#if this isn’t masterful foreshadowing

[obsessivebookgeek]

Thinking about that line from in the same boat: “ they’ll kill each other or they’ll kiss, if we’re lucky they’ll end up in an abyss,” like… idk about the first one, but the other two…

#if this isn’t masterful foreshadowing #honestly tho #I can’t blame Grover #just third wheeling on them arguing #then later on them crushing #and then when they’re dating #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #rick riordan #the lightning thief #pjo series #pjo tv show #mark of athena #house of hades #percabeth #anabeth chase #grover underwood

[shroommoss]

is someone keeping track of the hermits that have flipped the random lever in the shopping district? bc tango just flipped it too…

#if there isn’t one i might start a master post #who placed the lever? #is it foreshadowing for smth? #hermitcraft #tangotek #neris thoughts

[chosetherose]

The Fortnight video foreshadows the convergence of Taylor Swift and her brand

In her videos, Taylor has continually played with the idea of herself as a person versus as a brand. These portrayals have almost been adversarial in nature. Think about the relationship between the two life sized Anti-Hero Taylors. The hooded robot Taylor who got to exist in the world while her bare counterpart was trapped in glass. Etc.

The Fortnight video introduces similar characters but flips the script because there isn’t a me versus her dynamic anymore. Instead, there is a story about coming together.

A scene by scene breakdown:

Taylor Swift™️ is chained to a bed in a white gown with a spicy slit and garter. A faceless nurse enters walking upside down on the ceiling (a continued theme suggestive of PR games). The nurse presents “Forget Him” pills, arguably reminiscent of a dark time where the world thought they could “cure” homosexuality. After Taylor Swift™️ begrudgingly takes her dose, the nurse unchains her.

We then see Taylor Swift™️ approach a two way mirror and wipe the mask off her face, revealing face tattoos we know to be Post Malone’s in real life. This reveal is setting the scene that within this video Post Malone represents Taylor’s inner self, her true soul behind the veil of celebrity. I’ll call him True Taylor.

Next, the mask is back and we see Taylor Swift™️ walk out of the observation room and into the workspace. She goes from wearing a leggy white gown with garter to a fully covered black poet-esque dress. She isn’t dressed for voyeuristic eyes anymore, she’s dressed to work on her art. I love this light to dark transition because black can be seen as the absence of light. Fitting for a tortured poet who can’t live her truth in public with her sunny muse by her side.

Note that we don’t get to see black dress Taylor Swift™️ through the two way mirror. She exists behind the bright lights of fame, making art in a room hidden from our view. Maybe the pills numb her enough to twist the art for an audience who likes to her to be chained to a bed while they watch her suffer.

But wait Taylor Swift™️ and True Taylor are collaborating. They start work separately but their art eventually drifts out of their typewriters, combining into a white light that bursts into a rainbow. Remember how I said black light is the absence of light? Well white light is comprised of all hues on the visible light spectrum.

We know there are layers to Taylor’s music: the surface layers chock full with to red herrings for the grocery line Swifties and the deeper layers of Taylor’s truth. They both exist in the art, swirled together.

But here is where things start to feel different. We cut to True Taylor and Taylor Swift™️ away from all those faceless people - they are alone in the middle of a road. That in itself is ridiculously symbolic of being on the way to somewhere (maybe brighter days). But there’s more because they are dressed identically, laying inside Taylor’s head that is made up of their art. This scene is like bonking us on the head that these two people are one and the same.

Note: The silhouette here is from the Style video which also portrays Taylor’s inner self as a man.

Taylor Swift™️ runs to True Taylor and they embrace in the middle of the road as pages of their art float around them. In the chaos, Taylor Swift™️ reaches out to True Taylor.

Maybe this scene is suggesting the public version of Taylor is ready to embrace her real self.

Then we see Taylor Swift™️ strapped to a table, wild hair from dropping the hairpins we saw in the opening scene. The drugs aren’t working, it must be time to escalate to shock therapy. The men around her gather and there is literally a sign in the background that says “Master Control”.

But one of the men in the room making decisions for the brand is actually True Taylor, who has been there all this time.

Enough is enough when True Taylor can’t take the pain and pulls the plug on the procedure, freeing public persona Taylor from torture.

Next we see True Taylor, familiarly encased behind glass, on a phone call. Perhaps making plans while safe from the rain. Taylor Swift™️ is elevated on a pedestal, out in the storm, in her best dress FEARLESS! Credit to @rep-princess-witch who put the fearless connection together in another post.

I’ll say it again, that is the huge difference in this video compared to others. Here, Taylor Swift™️ is not an antagonist, she is ready to brave the storm.

So what does she do? She’s back in the workspace burning all the files. It’s not without emotion but it’s necessary. We then see a stoic Taylor Swift™️ with no regrets.

After burning the files she’s back in the observation room. It’s time to fight back against the voyeurs and she does so by smashing the glass between her and them. She regains her agency by squashing their ability to hide. Shes deserting her past life.

Note: We don’t see True Taylor back inside. This fight is specifically for Taylor’s public persona.

In the closing seen, we see True Taylor leave shelter, step outside into the storm, and reach for Taylor Swift™️. The person and the public persona are weathering the storm hand in hand.

*Please check out @heyitsmoog on TikTok - he shared thoughts there that inspired me to make this post.*

#I could tweak this for days but here it is! #analysis

[salteytakesonmanga]

Your explanation about retconing made me think Oda's way of writing is exactly what bring people to think he has every single thing planed down from the start, even if he didn't.

The story has been going on for 20 years, and Oda himself has admitedly had ideas along the way that he added. But the fact he's still able to connect every new idea instead of having to retcon things is what makes one piece feel so perfectly planned and tied.

Anon, you innocently sent me this ask to share your thoughts and unknowingly triggered one of my rants. I’m sorry/thank you.

Anon is referring to this post.

Oda is just a good writer! He is good at the craft of writing! Even if you don’t like the story (I’m assuming you do, but for people who don’t…) it’s just WELL WRITTEN. People really aren’t used to seeing good writing anymore, to seeing tropes deployed effectively and having plot lines actually connect. This isn’t just me being cranky and old, it’s just truth. People are talking about this in film, TV, books… One Piece has been around so long that it comes from a generation of storytelling that is vastly different from our modern media landscape.

I think people are burned out on the way modern storytelling never delivers (looking at you, JJ Abrams) or constantly jerks people around to elicit a reaction, all for the sake of nabbing that viral moment. When they see Oda deploy a trope or a storytelling device they’re immediately suspicious and fearful that it’ll turn into another unsatisfying gotcha. They rush to look for proof that it’s either all part of a detailed master plan, or it’s just a cheap trick to sell more issues.

In both cases, people are looking for a reason to be LESS INVESTED in the story. If he has a master plan, they don’t need to get worried or excited because it’s all heading to some inevitable conclusion that’s been clearly telegraphed and once you’ve cracked the code then you can already tell what the ending will be, so you don’t actually have to care. If he’s winging it, then the story is just a sequence of loosely connected meaningless scenes whose only purpose is to get you hype about a plot leading nowhere, so you don’t actually have to care.

And it breaks my fucking heart.

When it comes to One Piece, so many people are insistent that One Piece is EITHER 100% planned in advance down to every minute detail, or Oda is completely winging the whole thing. But the real answer is somewhere in between, in some muddy grey area that people find really unsatisfying. They want one clear answer that they can hold up as “The Right One,” but life is not made up of black and white answers.

Honestly it makes me really sad that people can read ALL THIS - pirates are evil except actually pirates are good and the Marines are evil except the Marines are trying to protect civilians by keeping countries stable so that's good except the rulers are evil tyrants so that's bad except when they’re not and then they’re good but only sometimes and… - and what they come away with from it is, “Okay but what’s the RIGHT answer.”

The thing that makes One Piece feel like it’s so cohesive despite Oda constantly changing his mind and making shit up is that he has a very strong and clear idea about what’s actually important to the story and what’s flexible. Because he has that as a guide, he can add the Shichibukai and change Vivi from a villain to a princess and make up who Ace’s parent is without diluting what he wants to say.

That’s what it MEANS to be a writer. Foreshadowing isn’t “boring,” it’s good writing. A plot twist you didn’t see isn’t “cheap,” it’s good writing. Fleshing out a backstory isn’t “reconning,” it’s good writing.

#anon ask #asked and answered #saltey takes on one piece #sorry to bombard y'all with these walls of text #saltey says #<- is the tag to block if you don't want to see them

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The art of Daniel Danger

[Image ID: Daniel Danger's art print, 'To all who home to this happy place,' depicting a ruined Disneyland castle in a post-apocalyptic landscape with a statue of Walt and Mickey in the rubble.]

There’s this behavioral economics study that completely changed the way i thought about art, teaching, and critique: it’s a 1993 study called “Introspecting about Reasons can Reduce Post-Choice Satisfaction” by Timothy D Wilson, Douglas J Lisle, Jonathan Schooler, Sara Hodges, Kristen Klaaren and Suzanne LaFleur:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/240281868_Introspecting_about_Reasons_can_Reduce_Post-Choice_Satisfaction

The experimenters asked subjects to preference-rank some art posters; half the posters were cute cartoony posters, and the other half were fine art posters. One group of subjects assigned a simple numeric rank to the posters, and the other had to rank them and explain their ranking. Once they were done, they got to keep their posters.

There was a stark difference in the two groups’ preferences: the group that had to explain their choices picked the cartoony images, while the group that basically got to point at their favorite and say, “Ooh, I like that!” chose the fine art posters.

Then, months later, the experimenters followed up and asked the subjects what they’d done with the poster they got to take home. The ones who’d had to explain their choices and had brought home cartoony images had thrown those posters away. The ones who didn’t have to explain what they liked about their choice, who’d chosen fine art, had hung them up at home and kept them there.

The implication is that it’s hard to explain what makes art good, and the better art is, the harder it is to put your finger on what makes it so good. More: the obvious, easy-to-articulate virtues of art are the less important virtues. Art’s virtues are easy to spot and hard to explain.

The reason this stuck with me is that I learned to be a writer through writing workshops where we would go around in a circle and explain what we liked and didn’t like about someone’s story, and suggest ways to make it better. I started as a teenager in workshops organized by Judith Merril in Toronto, then through my high-school workshop (which Judy had actually founded a decade-plus earlier through a writer in the schools grant), and then at the Clarion workshop in 1992. I went on to teach many of these workshops: Clarion, Clarion West and Viable Paradise.

So I’ve spent a lot of time trying to explain what was and wasn’t good about other peoples’ art (and my own!), and how to make it better. There’s a kind of checklist to help with this: when a story is falling short in some way, writers roll out these “rules” for what makes for good and bad prose. There are a bunch of these rulesets (think of Strunk & White’s Elements of Style), including some genre-specific ones like the Turkey City Lexicon:

https://www.sfwa.org/2009/06/18/turkey-city-lexicon-a-primer-for-sf-workshops/

A few years ago, I was teaching on the Writing Excuses cruise and a student said something like, “Hey, I know all these rules for writing good stories, but I keep reading these stories I really like and they break the rules. When can I break the rules?”

There’s a stock answer a writing teacher is supposed to give here: “Well, first you have to master the rules, then you can break them. You can’t improvise a jazz solo without first learning your scales.”

But in that moment, I thought back to the study with the posters and I had a revelation. These weren’t “rules” at all — they were just things that are hard and therefore easy to screw up. No one really knows why a story isn’t working, but they absolutely know when it doesn’t, and so, like the experimental subject called upon to explain their preferences, they reach for simple answers: “there’s too much exposition,” or “you don’t foreshadow the ending enough.”

There are lots of amazing stories that are full of exposition (readers of mine will not be shocked to learn I hold this view). There are lots of twist endings that are incredible — and not despite coming out of left field, but because of it.

The thing is, if you can’t say what’s wrong, but you know something is wrong, it’s perfectly reasonable to say, “Well, why don’t you try to replace or polish the things that are hardest to do right. Whatever it is that isn’t working here, chances are it’s the thing that’s hardest to make work”:

https://locusmag.com/2020/05/cory-doctorow-rules-for-writers/

But if I could change one thing about how we talk about writing and its “rules,” it would be to draw this distinction, characterizing certain literary feats as easier to screw up than others, having the humility to admit that we just don’t know what’s wrong with a story, and then helping the writer create probabilistically ranked lists of the things they could tinker with to try and improve their execution.

Which is all a very, very long-winded way to explain why I bought a giant, gorgeous art-print at Comic-Con this weekend, even though I have nowhere to hang it and had sworn I would absolutely not buy any art at the con.

I was walking the floor, peeking into booths, when I happened on Daniel Danger’s booth (#5034, if you’re at the con today), and I was just fuckin’ poleaxed by his work.

http://www.tinymediaempire.com/

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘It stopped being about the panic,’ depicting a ruined mansion interwoven with the skeletal branches of a tree, with a weeping statue and two human figures]

Now, see above. I can’t tell you why I loved this work so much (and that’s OK!), but boy oh boy did it speak to me. I just kind of stood there with my mouth open, slowly moving from print to print, admiring works like “It stopped being about the panic.”

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/2022-sdcc-it-stopped-being-about-the-panic-v4

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘headlight in the path of,’ depicting a ruined mall with a pair of stags standing at the top of the escalator.]

On the surface, this is moody, post-apocalyptic stuff, heavily influenced by classic monster/haunter tropes, but it’s shot through with hope and renewal and the sense of something beautiful growing out of the ashes of something that has toppled. There’s real “(Nothing But) Flowers” energy in “Headlight in the path of”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc2023-headlight-in-the-path-of-v2

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘We are no longer able to protect you,’ depicting a ruined factory with a coming-apart sign reading ‘We can no longer protect you forever,’ and a statue of a sword-bearing angel.]

Danger isn’t just a

very

talented artist, he’s also an

extremely

talented craftsman. As a recovering pre-press geek, I was (nearly) as impressed by the wild use of spot color and foils as I was by the art, like in “We are no longer able to protect you”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc-2022-we-can-no-longer-protect-you-forever-v3

[Image  ID: Daniel Danger’s ‘made of smoke and chains,’ depicting a ruined landscape with a pair of derelict subway trains at the foot of a hill on whose peak is a rotting mansion. A pair of human figures, holding hands, are approaching the mansion.]

Danger himself calls this work “weird sad hyper-detailed artwork of dreamy buildings of ghosts and trees,” which is a very apt description of this work, as you can see in “Made of smoke and chains”:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/made-of-smoke-and-chains-mist-preorder

So I looked at this stuff and sternly reminded myself that there was no way I was going to buy any art at the con. Then I walked away. I got about two aisles over when I realized I had to go back and ask permission to take some pictures so I could put a little link to Danger in my blog’s linkdump, which he graciously permitted:

https://www.flickr.com/search/?sort=interestingness-desc&safe_search=1&tags=danieldanger&min_taken_date=1687478400&max_taken_date=1690156799&view_all=1

[Image ID: Daniel Danger’s art print, ‘To all who home to this happy place,’ depicting a ruined Disneyland castle in a post-apocalyptic landscape with a statue of Walt and Mickey in the rubble.]

But then I got all the way ass over to the other ass end of the convention center and I realized I had to go back and buy one of these prints. Which I did, “To all who come to this happy place,” because fuckin’ wow:

https://tinymediaempire.myshopify.com/products/sdcc2023-this-happy-place-v6-foil

This was unequivocally the best thing I saw at this year’s SDCC, but I also got some very good news while there, namely, that Emil Ferris’s long, long-awaited My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Vol 2 is finally on the schedule from Fantagraphics:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/collections/emil-ferris/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

It’s coming out in April, which gives you plenty of time to read volume one, which I called, “a haunting diary of a young girl as a dazzling graphic novel”:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

If you are or were a monster kid or a haunter, this is your goddamned must-read of the summer. It’s a fully queered, stunning memoir for anyone whose erotic imagination intersected with Famous Monsters of Filmland.

(Also, if you’re that kind of person and you’re in the region, you should know about Midsummer Scream, a giant haunter show in Long Beach; I’ll be there on Sunday, July 30, for a panel about the Ghost Post, the legendary Haunted Mansion puzzle-boxes I helped make:

https://midsummerscream.org/

Now Favorite Thing book two was the best news, but the best experience was watching Felicia Day get her Inkpot Award and give a moving speech:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inkpot_Award

And then learning that Raina Telgemeier also got an Inkpot; I love Raina’s work so much:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/10/04/ghosts-raina-telgemeiers-upbeat-tale-of-death-assimilation-and-cystic-fibrosis/

[Image ID: A photo of me with Chuck Tingle, who wears a pink bag over his head on which he has written ‘Love is Real.’]

