#[ and it's in /everything/. but man the presentation of her as some uncaring individual with little interest is true to /a/ degree. ]

[araneitela]

Jace: Sends a meta ask about combat preferences Me: Okay, okay, let me make this short and touch on just the katana... The equivalent of piles, and piles of paperwork in my OneNote and FF tabs: 🤔

[ilynpilled]

I think Tyrion’s quote is a testament to his cynicism as a result of how the world treats him. Of course, you cannot remove the context of the quote, because it makes sense considering his situation in this chapter, but “cold and uncaring” is a description especially reminiscent of Tywin’s parenting style, which has such a devastating effect on Tyrion and how he views so much of the world. Similarly to Cersei’s quote, an aspect of Tywin is projected onto the general universe. The Lannisters are prone to do this. Their father is God. One that is cruel and damaging, someone they even hate or are disillusioned by, but God all the same. Of course, his cynicism is not final, deep down he can also be a hopeful person, but it is interesting how he chooses to assign descriptions to things that he should view as neutral according to his “realist” mindset.

For Dany, it certainly speaks to her adapting to Dothraki culture and being open to seeing the world as they see it: “…for the Dothraki believed that all things of importance in a man’s life must be done beneath the open sky” is a notion she internalized considering how many times she repeats it. She was always someone who sought a home, a place to belong, and she is also very open minded and adaptive. It is also such a hopeful quote, despite everything, because even in the most dire situations, with a “night black and moonless”, she looks at a million brightly burning stars and makes them give her strength, and keeps going. She hones in on the less focused on majority, and notices it. There are powers stronger than hatred.

The prose in Jaime’s is so… His description of the scenery is so rich and vivid. It is so deeply romantic, which is a subversion of how he presents himself as a disillusioned and nihilistic cynic. The crescent moon can symbolize, in Celtic mythology specifically: phases, growth, and potential. Jaime is about to change drastically. It is about cycles: life & death. It is interesting that it is not specified to be waxing or waning. To me, it is metaphorically both. The Jaime we have come to know dies so Jaime can be reborn in the narrative. The last line reveals such a deep rooted self hatred, and we are seeing cracks in his facade. There is something so thoroughly human in what he feels just by looking up at the night sky. Then, it is Brienne’s words that follow that pull him out of what is essentially passive suicide in the next paragraph. Which is interesting, because she is the Evenstar. Why would a star want to look down on such as him?

Cersei’s is also so interesting. Back to Tyrion’s, and how the Lannisters are prone to project Tywin onto the universe, to God, to a star etc. Tywin is both a symbol and a person that governs so much of Cersei and her relationship with the world. He owned her, a misogynistic traditionalist that sold her and moved her like a chess piece, with no regard to how it would affect her. He did not allow her individualization solely because of her gender. She even thinks he is in hell in her first AFfC chapter, likely for a multitude of reasons. Yet, Cersei aims to emulate his example. She seeks to fill the hole that he left. She wants to prove to him that she is worthy, even in his death. More so than his sons. His absence means darkness to her, because he and his conditioning is all that she knows.

Some analysis of some of the quotes in the stars parallels post.

[inthisroomofsilence]

Another round of Pauley Perrette’s bullshit

All tweets from July 21st 2020!

So, Pauley read an article about the abuse by a show runner on a different CBS show. Pauley mentions that she knew of this guy’s abuse for a long time but did nothing even though some of her closest friends works on that show. Pauley remained silent about it UNTIL someone else fought the guy. And then she has the gall to expect rewards for knowing of this show runner’s behavior and doing nothing. 

She remained silent over actual abuse but screams and shouts over alleged abuse in form of physical and psychological abuse. 

2018: in secret DMs to fans she called Harmon a psychopath, bully & narcisst 

2019: she openly accuses Harmon of physical assaults, punching & shoving her around, bodychecking her

2020: Add to that she also now claims Harmon is a misogynist, homophobe and racist

So far, she could NOT prove her allegations. Not a single one. So, the question is what more could she accuse Harmon off next year? There’s a pattern. With every year she adds more accusations towards him.

Despite: Knowing that Harmon is friends with people of color and gay couples in real life. Despite having shown support towards a former make-up artist from NCIS when she was fighting breast cancer. He collected donations, doubled it and brought it to her in person. Someone else made that public, not Harmon.

Let’s move on: She is seeking symphathy by bringing her dead mother into this. Her mother died when Pauley was a child, not an adult trying to make a career in Hollywood.

Also, she claimed that she hadn’t paid attention to the abuse happening since day one. So, she really isn’t the humanitarian she wants the world to believe she is when she willingly and happily ignores bullying and so on as long she gets lots of money and publicity.

And another thing: This is the woman who cheered her now ex-boyfriend Thomas Arklie on when he called a straight man a “faggot”. So much for supporting the LGBTQ campaign.

Now, several fans with accounts on Twitter, Tumblr and even Instagram have made it public that a great bunch of crew members has reached out to them with proof of Pauley’s wrong doings and bad behavior on set. She was caught on camera verbally and from what I understand, also physically attacking members of the crew and cast. Does that sound like the cast and crew are supporting her? Secretly or not? Personally, I haven’t seen videos or photos but I’ve been chatting with one member of the crew who’s very happy to be rid of the “entitled, selfish liar”. It speaks volumes about how people that spend working with her for over 10 years view her behavior. I have heard stories of how she refused to work with certain guest stars, how she threw tantrums when she didn’t get her wishes. I could go on. I don’t need to see any videos. I’ve seen enough of her lies, accusations and the damage those caused to the individuals she has targeted in the past.

Let’s not forget: Harmon and Cote de Pablo were both being trashed by her in public. The private DMs about her thoughts of Cote had been released. Part of me hopes that someone soon will leak the other DMs she wrote to fans talking badly of Sasha Alexander, Lauren Holly, Jennifer Esposito, Maria Bello, Emily Wickersham and Diona Reasonover. Or the ones of her rather digusting thoughts of David McCallum, Michael Weatherly, Sean Murray, Brian Dietzen, Rocky Carroll, Duane Henry and Wilmer Valderrama and even Donald Bellisario.

You see, she has trashed all of them, in private or in public. Pauley Perrette thinks everyone should believe her. Everyone questioning her, seriously very contradicting, accusations is called a “troll” or “hater”. 

But why should we believe her words and not doubt them? Because she is white? Because she is a woman? Because she is a white woman? That’s right. We are not to demand any sort of proof for her allegations, past, present and future. She won’t stop now. Or at some point. For as long as she has those brainless and mindless fans believing every single one of her sob or hero stories, she won’t stop. More is to come.

And the absolute nerve of her to state that she had to use her own money to pay for lawyers is astonishing. It really is. All over the world people fear losing their jobs because of the pandemic, people are struggling to survive in every aspect of their daily lives: monetary and healthwise. For someone with millions of $$$ in her account, she comes across as a whiny and uncaring bitch.

And it doesn’t matter if her entitlement and need to make everything about herself take away the spotlight and attention from REAL abuse and tragedies as long as it brings her the attention she craves.

Last but not least, she is once again throwing shade at the entire cast and crew of NCIS whilst claiming she wants to protect them. Weird, isn’t it? And then she has to drag people into this that weren’t around, that only know one side of the story. Attention seeking behavior right in front of our eyes.

And never ever forget that she was/is close friends with Les Moonves and has Harvey Weinstein’s fixers on her payroll. Remember that she had no problem to throw Eliza Dushku under the bus because Pauley, at least for the public pretends to, like the guy.

And in a different recent tweet of hers she claimed herself to have been a model since the age of 2... well, didn’t she always say that she never intended to become famous? That she kind of accidently stumbled into acting? Which one is it? Like, she hates all food and that humans need it to live and in the next week food is yummy and she only hates some foods, not all.

So, I will say it loudy: I stand with every single man she has accused in the past. I stand with every single woman she has accused in the past. I stand with the cast and crew of NCIS who had to deal with her bad behavior for 15 years because she had the ear of Moonves.

[lokidrabbles]

Across Time (Loki x Reader)

Loki reminisces about Sigyn and his current relationship with Reader

A/N: This is also mildly setup as a Loki x Sigyn story, but it is more used as a device for Loki’s perception of his present relationship. As always, Gender Neutral reader! Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Some implied smut, fluff n’ stuff

The young prince leaned against the marble column, arms crossed over his chest in a sheer display of disinterest. The large hall in which he stood was inhabited with a variety of Asgardians of all ages and trades, eagerly involved in the splendor of food, music, magic and chatter. While large festivities weren’t foreign to him, that being one of Odin’s sons, he felt out of place. This wasn’t your average conjoining of individuals, for this was Thor’s day of birth, and Odin had made sure his eldest son received every single demand and desire he voiced out.

