#casually makes a hint to a previous thread

[wordsandrobots]

Let's talk about Haman Karn and presentation.

(This post contains a lot of images, including some stitched frames that would have been a lot easier to put together if the animators hadn't gone wild with overlay effects.)

When first introduced in the back half of Zeta Gundam, Haman is presented as the wicked witch in the Neo Zeon court, a powerful, dangerous 'newtype' who plays the conscientious regent to girl-queen Mineva Zabi while in truth calling all the shots. What is most striking about Haman's initial design is how simple it is. A funereal black tunic and grey leggings is almost laughably at odds with the rich, golden-threaded uniforms of the Zeon military officers, as worn in miniature by Mineva herself. Haman displays no rank and you could almost think, in isolation, that she had no official position.

But she isn't presented in isolation. That she is the axis (pun intended) around which Neo Zeon revolves is shown by how her appearance actually interacts with the scenes she's in. For one thing, pink hair and a red inner lining to her cape combined with an otherwise excessively sombre colour scheme draw the eye when contrasted with the rest of her forces, making her appear far more significant. For another, the cape grants her the outline of other important Zeon characters like Char Aznable and Kycilia Zabi, something further emphasised when she takes to the battlefield.

As with Char before her, she opts against wearing a spacesuit, a show of utter confidence in her abilities that proves well-founded. She emerges triumphant in battle, overpowering her predecessor with greater psychic abilities. There is thus a strong element of performative humility to her costume. It places her outside the military hierarchy, in a fashion distantly akin to Mineva's other attendants, yet there is never any question as to where the power behind the resurgent Zeon lies.

Complicating this picture is a vision shared with Zeta's protagonist, Kamile Bidan. When their minds link during combat, he catches a glimpse of Haman's prior relationship with Char, implied to have been romantic in nature. I don't believe we ever get confirmation as to whether this is a recollection or a fantasy; Haman states the visions are both dreams and memories. Certainly Haman and Char know and despise one another in the present, so nothing that happened between them ended well.

In this moment we catch a glimpse of an 'innocent' version of Haman, dressed casually, her overall palette matched to her hair rather than counterpointing it. Aside from establishing more of the history gestured to by her interactions with Char, it demonstrates that there is purpose to her current mode of dress. Ostentatiously plain black is not the default for a happy, contented Haman Karn.

Haman's next chronological appearance, several episodes into sequel series Gundam ZZ, comes after several (literally rose-tinted) flashbacks that show her still in her 'witch's blacks'. However when she finally comes on screen in the flesh, it is in very different ensemble: a tightly-buttoned charcoal dress and white scarf that appear to be a form of 'back-stage' attire

It's the least made-up we ever see her, with rather bedraggled hair in place of her normal sweeping coiffure, as if co-villain Glemy Toto and later protagonist Judau Ashta have caught her right after stepping out of the shower - the one to give a report hinting at a later arc, the other to sneak in by mistake and trigger a series-long rivalry.

The roses in over-the-top imaginings of brainwashed minion Mashymre Cello are reduced to balcony decorations and Haman possesses none of the glow he ascribes to her. This is the truth behind the delusions, canny and hard-faced. It is a grounding moment for the character, removing the implicit theatre of her previous appearances. Mineva is nowhere to be seen and without her, there is no need for Haman to pretend.

These scenes also establishes Haman's newtype credentials, as Judau sees her starkly overlaid upon cosmic fog and then projecting a monstrous apparition that shows the danger lying under her presently unassuming surface. The theatrics may be absent; the threat she poses very much is not.

Having in this manner brought us up to speed on the character, the show proceeds to roll out a second performance from Haman. We watch as she is dressed ahead of taking charge of a battle-fleet. In tight close-up, an attendant helps her into a flamboyant outfit featuring projecting epaulettes and a much longer cape, then presents her with a spiked, crown-like headpiece.

There is only one word to adequately describe the result: regal.

Gone is any pretence of being subordinate to someone else. When Haman steps on to the bridge of her flagship, it is as the true queen of Neo Zeon, ready to crush all who oppose her. Projected as a hologram above the Earth, this new costume's purpose as a propaganda tool becomes crystal clear. Haman has taken the place of Zeon's previous rulers, the Zabi family, replicating their flare for dramatic rhetoric and dressing herself in their flag.

It is in this guise that Haman makes her attempt to 'seduce' Judau (canonically 14) and to get up on my soapbox again, this is very obviously an act. We can see the calculation in her facial expressions as she exerts psychic 'pressure' and generates a starry vision to entreat him to join her cause, even when the assault on his senses culminates in a near-kiss.

These are means of control comparable to the chivalric romance fantasy via which she manipulates Mashymre. She is lying and once snapped out of the trance, Judau sees that - much to Haman's annoyance. Another powerful newtype is a wildcard she can ill-afford to let run free and her easy solution to the problem has been foiled. This sets the tone for their interactions from here on out.

Haman next appears at a reception in the Federation capital of Dakar, which Neo Zeon have occupied, effectively signalling their triumph over Earth's official forces. This is an extremely key scene in terms of ZZ's overall themes, as it starkly illuminates the craven, greedy nature of the supposed authorities. As Leina Ashta, Judau's sister, observes via her empathic abilities, everybody in the ballroom is pretending, buttering up the Zeon leaders in anticipation of their victory. We see multiple Federation officials bowing politely to Mineva and to Haman, for entirely self-serving reasons. Cynicism, manners and social convention are turned into a source of horror, an ersatz world of fake smiles and hollow laughter.

Within this, Haman is dressed to the nines, putting a new twist on her original presentation. Once again, she is the sole member of Neo Zeon wearing civilian clothes, standing out from a wall of elaborate ceremonial uniforms. Moreover, her superficially restrained black and white dress is enhanced with a smattering of jewellery befitting the occasion, and she has donned visible make-up, something she otherwise does not use to any great degree. These mark out her social standing, emphasising that those present should pay attention to her and her alone.

One thing I do think this dress highlights is the way in which ZZ does not go out of its way to sexualise Haman. The show generally commits to bawdy comedy far more than its predecessors, featuring as it does Chara Soon, a woman who gets *ahem* excited by mobile suit combat and is dubbed 'Boobazilla' for her antics with respect to the male members of the cast. But although Haman is depicted as pretty and not above attempting seduction, her costuming never really leans into that. If anything, the reverse: she favours restrained, formal looks that rarely display her skin in suggestive ways. [Please see a correction/addition on this point here.]

Her Dakar attire is the most daring she gets and intentionally striking in comparison to the other attendees at the ball. She still remains an aloof, intimidating figure, defined by sharp angles and a wide-shouldered outline.

Proceedings are naturally interrupted by non-Federation resistance groups and Judau breaks into the mansion to rescue his sister (Leina's arc through the first half of the show has her kidnapped and subjected to Neo Zeon attempts to 'civilise' her). Sensing his presence, Haman moves to confront him, only to end up talking unexpectedly openly about her motivations for conquering Earth. After expressing rage at having returned from the depths of space to discover an Earth-bound elite continuing to wreak ecological ruin on the planet, she notes what an odd feeling honesty is.

Judau is unimpressed and rejects again the idea of joining forces against the Federation. Restating that she cannot therefore allow him to live, Haman attempts to shoot him, only for Leina to be injured in the struggle. This sends her brother into a rage, his newtype powers manifesting at full blast.

Now it is Haman who sees a monstrous vision overlaid upon her opponent and, putting a nasty twist on the idea of being able to speak her mind around Judau, her composure cracks entirely. All at once, Haman is reduced to abject terror, firing blindly then outright fleeing the anger directed at her.

Intriguingly, Haman's sense of Judau is as a bestial force yet Judau's friends pick up only a gigantic version of the boy they know. It is as if what they experience as a normal if exaggerated emotional reaction is, to Haman, utterly horrific, reducing her to hiding in her bedroom, appalled that anyone could exert such pressure upon her.

With the reception disrupted and her propaganda coup in tatters, Haman retreats both to her flagship and to her warrior queen attire. While it makes sense for her to change into something more suited to taking command, there is something compelling in the idea this represents an attempt to reinforce her authority after the shock of confronting Judau. Perhaps this is Haman taking comfort in her authority over Neo Zeon, as embodied by the crown she wears into battle.

Moreover, her next major action is to order a colony drop (literally displacing an orbital space colony so it crashes to Earth) on Dublin, a hideously destructive war crime designed specifically to "demonstrate [Zeon's] power through terror!" Coming hard on the heels of her brush with Judau's fury, it is tempting to draw a straight line from discovering something capable of scaring her to wanting to remind the whole world why it should be scared of her.

Between Dakar and Dublin are a couple of brief asides with Haman that underline again how conscientious she is about how she presents herself. During another meeting with Glemy - indicated over the course of ZZ to be a bastard son of the Zabi family - she reverts to her black tunic, as in Mashymre's visions, trying to exert control over this wayward heir. The ploy is a failure since Glemy shortly thereafter makes an angry break with her, unconvinced by her shows of deference to his heritage.

In the following episode, Haman resumes her battledress, only sans crown for the simple reason that she is back in the same room as Mineva. She makes a point of maintaining appearances, irrespective of how much she overshadows her supposed superior. At the tail end of this scene, her inner monologue reflects on her older sister's death in service to the Zabis and on Char's abandonment of the cause named for his father, Zeon Zum Deikun. Haman concludes that she has always been alone, a sentiment deserving sympathy but overshadowed by her upcoming decision to effectively nuke Ireland. Regardless, there is a telling novelty about seeing Haman dressed as the war-queen but without the masking structure of the crown. Thanks to the way her collar is cut, this renders her more visibly open than any of her other costumes, a visual blending nicely with the reveal of some context for this most singular villainess.

Now is a good time to reflect on that, on Haman being Gundam's first major female villain (Kycilia Zabi, though striking in her own right, cannot claim the status of arch foe for an entire series). That Haman Karn is a woman is important to how she works as a character. I hope I have covered sufficient ground to demonstrate how she is conceptualised in terms of appearance and the manipulation of social forces. Her attempt to seduce the hero alone marks her out from her male counterparts - Zeta's main antagonist, Paptimus Scirocco, displayed the power to entice women via the force of his personality, but this did not take the form of allure or leaning in for a kiss, and was never applied to Kamile.

Surprising I think no one, Gundam ZZ is as committed to a distinction between male and female signifiers as its predecessors. The very fact I am writing an essay about how Haman controls and changes her appearance depending on the situation should be ample demonstration of how specifically feminine villainy is portrayed. Glemy doesn't have nearly so vast a wardrobe.

Even so, something ZZ has over its predecessor is a shift in how masculinity and feminity are discussed. No longer is this part of the diegetic content: we are spared characters philosophising over the nature of womanhood in the context of war. More than that, Glemy's attempts to mould Leina into a (fascist) vision of a perfect lady are oppressive and quite literally an act of imprisonment. This casts Haman's own position in a somewhat more nuanced light. She is navigating a sexist society with intent, and her own flaws are not presented as anything so gauche as 'needing a good man in her life'. Char, the subject of that vision from Zeta, left Haman to shoulder the burden of leadership, rather than being merely guilty of jilting her. The thrust of her self-reflection is a combination of hating the Zabis for her sister's death, determination never to be that kind of victim, and the conclusion she alone must build her future. It's as worthy a motivation for Gundam villain as we might find anywhere else.

Nevertheless, we now have to turn our attention to Haman's next major arc, which sees her donning a disguise in order to sneak closer to Judau.

The Tigerbaum arc sees sexism and the objectification of women profoundly muddled between something the show is highlighting with a critical eye and something it is itself engaged in. Minor villain Stampa's lecherous abuse of his position as colony governor to prey on young women is presented as deplorable. At the same time, these episodes give us yet another entry on Gundam creator Yoshiyuki Tomino's long list of female characters killed to provide an air of tragedy and motivate male members of the cast, this iteration so badly animated, it isn't even clear *why* or *how* the poor woman is mortally injured.

Haman's choice to personally infiltrate the situation by donning a blonde wig and an unassuming red skirt and jacket combination marks renewed emphasis on her two-faced nature. Her obsession with Judau has developed such that this is mission is entirely in service of trying once more to recruit him to her side. Not incidentally, this results in her dropping the ball on the Glemy situation, providing him the room to start a full-blown coup.

It is established in the characters' minds over the course of this arc that Judau and Haman are on some level calling to one another. When they come face to face, Haman entreats her young foe to help build a world for newtypes and to stop being held back by his emotions and his attachment to others. Meanwhile, a convenient psychic priest clues us in to a sadness hidden behind this standard villainous pitch. Sarasa even explicitly tells Haman that, at their core, her feelings are no different from Judau's.

Haman rejects this assessment. Her spycraft is defined by an inability to play the part of anything other than the haughty aristocrat. The red disguise, while distinct enough to hide her at first, quickly proves to have a silhouette close to her original costume, broad sleeves tapering elegantly to thin wrists, and her briefly expressed interest in seeing "how the common people live" is an exercise in contempt. She has no time for those who don't serve her goals or share her vision.

From the first, Haman has been - seemingly by her own design - the singular figure at the heart of Neo Zeon. This is how she chose to cloak her loneliness, aiming to take total control of the world and punish those she deems to have been inexcusably careless towards Earth. She is bad at disguising what she truly is, even when it would be to her advantage. Judau senses who she is from a touch and only doesn't realise what it means until later because circumstances distract him. Glemy's disillusionment stems precisely from Haman's failure to convincingly appear to serve the Zabi bloodline. As I said at the start, she draws the eye.

Events race towards a head and as the Neo Zeon civil war heats up, we get a last outing for the black costume. Haman returns to Core 3, the old heart of Zabi power, where Mineva is being kept, and adopts the old theatre. Except, it is wearing very thin by now. Breaking into the huge palace, Judau encounters Mineva on her own and she states outright that while Haman claims to care for her, she doesn't believe it any more. We'll later learn this isn't the real Mineva Zabi but a double, a girl saved by the Haman and used to safely hold people's focus, lending these words an extra layer of pathos. This false Mineva is a prop: Haman has reduced the focus of Neo Zeon belief - the righteous of the Zabi's cause - to empty puppetry.

Where this sequence sings is in the continued interplay between Judau and Haman. Judau, partly at the 'Mineva's' insistence, attempts to steal the child away. Haman catches him and is delighted when he threatens Mineva to ensure safe passage, since it means he no longer holds the moral high ground over her (insofar as using others to get what she wants). A small victory, suggesting to her mind that he has started to see things her way.

Judau is not willing to actually harm a child and returns Mineva, over the double's protests since she can no longer stand being trapped as a tool for Haman's ambitions. Surprisingly, Haman keeps her word, allowing Judau and fellow pilot Roux to leave the palace grounds in exchange for surrendering their 'captive' and ordering her men not to 'disgrace her honour'. It's a hollow promise since she immediately tries to trap the escapees inside the colony and have them killed, but it's significant, since we've not been given any indication before that Haman has a sense of honour.