To cap yesterday off, I also ran into @ChuckTingle, which is as fine a capstone to a successful con as anyone could ask for:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/53065500076/in/dateposted/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/23/but-i-know-what-i-like/#daniel-danger

#pluralistic #writing #haunters #dancing about architecture #spooky #daniel danger #behavioral economics #introspecting #talking about art #gift guide #timothy wilson #tiny media empire #san diego comic-con #posters #sdcc #monster kids #art #raina telgemeier #felicia day #emil ferris #my favorite thing is monsters #inkpot award

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Kaz and Wylan’s potential to become each other

Wow, you guys were a lot more excited about this than I was expecting! I made a post briefly mentioning this idea and it got way more attention that I was expecting, so as promised here is my explanation and I’ve tagged people who asked for it at the end :)

*WARNING: CONSTANT SPOILERS AHEAD*

Ok so the driving forcing of this comparison is rooted in the similarities of their characters and their backstories. Both of them lost a close family member, were abused by men with power over them, and experienced a form of ‘rebirth’ by nearly drowning in the Ketterdam canals. They also both experience disability; Kaz using a cane for a broken leg that didn’t heal correctly, and Wylan having severe dyslexia that prevented him from learning to read. A key difference that separates them, and arguably is a representation of the difference in the way their experiences have shaped their personalities as well, is that Kaz’s disability is a direct result of his chasing after vengeance, whereas Wylan’s disability was used as an excuse for his father to abuse him for what we as the reader see to be a minimum of eight years. (I’m assuming this because he is 16 in the book and was 8 when his mother ‘died’, which is the point that he describes he father to have “given up on him”)

I’m gonna quickly hop to parallels between Kaz and Pekka Rollins, bare with me I promise it’s relevant, which are quickly established as a key part of the novels. When Inej compares them, Kaz’s reply is “I don’t sell girls, I don’t con helpless kids out of their money” to which she gently responds “look at the floor of the Crow Club, Kaz”. Aside from this being the heartbreaking line that it is, it also does a very good job of highlighting their similarities and a similarity that they share with Jan Van Eck. When they meet the merch at the end of the first book they meet on an island called Vellgeluk, which is described as being popular with smugglers and slavers like those who kidnapped Inej. The other Crows are surprised Van Eck knows about Vellgeluk, but Kaz simply says “maybe he isn’t the upstanding merch he appears to be”. Great subtle foreshadowing for his double cross, and great establishment of the link between these three characters. In fact, Van Eck and Kaz echo each other more than you might think. Just as Kaz states “Greed bows to me, it is my servant and my lever”, Van Eck says “Yes, Chaos will come. And I will be it’s master”. In their first meeting, Van Eck accuses Kaz of murder and gambling with people’s lives, and in return Kaz points out that 1 in 5 of Van Eck’s ships will never return because they will sink or “fall prey to pirates”, so they are both doing the same thing, and that they both have the same motivations for this bloodshed: “profit”.

Now consider how often Wylan echoes Kaz, and therefore whether he echoes his father as well. They both have exceptional memories, Kaz’s being photographic/eidetic and Wylan being able to put words to music in his head to remember pages worth of infomation - this is even emphasised by Kaz being able to count cards when he gambles, saying “he could keep track of the game for up to three decks” and Jesper asking Wylan if he’d be able to apply “that trick to counting cards” to which he replies “probably. But I won’t”. They also both have impressive intellects, which could have placed them far higher up in the world than they’ve found themselves if it weren’t for cruel circumstances - Van Eck even comments on this, saying it angers him that Kaz has so much potential but does nothing with it. Then there’s their tendency to avoid being vulnerable. I think we too often overlook the fact that no-one knows Jan Van Eck hired two men to kill his son, not even Jesper, and that not even Inej knows what happened to Kaz on the Reaper’s Barge. Jesper believes that Wylan left his house as a result of his father’s abuse but that it was still his choice, and Inej has no information beyond “Pekka Rollins killed my brother” and the explanation of the con when Kaz faces off with Rollins in Crooked Kingdom. I genuinely believe that the biggest thing separating them is where they place blame for their situations. Kaz blames Pekka Rollins. Wylan actually blames himself.

Arguably, although he catalysed the events, if Rollins hadn’t conned Kaz and Jordie they still would have suffered in an almost identical way: they would both contract the Queen’s Lady Plague, they wouldn’t have enough money for both medicine and boarding, and Jordie would die. In that scenario Kaz would have still been left penniless and alone with nowhere to go, but he wouldn’t have had anyone to blame. In fact, he may have died as well because it’s really his drive for vengeance that makes him strive for survival. When he’s on the Reaper’s Barge he wonders if it’s worth trying to survive because there’s nothing waiting for him in the city, but then he realises that the chance of revenge is waiting for him, and that thought drives him to stay alive every day that follows. Without Rollins, Kaz probably would have blamed himself for Jordie’s death, and I’m backing that up with the singular moment when he’s first attacked by parem-high tide makers and has a brief “boy’s fear” that they are ghosts. He thinks, for a split second, that a ghost has come to kill him and what does he say? He says “Jordie had come for vengeance at last”. This is chapter three. We have no idea who Jordie is. With the limited information we had at the time and what we’d just seen happen to Big Bolliger, I assumed it was someone in Kaz’s gang that he had backstabbed and who has died because of what he did. But no. This single line leads me to wholeheartedly believe that Kaz blames Rollins, who realistically was only a small part of his suffering, quite so vividly to emotionally avoid blaming himself.

Wylan blames himself until around chapters 14 to 16 of Crooked Kingdom. His experiences with mental, emotional, and physical abuse have actively convinced him that his so-called ‘inadequacies’ caused a change in his father’s behaviour. But Wylan not being able to read didn’t magically turn Van Eck from a lucky family man into someone willing to try “specialists, tonics, beatings, [and] hypnotism” against his child. The fact is that Van Eck, like many abusers, is masterfully manipulative in everything he does. Wylan describes seeing his parents’ marriage as a happy one, but he also says “the argued all the time, sometimes about me. But I remember them laughing a lot too”. He’s quick to defend their relationship as if it isn’t supposed to be marred by argument and he lays blame on himself by suggesting that he was the root of their unhappiness. He also says that around Alys, Jan Van Eck becomes who he once was around Marya; a kinder, gentler man. I don’t think we’re meant to assume that he’s acting any differently with Alys in private right now, but I do think we’re meant to assume that he would have done down the line if he hadn’t been arrested (and presumably she filed for divorce). In chapter 14 of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan learns that his mother is still alive but that his father had her committed and declared insane so he could use it as grounds for divorce and marry Alys instead. And you know what happens? Wylan blames himself. He says, verbatim, to Jesper: “You don’t understand. It’s my fault”. He explains that Van Eck did this so he could have a “real heir”; because Marya produced a “faulty” child he needed a new woman to give him the child he wanted. That’s a messed up thing to think on so many levels, but Wylan doesn’t blame Van Eck because he is still being conditioned by his abuse. He and Kaz experienced different kinds of abuse, and Kaz wasn’t conditioned to blame anyone but his abuser, so that’s what he does. When Wylan does begin to blame Van Eck, he is immediately taken in by this same idea of revenge. Kaz says “you were angry. I needed you righteous” when explaining why he sent Wylan to St Hilde blind in chapter 16. Wylan was angry with his father before, but he wasn’t actively seeking vengeance. Now that he has a cause, someone other than himself to fight for? He tells Kaz “well, now you have me”.

Both of them have this potential to be fuelled by revenge or self-hatred, and although they go about it in different ways and lean towards different sides of the scale they are both balancing between those two extremes for the entire duology. Their past experiences have, and their future experiences could, tip them further either way but right now they are almost playing with the line.

Thank you so much if you’ve bothered to read this far, sorry for the long post but you did ask for an essay, so there you go. Tagging the people who asked - @kazooyay @mikasimaginairyworld @sunseeking-cyptid @moonlit-aura @alexplutoplanet @gandalfsmallnaturals @livsarthaven @goodomenstrack23 @origami-butterfly @flower-biatch @bookworm010307 @thesunniest @wherela @space-ace-thoughts @sixofbabycrows @antisocial-burrito

Sorry if I missed anyone!!!

#grishaverse #leigh bardugo #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #wylan van eck #kanej #wesper #kanej supremacy #wesper my beloved #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #nina zenik #matthias helvar #jan van eck #marya van eck #marya hendriks #wylan hendricks #jesper and wylan #six of crows wylan #kazzle dazzle #kaz rietveld #jordie rietveld #kaz and jordie #pekka rollins

[claimedcrossbows]

Served! Sanji x Fem!reader Pt. 2

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

THANKS FOR ALL THE SUPPORT ON THE FIRST CHAPTER!!! <3

Your anxiety was at a full ten as all you could do was listen to pots banging and clattering and Sanji yelling at his makeshift team of chef’s that consisted of a green haired sword fighter, a liar, and a rubber man who wanted to eat everything he saw.

You almost got up from your bed when you heard what sounded a awful lot like a fire extinguisher.

“Oh my God i’m doomed.” You mumbled still clutching your stomach.

You sighed looking over at the orange haired woman occupying your sisters bed and wondered how this woman had managed to make it this far with a crew full of idiots.

If she survived she definitely had your full sympathy.

You sighed looking back over your recipe book that contained numerous healing recipes that you had mastered over the years.

From the looks of the woman it seems she has been bitten by some type of insect, probably from a warm island climate if you had to take a guess.

You skimmed through your book trying to see what recipe would best suit the woman.

Your thoughts were however interrupted by a knock on your door.

You slowly got up and answered the door surprised to see Sanji standing before you.

“How’s Nami?” He immediately asked, looking slightly past you into your room to see his friend still unconscious.

“She’ll get better when I start on the recipe I need to heal her, I already have a few in mind, but that’s not going to happen anyway unless you serve a meal worthy of a outstanding letter of recommendation from the food critic.” You said crossing your arms.

He nods, “That’s why I came up here, come down stairs for a food test.” He said.

You nod your stomach still doing sommersaults but you’d brave anything to make sure your got a good review tonight. So you followed Sanji down stairs and nearly fell out when you saw the state of your kitchen.

It looked like a sea beast had torn apart your kitchen.

“Sweet Jesus…” You said.

“I promise I will clean it thoroughly.” Sanji quickly intercepts seeing you look like you were about to collapse from the sheer shock. “LUFFY I TOLD YOU TO STOP STANDING ON THE TABLES!” Sanji yelled kicking him off.

“Owwww Sanjiii!! I was trying to reach the pots!!” Luffy groaned.

“I Put you on untensil cleaning what could you possibly need a pot for!?” Sanji angrily yelled.

“TO BOIL THE CRAB DUH!” Luffy yelled back.

“WHY ISN’T THE CRAB BOILED!?” Sanji seethed.

“BECAUSE USOPP DIDN’T WANNA TOUCH IT!!” Luffy yells pointing at Usopp.

“IT PINCHED MY NOSE!” Usopp exclaimed.

“I’m lost..” Zoro says holding up two spoons one which was the soup spoon and the other the tea spoon.

“WHEN ARE YOU NOT!?” Sanji hissed throwing a ladle at the mans head.

“WATCH IT CASANOVA!” Zoro seethed.

Sanji sighed turning to you, “Come this way Y/N.” He said directing you out to the dining hall that to your surprise had been miraculously fixed up and in front of you were the main courses and appetizers for the night.

“These are the samples that your sister helped me make, she’s currently looking for some more seasonings for the seafood gumbo.” He paused then continued, “She’s a really fantastic cook, i’m sure she learned from you.” Sanji said giving you a more pollite smile than the flirtatious ones he used earlier.

All you gave was a nod as you began trying some of the lobster mac and jambalaya.

You watched Sanji stare at you with the upmost confidence in his dishes as you chewed and swallowed the rest making sure to have a complete poker face all throughout.

Your little sister enters the room and sees you testing the food.

“Y/N how is it!? I made sure he followed your recipe’s to the highest degree!” She boasted.

You put your fork down and stared at both of them, “The jambalaya could definitely use more kick, the lobster mac a bit more salt, and i’m assuming you prepared the alligator?” You said looking at your little sister.

You take the entire platter of alligator and basically shove it at her.

“Y-yes!” She said shakily.

“It’s too tough, 86 it, and do it over again.” You said flatly.

“R-right!” She said taking the platter and immediately running off her face heavily dissapointed.

You look back over at Sanji who to your surprise had sat down pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and was already mid smoke watching you and your sister interact.

“Ooh your tough, reminds me of Zeff.” He notes blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Who told you you could smoke in my restaurant?” You said plucking the cigarette out of his hand.

He smiles, “My apologies.” He says. “So back to the cutting board?” He asks.

“No. Yours was actually good it can go out.” You said then added, “Guess Zeff instilled some sense in you when it comes to cooking.” You noted.

Sanji laughs, “I can out cook him on my worst day.”

“Hmm, add some more seasonings to those dishes and they’ll be set.” You said. “Just no oregano okay?” You stressed.

Sanji paused and stared at you with a awe struck look followed by a bright smile that nearly blinded you, “I think I just fell for you harder.” He said breathlessly.

“I don’t believe in love at first sight.” You say flatly.

“Then maybe I should walk in again?” He offered a flirty smile gracing his lips once again.

“You are really making me sick.” You sighed feeling the nausea creep back upon you.

“Love sick?” He raised a brow.

“No. Just sick, sick.” You plainly say as his smitten look remained on his face.

You shoot the cook a puzzled look and shake your head, “Okay lover boy, dinners in a few, i’m going back upstairs to look through my healing recipes.” You say turning to leave before the love cook could utter another word.

Before you went upstairs you could hear Luffy screaming, “SANJIII ONE OF THE CRABS ESCAPED!!”

“HOW!?” You could hear sanji angrily yell back.

“IT’S NOT OUR FAULT IT HAD A KNIFE!” Usopp could be heard squealing.

“ZORO FIGHT IT!” Luffy could be heard yelling.

Next thing you heard was “THREE SWORD STYLE!!” Followed be a whole lot of ruckus.

It would be a miracle if you pulled this dinner service off you thought.

-

It was dinner time and you had succesfully managed to find a recipe you think would work on the bedridden woman now it was just time for Sanji to uphold his end of the deal you. Your stomach was still in knots but you managed to dress yourself up for the dinner service and walk yourself down the stairs to a restaurant full of customers some seated, some waiting to be seated.

Your sister along with Zoro and Usopp seemed to be waiting tables, you laughed just a bit when your sister had to instruct Zoro more than several times where the empty tables were for people to be seated.

Your sight suddenly caught a man to the far right back corner of the restaurant by himself and every chef’s insight when it came to food critics kicked in and you knew this must be the food critic.

You nearly threw up again this time anxiety induced as you quickly ran towards the kitchen and screamed for Sanji.

“Sanji!” You yell out of breath by the time you entered the kitchen.

“Mon cheri is everything okay?” He asks setting the frosting down since he was in the middle of decorating desserts.

“The-The Critic is out there far right back corner table.” You stressed. “ I cannot meet him in the state i’m in.” You explain.

“You look stunning though.” He said admiring your outfit.

“If sweaty, pale, and exasperated is stunning I must be frickin gorgeous then, Sanji go out there and talk to them!” You say grabbing the man by the tie and dragging him towards the door but not before the door opened and your sister stood their smiling.

“I met the food critic!!” She boasted.

Your blood ran cold immediately.

“You what?” You asked.

“I met the food critic!” She repeated, “And guess what since we were running out of appetizers due to the crawfish shipment being delayed I offered him some of the shrimp skewers I made left over from last night, they were such a big hit I thought he’d like them!” She excitedly said.

“There were leftovers…I thought we ate them all-”

“Well yeah but I saved a plate for myself for later, it’s a good thing I didn’t eat them though.” She smiled excitedly.

Your heart rate was in over drive and you had never ran so fast in your entire life.

“Don’t eat that shrimp skewer!!” You yell in a room full of crowded people who all pause and look at you appauled.

Your eyes meet the food critic and his empty appetizer plate and you nearly collapse right there.

Your sister hurries behind you followed by Sanji who looked just as lost as everyone else in the room.

You watch the food critic approach you and you swear the world is spinning at this point.

“Are you the owner of this establishment?” The critic says their eyes boring into you with peak interest.

You couldn’t read his face which only heightened your panic, “Y-yes sir..” You stutter.

“Well Ms, I suggest your get some new wait staff, that gentleman over there ate my appetizer before I could even take a bite!” He angrily says.

Your eyes widen in confusion until the critic points to the back of the restaurant where you could see Luffy laying flat on his back on a table surrounded by gobbled up scraps from desserted plates.

“LUFFY!” Sanji yells.

“Uhhgggg I don’t feel so well.” He groans.

“Ah..I apologize sir, please allow us to get you another appetizer and perhaps a bottle of our fancy wine?” You offer.

The critic contemplates for a minute and then nods, you sigh and relief and Sanji quickly goes to serve the critic his food.

You let out a sigh of relief as your sister still looks at you puzzled by everything that had just occured.

You say nothing as you walk back upstairs suddenly needing to lie down.