Thor’s entourage involved the Warriors Three, a loud bunch of individuals who felt forced to involve Loki in their little shenanigans, Lady Sif, a woman too serious for her own good, and other belligerent Asgardians who drank and ate mercilessly. Thor was in the middle of it all, letting out a roaring laughter, blatantly drunk and uncaring of the spectacle he was making of himself. Everyone at the gathering cheered and clapped at Thor’s ongoing display of strength and cockiness, causing Loki to roll his eyes, embarrassed at how this man could ever be considered his brother.

He was content however. It was seldom when Odin allowed Thor to fully be his reckless self without reprimanding him on his role as the eldest prince, and Loki knew his brother better than anyone else. Thor needed these foolish events as to not collapse under the pressure of his royal duties, and so Loki only humored him from a distance.

From the corner of his eye, Loki caught a slender figure slowly approaching him, already recognizing her long golden locks and her habit of holding her hands behind her back when near him.

“My prince.” She began, curtsying before him.

“Lady Sigyn.” Loki replied, bowing his head in recognition. “How are you enjoying the merriment?”

“Oh it is quite wonderful. My family is so very thankful for the Allfather to have invited us.” She said softly, positioning herself next to him. “Although now I see how different both you and Prince Thor are.”

Sigyn belonged to a noble family, and the rumors had spread out of the possibility of Odin seeking her father’s approval to marry one of his sons. All clues suggested for Loki to be her suitor, as Thor would probably scare her off with his boasting nature.

Loki chuckled. “Yes quite. My brother takes much to Odin in the same way I take to my mother. Though irritating at times, it can be quite amusing seeing him make a fool of himself.”

“Oh, Prince Loki. You shouldn’t say that about your brother.” She replied jestingly. “ Though I do recall the one time he had passed out on top of the entire desert table. A lot of the nobles weren’t to happy about that.”

“Ah yes! That was indeed hilarious. Father had single-handedly dragged him to his quarters by his ankle. He was absolutely furious that next morning, and I did not envy Thor one bit.”

She let out a gentle laughter, causing Loki’s heart to flutter briefly. Both Loki and Sigyn were introduced to each other as young adolescents with prospects of them bonding and forming a tight knit relationship. Sigyn, like Loki, had studied under her family to master the art of seidr. Their first conversations involved talking about the mystic magic, comparing their abilities and attempting to teach each other what they have learned. Sigyn focused on healing abilities, spells which would replenish one’s energy and stamina, while Loki would learn a variety of defensive and offensive spells from Frigga. They complemented each other in abilities, and matched in their calm nature, drawn towards literature and increasing their knowledge base.

One would argue it was a perfect marriage in the making. As Loki grew older, he found himself naturally attracted to Sigyn’s blossoming. She had grown to be a beautiful woman, adorned with wavy locks, beautiful brown eyes and soft, sienna colored skin. She was kind and gentle, but also very confident with herself and with her abilities. While the deal was still to be sealed, both did share hidden kisses and intimate touches behind corridors, away from eavesdropping guards. At times, the thrill of seeing her and perhaps teasing her by playing with her hair or placing a hand at the small of her back was all he could think of. He pondered about a possibility like that playing out now.

“My prince, I take it you have something else in your mind?” She asked as a coy, pink lipped smile formed.

“Perhaps.” He said teasingly. “I admit, I was beginning to wonder what had taken you so long to approach me Lady Sigyn. Could it be possible you’ve grown bored of me?”

“My prince!” She sounded offended. “What could ever give you that idea? I was simply waiting for the attention to be drawn to Prince Thor. And since it is so, shall we meet by the balcony to discuss our affairs more appropriately?”

“How bold of you my lady. Quite inappropriate to be talking to a prince in such a sultry manner.”

She playfully shoved his shoulder, to which he responded with a cocky wink. “Shame on you. But alas, I shall retreat to said balcony all by my lonesome self.”

Loki lowered his head to kiss Sigyn’s forehead, knowing his duty would be to protect her and provide her with the care she so desired. “I shall meet you there soon enough my lady.”

She curtsied again, a flush of pink present in her cheeks. Sigyn soon disappeared behind the columns, far into the depth of the palace. Loki smirked to himself as a comforting warmness filled his chest. Was this love? Or perhaps just the excitement that his youth years would blind him to. He knew sooner or later, both Odin and Sigyn’s father would come to an agreement, and Loki would become her betrothed.

He once had a conversation about the possibility with Frigga. Who best to provide Loki with sound judgement to determine if Sigyn would indeed be a good wife? As any young Asgardian would, Loki shared his uncertainties with his mother. He understood the duty he would uptake once as a married man, while still addressing his duties as Odin’s son.

It seemed to make the most sense, and it was almost expected at this point. Loki and Sigyn simply got along well, they were both skilled and highly intelligent, and both came from nobility. The union of their families would make for some very powerful heirs, which was always an interest for Odin. Yet, the sense of doubt naturally picked at him. He was still young, and arguably inexperienced. Love, while the concept not foreign to him, was a new experience, and Loki wasn’t sure whether this was what he felt for Sigyn.

Frigga, knowing her son best, provided Loki with words of encouragement, for which he forever continued to carry with him.

“Trust your intuition Loki. Perceive your happiness with them, as the best blessing a partner can offer you is the opportunity to grow beside them. I believe in you, my son.”

Both Loki and Sigyn soon became engaged, and for a brief moment in his long life, Loki felt as his everything had fallen correctly into place.

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

“Ugh. Come on.”

Loki popped one eye open upon hearing your groan. You had propped yourself up against your pillow, texting away furiously on the bright screen of your phone. The light was absolutely blinding, especially in the middle of the night. He blinked and squinted, catching how you had knitted your eyebrows together. You were rightfully annoyed, and he deducted you must have been awakened by the beeping of your device.

“Who has upset my dearest?” He asked, covering his eyes with his hand.

“Tony wants me to go in tomorrow for some maintenance crap. I’m telling him to stop messaging me in the middle of the night.” You responded, voice still groggy.

He made a disapproving sound. “I am not eager about Stark having contact with you so frequently. He’s a fool, and now he has disturbed my slumber with you.”

You tossed your phone by your dresser and pulled the sheets up to your face. You scooted closer to Loki, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Loki’s body responded, soon placing his arm around your waist, hand resting on the small of your back.

“He’s my boss, his money pays my bills. But yes he’s stupid.” You muttered under the sheets.

“You have no idea how much I enjoy hearing you insult him.” He chuckled lowly. “You certainly have way with words.”

“Also, if I would have never gotten hired by him, I would have never met you. So technically-”

He shushed you immediately. “No. Do not dare say Stark’s intervention brought us together. I’d like to believe it was simply meant to be due to my charm and charisma.”

You snorted, your breath tickling the skin on his neck. “Fine, fine. I won’t say it. I gotta admit tho, you look super cute whenever you get upset by that.”

“Then it is no wonder why you always seem to infuriate me.”

You both laid together quietly, your soft breaths beginning to lull Loki back into that blissful comfort. His arm continued to be looped around your waist, bringing a deep, inward sense of protectiveness. You were small compared to him, yet it had come to a point where he needed to feel your body closer to his, clinging onto him for security. It was bizarre. He knew his past self would have never dreamed of the day where he would lay in bed with a human, much less have an intimate relationship with a human. The prospect was very difficult to accept at first, especially considering the circumstances of how he had settled down on Midgard. Despite this, Loki weirdly felt as if this made the most sense to him. The planet he swore to conquer almost a decade ago, now became his home. The humans, which he swore to conquer, had now accepted him to some degree. And now, he proudly called one of these humans as his own. This foolish human who had presented him with kindness, genuineness and often made him upset at the foolish comments they would make.

He relished in your touch, and how soft your skin felt. He found himself always seeking out your touch. There was a contrasting difference between human and Asgardian skin. Human skin always felt much more delicate and thinner, while Asgardians tended to have tougher and firmer skin. Your skin would bruise easily, especially if his grip would become harsh. He sadistically liked this, feeling as if he could easily mark you at any moment, claiming territory on this small Midgardian. He mindlessly began to make circles in the small of your back, feeling the shivers spread all over.

He smiled to himself once he felt your own arms loop under his arms, circling his broad chest. You picked your head out from under his chin, and reached up to plant a sleepy kiss upon his lips. A blessing for him. Your lips were much too tender for him to bear, and he kissed and suckled on them in return.

You giggled and pulled back from him briefly. “I need to sleep but I don’t want to anymore now.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?” He asked, smile still displayed.

