s first instinct was to pause and look at the potential problem, his eyes narrowed and entire body tensed for a fight. So was Shinsō’s, but he was a bit closer to the street in comparison and didn’t have any combat training to fall back on.

Kei grabbed both boys by the backs of their jackets and flung them clear before the front doors shattered.

#catch your breath fanfic #Shell Game #Keisuke Gekko #shinsou hitoshi #Hayate Gekko #my hero academia #crossover #Isobu

[liesandarbor]

RE: Sansa’s agency in TWOW and Jeyne’s lack of agency

It’s no secret identity is a prominent theme in ASOIAF - from “the Kingslayer!” ‘Jaime, he thought, my name is Jaime.’ to ‘Sandor Clegane is at rest/The Hound is dead.’: whether they’re alive, under a psuedonym, completely rejecting their identity - George writes about it.

An extremely deliberate contrast in Dance is the minuscule amount of agency possessed by Jeyne Poole.  It doesn’t matter if Jeyne was as pretty as Sansa, she was a steward’s daughter - where Sansa is awaiting the right moment to reveal herself to the right person, Jeyne doesn’t get such a moment.   It’s the end of her world: as she lies there, she thinks, this is how I die.  No one is coming for Jeyne Poole.  Theon was her least likely escape, and he knows it, too:

Talk like that will get you killed, or worse. That lesson he had learned as Reek. "You are the real Arya, my lady. Arya of House Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter, heir to Winterfell." Her name, she had to know her name. "Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface."

"It was me made up that name. Her face was long and horsey. Mine isn't. I was pretty." Tears spilled from her eyes at last. "I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?"

I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Jeyne's words seemed to echo in his head, to the beat of the drums two of Abel's other girls were pounding. Another one had pulled Little Walder Frey up onto the table to teach him how to dance. All the men were laughing. "Leave me be," said Theon.

Sansa has spent the beginning of her politically formative years being held hostage by her identity, and it takes her losing her identity to be able to start reclaiming it.  These arcs revolve - identity is very important to these three characters for very different reasons.  You have to remember your name.

If Sansa is rescued again, whether by Jaime, Brienne, or Sandor, it undercuts and cheapens her ascent to becoming politically savvy.  

In fact, Sansa is in a very peculiar position, indeed: she is stationed in the land that her father grew up, with the people he had fought beside, learned beside, thrived beside.  People that hold an intense respect for Ned Stark.  And what’s funny is, George has already written a scene, exactly like this, where a hardened woman, who has become exceedingly apt in Southron politics, calls bannermen and friends of her father to arms, requesting their support:

“And is Lady Whent a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?" "She is," the man replied stoutly.

"The red stallion was ever a welcome sight in Riverrun," she said to the trio by the fire. "My father counts Jonos Bracken among his oldest and most loyal bannermen." 

Catelyn V in AGOT is almost a perfect mirror of what we can expect of Sansa in TWOW.  We have already seen Sansa practice excellent reasoning skills, and commit heraldry to memory - in fact, we’ve seen this since Sansa’s very first AGOT chapter:

Sansa knew the name, and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over the years came back to her. "The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," she said, "and councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. The honor is mine, good knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold."

"I can answer," Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince's anger. She smiled at the green knight. "Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and councillor to the king, and so I name you." 

And she’s already catching on to Littlefinger’s schemes in AFFC:

". . . Lord Nestor's claim to the Gates will suddenly be called into question. I promise you, that is not lost on him. It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter.""Thank you." She felt absurdly proud for puzzling it out, but confused as well.

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

If Sansa can puzzle together Littlefinger isn’t her friend, that her father grew up in these lands, if she begins to piece all of these things together with the political aptitude we’ve already seen her demonstrate.... She’s going to shed the skin of Alayne Stone, flapping her black leather wings to the north, calling upon the men who rode with her father, who trained with him, who ate with him, ready to return to the north. (not to mention when she eventually finds out what happened to Jeyne, where the lashes and scars came from, when she hears from a certain only friend of hers who betrayed her father...)

Where Theon remembered his name finally in saving Jeyne, and where Jeyne had no choice but to forget her name, Sansa stands to use hers as a very powerful tool in going home.

#asoiaf meta #asoiaf #sansa stark #theon greyjoy #jeyne poole #sansa meta #jeyne meta #theon meta

[ramrodd]

What I did on my summer vacation

A memoir of transformation

        This much is true: Cam Rahn Bay is now a Soviet naval base. If the Russian Imperial Navy had had Cam Rahn Bay as a port of call, it might not have been whipped by the Japanese navy and the Soviet Union might not have come about. :But they didn’t and they were and, today, Cam Rahn Bay is a Soviet naval base.

     One hundred seventy miles from Cam Rahn Bay, on an azimuth of about 283 degrees and generally in the center of the triangle formed by Pleiku, Kontumn and An Khe is a hill surrounded by triple-canopy forest on terrain that, from the air, reminds you of the mountains and hollers of West Virginia. The hilltop is covered by elephant grass with razor edges that climb past collapsed bunkers towards a firmament so spangled and serene that a primal pulse and breath cradles you in murmurs of ancient lullabies yet to come.

Yesterday, while walking up the hilltop from the valley of the green shadows, I strolled around a bend in the trail to take a leak and made my bones. His bottomless pupils dilate with surprise over the faint scar on his upper lip. Our dance begins together: his muzzle arcs towards me (I find the rear peep sight then the front post) a flame from his muzzle (I take a breath and let half out) another flame, closer to me (hold the sight picture, squeeze…) another flame and a hazy green beer can flashes by me (…relax…squeeze…sqeeze…)

…pap…

A new shape takes his place and a firefly flickers in the shadows and another and another and a green beer can flashes into the thicket behind me…snap-crackle-pop-snap-crackle-pop …(so that’s where they got the idea for Rice Crispies…squeeze…squeeze…)

…pap…

I walk past the two oozing bundles and watch down the trail until my platoon catches up. While they secure the area, I pee against a tree.

     Today, I am top of the hill waiting for the slicks to come fly me and my platoon to another place.  The hilltop has been scraped by the engineers into a scull cap of dust that hides nothing coming up from the valley of the green shadows into our cranks and claymores and 105 tubes. This hilltop will rule the valleys and the hills around it as long as we are here and they know it and avoid us. So, my job is to go down into the valley of the green shadows and look to pick a fight with somebody.  From a tactical perspective, we are bait.