-

The dinner service ended and you were too scared to go back downstairs to see what had happened. It wasn’t until you heard a knock on your door that you got up and answered it. There stood Sanji still wearing his suit and famous smile.

“Come downstairs?” He asked.

You nodded following him downstairs as he lead you past the dining room, past the kitchen, and outside at the back of the restaurant where a nice deck stood over looking the ocean.

“So you found the deck huh?” You quipped as you saw a table and two chairs set up that hadn’t been there before.

“It’s peaceful back here.” He noted.

“It is.” You agree sitting down noticing a lidded tray in the middle of the table.

You shoot him a bewildered look and he just smiles unveiling the plate just like he would any other customer.

There in front of you on a plate layed a single letter, and a drink.

“The drink is a pear ginger smoothie to help settle your stomach, and the letter is from the critic, bon appetite.” He says smiling warmly as he sits across from you.

You give him a short smile and sip the smoothie actually surprised with just how good it is.

“It’s not a healing recipe, but it should still help ease the nausea” He says.

“Thank you.” You say as you focus your attention back onto the letter, “Did you read it?” You ask.

“It’s your restaurant Mi’lady.” He says, “You should do the honors.” He says.

You nod as you pick up the letter and take a deep breath before reading it.

As you read you could feel Sanji’s eyes locked onto you and you weren’t sure if it was due to anticipation or something else as you could feel his inquistive eyes never leave you.

You set the letter down and look at him.

“Well East Blue Boy, you did it!” You smiled watching a wide smile spread upon his face.

“Great review?” He asked happily.

“4 out of 5 stars, mostly because of the poor wait staff-”

“I Apologize for Luffy.” Sanji immediately cuts in.

“Actually I think he saved me.” You sigh putting the letter down as sitting further back in your chair.

“Yeah what was that about earlier?” He asks shooting you that same questioning look as he reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a lighter and another cigarette.

“Geez what are you a chimney?” You quip.

“I’m assuming it’s okay now that we’re outside?” He asks before he lights.

“Eh it’s your lungs.” You shrug.

He gently laughs, “You trying to stall?” He asks.

You sigh frowning a bit, “I know what caused me and my entire staff to contract food poisoning.” You admit.

“Yeah I was wondering about that, how does a chef as talented as you get food poisoning?” He asks.

“It wasn’t me..” You admit. “It was my sisters shrimp skewers.” You explain.

“Wait-the ones she gave the critic!?” Sanji eyes widen. ”Those very ones.” You nod, “Thank God Luffy ate them before he did, ohh wait he’s okay right?” You ask kind of worried about the bouncy kid.

“Luffy’s immune to most poisons, he’s fine just a mild stomach ache I gave him one of the ginger smoothies as well.” Sanji says.

“That’s good.” You say tiredly.

“Your sister though? She’s so talented?” Sanji asks.

You shake your head, “She’s amazing, she’ll probably be better than me at some point..but she’s young, passionate and quite forgetful, always so quick to move from one thing to the other, like leaving those shrimp skewers out for hours and only fridgerating it after it had been out most of the day.” You sigh.

“Ah..so that’s how it happened.” Sanji sort of chuckles. “Zeff would’ve had my head if i had let something like that happen, but you made her my sous chef?” He wonders.

“She’s young, and makes mistakes, but when she’s serious she’s one of the most talented upcomers i’ve ever seen.” You say proudly. “I knew with a critic coming in she was going to give it her all.”

“You trusted her even though it could’ve meant the end of your restaurant?” He states admiration for you ghosting his face.

“Of course, she’s my sister.” You shrug giving a small smile.

He returns the smile as you both fall into silence.

You can’t help but notice his blue eyes and how much they shined looking at you in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You clear your throat and stand up, “Well since you fulfilled your end of the bargain I better start making the recipe to heal your friend.” You say.

He nods and you begin walk to the door turning around as you see him still seated there.

“Aren’t you coming?” You ask.

He raises a brow in confusion.

“Come on your going to help me.” You say watching his eyes light up.

“Yes Chef!” He says smiling as he puts his cigarette out and follows you in.

-

Hey guys wow this was supposed to be 2 parter at most, but now I'm thinking I might make a 3rd part, let me know if it’s something you want though.

Oh and here's a video of the crab fighting Luffy, Usopp and Zoro!!

#sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #sanji #roronoa zoro #usopp #one piece netflix #Youtube

[syn0vial]

in EEAAO, when evelyn first glimpses the universe where she’s a kung fu master, she sees her master hold up one of the cookies that waymond made for deidre in her home universe and say, “even this cookie can be kung fu.”

even this early in the film, we’re getting foreshadowing that waymond’s acts of kindness in a seemingly cruel universe (like making cookies for the IRS agent who seems to have it out for the family) isn’t a silly weakness like evelyn thinks but an effective and powerful way to fight and the key to defeating the forces of indifference and nihilism!!

#everything everywhere all at once #eeaao #things that occur to me while fighting tears listening to the EEAAO soundtrack on my way to the doctor’s office

[yuurei20]

Dialogue Comparison, EN vs. JP: Book 6

Original Jamil: A servant cannot disrespect the kindness of their master.

EN Jamil: Kalim’s gesture would feel hollow if I didn’t follow his example.

In the English-language game, Kalim references hoverboards as if they are an established technology in the Twisted Wonderland universe. But in the original game Kalim does not seem to know what hoverboards are, and refers to them as flying skateboards. This may imply that Kalim is unfamiliar with the concept of hoverboards and they may actually be special STYX technology rather than something with which everyone is familiar.

Original Epel: Daaang…when I think about Rook-san being able to use it, that becomes some mighty scary magic…

EN Epel: Daaang…that’s a might scary piece o’ magic.

Original Riddle: What in the world were we (doing)…?

EN Riddle: What’s their game now?

Leona is the only character of the five abductees who is able to instantly recognize when he awakes in a simulation. Riddle originally expresses confusion about what it was they had been doing, but in his English-language dialogue he sounds like he is still aware that Idia and Ortho are working behind the scenes, when he isn’t.

The English-language adaptation removed references to most of the NRC students still being minors, Vil saying that he and Idia are still 18, and the fact that they are all students, which are all normal changes for EN.

Interestingly, Vil’s line at the end of the game about still being 18 was preserved, despite being removed earlier on.

In a beautiful use of furigana, our introduction to the child formerly known as Ortho is with robot-Ortho and dead-Ortho simultaneously saying, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, me.” 

The kanji used is 僕 for “I or me”, but both characters pronounce it as "Ortho."

This actually happened earlier in the game, as well, perhaps as foreshadowing, but could not be carried over to EN due to language limitations.

While Idia seems to have programmed robot-Ortho to refer to him as nii-san, original Ortho would call him nii-chan.

Neither of these words technically exist in English, so robot-Ortho has been calling Idia by his name on EN, with original-Ortho saying “Idy.”

In the scene where Idia reveals he is going to support original-Ortho’s plans he originally adopts the name that Ortho uses for him, “nii-chan.”

If EN wanted to follow JP’s continuity Idia would have had to refer to himself as “Idy,” just like EN-original-Ortho, but he doesn’t. 

Instead, EN-Idia refers to himself as “big bro,” though neither Ortho ever refers to him in that way in the English-language game. 

So while the original game has two names for Idia depending upon which Ortho is speaking, it seems that EN has three: robot Ortho’s “Idia,” original Ortho’s "Idy" and Idia’s way of referring to himself in relation to original Ortho: “big bro.” 

And Idia referring to himself as original-Ortho’s name for him is not a secret from robot-Ortho: Idia refers to himself as original-Ortho’s “nii-chan” in a conversation with robot-Otho that we see in Book 5, which serves as a direct parallel to Idia’s identical line in Book 6. (A line that was changed on EN.)

This comes up again during Fairy Gala IF where Idia originally refers to himself as JP-Ortho’s “nii-chan," and as “big bro" on EN.

After original-Ortho dies for the second time, he shifts from “nii-chan” to robot-Ortho’s “nii-san,” to pass the torch.

Since robot-Ortho only ever refers to Idia by his name on EN that is what this becomes, but this means that EN misses out on a significant moment later on:

Idia tells robot-Ortho that he no longer needs to play the part of Ortho for him anymore. 

Dismissed from his role, we see Ortho do something he has never done before: He refers to Idia by his full name, even calling him “Idia-san,” as, in that moment, they are no longer siblings.

Idia agrees to allow robot-Ortho to be his real little brother, and Ortho immediately returns to using “nii-san” again.

This moment was not, and maybe just couldn’t be, included on EN, with Ortho referring to Idia in the same way he always does throughout the entire conversation.

In Rook’s original dialogue, he follows up Vil’s praise of Epel’s accuracy with his magic by saying, "Speaking of Spelldrive, I’m told that even Leona-kun holds Epel-kun’s flying prowess in high regard."

This is a reference to an earlier conversation in Book 6, where Epel himself tells Rook that Leona has said that he is the best first-year flier in the Spelldrive Club.

There seems to have been some confusion on EN, however, and Rook’s line was mistranslated as, “I’m told that Epel’s flying prowess is even greater than Leona’s,” which is not the case.

Original Azul: No matter how many hearts I have it will never be enough.

EN Azul: My heart can’t take any more of this.

(Azul’s octopus joke removed :< I read that octopi have three hearts!)

Original Leona: After all, you’re not like me.

EN Leona: After all, I’m not like you.

 Kind of pedantic, but in Leona’s original dialogue he is saying that there is still hope for Jamil, though there is no hope for him. Jamil finally understands this later on, realizing that Leona has been trying to teach him that he still has potential, even if things may look bleak at the moment. Leona’s line of, “After all, you’re not like me” was, however, written backwards in the English-language of the game into, “After all, I’m not like you,” making Leona the subject of the sentence, instead.

Original Azul: I spent years just lounging around, eating whatever I felt like…

EN Azul: I spent years just lounging around, doing whatever I felt like…

Original Azul: I followed that abysmal routine for years, wasting time and storing calories!!!

EN Azul: Yes, it was an abysmal routine. I wasted times and gained precious little!

While the English-language adaptation kept Ace’s insult of the player, they removed Deuce’s.

Ruggie compliments Leona on having absurdly long legs in his original dialogue, which EN translated as a comment on him being “annoyingly tall.”

It is rare for this kind of comment to make it to EN. Other times that a character has commented on Leona or Vil having long legs, it has been removed.

In one of the final scenes of Book 6 Idia is explaining what happened to robot-Ortho. In Ortho’s original dialogue he says “he” when referring to the dead Ortho, never actually using his name.

In the English-language adaptation this was changed to Ortho saying “original Ortho” instead.

#twisted wonderland #twstdialogue #Book 6

[pluvialpoet]

delicate edges // chapter 2

summary: beneath disdain, there is admiration. beyond betrayal, there is devotion. underneath loathing, there is adoration. even the coldest- most closed-off hearts- are protected by delicate edges of temptation, forgiveness, and absolution. an exiled heart longs for embrace, but desire threatens ruination. will true love become your savior or your greatest sin?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of wandering hands (noncon touching), and miscommunications (plus, an embarrassing amount of foreshadowing that won't make any sense until later)

word count: 10,302

series masterlist

The tip of an embroidery needle pricks your flesh, and with a discouraged puff, you place the hoop on the chaise beside you. It’s pitiful- both your lack of needlepoint skills, and the design you’ve attempted to craft. What was supposed to be an homage to your house sigil is a mess of tangled thread and stained canvas- an illusion of a pink maiden, indeed. Perhaps if you’d turn it one way, or flip it upside down, or close both eyes and imagine the intended image staring back at you, then a different point of view might paint your work more favorable. After a few rounds of trial and error, you’ve come to accept that it does not.

Frustration urges you to yank and tear and unravel the mess you’ve made, but alas, thread is an expensive luxury that you’d be a fool to waste. Though your patience runs thin, you take a deep breath and attempt to regain your composure. 

You’ve never been one for crafting. Dainty displays of femininity only serve to test your tolerance. Talents and skills you’ve failed to master- no matter how many years of practice you’ve endured- best you time and time again, and a twinge of panic stings your pinpricked wound when you realize that you’re running out of time. 

“I quite like this color on you,” Helaena Targaryen-  the king’s daughter, and Aemond’s sister- compliments your dress from across the room, momentarily distracting you from your plight. “It reminds me of a celastrina ladon.” She adds with a smile, though you’re not quite sure you understand the sentiment behind her words. As if she notices your uncertainty, she plainly praises, “Pretty.”

“Thank you, Helaena.” A gentle smile is passed between the two of you- a gesture of shared gratitude, and perhaps, appreciation for each other’s company. You can’t imagine how lonely she must be. Her only sister abandoned her when she was a girl, and her eldest brother had never really been quite fond of her company. Aemond tries his best to make time for his sister. Out of all of Helaena’s siblings, he is the most devoted to her. With few friends- and even fewer admirers- the princess often spends her days locked away in the comfort of her rooms, threading, dancing, or singing, solitarily. It seems like a forlorn life, but it brings her much joy. It makes you cherish the rare moments of amity she allows you to share with her. You’re grateful for them. Especially since you’re privy to the knowledge that she prefers to be left alone. “Are you looking forward to the evening’s festivities?” 

Nimble fingers continue to weave and thread, only halting their movements to ponder upon the proposed question, and after a brief silence- filled with heavy thought and reflection- Helaena reveals, “I am most looking forward to watching the sun set.” She is a woman of few words, though her speech is far from simple. She is thoughtful- precise in her vocabulary, and silent when additions to conversations are unwarranted. There is oft something woven between the lines of her riddles and tongues meant to be deciphered, and when there isn’t, simple banter suffices.

“On that, we can both agree.”

A pleasant lull fills the space of spoken word for merely a moment, before Helaena’s brow furrows. For the first time, she looks up from her embroidery and meets your stare.

“You hold no interest in the tourney, or the ball?” She asks, and your answer is immediate- as if it’s been rehearsed many times or simply reiterated.

“I believe that they falsify honor with brutality.” You express your distastes with a grimace. “Such occasion justifies acts of savagery under the guise of proving strength and skill. I’m not compelled by displays of power nor aggression- though, I suppose there is something to be admired about the art of it all.”

“Art?” 

“Yes,” You defend, “When Aemond fights, every move is calculated and precise. He moves as if…“ Pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, you huff a breath, “As if, protection and defense are steps to a dance he’s been dancing his whole life.” You can’t help but smile whilst justifying the difference. “He is poised and delicate and-“ When Helaena grins, you realize that you’re getting ahead of yourself and your cheeks flush with warmth. “Well, I suppose there is something to be admired about it, is all.”

“And the ball?” She inquires, wondering if your opinions on dancing are as strong as they are against fighting, but before you have the chance to reply, a knock upon the door to Helaena’s chambers stifles the conversation. The interruption is unexpected and intrusive- drawing focus and attention away from your previous exchange and demanding awareness, elsewhere- and thick tension threatens to smother. Helaena’s lips part, allowing a quick gasp to pass, without allowing any more air to enter. Her lungs burn with anticipation. Another soft rap against wood heightens the already heavy suspense, and her eyes meet yours- searching, for either fear that mirrors hers, or, valor she could mimic, instead. 

When Aemond enters her chambers, a look of relief washes over her features, and the corner of his lip curls into a gentle smile. It’s obvious, in the way that they gaze at one another, that they care for each other immensely, and you’re grateful that despite whatever loneliness they suffer, they have the other.

“Mother is expecting us,” He announces, fiddling with his hands behind his back whilst he informs his sister that they’ve been called upon. She nods dutifully, setting down her needlework and smoothing down the skirts of her dress as she stands to join him. “And your father is waiting for you,” Aemond adds, his gaze shifting to where you sit. You find yourself wondering if he likes the color of your dress- or if he finds it too blue? Are the sleeves too short? Does he believe that it flatters you? Does he notice at all?  It’s not like you’ve worn it for him, specifically, but you value his opinion and hope that he might spare you a compliment like his sister had. 

He does not.

“Thank you.” With a sheepish smile, you rise, abandoning both needle and thread as you cross the room to Helaena and loop your arm with hers. He bids you both adieu with a nod and as your footsteps retreat, he catches sight of the embroidery hoop you’ve left behind. Curiosity intrigues him, and before he can stop himself, he wanders over to get a better look. 

Unsurprisingly, he can barely make out what you’ve attempted to create. Based on the colors alone, he deducts that it must’ve been a supposed tribute to your house sigil, but it hardly resembles the intended. It’s a charming disaster of chaos- pink, white, and blue tangled, knotted, and intertwined- and he’s captivated by your lack of aptitude when it comes to needlework. It’s a good thing you’ve deserted the cloth. If you had intended to pass it off as a favor, he’s pleased that you’ve saved yourself the embarrassment. He can’t imagine the ridicule you’d suffer if anyone else were to witness your craft. To spare you, he folds the homely handkerchief into his pocket- with the intent of pardoning you from mockery and returning it to you when the time permits, of course.