This said, we certainly have every reason to believe she has a sense of pride.

The civil war kicks into high gear, Glemy and Haman's forces tear each other apart, and eventually the would-be usurper meets his doom at Roux's hands. This leaves Haman the victor on paper but with she and Judau orbiting one another closer and closer, they both accept a final duel is inevitable. Over the protests of her remaining subordinates, she boards her Qubeley, the mobile suit she used to beat Char all the way back at the end of Zeta, claiming aloud that Judau is already subject to her will.

This is a last bit of acting. Safe in the privacy of the Qubeley's cockpit, she expresses frustration that Judau has driven her to don a normal suit, a beat recapitulating the end of the original Gundam series. Char, who habitually declineed to wear a spacesuit out of a belief it would make little difference were he to suffer defeat, agrees to do so in order to soothe another character's worries. Here, it is Haman's fear, of a "mere child", that drives her to take the same precaution.

For once, her mode of dress has nothing to do with furthering her goals. This choice is made out of concern for her life, which perhaps above all explains exactly why she should have become so obsessed with conquering Judau in particular.

He scares her. He will not be controlled and he sent her running, overwhelmed by his presence. How could she possibly let him live after that?

Haman is an extremely proud woman. She will not suffer to be seen publicly breaking her word and doesn't - cannot - hide her ambitions. Where another leader might have delegated spy-work at a crucial time, she goes herself. She does not trust others to act of their own free will, manipulating and brainwashing them into extensions of herself. She does not trust other people full stop. That's the irreconcilable difference between her and Judau, who loves those around him and retains faith in ordinary human beings.

So they fight, screaming their philosophies at one another, each stubborn and defiant and convinced they're right, Haman proving as emotionally driven as the boy she laughed at for still possessing mercy. There is nothing logical about fighting him fair and square but this is precisely what she does, refraining from using the full extent of the Qubeley's abilities so she might match Judau one on one, pilot to pilot.

If she couldn't beat him on her own, what would be the point?

But Judau doesn't fight alone. The souls of newtypes fallen in battles Haman shares the blame for starting come to his aid, driving her back and giving him the power to overcome her. When the final blows are struck, she is left the loser and though he reaches for her, true to his nature, trying to save her life, she defies his compassion, proud to the very end.

At the same time, she says she is glad to have met this "strong child" who has beaten her. She proceeded on the basis that everyone was alone and the hope of greater understanding promised by newtype abilities was, in essence, a lie. If there existed no possibility harmonious cooperation would overturn the Federation's indifference, then of course the only way to prosper was to seize control of everything and everyone. Yet Judau proves the chance of a different path remains.

As she choses death over living with defeat, Haman looks the most content we ever see her. Her spirit, blasted loose as the Qubeley is destroyed, smiles joyfully. Her helmet, opened moments prior, is gone, leaving her hair to billow wild. The embellishments to her normal suit are likewise loosened, lines softened by the implied force of the explosion.

Haman Karn dies undone, no longer the carefully composed centre of a lonely universe, not even the posed teenager seen in flashback, but instead freed from her own stage-management.

And at last she is happy.

[poisonlove]

a

yes yes yes please a part 2 is what i need it doesn't even have to be happy it can be harrowing again I just need to know how Y/n is going to get over this, if Vada regretted it, I want to know EVERYTHING I'm not going to lie I want vada to suffer :)

Tears… of happiness?| v.c

part. 2

Three months later

I was at my house, preparing dinner with Sofia, a girl I was getting to know better, when suddenly I received a call from Amelia, Vada's sister. —I'm sorry, Sofia— I say with an embarrassed smile as my phone starts ringing. —I need to take this call.— Sofia smiles understandingly.

—No problem, go ahead. I'll be here when you get back.— I get up from the table and make my way to a quieter corner.

—Hello?— I answer the call with a gentle smile, trying to hide the agitation that's already starting to creep in.

—Hi, t/n. I'm sorry for calling you so late. I needed you to know something.— Amelia's voice is filled with a mix of emotions.

I listen attentively as Amelia tells me about Vada's situation and how she's recently come out of a detox center. As her words fill the air, I feel a weight lifting from my chest.

Finally, Vada's total disappearance makes sense.

—I really appreciate you calling me to let me know—I tell her sincerely. —I had no idea about any of this, but I'm glad to hear that she's trying to improve.— Amelia sounds relieved.

—I'm glad you're taking the news well. I know you two were close, and... I just wanted you to know.— After hanging up the call, I feel as though a knot has been untied. I return to the table with Sofia, who smiles kindly at me.

—Everything okay?— she asks.

—Now it is— I reply, feeling a sense of release. —Thank you for understanding—I say with a shy smile.

Deep inside my heart, a small flame of hope ignites. The news that Vada has come out of a detox center has shaken the foundations of my emotions. In an instant, my mind is torn between the hurricane of conflicting feelings: concern for her, fear for what she's been through, and that small but powerful hope that maybe, just maybe, all of this could be a step toward the change that we both needed. I find myself reflecting on every word spoken and unspoken, on shared moments and ones left hanging. The possibility that Vada took this step for herself, and perhaps even for us, starts to take shape in my mind. Maybe our bond wasn't completely severed. Maybe, somehow, there's still an invisible thread keeping us connected.

—Who was that?—Sofia asks curiously. Sofia's sudden question pulls my attention away from my thoughts.

—It was just a friend— I reply with a light smile, trying to keep my tone casual. —Anyway, where were we?— Sofia seems to accept my answer without further questions, and we return to our previous conversation. We continue discussing various topics, but my mind is still occupied by the news I've just received.

—It really was a nice evening— Sofia says with a smile, looking into my eyes. —Do you... want me to stay?— She adds a hint of playfulness.

I nervously chuckle and shake my head slightly. —Thank you, but I think it's better if you don't stay— I reply, walking her to the door.

Before I can realize it, Sofia kisses me. It's an unexpected moment that catches me off guard. My heart races as I try to process what just happened. After the kiss, we lock eyes for a moment, emotions swirling within me between surprise and confusion.

—So... see you at school tomorrow...—Sofia mumbles shyly, her cheeks flushed as she looks down at the floor and fiddles with her fingers. —Yeah... see you tomorrow— I respond, still feeling the lingering sensation of Sofia's lips on mine.

The girl gives me a timid smile before turning and walking out of the building. Closing the door behind her, I find myself thinking about how strange, yet oddly pleasant, this evening has been.

*** During the lunch break the next day, I feel even more nervous than usual. I engage in small talk with my friends, trying to maintain a normal conversation, but my mind is completely elsewhere. I feel the curious gazes of my friends on me, and I realize they're noticing my odd behavior.

—Hey, t/n, you seem a bit distracted today. Everything okay?— Alex, one of my closest friends, asks me. I try to smile and nod, even though I know my smile comes across as forced.

—Yeah, everything's fine. Just a bit tired, I guess—I reply. Sarah, another friend, laughs. —Maybe it's because of the math class this morning. That professor always manages to give us a headache!—

I chuckle too, trying to join in the conversation. But the truth is, my head is filled with thoughts about Vada and what I've discovered. I wish I could share everything with them, but it's such a delicate situation that I don't even know where to start.

While lost in my thoughts, I notice a figure in the distance. It's Vada. Suddenly, my heart races, and it feels as though the world has come to a standstill. Vada looks pale, but different. Different in the way she holds her head high and walks with more confidence. Beyond that, she looks healthier. Her brown eyes meet mine, and unconsciously, I smile.

It's an instinctive, unconscious smile. Everything I've felt in the past months seems to surface in that moment. All the doubts, hopes, and disappointments. As our gazes lock, I feel there's still a connection between us.

My emotions are in turmoil as I try to conceal how shaken I am by her presence. The past and the future blend in an instant, and I know I must find the courage to confront all of this.

(...)

Vada Pov's

I come to a halt, seeing t/n in the distance. I nervously fiddle with my backpack strap, trying to conceal my unease. I can't take my eyes off her, and I realize she looks more beautiful than ever.

It's as if time has turned every feature of hers into a work of art.

But as I look at her, my thoughts travel back in time. I remember why I entered that detox center after our breakup. I wanted to change, to become a better person. The days spent there were dreadful. The days dragged on unbearably slowly, and there was a darkness within me that seemed unwilling to leave. I battled against withdrawal, faced the ghosts of my past actions, and tried to understand what had happened.

Now, facing t/n, I feel a mix of emotions. Surprise, fear, and hope blend as her eyes meet mine. That moment seems to last a lifetime, and I wonder if t/n can see the changes I've made. I hope she can glimpse the determination I put into trying to improve.

Looking at her, I feel the weight of unsaid words, choices we've made, and wounds we've inflicted. I don't know what t/n thinks of me now, I don't know if there's room for forgiveness or something more. The decision is hers, and I feel a lump in my throat as I wait to see what she'll do. My mind is in turmoil, but I try to hold onto my desire to redeem the past.

I feel the eyes of many curious students on me, and I hear whispered comments like "shame on you." The tension in the air is palpable, and I realize how suddenly I've become the center of attention. Everything seems to happen in a blur, but then someone passes by me, heading toward t/n. Suddenly, everyone's attention is captivated by this figure.

—No... look at me...— I murmur sadly, trying to convey how important it is.

Tears well up at the corners of my eyes, and the pain I've felt all these months rushes back. I watch as this girl kisses t/n, and the sound of whistles and applause from her friends fills the air. It's as if the world is spinning too fast, and all I can do is stare at that scene before me.

My heart shatters even more as reality hits me full force. All the mistakes, gaps, and missed moments seem encapsulated in that kiss. All my hopes and desires dissolve into the air, as I try to contain the pain welling up within me. It's an overwhelming feeling, and I feel vulnerable and betrayed, even though I know I have no right to feel that way.

The scene unfolds before me like a blurry dream. Laughter, applause, and the kiss merge into a whirlwind of emotions. Then, as I try to confront it all, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Nick, an old friend, looking at me with a concerned expression.

—Vada, are you okay?— he asks gently, trying to understand what's happening.

Tears start to fall uncontrollably, without me being able to stop them. My heart crumbles as I try to contain the sobs rising from my chest. —Nick... everything... it's just so hard...— I stammer, unable to put my pain into words.

He wraps me in a protective hug, trying to comfort me. —Shh, it's okay. It'll be okay, alright? You're strong.—

But the words of comfort don't seem to be enough. The pain I've kept hidden for so long is now out of control. The wounds of the past, the struggle in the detox center, and now this scene before my eyes merge into a flood of emotions I can't contain. Tears flow incessantly, making even breathing difficult.

Nick tries to support me, but I feel like I'm in freefall. Everything I've tried to overcome seems to resurface at this moment. I feel vulnerable and shattered, as if all my defenses have crumbled. I keep crying, trying to release the weight I've carried with me.

—Let's go somewhere else, okay?— Nick suggests gently, trying to lead me away from the tumultuous scene.

I wipe my eyes and nod, allowing him to guide me as we move away slowly. Every step seems to require an immense effort, but I cling to the help Nick is offering me.

As we walk, someone approaches us. A boy with red eyes and a strange smile on his face. His gaze seems to wander to some undefined point as he approaches. Then, with a distracted gesture, he pulls something out of his pocket and offers it to me.

—Hey, you don't look too happy... want some?—he says, his voice sounding distant and muffled.

My eyes fixate on that offer, and for a moment, I feel the urge to take it. All the emotions I've felt, the pain, the confusion, seem to converge in that moment. But deep within me, I feel a small flame of willpower still burning.

I look into the distance, trying to find that determination that led me to take a step forward. I think of t/n, of the shared tears and smiles. I think of how difficult it has been, but also how meaningful. And I think of myself, the person I'm striving to become.

Taking a deep breath, I look the boy in the eyes and firmly say, —No, thank you.—

The boy seems surprised for a moment, then nods with a strange smile and walks away. Uttering those words gives me a sense of triumph, as if I've overcome an important challenge.

Nick looks at me with an encouraging smile. —Well done, Vada. I'm proud of you.—

I don't know what the future holds, but I know I still have a lot to face. I hold onto that small flame within me and to those who are close to me, ready to confront whatever comes.

***

That evening, Nick organizes a private party with his closest friends to celebrate my return. I find myself at Nick's house ahead of time as the final preparations are being completed. I'm a bit nervous, but also grateful for the opportunity to spend time with loved ones.

Nick approaches me with a smile, and I greet him with a nod. —You've done a great job with this party—I say, admiring the cheerful atmosphere he has created.

—Thanks! I'm glad you're here—Nick responds, glancing at the crowd of friends around us. —I was wondering, could you help me bring the beers to the kitchen and set up some snacks?—

—Of course— I reply with a smile. We grab some beers from the table and head to the kitchen, joking that it looks like they've got enough for an entire month. As we arrange the trays of snacks, we exchange knowing smiles. —I hope there's enough food for everyone—Nick says, laughing.

—Well, considering how many friends you've invited, we might need to make a second trip to the supermarket— I respond, laughing along.

The doorbell rings, and Nick turns to me kindly. —Vada, could you please go answer the door?—

I accept with a nod and make my way to the entrance. As I open the door, my heart beats faster. But when t/n's eyes meet mine, my smile fades, replaced by a mixture of conflicting emotions.

I timidly glance at t/n, trying to control my unease. T/n looks so stunning, wearing an outfit that makes her shine. She's wearing a simple sweatshirt paired with a light jacket of the same color. Her hair is neatly styled and seems to capture the light in a magical way.

For a moment, I feel a bit intimidated and insecure. Yet, there's something about her that makes me feel like anything is possible. I sense t/n's gaze on me and try to smile, even though it's a mix of nervousness and uncertainty.

—T/n... hi— I say with a slightly trembling voice, trying to hide how flustered I am.

—Hi, Vada— t/n responds with a gentle smile, and the sound of her voice resonates within me.

I realize there's still a lot to face and clarify between us, but in this moment, as we look at each other, I feel that there's still a bond that connects us. A bond that has never fully faded, despite everything.

T/n coughs softly, and I sense her discomfort as my gaze lingers. Suddenly aware of the situation, I realize the tension is palpable.

—Um... can I come in?— t/n asks timidly.

I react immediately, fully opening the door to let her in.

As t/n passes by me, I instinctively close my eyes. A shiver runs through me, and I catch a familiar scent that I've missed so much. Her presence is enveloping, bringing back memories of shared moments, sweet gestures, and heartfelt words.

I make an effort to contain the emotions welling up, striving to stay calm and composed. I don't want t/n to sense how unsettled her return has made me. I open my eyes as t/n enters, trying to offer a gentle smile. —Make yourself at home— I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

¤¤¤

As the evening goes on, I try to maintain a relaxed and friendly demeanor. It's strange and surreal to be here, in the same room as t/n after so much time. But at the same time, I feel that there's a new beginning in the air, an opportunity to confront the past and perhaps build something different for the future.

Gradually, the other friends start to arrive, filling the room with energy and joy. But when Edward asks about Mia, I notice t/n tensing slightly.