            So, right now,  while we wait, I am trying to do all those things a leader is supposed to do to prepare his command for combat, making a list, checking it twice, all the while afraid that someone will discover what a fraud I am. About ten days ago, I talked the battalion CO in letting me have his Recon Platoon. He was reluctant to turn over his personal maneuver element to an FNG (Fucking New Guy), but he bought my Ranger tab, he, too, was Airborne and he had a dead Recon Platoon Leader to replace, so, what the fuck, Lieutenant, it don’t mean nothing, it’s all yours.

            So, what the fuck, ;I took over command of twenty-two guys, all veterans of Cambodia, some on their second tour and I came face to face with a personal reality that I had been trying to avoid: I wasn’t up to the job.  It didn’t matter that it is absolute doctrine of the United States Army Infantry School at Ft. Benning that leadership cannot only be studied, but that it is a skill that can be taught and a skill that can be acquired.  It made no difference that I had not only completed the Ranger School with some distinction, nor that I had walked lanes as an instructor in the Ranger Patrolling committee and was generally considered to be qualified for a combat command. I looked at this gaggle of lean cut throats and realized that Mrs. Wilson may have raised a fool after all (look what a fine fix you’ve got yourself into this time, Ollier!) Absolute, existential despair settled upon my soul. Absolute, unequivocal failure and disgrace loomed and there was no way out.

            I am an Army brat and, as long as I can remember, I wanted to be a soldier. My dad never encouraged me towards his profession, but he was there to drop me off at ROTC summer camp and pick me up eight weeks later. He was there to pin on my bars when I was commissioned and he took me to the airport and shook my hand and looked me in the eye was only a father can who still moans as his dreams survey his own map of the valley of the green shadows.

            Duty, Honor, Country is not an empty slogan of my youth but the defining realty of my family, an article of faith of my life. And here am I, Lord, sitting on top of dusty hilltop waiting for twenty-two desperadoes to call my bluff, waiting for one to say “Hell, NO! we won’t go” waiting for them to look into my soul and find me inadequate.

            I want out. I want to go home. I want to call the whole thing off. I want my mommy!

            The wop-wop-wop starts at the horizon. Five Hueys come up the valley to our hilltop and dip, one by one, to take us on. We head further into Indian Country until they drop, one by one, into a clearing in the woods and leave us in the valley of the green shadows.

            We count heads, find our direction and head quickly away from whomever might be curious about what ever  it was the slicks were doing when they bent to touch the earth with harps of fire and thunder.

           We fall into the rhythm of the patrol: walk to the next bend in the trail, kneel while point sniffs something out, check the map, move out, stop, wait, listen, ten minute break, shift 90 pounds around on our shoulders, get up, move out, stop, move forward to point, examine stale spoor, pick it up, move it out, smoke’em if you got’em, no talking, cursing from the rear as a wait-a-minute vine frustrates someone, up the hill, down the hill, thighs that feel the burn, sores from the rucksack, festering cuts from the elephant grass, leaches inch-worming their way to our veins, c-rats for lunch, malaria pills for breakfast, low-grade fever, too low  for dust-off, too high for water, one small sip, slosh it around, soaked in sweat, pick’em up, put’em down, dig in, move out. Watch, Listen. Sniff the wind. Listen.

            No contact. Fresh spoor. No contact. Sense of being watched, of being stalked.

noises just out of sight. No contact. We file past an old NVA bunker complex while a giant lizard chews on a scull. Bored, the lizard looks up from lunch. ‘

            Not contact.

            We are stopped while me, my platoon sergeant and my squad leaders take a vote on where we are on the map. Combat operations are very rarely gay little affairs that move quickly to completion. A decade after I return to The World, the media, Congress and various critics of the military have a field day describing how fouled up the Grenada invasion was. I wasn’t there, but it didn’t sound any worse than normal  I doubt if the Rangers on the ground were all that concerned: if they didn’t have good maps, they just walked until someone either shot at them or sold them piss-warm beer.

            We are not particularly concerned, now, We know where we are: we are: right at the center of the universe and the whole rest of the world fades away except for the gods on the radio who delivered us and will recover us when they need to move the pieces around for the next inning. But we do have to get somewhere, so we try to reconcile this muddy little draw with the funny paper that the French surveyed and the space age enhanced. Heads together, we plot our course and then the war starts:

               .pap…pap…pap…pap-pap-pappappappappap…

            Just up the trail, our point man has just put his army gun on rock-and-roll, which is his way of saying: Holy Shit, Batman! Here comes the Fourth Golden Horde, four abreast, a hundred thousand deep, with bands playing and guns blazing, coming up the trail for me, personally, as an individual, call in the fucking nukes!

           Point men can be a little excitable. This is just his preliminary report, so we lift our heads and listen for additional details…                                                                              

…Pow-Pow-Pow…says an AK-47…You are not alone …pap-pap-pap…come on in, asshole…whomp…munch on a frag for lunch….Pow-Pow-Pow…Ah, so, glad to meet you, running dog, let me introduce you to my big brother…BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM…Mr. Beaucoup shit on your heads Chicom machine gun, well, smoke this, faggot- THUMP..”

            This sounds serious. I turn towards my platoon and the entire universe seems to fall away from me, yet it crowds around me and every eye searches mine with the question “What do we do NOW, Lieutenant?” A vast loneliness settles upon me and I see personal expectation of salvation, of a yearning for Christmas yet to come and sweethearts and children and cliché without end that is dear and comforting and far removed. And then the universe shifts again and an immense power surges into me and each eye seeks to connect with my strength, with the magic that reduces their waking nightmares into oozing dolls. And then the universe does a funny little twist, like someone focusing a camera lens and everything just falls into place. I see who is weak and who is strong and how they are stronger still together and how each is me and I am them and they are my sword and I am their shield and I tell one “go” and he goes and I tell the other “come” and he comes and I tell my sergeant “do that” and it is done.

            “Well, guys, this sounds serious.”

            And it is done. On my way back to The World, I spent nearly a week in Cam Rahn Bay. It was too hot and too noisy and stunk on piss tubes at every intersection. It was a big place, a valuable military asset which we defended heavily unto the very end.

           How big was it? It was so big that, at night, the lights from the harbor blotted out the stars in the sky.

          And that’s the truth.

1989

[dcschain]

The world had moved on mercilessly, but the gunslinger’s legs were still strong.