“Yes. I just really want to get on top of you now. And maybe kiss you all over.”

He hummed approvingly. “I don’t have any reason to stop you. You have laid claim to me already, human.”

Eagerly, you removed your hold and climbed over him, your thighs tightly at his hips. He adjusted himself, just enough so he could ensure his grip on your waist would be secure. You lowered down to his face, peppering it all over with fleeting kisses and pecks. You ended on his lips again, this time kissing deeper and passionately, leaving Loki practically breathless. At times your displays of affection were overwhelming. Humans were always so physical with each other, and always giving themselves into that intense gratification. it was years and years since Loki experienced this type of fondness and the lustful pleasure of feeling someone on top of him. He was undeniably attracted to you, his little human, who proved their worth by his side. Tongues soon clashed with one another, and Loki groaned into your mouth, already feeling his blood rush into his core.

He halted however, knowing you would be reprimanded the following day if you stayed up the entire night. He hated Stark, but he also didn’t want to jeopardize your working relationship with him.

“Sweetling, although I would love nothing more than to fuck you right now, perhaps it is wiser for you to get some rest.”

Even Loki could see your childish pout through the dim light of the window. “I hate it when you’re right.” You said, laying your head on his chest in defeat.

He leaned inward and planted a reassuring kiss at the top of your head. “Once you are done with your duties tomorrow, we can resume our intimacy in the evening.”

You rolled off of him, still laying close by his side, arms clinging onto his chest. “Knowing myself though, I might annoy you about it in the morning instead.”

“Then sleep now. And I promise you will be awakened by a very pleasant surprise.”

The rest of the night continued, and soon Loki felt you doze off into deep sleep. He remained awake, as he always did, until you were fully resting. He focused his attention still to the weight of your arm over his chest, slowly caressing your hand with his. Loki began to feel his eyelids droop, slowly drawing back to a familiar memory, and a familiar set of words which he had forgotten about long ago.

He felted blessed with you. And his intuition affirmed it every single day.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- The Shadowed Lords

I know I keep throwing new characters and places at you.  Sorry.  Scoundrel shenanigans will return next story.  However, this is important for the story progression, and, to be blunt, these are some of my personal favorite characters I wrote in here.  Enjoy the story, and if you are interesting in it, please read the end note.  

“Nine heroes and their colleagues.

Six Shadowed Lords and the assets they bring:

One Ghost.

One god.

One collector.

One Man

One Cypher.

One Leader.

Six Stones.

One Weapon.

One Crucible.

One Ring.

Seven Lords:

One Lion

One Phoenix

One Warhawk

One Wolf

One Son

One Salamander

One Raven

And a little luck.”  -A List of Items Required

Titanfall Galaxy

The Outlands

Hammond Robotics Lab 365-772

It was night out, and Dr. Lisa Wiltalker sat in the same chair, in the same office, as she did every night.  But this time, she didn’t really mind.  It was a wonderful night outside, crisp and clear, with the stars shining through the window, creating an ambient atmosphere of peace.  Though, in reality, it was actually due to her work that she didn’t mind staying late.  

She was the head of the facility, one of the most important ones in the Outlands region of space, and it was her duty to advance the Hammond company by any means necessary.  And, by God, the opportunities that presented themselves now!  Eight new universes that had just materialized from nowhere.  Eight!  The circumstances that presented themselves for Hammond and herself were...endless.

She was currently studying everything she could about these new galaxies, trying to learn anything and everything she could…

She looked up sharply.  Could have sworn something was moving in the shadows…  No.  She had been here for...fifteen hours, was it?  It was nighttime, and it was a lonely, empty office building, so no wonder her senses were playing tricks on her sleep deprived mind.  She stood up, stretched, grabbed a coffee from the machine in the room, and sipped it while looking out the window and the stars.  Feeling better, or at least more caffeinated, she returned to the task at hand. 

Eight new galaxies.  Endless opportunities to sell the products of Hammond.  Spectre robots, the latest and greatest in infantry fighting machines, faster, stronger, and tougher than a man; explosive Ticks, small drones that seeked out enemies and detonated; and, of course, Titans.  She didn’t think that any of the other galaxies had technology like that, and where better to add to their arsenals but from the Hammond Corporation?  Made perfect sense…

She snapped around sharply.  She swore she could have heard something moving, swore she could see something just inside her peripheral vision…  She shook her head again.  The office was massively secure, with guards, both of bolt and steel, and flesh and blood stationed throughout it.  When in a sleep deprived and lonely situation, everyone started seeing the boogeyman hiding in the corners.  She shook her head ruefully and turned on more lights.  

Where was she?  Ah, yes.  Opportunities.  Who to sell to?  Everyone, if possible.  Who could turn down six meter tall war machines, implemented with the finest in A.I. technology, programmed in the art of death and destruction?  Well, probably a few of the more dense and/or peaceful of the governments out there.  She leafed through a dossier.

The Galactic Assembly?  No.  Has only had two major wars in the last century, both of which had ended within the year.  The United Federation of Planets?  Also no.  Too regulatory, too jealous of their own technology.  The Galactic Empire?  This one looked promising.  A pro-human empire that had been fractured and on the losing side of a major war in recent years, desperate for anything to turn the tide.  Yes, this-

A cold, metallic hand gripped her throat, preventing any sound from getting out, and a horribly deep, rasping, grating voice sounded in her ear.

“You ever get the feeling you’re not alone in the room?  It’s because you’re not.”

The extremely tall, spindly...thing stood over the corpse of Dr. Wiltalker.  The body had a massive, jagged, yet precise hole ripped through the torso, directly where the heart was, and currently lay deep in a pool of its own clotting blood.  The thing, made of cold steel yet looking oddly humanoid, stood above it, watching, savoring the sensation.  

“One more off the list,” it said in the same rasping voice.  It made a move to turn, to exit the room, but stopped.  It stared at the desk.  At the dossier.  “Interesting,” it muttered.  It picked it up.  “Very interesting indeed.”  It leafed through it.   The machine turned.  

It had once been he.  He had once been living.  He had been turned into this… synthetic nightmare by Hammond, against his will or knowledge.  He snarled and suppressed a shudder of rage.  Once the greatest hitman the Syndicate, Hammond, or anyone else had ever known, at some unknown point his mind had been altered, his body destroyed and replaced with… this.  He snarled again.  

He had been having his revenge against everyone and everything associated with the company… but this new knowledge.  This changed things.  So many possibilities.  So many skinsuits.  So little time.  He was the boogeyman.  He was the Revenant.  And he would have his vengeance.

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Solemnace, Necron Tomb World

The hallways were jet black, cut from a strange stone that seemed to absorb all light around it.  The only illumination came from strange runes and lighting fixtures that seemed to blend into the halls and ceilings.  The light was a pale, bright green, and cast strange shadows on the halls and objects residing within.  It swirled throughout the space, as if it didn’t quite understand what exactly it was supposed to be illuminating.  A human would have found the long halls exceptionally strange.  Disconcerting.  Creepy, even, if one were less eloquent.  It seemed like something from a horror movie, with mad creatures waiting to leap from the shadows on the unaware.  

Even more strange and disconcerting were the objects located within the halls.  Strange devices, artifacts, and objects littered the space.  Each one almost unrecognizable; completely unknown except to the most knowledgeable of galactic historians, and, of course, the curator.  For this place, this entire planet, in fact, was so much more than strange alien hallways and lighting that did not agree with the human ocular system.  Above all else, itt was a place that preserved history.

The massive galleries, for that is what they were, contained a great many strange, horrifying, and wondrous things.  Everything, from inactive artifacts of history to living beings had their place here.  Each was protected, frozen in status by eldritch technologies.  A massive man in baroque power armor.  Tens of thousands of Imperial Guardsmen, from many different worlds, (including some lost) scattered throughout different exhibits.  Huge war machines, from almost every race to bestride the stars.  A large, beautifully embellished bell.  Korks, the ancient and ferocious genetic predecessors of orks.  The ossified husk of some strange, jellyfish-like being.  The preserved head of an Imperial Saint.  The graceful Eldar of the last high council of the destroyed Craftworld Idharae.   Space Marines, from almost every chapter and legion imaginable.  Several Inquisitors that had been just a bit too nosy.  A Custodian.  Stange, undocumented blue crab-like aliens.  Members of species thought to be long dead by the rest of the galaxy.  The total list would probably take hours, if not days or weeks, to describe.  

The long galleries were patrolled by odd beings, bipedal silver robots with elongated skulls, wielding strange spears.  They seemed to be mindless, uncaring of the weariness that would affect any other beings by the constant patrolling.  