The atmosphere suddenly becomes tense, and I sense that there's something I'm not quite understanding.

—Hey, guys, where's Mia?—Edward asks, looking around.

Nick grimaces. —Oh, Mia is out of town right now.—

However, I notice that t/n's smile seems forced, and a sense of unease continues to linger in the air. I keep chatting with friends, trying to maintain the party's lightheartedness, but at the same time, I can't help but feel that tension that doesn't seem to dissipate. While friends laugh and joke, my gaze occasionally meets t/n's, trying to read her expressions and understand what she's feeling in this delicate moment.

—How about playing 7 minutes in heaven?— Nick suggests, trying to change the subject.

As friends enthusiastically embrace the idea, Nick hands me the bottle, saying that since I'm the guest of honor, I should start. I take the bottle with a nervous smile, trying to hide my unease. I spin it, and my heart races as the bottle continues to spin, again and again. All eyes are on me, and I feel every moment growing more intense.

My heart seems to stop when the bottle finally comes to a halt. I look, and for a moment, the world seems to slow down as I see that t/n is the person the bottle points to.

I feel as if everything has come to a halt, and my stomach tightens as I wait to see t/n's reaction. T/n takes a sip of whiskey, and the tension in the air seems to grow even stronger. Then, without saying a word, she abruptly stands up from the floor. —Come on, let's go— she mutters before walking determinedly toward a closet.

Her voice is filled with emotions, and I can sense her uncertainty and her willingness to leave that situation behind. I suddenly feel a bit out of place as t/n walks away, but hesitantly, I decide to follow her. I try to understand what she's thinking, but her words are cryptic, and I don't know what to expect.

—Have fun— Nick murmurs, and amid the laughter of friends, he closes the closet door after both t/n and I enter.

I feel my heart pounding, and the tension in the air seems palpable. As the door closes, I find myself suddenly alone with t/n, and I don't know what to say or do. I look around in the darkness of the closet, trying to keep calm despite the agitation I feel. My breathing quickens as I wait to see what will happen after this unexpected moment. I don't know what to expect, but one thing is certain: fate has put us in an unexpected position, and now we have to face it together.

🍾🚪

T/n sighs —How are you, Vada?— Her voice reaches me, and I sense genuine concern in her words. With a bit of nervousness, I reply: —I'm fine, thank you.— A brief silence falls between us, and then, suddenly, I find the courage to ask: —And your girlfriend? How is she?— The question comes out of my mouth almost instinctively, but now that I've said it, I feel my heart racing. I don't know what to expect from her answer, but I feel it's important to confront the reality of what has happened during our time apart. I wait, trying to meet t/n's gaze in the darkness, as the words that have been spoken hang in the air between us. I don't know what will happen after this conversation, but I know we need to face it if we truly want to understand what has changed and if there's room for a new beginning.

T/n sighs in the darkness —We're just getting to know each other; we're not together.— Her words reach me, and a strange feeling of relief starts to creep in. But that feeling is soon overshadowed by jealousy when I hear her bitter reply. —From the way she kissed you, it doesn't seem like that.— I retort with a hint of venom. The silence inside the closet seems to become even heavier, and I feel that tensions are soaring. What had started as an attempt to clarify things seems to have taken a different turn, and now we find ourselves in the midst of a confrontation charged with emotions. —It's not what it looks like,— t/n shoots back, her voice revealing a mix of irritation and frustration. —I don't want you jumping to the wrong conclusions.—

Yet, I can't help but sense a shadow of doubt in her tones. My jealousy seems to have caught her off guard, and now we're clashing in the dark, trying to figure out what's happening between us. —Vada, I don't think it's fair for you to...— But before she can finish speaking, I feel anger and frustration welling up within me, and I abruptly cut her off. —I don't even want to hear about your conquests,— I say firmly, trying to hold back the emotion that threatens to overflow into my words.

The words escape my mouth almost involuntarily, but once spoken, I don't retract anything I've said. I don't want to hear about t/n's escapades with other people, especially when there's so much to resolve between us. I feel vulnerable and hurt, and the idea that there might be someone else who could take my place hurts. T/n seems surprised by my words, but I don't take back any of it. I look around in the darkness of the closet, seeking some sign of understanding in her eyes. I don't know what will happen now, but I know it's important to set boundaries and expectations between us.

—Vada, I understand that you might feel that way,— t/n says, perhaps trying to calm me down. —But you have to understand that it's not what it seems. I don't want you...— Her response only fuels my anger, and I can't help but interrupt her again. —I don't care about what you want or don't want. I don't want to hear it,— I grit my teeth.

—What the hell has gotten into you, Vada?— she demands angrily. —First, you leave me... I try to be kind to you, and yet you treat me like this?— Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach, yet I can't hide my anger. I feel that the emotions within me are exploding, and I can't hold back the scream of pain that's about to escape my lips.

—When I needed you, you weren't there!— I mutter with a broken voice, as tears start to fill my eyes. Her words make me relive those dark moments when I was alone and desperately seeking a way out of my addiction. And the truth is, all I wanted back then was her. To hear her now, accusing me of not being there when she needed me, makes me feel even more vulnerable and shattered. T/n moves suddenly closer to me, and our breaths mix. I instinctively close my eyes due to the proximity, feeling her presence draw even nearer. Then I feel the palm of her hand slam against the wall behind me, the sound echoing in my ears like a wake-up call. Silence becomes heavy between us, and I feel almost lost in a storm of emotions. Her voice lowers even further.

—I was... I tried... but I was a terrible girlfriend after all, right?— Her words hit me straight in the heart, and I feel the weight of the truth behind them. I know there has been pain on both sides, and now I realize that maybe I haven't considered her side of the story enough. I'm lost for words, not knowing what to say to ease the situation. I feel like I'm at the center of an emotional storm, and the truth is emerging between us, raw and painful.

—I... I... I'm trying to be a better person...— I murmur weakly, trying to convey the sense of pain and regret I feel inside. My words seem to hang in the air like an appeal for understanding. I want t/n to know that I'm trying to face my demons and change, to become the person she deserved me to be. But my voice is barely a whisper, almost drowned out by the weight of the emotions I carry.

Our gazes meet, and I notice t/n seems taken aback by my words. Then, instinctively, my hand moves and lands on her chest. I'm not sure if I want to push her away or feel her even closer, but I sense her breath mingling with mine, and the contact seems to convey all the emotions I can't put into words. I try to find the right words, but my mind seems jammed, overwhelmed by the complexity of what I'm feeling. T/n looks at me, and our eyes communicate silently, conveying everything we can't express in words.

—If I went to that center, it was for you!— I mutter loudly, the words broken by the emotion and anger I feel inside me.

The scream in my words seems to fill the entire space, carrying with it all the emotions I've tried to contain for so long. I want t/n to know how hard it was for me, how willing I was to change and fight for us. But my voice gets caught in my throat, and I feel tears beginning to flow down my cheeks.

T/n leans even closer to me, and our noses barely touch. I feel her warm breath mixing with mine, and the close contact quickens the beating of my heart. I feel like I'm on the edge of an emotional precipice, teetering between anger, sadness, and hope. As t/n gets closer, I sense time slowing down around us. I realize that the 7 minutes of the game seem endless, and I'm nervous about what might happen between us during this time.

—Don't you think... it's too late, Vada?— she whispers just inches from my lips.

Before t/n can pull away, I feel the impulse to act. Without thinking too much, I wrap my arms around her neck, pulling her towards me with a needy intensity, and our lips meet. I want her close, as close as she hasn't been in so long, and the need to feel her against me seems to overpower everything else.

Our bodies draw near, and I feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. My mind seems to be overshadowed by everything except the sensation of t/n being so close. I feel like I've been waiting for this moment forever, as if all the accumulated emotions are converging into this kiss.

T/n emits a surprised sound, a muffled moan from the unexpectedness. But the kiss isn't immediately reciprocated, and I feel my heart pounding strongly in my chest. I don't know what to expect, but I know I don't want to pull away. I want t/n to feel the need I'm feeling, the passion and urgency of what we're sharing right now.

I cling to her with a mixture of desire and fear. I don't know what will happen after this kiss, whether t/n will respond to my desire or if we'll grow further apart. But in this moment, all that matters is our closeness and the possibility of reconnecting, even if only for an instant.

T/n timidly returns my kiss, and I feel my heart beating even stronger in my chest. It was a kiss laden with complex emotions, an attempt to grasp what we used to be and what we could still become. But before I can intensify the kiss, the door suddenly swings open.

We break apart suddenly, as if we've just received an electric shock. T/n leans in close to my ear, and I feel shivers running down my skin at the touch of her words. —We need to talk,— she whispers, her voice so thin and cold that I almost fear I imagined it.

The feeling of anguish grows within me, and I know there's something we must confront, something that's been waiting for us for far too long.

comments, please?

Sorry for this shit :)

[thedinanshiral]

On the choices we make

This week we got the last article in IGN First series for The Veilguard, and many are not happy.

Here's the article, feel free to read it whenever, at your own risk tho

SPOILER WARNING & DISCLAIMER: I'll mention some spoilers for the character creator options for the Inquisitor. And i have not really read the IGN article, just looked through it vaguely but Twitter made sure i knew what it was about. I also got these spoilers earlier when the embargo on the preview event was lifted, so it wasn't really news to me.

In short, the shocking part of the article people are upset about is basically most choices from previous games don't carry into The Veilguard in any significative way. This news caused a lot of people to despair, become disappointed, sad, and even angry. So here's my two cents explaining why the devs decision to trim down the ever growing tree of possible outcomes from all past decisions was a smart and necessary move.

First let's talk about the Warden. It's been fifteen years since DAO, the Warden has served their purpose. Expecting them to still keep on the spotlight forever just isn't realistic. Particularly lore-wise, they're tainted, they're getting their calling eventually, they can even die in DAO. Even if in some worldstates the Hero of Ferelden is alive, searching for a cure, enjoying family bliss with Morrigan somewhere, this is not their game anymore, hasn't been for fifteen years. And it makes absolutely every sense that Rook doesn't get to casually ask Morrigan of all people about her personal life and her partner. Considering the different origins as well it also makes sense if the Warden is simply referred to as the Hero of Ferelden in codices instead of specifying if they're Cousland or Mahariel, that way all origins are contemplated without the need to select which one we chose, yes i'll say it again, fifteen years ago. Please, play DAO again if you must, but just, please, move on. It's time.

Then let's be real here, DA2 is pretty much self-contained. We see the direct consequences of the DA2 events early into DAI. There isn't much to talk about DA2 choices after that.

And now, about DAI...people were left in the Fade, people drank from a well, Divines were chosen. And The Veilguard is not about that. Sorry, but that also makes sense.

The Fade choice: it's pretty much decided that whoever stays in the Fade during Here lies the abyss didn't make it. They're gone. Sad, i know, but it's also been ten years in game as well and Hawke, Alistair, Stroud and Loghain are only human, they can't survive that. The thread many hang on for hope is Flemeth's words to Hawke "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly" , is not a hint towards them surviving the Fade, it's precisely about them jumping into it. Which is what happens in that quest. There's nothing in those lines about making it out alive, or out at all. It's "whether you can fly", not "that you can fly". People always want these games to be DARK FANTASY full of DIFFICULT CHOICES and CONSEQUENCES that CARRY OVER, but when they choose a loved character to make a sacrifice and potentially die suddenly they expect them to have plot armor and return like nothing happened and nothing was lost? That loss was a consequence of that choice, and we all have to live with it and move on.

The Well choice: Solas' reaction to the Inquisitor drinking from the well is a strong one, but the consequence of that was already shown in DAI, in worldstates where OG Kieran exists we can see Flemeth control the Inquisitor to restrain Morrigan when she's trying to stop Flemeth. There's no confirmation on this but it's possible this power is gone once Solas petrifies Flemeth in the epilogue scene. From there we can only headcanon what happened with that power to control whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows; did the power vanish once Flemeth died? Did Solas inherit it when he absorbed her powers? Did Solas decided to only absorb her energy but avoided taking that particular ability with him? Remember, he's against slavery, servitude, and controling others. He's more into killing people in their dreams, petrifying his enemies and blowing up dear old friends' favourite stuff with his insane mind powers for extra emotional damage. If Morrigan is who drank from the well, it could also be she found a way to nullify that binding to Mythal; we don't know it yet but seeing as she appears in The Veilguard with a headpiece similar to Flemeth's it could even be she eventually accepted Mythal's deal. Anyway, the protagonist this time is Rook, and whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows is not something that affects them, or the main events of the game surrounding the Veil and a double Blight. The Well was drank, let's move on from that too.

The Divine choice: honestly? Not geopolitically relevant this time. The Veilguard takes place in Northern Thedas where the main power is Tevinter, which has its own Chantry and its own Divine. We're apparently not going south of the Waking Sea, so who rules Orlais or Ferelden and who sits on the Sunburst throne ruling over the southern Chantry is of no consequence to the regions we'll visit and the people we'll meet as Rook in this new game. Also, it's been ten years since all of that went down, whatever we made happen with the Inquisition could easily have been changed with a rebellion or two throughout the years.

The choices from previous games that affect The Veilguard are all from DAI, because that's the one game directly connected to The Veilguard; whatever happened in DAO and DA2 happened then and there and we've already seen the effects of those choices, sometimes in the same games they were made on. And the choices from DAI that carry on are limited to just three: Who the Inquisitor romanced, if the Inquisition remained or was disbanded, if the Inquisitor vowed to save or stop Solas. These are the choices that directly affect and are pertinent to The Veilguard events. DIRECTLY.

Now this has gotten some people bitter, like the game is serving Solavellans and dropping everyone else in the Amaranthine to die like their worldstates don't matter, but that's not it. Those two last choices are there even if your Inquisitor is not Lavellan, even if your Lavellan did not romance Solas. Remember, the Inquisitor and Solas can be friends too. They can even despise each other. I guess some could argue the romance option is there to cater to Solavellans too but i ask -rhethorically-, is it not relevant if the man set on destroying the world to return to a past long gone has a romantic history with the hero advisor of our new protagonist? Is it not relevant that this particular relationship was his only weakness, capable of changing his mind and stopping his hand??? Better yet, try to explain how it's not relevant. Considering who Solas is, what he intends to do, his role in determining the fate of all Thedas in the past as he is about to do now, Solavellan is very much relevant. A friend Inquisitor is also very relevant. An Inquisitor that wants his head on a platter i bet has much to say about Solas' role in this new stage too. As for the fate of the Inquisition i imagine it might affect how the Inquisitor can play their role as advisor to Rook, if they still hold the title and have some support from the Chantry maybe they can offer different resources or intel than if they're acting independently.

Every game so far has had many different options available, worldstates abound, paths can fork in so many ways and places it's insane to pretend it all carries on and on and on in every following game, when each game presents a new protagonist, a new institution, and its own theme and conflicts to deal with and resolve. In The Veilguard we'll be dealing with blighted ancient elvhen gods set on destroying the world. What is Hawke got to do about it? What could a senior, dying Warden do to save the world now? Even the Inquisitor can only contribute from the sidelines, maybe, we don't know yet.