#edits. #le prince à la tour abolie. these fragments i have shored against my ruins. (roland) #arc. take these scars upon my back. (youth) #arc. good and wrecked and here and here and here. (the quest) #i love him. i love him him him!!!!

[real-life-pine-tree]

Seed of Darkness: A Brand New Invasion (4/?)

All it takes it one bad seed to spoil the whole bunch. An AU collab with @violetganache42​.

Elsewhere, Dipper was in an alleyway with a cloaked person. They had just finished a duel and a dark red aura was forming around him. However, a glimpse of the clocked person's face alarmed him.

"You're-" Dipper started to say.

"Shh..." the cloaked person said, putting a finger to her own lips. "Don't be afraid," she said. "Embrace the gift of the Reverse."

A horrified Dipper couldn’t find the right words to help convey his reaction on what was happening. What is this Reverse that she speaks of? Who was this cloaked person? She looked so much like her, but she wasn’t here, so…why does she strongly resemble Zuzu? Right as he was about to muster up strength to respond, he could feel the power overtake him as his vision began to blur due to his blue eyes becoming soulless. He then fell down to his knees, which satisfied the cloaked Zuzu lookalike.

"See?" the lookalike asked. "That wasn't hard, was it?"

"Of course not," Dipper answered as he stood back up. "Now to spread the will of the Void."

"Yes," the lookalike agreed. "It will be pleased with the progress I have made."

Dipper raised his head up to look directly at the cloaked Zuzu-like girl with a whole new expression on his face along with the red markings given to him from the Void. Another person had fallen victim to the gift of the Reverse, pleasing her because this will help speed up the process of her plan.

"It won't be long now," the lookalike said. "I have already Reversed everyone in Duel Academy. It won't be long until everyone in this dimension also joins us."

Meanwhile, at the optometry clinic, Yoko and Yuto had already arrived and were both sitting in the waiting room. With everyone else ahead of them, they had to wait for their turn, so they decided to watch the live broadcast of the Arc League Championship on Yuto’s Duel Disk. They saw the full duel between Yuya and Iggy, and needless to say, they were just as confused and scared as the audience about what happened.

"I don't understand," Yoko said, voicing concern. "Yuya never acted that vicious before. What got into him?"

"It must have been that virus," Yuto realized. "What if it caused something to possess him?"

"Like a demon?" Yoko asked.

"Probably," Yuto answered. "His dragon didn't look normal."

At that point, a clinic employee entered the waiting room. "Mr. Osaku?" she asked.

Yuto tensed up. "Don't worry," Yoko said. "It will only take a few minutes."

"Alright," Yuto said. He took a deep breath. "I just hope Yuya is okay."

Meanwhile, back at the Center Duel Field, Yuya was off in the sidelines and wasn’t okay at all. A few hours had passed and he couldn’t get his duel against Iggy out of his head, but could you blame him? All he wanted was to make him feel better and not use violence towards his opponents, but he ended up making things worse for him instead. According to Zuzu and Gong, he got those weird markings and his tone sounded more cynical. It also didn’t help that everyone was horrified by what they all witnessed, so he wasn’t in the mood to come out in public where they could see him, especially since Zuzu’s duel was coming up.

As Nico announced the introduction of Micky Starlett of Dueling Dynamos as Zuzu's opponent, Yuya simply looked at Odd-Eyes Pendulum Dragon. He let out a sob, horrified with what apparently happened to him. "Oh Odd-Eyes..." he said. "What's happening to me?"

Meanwhile, Zuzu stepped onto the dueling field, ready for her duel. Even though Micky was hogging the spotlight, she wouldn't let that bother her. "Before this duel is over, I'll win 'em over to my side!" she vowed.

Elsewhere, inside the back area of the stadium, the cloaked Zuzu lookalike, her associate, and Dipper all walked down the hallways in search for more people to give them the gift of Reverse. The more victims they can hunt down, the more vulnerable this dimension will be for a takeover. Not far away from them was a young man walking in the opposite direction of where they were heading. He was fair-skinned with lavender hair and green eyes and wore a dark violet, button-up shirt with dark yellow linings and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a red tie, a white short-sleeved jacket with an LID pin attached to it, dark pants, a tucked red and black checkered pattern handkerchief, and dark maroon shoes. He was known as Kev Ravenwood, a student of LID’s XYZ Summon course, winner of last year’s Junior Youth division and currently a participant of the Senior division. He had already won his duel and was taking a break before heading off to the finals when he spotted the trio.

"Hey, backstage is only for competitors still in the tournament!" Kev pointed out.

"Are you...a strong Duelist?" the lookalike asked.

Kev was surprised upon seeing the lookalike's face. "Aren't you-"

"Correct you are, Ravenwood."

Upon hearing Declan's voice, the lookalike threw off her cloak to reveal her identity to Kev. She had a ponytail consisting of indigo hair and light blue side tails that were the same length as Zuzu’s and light green eyes. Her clothes were a variant of Duel Academy’s female Slifer Red uniform: a three-quarter-sleeved red jacket with two black buckles and a yellow stripe with a green-and-yellow star on each sleeve, a black shirt with a purple-brown collar, a red skirt with a brown belt, silver buckle ring with two brown straps going over her torso, black biker shorts, and brown boots. Her accessories included an orange handkerchief used to tie her hair up, and a brown glove on her left hand. Her most defining physical traits were her facial appearance looking exactly like Zuzu’s; additionally, she also had the same terrifying features as Dipper and her associate, meaning that she was Reversed too. The combination of the two made Kev more concerned than he initially was.

"Declan?" Kev asked.

"You may leave now, Ravenwood," Declan said.

"But..." Kev started to say.

"The way you won today was quite impressive," Declan said. "I look forward to your next match."

Kev nodded in understanding. "You won't be disappointed," he said.

But as Kev turned to leave, the lookalike looked rather unhappy. "Don't move!" she exclaimed as she ran forward.

However, Declan quickly grabbed her wrist, halting her. "Lay off!" she exclaimed.

"Get going now," Declan told Kev, prompting the Senior division Duelist to run off.

The lookalike pulled away from Declan. "Get out of my way!" she exclaimed. "Just who do you think you are?!"

The lookalike's associate stepped forward. "Let me take care of him," he said.

He also removed his cloak to give Declan an idea on who he will be dueling against. He was a tall, tan-skinned man with a buff body build, grayish-teal, spiky hair swept backwards, and crimson eyes. He wore a long-sleeved, dark green jacket with four pouches and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his wrapped bandages on his forearms, a black shirt that partially covers his X-shaped scar, gray pants with a black belt, and black shoes. He also adorned with a silver pendant around his neck and an eyepatch on his left eye, which barely conceals his huge scar.