On one of the wings of the planet-sized museum, an individual studied a huge sculptured head.  It was old and grimy, its original and secondary colors lost to time.  The figure was lost in it, its bulk taking up a huge display gallery.  Once upon a time the head had been part a a figure called the Statue of Liberty, and had resided in the human hive city of Nuva York on the Throneworld of mankind.  38,000 years ago.  It was a huge monument to human accomplishment.  38,000 years ago.  It was a historical relic, a testament to mankind’s history.  30,000 years ago.  It disappeared, never to be seen again, a missing piece of history.  24,000 years ago.  Now it resided here.  It mattered nothing to the individual.  He was older than the statue.  Older than the human race itself.  

His body was similar to those of the gallery guardians, but much more ornamented and higher quality.  Made of silvery metal, his legs were long but powerful.  A metallic rib cage, with a strange symbol etched in the breastbone attached, the legs to similarly structured arms.  His metallic skull had a largely elongated jaw, with a permanent mouth etched in the metal.  A cloak made of interlocking metallic plates was thrown across his back, and in his hands was a strange staff, made of the same metal as he was.  

A sigh of contentment, strangely synthesized, escaped his lips (or what passed for them).  While he did often travel the galaxy, looking for artifacts and individuals to add to his ever-growing collection, it was nice to look at his gains.  He turned and strode out of the gallery hall.  

A vast open room stretched before him, much better lit than his galleries.  Ornamented skeletal warriors, weapons at the ready, stood on guard.  They were there not only to protect him (not that he needed it, mind you, there were plenty of tricks up his sleeve), but the massive museum itself.  He surmounted the steps to his throne, ornamental carved from the black rock, and surveyed his domain.  He was not here simply to oversee his galleries.  No.  A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“My lord?” asked another metallic servant, this one bearing heavier limbs and more decoration than its fellows.  The seated figure looked up.  A huge holographic map, made of eerie green light, sprung to life, taking up the majority of the colossal room.  It showed not one, but nine different galaxies.  Each a treasure trove.  Each begging to be explored.  

Trazyn the Infinite, Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archaeovist of Solemnace, curator of the Prismatic Galleries, and collector extraordinaire turned his head to the map.  Eight new galaxies.  Eight new sets of history.  So little time.  So much to collect.  

Marvel Galaxy

Within the passages between worlds

There were ways.  Passages between realms and planets, known to only a few.  Some might call them ‘wormholes’, some ‘slip spaces’, others just plain ‘magic’.  They were small, strange, holes in time and space.  While naturally occurring, and while able to be explained by science, few ever found them.  Fewer still ever used them.  

Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, was not among those few.  He was with the tiny minority, the smallest percentage of all beings: he knew where they were, knew how they worked, and used them frequently.  They were so incredibly useful; too hard to pass up.  Not even Heimdall, all-seeing guardian of the Nine Realms, could not peer into them.  Poor Heimdall.  The man was a tedious bore, but he really didn’t deserve to die like he did.  

Loki died that day too, choked to death at the hands of the Mad Titan, Thanos.  Or did he?  Was this the original Loki, cheating death yet again?  Was this another Loki from the same universe, the same timeline, transported here?  Maybe.  Or was this a Loki from somewhere else entirely; the same individual from a different universe?  It was possible.  One never really knew with the God of Lies.  

Loki wasn’t truly evil.  He had a habit for causing mass death and destruction, but those killed were mortals, were they not?  A few years taken off their miserably short lives wouldn't really affect anything.  He liked power, enjoyed it, would use force to get it, but, at heart, he wasn’t malevolent.  

But now, out there, seen in the spaces between time and space, there were new things.  Things that truly were malevolent.  Evil.  Things that would enslave all sentients, destroy all life, rend reality asunder.  

He was no hero.  But things like this...they needed to be stopped.  So, unfortunately, he would probably end up fighting on the side of heroes.  However, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t find time for mischief...  

Mass Effect Galaxy

Cronos Station, Headquarters of Cerberus

The room was bare, with only an ergonomic chair standing alone in the center.  A huge window, sleek and curved, with no obstructions, gave view to a massive fiery star.  Tendrils of fire, both red and yellow, spun into space, guaranteed to take any viewer’s breath away.  The floor was black and polished, reflecting the star’s burning light.  Sitting in the chair in the center of the room, surrounded by orange and blue holograms, was a single human.

He was wearing an extremely expensive, well-tailored suit, the edges perfectly cut to fit his frame.  His brown hair was neatly styled, and his eyes glowed blue, replaced long ago with prosthetics.  He stood, glass of incredibly expensive liquor in hand, the glowing tip of a cigarette sticking from the edge of his mouth, staring at the holograms.  Somehow, he contrived to make the vices look incredibly elegant and classy, like a movie star of old.  

He was the Illusive Man.  One of the, if not the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. Creator of the pro-human terrorist organization Cerberus.  He saw his duty plainly: humanity must become the most prominent race throughout the stars.  He was not xenophobic.  Far from it.  He simply wanted his species to succeed, and if lesser individuals saw that as racist, saw him as a terrorist, then so be it.  He cared nothing for the opinions of the weak.  Those who were not willing to act were not worthy of inheriting the stars.  But now...complications.  

Eight new galaxies.  He knew a great many things about them; far more than most.  There were new threats.  New problems.  New factions and people of incredible power.  But most importantly, humanity existed in all eight.  His species.  

Whether through the iron might of the Imperium of Man, or the peace and technological progress of the United Federation of Planets, humanity was in a prominent place in all of them.  He would see them remain that rightful place.  But now there were threats.  Too many to handle alone.  He would need help, and he would need it as quickly as possible if he were to succeed.  

The holograms scrolled past, showing names.  Faces.  Dossiers.  Heroes.  Villains.  Species.  

The Illusive Man sat in his chair, cigarette dangling from his mouth as if forgotten.  He was thinking.  Planning.  He needed more help, needed more people, needed more knowledge.  Knowledge was power.  Power was required to raise mankind to the top.  Simple, but not easy.  He thought some more.  

Unknown Location

The faint light, cast by the glow of a nearby star, emanated from large floor to ceiling windows.  The star was old, cold, but still let out a pure white light, enough to illuminate the room through the heavy, cathedral-like windows.  It contrasted with the empty blackness of space, the only light beyond the star being faint pinpricks, barely enough to cast a second glance at.  The room itself was dark.  Nothing could be seen of it.  Not its size, not its purpose, or any items within.  The light only illuminated two figures standing side by side, staring out into the blackness of space.  

The one on the right was the shorter of the two.  It looked to be human, with two arms, two legs, and a head sticking out from a normal human frame.  However, one couldn’t really tell what it was, for its face was hidden by an armored black mask and helmet.  Two rectangular eye slits, glowing a dim red in the light of the star, looked out through the window.  It wore black armor and gloves, stylized so as to allow the greatest range of motion possible.   A heavy black coat, reinforced by some form of anti-ballistic material, reached down to the figure’s ankles.  Holstered at its side was a large pistol, a human-made automatic of heavy calibre.  

The figure on the left was massive.  While the one in black was slightly taller than six feet, it towered a full eight feet tall.  Its form was large and bulky, with joints of massive power armor poking through a plain white robe that hid the majority of its figure.  A white hood covered its head, and while one might think this figure was some strange alien, the bottom of the face that could be seen through the hood and shadows was unmistakably human.  It had a broad and chiseled face that fit the rest of its massive form, hinting that the bulkiness of its figure came not from the armor, but from the body beneath it.  Two pistols were holstered at its side, both oversized to fit in the figure’s large armored gauntlets.  One was blocky and black, and while heavily ornamented, seemed to be of the type that fired something akin to bullets.  The other glowed a soft blue, coils replacing what would have been the slide on an automatic pistol.  

An utterly massive sword was strapped to the figure’s back, and while beautifully adorned and seemingly crafted by a master, it was too large even for the tall man to wield it.  Instead, it was kept in its place, resting on his back.  

The taller man spoke.  “You know what must be done, yes?”  His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling with massive power and reverberating through the darkness.  

“Yes.”  The shorter figure’s voice was scarred and metallic, spoken through some sort of modulator in the mask it wore.  

“Then we must move quickly.”  The man on the left turned and stared down at the black-clad figure on the right.  “There are those who would seek to stop this.”

“It is logical.  I see no other way to make things right for everyone.”

“Good.  Then it is necessary to do what must be done,” said the deep voice.  

“The fate of the universe hangs on the shoulders of a few.  But they have done it before.  Proven their worth,” replied the black figure.  

“This time there are forces outside of their control.  Things they are not powerful enough to fight.  This is why we must help them.”  The red lenses tilted up towards the tall man’s face.