Apocalyptic events will not wait for what was to come back to soothe our nostalgia. This time it's the Veilguard and Rook's time to save the world, and i'd say we let them. And let's give ourselves a new chance to make new, differenct choices, with different stakes and consequences we'll likely see soon enough probably backfiring on us. The devs worked on this game with the intention of giving us a full game, avoiding a repeat of previous questionable moves (like the main story truly ending in a dlc rather than the base game). In order to achieve that they had to focus, a lot, on how to carry the narrative forward and develop all these new characters, and let's be honest 100% now, that's pretty difficult to do if they're permanently looking back and dwelling on old characters and events. We can't move forward by looking over our shoulders to what was.

I strongly suggest everyone we give The Veilguard the opportunity it deserves, to be its own game as all the previous games were. For many players including myself their first Dragon Age was Inquisition so previous choices were not registered, we had no idea and still had a great time playing DAI and got so invested in it many went back to play DAO and DA2, and dive into the novels and comics, even Redemption, and that CGI Cassandra movie. So past choices not carrying over to newer games isn't the catastrophe some people are complaining over. Also please don't be arses to the devs over things like this, they worked hard all these years to give us their best, they deserve respect.

Lastly, i'd like to share a phrase in my language, "quién te quita lo bailado", which translates to something like "who can take away from what you've already enjoyed?" (the answer is nobody btw). If you already played previous games and enjoyed them, loved them, and played them 50 times over, that's yours, your experience, and nobody can take that away from you; the characters you built, your headcanons, that's all yours, for life.

Can't wait for October 31st so we can keep enjoying this world that for many of us feels like home.

[amelikos]

Stray thoughts on Friede.

Just observations from the recent episodes.

I can't help but notice the continuing thread of making Friede take a step back narratively so the trio can handle things themselves and showcase their respective knowledge. A process that has started to gain momentum even more ever since chapter 3 which was about the trio training and growing more independently (we already saw the trio acting on their own ever since chapter 1, such as when Liko was able to retrieve her pendant from Spinel in HZ016 with Roy and Dot's help, etc). While the first year was about Friede acting as a safety net and teaching the kids various things until they grew enough so that they could train on their own in Terastal Debut. Chapter 3's concept cannot exist or be consistent without the first two chapters leading up to it.

Quite literally in this week's episode too (re: making Friede take a step back) since Friede was holding off the wild Pokemon while letting everyone else go ahead without him. And next week's preview states that Friede will not be there to fight Basagiri, so it feels like the writing is deliberately isolating Friede from the trio so that they can get Basagiri on board with them, while Friede will be there after the battle to witness the results of their growth after Basagiri does join them..? Friede was there to help Liko and Roy various times with the previous Heroes they encountered, like back when they met Galar Fire and Lapras. Both times with Galar Fire and Lapras, Friede was able to pinpoint their location (in Galar Fire's case, Friede had to help during the battle to make Liko's strategy work and in Lapras's case, he was the one who understood that Lapras was tricking them etc). And this time, the trio was able to gather hints about Basagiri's location on their own, while Friede joined them at the end.

Not sure where I'm going with this but. Friede fits the mentor character archetype. The wiser older figure who serves as a teacher and guide to the protagonist to help them develop the skills they lack and overcome obstacles.

That, coupled with: Friede observing the kids' growth twice so far in this chapter (HZ068 and HZ072), Dot singling him out as the reason she was able to start traveling on the ship (he was the one who invited her, which led Dot to eventually meeting Liko and Roy etc.. either way, we got an in-universe reminder that Friede's presence was meaningful to Dot and his invitation was important to her). We also got to have reminders that Friede is talented, smart and respected (and hot) (and pathetic) in his field of study, since Sazare uses his research as a basis to look for Pokemon to take pictures of.. and Friede beating Zeiyu at every challenge, too (casually setting him as someone strong).

Anyway, I'm writing all of this because I'm still curious about this specific Friede scene in the opening. I am aware that me picking up on the stuff I wrote above could just be a case of bias, since I feel like the scene in the opening has a potential ominous feeling to it, so. Either way, Friede is the mentor and making such a character take a step back narratively so the protagonist can stand on their own is a common story beat. And it's currently what is happening in Horizons. Now whether the mentor character (Friede) will go through something bad or not, is another matter entirely. Some stories kill off their mentors (it won't happen in Horizons of course), some others don't, but incapacitate their mentors somehow so the protagonist can save them. Either way, I'm just taking note of the Friede focus in the recent episodes, which has him watching over and pointing out the trio's growth (which is something that happened because of his direct involvement in their lives) and that we have fresh reminders of the kind of person Friede is (knowledgeable, strong, etc).

(Also, I'm avoiding the words "the trio doesn't /need/ Friede anymore" because I don't agree with downplaying characters and their respective roles in a story, etc. Especially since the RVT all help each other in their own ways and people need community. And this is not the Explorers situation where someone like Amethio doesn't exactly have someone to guide him (which is also why Friede is important in his character arc, because he is there to be someone that no one else in his life is) and is thrown out/considered unneeded once his actions are perceived as a "betrayal". My perspective is "the trio is growing with Friede's/everyone else's help and they are now able to do things on their own that they weren't able to do before, precisely because they were in an environment which allowed them to reach that point".)

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxv // Aftermath of Nervous

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It’s like nothing he’s ever heard before. Brainless. Unfiltered. Like the guy’s voice splinters, sending ice cold shards through the room. Crawling down his spine, an expected form of arousal creeping its way through a body still sore from running. His elbow aches to the bone. The pool of blood between Davin’s feet steadily expands.

Renee swears that he finds a deep satisfaction in what he sees, but there’s something else, something new. Something he doesn’t entirely understand, mixed as it is with that twitch in his hands, the mark of his desire.

He finds himself struggling with the urge to take a step backwards. Imagines crossing the threshold between kitchen and hallway, retreating into his room, and closing the door behind him.

Instead his eyes are fixed on the arch of Conrad’s back, the strain of his shoulders. The way the ropes dig into his wrists so hard, his hands turn red and swell from a lack of circulation.

That final cut, and Conrad’s near-silent reaction, is what ultimately makes Renee shudder.

In the silence that follows, walls echoing with the memory of violence, Renee becomes mindful of his racing heart, the rush in his ears, contrasted breathing that comes so slow, it’s making him lightheaded. He blinks.

“… holy shit.”

Davin casts him a quick glance, calmly stepping back from the table. His hands drip red at his sides, the dark burgundy of deoxygenated blood interspersed with streaks of a more vibrant vermilion. He cocks his head to the side as he takes a closer look at Conrad’s face. The crease at the corner of his mouth is ambiguous – might be satisfaction, might be dissatisfaction. Nothing else in his expression betrays his state of mind. Eventually, he walks over to the sink and starts the faucet. There’s a soft clank of metal against metal as the scalpel is discarded, and Davin begins to wash his hands.

The wound gapes a good two inches, but so much blood is pooled within it, it’s impossible to tell how deep it goes. Tiny ripples on the surface betray a racing heartbeat. Conrad, otherwise completely limp at this point, occasionally twitches a little, breaths whistling in his throat. Curly hair, drenched in sweat, sticks with a sheen to his skin. Tear-streaked eyes, half-open but unseeing, stare motionless toward the table. He looks far gone.

Renee’s mouth is dry.

Davin returns, hands clean, and begins tending to Conrad, as if something in this carefully balanced dynamic didn’t just dramatically shift. The ropes are loosened. A palm on the forehead, another on the neck, thumb digging into the flesh over the jugular; Conrad doesn’t stir. A syringe is produced from Davin’s medicinal bag, as well as a small vial. He flicks the cap off with his thumb, retracts the plunger to a desired dose, injects air through the vial’s lid, and lets the surplus pressure in the glass fill the syringe with a clear liquid. Casual work. Whatever Davin injects Conrad with, it steadily evens out his breathing, and his eyes drift all the way closed, and the twitching eventually stops.

Despite the broken window, the coldness of the room, the air feels stifled. That tangy, metallic smell that bites with every breath. Renee waits until Davin has gathered his usual stitching kit, the packs of threaded needles, the saline solution, the disposable rags, before he clears his throat. “Do you need me for anything?”

Davin looks up at him. Keeps his gaze for just a moment too long, in that damned curious, contemplative way. “We’ve got quite a few stitches to get through,” he mutters. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt with an extra set of hands.”

Renee lets out an awkward laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t know how to…”

“It’s not complicated,” Davin says.

Renee laughs again, but it falters the moment he sees the hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Davin’s lips. He shifts his weight, eyes flickering to the gaping wound. “Are you serious?”

Raising a brow, Davin picks a latex glove out of a carton full of them. The soft snap of the elastic material as he pulls it on. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting your hands dirty.”

Renee lets out a snort. “I’m not.”

Davin cocks his head to the side. “What’s the problem, then?”

A dry chuckle. The shrug of a shoulder. “Nothing. Sure, whatever.”

Nodding, Davin pulls another glove for himself, and then hands the carton to Renee with a casual smile. It’s only when he turns away that Renee lets himself grit his teeth, swallowing down that strange, revolting feeling.

The first towel Davin sticks into Conrad’s thigh is completely soaked through, dripping, when it resurfaces. The next stains at a slower pace. Davin unscrews the lid of the saline solution, and methodically cleans the wound and the skin immediately surrounding it, pouring and dabbing away, little by little.

Renee slowly walks closer as he pulls the latex gloves on. Five cloths in, with no blood to obscure the view, the sheer depth of the wound is almost enough to make him suck in a breath between his teeth. The gorge must reach halfway through the leg. The yellow-ish bubbly tissue directly under the skin, the neat separation between that and darker flesh. At the bottom of the cut, little bands of something, running from one side to the other. One looks like a reddish purple cord, and it pulses faintly, the color seems to shift in a rhythm. Other bands are lighter, look almost frayed. None are wider than a centimeter.

It looks fake, in a way Renee can’t entirely explain. Like it’s simultaneously there and not there. His gaze flickers briefly to Conrad’s face. Then down to his own arms, skin dotted. Hair raised.

The crinkling of plastic by his side makes his attention snap back up. Davin, opening one of the packets of threaded needles, is watching him, expression unreadable. “We do a row of buried stitches,” he says. “This thread’s gonna dissolve after a few weeks.”

Renee nods a little.

Davin picks up a pair of pliers, carefully positioning the bottom of the curved needle in its grip. “You hold the needle like this,” he says. “You keep a towel in your other hand. When you’re wiping off blood, don’t drag the towel in the wound, that’s just gonna deposit fibers and raise the risk of infection. Dab it instead.”

“Alright.”

Davin sniffs, motioning for Renee to follow as he bends over the wound. “You start from the bottom, like this,” he mutters, driving the needle into flesh without further hesitation, “and curve up right before you hit the junction between… see the difference in layers there?”

“Yeah.”

“The other side, you start parallel to the exit of the last stitch, going down. Don’t worry about pulling the tissue around a bit to make room for it... See how the leading and trailing part of the thread are both at the bottom now? Give it two inches when you cut it, pick up another set of pliers… you wrap it around like this, three times, lead the other one through, tighten… keep some tension on it. Another regular knot to keep it in place, that’ll hold just fine. See?”

“Yeah.”

Davin straightens up, shooting him a look. “Need me to show you again?”

“Uh,” Renee says. “I think I got it.”

With a smirk, Davin hands him the pliers, the threaded needle. The touch is muted under the gloves, but the pliers are still cold enough to discern. Renee catches himself before his eyes can flicker to Conrad’s face again, as he positions himself like Davin did. Feels the other’s keen eyes on his back, his hands. Takes a subdued breath, suppressing urge to stall, and pushes the needle sideways from the bottom of the gorge.

It glides through with little to no resistance, but Renee can still feel that stringy, raw texture of it, little pinpricks of muscle fibers giving way. He feels the aggressive heat of Conrad’s flesh on the back of his hands. The needle does most of the work steering itself back out of the curve, not directly above where he started, but close enough. The other side is harder to get right. He starts too low and has to retract the needle, and then the wound starts seeping blood, not a lot, but enough to obscure the view. He dabs it away, tries again, gets it somewhat right, more blood, he dabs it away. Wonders why his hands feel so difficult to control. Knotting the line isn’t easy, the thread slips out of the grip of the pliers unless you hold it a certain way. Two sides are drawn together as the thread is tightened. How do wounds like this even heal? You’re just slapping meat together, that’s all you’re doing.

There’s a sense in him, once he has cut away the excess of the knot. Relief? Disgust?

“Could’ve been worse,” Davin says, giving him a short nod. He sifts through packets of thread, pulls one out. The needle looks different than the one Renee is using, slightly thicker, and the curve isn’t as sharp. “Thirty more of those, and I’ll let you fuck off.”

Renee nods. Clears his throat. “Sorry for acting weird,” he mutters before he can stop himself, “I just didn’t expect…”

Finessing the plastic cover of the packet, Davin looks up, but doesn’t speak. Instead he waits, patiently, for Renee to continue.

There’s a pause. A shrug. “I took some shit yesterday. I’m still kinda… y’know.” Renee points to his temple, chuckling.

Davin nods. “Got it.”

Renee swallows. Eyes flickering between points in the wall. His emotions seem to flash in his head from microsecond to microsecond, too quickly to differentiate. The anger is there, as it always is, but it’s directionless, confused. Although he’s aware of Davin’s eyes on him, he’s slow to position the needle back in the pliers, slow to lean back over the wound.

Five stitches in, Davin gently pushes him slightly to the side and begins suturing the surface of Conrad’s thigh back together, his hands above Renee’s. Occasionally tells Renee to redo whatever stitches he deems to be too sloppy. Something about being shoulder to shoulder with the guy is unnerving. They both have to occupy a tight space to work, arms rubbing up against each other. It’s like a cursed rendition of the scene from Ghost, except despite Davin’s fucking reptilian nature, he actually gives off body heat.

The faster Renee can get this over with, the faster he can get blasted out of his mind, forget about everything.

Strangely enough, that’s the thought that finally makes him feel normal enough to push through apprehension. Needle in, needle out, cut the thread, tighten the knot, rinse and repeat. It’s not about Conrad, it’s about dead meat. You get used to the smell of blood; it starts to feel as though it was always there. What just happened? Nothing, fuck it. You can get high, you can wipe the slate clean. Rinse and repeat.

“I just want you to see me as human.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[lifeofpriya]

Kit Couture - Jack Draper

[gif credit goes to @pyotrkochetkov]

summary: a playful fashion show helps Jack choose his winning look for the Oceania swing...

You stand in the living room of your shared apartment, Jack's eyes sparkling with excitement as he tears into the freshly delivered Nike parcel. The sound of plastic and cardboard fills the air as he pulls out kit after kit, each one more vibrant and cutting-edge than the last. You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm; his cheeks flushed with the anticipation of the upcoming Oceania swing.