Why else would he be so mindful of creasing the monstrosity before tucking it safely into the pocket of his doublet?

You quickly lose interest in the tournament. Each match seems trivial and repetitive- in the sense that two men spar against one another until one bests the other. Perhaps, you hold such little regard in each aimless battle because you’ve grown used to watching seasoned knights train with purpose, not just for show. You’re not as easily amused or entertained by the performance and find yourself trying to figure out how much longer the ceaseless act will dwindle on for by trying to gauge where the sun hangs overhead.

Beside you, your father leans over. Ever observant, he takes an interest in your disinterest. Your chin rests in the palm of your hand, boredom apparent and overwhelmingly evident. He stifles a laugh. Surely, you’re not so uninterested in the events taking place before you that you find yourself prone to slumber. When you were a girl, you used to love watching the knights joust. It was your favorite part of celebrating the spring solstice. Now, you’re practically nodding off beside him. If he looks close enough, he can still catch glimpses of his little girl in a woman grown.

“I have a proposal for you,” He clears his throat softly, coaxing your attention away from the mock battle. “Before the next round, choose a winner. If you are correct, I shall award you a halfpenny.”

“Only a halfpenny for my knowledge?” He’s not expecting you to frown, but your lips pucker and pout, visibly unenthused by what he thought made an otherwise tempting offer. “I’d wager my talents are worth at least copper stars.”

“Do you now?” His eyes crinkle with laughter, the sound stifled by the roar of the crowd. “Well then, you must forgive me, darling, for I did not know your talents were so valuable.” Your father ribs softly. It’s nearly impossible not to mirror his joy when it’s so contagious. “Perhaps if your knowledge can predict the outcome of each match, I shall reward you with a gold dragon.” 

“Truly?” With wide eyes, you ask.

“Have you ever known me to jest?” A gentle scoff is accompanied by a teasing glint. “Now, perk up,” He warns with a playful grin, and you have no reason to argue.

Between wagers with your father and idle chatter with Helaena, time passes comfortably. Match after match concludes with applause granted to the victor, and at some point, the acclamations start to lose their novelty. You find yourself joining in on the celebrations to avoid being the only one left out, but it’s all forced- every smile, every congratulatory cheer, even most of the sympathetic grimaces offered to those impaled by a lance or bathed in mud and defeat, lack genuine sincerity. 

The royal box obscures your view of the sun, but you can still feel the warmth of its rays- even eclipsed by stone and canvas above. It’s an unforgiving heat. Wet and sticky. Each breath is labored, and excess moisture is absorbed by the fabric of your gown, adding phantom weight to the garment. Dampness kisses your hairline, decorating the expanse with pearls of sweat that glisten in the light. Fine hairs start to curl outwards, rebelling against the braids they were forced into earlier this morning and you resist the urge to comb them back into place.

Thunderous applause distracts.

Another champion rides forth, and the splintered pieces of House Mallister’s sigil become trampled by the hooves of an auburn stallion. The rider guides his beast toward the royal box, but the mount does not advance without a fight. He whinnies in protest, letting out a huff of refusal, before taking to his hind legs. Onlookers murmur and gasp as the knight struggles to control the horse. Another irritated puff, another crack of a whip, and then, finally, the animal obeys. 

The mystery knight’s helmet is discarded and the Master of Revels introduces Ser Edmund Flowers- a hedge knight from the Reach, said to be the bastard son of Willem Ball. He’s rewarded with far less praise once his identity is revealed, but the celebration never truly ceases. Dark, unkempt hair falls into his eyes and he shakes it away to clear his line of sight as he looks up towards the royal box. He’s young- no more than a year or two older than you are- and it’s a miracle that he’s managed to survive the joust without the same amount of experience most fighting knights possess.

Helaena flinches beside you.

The sudden movement catches your attention, and you spare her a glance as she fidgets with her fingers. Her eyes are wide, her pale skin ghostly and gray, and you can’t help but feel concerned for her. Knowing of her aversion to touch, you fight the urge to reach for her hands and stop them from trembling. Something has spooked her. A look of equal parts fear and anger influences her features, and her stare narrows.

“No, no, no,” She mumbles to herself, and you briefly wonder if she’s made wagers against the victorious knight. Perhaps she’s found herself in debts she can not pay. If she requires coin, she merely has to ask. Whilst others remain in good spirits- cheering and applauding- the princess appears sullen and agitated. The sight of her distress is enough to warrant concern of your own.

“Helaena, what is it?” You ask lightly, mindful not to add to her unease by making sharp, sudden movements, or using a voice that might appear louder, or harsher than intended. She looks to you then, her stare blank and her eyes glossed over in either terror or detachment- it’s difficult to tell. Her answer is decided, but the words evade her, and she struggles to formulate the intended reply. Instead, her lips part, and press, over and over again, like she’s gasping for air.

The sound of her quick breaths finally catches Aemond’s attention, but before he has the chance to spare his sister concern, he’s interrupted.

“Lady Piper,” Ser Edmund addresses the box and you immediately suck in a sharp sigh. He beams with a confidence rewarded by glory- void of the arrogance granted by experience- and offers a peaceful smile. “I’ve prayed to the Seven for protection, but I look to you and your favor for strength.” The proposal, which sounds more like a plea, is met with silent anticipation-  from both the gathered masses and yourself. 

He is a stranger- a name you’ve never heard of and a face you’ve never seen until today. His status, or lack thereof, is not what causes your chest to tighten. It is not his fault he is a bastard, and you don’t hold him in low esteem because of it. He is boyishly handsome- at least, you assume, with the distance between you and the glare of the sun’s rays, that he is- and it’s enigmatic, trying to decipher what flutters inside of you at the prospect of accepting his advanced.

It is the first time you’ve been called upon with the intent of a potential courtship. 

It is the first time you’ve been desired.

It fills you with gratification- to know that you’re wanted, to know that you’re sought after. So strange and so new is the feeling that you don’t know what to make of it. The only time you’ve felt something similar- the only other time you’ve been kissed by the flames of attraction and burning- is when you find yourself in the company of your eldest friend. Whatever flush set alight by the knight asking for your favor is snuffed out by the fondness you feel for the second Targaryen prince.

“I do not take without giving, my lady, and I offer this flower as a token of my gratitude.” Withdrawing something from underneath his breastplate, tucked safely between chainmail and steel- he presents a favor of his own. With purple and green leaves- and roots still attached to a clump of soil- he holds it out to you and you rise to your feet. 

Aemond watches you smile sweetly at the gesture, enthralled by the lavishness of the offering, and his lip curls bitterly. The bastard knight has offered you nothing more than fireplum- a weed- likely plucked from lands that don’t belong to him, and never will. Yet, your eyes crinkle with affection at such a simple display of yearning. His nostrils flare.

“Thank you, Ser Flowers.” You bow- simply to convey decency- and his smile grows. The air stills. Heavy, with something other than humidity, each breath fails to satiate the need for more air in your lungs. Whispers travel. Murmurs intensify. With a sudden reluctance, your intestines twist- but your smile never falters. Against better judgment, you spare a glance over your shoulder. You expect to be met with the familiar comforts of violet and sapphire- concealed by leather- but Aemond looks beyond you. Even when you attempt to catch his eye, he refuses to meet your stare. Breath catches in your throat. 

You don’t know what you were expecting.

Dejectedly, you untie one of the purple ribbons from your hair and wrap it around his lance- seemingly accepting his favor and offering your own in return. “Best of luck to you.” 

The crowd erupts in support. With a thoughtful grin, he boasts your favor and dons his helmet once more. You return to your seat, where Helaena remains fitful, and brush the tips of your fingers over the leaves of your token. Beside you, your father offers his sympathies with a tight press of his lips and you awkwardly return the gesture before trying to sneak another glance at Aemond- whose peripheral is blocked by his patch. Despite this, he can feel the weight of your stare and wills himself to look forward.

Ser Flowers is thrown from his horse the next round, and Aemond makes no attempt to hide his spiteful smirk of glee whilst he watches the defeated bastard limp from the tourney grounds. It’s a sight to be seen- a Flower daubed in mire- and he’s lucky he has at least one eye to see it. The loser spares a pitiful glance towards you, and you offer your sympathies silently- with a gentle nod.

The tourney drags on. A winner is announced, and then a loser, and so on and so forth until only one knight- from House Darklyn- emerges victoriously against all of his competitors. Holding true to tradition, a wreath of flowers is placed atop the head of a plain girl from Tarth. Precious petals are cushioned by hair that resembles straw, and when she smiles, it’s revealed that she’s still missing a few teeth from her youth. She’s a bony child, nearly as tall as the knight that’s crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty, and even with only one eye, Aemond can see clearer than those blessed with two- she is not the most desirable maiden in attendance nor the most striking. She just is. Simple. Forgettable. Ordinary. Yet, onlookers cheer for the homely daughter of the Evanstar, praising and celebrating her as if she were the fairest across the land- an actual sapphire unearthed amid bedrock and clay.

Why is she so easily accepted by the masses and he shunned? Why is she celebrated whilst he is ostracized? 

Envy is sour, and his lips purse with distaste as he forces his attention elsewhere. He will not honor the chosen outsider- a child with nothing to give to his people- whilst he remains snubbed. Grateful for the distraction, if nothing else, he uses the celebration as an excuse to quietly slip away, back into the shadows that welcome him when he’s grown tired of parading about the light. Perhaps his only regret is that he’ll miss the sunset, but he doubts that you won’t find a way to recount the sights to him the next time you cross paths. With a vivid attention to detail and a picturesque prose, the story he awaits is likely more mystical than the actual event- like childhood lore, meant to lull, but stirring imagination instead, he reckons he could listen to the same tale echoed forevermore, as long as it’s from your view.

On a dias, sat high above the company of lesser lords and commoners, Aemond sits alone. He is surrounded by his blood- save for the empty seat next to Helaena where his brother, Aegon, is meant to be seated- but he remains solus. The feast is a joyous occasion for gluttons and peasants alike, luxuriating in grub and cups without a care beyond what they’ll shove down their gullets next, and he loses his appetite in the presence of greed. Below they laugh, dance, and indulge, leaving the prince with no choice but to observe the same people that have rejected him partake in merriment. He has always been the spare- second to Aegon, and third, fourth, and so on to the children his future wife might bare- but he still occupies a seat above them, a seat that watches over them as they mingle and gawk whilst he has no choice but to remain dutiful. Forced to portray amiability when all that bubbles in the pit of his stomach is animosity.

The glances spared his way- the ones purposeful and deliberate, not accidental or unintentional- are filled with the same judgments and scrutiny he’s been condemned to since childhood. Though he’s much too far to hear the whispers sat atop his pedestal, he holds no delusions that the gossips have seized their hearsay in favor of silence. They’d be driven to madness, otherwise. Cornered by elation, trapped in a festivity of joy, he remains sullen. He clasps his hands together- tight enough for the color to drain from his fingertips- and with a look of repugnance, he watches over the citizens that have prospered with newfound sustenance- even if only for the evening- by suckling from his family’s teet.

Through small talk and amicable gestures, you’ve managed to avoid the awkward prospect of falling into step with a suitor who would quickly lose interest the moment you spun out of turn, or stepped on their toes- like the last time Aemond’s uncle, Daemon, had asked for your hand. He didn’t speak a word to you, and hardly spared you a glance whilst he lead you through the dance. Instead, he glared at his nephew with a smug smile that quickly vanished when you accidentally lost your footing and landed right on his foot. Aemond laughed at that.

The urge to flee is immense. You long to retire somewhere thinly populated- free from the burdens of socializing and the threat of celebration- but as you look upon the grand dias that seats the Targaryen family and catch Aemond’s eye, your devotion morphs into something much more selfless.

He holds your stare. Despite the exuberant mob of conversation, drunken joviality, and waltzing pairs, he finds you. Somehow, he always does- and, with a talent far less impressive, you manage to find him. Never first, only after you feel his eye upon you. Even from far away, you note the discomfort reflected in his gaze. Invisible to everyone else in attendance, you notice him. Always. You rise, abandoning grub and beverage in favor of more familiar comforts, and across the room, Aemond does the same. The simultaneous movements fail to garner the regard of inebriated guests- drunk on glee and mead- but they share the same intentions. With a smile you’re unable to contain, you weave your way through the crowd. When you finally make your way to his side, he greets you with a thin press of his lips and a nod, and you mean to make conversation with him, but someone clears their throat from behind you, contending for your attention, instead.

“Lord Corbray,” Your smile is forced, yet reserved. With grace and diplomacy, you greet Leowyn Corbray- a stocky man with little respect for chivalry, as he oft forgets himself in the company of women. His dark, stringy hair is sparser than the last time your paths crossed, but it is still slicked back with grease and clumped in patches. The top button is missing from his doublet, the front of the garment soaked through with either sweet wine, mead, or sweat. He appears to be in good spirits, either way. The lines around his eyes crease as he greets you, smile stretching wide to reveal a crooked display of teeth. He is nearly thrice your age, but the years don’t prevent him from reaching for your hand.

“Lady Piper,” He happily accepts your pleasantries by pressing his lips to the back of your palm. It is revolting. It is repulsive and distasteful. Despite how sloppy the gesture is, despite the quick swipe of his tongue against the dorsal of your hand that makes your skin crawl, the worst part about the entire exchange is that his grip tightens around your fingers- effectively, and forcefully, stopping you from retreating from the seemingly innocent assault.

Luckily, unlike the last time you found yourself in his presence, you are not alone.

“Prince Aemond,” Leowyn acknowledges the man beside you only because of the title he dons. If Aemond had been a squire, knight, or even another lord, he wouldn’t have paid him any mind. But alas, propriety mustn’t be forgotten in the presence of royalty. 

Next to you, Aemond stiffens. Though he is completely unaware of the strength Lord Corbray uses to keep you in his grasp or the grievous attack of his lips upon your skin, he finds the entire exchange unsettling. He thinks back to your conversation a few days prior- the one where you voiced your distaste for marriage and motherhood- and he believes he understands better than he did then. Watching you interact with a man who is closer in age to your father than he is to you, is confusing. He doubts that you would find yourself in a happy partnership with a man as absent-minded as Leowyn Corbray, and the longer he considers the possibility, his insides begin to ache. Akin to that of an upset stomach from boyhood, he watches you smile and wipe your hand against the skirts of your dress before shivering, and the twisting in his stomach intensifies. Coupled with a tightness in his chest- equivalent to the labored, strained breaths after a taxing day of sword training- he watches as a pair of light brown eyes meet yours, and knows not what to make of such strange, sudden sentiments.

“Not even the stars rival your light tonight, my lady,” Leowyn slurs, whilst attempting to flatter you, no doubt. Perhaps from anyone else, the compliment might’ve brought forth a warmth to your cheeks, but from his tongue- past his lips, in a boisterous tone, with an arrogant grin, as if he were certain such praise would have you falling at his feet- you feel nothing beyond irritation, and even a bit of pity, for the man making a fool of himself. Still, you’re too well-mannered not to accept his kind words- even if you refuse to take them to heart.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Under no delusion that he’s come to simply pay you a compliment, you wait with bated breath for him to reveal his true intention. The silence- which only lasts a few seconds- feels like it stretches on for days. You’ve grown dizzy, plagued with worst-case scenarios and nightmarish figments. Though, when he speaks again, your worries do not remain somewhere far off. They intensify.

“Perhaps, you would bestow me the honor of a dance?” His tongue sweeps across the front of his teeth in a manner that makes the crooked ivories nearly mistakable for a set of fangs. The color in his eyes dissolves, darkening an already menacing stare tenfold. “It would be a privilege to turn with the fairest maiden amongst the seven kingdoms,” Memories haunt. Time has faded bruises, but it has not healed old wounds split open by fear. Though, back then you knew not what to expect. Now, you dread what you know. 

“Have you met them all?” It’s a shock that your voice finds you at all. The sly leer falls from his face. Arrogance and brawn are discarded like a mask, revealing a timid, feeble, drunken man underneath the brazen facade of a lord- whose only real power comes from a title handed down to him, not strength or wit, or even charm.

“I beg your pardon?” He sputters, mouth agape and taken aback by the challenge he neither expected nor prepared for. 

“All the maidens in the seven kingdoms?” Rage and trepidation influence your speech, demanding answers to questions you wouldn’t even dare to ask had you found yourself alone in his company. “Have you the privilege of meeting them all before deeming that I am the fairest?”

Aemond bites back a snicker. There’s something comical about the exchange, and something even more gratifying about watching you reproach a man as vile as Leowyn Corbray. His chest blossoms with something parallel to pride, but not quite equivalent, and it makes each breath a little easier to breathe when he glances upon the fool’s face and witnesses a look of utter stupefaction. For once, he is not the object of ridicule. Thus, if prompted, he will not refrain from joining in on the mockery he’s only ever witnessed his whole life. Perhaps he is as wicked and twice as heartless as whispers have painted him out to be. Thirsty for nothing short of revenge against any and all who have ever wronged him, he thrives for vengeance. But then, he looks to you- the only person who has never made him feel any less whole, solely because he is missing parts- and such temptations are quelled. 