“Indeed.  We have a mission, and for the good of all we must not fail.”

Hope you liked the story.  I know that both Loki and the Illusive Man are kind of bad guys, and the the Illusive Man goes heavy off the deep end in ME 3, but that hasn’t happened yet, and I need all of these characters on the same side.  Now, the message.  If you have any ideas for stories you want me to write or any characters that fit in with the Shadowed Lords you want to include, please tell me and I will consider writing them if the fit in.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, or questions, don’t hesitate to ask!  I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope that you have a great day.  Or night.  Or whatever.  

Edit: Also, Revenant is a sociopathic murderer, so he isn’t exactly a good guy either.  

[crystallized-shadow]

MadaTobi: “So why did I have to punch that guy?”

Sorry this took so long, rl has been a bitch XP I really hope you enjoy this and it was worth the wait :D

Tobirama liked to consider himself a calm and rational individual and most would agree, outside of his occasional research binge. However, listening to the absolute buffoon of a man drunkenly insult the one who held his heart without killing the drunk where he stood was taking every ounce of calm in his body. Honestly, Tobirama had no idea why the shinobi thought this was a good place to voice his unflattering opinion when literally any Uchiha could walk in and hear him insult their clanhead. Rolling his eyes at how peace had made some forget why only the “God of Shinobi” could match Madara, Tobirama finishes up his meal and leaves the establishment. If he marks the drunken idiot with his chakra as he passes, well that’s no one’s business but his.

The next morning, Tobirama’s not even surprised when his office door bangs open and Madara strides in. “Senju,” he states in an arrogant tone, making Tobirama raise an eyebrow as the door clicks shut. “So why did I have to punch that guy?”

“Found him already?” Tobirama can’t help but chuckle, a smirk twisting his lips.

“I always find your chakra,” Madara points out as he crosses over to the Senju’s desk; it was a game they’d started playing early on in their relationship. Whoever left first would mark something with their chakra for the other to find on their way to work. Given that few sensors were as powerful as the two, it was just a trace amount and the other shinobi hadn’t noticed the marks yet. “So I’ll ask again,” Madara mutters, bracing his hands against the solid wood to get right in Tobirama’s face, “why did I have to punch him?”

Tobirama takes a moment to enjoy the way the tendons of Madara’s neck shift as he speaks, looking oh so biteable, before he speaks. “The idiot decided alcohol entitled him to speak some rather unpleasant lies about you.”

“Ah,” Madara sighs, slouching a little at the truth. It was hardly the first time anyone had badmouthed him, he just wasn’t as friendly as Hashirama, but he hated it when people did it around Tobirama. The Senju, too used to whispers behind his own back growing up, couldn’t stand to hear people speak ill of his precious people. “I should have broken more than his nose then.”

“That should be enough to make him hold his tongue next time,” Tobirama says with an uncaring shrug, pulling Madara down for a kiss, “or I’ll break his jaw next time.”

“He’s going to think I was watching him,” Madara chuckles against Tobirama’s lips, kissing the younger man again, “I like it.”

“Maybe I’ll start marking people then,” Tobirama ponders, releasing Madara so he can step back before Hashirama bursts into the room. He didn’t care if they had both professed their love for each other, neither man wanted to let others know yet.

After that day, Tobirama had started marking people that deserved a good punch in the mouth for speaking ill of his Madara. It had taken less than a week for citizens of Konoha to start thinking the second most powerful shinobi in the village were constantly spying on them. Hashirama had pleaded with Madara to stop, but even that had only decreased the frequency of the game. In the end, it was Mito that had realized what Tobirama was doing and revealed it.

“Excuse me,” Tobirama mutters harshly under his breath, leaving a bewildered Hyuga sitting at the table with Mito. The man had wanted to present an issue to the Hokage and his advisor, however Hashirama was needed in a meeting with Madara, so Mito had stepped in. His issue had turned out to be nothing more than 20 minutes of Uchiha bashing before Tobirama had left.

“Rude,” Otoshi Hyuga mutters, frowning at Tobirama’s retreating back.

“You really shouldn’t speak ill of the Uchiha around my brother-in-law,” Mito points out, sipping her tea.

“And why not?” Otoshi huffs, glaring at the redhead, “they are a menace to our village and it’s well known Lord Tobirama hates Uchiha.”

“Oh?” Mito asks, her tone deadly, a clear warning for Otoshi to choose his next words carefully.

“Surely you’ve noticed Lady Mito,” Otoshi plows on, ignoring the warning, “the Uchiha as a whole are too uncontrollable and that madman that leads them is the worst!” The Hyuga sips his tea before continuing. “With how prone he is to snapping at people, I’m surprised our esteemed Hokage doesn’t keep him on a shorter leash.” Otoshi chokes on his next words as the air around him suddenly becomes heavy with a thick, oppressive chakra.

“Surely you’ve noticed Tobirama and I are rather fond of said madman,” Mito states, her tone calm as she sips her tea, Kyuubi’s chakra pulsing off her. 

Otoshi tries to respond, but the swirling chakra presses down on him, hard. Just before the Hyuga can pass out, there is a flash of black before him and Madara is standing between him and Mito, his chakra easily pushing hers back.

“Oi Kitsune,” Madara snaps, frowning when Mito just smiles and withdraws the demon’s chakra in the blink of an eye, “why are you trying to rob me of my fun?”

“So that’s why Tobirama left chakra on him,” she chuckles, “and I was wondering how you always knew who to hit.”

Despite the quiet tone, everyone in the restaurant hears Mito, everyone had turned to see who had been unlucky enough to piss her off. Suddenly they understood how Madara always knew who spoke ill of him; Tobirama had done it. None of them had realized he didn’t agree with everything they were saying, so none of them gave it a second thought before they badmouthed Madara.

“You know how protective Senju get,” he says with a shrug, offering a hand to Mito to help her up.

“I’m aware,” Mito chuckles, accepting the Uchiha’s hand, “I am married to one after all.”

Madara hums in agreement, escorting Mito back to the Hokage Tower before Tobirama can’t keep Hashirama from panicking any longer.

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 81: Turning a Corner

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

The instant Katsuki had asked to “borrow” Park for a bit, the Shiketsu students had erupted into chaos. Shida looked on the verge of panic, those extra limbs of hers twitching, while Tsuchikawa looked only slightly worried.  Shinji looked nervously between him and Park, but ultimately settled into a kind of hard look that mixed protectiveness of his classmate with a trust in Katsuki.

Smart kid.  Respectful too.  Always used his Sir’s around Katsuki.  Exuberant as his old man though, which meant he was best in small doses.

It wasn’t surprising that Tatsuma was the one who had a problem with it.  The giant girl stepped between Katsuki and Park protectively.  “With all due respect, sensei” she began, in the same way Katsuki had used countless times over the years, where no respect was actually intended, but the performative aspect of it was required, “I’m not sure I should allow you to be alone with my classmate.”

For fuck’s sake, what kind of monster did these kids think he was?  And sure, he’d spent more than enough time threatening to blow Villains apart, or shove their heads up their asses, or take out enough of their teeth that they’d be drinking from a straw the rest of their lives, but he wasn’t some psycho who’d explode at the drop of a hat!

Just because he was known for having a temper and this little brat had beat the shit out of his daughter was no reason to think he was going to enact some kind of brutal revenge!

“Sticking by your friend’s a good quality to have,” he said, holding Tatsuma’s gaze and not backing down in the slightest.  But neither did he put up any more of aggressive posture than he already was. He was here to build bridges, not burn them.  “Your classmates are lucky to have you looking out for them.  But I promise you, I’m not here to dish out punishment or anything like that.  I just want to talk.  We won’t even go far, in case you hear something that makes you want to come running.”

Tatsuma frowned, but dropped her challenging stance.  She looked over at Park, her eyes seeming to ask what do you want to do?

And that was the scary thing, wasn’t it?  Park hadn’t flinched, hadn’t budged.  She’s shown no fear whatsoever.  But she hadn’t shown any other kind of reaction either.  It was as though she was just resigned to whatever happened to her.  What the hell had they done to this girl?  Who the hell had done this to this girl?  Even with what he’d read in her file, it didn’t all add up to this.

“It will be fine,” Park said.  “There’s nothing he can do to me.”   That hasn’t already been done was left unsaid, but Katsuki heard it hanging in the air all the same.

He had worked with Heroes who fought traffickers and some of the worst scum the world had to offer, serial killers, rapists, and even cannibals.  Some of them managed to find the balance separate themselves from the job and live at least something like a normal life.  But some of them saw the worst and lost a part of themselves to it. Something inside them died.  You could see it in their eyes.