Jack holds up the first kit, a sleek, electric blue ensemble with neon green accents that pop against his tan skin. "What do you think?" he asks, eager for your opinion. You nod, taking in the way the fabric clings to his muscular frame, showcasing the hours of training he's put in on the court.

"It's bold," you say, your eyes lingering on the reflective material that shimmers under the lights. "It'll definitely make you stand out."

Jack grins, tossing the blue kit aside to reveal the next option: a pink and teal combo that reminds you of a tropical sunset. "How about this one?" he asks, holding it against his chest with both arms outstretched. You lean in, tilting your head to one side as you assess the colors against his complexion.

"It's…different," you admit, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "But you've got the confidence to pull it off."

Jack's grin widens as he tosses the pink and teal kit over his shoulder and moves on to the next. A kaleidoscope of colors emerges, a blend of purple and orange that seems to pulse with energy. "And what about this?"

You tilt your head, scrutinizing the kit. "It's… striking. It'll be like you're playing under a disco ball."

Jack laughs, his eyes lighting up. "Exactly the effect I'm going for!" He tosses it onto the growing pile and pulls out a kit that seems to be all white with a subtle pattern of light blue waves. "How about this one?"

You nod thoughtfully. "It's clean, classic. It says you're focused on the game, not the flash."

Jack's eyes scan the room, searching for the next kit to model. "What about this?" he says, holding up a kit that's a symphony of navy blue and gold. The material looks luxurious, the gold threads woven in a way that reminds you of the gilded edges of an ancient book.

You nod approvingly. "It's regal," you murmur. "It's like you're a knight ready to joust on the tennis court."

Jack's cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink at the compliment, and he playfully bows before holding out the next kit—a fiery red number with black and silver stripes that scream speed and power. "How about this?" he asks, the excitement in his voice palpable.

You study the kit, the way the red seems to vibrate against his skin, the sharp contrast of the black and silver stripes giving him the aura of a panther ready to pounce. "It's intense," you say, your voice low. "It's like you're bringing the heat of a volcano to the tennis court."

Jack's eyes light up, a hint of mischief playing across his features. "I like that," he murmurs, holding the kit closer to his chest. He glances down at the pile, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the next choice. It's a cool mint green with splashes of navy, a refreshing change from the boldness of the previous ones.

"This one's for the ocean breeze," he says, holding it up. The minty hue brings out the brightness of his eyes, giving him an aura of calmness amidst the storm of competition. "What's your verdict?"

You cross your arms, tilting your head as you consider the kit. "It's cool," you say with a nod. "It'll keep you looking sharp and fresh, even in the Aussie heat. You know what, Jack, why don't you try them all on? Let's see how they look in action."

Jack's grin widens, and he eagerly starts to strip out of his casual wear. "Which one first?" he asks, his excitement palpable.

You gesture to the electric blue and neon green kit. "Let's start with the first one," you say. "It'll set the tone for the fashion show."

Jack's laughter fills the room as he quickly changes into the outfit. The fabric is lightweight and stretchy, perfect for the intense matches that await him in Australia. The blue seems to pulse with every beat of his heart, the neon green lines tracing the contours of his body as he strides over to the makeshift catwalk—the plush carpet leading from the couch to the balcony door. He does a little spin, showing off the kit from all angles. "What do you think?" he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

You watch him, his excitement contagious. "It's eye-catching," you say, "like a bolt of lightning across a clear sky."

Jack nods, his eyes alight with the thrill of the upcoming tournaments. He quickly changes into the next kit, the tropical pink and teal one. He struts over to you, his gait playful and full of swagger. "Ready for the sunset on my shoulders?"

You can't help but chuckle at his charm. "It's definitely unique," you say, your eyes sweeping over the vibrant hues. "You'll be the talk of the town in this."

Jack winks and then quickly changes into the next kit—the kaleidoscope of purple and orange. He struts down the makeshift catwalk, mimicking his signature serve, the material stretching and moving with his body in a mesmerizing dance of color and light. "Now, this one's got some pizzazz," he says, twirling around.

You clap your hands together. "It's like you're going to play in a box of Skittles," you tease. "But you know what? It totally works."

Jack laughs, his eyes lighting up with the thrill of your approval. He quickly shimmies out of the purple and orange ensemble and into the navy and gold kit. The material is luxurious under your fingertips as he struts back over, the gold threads gleaming like stars against the rich blue fabric. "Now, this is how you play tennis," he says, striking a pose.

You nod, your eyes widening at the transformation. "It's like you're wearing the night sky," you murmur. "The gold threads look like constellations guiding you to victory."

Jack's grin widens, and he does a little victory dance, the material swishing around his legs. He then peels off the royal attire and dons the mint green kit with navy splashes. The room seems to cool down with his every step, the mint hue a stark contrast to the warm tones of the previous kits. He twirls the racket in his hand, the motion fluid and graceful. "What do you think of this one?"

You lean back on the couch, crossing your legs. "It's like you're bringing a piece of the ocean with you," you muse. "It's elegant, Jack. Like you're gliding through the waves."

Jack beams, performing a light jog, the mint fabric fluttering around his legs. "It's comfortable, too," he says, jumping up to touch the ceiling.

You watch him, his movements a blur of grace and power. "It's like you're one with the court," you murmur. "Which one do you like best?"

Jack pauses, his mint-green clad form frozen in mid-air. He looks down at the pile of discarded kits, each a testament to the hours of thought and design that went into them. Then he looks back at you, his eyes searching yours for a hint of preference. "I like them all," he says, his voice earnest. "But I want to know what you think."

You sit up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Jack," you say, your voice gentle. "You know I think you look amazing in all of them. But if I had to choose…" You lean back into the couch cushions, considering the options. "I quite like the teal and pink one. It's different, and it really brings out your playful side."

Jack's eyes light up, and he quickly strips down to his boxers before pulling on the teal and pink kit. He twirls around, the fabric catching the light and casting a colorful shadow on the wall. "You really think so?" he asks, his voice filled with hope.

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. "It's unexpected," you say. "It shows that you're not just about the power serves and smashes. It shows you've got style, too."

Jack's eyes light up, and he strikes a pose, the teal and pink kit hugging his body like a second skin. "Style, huh?" he says, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "I can do style."

You laugh, watching him as he practically glows in the vibrant colors. "You definitely can," you say, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Jack takes a bow, his grin never leaving his face. "Alright, I'll take that into consideration," he says, his voice filled with playful confidence. He starts to take off the teal and pink kit, but you stop him with a hand on his arm.

"Hang on," you say, your eyes scanning the room. You spot your phone on the coffee table and snatch it up. "Let's get some photos. For…research purposes," you add with a wink.

Jack laughs, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink as he obliges, striking a series of poses that range from serious to playful. You snap away, capturing the way the colors play with the light, the way his muscles flex, and the pure joy on his face.

"Alright, now let's get serious," you say, standing up from the couch. You approach him, your eyes scanning the kit. "How does it feel? Can you move freely?"

Jack nods, mimicking a few serves and volleys, the teal and pink fabric fluttering around him like the petals of an exotic flower in the breeze. "It's comfortable," he says, bouncing on his toes.

You take a moment to appreciate the way he moves in the kit, the fabric seemingly an extension of his body. "It's like it's made for you," you murmur, snapping a few more photos.

Jack laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure Nike had a whole team behind it," he says, a hint of humility in his voice.

You hand him the phone to see the photos you've taken, and his smile widens as he scrolls through them. "Wow, these are great," he says, admiring your photography skills. "You've got an eye for this."

"You're not so bad yourself," you tease, nudging him playfully. "Now, let's see how they look in action." You gesture to the mini tennis court you've set up in the living room, complete with a makeshift net made of a yoga strap and a couple of chairs.

Jack's eyes light up even more, if that's possible, and he grabs his racket, already dressed in the teal and pink ensemble. He bounces on his toes, his eyes focused on the "net." "Ready to be my opponent?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm no match for you, but I'll try to return a few," you say, grabbing your own racket from the corner.

Jack's eyes light up even more, and he takes his position on the makeshift baseline. "Alright, let's do this," he says, his British accent making the challenge sound almost like a friendly suggestion.

You stand opposite him, feeling a bit nervous. You're no professional tennis player, but the excitement in the room is infectious. You serve the ball, and Jack returns it with ease, the teal and pink kit moving with him like a second skin. You can see the difference in his stance, his confidence boosted by the vibrant colors.

"You've got this," you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the apartment.

Jack nods, his eyes never leaving the neon green ball you've served. He hits it back with surprising precision, the teal and pink kit a blur as he moves swiftly around the makeshift court. You manage to return it, but he's already on the offensive, sending the ball back with a fierce volley that you barely get your racket on.

"Nice try," he says, his voice filled with the thrill of competition. "But you're going to have to do better than that."

You laugh, feeling the excitement build as you watch Jack move with the grace of a gazelle and the precision of a hawk. Each swing of his racket sends the ball zipping through the air in a blur of color. The teal and pink kit is definitely a good choice, you think to yourself, as it seems to enhance his playful spirit.

Jack pauses, catching his breath, and looks at you expectantly. "Well?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "You know what?" you say, setting down your racket. "I think the teal and pink might just be the lucky charm you need for the Oceania swing."

Jack's smile reaches his eyes, the colors of the kit mirroring his excitement. "Yeah?"

You nod firmly. "Definitely. It's got that 'wow' factor that'll make the crowds remember you."

Jack's grin grows, his teeth flashing white against the vivid colors of the kit. He does a victory pose, one fist in the air, the other holding his racket like a sword. "Alright, it's settled then," he declares. "Teal and pink it is for the Oceania swing."

You can't help but laugh at his dramatic flair. "It's going to be a fashion statement and a half," you say, shaking your head.

Jack grins back at you, the teal and pink kit a stark contrast against the neutral tones of your apartment. "I'm all for making an entrance," he says, winking.

You laugh, shaking your head. "You always do," you reply, unable to resist his charisma. You pick up the phone again, eager to capture more of Jack's fiery spirit in the vibrant outfit. "Alright, let's see the full range of your moves," you say, holding up the phone like a professional photographer.

Jack nods, his eyes focused on the imaginary opponent across the net. He starts with a few practice serves, the teal and pink kit stretching and moving with each powerful throw of his arm. You snap away, the camera capturing the fluid motion of his body, the fabric rippling like a wave.

"Alright, let's mix it up," you suggest, your voice filled with excitement. "Some forehands, backhands, and maybe even a drop shot or two?"

Jack's eyes light up at the challenge, and he nods, ready to show off his skills. He starts with a series of powerful forehands, the teal and pink kit accentuating his swift movements. You capture the images, the fabric a blur of color against the stark white walls of the apartment. Each shot is met with a grunt of effort, the sound of the racket meeting the ball echoing in the room.

"How about a backhand?" you suggest, and Jack pivots gracefully, his body a study in motion as he executes a perfect stroke. The kit seems to come alive, the teal almost glowing with the power of his swing.

"Ace!" you exclaim, the word hanging in the air as the ball sails past the makeshift net. You snap a photo, catching the moment of victory in the flash of light.

Jack laughs, the sound filling the room like the sweetest melody. He's in his element, the teal and pink kit a canvas for his athleticism. "You think?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the game.

"Absolutely," you reply, nodding emphatically. "It's like you're bringing the vibrancy of the reef to the concrete jungle of the tennis court."

Jack's eyes widen with excitement, and he starts to rally with an invisible opponent, the teal and pink kit flashing as he moves. "Okay, okay," you say, raising a hand to stop him. "Let's not break any lamps."

Jack laughs, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He lowers the racket, the teal fabric of the kit fluttering with his breath. "Fine," he says, his grin never leaving his face. "But you're going to have to deal with this much energy in Australia."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "I think I can handle it," you say, your voice teasing.

Jack laughs, his eyes sparkling. "That's the spirit," he says, setting down his racket. He starts to strip off the teal and pink kit, his movements quick and efficient. "But for now, let's order some takeout and watch the sunset," he suggests, his voice warm and inviting.

You nod, already feeling the tension of the day start to melt away. "Sounds perfect," you reply, heading to the kitchen to grab your laptop. You sit cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through the various restaurant options as Jack pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a plain white tee, his usual post-workout attire.

"How about Indian?" you ask, knowing his love for spicy food.

Jack nods enthusiastically. "Curry night it is," he says, his voice echoing with the same passion he has for his sport. You place the order, and as you wait for the food to arrive, you both sit down at the dinner table, the discarded kits a colorful mess on the floor. The setting sun casts a warm glow through the balcony door, painting the room in shades of pink and gold.

"So," you say, leaning back in your chair, "what are you looking forward to the most about the Oceania swing?"

Jack's eyes light up as he thinks. "The energy," he finally says. "The Aussie crowds are always amazing. And the chance to play on those iconic courts…" His voice trails off as he stares out the balcony door, lost in thought.

You nod, understanding. You've watched Jack play on TV, seen the way the crowds come alive, the way the sun seems to shine just for him. It's not just about the game; it's about the experience. "And what about the fashion?" you tease, nodding towards the pile of kits.

Jack laughs, his eyes crinkling. "Oh, that's just a bonus," he says, his voice filled with the easy charm that's made him a fan favorite.

You both sit in companionable silence, the anticipation of the upcoming tournaments thick in the air. The apartment is a whirlwind of color, the discarded kits a testament to Jack's excitement. The sun has dipped below the horizon now, casting the room in a soft, golden light that makes the colors of the kits seem even more vivid.

Jack leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and gentle against yours. "Thanks for helping me choose," he murmurs, his eyes sincere.

"Anytime," you reply, smiling as you lean into his touch. The apartment feels alive with the energy of his excitement, the vibrant kits scattered across the floor like a colorful mosaic.

The doorbell rings, breaking the silence, and Jack jumps up to grab the takeout. The smell of spices fills the air as he sets the food down on the table, the steam rising like a warm embrace. You both dig in, sharing bites and stories from past tournaments, your laughter mixing with the clink of silverware.

As you eat, you can't help but notice how the teal and pink kit seems to be winking at you from the floor. It's like it's already whispering tales of victory, of the cheers and gasps it'll elicit from the Australian crowds. Jack catches your gaze and grins, his teeth flashing white against the deepening shadows of the room. "I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when I walk out in that one," he says, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You laugh, shaking your head. "You're going to be the talk of the town," you say, popping a piece of naan into your mouth.

Jack grins, his teeth gleaming. "That's the plan," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You both laugh, the tension of choosing the perfect kit dissipating with the warmth of your shared amusement. The apartment buzzes with the promise of the upcoming adventure, the kits a colorful reminder of the grand stage awaiting him.