For nearly a second, he gazes at you with fondness.

“Lady Piper, I-“ A proper apology evades the man before you. Perhaps, if he’d offered his condolences more, he might’ve been better acquainted with the words meant to ask for pardon. Alas, his following sentiment disappoints, “I meant not to offend, my lady- only to compliment.” 

“I see,” You agree, but your expression betrays you.

“Perhaps my intentions were unclear,” He’s too self-righteous to surrender. If he were a leader in battle, he would lead his men straight to their deaths. His pride will forever be his downfall- an attribute he will never outgrow, a characteristic that will never change.“ But I wish to dance with you, my lady,” If you did not know him, you might believe the sincerity behind the notion, but Leowyn Corbray is a vain man, not a genuine one. “Unless of course, you are already spoken for,” As his eyes flit between you and Aemond, you suck in a sharp breath. The insinuation fills you with hope- hope that the prince’s presence might discourage him, hope that you will not be forced to dance with a foul man, hope that Aemond might take your hand in his and lead you away to the gardens where you first asked him to dance all those years ago- but Aemond physically recoils at the implication. You are not his. The revelation invites your suitor’s advances once more. In the blink of an eye, the color returns to his face, and his eyes brighten with anticipation and excitement. “Very well,” He exclaims cheerfully, directing his attention solely to you. “Lady Piper,” Brandishing the pudgy fingers of his palm, he demands under the guise of a query- as if you have a choice to deny him. “Your hand?”

Suddenly, you feel trapped. When you try to catch Aemond’s eye, he casts his gaze downward, refusing to meet your stare. The reaction causes a dull ache in your chest. All too quickly you understand the prospect that awaits you if you do not intervene. Perhaps, as foolish as it sounds, the child within you still fears the anticipation of dancing with another. Despite the number of times you’ve turned with a partner, each time has only intensified your insecurities and doubts. There’s a reason you’re desperately trying to avoid partnering with Leowyn for the evening, even if only briefly, and your pulse quickens with fear when you realize that you do not have a legitimate reason to turn him away.

“Where did you say you saw my father?” The question draws looks of confusion from both members of your company. It tastes just as mindless, but you present an inquisitive front. Your eyes plead with Aemond, silently hoping that he wouldn’t force you to outright beg for his aid, but he peers straight past your guise- failing to appreciate your quick wit and allowing your call for support to go unanswered.

“I have n-“ Aemond shakes his head, bewildered by the oddities that slip past your tongue. As of late, you’ve stopped making sense, and he’s found himself growing more and more concerned with your strange behavior. You speak in riddles he can not understand, and it perturbs him. He longs to understand, but you make it so difficult. Your face falls and he feels himself growing frustrated. He’s no stranger to disappointment. Having been born a failure- sharing a cradle with an egg that refused to hatch- he knew, even then, that he would continue to be a letdown. He was half the size of Aegon, and twice as fierce- he had heard- but before he could savor the feeling of air in his lungs, he had let his father down. Why else would the king have scorned him for all of these years? He was only his second son, after all. Despite the odds stacked against him, you have yet to make him feel less than- like he’s unworthy simply for being- and as he watches your eyes try to convey what you won’t allow words to, his chest tightens. It’s as though you expect him to understand a completely different language, without revealing the translations- about as effective if he were to speak to you in High Valaryian.

He can’t take it anymore. You are an anomaly he can not make sense of- and it vexes him.

“Forgive me, lord, but I must-“ Looking past his stocky frame, you try to catch a glimpse of your father, or at the very least a glimpse of a familiar face- truthfully, you would’ve settled for one of Helaena’s handmaidens- even though the most familiar face is standing right beside you, and looking at you as though you’re a stranger. Your eyes begin to water, threatening tears, and you try your best to blink them away. It’s a pain you never could’ve fathomed, which is why it stings so deeply.

“Are you refusing me?” Much to your horror, he catches onto your plans to escape. In an instant, he discards cordiality in favor of a menacing ire. “Doing so would surely bring great shame to your house- not to mention your father,” His presence is so daunting that when he takes a step closer, Aemond finds himself stepping forth to shield you. He takes half a step, angling his body to protect you from the wrath of the arrogant prick that threatens you, and stares Leowyn down, halting his approach.

He doesn’t quite like the tone that’s been taken with you.

“Your father is just over there, lady Piper,” His eye never leaves the pathetic excuse of a man before him, though he addresses you. With his back towards you, you’re unaware of the darkness that bleeds into the light of his iris, but Lord Corbray swallows thickly when Aemond narrows his stare. “Perhaps you should allow her a moment to speak with him before pestering her for a dance,” It’s not a suggestion- it’s an order, that Leowyn has no choice but to obey.

He clears his throat, ridding the passage of phlegm and panic, and presses his lips together. The prince is easily a head and a half taller than he is and built of lean muscle and years of strength training. He may be inebriated, but even soaked in booze, Leowyn’s wise enough to know that he’s no match for the marred prince. At least he does not have to cover his monstrosities. “Very well,” He heeds to Aemond’s warning with a weak smile. It does little to convey the ease it’s intended to, and Aemond barely registers the feeling of his fingernails digging into the meat of his palm when his adversary tries to meet your eyes over his shoulder. “I shall return once your affairs are in order.” He promises, though it feels more menacing than a threat.

His boots click once, twice, three times against the polished stone floors, and you abruptly turn to face Aemond. Your heart is pinned to your sleeve- a raw, irregular display of fear, sorrow, and trepidation that flaunts all you attempt to obscure. Each pulse sends a tremor through your body, and your eyes flit nervously around the crowded room in search of ever-present danger. The music has faded away almost completely, eclipsed by the sharp ringing in your ears. Even conversation and laughter have merged into something so dull and muffled they’re almost impossible to make out. Your fingertips tremble as you reach for Aemond, and you seek his comfort blindly as the room starts to spin and vivid colors threaten to dim to black.

He does not notice.

“Aemond,” His name is barely a whisper, and he exhales heavily as you plead, “Please,” You croak, each word more and more difficult to pronounce with the tightening of your throat. “Please do not make me dance with him,” 

“He’s asked for your hand.” The reminder is clipped, and could have easily been mistaken for something harsh or bitter, had you not known the truth of his nature. Still, he refuses to gaze upon you whilst he delivers the cruel truth. He can not bear to watch the color fade from your cheeks. He will not subject himself to the punishments of watching sorrow seep into your smile, or the light dim behind the darkness of your eyes. It’s an agony he refuses to brave. Instead, he cowers away- yielding to surrender for the first time in his life. A blaze burns in his lungs, and he swallows smoke and flame alike, igniting a searing rage deep in his chest. His torments are self-inflicted, yet he continues to ache. Damn, his pride. Damn, his ego. It is what fuels his malice. Though he holds no desire in asking you to dance- refraining from creating a spectacle on both of your behalf- it maddens him to know that someone else will turn with you instead. Some pompous lord will ask to spin you, and then another will follow, and for the rest of the evening he will be forced to watch you partake in a custom you dread- and only he will know of your pain.

Pain. It’s what you remember most about the last time you were forced to dance with Lord Leowyn Corbray. The way his nails dug into your flesh. The way his palms squeezed and manipulated. The purples, blues, and greens that have since faded, but the terror and shame that still remain. Aemond is so much more than an ally amongst men, he is a friend, and you stand before him beseeching him for refuge- but it seems as though he’s drawn his gates and barred the windows to his sanctuary, leaving you stranded and alone for reasons you can not fathom. He values honor and tradition, but he is not wicked. He would not condone the heinous acts committed against you, if he were privy to them. To make him understand, you must divulge, but revealing the truth also means bearing your humiliation. 

Would he treat you differently? Would he hold you in less regard if he knew the secrets you’ve kept to maintain a respectable appearance? Would he discard you, thinking you’d been sullied before marr- no. Despite doubts and impending anxiety, you know Aemond’s character. He is not vile. He is not brutal nor merciless. He will understand. As soon as you can find the words to help him, he will understand.

“Y-yes but, his hands…they…” Your demons claw at consonants and vowels, greedily snatching every letter from the cavern of your mouth before it may pass your lips, and you struggle to convey what is of utter importance. Through your panicked haze, you do not notice the furious glint that obscures lilac to violet. Aemond feels a fury. Until this very moment, he had only been blistered by the flames alight within him. 

Now, he burns.

“What?” The heaviness in his voice doesn’t register. Lost upon you, the same way the clenching of his fists and the pursing of his lips is, you barely notice how he fails to conceal how deeply your confession has affected him. His temper has been tempted, coaxed from the places he tried to bury it in his youth- and he welcomes darkness to light.

When he looks at you now, he recognizes your fear. It’s as clear as looking upon a reflection of his childhood. For a moment, he feels regret. He had been so blinded by his own self-importance that he could not recognize your affliction. It’s a fleeting feeling, replaced by a rage he has no intention to quell. The tips of his ears flush with his wrath. The skin around his scar splotches pink and red with an influx of internal heat, but he barely registers the discomfort. He waits, with clenched teeth and an attentiveness previously reserved, for you to confide in him- and the truth pierces straight through his armor.

“His hands wander.” The confession warrants carnage and the urge to drain blood. He fails to detect the taste of bile as his rage consumes him. “Once, when I was a girl, I-I was forced to dance with him a-and I-“ 

“Go to your father.” Aemond orders sternly. The assertiveness of his voice- something more forbidding than you’re used to- causes you to stiffen. Caught off guard by the change in his demeanor, you hiccup softly and begin to protest- fearful to part from the assurance of his presence- but you never get the chance to.

“A-aemond, I-“

“I will be but a moment,” He tells you, void of gentle reassurance and warmth. An iciness not meant for you sends a chill through your blood. Everything stops, suddenly, and you forget your sorrows in favor of concern. You do not recognize the man stood before you, or the glint in his eye- but it does not frighten you. He does not frighten you. If anything, you find yourself unsettled by possibilities crafted from figments of panic and distress, woven together like threads to create a visual of your worst fears. Both reluctant and eager to follow his orders, you find yourself frozen in place. Meeting his eye, you search for something calm within the chaise of lilac- something familiar- and Aemond’s nostrils flare at your hesitation. You spare him one last glance, hoping that it conveys all of the sentiments your tongue fails to- be careful, be safe, do not search for trouble, come back to me- and with an uncertain nod, your feet begin to guide you away.

He remains still with his fists clenched by his sides until he’s sure your father has noticed you. Then, he sets off.

You feel faint.

The room, and the people within it, spin dizzily, and it takes every bit of willpower you have to keep walking toward your father. He’s easy enough to spot, and you’re temporarily riddled with vexation that you weren’t able to find him sooner. He smiles when he sees you- his face rosy from indulging in the evening’s festivities- but his grin falters when he notices the look of utter terror you don.

“What troubles you, darling?” He skips a greeting altogether, “You seem…unwell.”

“I am,” You attempt to convey what you’re feeling, but the words fail you. Instead, it sounds like you’re agreeing with him, and it only heightens his worry.“I-I am-“

“Has something happened?” He tries a simpler question, urging you to divulge what’s gotten you so riled up. “Take a breath, love,” A warm hand finds your shoulder, and he crouches down to meet your line of sight- that somehow searches beyond him for a head of silver. “What has happened?”

“Aemond,” Through your panic, decency evades you, and you find yourself unable to mutter any explanation beyond calling out his name. “Prince Aemond, have you- can you see him?” Questions remain unfinished, true inquiries remain unasked- cut in half and left partial by quick breaths- you find it increasingly difficult to simplify your urgent need to discover his whereabouts. “I-I’ve lost him.” You supply, but your father struggles to make sense of the minimal detail. “We were together, you see, and we parted ways and I haven’t- I must-“ 

You’re visibly shaken. Your inability to form a coherent sentence, coupled with the fact that the whites of your eyes shine with a fear he’s prayed you’d never feel, fills him with dread. He sets his goblet down. Acidic spirits already savored sour in his gut. He takes a breath, and then another, his tongue swiping across the wine-stained cracks in his lips before he leans in and accuses, “Has the prince caused you such distress?”

If anyone were to overhear the accusation, he would certainly face repercussions for such foul allegations, but when your well-being is at stake, he could care less about the threat of his tongue being slit, or his head being placed atop a spike.

His love for you truly knows no bounds.

“No!” You’re quick to deny the slander against Aemond’s name, horrified at the implication that he could be the cause of such affliction. “No, he…he could never.” Your voice finds you then- in the surety of defending Aemond’s honor, no doubt- and with a breath, you try your best to explain. “I just-“ 

“Good evening, Lord Piper.”

An angry flush kisses Aemond’s cheeks- a startling contrast against the fairness of his skin that proves difficult to hide- but he bows his head respectfully, greeting your father, properly. Your eyes widen. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you search for any indication of an altercation- first his brow, and the delicate skin around his scar, then his neck, and any other exposed skin, before finally landing on his knuckles. With a sickening realization, it dawns on you that you’re searching for blood. Your father watches you intently, his eyes never leaving your face until a look of relief overcomes your features. He waits a moment more, ensuring that you’re truly at ease. Then, he returns the prince’s sentiment.

“Good evening, Prince Aemond, and happy solstice to you.” He presses his lips together politely- though his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Silence follows. Neither you, nor Aemond says anything. Instead, you gaze upon one another, and as your father looks between the two of you, he realizes that an entire conversation is taking place- and he can’t decipher any of the words. Reluctantly, your father spares you one last glance before huffing a sigh. “Well, I believe it is not my company you’ve sought this evening,” He announces before turning towards you once more. There’s a look in his eye,- a look that urges you to seek him, to confide in him when the time permits- and with a gentle nod of understanding, he bids you farewell, entrusting you in Aemond’s care. “Darling,” 

As soon as your father departs, you huff a sigh of relief. “Aemond,” His name passes in a breath, and your brows furrow. “What did you say?” 

“If you were meant to hear, I would not have sent you away.” He tells you. His jaw is tense, the muscles pronounced and much more prominent when he forces himself to hold his tongue behind an army of clenched teeth, and you notice the flush of his cheeks- a dark red hue that’s obvious against pale skin- and the way his chest heaves. His eye doesn’t meet yours, instead glowering somewhere behind you, and you have to resist the urge to reach out for him- to find the sharp point of his chin with the tips of your fingers and save him from his thoughts. With a heavy exhale, he sighs, “It matters not, just know that you will never have to endure his company again.”

Your gaze narrows. It can not be that easy. With no signs of a physical confrontation- save for the barely there trembling of Aemond’s clenched fists- and no visible blood spilt, you’re left to assume that such a conflict was resolved with words- which seems impossible. You suppose that his stature might’ve been enough to intimidate the lesser lord, but still, you can’t help but wonder what was spoken amongst men- and why it’s seemed to agitate him so. Somewhere, between the vagueness of his reply, the truth remains, and you have to accept that the only two people privy to such knowledge are Aemond and Leowyn. With his word that you’ve been spared, you know it to be so, and a feeling of utter relief eclipses the affliction you felt mere moments prior.

“Thank you.” Pressing your lips together, you express your gratitude with a smile. Aemond attempts to mirror the gesture politely, but the firm, morose line pales in comparison. He catches the eyes of a pair of lords who have taken a sudden interest in watching the two of you. They whisper to one another, leaning in close to share secrets about him, no doubt, and he can only imagine what vile things they must mumble- what wicked sights they must see as outsiders looking in. It must be quite a display, to watch someone as grim and menacing as he is- someone as aloof and unapproachable- speak to someone as fair and kind as you are. He wonders what judgments must pass when he is in your company? What do the outsiders believe to be true? Perhaps that you’ve taken pity on him- as he did, briefly, in his youth. Or, perhaps you’re performing an act of decorum. All his life he’s been subjected to repellent remarks and ugly accusations, but this is the first time he finds himself wondering what people must whisper about you- for choosing to stand by his side, in a room full of people. The revelation causes his tempers to flare. A fleeting rage returns tenfold and he has half a mind to confront the onlookers on your behalf, to make them rue ever speaking illy upon your name, to make them suff-

“Would you fancy a dance?” You ask, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil and the perceived judgments passed onto the pair of you. “Unless, of course, you wish to retire to your chambers, or evade our company altogether-“ There’s a hint of teasing thinly woven within the suggestion, and it’s enough to reel his attention back from the shadows of his mind. A coy, little smirk threatens to turn into a taunting smile, and Aemond finally turns to face you.

“Still haven’t found a knight or squire to teach you technique, have you?” He jests with the hint of a barely-there smile, alluding to the faithful night in the godswood in which your paths crossed. 