Park’s eyes were the same.

***

Park followed quietly behind Katsuki, stopping when he did once they got closer to one of the compound’s utility sheds. She remained stoic, almost uncaring, but there was an element of readiness.  He’d been on the receiving end of any number of lectures and chewing outs over the years. He knew what it looked like when you knew you were getting one of those.  This wasn’t it.

It was the kind of readiness where you were prepared to, at a moment’s notice, either physically defend yourself or hold yourself to a dignity that would not give your attacker satisfaction.  He had a brief flashback to being violently restrained and muzzled at his first Sports Festival.

“I am ready, seon seang nhim,” she stated in a neutral tone. She used the Korean phrase for “teacher,” which he vaguely recalled included not using the teacher’s name as it was considered disrespectful to show familiarity.

Katsuki frowned, briefly, but forced himself to keep a more professional expression.  As much as part of him wanted to tear into this kid for beating his daughter, that wasn’t something an adult did to a child.  It wasn’t something a teacher did either.  Katsuki would have to ask the damned hobo how he’d kept himself from killing kids like him.

“Okay,” he said, carefully. His anger rose up in him, like a threating to spill out like a bomb, but he forced it back down.  “I’m not going to lie to you.  I’m mad as hell.  And I’m not saying there wasn’t blame to go around.  But I want to hear your side of things first, before anything else.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Park explained plainly. “The arrogant one had us fight each other to demonstrate a lack of practical martial training as some sort of lesson in not becoming arrogant with our quirks. I treated it as I would any fight in the line of duty.” She tilted her head back at where Hokori and the other Shikestsu students still were. “By the instructor’s own logic, I acted accordingly. If anything, I exercised restraint.” She said all this was stone cold logic, but the expression on her face indicated she didn’t expect him to accept that logic.

Park’s description of Boost-Rush as “the arrogant one” nearly had Katsuki laughing.  If that wasn’t the truth!

“You get you’re a student, right?” he asked. He was trying not to be sarcastic, but some of that bled through. “There’s giving your all in training and there’s going all out in the field.  And even with that, there’s proportionality of a threat.”

His own words came back to haunt him again, ringing in his ears.  HE WON’T DIE IF HE DODGES!

That wasn’t who he was anymore.  Not most days, anyway.  He pushed that particularly unsettling memory down.  “Is that how you do your training at Shiketsu?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “No, I learned that by simply surviving in the neighborhood my parents were dumped in when they fled the Humanist bigots back home. They didn’t realize they would be even less welcome here. Some were very explicit in their disdain of our presence.”

She was speaking calmly, but there was the barest hint of a murderous rage in her eyes, simmering and growing steadily, the lid barely holding it back.

Katsuki knew all about rage. His is irrational, a fire that flares up like one of his explosions and takes out everything that’s nearby.  It’s a flashfire anger, lashing out at whatever upsets him, whatever perceived wrongs the universe or some specific individual has committed against him.  It’s rarely as justified as he’d like to pretend it is.

On his good days, he’s tamed his.  He learned to use it, fueling his actions in battle.  Outside of that, the worst he usually gets these days is yelling. There’s times, like earlier with Boost-Rush, where he did lose his control, and unleashed his anger on someone through violence.  But it’s not like before, not like when he was a child, where would sometimes vent his anger on Izuku for perceived slight of challenging his status as “top dog.”

He hadn’t been a rich kid, like Glasses or Ponytail or IcyHot.  But he’d been remarkably well off as a kid.  Nice neighborhood, never had to worry about anything.  The struggles this kid or others like her had faced, he couldn’t have begun to imagine.  And add being an immigrant on top of that…

“You had to fight just to survive,” he said.  It wasn’t a question.

She stared at him for a moment, then lifted her shirt slightly above her waist. This revealed the scar of a deep gash.

“That was at the hands of Japanese motorcyclists who objected to a “chon” being in their neighborhood.” She turned and exposed her lower back, which revealed a series of jagged scars. “A Zainichi gang leader ran barbed wire over my back for “drawing the Japanese back on us.”

She then kicked off her shoe, leaned down and took the sock off, revealing her little toe was missing. “And that was some of my own “countrymen,” gangsters who wanted me to join them for “solidarity.” I refused. They beat me, then cut that off as a reminder not to be a “race traitor.” And none of that accounts for the casual racism and hate from the “polite aspects” of society. A police force that doesn’t care unless the public outside knows about it, along with no pros to look after my people when this country offered “sanctuary” to us, so yes, Teacher,” she said in Japanese this time, but without the implication of respect. “I have.”

With great effort, Katsuki kept himself under control as Park went through her litany of injuries and injustices.  She was no older than Katsumi or the others, but in terms of life experience, may as well have already been an adult Pro-Hero for all the horrors she had seen.  No wonder she was so ready to strike out during simple training exercises.  The school of hard knocks had nothing on her.

It made his blood boil. Kids should get to be kids, not have to worry about gangs and their neighbors threatening their lives and bodies.   He knew that things had improved some in the last few years, but the Hero Public Safety Commission was still playing a light hand with making inroads to minority neighborhoods.  The really good Heroes went wherever they were needed, but they still played it light with actual Agencies.  That this shit was still happening and no one was really doing anything about it..!

“You got dealt a shit hand,” he growled.  “A kid, no, a woman your age, shouldn’t have had to deal with any of that.  But you survived and showed them you’re tougher than anybody who tried to kick you down.”

He gestured around, broadly. “Most of the kids here, they grew up with pretty cushy lives.”  He thought of Katsumi, when Eijiro had been beaten within an inch of his life.  Of Sato and his kid, when they’d lost his wife. Of Izumi’s infected with a debilitating influence as a means to hurt her grandfather.  Of the small, but still somehow too great a number of close calls, when Villains had tried to cross lines and come after their families.  Of the myriad others who had to worry about whether or not mom or dad was coming home.  

“Not always easy.  And not without their own tragedies.  But you’re operating from a whole different perspective.  Not one they’d understand easily, and not one you’re obligated to explain to them.”

Katsuki continued.  “I was an angry kid too.  Ready to take on anything and everything that pissed me off. I had legitimate issues that were driving my anger.  But I didn’t have real reasons for being angry. I invented them, lies I told myself about why it was okay to be so anger.  But you, you have real reasons.  And don’t let people tell you otherwise.”

He looked her straight in the eye.  “But you’ve got to use that anger.  Direct it at the right people.  And the people at this camp aren’t it.  Everybody’s here to get better.  Everybody’s here because they want to be a Hero and help people.”   He frowned.  “And yeah, my kid was ready to pick a fight with your classmate.  Or you.  She knows she screwed up.”  

It was a good thing he couldn’t share the details of this conversation with Katsumi.  She’d have been pissed at him for admitting that, even if it was the truth.  Or at least, an approximation of it.  She knew it was a bad decision.  Whether or not she’d internalized it as a screw up was a different question.

“I can’t change what happened to you, personally, or to your people or neighborhood.  My job’s to help put you on the best path to being a Hero. And I can’t do that if you’re treating your fellow students or instructors like they’re the enemy.”

He’d managed to get through that without yelling once.  Impressive. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age

She hadn’t gone to put her sock back on. Instead she’d listened to all of what he had to say. It was obvious she’d been expecting a variety of directions for this conversation to go: an angry lecture, threats, self-righteous condemnation, head-in-the-dirt denial, but hadn’t been prepared for acceptance or validation. Especially given his reputation for a short fuse and quick judgements. She’d paid attention to all of it, but had made no movements, nods, or sounds to indicate her stance.

When he finished, Park was quiet for a long time. Unknowingly she had begun to hold her cross in her hand, a thumb rubbing across the metal.

“I..I know, but..it’s so hard.” There was the tiniest of breaks in her voice, but she composed herself. She reached down to put her sock back on, probably distract herself from her conflicting feelings.  “I’m used to seeing enemies on all sides.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Walking around with all that anger, even with plenty of therapy, it’s something I deal with every damn day. It’s something I’ve got to constantly be aware of, be on guard against.  I find healthy outlets.  Or, at least, mostly healthy ones.”

He thought back to some of the conversations he’d had with Eijiro over the years, questioning whether he was a good enough person to deserve love and family.  Of long talks with Izuku, about all the wrongs he’d done to him.  Of the making amends part of his therapy and the long time he’d spent grappling with realizing he’d been chasing after a goal without ever truly understanding what it meant.

“There’s days I don’t do that good of a job,” he said, finally.  “The internet’s full of clips from times I lost it.  But I don’t stop trying.”