[cyvonix]

Cyv Reads Homestuck - Act 3 Wrapup

where doing it man

where MAKING THIS HAPEN

Holy SHIT, where do I even begin? Act 1 was fun. I enjoyed it. Act 2 intrigued me. It kept me wanting more. Act 3, by all accounts, has latched its hooks all the way into me. I am IN, dude. While this act retains the quirky and random interactions that made the previous ones so casually enjoyable, the astonishing leap in the density and frequency of narratively interesting content here is undeniable. And now, at the end of it, I'm the most excited I've been to see the next turns these insane plot threads will take, and how these characters, who have fully endeared me by this point, will develop.

All of the characters have been left in a place that leaves the story ripe to explore so many things. Starting with John, who has now reached the first gate. I have no idea what that even means for him. I know that it was the goal, and that apparently each will be more difficult to reach, but we haven't been told in any way what the journey to those other gates will actually entail. The side story with his dad trapped in the dark kingdom has also been fun to witness, and I'm sure we'll be getting more of that soon enough.

With Rose, it leaves the most obvious cliffhanger. Now that she has also entered the Incipisphere, what happens? We've only seen one character in this environment thus far, so who's to say what adding another one to the mix will even look like? Dave has obviously been tasked with being Rose's server player (the ways he fucks with her game even in the face of imminent despair was absolutely hilarious) so that leaves me to wonder if he will also be transported into this world at some point, but also how Rose will be able to simultaneously manage John's game now that she has a client world of her own to take care of. The other interesting thing with Dave is his relationship to his brother, which clearly hints at the parental figures in their lives being absent in one way or another. With Dave also so clearly seeming to look up to his brother in an immense way, I think that could lead to some really great storytelling.

And then, there's Jade. Oh lord. What can I even say about Jade Harley, other than rambling off the many ways in which I was bewildered by her constant disregard of every "normal" aspect of the three other kids. My point being that she is a total and complete mystery. She seems extremely sweet, and almost aloof, but has by far the most compelling narrative implications of any of the cast. Not only does she not have surviving family at all, instead being cared for, or at least assumed to be, by some sort of magical dog creature of unknown origin named Becquerel, but she is also living on some sort of secluded island littered with ruins that seem to beg the reader to ask their purpose. As if that weren't enough, we now know that she is capable of using her dreams to see into both the past and future, to reasons that are unknown even to her. And as we've already seen how this can drastically affect the events of the story, including in the thread we've been following surrounding the odd denizens of the post-apocalyptic future, I have no doubt that this will play a large part in things going forward.

Finally, the mystery of Sburb continues to deepen, as several of the characters keep finding control rooms, symbols, and various other interfaces that so clearly resemble the iconography of Sburb. Just what the hell is this game? What is its true purpose? How does it tie in to the overall balance of light and dark in the world that has been proclaimed to us? I have a feeling that these questions will not truly be answered for a long time, but the breadcrumbs are enough to keep me fully engaged. Even the lore of this world itself, the idea of the Incipisphere, Skaia, and the two kingdoms in constant conflict for eternity, and all the things that this cosmology implicitly allows the exploration of, is so exciting to me.

Whew. So yeah, I guess that's about as condensed as I'm going to get my thoughts on this one. What a wild ride. I guess here are some other miscellaneous things to mention:

I read the entirety of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. What a horrid, crusty, amazing archive of media.

Of course I know that the trolls will eventually enter this story, but I have zero spoilers for the context or even who they are as character; just that they exist. Thus, I've kept track of which trolls have appeared in Pesterlogs so far, and those are: carcinoGeneticist, grimAuxiliatrix, and adiosToreador. So we'll see how that goes in the next act.

The concept of Jade's dreaming mind/dreambot and the golden city, including the sleeping John Egbert, is clearly important. And clearly has something to do with whatever species is roaming the deserted future. But I have such little idea of how to begin parsing that at this point that I don't have much to say about it. But I am absolutely keeping it in mind

If you actually read all of this: Damn. Thx for inexplicably caring what I have to say despite being an irrelevant poster and like a decade late on this shit :P More (much smaller) updates to come soon as I move forward with this story

[mannequinentity]

⚓ Are there any small details you tend to like in roleplays?

casually sweet munday meme | @lionquill

When characters recollects past threads into the present thread. It's a good touch, especially when subtle hints are dropped from the previous or oldests. What they've done that's miniscule, but memorable to the next thread and over.

It makes me appreciate that kind of memory in general.

And it can be anything like body languages, facials, those kinds that sticks with them and assume the others personality.

Or better yet, when someone reads a past headcanon of your muse, and they use it to progress the thread.

That's some sweet tea right there.

[akehoshimystar]

Kiho R

The Tragedy of Capulet

Person from the troupe: Okay. We're taking a break.

During the practice for the approaching performance, several breaks were taken. As I headed to the wall to drink some water, I spotted Riku, who was also holding a bottle in one hand. I called out to him.

Kiho: Good work. You look great as the "leader."

Riku: Thank you. But please stop with that "troupe leader who does the lip-sync" thing already.

Kiho also acted pretty well, maybe the experience from your previous job was coming in handy?

There was a slight hint of mockery in his casual voice.

Kiho: (Is this a revenge from the "leader"? Well then….)

What do you mean?

Riku: Eh? It’s nothing bad, I just had an impression that acting is part of the job for a host.

…...Is that a stereotype? Sorry.

Kiho: Oh, it's not like I felt bad about it. In fact, there are actually people who utilize that skill to do the business.

Be that as it may, I was just being myself and talking naturally. The customers just happened to be enjoying it. I didn't even realize it myself right away.

Riku: ………

Yeah, sure. If that's how you increase your sales, that aspect must have been a big deal.

Kiho: Oh, I can tell that you’re still not convinced.

His blatantly uncaring attitude raised my mischievous level slightly.

Kiho: …..In the first place... Even If I was "acting" at that time, is that a bad thing?

Riku: What do you mean?

Kiho: Acting isn't just about deceiving. It's one way of conveying "I want you to believe me".

That place is also a place where people with the thoughts, “I want you to make me believe," gather, so I think acting like that is a roundabout way of doing things.

.....Haha. When I break it down into such simple words, it seems like there is a common thread between hosting, acting, and even the profession of fortune telling.

Riku: ...I see.

First of all, I think I already stated that I know what you're saying. I'm not saying acting is bad.

Kiho: Is that so?

Riku: Yup.

Your wording seemed profound, and bunch of stuff you said sounded connected but actually wasn't.

I felt like you chose words to make the other party think "I have to interpret something."

Kiho: If what you’re saying is true, what is my intention in doing something like that?

While I kept up the clueless act, he looked at me as if asking what I was talking about.

Riku: There's neither meaning nor intention. It's precisely because there is no answer that those who try to find it are confused.

That way, people won’t be able to stop thinking about you.

And just now, since you have no reason to make me go through all that, you’re just doing what you’re good at; pointlessly trying to confuse people and toying with them. That's my answer. How was it?

Kiho: (... He’s not the kind of person who would be shaken by something like this, huh.)

You’re spot on.

Riku: I knew it. Ah, that was scary! I feel like I just got a glimpse of the method you used when you were still active as a host.

Kiho: Like I said, I didn't do that.

I turned to Riku once again and looked him straight in the eye.

Kiho: I only do this to you, Riku.

Riku: Seriously, that killer line just further proves that your skill never decline.

While I was hesitating how to respond, I heard the command to resume practice, so all I could do was shrug my shoulders.

[planeswalker-chronicles]

Episode 7: "Fulcrum of Fate" - Scene 3

[ PREVIOUS ]

The Wanderer was back to Vellin’s forge. It was risky, but it was where the parts for his machine were left. Vellin decided that he was going to lay low for a few days, and the Wanderer didn’t make any effort into convincing him to come back with him. He could finish the rest by himself at this point, and Vellin already risked enough with him. The parts were in the basement; the shell and the navigation engine. The Wanderer descended and closed the door behind him, immediately putting on an apron and rolling up his sleeves.

The next two hours were all focused on finishing the shell. Then the next five were on, admittedly, his favourite part; dimensional engineering. He remembered how to do that part, and had been keeping it in his back pocket in case he had the opportunity. 

The forge above creaked once with the wind, but the Wanderer didn’t look up. Below the forge, the basement was cold and smelled faintly of burnt copper and chalk dust. A low-hanging lantern swung above, casting flickering shadows across a half-assembled shell—a combination of wood beams and metal panelling and threaded glyph channels. The parts had been hidden behind a false wall, charmed against casual detection. He had retrieved them the moment he arrived, locked the door behind him, and set to work like a man in a trance.

He had already braced the shell's framework, sealed the inter-planar conduit, and mounted the central control socket.

Now came the delicate part.

“Alright, old friend,” he murmured to the engine core that pulsed with dull, swirling energy. “Let’s see if you still want to sing.”

He laid his hands on it gently—fingertips sparking with blue-white energy as he muttered a quick stabilizing incantation under his breath. The sigils across the engine flickered, then hummed as they aligned.

He exhaled, the tiniest hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Still got it.”

The dimensional lattice was already etched into the copper lining—fractals overlapping in impossible geometry. Not something he learned on this plane. It would be able to make the space inside the machine larger than the outside.

He worked in silence save for the scratch of rune-inscriber chalk and the hiss of aether being condensed into the spell-well. Occasionally, he flipped through a tattered notebook beside him—some pages scrawled in his own language, others in planar code, one even in something only the Wanderer seemed to understand. On one page, a message circled in ink:

“Open the way, but don’t forget what you’re opening it to.”

He paused there, hand hovering. His fingers clenched into a fist, then relaxed. Back to work.

The navigation engine came next.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small black prism wrapped in leather. Embedded in its surface were three planar coordinates—burned in via spellbrand, not ink. The prism didn’t belong here. Just touching it made the air in the basement colder.

“One shot,” he whispered to himself. “No second chances. You pick wrong, you drift forever.”

He inserted the prism into the console housing, careful not to activate it. Yet. Just a few more calibrations—gravity ratios, spellflow regulators, inertial warding for the fallback loop. Seven hours in and he was still sharp.

“Just a few more steps. Come on.”

The final component would be the hardest—not because it was dangerous, but because it was personal.

He opened a narrow wooden box at the edge of the table and removed a silver ring attached to a chain. Plain. Worn smooth with time.

He hesitated—just a moment—then set it into the anchor port beneath the main conduit.

The machine responded with a pulse of soft light. For the first time, the machine made a sound—a low, resonant thrum. It was stirring to life.

“Almost there,” he murmured.

But he didn’t let himself feel triumph. Not yet. Not while the city above seethed. As it all came together, he saw an entire room expand in the space within the little box outside he built to house it. What looked like an outhouse held the helm of a ship.

The thrum deepened, resonating through the metal floor. He stepped back as the spellwork took hold, watching runes ignite across the copper shell like constellations catching fire. The prism pulsed once, then dimmed—its energy bleeding into the structure, syncing with the frame.

A faint tremor rippled through the air.

He reached for the brass lever on the side panel and pulled it slowly. A deep shudder passed through the room—not a noise, but a sensation, like the basement had been momentarily peeled sideways from reality and stitched back in place. The lights dimmed. Then brightened. Then stabilized.

He exhaled, then approached the console housing.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice caught between awe and exhaustion. “Let’s see if it held.”

He opened the panel door on the side of the machine. Instead of wires or gears, he saw a corridor—gleaming metal and wood-laced archways stretching into a space that shouldn't exist.

The inside was impossibly larger. It curved upward like the helm of a ship, ceilings high and vaulted, etched with star maps and dreamstuff sigils from planes most scholars had only glimpsed in prophecy. Hexagonal brass panels formed the floor, each glowing softly beneath his footsteps. Arcane interfaces floated mid-air—dials, levers, drifting sigil-keys that spun gently when approached.

He stepped through the threshold into the heart of his machine, and the doorway sealed quietly behind him. No creak. No hiss. Just the subtle click of completed design.

He took a breath.

It smelled faintly of new air, unused. Still clean. Still untouched.

At the center stood the helm: a raised platform ringed with crystalline controls and one single curved seat carved from darkwood. A control node hovered above it, flickering faintly with silver light—the prism’s signature.

“It worked,” he said, barely audible. “God, it actually worked.”

But there was no celebration. No joy. Only relief. And a deeper weight.

Then he remembered—Astarion had asked to come with him.

Should he let him?

He had accepted the risks. Accepted him.

The Wanderer sighed. He wouldn’t go now, but he would tonight.

[ NEXT ]

[alolanroy]

2025 Watch Thread

Lower Decks S5 - I finished this last year, but I think it got lost in the whirlwind. I watched this as soon as it dropped, like I do for every previous season. A few episodes didn't hit as strongly as I expected, but I think it tied all the characters together well by the end. I think it played better with the multiverse concept that a lot of stuff does these days, but the multiversal time travel ending feels a bit off. I appreciate the hint that DISCO might be a parallel universe. Helps me sleep better. Can we get SNW, Picard and that god awful Section 31 thing? 7/10

A Christmas Story - Still the Goat. 8.5/10

note - He looks like Mr. Beast in the poster.