However, the lookalike looked at Declan, causing her eyes to widen in surprise. "No," she said. "You can't duel him."

"But the Void wants us to spread its gift," the associate pointed out.

"Not him," the lookalike said. "I can sense the dueling energy of his deck. He has Pendulum cards."

Declan raised his eyebrows out of surprise by what she just stated. She was aware of him containing Pendulum cards and told her associate not to duel him. Could it be that she may have given the former an advantage to this dueling viral outbreak? He closed his eyes and adjusted his red glasses while having his mouth form a smirk. It seems that the usage of Pendulum cards may be their weakness, Declan thought to himself. By glancing at or sensing someone’s deck, they can tell if that Duelist can Pendulum Summon or not, so they must have decided to spread their disease onto the Ritual, Fusion, Synchro, and XYZ users and avoid the Pendulum users. Seems the creation of the Pendulum cards proved to be more beneficial than I thought.

With Declan currently focused on his thoughts, the Reversed trio read his body emotion differently than him. They could tell he was fine with him not dueling with the associate at the moment and he had other plans in mind. Plans to try and thwart the Void. Not that it matters anyways. Try as he might, whatever he’s got cooking up will be nothing but feeble attempts to delay the inevitable.

Declan's glance shifted to Dipper. "So that's why Dipper failed to show up for his duel with Reed," he commented, changing topics.

"Precisely," the lookalike said. "He was chosen to carry out the will of the Void. His Constellar cards will be of great use to spread its power."

"What exactly is this Void?" Declan asked. "And why would you side with it?"

The lookalike let out a dark laugh. "I know you tend to sell your soul during duels," she said, referring to the Dark Contract cards. "Surely you would understand."

"Except I know this is not you, Celina," Declan said, addressing the lookalike by name. "We met two years ago. What made you fall into darkness since then?"

A few seconds later, Celina finally spoke. "Picture it," she said. "You are a soldier-in-training in Duel Academy. You spent your whole life wanting to prove yourself to the head of the school. But no matter how many times you prove your strength, all he wants to do is keep you locked up, not being able to rank up into the class of elite soldiers.

"So one day, after an encounter with a mysterious young teen, you finally decide to snoop around and figure out what the ultimate goal of Duel Academy is. But after finally hacking into the computer system, you learn the truth. If the dimensions were all merged together successfully, the results would include your own death. Then it hits you: the person you looked up to all these years was merely using you as a tool to further his goals!

"But just as you're about to give up, just as you hear people approach the room to probably erase your memories of what you discovered, you come across a mysterious entity that strongly resembles the Devil himself. This entity promises to free you from that fate of death. It will give you the power you need to fight back in exchange for you helping it spread its power. So, realizing there's no other option, you accept this entity's offer, letting it give you a portion of its power to defy your destined death.

"With this new power, you are finally able to fight back. But for now, upon the entity's orders, you wait, not wanting anyone else to know about the change you went through. Even after two years, you still wait. It wasn't time yet. You knew the cue was the disappearance of your chains.

"Ultimately the plan to fuse all the dimensions starts to take shape. That's when you strike in the shadows, wanting to free the other ones who wear similar chains. You manage to liberate two of them, freeing them from the same fate of death. Then one day, it finally happens."

Celina lifted up her right arm to reveal her bare wrist. "The chains you wore your whole life are finally gone," she continued. "That was your cue. You know the man who held you hostage this whole time is now powerless. So you finally confront him, making sure he would never interfere with your life ever again.

"With the grand manipulator out of the way, you proceed to destroy all of his progress. You even free everyone who was imprisoned. But while you send some people back to their home dimensions, the others stay as part of your own personal army. And with this new army, you are able to take control of all of Duel Academy. Every defeated Duelist becomes part of your army, so you keep repeating this process until you finally convert everyone in the school over to your side."

Declan was rendered speechless all of the information Celina revealed and had to process what he heard. This Void entity came to her because she found out about the Professor planning to fuse all four dimensions by apparently using herself, Zuzu, and their other two counterparts to fuel the merge at the cost of all their lives. Because of that, she freed her imprisoned counterparts and the non-Duelists of Heartland City, but the XYZ Duelists and the students of Duel Academy were now part of its army right after she ended her “idol’s” life before he could end hers. But that meant… Declan’s jaw dropped out of pure shock when he realized what she had done to the Professor. He was no ordinary professor. He was the same man who abandoned his family to head off to the Fusion Dimension. The same man who brought Action Duels to the Standard Dimension alongside Yusho Sakaki. The man known as Leo Akaba. His father…was dead.

"You murdered Leo Akaba?" Declan asked.

"Correct," Celina answered. She took out a card from her deck. "But it wasn't that hard. All I did was summon my ace and ordered her to attack him."

"With your Duel Disk?" Declan asked.

"No need," Celina said, the card now producing a dark red aura. "With the power of the Reverse, I can bring her to life without Solid Vision. Care for a little demonstration, Cat Dancer - Reverse?"

The card flashed a bright white light that sent out a black beam of energy into the real world. Upon impact, it exploded on the ground before materializing into what resembled the silhouette of a female duel monster with notable feline traits. The black energy vanished to uncover Celina’s ace monster coated in dark red aura: Cat Dancer - Reverse. Much like Odd-Eyes Joker Dragon, she also had a similar appearance to her incarnation Lunalight Cat Dancer but with some alterations. Her hair was white with long, luscious strands and locks of hair, her eyes were golden yellow underneath her black and magenta mask, and the colors of her clothes consisted of a black dress with long pieces of gray silk sewn all over the dress, a magenta cloth covering her breasts, a large, light and dark blue, crescent-shaped headpiece, and black barefoot stockings and arm sleeves. Instead of gold crescent moons and gold rings on her hands and feet, she had blood red Link Joker emblems and the rings were replaced with the black halos surrounded by the red light.

Declan took a few steps back in alarm. "What kind of demon is that thing?" he demanded.

"She's not a demon," Celina explained. "Cat Dancer - Reverse is a Fusion-Joker monster, the combination of a Duel Monster and a Unit. All of her stats remain the same, but she now has the traits of a Unit, specifically a Unit's Grade and skill in combination with her new special ability."