Park had long since put her sock and shoe back on and was once more listening. She had resumed fiddling with her cross, but not quite as frantically as before.

“Outlets.” She spoke the word with a familiarity that indicated she had heard it multiple times before now. “My parents have tried to find such things for me. A friend of my father’s instructed me in Yongmudo since I was small. Such things have been known to instill discipline, peace of mind, and perhaps even an “outlet.” In truth it just gave me a means to start fighting back. I “want” peace, Teacher, but to strike at those who wronged you...feels very good.” She squeezed the cross, hard enough that he saw her knuckles turn white. She chuckled bitterly.  “Probably what drew them to me to begin with.”

“Them?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.  Was someone using Park?  It only took him a few seconds to connect the dots.  He may have been a brawler at heart, but not for nothing did he have an investigative record second only to Tintin’s.  “The Commission.  Dammit, I thought Hawks had all those programs shut down!”

Park gave him a confused look. “I’m not sure what you mean, but yes, your Hero Commission. I had been rounded up more than once by police for getting in fights with local thugs, but nothing on my record. So I thought anyway. One day a Japanese man in a suit knocks on our door and asks to speak with me. He knows who I am, apparently from the police, and asks me “How would you like to take them down legally?”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Of course I knew these were the bastards who left us without Heroes to protect us. The same ones who unleashed Ignition on Chinese civilians. All the same, they were also the only ones who could arrange Pro protection in the future. I love my family, my community...if it meant working with them, then I would do it. Our neighborhood is poor, purposely nondescript, no way for the big schools to notice. So they arranged for my name to end up on Shiketsu’s radar.”

She shook her head, a rue smile actually crossing her lips. She said some words in Korean, caught herself, then said, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I’ve only ever told my parents and Chie.”

“It must be my winning bedside manner,” he said, putting on a small smile of his own.  He was still going to give that bird-brained Deputy Commissioner a piece of his mind, even if the programs didn’t sound quite the same. It was still predatory as hell.  

“But that’s a good goal,” he said.  “Sounds like you’re doing it for the right reasons.”  Maybe a little revenge, but it still sounded to his ears like she wanted to help, to make a difference, more than she wanted to hurt.   She was sticking up for people who didn’t have anyone else.  Izuku’d like that.  “So I’ll cut you a deal…  You’ve got my permission to walk away from anything here, anytime you get too mad to function.  But in exchange, you’ve got to talk to somebody after, and you’ve got to stop trying to beat the stuffing out of my students.”

Park looked visibly shocked, the first time her usual composure had completely cracked. She was clearly not used to Japanese people in authority being on her side. For the first time since the conversation had started, she finally seemed to show her age.

“Teacher,” she stops, realizing she was using Korean phrasing. “Sanada Sensei in Shiketsu has actually been trying to get me to see their counselor. I have refused every time.” She seemed to think for a moment. “Maybe I should reconsider that.”

At the mention of beating up his students, she closes her eyes. They seem to vibrate a bit, closing them had been a means of hiding intense emotions. A hand squeezed her cross tightly. There was the very smallest hint of wetness to her eyes, but it was brief. Park opened her eyes again.

“I can do that.”

***

Isamu gulped, not for the first time.  Aizawa-sensei made him nervous on a good day, when he was just being his usual brooding self at Class 1-A.  He made him even more nervous when he was giving him direct attention, like what was happening now.  Like several other students, he’d been pulled aside for one-on-one, individualized or small group training.

“You’re getting good with your Quirk,” Aizawa said, flatly.  “Your father must have taught you well.”  Was it just his imagination or was there a little more warmth in his voice when he said that?

“As best he could, Sensei,” Isamu said quickly.  “Though he never got good enough with it for Hero work.”  Why would he say that?!

Aizawa gave him a flat look, one eyebrow slightly raised.  “You really want to dance around this, kid?  I know you know that I know.  Maybe not everything, but enough.  Your parents were pains in my ass, but they did good work.  Especially the Sky Egg.”

This wasn’t a surprise. But it was a surprise to be talking about it so openly.  Sure, he was the kid of a couple of Vigilantes, not Heroes like just about everyone else here.  And sure, Aizawa had worked with his parents multiple times, as had Midnight.  So it wasn’t like he really thought he was hiding anything.  At least not from them.   Deku had figured it out too.  And there were probably more people he hadn’t figured out.  But he hadn’t told any of his friends.  He trusted them, didn’t think it would come back to bite him in the ass.  It was just… something known but not talked about.

“Ah, thank you, Sensei.” That seemed like the proper response. And he didn’t even incur another round of foot in mouth disease.  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

Aizawa gave him a look. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Isamu gulped.

“All of which means I’ve got a pretty good idea of what your Quirk’s capable of,” Aizawa went on. “Yours is like his.  Almost identical, but subtly different if you know what you’re looking for.  I’m surprised Deku didn’t figure it out, honestly. But since you think you’ve got an identical Quirk, you’re limiting yourself.  He figured out ways to use his propulsion offensively and even for short bursts to launch himself, but you’ve already mastered all those tricks.  I’ve even see you firing repulsion blasts without having to brace yourself.  You don’t actually need three points of contact.  And I’ve seen you launch yourself during training too and steer yourself once you’re in the air.  So I want you to try something.”

There was, perhaps, a slightly maniac look in his teacher’s eyes.  “You’re going to fly.”

Isamu gulped yet again and his eyes went wide.  “Sensei?” He definitely couldn’t fly.  He could use a repulsion burst to launch himself and steer a little in the air, even keep himself from too bad of a landing, but he definitely couldn’t fly.   Could he?

Dad has said that he’d been able to slide through the air as a baby.  He’d even been able to recover something like it with boosts through the air. But that was really just not falling, not flying.  Wasn’t it?

He managed a nod. “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll try it.  What do I need to do?”

“Unfortunately,” Aizawa said, “I’m not allowed to just push you off the roof of the compound.  Sink or swim tactics work wonders.”

That was a joke, right? He had to be joking about that! Someone tell him Aizawa was joking!

His teacher’s expression betrayed no hint of emotion.  “So instead, what I want you to do is concentrate your power on pushing against the ground under your feet and the air under your hands.  You’ll need steady output from all four limbs to control it.”

Right.  He could do that.  He could do that.  He could probably do that.  He could possibly do that.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on his Quirk.  Just like when he was sliding along.  Energy out from his feet, energy out from his hands.   Steady, smooth, power.  

Nope!  Not steady!  Too much power flared from his feet and launched him into the air.  Cursed laws of physics!  Isamu cut his Quirk, but it was like trying to stop a bullet after it had already left the gun.  His arms and legs flailed uselessly as he launched skyward, until gravity began to reassert itself and drag him back down. Aizawa wouldn’t just let him go splat, would he?

Boy, was that a stupid question.  

So he had to save himself!

He scrunched up his eyes and concentrated on his Quirk again.   Steady, consistent, power.

Isamu felt the energy flow from all his limbs again, the pressure fairly equal.  Quickly, he realized he wasn’t falling.  His eyes snapped open.  His was only a few feet off the ground, but he was holding himself up in the air, unsteadily.  Trails of blue-white energy from all his limbs filled the air.  He kept his hands pointed carefully down, using them for stabilizing bursts while his feet provided the thrust.  

“Whoa!”  It was extremely unsteady.  His head was already beginning to hurt from concentrating so hard.  But he was doing it!  

And just as easily as it had come about, his concentration wavered and his power faded.  He hit the ground with a soft thump, landing on his butt. Isamu looked up to see Aizawa standing over him, offering a hand up, but also smirking knowingly.  Isamu took it.

“Good,” Aizawa said. “Keep practicing that.  I’ll send Ground Zero over later if you’re still having trouble.  His explosive-powered flight is similar.”

He needed to get very good. Immediately.

And he really needed a conversation with his friends.

***

Kimiko was fuming. Lunch had ended and they hadn’t even been able to begin the big shipping operation!  Even worse, it was entirely possible they wouldn’t get to do it at all! She hadn’t been able to tell what anyone was saying, but it sure looked like Koda and Aoyama had had a major heart-to-heart.  And since it hadn’t ended with any slaps or either of them walking away in tears, it was probably good news!

Which was, in and of itself, a good thing.  Koda definitely deserved all the happiness in the world.  She was probably the sweetest person that Kimiko knew.  And Aoyama was… not exactly a friend, but someone she was definitely friendly with.  Even if he didn’t particularly like Takuma, he was good people under the fancy-pants attitude.  Plus he loved listening to gossip and always had the best dirt on foreign celebrities. If they got together, it was a good thing!