Marvel Rivals S0 - Great character pics with really interesting kits. The effort to make so many characters feel like they are out of different gameplay genres. I had so much fun with a buddy messing around with them in the training map. Unfortunately that didn't translate into actual matches at all. The few casual matches I played was the bad kind of low ttk competitive nonsense I don't play video games for. It wasn't fun at all. Weeks later I realized I never got around to that second session to 'give it another shot'. If the game's not fun, why bother. 4/10

Doogal - Who had dirt on all these actual actors to mumble out a seemingly improvised script. Sadly is barely scans at the level of a C-grade abridged parody. -4/10

Garfield (2004) - Theres a sense of low-effort here. I'm sure the Garfield graphics were mind-blowing at the time, but the plot and voice acting just feel pretty phoned in. -4/10

Jason X - Sadly, this did not hold up on a repeat viewing with friends. Its not campy enough to be consistently entertaining and it isn't scary at all. The kills aren't even gory or creative. I wish he unlocked his cool cyborg form earlier or we get a movie dedicated to Jason's SCP containment. It just felt like an episode of a low-tier Canadian sci-fi show. -4/10

Bermuda Tentacles - This scifi channel original ended up being a springboard for my friend group going down a character actor rabbit hole. It didn't leave any real impression and didn't manage to keep our attention in any meaningful way. I don't know how much of our good times to attribute to this nothingburger. NA/10

Mantracks - Another banger from Folding Ideas. This cozy story covers an aspect of Americana that doesn't get much play, and the subject matter it pivoted to is fascinating. 8/10

Wallace and Gromit: A Matter of Loaf and Death - I can't help but feel like this recombinates the previous shorts in a way that undercuts the craft on display here. 6/10

Wallace and Gromit: Vengence Most Fowl - The Norbots were pretty fun and the type of humor feels like a nice change of pace. I can't help but feel the change in voice actors bugged me the whole time, even though my partner claims to be unable to tell the difference. 7/10

Shapez - I think this game rides on the addictive nature of this genres structure, but doesn't give players the tools early enough to do anything interesting. I felt if pushed me to chase scale rather than efficiency. Pushing back wasn't rewarding. Good music though 5/10

Foodfight! - While the initial wave of WTF hits like a freight train, this movie gets really dull in the second act. I'll be honest I was more interested in installing some blinds and just listened to the audio and the confusion of my friends. I do recommend https://youtu.be/xgBO9c3WKII?si=I0mzOnVe2tX-Ttqn this documentary though. Far more fascinating that the film. -6/10

Xcalibur - Lore is a lot less interesting than story. -3/10

Cleopatra 2525 (first episode taster): Sometimes raw enthusiasm and a cool snake puppet can move mountains. -5/10

Enderal: Forgotten Stories - This game delivers where it counts. Massive scale for a small map with only 3 real towns. Intense density. Fantastic, and I mean this, writing. English voice acting that charms its way through any translation awkwardness or script failures. My only real complaint is that it should've had fast travel out of the box and getting the other endings is more of a time sink due to some unskippable conversations and scenes. If the Scrolls game has even half this ambition, we would be in a better timeline. 9.5/10

Brain Powerd - I watched this with one of the most disjointed dubs of all time, but I'm not sure how much of it can be attributed to Tomino's writing being what it is. For the most part, it felt meandering, but at random episodes, it locked in. It oddly paralleled the themes of Enderal (which I was playing in tandem), specifically how everyone was trying to project meaning upon unknowable forces with mixed results. 6/10

Tron Legacy (again) - This might be the last thing Disney ever did with any real vision. I spot more of the 'references' every rewatch, but unlike the modern 'pause to clap' moments you see in nostalgia reboots, every moment stands on its own. Perhaps this is because Tron has no real nostalgia to lean on. A true legacy reboot takes the kernel of the idea and evolves it into what it always could have been. 10/10

Ghostrunner 2 - The secret to making good cyberpunk is to make all the weird orientalism one guy's fault. Even in death, everyone hates his ass. Solid gameplay and some mind-blowing setpieces in the second act, but I can't help but feel that the final stretch felt a bit off. The final level didn't feel climactic at all, even relaxing, and the final duel was easier than a few of the other bosses. The transition to a more AAA game experience went surprisingly well. The bike sequences had me raving despite my initial skepticism. 8/10

Pikmin 4 - I've been playing this with my partner on and off for about a year. Adorable presentation and a few bursts of cute fun, but overall I felt too much time was spent with repetitious dialogue and the difficulty never hit that sweet spot. 7/10

Fight Another Day - Occasional cool dialogue and camera work is undercut by some production design limitations that lower the wow factor of potentially cool fight scenarios. 6/10

Chopping Mall - Nice to see a scream queen movie with characters that have agency. I don't think it had any particularly fun kills or anything. the title, premise and soundtrack is doing the heavy lifting here. -7/10

Leprechaun: In the Hood - A great example of a negative character arc in a crime movie. Our hero loses everything he loves until all he has left is cold ideal of the gangster rapper he set out to subvert. It almost made me forget this was an trashy movie about a rapping leprechaun. -7/10

Force of Execution: I swear all the dialogue was made up on the spot. Ving Rhames needs an award for being in this thing. -6/10

Hanna-Barbarra Rock Odyssey - Holy Shit the first few segments went crazy with the raw imagination and imagery. However the narrow view of music as time went on forgot a lot of important trends, and at some point they gave up and just made a Flinstones AMV. 7/10 when taken as a whole.

Gundam Gquuux Premier:

Gqux Beginning - This short actively damaged Gqux for me. It ruins the mystery of this alternate timeline by showing how the sausage is made, and the reveal is that its the most basic alternate history shit I've ever seen. It doesn't use any potential drama, and Char never gets to do anything cool or betray anyone. The classic style ends up jarring with the new MS design and Gqux itself. 4/10

Gqux - There wasn't a lot to grab on here tbh. The characters didn't get any standout moments, and I don't really know who they are. There's not much Trigger here and no big punch moments to get behind. The 2v2 format might be good if it ends up being a tournament thing with strategy and color commentary to differentiate it from Gwitches' duels. The problem is that it invites comparison to Gwitch, and not a favorable one. This is my way of saying that this is the most sauceless attempt at a bisexual love triangle I've ever seen. 5/10

Flipwitch: Forbidden Sex Hex - I wouldn't normally add this type of game, but it had a certain charm and had good gamefeel. Once I got used to the nsfw artsyle, I got to enjoy a good small scale metroidvania. It's not without flaw: having major upgrades needed only for traversal as a subweapon charge combo is really clunky, and having those have only female options kinda defeats the purpose of the game. I think the ending was a little anti-climactic, but I was also fully upgraded. 7/10 I hope it gets an iterative sequel.

Fallout London - I really tried to like this one. I don't enjoy Fallout (Bethesda era at least), but I hoped that my good history with Skyrim modding would transfer over to this ambitious fan project. Unfortunately, putting some funny accents and union jacks in a shitty rubble pile is barely more fun than a rubble pile. I had some bad crashes and save problems, and even past that I didn't have any fun. Fallout is not for me, so I'm withholding a score.

Space Warriors 2000 - The initial comedy of nonstop poorly dubbed ultraman fights wears off after 30-40 minutes, but it hits like a brick. Especially if you check the wiki for trivia. -6/10

DragonForce/PowerForce - A surprisingly down-to-join-a-kung-fu-cult 007 does a C-tier bond plot. Alright fights and some weird set pieces. -6/10

Bratz Super Babyz - This movie fucking sucks in a funny way. 0 budget DVD movie type beat. Please invest in a fourth music track. They weren't fooling anyone by playing it at different speeds. -7/10

The Devil's Sword - Sometimes, the crocodile queen should kidnap the price and seduce him. Let men be damsels in distress. It's equality. This movie is pretty dull, but it understands that croc monster costumes and zany fights can take you a long way. -5/10

[hildrtxt]

darling, i’m a nightmare dressed as a daydream; Tabitha&Touko

@magmatxt

                      There’s something about volcanoes.     Revered, worshiped even, and yet an embodiment of fear.                            A destructive kind of beauty.                                                         A danger.

 Perhaps it was that alone that drew people to them --- her at least. And maybe it was things just like this that would be the end of her.

                             Was she almost at the top?

Each step she took strew little clouds of reddish brown dust. She had been trekking up easily enough, skin dusted red from hours of venturing.

It was hot. No doubt, getting hotter.

She huffed, reaching in her bag for her bottle of water. As she drank, she noticed that she was not alone here. The revelation piqued her interest.

                   Who else hiked up treacherous volcanoes?                                          Well, aside from the Trial Captain.

A young man --- tattooed, tanned and freckled. With eyes like obsidian, he may just well belong here. Just the very image of him struck volcano.

                               And what’s your story?

Their eyes meet and Touko hears the warning shot --- danger!                                                                     Pfft, danger schmanger.

The ground suddenly rumbles --- the makings of a peril. She sees the falling rock before he does and without a second thought she tackles him, using her weight to push him out of the way.

Red dust engulfs them. She coughs and lets out a groan as she rolls onto her back. Well, geez. Hiking, heat, falling rocks --- the world was full of surprises, wasn’t it?

“Are you alright?” she finally manages.

[skinzchoerim]

In case anyone's interested in my thoughts on how seOul cOllectiOn fits into my general view of the lore, here it is. I refer to the singer as "he" and the lover as "they" to make it, hopefully, a clearer reading.

The line in the description: "The loneliness and wandering aren't painted with silent darkness, rather they are sped up to the verge or hallucination and to their very limit" reminds me of "You make me fall into hallucination" in angel. There's many connections to their previous songs in the lyrics, and I feel like it explains a lot about the motivations in those older songs.

Their whole journey from the beginning was always, above anything else, about escaping from loneliness. In savanna they were hiding among the crowd, they felt trapped and alienated, so they searched for religion and/or relationships as an answer to this loneliness, and they continue to do so in various ways to this day. I don't think the album is telling a story from the first track to the last, but there's a thread that can be followed between some of the songs.

"Gonna be blinded by feeling lonely, so bondage"

chrOme hearts is basically about staying in a relationship that's full of highs and lows, but ultimately, they're bonded by their loneliness, so they just keeping getting back together. Eventually, they start to enjoy the roughness of it all, they get used to wanting and blaming each other.

seOul drift is the only song that lyrically feels happy and confident, they're enjoying their freedom, they like the point that following their instinct brought them to. Not only is instinct referenced in the lyrics, Junji also wears a comme des garçons hoodie. There's no other people around, just faceless drivers on the road, and they're following their curiosity with little to no hesitation. They're behind the wheel and steering in their own direction, making their own choices and enjoying the ride, creating connections that they hope will make them feel less lonely along the way.

(the translations for the b-sides might be rough cause I just put them through google translate, so if better ones appear some of my thoughts might change)

mirage might connect to i called it you but it was actually me with the "is it me or is it you" line. The relationship seems fragile and they're questioning whether they can make it after all, it seems like they're unable to get through to each other and build some sort of understanding: "How long do I have to walk until I meet you?"

"Even if I run again, it's the same trajectory, selfish behavior and my transparent attitude, memories happening in front of me again, it's useless now". He keeps repeating the same mistakes and making the relationship worse, but he's afraid of being forgotten: "Keep a place for me, if there is a place left for me to stay in our past." It also reminds me of time leap, regretting past mistakes and wanting to correct them so he doesn't have to be alone.

"I've been through a lot to judge you rationally"

candy bOmb is basically about being attracted to someone and not trying to rationalise it, it's not about any deep emotions. If we try to relate it to loneliness, it could be about using (casual?) sex to feel less lonely.

"It's different to judge you rationally, my memory is faint"

"I can't figure out who it is, I don't even know if I left you, the only person who can change me is you"

Not sure about this translation, but if we see it as continuing mirage, it could mean he wants to stay in a relationship where the other person will make him better and happier, he relies on them for self growth, basically forcing his lover into the "I can make him better" attitude.

This line in blueblueseOul does hint at that being the case: "I'll try to smile a little more for you, who comforted and cared for me. My greed to be of the same mind disappeared from your exhausted face and you smiled at me."

blueblueseOul reminds me lyrically of desert, not knowing what to do with yourself once you're alone, not knowing where to go without someone leading you. "I'm dying in gray" seems to connect to mOnO.

"The times we became each other, even if we become each other and flow, that's how we stay". This seems a direct reference to be mine and because. be mine had the line "it flows us" using also the same word in Korean as here, and because was about becoming each other.

For the first time in this album, he's forced to face his deep loneliness once he loses his lover, there's no escape from it.

"If you feel me just call my name" - the first line in nabi is the same line as in chrOme hearts, which doesn't bode well for the relationship.

"She left the perfume in the moment" immediately reminded me of byredO.

"Please, don't spread your wings and fly away." Spreading one's wings means becoming confident and independent, so once again, he's trying to keep someone by his side purely out of selfishness, not caring about their growth. It could also refer to angel and off angel, in off angel he was promising "I'll be there for you", but it seems he ruined his chance to prove he could actually return the love and comfort given to him. Just like many previous songs, it's about a desperate need to stay with someone out of fear of the alternative.

Even though villain tried his hardest to miss the point, dOra maar is still about objectifying someone's pain and using it to help the artistic process, keeping someone by his side to have some sort of outlet. He says "I'll fight for your horrors" but idk I just can't see any version of dOra maar having genuine intentions to care about her well-being, in the end, she's always just a grieving model.

(This next part could be me reading into it way too deeply but I wanted to mention it anyway)

This album mentions scent a bunch of times and I think it explains why it's such an important thing in their songs. Someone's scent can be a strong proof that they're there, next to you, even when you close your eyes and ears, it can be felt. It has no connection to the emotional side of the relationship though, it's just a physical proof of presence, something identifiable, but not solid. Once his lover leaves, the scent lingers for just a short moment, and this fixation on it shows to me the unwillingness to push beyond that physical aspect and truly make someone stay, make them feel welcome in his space, in his heart. Basically, he gets into relationships to feel less alone, to have someone by his side, but doesn't actually commit to making the other person feel like they have a place there beyond comforting him.

Basically, the album highlights the themes of loneliness in their previous songs and explains that it's the driving motivator for staying in toxic relationships, as well as simply seeking various connections, whether emotional or physical.

[fzzr]

What Is It About Dinner Parties?

Spoilers for:

Rocky Horror Picture Show

Shrek 2

A Civil Campaign (Vorkosigan Saga book 13)

The Nightmare Stacks (Laundry Files book 7)

I recommend every one of these works, with the caveat that you should really get into their respective series where applicable for the best results. Spoilers will not completely ruin the experience, but if you have the patience and opportunity to watch three movies and read several thousand pages, go do that first. (After is acceptable if you prefer.) When obtaining books remember to first check at a library or local bookstore. Do not buy from Amazon if you can avoid it. Audible is Amazon.

Content advisories: Works discussed here include depictions of sexual assault, murder, cannibalism, adultery, and various anti-LGBTQ+ phobias. (Rocky Horror is the main offender but some of the others contribute.) Additionally this explores awkward social situations in great detail, so you may want to skip if that sort of thing lives in your head.

I have noticed that fictional works often use scenes at dinner parties as key turning points in their stories. This is achieved through a combination of rising tension, humor, and tying together many plot threads at once. It's possible to do something similar without the humor (eg. the Hitchcockian suspense of a bomb under the table) but that's not what I'm looking at today.

A note on definition: when I say “dinner party” here, I mean a social event in which a group of people who do not share a household meet for the main purpose of sharing a meal. This is different from a regular party, gala, ball etc. where activities other than the meal are the focus.

In my observation, the anatomy of a dinner party is as follows:

Stage Zero: Setup

A key element will be the interactions between characters who would prefer not to deal with each other. There are a few ways to build the guest list to achieve this. You can have the simple case of someone bringing a plus one without warning in advance who (or what kind of person) they would be. It's also possible that invitations were sent before a conflict came up, or the host may be unaware of the issue. There may also be a broader social obligation on attendees, such as a holiday. Wholly uninvited guests usually don't happen in this sort of scene (those are more characteristic of less intimate social events, like a charity ball turned hostage situation).

Rocky Horror's dinner party takes place right after several less than fully consensual sexual encounters and a very bloody murder, with the characters being assembled through social force and implied threat of violence. Shrek 2 has it as the first sustained interaction between the title character and his royal in-laws after his elopement with Princess Fiona. A Civil Campaign spends about half the book just building up to this event, with protagonist Miles so focused on making it a success for his main goal that he loses control of the guest list, the menu, and even the staff. In The Nightmare Stacks, it's a family meal introducing two prospective (and unconventional) significant others to the parents at the same time.

Stage One: Civility

The scene begins with all parties acting superficially civilly. The threads of the narrative and the stressor are both on the back burner as action begins. There will be hints of the conflicts to come, especially as the principal characters become aware of the full guest list and its implications. This phase may be very brief, or even skipped if the story uses immediately previous scenes to establish sufficient tension.