"A Unit?" Declan repeated. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, that's right," Celina said. "Didn't anyone tell you that the Void is actually from another planet?"

Declan questioned her on what she meant by the Void being from another planet and she took it as a sign that no one ever bothered to explain to him about what the Void is because it was all new to him. To put it simply, it was his way of telling her “no”.

"And that's why the Void chose to target Duelists," Celina continued. "You clueless people have no idea what it actually is. What better way to invade a planet than infect itself into the unfamiliar?"

"Celina, please listen to me," Declan said. "I understand how upset you probably felt two years ago, but you must stop. Can't you see how this could backfire?"

"You should be thanking me," Celina said. "Without the Void, Leo would still be alive. Now that I killed him, I ended the Interdimensional War before it could spread to other dimensions. I even liberated two of my other selves from their destined deaths, so they're much safer in my care."

"I beg your pardon?" Declan asked.

"Relax," Celina said. "I'll return them to their home dimensions once the Void is satisfied with my work."

Declan began thinking to himself again. Her counterparts are no longer imprisoned by my father yet they’re still at Duel Academy. She ended the war to prevent the dimensions from fusing, but she’s putting them all in great danger by successfully Reversing everyone at the Academy. Does that mean she managed to Reverse her counterparts as well before setting her sights on the students?

"Then from this point forward, I will change my priorities towards stopping the Void," Declan ultimately decided.

Celina frowned. "You dare make yourself an enemy of the Reverse?" she challenged.

"You're spreading the Reverse to everyone in all of the dimensions," Declan pointed out. "You didn't end the Interdimensional War. You only changed my opposition."

"Very well," Celina said. She retreated her ace back into her card before taking out a different card; a Spell card called Lunar Eclipse. "You have made a grave mistake, Declan Akaba. There's no stopping the will of the Void. This planet will be shrouded in darkness, and there's not a thing you can do to stop us."

A thick layer of black, cloudy fog faded in and covered Celina, her associate named Barrett, and Dipper. Declan ran towards them, but he stopped before he could reach them because the fog and the Reversed trio were all gone. With nothing else left to do, he grabbed his Duel Disk and contacted his mother Henrietta to warn her about a far more dangerous threat than the Interdimensional War.

At the same time, a young teen had just finished winning his duel not long after Zuzu’s and was walking inside the stadium. He had fair skin, gingery, spike-shaped, curly hair, green eyes, and a beauty mark underneath his right eye. He wore a long-sleeved, light blue, button-up collared shirt with a fuchsia ribbon tie around his neck, an orange jacket with an orange-yellow-black pocket on the left side no right sleeve, and a shorter right hang, gray pants, reddish-brown shoes, and a black glove on his left hand. The name of this teen was Dennis McField, an LID exchange student in Performing Arts and part of the XYZ Summon course, as well as one of the 16 Junior Youth Duelists advancing to the finals. Unbeknownst to everyone, he was actually an Obelisk Blue student and double agent from Duel Academy tasked with spying on the Standard Dimension to help the Professor retrieve Zuzu and Celina. As he idled in the halls of the stadium, his Duel Disk received a notification and sounded a ringtone; when he went to grab it, he saw that it was Yuri and Sora calling him to deliver the bad news and a warning. Curious, he answered the call.

"Oh, hey guys," Dennis said. "I was just about to call you. I saw Zuzu in the stadium, so-"

"Forget about the mission, Red!" Sora interrupted. "You've gotta protect Zuzu now!"

"I'm sorry, what?" Dennis asked.

"What Sora is trying to say is that there has been a change in plans," Yuri explained. "You see, the Professor was murdered."

Dennis nearly dropped his Duel Disk in alarm. "Please tell me that's one of your silly pranks, Yuri," he said.

"This is not a joke, my second-in-command and closest ally," Yuri said. "I found his corpse covered in bloody slash marks. There's not doubt that it's the work of Celina."

"Celina?" Dennis repeated. "But I thought she escaped to this dimension."

"I'm afraid not," Sora said. "Worse, she has formed an alliance with a demonic entity, spreading its power to everyone she encounters. She's probably taken over all of Duel Academy at this point."

"Oh dear..." Dennis said.

"Now do you understand what we must do?" Yuri asked. "At the moment, it seems we're the last followers of the Professor. We have to gather as many allies as possible to warn them about this."

"Well at least the people we carded aren't going to waste," Dennis hoped.

"Except Celina had freed every single one of them," Yuri added.

"And since she already stopped Yuri from capturing Lulu and Rin, I've got a bad feeling she's after Zuzu next," Sora said.

"So that's why you want me to protect her," Dennis realized. "But how could I get her to trust me?"

"Tell her you know me," Sora said. "I already earned her trust, so using me as a reference should make things easier."

"Alright," Dennis said. "For the good of Duel Academy, the true Duel Academy, I'll keep Zuzu safe."

"Thank you," Yuri said. "We will join you some time today. Hopefully Violet Flash won't transport Sora and myself to another country this time."

Dennis couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by that and Yuri explained that Violet Flash teleported him and Sora to halfway in Paradise City. He was kind of hoping they would actually end up in LID in no time, but it never hurts to try again; worst case scenario is they end up using it over and over again until they make it to their destination right in the nick of time.

Meanwhile, at LID, Henrietta was currently speaking to the Senior Division Lancers. Declan had just told her about the change in enemy, so she had to adjust the company's plan to form the Lancers.

"I'm terribly sorry for the sudden news, but I strongly urge all of you to stay home until further notice," Henrietta explained.

"What?" Kev asked. "But why?"

"There is a terrible outbreak going on," Henrietta explained. "If our strongest allies are infected over to their side, the battle will turn in the enemy's favor. You must let the decided Lancers take care of this from this point forward."

"Don't you mean 'defected over to their side'?" a purple-haired teen dressed in pink asked.

"No, I mean infected," Henrietta clarified. "The virus spreads to whoever loses to the enemy. I cannot let any of you fall victim to them, so you must stay out of this war."

Kev and the rest of the Senior Division Lancers all stared at each other from the news of the viral outbreak taking place. A pathogen capable of turning others into servers of the enemy? This kind of sounds similar to a zombie apocalypse but with it targeting Duelists instead of the entire human population. Just then, the brown-haired teen dressed in blue realized something; his head turned to his right where he saw the room’s clock and saw that it was almost noon. The finals of the Junior Youth Division were starting any minute, meaning they will most likely be vulnerable victims ripe for the taking.