In truth, you’ve found plenty- but you’ve chosen him. Such a vulnerable revelation feels as though you’ve permitted him to look right through you- beyond blood, bone, and marrow- straight to an arrhythmic heart, and you fear that he sees it- your feelings for what they are, and you for what you truly feel. Before him, you are defenseless. Always. Never exposed nor endangered, but at the mercy of him, entirely. There is no need for armor- nothing to gain from chainmail, steel, nor shield- because you do not need to protect yourself from him. The only weapon he wields is a blade of rejection, sharpened and polished to pierce through the entirety of your being. The notion alone threatens to dampen your lashes and you’re forced to confront a question you’ve refrained from asking aloud; is it better to tell him how you feel, or spare yourself the pain of possible rejection? You do not know the answer.

Aemond, who notices that you appear crestfallen rather than jovial, as he intended, sucks in a sharp breath before agreeing, “Very well,”

He extends his hand to you- long, inviting, pale fingers beaconing you to join him- and you swallow down the last inklings of doubt, before reluctantly taking his hand. Beyond the crowds, near the outskirts of partnered pairs and intoxicated onlookers, there is a clearing. An abandoned corner- so secluded, yet so exposed- has never appeared more enchanting, and you allow Aemond to guide you toward the private opening. The smell of booze is overwhelming, rivaled only by the unmistakable odors of sweat and urine. It’s pungent, but a welcome reminder that cups are filled to their brims, and the surrounding folk are too busy drowning in their own pleasures to pay you any mind.

You are a stranger amongst the shadows, and Aemond steers you.

Once an appropriate distance from the rest of the crowd- a separation far enough to grant privacy, whilst remaining accessible enough to heed to societal standards- Aemond turns to face you. Though traces of agitation, spite, and irritation still linger across his features, there’s a softness that wasn’t there before. As if you’ve been offered a glimpse of a knight free from the protection of his armor- bare from the defenses of his shield- you meet the ambiguous intensity of his eye. A round of applause is muffled by the fervor of his stare, and you can’t help but hold his gaze.

In the reflection of his iris, you see yourself, and you can’t help but wonder if he notices himself in yours?

He takes a step forward, approaching you slowly and positioning his stance. You follow suit, albeit less confident and sure than he is. For as far removed from judgment as you are, your stomach still twists unpleasantly. Though, all churning seems to seize when you feel Aemond’s hand reach out for yours. For a moment, you’re stunned. Even with the knowledge that you’d have to hold him to turn with him, you weren’t prepared for such an intimate affair. So lost within your thoughts are you that at the first sound of strings threaten your feet to move on their own accord.

“Not yet,” He whispers, so softly that you still. Warmth seeps from your palms, and you wonder if he can feel the influx of heat where your hands are joined. If he notices, he makes no mention of it. Instead, he takes the smallest step forward and readjusts your hands for a more comfortable hold. Where you’ve let your palms hover a few centimeters apart, he presses them flush together. Your breath hitches as your lifelines meet and his slender fingers wrap around the back of your hand. For as callused and rough as his hands are- from years of sword training and dragon-riding- he holds you with a gentleness that betrays his ruggedness, and something swirls in the pit of your belly. Hot, aching, urgent. The need to be closer to him is overwhelming- and impossible, considering you’re already so close to him, but it’s not enough. You long for more. 

You desire more. 

How can you yearn for something you’ve never experienced? How can you want more than you already have? Your legs nearly give out from under you when you realize, and when a silent gasp escapes your lips, Aemond is there to hold you steady. He hasn’t forgotten about your fear of dancing- of being forced to dance with partners you can’t refuse, of enduring their wandering hands, of the scrutiny of a misstep- and he keeps you upright when your limbs threaten to betray you. When his eye meets yours, you feel lightheaded. The sound of a harpsichord echoes around the hall, and before you have a chance to catch your breath, Aemond instructs, “Now.”

At his command, you step forward, unsure of where you’re meant to be headed, but willing to follow him into the abyss as long as he is the one leading. You stumble slightly, your movements timid and doubtful despite years of solitary practice. Without meaning to, you tense and unintentionally tighten your grip around his fingers. He does not wince. He does not fidget, nor does he yelp or demand that you unhand him. He remains unfazed- save for the erratic thudding against his ribcage that is hidden by bone and flesh and concealed by the naked eye. Looking down the long slant of his nose, he watches you fret over each step. Your stare never meets his. Instead, your gaze remains fixed on the ground, watching your feet to ensure that you don’t stumble over them. Aemond uses the distraction as an excuse to watch you. It’s difficult to believe that though you still turn like a frightful child, you’ve grown into something beyond. Brazenly, he stares- at the few freckles that kiss the fullest point of your cheeks, to the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips.

Something ignites within him. He flushes, not with fury or malice, but with a comforting warmth- an ember of unknown origin alight amongst the ashes of stone-cold nothingness- that feels simultaneously foreign and familiar. 

It is a feeling that tempts him- a feeling he wishes to never part from; but there is no place for light within darkness. A glimmer is no match for a void. Not enough for it to fester, anyway. Eclipsed by shadows, a single star can not shine, just as a glimpse of tenderness can not absolve a heart and mind plagued by vengeance.

“I was not aware you knew how to dance, my prince,” A light laugh bubbles past your lips when you feel his eye upon you. It’s a feeling so familiar that it’s become unmistakable. In an attempt to alleviate the palpable tension in the air, you jest. 

“And why is that?” Prompted by the challenge, you turn to look up at him. 

“I’ve never seen you partake in such festivities.” 

It is fact. Aemond does not indulge. He has no appetite for celebrations. Hence,  he refrains from satiating an otherwise illusory desire to mingle and mix. Where his brother is gluttonous, he is abstemious- so moderate in his rapture that he could not describe pleasure or delight if there was a rope knotted around his neck. Perhaps, his idea of indulgence varies so drastically from the norm that it takes on a different meaning, completely. He seeks satisfaction elsewhere. Cups do not gratify him. Skin does not tempt him. Company does not fulfill him. Though, your company is often welcome, he rarely seeks it, but when he does, he’s rewarded with a sense of ease- a calmness that quells the most fervent of his anxieties, even if only for a few moments- something blissful and content. 

His own movements stagger at the realization.

“Forgive me, I-“ You’re quick to apologize, assuming that you’re the one that’s made a misstep and scuffed the leather of his boot with the bottom of your slipper. Your eyes widen with remorse and you loosen your hold on his hand, expecting his fingers to release yours as well, but he tightens his grip, holding you closer as you nearly come to a complete halt.

“Allow me to guide you,” He offers lowly, and with a timid nod, you agree. Hesitantly, he sneaks a glance around the hall to make sure that no one is watching the pair of you, and once he’s certain that you’ve not caught the eyes of any onlookers, he huffs a breath. “Lift your skirts,” The whispered command rids you of breath, and your lips part in a stunned gasp. You’re left breathless, mouth agape and speechless, as a fury of emotions glaze over your eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Intrigue. Horror. Shock. He watches them devour you.

“I beg your pardon?” Something akin to anger lingers in your tone, and he realizes he’s never seen you seethe before. You’re not so naive to believe that men hold feelings of love and adoration above feelings of temptation and desire. Men like Leowyn Corbray indulge without repentance, and they do not ask for forgiveness. You’re no stranger to the cruelty of men and their advances, but you never thought Aemond capable of such vulgarity. Perhaps, you’re credulous. Blinded by your devotion to him, perhaps you’ve overlooked the traits you’ve grown to despise within other men. How is it that he was so enraged to learn about Leowyn’s advances, but holds no reserve when proposing his own straightforward sin? How could he hold you with such a delicacy whilst demanding such a carnal desire? Who is the man that stands before you? Do you even truly know? Is he a stranger, or is he-

“Just…” The pointed tip of his boot aligns with the tip of your slipper, and you can feel him cautiously nudge your foot with his. When he and Helaena were children, they danced in a similar manner- in which his sister would stand atop his feet and he would guide them both. He held no intention of offending, insulting, or upsetting you. He only wished to guide you. “Allow me to guide you,” Aemond suggests, and suddenly, you understand. You flush with embarrassment, heat burning your cheeks with guilt, as you carefully accept his invitation and allow him to take a few steps. “Better?”

“Much.” You press your lips into an apologetic smile as Aemond continues to guide the both of you through the dance. It’s such a strange sensation. It’s weightless and carefree and blithe- almost what you imagine flying must feel like.

It dawns on you then, as his eye meets yours, a silent vow is made- under his guidance, under his protection, you would never be led astray.

a/n: finally finished an update after being in and out of the hospital for a week! woo! hope you all enjoy!

series taglist: @just-emmaaaa @seasidh @randomdragonfires @misspendragonsworld @bellaisasleep @helaenaluvr @travelingmypassion @youtoldalie @fangirlninja67 @aemondsversion

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon smut #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell imagine #ewan mitchell x reader #delicate edges

[dqzaiie]

who do you think will join the port mafia?

thank you for the question, anon!

i’m not entirely sure which ada member will be transferred to the port mafia, but i do believe this is best determined through the process of elimination.

the preface this, i am ruling out the clerks, as i don’t believe they would be beneficial to the port mafia. it would be quite unproductive of mori to choose one of them. (unless he chooses naomi to force tanizaki’s hand? though i don’t particularly believe in that theory.)

okay, let’s begin.

core agents:

while mori does want a member, this is not to the agency’s detriment. therefore, the pillar members are very unlikely to be chosen—these members being fukuzawa, ranpo, yosano, and kunikida. we can effectively rule them out as follows: fukuzawa’s ability maintains stability within the ada, ranpo’s deduction isn’t suited for a mafioso, yosano has been deemed off-limits, and kunikida is fukuzawa’s successor.

kyouka:

another agent who i believe is unlikely to be chosen is kyouka, as kouyou and mori have both shown to be impressed by her resolve to better herself, and i can’t imagine them forcing her back into the mafia after all of that growth. kouyou especially—she has given up on trying to take kyouka back, and is actively trying to keep her from the port mafia now.

as for members who are possible contenders, we are left with dazai, tanizaki, atsushi, and kenji.

atsushi:

i don’t really believe they will choose atsushi. to my knowledge, he still requires all men are equal to have full control over his ability, and if he were to leave the agency, fukuzawa’s ability would no longer have an effect on him. he has been training, but i don’t think he’s had enough time to master byakko yet.

however, i could see why he would be chosen from a narrative standpoint. it would provide the audience a new perspective, and allow further development for many characters. we cannot entirely rule him out, especially since the port mafia has been gunning for him since day one (though that was due to a contract from the guild. still, i suppose it stands.)

dazai:

i’d hope mori wouldn’t pick dazai, though, i have seen some compelling arguments as to why he may be chosen. in forcing dazai out of the port mafia, mori has shown to hold some regret, despite having chosen the “optimal solution”.

there is also the case of potential foreshadowing in the osamu dazai and the dark era light novel, with mori saying to odasaku, “…dazai’s capabilities are astounding. i’m sure in four or five years, he’ll have killed me and taken my place.” this takes place when dazai was eighteen, which would place him at around twenty-two or twenty-three.

all things considered, i don’t think it’ll be him. dazai has made too many strides toward fulfilling his promise to odasaku for mori to take him back now, and in disrupting that, i believe there would only be a severe backlash. i think mori will keep dazai’s executive position open and available to him, not force him back into it.

this leaves us with two possible agents: jun'ichirou and kenji. i have seen extensive reasoning as to why either of them may be chosen, and to be honest, i’m quite conflicted myself.

kenji:

kenji’s ability would be very useful to the port mafia, but his naïveté might be a disadvantage. he also may fall under the same category as atsushi in not being able to maintain full control over his ability without fukuzawa, but he has been shown to have precautions in place, so i cannot confirm that he needs the safety net. he is certainly a valuable asset to both organizations, and i don’t believe he would be opposed so long as he is protecting the agency.

tanizaki:

tanizaki has been the fan favorite for “most likely to be transferred over”, and i can’t say i disagree. initially, he was my pick as well. it has been foreshadowed multiple times, with hirotsu claiming his ability is suited for assassination, to tanizaki attempting to kill mori, and even jun'ichirou outright volunteering himself in yosano’s place. he has been shown to not be opposed to killing so long as he is protecting naomi and his friends. this idea is expanded on in the third light novel, untold origins of the detective agency.

“…tanizaki felt he was mediocre at his job, held mediocre principles, and had a mediocre sense of justice…”

i believe that he very well may be chosen, as this would provide him the development which his character has been severely lacking.

however, i wouldn’t put it past asagiri to disregard those statements entirely and find a way to surprise us—it’s just what he does lol.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #yosano akiko #kenji miyazawa #kyouka izumi #ranpo edogawa #kunikida doppo #tanizaki junichirou #fukuzawa yukichi #ougai mori #bsd theory #theory #analysis #character analysis #bsd analysis #asks

[cometomecosette]

Les Misérables" musical character interpretations: Madame Thénardier

Here are the four main musical characterizations I've seen of a nasty woman we all love to hate.

Whenever I want to shorten her name, I've used "Thénardiess," Charles Wilbour's translation of Hugo's "la Thénardier" ("the Thénardier woman").

The Giantess

            This boisterous, imposing Mme. Thénardier embodies Hugo’s description of the character as a “mastodon,” who “swore splendidly” and could crack nuts with her fist. She’s typically a very large, masculine-looking woman, with a gruff, booming voice, but regardless of what she looks or sounds like, her personality is larger-than-life. She’s loud, coarse, money-grubbing, hard-drinking, and fun-loving, yet with a monstrous temper. Her abuse of Cosette is ferocious: while her bellowing might get laughs just for being so over-the-top, they won’t laugh at the way she grabs, shoves, and threatens to beat the little girl. But apart from this, she tends to be the more comical Thénardier spouse compared to her slimier, more sinister husband, and she gleefully hams up all her comic business: faking sobs at the news of Fantine’s death and over her fake baby in “The Robbery,” slapstick at the wedding, etc. Yet broadly funny though she is, she isn’t stupid. It varies whether she comes across as her husband’s equal partner in crime or a the real “brains of the outfit,” but either way, her brutish exterior hides a scheming mind, and though she bickers nonstop with Thénardier, he couldn’t get by without her. At any rate, he won’t dominate her; this Thénardiess is indominable.

The Witch

         This Mme. Thénardier is less physically imposing than the Giantess, but she’s arguably more sinister. She tends to be thin, angular, and bony, and she likely has big teeth with a gap or two in them. Physically, she’s all sharp edges, more like a stereotypical witch (hence her name) than like Hugo’s “ogress.” Those sharp edges extend into her personality too. Where the Giantess tends to be the more comical of the Thénardiers while her husband has a darker edge, the Witch is the more serious and blatantly ruthless of the two: the embodiment of the villainy her husband hides behind his amiable façade. Her humor is sarcastic and bitter, and while her abuse of Cosette is probably less loud than other Mme. Thénardiers’, it’s more venomous, without playing any lines for laughs. Whether she comes across as her husband’s equal partner in crime or as the one in charge will depend on the portrayal of her husband, but either way, she’s at least just as cunning as he is and likely more so. It’s also likely that within her sharp, sinister demeanor, there’s a hint of mental instability. If the novel’s version of Éponine were to live to middle age, marry a man she didn’t love, and become much less sympathetic, she would probably resemble this version of her mother.

The Oppressed Oppressor

            While still a comic character and still a villain, this Mme. Thénardier is more sympathetic than others. While the Giantess best captures the grotesque and brutal qualities of Hugo’s character, this one captures her pathetic aspects. Like Hugo’s Thénardiess, this one is dominated by her more cunning husband, and he treats her shabbily. Throughout “Master of the House,” he’ll be shown treating her more like a servant than a wife, and when Valjean arrives, Thénardier will direct her every move: when to feign tears, when to stop, when to fish for more money, when to stop so as not to seem greedy, etc. It’s clear that she’s both bitter and utterly exhausted by this life. Yet at the same time, she might convey unrequited love for her husband. (Foreshadowing her daughter’s plight?) During “Master of the House” she might genuinely try to attract him, only for him to repulse her and flirt with younger women. Thus, her string of insults toward him stems from weariness and hurt, and she makes it comical as a coping mechanism. Of course, none of this can excuse her treatment of Cosette (who clearly serves as an outlet for her general frustration), or her willing role in all her husband’s schemes. But whether we like her or not, we understand where she’s coming from.

The Fallen Beauty

            This Mme. Thénardier is very, very different from Hugo’s character, but within the musical, she can be effective. This Thénardiess is neither a brute nor a frump, but a sensual and reasonably attractive woman. Yes, she’s aging, blowsy, and mean, with a gaudy fashion sense, but she was clearly a beauty in her youth, still has charms, and knows it. She specializes in flirting and seducing men to pick their pockets or manipulate her way out of trouble. We’ll see her do this successfully with at least one inn customer during “Master of the House” and later attempt it, not so successfully, with Valjean and Javert too. And the same erotic hold she has over the drunks at the inn she also has over her husband, enhanced by the fact that she’s smarter than he is. While in front of others she lets him talk more and pretend to be in charge, she’s unquestionably the true “master of the house.” Both she and Thénardier enjoy this arrangement. The insults she aims at him are playful: though his blundering exasperates her, she really is happily married. As for the rest of her demeanor, she sometimes shows a temper, but in general she’s an understated schemer, with a distinctly dry, deadpan sense of humor. Hugo’s Thénardiess she’s not, but she’s an interesting comic character in her own right.