The Rocky Horror party's first minute strains the definition of "civility", with awkward silence accompanying deliberately sloppy table service. Shrek 2 likewise uses silence to delay interaction as long as possible. A Civil Campaign has a very large cast to introduce, but the atmosphere is casual with just a hint of stress as Miles does his best to manage the bloated guest list. The Nightmare Stacks barely gets everyone in the door before the incompatibility of hosts and guests becomes apparent.

Stage Two: Interaction

This generally starts with the appearance of food and of necessity seating of guests. This is the point where the characters in conflict are first forced to interact rather than passively stay away from each other. It's possible for this stage to still be indirect, but proximity means that there's no way to sustain the illusion of civility.

In Rocky Horror they can't even finish singing "Happy Birthday" before things start to escalate. Shrek 2's initial interactions are wordless, using the series' signature facial expressions to show to what degree everyone is already hostile or unaware. A Civil Campaign has Miles realize his carefully arranged seating positions have been disturbed by someone with different priorities, but most of the social tension is surprise rather than hostility. The Nightmare Stacks stumbles past this step right into the next when it turns out the guests have mutually exclusive dietary preferences.

Stage Three: Conflict

Next, some minor issue arises, like one character breaking a social convention. There is almost universally some issue with the food itself as well. Depending on the number of characters and plot of the story, this can go on for some time. This is often where most of the comedy of the scene comes in. Events may become more and more absurd, allowing things to escalate without over-burdening the reader with stress. Often the issue isn't even directly related to the core conflict of the story, or starts with a lower-stakes side plot. In doing so, it can weave such plots into the main one.

Rocky Horror is already under so much stress that it takes just the smallest spark to get things burning. Shrek 2 likewise gets here quick, as Shrek's cluelessness with regard to etiquette kicks off an escalating series of indirect and then direct criticisms. In A Civil Campaign the awkward seating arrangement makes social interaction difficult, and Miles realizes that the menu has been undermined in a way that could cause an uproar and deeply offend some very senior guests. The Nightmare Stacks lays on the dramatic irony, where a conservative father is too busy learning about gender nonconformity to worry whether his son is actually dating an Unseelie Fae princess (the answer is "unclear", but only about the "dating" part).

Stage Four: Eruption

The issue that led to the tension established before the scene is exposed to all present. More often than not this is caused by something in the comedic action accidentally exposing concealed information or causing a stressful event to be discussed or even repeated. Sometimes the comedy itself is the issue, with the disruption alone being enough to expose the issue eg. if it’s due to contrasting social norms. Regardless, this is the climax of the scene where everything comes to a head at once.

Shrek 2 kicks into high gear, with characters becoming so incoherent they can only scream out each other's names. Rocky Horror and A Civil Campaign reveal the truth about the meal they've been eating. The lack of coordination in A Civil Campaign causes Miles to move forward his social plans to disastrous effect. The Nightmare Stacks has the meal collapse into such disarray that the protagonists are able to escape unscathed.

Stage Five: Tone Shift

The comedy is (usually) suspended and drama kicks in. This is often also a turning point in the larger story. It may mark an act transition (typically second to third) or just a change in the intensity of the conflict. In a romantic comedy, this is a prime opportunity to get into the things-just-got-serious phase where the core relationship is under threat.

Rocky Horror's dinner party serves to launch the climax by getting everyone in place for the final showdown. In Shrek 2, where it's the act two kickoff, it establishes the stakes that Shrek can't simply slide into place as a socially acceptable fiancé for Fiona. In both A Civil Campaign and The Nightmare Stacks, the result of the dinner party is the revelation of the true intentions of a main character, respectively openly courting another (it's complicated) and tricking her counterpart into meeting her parents (it's complicated). They both leave the protagonists with few paths open to them and even fewer good ones.

Why do they work like this?

I think the main thing that makes the dinner party so effective at progressing a story in both plot and tone is the contrast between natural and unnatural human interaction. Sharing food is one of the most basic interpersonal activities, with archeological evidence going back further than anatomically modern humans. This is in tension with the artificiality of the actual situation, where precise details of food presentation, respect for social norms, and personal behavior are under scrutiny from individuals you may not fully trust. Food in general also has a visceral impact on everyone. No one is sophisticated enough to willingly eat all of "Meatloaf", escargot, "bug butter", and vegan "pizza", so you as the consumer of the work are forced into empathy with the characters.

Given a scene where everyone is under stress by default, you add on the wider context of the story. Any plot where progress is blocked by "well what if everyone who isn't getting along just avoids each other" is immediately reinvigorated. It's often the case that not everyone is aware of other moving parts, so things can move forward by broadening the impact of ongoing issues to the rest of the cast. If it's too early in the story for things to really blow up, the dinner party can still raise the stakes or expose fault lines that were previously unseen.

If you accept either of the theories that humor is built on tension and unexpected relief or on juxtapositions between the familiar and the incongruous, the natural/artificial split in the dinner party setup also provides these. Everyone on both sides of the fourth wall expects a certain degree of decorum, but it soon goes out the window and leaves you and the characters equally off balance. Likewise, the sharing of food presupposes that everyone can actually partake in the food presented, and undercutting that is a further violation of the common vision of what a dinner party should be. The way characters react to that challenge is another easy hook for comedy.

Conclusion

Putting it all together, dinner parties really do it all. Tension and release, humor and drama, heightening and resolution - the dinner party has the tools you need. Next time you read or watch a dinner party scene, think about the role it plays in the story and the way it's constructed to fulfill it. They're some of my favorite scenes, and I bet they could be some of yours too.

Detailed Examples

Originally I planned to give each spoiler-warned work a stage-by-stage breakdown, but they needed so much context that tumblr's editor broke. Instead I will give them dedicated posts and update this one as I go.

[halcyon-writings]

back at it again with random 2 am fics, the brainworm came to me unexpectedly, will there be a continuation? nav.

alicent sends you a look as you cut into the meat on your plate, you nonchalantly staring at anything but the queen only incenses her further. (well one casually eating as though they had not learned of what had occurred when the royal family attended the funeral of lady laena velaryon would, in fact, do that.)

the children too eat quietly, sensing some form of tension. the pre-meal prayer having already been led by prince aemond.

“a tangle of threads,” you hear helaena whisper, to what others would believe were incessant whispers, hinting at madness. but you knew them for what they were. prophecies. and prophecies could be dangerous things.

“a tangle of threads?” you inquire gently, and the princess’ expression brightens slightly, even though you couldn’t piece together most of them, you knew that she could come to you with her dreams anyway.

she nods, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

otto hightower, from his place across the table sends a disproving look your way that you return with an empty stare. (a personal favorite way in tormenting the man. his subsequent disturbed expression almost makes you crack a smile.)

alicent, even with her shoulder's squared tightly, smiles at her daughter. the girl's comfort with anyone outside of her immediate family was rare, and to see it plainly was even rarer.

“perhaps in a more comfortable setting, we may speak more of these princess,” you murmur quietly, knowing when to press the issue and not was also just as important.

“yes,” and so without a word, she continues to eat.

aegon simply makes a face, reaching for his goblet before frowning at the taste, the lack of alcohol clearly noticed.

he stares at you in silent protest, to which you raise your own cup, with no alcohol but of course he didn’t have to know that, and almost gapes in offense before remembering the company he was in.

you can almost hear him mumbling under his breath in high valyrian.

“young prince, it would do you no good to stumble on the many stair ways of this castle because you’re too full of wine,” you say, as he startles. the tips of his ears turn red and you snort, taking another sip from your goblet.

aemond hides a smile, a rare sight after recent events, and even you hold a tinge of regret for not having been there when it happened. (you couldn’t promise the safety of the princess’ children if you had been present however.)

“i hear vhagar’s been very receptive to the many flights you’ve taken with her, my prince,” you commend, “her previous inactivity, unfortunate as it was, seems to be a thing of the past."

the princeling brightens once more. from your peripheral, you see alicent's squared shoulders relax, but only just and the dinner remains a quiet affair.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.ix // the_attic_291020XX

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When Davin told him about the no-skin policy, Renee initially thought he was joking. It wasn’t until Davin showed him how freckles and veins are just as unique a signifier as fingerprints are that Renee began to take it seriously. Showing his hands on stream would be about as wise as having his full legal name on display. Apparently the only thing you can sow credible doubt about, should the need arise, is voice analysis. That’s on his mind as he gets himself ready.

Like the meaningless ploy to present the show as if it’s run by one man instead of two, Renee does it, but endless precautions can’t quite mask the fragile foundation they’re building this house on, and that has to be alright. You can’t get anywhere great without taking a risk, that’s his take. The higher you climb, the farther you fall.

Still, he bears being covered head to toe in black while under the unforgiving heat of the spotlights. Although he hasn’t done anything strenuous yet, he can feel the sweat start to collect on his chest and under his arms. It wasn’t this bad the last time, but maybe the anger that looms under the surface makes it worse. Jaw set, Renee pulls the balaclava over his head and tucks it into the collar of his shirt, then throws the hood up for good measure.

Conrad sits still, eyes shut tight, barely breathing. He looks on the verge of throwing up. Hints of a bruise are beginning to form across one cheekbone. His hands fumble aimlessly with the ropes behind his back, running his nail along the twisted threads in an attempt to self-soothe.

Renee holds back the urge to deck him again as he walks past. No doubt the little shit feels a shred of pride in the cheap shot he dared to take.

The camera, connected to Davin’s computer via several cables, sits ready atop its tripod, the lens cover already removed. Renee meets Davin’s gaze as his gloved hand searches for the record button, and he doesn’t press it until Davin has given him a nod of approval.

And they’re online.

“Salutations, ladies and gentlemen, enbies and… eh, whatever,” Renee mutters. “Welcome back to the attic.”

He walks into frame, making a casual bee-line for the table of tools laid out behind Conrad’s chair, but he doesn’t pick anything yet – instead he grabs a folding chair that’s leaning against the wall, dragging it behind him as he makes his way back to Conrad.

“From what I hear, word has spread a bit since our pilot episode,” Renee says. “That’s good.”

 He yanks open the chair, sliding it up next to the one Conrad is tied to, and sits down, crossing one ankle on top of his knee, facing the camera.

“I know we aren’t your typical YouTubers,” he continues, “but I like to think the show has some potential. You guys seemed to like our catch, anyway. And now that everybody’s met each other, the fun can begin for real. Isn’t that right?”

He jabs an elbow at Conrad, who shrinks back at the touch, letting out a small sound, eyes still shut tight.

Renee snickers. “Exactly. Our first commission comes from A.C. Two words, that’s all they gave us. Scar him.”

Renee casts a sidelong glance at his captive.

“Which, uh… I think I already have,” he snorts.

Conrad opens his eyes then, but when they meet Renee’s, they aren’t full of fear – they’re full of an intense, burning hatred. It doesn’t last long, just a split second, before Conrad turns his head away, fixing his gaze on a random spot in the floor.

“Ooh.” Renee leans back in his seat, letting out a low hum. “He didn’t like that.”

With a low chuckle, he gets out of the chair and heads back to the table of tools. He lets his fingers trace past brass knuckles and barbed wire, past the bat and the old carpentry equipment his father left lying around in the shed. The latter might be heirlooms, come to think of it, Renee realizes with a low chuckle. He’ll turn them into further stains on his wretched family legacy. Fitting.

There’s a small assortment of knives he’s collected over the years, from small folders to fixed combat knives he got purely for the aesthetics. Renee picks up a straight razor, carrying it closed back to Conrad.

“Someone told me something a while ago that’s kind of stuck with me,” he mutters. “Turns out, when you get cut with something sharp, it doesn’t bleed right away.”

He stands looming behind his captive’s chair and opens the razor behind his field of view, perfectly visible for the camera, though Conrad only hears the whisper-soft sliding of metal. He sniffs, grabbing hold of a mass of curls to tilt Conrad’s head back. Conrad lets out a yelp through the gag, staring up at him. There’s a hint of salt on his cheeks where his tears have dried.

Renee lets the tip of the razor trail aimlessly down the front of Conrad’s neck, careful not to let it bite yet. “You see,” he tells him, “blood vessels contract when they’re severed.”

Conrad swallows, a little shaky, although it’s obvious he’s trying hard to sit still.

“What?” Renee says. “It’s a natural process. Like birth. Or anthrax.” He laughs. “No, but for real, they…” He whistles a descending note, making a clenched fist around the razor’s handle. “Then they relax again. And the blood begins to flow.” He pauses, absentmindedly tapping the blunt edge of the blade against Conrad’s shoulder. “Of course, I only heard about it in the context of traumatic amputations.”

The color drains from Conrad’s face.

“Relax, I’m not gonna cut off your fucking limbs, I swear. Not yet, anyway.” He snorts. “No, what I want to know – I want to know how deep you have to cut to see that pause. ‘Cause, look,” he says, and without further ado, Renee runs the razor lightly along his upper arm, drawing out a hair-thin, shallow cut. As Conrad hisses, tiny beads of blood begin to form, blooming in a line. “Look, that shit’s almost immediate,” Renee says. “Little pussy cut. You can barely even tell.”

He pushes Conrad’s head back down with a little more force than necessary. As he kicks the folding chair out of the way and circles his catch, that feeling comes back to him, blooming from the center of his chest, dissipating his anger. A person within his person, an other. Pitch black. Hungry.

“Nah, we need to go deeper,” Renee hums. He stops in front of Conrad, leaning down to meet him at eye level. “We need to go deep enough to leave some gnarly scars, don’t we?”

He lingers there for a moment just to savor the shortness of Conrad’s breath, to revel in the growing apprehension in those wide, blue eyes.

Then he backhands him. Forcefully enough for his head to swivel to the side, and he lets out a cry of surprise, panting hard, teeth clenched around the cloth.

Renee wastes no time waiting around for the guy to gather his bearings. Humming slightly to himself, he grabs Conrad’s shirt by the collar and guides the razor through it, carefully parting the fabric along the seam from collar to arm, exposing Conrad’s shoulder and some of his heaving chest. Positioning himself behind the chair once more, Renee grabs both of Conrad’s shoulders, giving them a friendly squeeze as he faces the camera.

“Count with me at home, fellas,” he snickers, and places the razor’s blade on skin. Through his other hand still grasping Conrad’s shoulder, Renee feels a shudder.

He lets the razor bite.

Although he knew the blade is sharp as can be, he never could have imagined just how easily it would dig in, how little resistance the skin and flesh gives. Renee drags the blade from Conrad’s chest and over his collarbone, finally letting up as he nears the top of the shoulder. As Conrad howls, air whistling through the gaps around the gag, folding over himself as best he can, Renee watches the cut with a child’s excitement, as stark white is filled from hidden sources, starting slowly, very slowly, before the red pools within the cut and then spills over the edge, quickly painting a dark red line down Conrad’s front.

“Four,” Renee says, as the blood curls into the folds of the ruined shirt, spreading its fingers in the fabric.

Conrad’s breaths come in quick gasps.

“Four seconds, Connie.” Renee grins down at him. “Now you’ve got my fucking attention.”

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