But as the finalists were lined up to begin the Battle Royale, Yuya's mind was occupied. He had used his goggles to cover his eyes, still feeling upset about how he apparently attacked Iggy. Could this be related to him having bradycardia?

While Nico was going over the Battle Royale rules, Zuzu noticed Yuya's upset expression. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked.

"Do I look alright to you?" Yuya asked in response, a coldness in his voice.

Zuzu was taken back by the blunt response. "Is this about what happened with Iggy?" she asked.

"You and Gong said I was using a card called Odd-Eyes Joker Dragon," Yuya recalled as he sobbed. "But I checked my deck multiple times and there's no sign of that card." He took out his deck, which had Odd-Eyes Pendulum Dragon on top. "Are you sure that's what happened?"

"I'm sure," Zuzu replied. She gave Yuya's hand a gentle squeeze. "I don't understand what's going on either, but you can't let that bother you."

Yuya put his deck back in his Duel Disk. "How can I?" he asked. "What if that...thing happens again? What if I end up losing control?"

"Yuya..." Zuzu said.

"I'm sorry Zuzu," Yuya said, his body shaking. "But I don't think I can ever duel again."

Zuzu felt saddened by Yuya’s claim of not wanting to duel anymore. It was his number one dream of being a Dueltainer just like his father, so seeing this demonic event take place crushed any hopes of having his dream become a reality. He doesn’t want to end up becoming a monster again, but the fear of the unknown kept lingering in his mind. Right as Zuzu was about to comfort her friend, a trembling Yuya bolted from the row of the Junior Youth finalists and out of the Center Duel Field. Nico spotted him running away and misinterpreted it as him getting too eager to wait any longer and gave himself a head start; coincidentally, there was less than a minute left until noon, and with the ARC System deployed all over the city and preparing to project the four Action Fields, he carried on with finishing his announcements regarding the Battle Royale.

"Well it seems Yuya Sakaki couldn't wait any longer," Nico said. "So without further ado, let the Arc League Championship finals begin!"

With a snap of his fingers, Action and Pendulum cards were scattered all over Paradise City and the gates opened up, leading to the remaining 15 Duelists to head out onto the fields to begin their Battle Royale. In Zuzu’s case, she diverted herself from the group to find Yuya since he took a different way out of the Center Duel Field. Everyone else split apart to search for the Pendulum cards in order to aide them in their duels, especially Dennis because he, Yuri, and Sora have to do whatever it takes to protect Zuzu from this new threat. He was hoping they do get here on time before it’s too late. All 16 Duelists were now all over the city, but none of them were aware of the presence of three beings because they were hiding themselves away in an alleyway shortly after teleporting and waiting for the opportunity to strike.

#Seed of Darkness #yugioh arc v #Yuya Sakaki #cardfight!! vanguard #Link Joker

[patiusstories]

Betrayal

Another piece of Star Wars: The Old Republic with my personal Sith Inquisitor. This time much earlier in his dark path with the prompt of ‘Silence’ by his dear friend @liberator-drana

Enjoy!

Silence.

For once in this great tomb of the furious and delusional dead, there was a disquieting silence about it. The raiders of the tomb long-dead from his - and others’ - passing, but they will return like hullrats. Jadus could hear his own footsteps sounding louder than nothing on the ancient stone, the mere sensation of this new feeling gnawed at his anxieties. His fingers twitched, wanting to snatch his forefather’s lightsaber for an enemy not even before him yet. The young apprentice found himself etching a nervous smile under his skeletal mask. He had to distil this or risk unnecessary actions from him or his master.

Entering the grand hall of one of countless great tombs to one of many fallen sith lords whose names may never enter the grant annals of those who ruled Korriban and its empire with a shrewd fist or bloody mark, Jadus paid no mind to the phantom fox-fires that burned atop of stone braziers, nor the great shrine that crowned this place. His eyes were only on the single figure standing there. Her back to him, head shrouded by her hood. Where his past foes fight the power oozing from him like a barely contained coiled serpent in a fiberglass cage, hers was concentrated and collecting the power here.

On his first step upon the steps, her voice clearly spoke of the typical praise she so enjoyed to give. Once, the apprentice enjoyed it and drew confidence from it. Now, it scratched his anger unlike any other. To be tricked and lied to by his own mentor was an affront that Jadus did not appreciate. Why waste your time grooming something that you will only destroy?

“Such marvelous power radiates from you now.” She swoons in the light-provoked shadows, “Clear. Strong. You have truly come into your own.”

That, I can agree to. At least.

“You possess great power, certainly, but the teachings of Korriban seem to have had scant influence on you. How many times did you have the option to expand your power and yet stayed your hand? Do you really know what it means to be Sith?”

What are you on about? He mused, but the question did perk some intrigue on his part. Questions that he didn’t think upon, he has done what was required and under his jurisdiction, and so he answered, “A Sith follows his heart.”

“Yes, “there is only passion”. But do not forget - “through passion I gain strength; through strength, power.” Passion is the method; power the end.” The Darth Lady recited. And so, he is here. “I’ve arranged for you to receive the title of Lord of the Sith. I hope you realize what an honor and responsibility it is.”  Now that, caught Jadus’ excitement the tiniest jolt. His hard work was appreciated and applauded, and now - rewarded. Perhaps Kallig was wrong…

And yet, why was the Force so still?

Zash walked away to oversee the entrance as she continued on, “As a Darth, I answer only to Darth Thanaton who answers to the Dark Council. As a lord, you’re only one step below that, and you tower above many.”

“I-I hope I live up to the honor.” Jadus hummed, he could see the slightest disapproval from his pet but right now, Khem Val’s opinion meant nothing to him. There was glory before him and it was coming to him.  “You’re already exceeded my greatest hopes and expectations. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”  Jadus wasn’t completely blinded by this...he could see a disturbance. The tiniest that came in the form of Zash’s own excitement, but he did not pry into it. He remained poised, the energies was still nervous.

“There is still the ritual to undergo, and I’ll warn you - the ritual may prove a trying experience.” Zash said, “But once it’s done, you will be truly great, truly powerful.”

Jadus wondered what this ritual was. It was always spoke of, but never into details. Kallig still rolled in the back of his skull, it felt like whatever climax was building, it was coming hard in some form.

“You still haven’t told me what the ritual does.” Jadus almost growled, impatient made from youth and past experiences. But of course, the answer came as, ‘All in good time, apprentice. First, there is something more pressing. The truth is, I have not been completely honest with you. I wish I could have been, but the timing was not right.”