#les mis #les miserables #musical #characterization #comparison #mme. thenardier #tw: child abuse

[sage-nebula]

When Kieran joins Masters EX, his partner should be Hydrapple. But when / if he gets a Sygna Suit, his partner then should be Pecharunt, because color scheme aside, the two are so much alike that it has to be on purpose.

Unfortunately, a lot of the similarities are relegated to Pecharunt’s backstory video on the official Pokémon YouTube channel, which is really disappointing and yet another way that the severe time crunch these games / DLC are released under hurts the finished product. Nonetheless, here’s a brief summary of the video in case you missed it:

Pecharunt was found by an elderly couple in a distant land who, having no children of their own, decided to adopt him. They loved him, but Pecharunt, feeling that he wanted even more of their love, decided to feed them some of his special mochi that he created from the poison inside his shell. This poison drew out the old couple’s greed, and they began to send him on errands to collect things for them. To make these quests easier, Pecharunt recruited Okidogi as a retainer to bring things back to the old couple’s home. Eventually, the old couple requested that Pecharunt bring them some special masks from the land of Kitakami, and Pecharunt, having grown bored of the routine tasks he’d been given, agreed. Pecharunt used his special mochi to bring Fezandipiti and Munkidori on as retainers as well, and together the four traveled to Kitakami in order to steal the masks. This led to Okidogi, Munkidori, and Fezandipiti killing Ogerpon’s trainer during the theft, and Ogerpon killing the Loyal Three as revenge. She nearly killed Pecharunt as well, but instead Pecharunt managed to roll into the woods and fall into a deep coma, eventually coming to rest as a “plushie” at Peachy’s for an untold number of years after (i.e. until the Mochi Madness epilogue took place).

So to recap: Pecharunt was loved by the old couple that took him in, but he wanted more than what he was given and used his mochi to try to get that. Things ended up spiraling out of control, and he almost died because of it.

Sound familiar?

When we first meet Kieran in the Teal Mask, we’re given the impression that he’s a friendless boy who is bereft of any real battling skill, friends, or opportunities. In fact, I think Kieran himself tells us that he doesn’t have any friends (or at least leads us to believe as such when he gets so excited at the fact that MC wants to be friends with him). But Carmine is quick to tell us that Kieran is actually really strong in terms of battling ability (and also that he hates to lose, which is foreshadowing his later fall from grace), and while their entire family is ostracized in the village (it’s very obvious that Carmine isn’t well-liked either), two things become very obvious once we arrive at Blueberry Academy in the Indigo Disk:

1.) The only bully at Blueberry Academy is Kieran himself

2.) No one at Blueberry Academy had issues with Kieran before his field trip to Kitakami

After the Mochi Madness epilogue, when speaking to Kieran in the League Club room, he mentions that it used to bother him that he had a Kitakami accent when no one else did at Blueberry Academy. (Specifically that he “talks different because he’s from Kitakami”). Note that he isn’t saying that others made fun of him for having an accent; this is a problem that Kieran himself had, which fits in to how Kieran tends to project his own insecurities onto others and blow them up into issues of his own creation. The other League Club members, sans perhaps Drayton, don’t seem to have had any issue with Kieran prior to his becoming Champion and becoming a bully, and Lacey, Amarys, and Crispin all seem more than willing to welcome him back once he is defeated and willing to try again. Even Drayton, while teasing him about being an “ex-champ,” does so while asking what Kieran is eating for dinner nowadays — a roundabout way of checking up on him, to see not really what, but if he’s eating, since we know he wasn’t before.

In other words: It’s highly likely that Kieran wasn’t friendless at Blueberry Academy before. And we know, too, that his family loves him (yes, his entire family—take it from someone who did have an abusive older sister, Carmine never once abuses him, she teases him just as any normal older sister would and it’s clear how much they mutually love each other). Furthermore, while he throws his little hissy fits over losing battles to the MC, we know exactly why that is, because Carmine tells us why that is at the beginning of the Teal Mask: it’s because Kieran hates to lose. Kieran is seriously strong, she says. He’s very good at battling. This is why he was in the League Club to begin with, which I’m pretty sure he was even before they went on the Kitakami field trip, even though he wasn’t the Champion then. Kieran was already strong, but the strength he had just wasn’t good enough because he was losing to MC. Being friends with MC wasn’t good enough once he had to share their friendship with Carmine. His pokémon weren’t good enough when they weren’t Ogerpon / when they lost to MC, and so on and so forth. Like Pecharunt, Kieran wanted more.

And what did he do to get it? Anything he could, regardless of the feelings of others.

See, here is the thing about Pecharunt’s powers: Pecharunt’s mochi is a mind-altering substance. Pecharunt’s poison (game mechanics aside) doesn’t kill, but rather, it alters the mind in order to “draw out the desires and innate abilities” of those it affects. It draws out the greed of the victims, but it also binds them to Pecharunt’s will. In all the cases we have so far, Pecharunt’s will is to have them love him. He wanted the old couple to love him. He wanted Okidogi, Munkidori, and Fezandipiti to help him retrieve things so the old couple would love him more, but also, presumably, to be his friends. (Which is why he reacts so furiously if you send any of the three against him — he sees this as a betrayal on their part.) It’s unclear if Pecharunt is consciously stripping people and other pokémon of their will, or if he just thinks that his mochi is so damn delicious that they really love him more, but I have to think it’s a little column A, little column B. At the very least, he knew that he was getting the items requested of him and he ordered the Loyal Three to steal the masks. He had enough intelligence to plan the heist. So in that sense, he’s not completely clueless about what’s going on. It’s just whether he knew that he had subjugated the Loyal Three utterly or not that’s in question.

Regardless — back to Kieran.

Kieran, obviously, doesn’t have any mind controlling mochi. But much like Pecharunt feeds people and pokémon mochi to make them do what he wants / needs them do regardless of what they might think or feel about it, Kieran also makes it clear that (prior to his Heel Face Turn at the end of Indigo Disk), the feelings of others don’t matter very much when it comes to what he wants either. When Ogerpon makes it known that she wants to keep traveling with the MC (whom she has spent the entire Teal Mask portion of the DLC bonding with), Kieran decides that he wants to battle for the right to keep her, and dismisses Carmine pointing out that he should consider Ogerpon’s feelings. In the Indigo Disk, when he sees that Terapagos imprints on the MC, he throws a Master Ball and captures it, stripping it of any choice whatsoever, not unlike Pecharunt throwing mind-controlling mochi in people’s mouths during the epilogue.

Both Pecharunt and Kieran also take perceived slights extremely personally. With Kieran, there is a lot of evidence toward this, from Kieran deciding on his own that Carmine and the MC must have been making fun of him behind his back at the Festival of Masks to him lashing out at Carmine for befriending the MC while trying to yank Terapagos free in the Indigo Disk. With Pecharunt there is precious little evidence, but as I mentioned earlier, if you send one of the Loyal Three to battle Pecharunt in Mochi Madness, Pecharunt has an angry, betrayed reaction — even though none of the Loyal Three have any choice in the matter and cannot have betrayed Pecharunt willingly. (Much like how Carmine never intended to hurt Kieran’s feelings by befriending the MC, and likewise, MC didn’t do anything wrong by befriending Carmine either.)

All of this is to say, Kieran and Pecharunt have a lot in common. Both have shades of entitlement, selfishness, and greed. The primary difference is, by the end of the Indigo Disk, Kieran has started to try to move past his, while Pecharunt’s is “solved” by being captured. So why should they be paired up in Masters EX?

Well, that’s simple:

While we all know my feelings about how Kieran was written, setting that aside, Game Freak says that he’s all better now. However, Pecharunt isn’t. But if Kieran is all better now, then I think there is no one better to teach Pecharunt how to be better than someone who was in his shoes. Someone who can say, “Hey, I know how you’re feeling, and I understand the temptation, but maybe instead of poisoned mochi we can eat some candy apples instead.” Tie a neat little bow on all that character development. Finish off Kieran’s redemption while also showing that Pecharunt has had some growth, too. Plus, it keeps with the fruit theming for Kieran; first he gets an apple, now he gets a peach. Maybe his third pokémon partner could be a Cherrim.

Those are my thoughts, anyway. We’ll see what DeNA actually does with him.

#pokemon #mochi madness spoilers #trainer kieran #pecharunt #meta #kieran critical #not really but i know how kieran's stans are 🙄 #pokemas #pokemon masters ex

[ponchusjbonchus]

i finished hazbin hotel so here is my master collection of all my silly notes

episode 1  

- treat angel dust better and give him actual lines and it’ll be better

- why do the background demons have more variety than the main cast 

- opening number is good 

- when will jesus appear 

- cannibal town is where i wanna live 

- i should keep a swear counter for this 

- charlie is the best character 

- adam shaving down a chicken bone in one bite is really funny 

- i like adam his voice actor is doing really good 

-  all the voice actors are really good. except keith david poor guy

- angel dust sexually harassing husk is not funny

- if adam is a human who sins then why is he in charge of the angel exterminators 

- nifftys commercial bit is funny

- alastors monocle  is on  his mouth in some shots and it’s funny 

- i like the foreshadowing of alastor hating tv 

- lutes design. heart emoji 

- adams song goes hard as fuck. very likeable villain 

- “fuck you i do what i want” contract made me giggle 

- i feel like all the main characters except for charlie and alastor are really one note and it bugs me 

- katie killjoy is still awesome 

- the cliffhanger is really intriguing and i will watch more

final score 8/10 despite the bad dialogue for angel 

episode 2 

intro song is good but the visuals are boring 

what is this cat. who

why is the animation worse in this episode 

paused to read valentino’s texts and the way he sways from calling angel a bitch to calling him babe and being like “don’t be like this” that is like.yeah that’s accurate 

foreshadowing is good 

JESUS APPEARED (sir pentious)

“trust us with your money” 😭

not really resonating with any characters. vox has the best character design so far though 

velvette is really entertaining 

valentino’s voice actor is good and his jokes are somehow better than angels. still a horrible person and i hope he gets exterminated

vox is really interesting and the thing his voice does is cool . i REALLLY wanna like this guy but so far i like adam better 

second time seven years has been mentioned . what happened 

WHILE HE HID IN RADIO WE PIVOTED TO VIDEO NOW HIS MEDIUM IS GETTING BLOODY RARE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️vivienne be damned but the girl can write a song 

alastor fucking with vox after seeing him for seemingly no reason is really funny and in character . though funny it doesn’t really fit into the episode that smoothly 

hell being shaped like a pentagram is creative (side note when i looked up the name for it cuz i couldn’t remember the third result was “what is the star thing called”)

alastors angry demon design looks better than his regular design 

i love sir pentious so much he’s so cute

pentious and charlie are my favorites so far. i know pentious is a double agent but knowing him from the pilot/what we’ve seen in this episode i feel like he’s gonna be dumped by the vees cuz he’s a pathetic wet slop of a man 

the crackhead play joke is really funny 

angel dusts jealousy came out of.Nowhere. like i know charlie was saying like “hey you aren’t really a real resident” and he was mad about the game but it felt more like “ugh i can’t stand these people” not “ugh i wish i could be redeemed and people cared about me.” it was hinted at just not very well 

angel being lovebombed is portrayed.Fine.ly   like it’s realistic but not outstanding . it would mean more if valentino wasn’t making lighthearted jokes about how he kills and manipulates his workers 

pentious’ tail is randomly shrinking and growing 

the camera work in the fight scene is Awful 

pentious :-( 

first time in a while i have heard a show say you should kill yourself NOW 

imagine pentious immediately goes to heaven after the song /silly

final score 8/10 only because of pentious. overall episode is 7/10

episode 3 

pentious still being peak right off the bat. he gets the funniest jokes

alastor still isn’t very funny 

angel dust isn’t funny booooooo boooooooooo

vaggie centric episode? i think? idk i don’t like vaggie she’s kinda boring 

niffty is less funny than she was in previous episodes. she feels more remnant of internet “dark humor” from the time the pilot released 

okay i ended up watching the rest of this one during gym class so i didn’t have my notes. overall this episode was really good except for velvette kinda sucking . 7/10 

episode 4 

this isn’t the poison episode is it.

animation is noticeably worse

vaggies plain ass delivery of the “angel. what the fuck” line made me laugh

i thought the cold open of angel getting r worded would be a way of showing that his life is really fucked up.though it was just a joke bit which i was not expecting

pentious cowering in fear at pornography 

i really like charlie. kk said that she was one note and .i kinda agree but i still love her 

this one demon has a better design then the entire main cast 

angels real name is anthony 😭

okay the dressing room scene . the fear in angels voice through all of it is so jarring and it keeps you invested in the scene and Val being so fuckinh disgusting and evil . how do people like this guy at all. this scene is so creepy not just cuz of val being abusive but because of how horrified Angel is and the moment he asks the bare minimum of val not hurting charlie his life is put on the line. i feel like this was treated with the weight it deserves and it clearly paints val as a villain. unfortunately it’s tainted by the fact that the writers are aroused by this shit but they do a good job of hiding it i guess. maybe this will change 

it bothers me so much that angels head keeps randomly changing in size cuz all the animation is freehand

poison. im gonna be careful and respectful on how i go about talking about this . i actually really like this song and sequence but it’s brought down so bad and made so beyond creepy and horrifying to know that the writers are into this. i like the constant parallel of angel being his porn actor persona who loves sex and his abused reality where he wants to be free. and the scene where he’s dancing in front of a screen with the foxes intercut with his assault is really uncomfortable yeah but i like how it shows that he’s turning his own abuse and exploitation into entertainment . and the line “it’s so hard to resist another gulp!” or however it goes has a nice double meaning . it’s like “ughhh i love sex how could i resist it” but also “i want to resist but im so deep into this that i can’t” . i am not a sexual assault survivor so i don’t feel properly equipped to go into depth about the representation of angels ongoing abuse but from a PURELYcinematic standpoint as someone with a passion for this stuff i feel like this song did well, but again it’s made so much worse and creepier knowing the writers who made this 

the spots under angels eyes are more eyes??.huh

sorry for the lack of notes i am just. genuinely invested in this 

BEST SONG 💥💥💥yeah maybe i knew all the words to this song before i ever watched th show what are you gonna do about it

ohhi don’t really. like the message of that song actually 🙁 it has been established that angel dusts pervertedness and desperation for drugs is not who he really is nor who he likes to be but husk telling him “hey it’s okay to be like that” and angel immediately coming around to it just feels.ehhh…..it feels like he’s taking one step forward and two steps back . i get that the message was supposed to be “embrace the bad parts of yourself! it’s okay to be a loser!” but in the context of the episode it doesn’t fit. good song in a vacuum

iiiidont really know how to feel about this. the episode was great up until loser baby which,is a song that i really like but it kinda does kill the whole episode imo. 5.5/10 unfortunate 

episode 5 

halfway through the series who cheered

adam mention. win (adam and pentious are my favorites )

i hate niffty im sorry 💔 she was better in the pilot

dude. lucifer is so fucking funny right off the bat i love this guy 

is this guy autistic he feels autistic i like him

lucifer is peak character oh my god

why is??? alastor trying to fight lucifer for charlies dad figure??? i don’t understand this guy he just does shit

this is the character norm called out for being a jewish stereotype. and god i can see it jesus 

i love and hate mimzy. she’s ehh

okay nevermind i do kinda get alastors jealousy

i cannot express how good a character lucifer is. he is the funniest part of this show so far by a LOOOONG shot 

pentious does not know what a siege is apparently. honestly fitting 

mimzy served zero purpose dawg i hope this was just an intro and she comes back at some point 

baby charlie ❤️ 

meaning-wise more than anything is the best song we’ve gotten thus far. through the episode i didnt rlly understand lucifer i just thought he was funny but now i get it! and i love it 

this episode was okay. alastor and mimzy take up way too much screen time for barely anything to happen but lucifer was an awesome character and i love him a lot . unfortunately he can’t save this episode though 6/10

episode 5

this yuri tastes like chicken salad but not the good kind 

i despise cherri 

praying that pentious has a role in this one 

white man jumpscare THATS SUPPOSED RO HE SAINY BETER

the seraphims look sick as hell

emmy and charlie have more chemistry than charlie and vaggie im losing it 

why do the angels look exactly like the demons 

saint peter is .Stupid?????

ADAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ADAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!JOY

charlie should be in heaven. she doesn’t deserve being in hell

vaggie backstory! hooray this is actually sick as hell 

how did charlie not know that vaggie was a fallen angel if she saw her in uniform ?? wouldn’t she recognize that “hey that’s the outfit angels wear” 

adam is a bitch and i love him so much 

karen joke (awful)

websters dictionary joke (not as awful)

adam struggling to think of words so he writes them down,,,,god i love him so much i know he’s a bad guy and a bad person and a bad. he’s just bad all around but i don’t care i love him so dearly he’s my favorite character i think 

niffty is better in this episode 

WATERBOARDINH 😭😭

emily i love 

“fuck yes!!!” oug or character 

i want pentious to get into heaven. please 

angel being a good father 

the delivery of “hey……….i see the club has a sex room…………” is fucking hilarious and i laughed out loud 

i have laughed more at this episode than i have the entire series pentious is so funny 

valentino. gross

angel standing up to valentino is really nice 

why doesn’t emily have a nose 

why are we having a deep song with emily as soon as we meet her???? i mean it’s technically not her song or sera’s but like. we JUST met them it doesn’t rlly make sense for them to have this big number 

yeah it’s really bothering me that emily has this big number. we barely know these people and they’re treating it like we’ve known her forever WHO IS THIS GIRL

if hell is forever then heaven must be a lie 💥💥

I CANT THID RUCKING FACE 

i hate this episode a lot more the writing is worse 

okay. the writing is noticeably worse than the rest of the series in this episode the pacing is completely fucked. at least we get some adam content and vaggie lore but vaggie isn’t rlly a character i enjoy. however the humor is peak in this episode and pentious really carries it with his running bit. he can’t save much of the episode sadly. 4.5/10 

episode 7

the more i watch the intro i really don’t like it . it’s so boring 

pentious petting keykey 

i dont like alastor  bad character bad character whenever he’s on screen i want to kick something 

cannibal town ‼️‼️

awwwwwi love rosie. she’s like mimzy but better and more likeable 

i wanna make a cannibal oc. if i were in this version of hell i would wanna be a cannibal. this whole area makes me happy 

rosie didn’t swear ONCE in her opening scene im so proud of the writers 

i really like carmilla’s design and her stupid nsr hands 

if helluva boss is in the same universe as this one then why don’t they go through extermination ??? or is that like. an au

rosie is so cute i love her so much. 

susan is such an underwhelming name that’s so funny 

this episode is much better 

i know that this show doesn’t have the best writing but it’s honestly just a fun watch

out for love is the best number we’ve had so far 

carmilla walks around in steel ballet shoes all the time i gotta respect the woman 

rosie’s first swear came 2/3rds into the episode. new record 

i relate to charlie 

I LOVE ROSIE.SO MUCH uuhg$hd,s

charlie’s song is really nice 

the cannibals are the best part of the show. easily 

SHE GOT SUSAN 🔥🔥

vaggie getting her wings back . i love 

this is easily the best episode so far. both musical numbers were great and vaggie and charlie being apart and their stories being intercut only for them to come together at the end was amazing. cannibal town is absolutely amazing and perfect and there was a noticeably less amount of swearing. 9/10, praying that  the finale is this good too 

episode 8 (finale)

is this technically just a part 2 to episode 7 

PENTIOUS DRESSED LIKE A GENERAL.AW

i love vox he’s so goofy . i wish he appeared more 

charlie’s message is really nice i love her a lot but it was kinda ruined by niffty

cherri makes everything worse 

angel dust’s development is nice 

pentious being forced into a hetero love with cherri,,,blehh this is the most aroace guy ive ever seen 

mini more than anything reprise with charlie and vaggie is really sweet . 

ADAM 💥💥💥SICK ASS NEW OUTFIT BRO 

adam is still the best character in this show. “chill lute fuck” i adore alex brightman 

the battle outfits are cool 

alastor finally doing something helpful 

gyat DAMN adam. awooga 

vox’s stupid dance 

alastor saying nuh uh to the person trying to murder him is funny

i don’t want to kin adam but i Do. i Do he’s Awesome

while it interrupts the action vox watching and cheering as alastor nearly dies is super funny 

okay Actually dies then

i am enjoying this so much 

SIR PENTIOUS CLUTCH 💥💥

adam is the best character in the whole fuckinh show him oneshotting pentious is hilarious . i know he goes to heaven and doesn’t rlly die i think 

what happened to the angels fighting with reckless abandon??vaggie is getting her shit rocked

GET FUCKED LUTE

ewww adam is a white guy.ew put the mask back on 

lucifer and adam interaction this is just peak

why aren’t the angels going after the rest of hell once they realize that they’re screwed 

adam without the mask is fugly

HE .HE DIES ??WHAY YHE FUCK

the hotel:(

“the ultimate sacrifice” i love pentious a lot but HE DIDNT DO SHIT BRO 😭

i choose to believe that lilith divorced lucifer because lucifer was a gay man and she was a lesbian

why is cherri a main character now i dony. ew

alastor is alive ! boo

bro thinks he’s jack skeleton 

husk being mad when he sees that alastor is alive is funny 

WHAT THE FUCK 

VOX GET A JOB. STAY AWAY FROM HIM

sir pentious gets into heaven :) thaht makes me happy 

season finale! this was a phenomenal episode to end of a good series, though ill be real i don’t know if having a second season is a good idea. most if not all of the conflicts are resolved among the main cast. ending it off with pentious getting into heaven is amazing though. episode is a 9/10 it was funny and engaging and really fun all around.

overall score for the series is a 7.5/10 i really enjoyed it 

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin review #sir pentious #sir pentious hazbin hotel #cherri bomb #cherri bomb hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #hazbin charlie #charlie hazbin hotel #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #husk #husker #hazbin hotel husk #vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #adam #hazbin hotel adam #adam is my favorite

[smolbean-17]

SEASON 3 THEORIES

Part 4 (Episode 8-9)

I think these episodes will be action packed, and maybe a little filler-y initially. But not much. I don’t think many of the episodes this season will be filler, if any at all.

Ep8 - Bad Territory

I’m certain this will be the swamp episode.

I can’t help but wonder if this episode will have to do with the Pyke Syndicate?

In the leaked trailer, Hunter and Wrecker are shown being escorted by a Pyke. They appear to be unrestrained, so they’re probably following the Pyke willingly.

In another part of the trailer they’re being escorted by a boy. I have no theories as to who this is, but I wonder if he has anything to do with the Pykes.

We know that this is the monastery on Teth. Will they go to Teth in this episode? Or even later on?

This leads me to wonder how much the Crime Syndicates will play a role in this season. We have evidence of not one, but two of the incredibly dangerous and powerful syndicates in the trailers. Both the Hutt Clan and the Pyke Syndicate.

This bodes poorly for our boys, presumably only Hunter and Wrecker. Do they resort to working for these syndicates for intel on the illegal inner-workings of the Empire? Whatever happens here I’m sure will paint a bigger target on their backs.

This is where Fennec Shand comes in.

She was a master assassin who worked directly for the top crime syndicates in the galaxy. Just as Cad Bane did.

Maybe in their venture to find Omega, they hire her for help/intel. Fennec likely has something to gain from working with them.

They go to this swamp planet with her:

And Hunter doesn’t seem to have a good time.

He’s already in the water when the croc grabs him, so either he was in the water willingly looking for something or swimming back to the boat after a fall. Or maybe croc really wants a Hunter snack and this is round 2.

Ep9 - The Harbinger

I think this will be where we’re introduced to this character for the first time.

If it is Tech, we won’t see his face this episode. If it isn’t, we will find out it’s just another clone assassin. They will have no reason to drag out the mystery behind this character if it isn’t Tech.

When it comes to my theories on whether or not Tech is gone for real, I’m torn. I really think it’s a 50/50 chance either way.

But as for this particular mystery character, I’m leaning toward it not being Tech. I honestly think it’s another clone assassin.

CX-1 particularly.

The episode title is The Harbinger.

Harbinger definition: a person who goes ahead and makes known the approach of another; herald. anything that foreshadows a future event; omen.

“They are coming for all of you.”

This person is the harbinger for the Bad Batch. Whether he’s the harbinger of their death, destruction, a final clone war, or something else, it won’t be good.

Meanwhile, Crosshair returns to his brothers, a free man.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

#the bad batch #star wars #clone wars #sw tbb #tbb #star wars tbb #the bad batch spoilers #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #bad batch theories

[madwheelerz]

Manifestation Theory

Overview

So, essentially, I think a lot of the events in Stranger Things are DnD manifestations, specifically Mike’s manifestations. There are a lot of small things throughout the series that indicate Mike is in some way connected to the upside-down and my conclusion is that Mike is basically creating a story. I think we’re essentially watching Mike’s campaign come to life with the main characters being Will and the party.

Why Mike?

Why Mike? Throughout the series a lot of the supernatural elements tent to steer clear of Mike. If Will and El are the main targets, then why leave Mike behind? Mike is constantly figuring out what the upside-down plans thus showing a firm understanding of the way that the upside-down works. How does he understand the upside-down so well? He’s almost always reaching the right conclusions both about the upside-down and El’s powers.

Mike is also the Dungeon Master, and his basement is where a lot of foreshadowing happens. Throughout Stranger Things the roles that the characters have in DnD carry a lot of importance throughout the show. Lucas is a ranger and as such we see him using long range weapons a lot. Dustin is a barb and saves everyone with a song in season three. Even El and Max who don’t technically have roles fit into what they are assigned.

Max deems herself a zoomer and then proceeds to hijack a car to get herself and the party where they need to go. El is deemed a mage because of her telepathic abilities, but it also serves as a nice hint towards El’s struggle with being defined as a monster. From what I know a mage is a npc character, however, which also interesting.

Mike and Will are tricky. Will is either a cleric or wizard and it seems like he might fill both roles in the show considering that he is heavily implied to have powers and as of season four we do see him offering a lot of emotional support to Mike. Mike, on the other hand, has been described as both a paladin and the DM, but has also been stated to be a cleric in outside source materials. This indicates that Mike has three roles in the show.

Currently we’ve only really seen Mike offering support to El and Will throughout the show and thus fulfilling the role of the cleric. There do seem to be hints that we will see Mike being a paladin in season five. Mike’s role of DM is a constant in the show. Mike is the leader and he’s the one that normally makes campaigns. Mike is apart of every DnD game and there are only four in the show. Mike has been the DM for two of those four campaigns and three of the campaigns took place in his basement.

Will is the only one who doesn’t take on the persona of the villain while doing his campaign, but instead just acts as a narrator. I do also want to point out that both Mike and Eddie do attempt to embody the persona of the villains in their campaigns. This might be one huge ‘sadistic’ campaign that Mike is running without realizing it. Mike has also been contacted to frogs via insults and Dustin mistaking Dart for a Pollywog is important enough to be the episode title.

There is also this interesting parallel.

Joyce is told multiple times that it could all be in her head.

El

El in this scenario is a character within the game. She isn’t real. There are a few suspicious lines throughout the series that allude to people potentially not being real. El is associated with Mike’s toys despite her lack of interest in them and it’s interesting because it’s not like Mike isn’t aware of El’s disinterest, but it does recontextualize Max saying that Mike didn’t “own” El. It does also beg the question of Mike being the one to refer to El as “Eleven” the most often and others only doing so in his presence. When El appears it’s also with the exact powers needed to accomplish Mike’s goal of ‘finding Will’. She’s able to locate people and open gates.

Eleven is treated almost as El’s full name, but very rarely do people call her by her number. Mike is the one who does so the most. Mike also gives El his watch in episode three and she doesn’t return it until episode seven. If the watches are representing time, then Mike essentially gave El ‘time’.  During the argument where Max says that Mike doesn’t own El there is an emphasis placed on El being her own person and capable of making her own decisions.

This also brings into question the whole “she was born special and maybe I was the first to realize” thing because this statement doesn’t make sense unless something else is going on there. There is also El’s independence bringing her farther away from Mike as she tries to settle into having a real family of her own. Mike leads the boys to look for Will, but instead they find El. El begins to substitute in Will’s role until Will is recovered. This is why she disappears.

El completes her duty, she defeats the Demogorgon and has successfully helped the boys find Will. Will is in good hands and alive so El disappears, but Mike is still clinging to the idea of her because El is now one of the most important people to him. We also have Mike fully believing that the El he sees in s2 up until Punk! El era is all in his head, but what if she was. What if Mike was so sure that El wasn’t there because she is a product of his mind.

Max’s claim that Mike doesn’t own El. Dustin looks at Mike and El while saying Mental. Lucas implies that El escaped from pennhurst.

Also, while the image is here, I will point out that big black shape in the background that looks like a bunch of tentacles wrapped together. I’ve seen it behind Mike’s head a few times so do with that what you will.

Holly’s Role

So, what role does Holly play in this? Holly from what I gathered is her family’s observer. She watches as her family interacts and takes note of any tension that happens. If Mike is doing this even subconsciously it’s possible that Holly will be one of the first people to notice. Holly is also going to be old enough to be able to participate in the plot next season so she’ll be in a position to create that link between what is happening and what it might mean for her family.

Karen

What could Karen have to do with this? Well, if Mike is capable of creating monsters, creatures, and potentially people Karen most likely knows unless it’s an entirely new ordeal. Imagine if sending El to see his mom would’ve solved everything way back then. In the same season that Karen is trying to get closer to Mike she is finally taking notice of the things happening due to the upside-down.

Another thing is the more prominent the supernatural elements become the less we are allowed to access what Mike is really thinking and how he feels. Obviously, every season the threat is becoming more dangerous, but we are also watching Mike become more closed off every season.

Mike & Chrissy

Mike and Chrissy share a lot of parallels, but what I wanted to talk about is Chrissy’s death and how it’s tied to Mike. Before episode one of season 4 really kicks off Mike is giving a curfew of nine. When Chrissy dies, she is with Eddie and its night implying that the Hellfire campaign had already ended. What does Mike going home mean? It means California.

When Mike gets off the plane to go in Lenora we know that he is acting weird. He’s acting this way because he’s conforming. In the video store when the news anchor announces Chrissy’s death there is a sign next the TV that says, ‘due date’ and ‘9pm’. The news channel is also channel 9.

So, what does all this mean? Forced conformity is killing the kids, but specifically Mike’s forced conformity. The episode two summary of season four also links these events. “A plane brings Mike to California – and a dead body brings Hawkins to a halt.”

Focus Shifting

Every season, except for season four, Mike is always focused on the main victim. In seasons one and two Will is the main victim and for the most part who Mike is focused on. In season three he is focused on El and pushing Will to the background. El becomes the main target whereas the supernatural elements seem to almost skate by Will, or maybe there are some moments here and there, but nothing prominent.

In season four everything is a lot more condensed. Mike conforms = someone dies. His monologue is linked to Max’s death. His trip to California is linked to Chrissy’s death. His fight with the wonder twins happens in the same episode as Fred’s death. Him making up with Will happens in the same episode that Max escapes Vecna. Then we have Patrick. Who is targeted suddenly and seemingly at random. About as sudden as a random, but necessary trip to some Mormons?

Mike & Max s2x09 vs s4x04

Now for more regarding Max’s escape in “Dear Billy” and Mike in “The Gate”. We all know this

infamous parallel. Something to consider here is that Mike and Max were grouped with the same people, Dustin, Lucas, and Steve except in the case of “Dear Billy” Mike is in California and as such not there, unless of course he is in a sense either by having manifested Vecna or through the angelic imagery. Here are some things from Mike that might be suspicious. There’s also a better look at the spiral that I was talking about earlier. 

Vale of Shadows

Then we have the vale of shadows which is the original name for the upside-down.

As Dustin continues to describe the place it slowly pans away from Lucas in the shot leaving Dustin, who is narrating, and Mike. Mike also has a song called “The Vale of Shadows” in his playlist which is interesting considering as far as we know he’s never been to the upside-down or to the vale of shadows.

Conclusion

So, what exactly do I think is happening? I thinking we’re watching Mike essentially have emotional breakdowns via supernatural forces. His fears are being reflected back via monsters. This might be why Mike’s POV is so hidden from the viewer because the supernatural forces are now acting as that perspective. As I’ve mentioned before as these forces become stronger Mike’s perspective becomes more hidden.

This also leans into the lack of Mike being targeted and interacting with the upside-down creatures until the final season because unless there was some sort of tie there it’s weird. This also does beg the question of the Demogorgon lifecycle sheet, if true, though because it would imply that every Demogorgon originated from Mike in a sense. This would also explain Mike being so heavily associated with blue despite that being a bad color.

tagging: @booksandpaperss, @boysdontcryboycry, @heroesbyler​, @brionysea​

#byler #manifestation theory #it's hereeeeeeeee #this might have more since there is more to say #but for now this is what i've got #this does make me wonder though #bc all that stuff about el being mike's long lost 'sister' from the upside-down #and mike basically wanting that connection that he used to have with the girls in his life