Finally, the veil was lifting and his heart jumped slightly to something not seen yet. And when his Master turned to him, Jadus could barely hold the shock at what was once a beautiful youthful woman - now replaced by a shriveling croon maned by her graying hair and sunken eyes brimmed of the Dark Side’s venomous corruption. This is Zash’s true face.

And something scratched at his logic, something he didn’t quite understand and in his foresight, knew exactly what this ritual foreshadowed.

“Look at me, apprentice. I am sorry to have concealed it from you for so long - but it was such a pleasant vanity to share in your youth.” She says with a genuine sorrow and embarrassment that Jadus couldn’t quite expect from a Sith of all people, ever known for their ruthless callousness or maybe it was a selfish pleasantry to her only protege. Nevertheless, her apprentice shared in her moment. “Why are you showing me this now?”

He must know to the finality. “Listen, apprentice. Various Force rituals have helped me maintain my appearance and some of my vitality.” The Dark Lady began her small lesson, for some reason, he always enjoyed her motherly tone. Something he never had and enjoy in these passing months, “But inevitably, life fades. I’m dying, apprentice. My will, my intellect, my spirit are as lively as ever, but this body is dying.

And so we come to this.

“Tell me what does this have to do with me…” Jadus insisted, almost adding his ever-humble please but halted himself in a choke.

“Everything.” She said, her face changed slightly with a possible sense to his disturbance, “You will be my second chance, my new life.” Despite his teethed pain riding behind his heart, Jadus’ mask hid his pain as his visors stared at his former master. His body expressed nothing. His presence in the Force remained as it always been; a small protective tempest to his inner eye.

“Be prepared. As the ritual ends, you will likely see me collapse before you feel it taking effect. Do not panic.” She sensed something in him, believing it to be fear as her honeyed voice tried to soothe him, but she is gravely mistaken. “Know that this what I have trained you for, prime you for, from the start.”

From the start…

He said something, but everything was distant. Dull...and suddenly, Zash realized at the last microsecond before an eruptive barrage of lightning struck and hurled her back. The only thing saving her from complete atomization was the quick appliance of a Force Shield. Screaming in surprise and anger, her back slammed into a pillar. “You...you dare!” Her distorted voice screamed, rising as quickly as any young humanoid. The air popped with a throw of telekinetic force and her eyes burned with a baleful fire. Electricity crackled from her fingers as she saw her long-worked masterpiece draw a curved-hilted lightsaber in one elegant flourish. Its hot red blade growling like a passing torch before getting into the opening stance of the Jedi’s Niman stance.

“You dare to betray me, Zash.” Jadus’ pained voice hissed before hurling a rippling pocket of deadly Force through the air. One that she easily deflected before zipping through the air by the thrust of speed, a claw of crimson blade flaring from her lightsaber. The two immediately crashing into a dance of close combat. Another of their technique training turned to a duel of ferocious movements.

The Sith Juyo worked into their attacks, wild yet countering each other of familiarity and their own experience. Jadus could only catch Zash’s surprising output of ability for someone dying by his knowledge into the Soresu defenses. Backpedaling at her quick and precision, the assassin suddenly drove his elbow into her gut when the Sith Lady drove forward to wound his arm. A spat of pain escaped her lung before a uppercutting force of telekinesis knocked her clear of her feet. However, Zash was quick into recovery. The toe of her boot knocked Jadus into a painful stumble with the slam of her lightning-curled fist sending him several feet back.

“Oof!” His grunt came out, finding himself tumbling down the stairs and barely catching himself. Vision wavered and looked up to see the crone stepping down with the air proper of her dark status. However, her frustration burning in her eyes. “You should know better, my Apprentice. The Master is always one step ahead.”

“You are not my master…and I learned some things in my time away.” Jadus seethed, his fury exploded out in a flash of air-rippled fire before collecting itself back into himself. Throwing his sharp-fingered gesture out, Zash smirked and shot out a lance of dark energies down upon him, immediately crashing a near invisible pocket of air rippling madly. The arcs flowing at either side of her Apprentice, barely licking at his shielded form with sizzling scars to his robes and burning funnels into the floor behind him. Their powers dueled, pushing back and forth. However, Zash’s vitality was slowly draining but her meditation in this place had gave her a strength that Jadus was not prepared for. Her rituals were truly something to admire, if that was the last congratulations that he could give her.

Now!

In the distraction, Zash didn’t notice Khem until his shadow crept over her. The powerful monster roared with his odd jaws, electro-broadsword crackling as eager as he was to kill this witch and feast her. By the will of her Force-hastening speed, her lightsaber slashed across his powerful stomach with sparks flashing. Too quick to notice his lack of cries, the Sith Lady hurled their clashing powers straight into Val, hurtling his body into the altar with a loud crash of stone.

This was all Jadus needed. With her mind temporarily off, Zash screamed as electricity bolted into her spine, sending her body into a temporary spasm before gasping as her lungs ripped into a furious howl to the energies resonating in this time suddenly coiled and squeezed upon her body like a vengeful python with the shadowy projection writhing.  Pulling her in telekinetically, Jadus’ reckless extortion of his power exploded out into a storm of raw power that seared against her left side. Like a puppet cut from its strings, Zash threw herself several feet after finally regaining some inhuman control of herself. Rolling with her robes - and flesh smacking - with her breath horribly ragged now. Her lungs now doubt seared.

Jadus was already up despite his slight exhaustion, rushing to cleave the treacherous woman in two.

“You can’t stop this ritual from happening!” Zash claimed, gathering herself with the pull of the Dark Side and caught her former appearance in midair to a skull-shuttering crash into one of the Altar’s monoliths. His ears rang and brain shook into a disorienting that made the Sith apprentice sick to his chest and gut. Vision wavered and hand unconsciously grasping at a lightsaber that wasn’t even there no more.

No. No!

His body was seized and contained into a web of power, he couldn’t move nor do anything. Jadus could feel it, his power was lurch in defiance but his conscious was growing heavier. NO!

In a flash of movement, his eyes could barely register. Something large was moving and suddenly lunged upon Zash, causing a great explosion and her body flying helplessly by the collision of powers.

#swtor #Sith Inquisitor #darth nox #chapter 1 #darth zash #khem val #lightsaber battle #sith #dromund kaas

[imintoanimerightnow]

[Watch Along] Attack on Titan: Season 2, Episode 1 “Beast Titan”

Attack on Titan lumbered its way onto my radar in 2015, before I experienced my anime re-awakening, and by way of a passing joke by a Twitter comedian (now known as Desus of the strongest brand, “Desus and Mero”) about his inability to pick up women at the club by telling them how Shingeki no Kyojin is a metaphor for our modern society.  I finally binge watched the anime a few months ago, and I’ve been wildly excited about the premiere of the new season, despite spoiling myself a bit by venturing over to r/ShingekinoKyojin and getting some manga info.  

This will be my second time watching this episode because I have little self-control and couldn’t wait until I’d set up this blog to watch it.  Future versions of these will be first-watches.  I’m doing this as a live blog sort of thing, meaning I’m just going to type what I’m thinking as I watch and it may be stream-of-consciousness style, it will definitely contain spoilers, and there may be grammatical errors.

All timecodes are from the video over at Crunchyroll.

Let’s go:

00:00 - I’m liking the super brief recap that puts me riiiiiiiight back into the absolute horror of this world.  After weeks of watching much lighter and fluffier fare (the final slice-of-life arc of Naruto Shippuden, the bright eyed shounen wonder of My Hero Academia, and that show about dragons with boobs) seeing a titan bend slightly and just straight up wolf down a human is extremely jarring.  Love this show already.

02:09 - A titan IN the wall.  That baleful stare was absolutely chilling.  They really didn’t waste a second of time before establishing that humanity is more screwed than they could have possibly imagined.  Does this mean all of the walls have Titans in them?  Do they come from the walls? 

I’m as confused as Hange Zoe, and the terrible part of me wishes she’d punted that clergyman off the damn wall for refusing to answer questions about the titan that he clearly knew was there all along.  

02:42 - New OP of course.  I don’t like the song as much as the very first one, but the imagery is excellent.  We’ll obviously be seeing a lot more titans this season, plus all of our protagonists are there too.  Seeing a bit less focus on *just* Eren in this OP, and more on the side characters and the Survey Corps as a whole. Kind of concerned about the dinosaurs and land whale(?) that have apparently teamed up with the titans in the OP.  The last thing those humans need is a dino-titan alliance.  Also apparently Eren’s titan may face off against what looks like Armored Titan (that’s the one with the crew cut).

04:38 - “There were only people who knew and people who didn’t.”  I’m guessing the people who knew about the Wall Titan were some of the clergy and there had to be military people involved.  I still have no idea how the power structure of this society operates.  

06:16 - Toss. That. Preacher.  Seriously- just punt his ridiculous behind off the wall if he won’t properly answer questions about how the only natural predator to that society managed to get INTO the wall to keep it out.  I do wonder what “We will fulfill our duty” means though.  His duty to whom?

8:12 - 12 hours earlier.  Hm, I usually kind of hate flash forwards to start an arc, but this is oddly fine.  The pace of this show is quick enough that I’m pretty sure we’ll get back to that pesky issue of the Wall Titan soon enough.

8:20 - Aw, our Survey Corps buddies are bored and dreaming of home.  I’d love to see Sasha’s family.  They’re either completely feral people who just eat everything in sight, or they’re super straight laced and she’s the odd one out.  

9:12 - Some exposition time as Reiner notes that the members of the 104th are basically being treated with caution and not allowed weapons or uniforms because everyone suspects there are other titans disguised as humans within their ranks.  It seems like a silly precaution, because what good would keeping them unarmed do?  If someone can change into a titan (and is malicious), you want as many people with swords around them as possible.  

10:31 - No one apart from Sasha, Conny, and Nanaba seems as panicked as they should be about titans roaming around inside the middle wall.  Poor Conny.  His village is probably gone.

12:05 - I don’t quite understand why the regiment of unarmed recruits was sent out on highly dangerous evacuation duty with seemingly few armed veterans among their ranks.  What are all of those other corps members with equipment and weapons doing back at the castle?  

13:43 - holy animation.  Looks like the budget is higher for this season (and season 1 already looked good).  The horses and the running titans look great.  

14:01 - Bye, Mike.  Upon re-watching Season 1, I was reminded that you sniff new people and smirk for no reason.  That should be quirky enough to save you from a horrible death (see: Sasha Braun) but you are running headlong into it now.   I like his confidence in taking on several titans at once and assuring everyone that he’d be fine.  Apparently, he’s humanity’s second best warrior aside from my darling Levi (WHERE IS HE) so maybe a combination of skill and luck will get him through this (but his character design always says “titan fodder” to me).

14:37 - Second time through, I’ve had a chance to read and comprehend the title screen here.  “Little is known about the titans inside the walls.  They appear to form the walls with a material similar to the female titan’s crystal.”  Who is writing this book that this is from, and when?  The Wall Cultists are essentially worshiping titans then?  IS EVERYONE A TITAN? I’m confused and excited which is normal for this show.

14:55 - aw, flashback dream time to Eren’s youth with his mum and Mikasa.  Eren and Mikasa’s relationship is interesting because sometimes it looks like he understands her love for him, but he’s still a bit standoffish and cold.  Armin makes his return as well.  I can see him coming out of all of this with some very serious mental scars, and it won’t be pretty.

17:01 - LEVI’S BACK.  I love that he wears a cravat and is apparently 30 though he looks 16.  I also appreciate how functionally cool the military uniforms are in this show.  The tight trousers and short jackets make sense given their equipment and the way they move.  There aren’t a lot of useless parts of that design that are just there to make it look cool.

19:15 - holy shit Beast Titan indeed.  He’s shaped like a terrible peanut, and his face and voice seem kindly though he definitely is not.  Not even a little bit.  A titan that can talk and make plans and recognize technology is a serious problem...

21:35 - ...that no one will know about for a while because we lost Mike in a particularly horrible way.  Those screams will stay with me for a while.

New ED:  The imagery is beautiful and frightening, the music is ethereal and trippy, and it all appears to tell the tale of how humanity came to be all walled up like this. 

Preview: “I’m home” - we get to see Sasha’s family!  It looks like the guess about them being very uh, different, from Sasha is correct if that stern looking cowboy hatted man is her father.  

A really breathtaking start to the season.  22 minutes went by incredibly fast!

I plan to do these for the rest of the season, so if you enjoyed having someone to watch anime with- follow along!  

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #anime review #anime #aot season 2 #aot spoilers #crunchyroll