But she didn’t know!  And since she didn’t have her phone, she couldn’t even share her speculation!  There was major league gossip going on and not only couldn’t she share it, but she didn’t even know the full story!

What was the world coming to?!

So many of Class 1-A was dating now!  Midoriya was dating Sora Iida, Takuma was dating Tensei Iida, Mineta was dating Yoarashi, Shoji had his girlfriend Shiryoku from the Business Course, Kaminari was apparently dating Monoma (What?  What was the story there?!  Why didn’t she know any details?!), Haimawari was dating Tetsutetsu, Koda and Aoyama were a maybe, and she was dating Kenta!

So that left… Kirishima-Bakugo, Kocho, Tokoyami, and Shinso, right?  Todoroki wasn’t interested in romance or sex, her loss, but Kimiko could respect boundaries. Sometimes.  And she wasn’t even sure what kind of people Shinso was interested in. He was only about six months younger than most of them, but he sometimes seemed like a kid by comparison.

None of which was relevant to the task in front of her.  Namely, personal medical training with the Metabolic Hero: Bioshock!

“Eri, ah, Doc Clock, sent me over files on everything she’s been teaching you,” Bioshock explained. “Including all the scores from your practice tests.  She’s definitely proud of you.”

Kimiko felt a smile spread across her face.  She’d actually really been applying herself to her medical studies.  Schoolwork didn’t come easily to her, but this was definitely worth it.

“So, pop quiz,” Bioshock said.  “Best way to treat a broken arm in the field?”

This one was easy. “If there’s bleeding, use a sterile dressing to stop it.  If there’s no skin puncture, use my Quirk to assess the extent of the break.  After either one, immobilize, construct a splint if possible.  Once I’ve gotten them to safety, ice packs can help with the swelling.”

He nodded. “Good.  And what’s the most important thing to keep an eye out for when doing search and rescue?”

She knew this one!   “Structural stability and my own safety. Don’t want to make a problem worse and I can’t help anyone if I need someone to rescue me!”

Bioshock nodded again.  “Good,” he said.  “And where in the body would you find a squeedily spooch?”

Panic gripped Kimiko’s heart as she realized she didn’t know the answer to that.  Squeedily spooch… squeedily spooch... what the heck was a squeedily spooch?!

She frowned as she realized he was struggling not to laugh.  “Hey!  That’s not fair!”  Her arms waved wildly through the air as she voiced her displeasure.  He was a teacher, so she couldn’t actually hit him like she would Kenta or Takuma, but… “There’s no such thing as a squeedily spooch!  You can’t just make stuff up like that!  What the heck is wrong with you?!  WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!”

The Rookie held his composure for a moment longer, before breaking into laughter.  “Sorry, sorry,” he said.  “I shouldn’t laugh, but I just wanted to see what you’d do…   Which reminds me, actually, I’ve got a theory about your Quirk…”

He was cut off as a shrill alarm cut through the air.  Bioshock’s face instantly went serious as he looked around.

“Perimeter breach!  Perimeter breach!”  An electronic voice sounded in the space between alarms.

“Come with me,” Bioshock said.  He was clearly trying not to let his worry show. “I’ll get you to the compound…”

If I can was left unsaid.

***

The second the alarms went off, the Rookies and teachers leapt into action, with a speed that would have impressed just about any Hero, forming a defensive circle around the U.A. students.    Uncle Kacchan set off small explosions on his palms, working himself up into the agitated state needed to sweat and use his power to its fullest.  Aizawa unraveled his capture cloth and lifted his goggles to cover his eyes.  Super-Ball dropped into a fighting stance, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet, his rubberized features set into grim determination.    

Ravenous unleashed several of his Binging Balls, the chomping spheroids floating about him like small planets orbiting the sun.  Small puffs of thrust flared from Boost-Rush’s arm pipes.  Bezoar dropped to all fours, his canon emerging from his mouth as he swept the tree line.  Aunt Mahoro pulled a small metal cylinder from her belt, which expanded into a staff.

Aunt Mahoro looked back, as though wanted to assure them that it was going to be okay.  She waved a hand in their direction and the world went a hazy green.  She had to have cast some kind of illusion over the twenty-odd students, probably making the training field look like they weren’t there at all.  Most of them had been on the main grounds, working on their Quirks.  The Shiketsu students, Ojiro, and about a dozen others had been elsewhere on the grounds, receiving their own training.

“We’ll stop or hold off whatever it is,” Toshi heard Aizawa say. Was he imaging it, or was his teacher’s voice shaking?  “You’ve all got full permission to use your Quirks to escape or fight off anything that tries to stop that escape.  The other Rookies are either on their way or protecting your classmates.

As it was, Toshi felt his heart racing in his chest.  A quick glance around revealed a sharp divide in reactions.  Some, like Kocho, along with members of Class 1-B like the bat-like Koumori and Kaniyashiki looked worried, but not overly frightened. They probably even wondered if this was just a test or one of Aizawa’s famous “logical ruses.”  It was absolutely a reasonable reaction to the presence of danger.  But they were all also Hero-students, quickly pushing past it to at least take up basic defensive stances, some of them calling up their Quirks.

The kids who had Hero parents reacted differently.  There was fear first.  They’d all been told the stories of what had happened during their parents’ first training camp.  The injuries. The kidnapping.  The fact that the League of Villains had nearly killed so many of them.  Would have killed so many of them, if not for a lot of luck.  Haimawari too, was reacting similarly.  His experiences between the Internship and the incident on I-Island had stirred up a great deal of courage in his friend, but also shown him how bad things could get very quickly.

This was supposed to have been a safe place.  The world was supposed to have been a safer place. The worst Villains had been faced and defeated.  And yes, it still needed Heroes, still needed people to stand up and say “I am here!” in the fight against evil.  But the past was not supposed to repeat like this.  

Their parents had fought hard so that their lives would not be as filled with trauma.

Already, the Nomu incident has put a lie to that.   Was it becoming even more of one?  Some of them had been tested in that, scarred, made afraid.  Some of them had been spared, aware of the terror but not a part of it.  

The fears of the past rose up to claim them.

But beneath the fear was grim determination.  Katsumi was already scowling, putting herself in front of Izumi.  Asuka had deployed Frog-Shadow and she and Haimawari had both put themselves around Shota.  The Twins looked ready to take off at a moment’s notice.  Tetsutetsu had transformed her arms to metal.  One by one, everyone was activating their Quirks. Even Kocho was extending her wings.

“I don’t need you to protect me, dammit!” Kaminari snapped, pushing Monoma so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, instead of behind him.

Monoma himself looked very pale.  If Toshi didn’t know better, he’d swear the other boy was shaking. He didn’t have any of his support items with him, Toshi realized.  “I.. I was just trying to…”

“Look,” Kaminari said. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m a big girl.”

If ever there was a sign of how seriously his classmates were taking this, it was that Mineta did not make a joke about Kaminari’s statement.  Even Sero was quiet.  This was deadly serious.

“Do you think we are really under attack, Toshi?” Sora asked.

“Quit yapping, all of you!” Katsumi snapped, before he could answer.  Toshi recognized her body language.  Feet planted, knees slightly bent, arms out, fists clenched.  She was spoiling for a fight.  That was Katsumi all over.  Always spoiling for a fight.  After the beating she’d taken, he suspected she was looking for a target even more than usual.  He hoped and prayed that she had the good sense to recognize the odds were very good they were outmatched.

“This is bad,” Fukidashi whispered.  The animated girl’s face had gone blue and covered with hashlines.  “The background music’s getting really scary!”

***

For just a moment, Katsuki was fifteen again.  An arrogant, hot-headed kid with too much rage and an inferiority-superiority complex he won’t even begin to really unpack until he’s failed his Provisional License Exam, and won’t have finished unpacking until…  Well, it’s a work in progress.  But he’s back there, more than twenty-five years ago, thinking that Villains—murderers like Muscular and Dabi, master criminals like Mister Compress, deathrow inmates like Moonfish—don’t stand a chance against his barely trained ass.

He was wrong.  So wrong.  He was captured, perceived as a Villain, with All Might unable to properly fight because he was there.  And then he had to live with the shame of having to be rescued.  Of knowing that Izuku would stage a rescue for him, when he definitely wouldn’t have done the same.  He’d have let those Villains have the “worthless Deku.”

The knowledge of how much of a shit child he was still fills him with shame.

But here and now, even broken and bowed, he will not allow the same thing to happen to his daughter and her classmates.  He’d be cold and dead before he allowed that to happen.

“Just heard from the others,” Mahoro said.  “Sandblast and Locksmith are with the Shiketsu students.  Petal Princess and Lady Luminous are with the other students, and my brother and his student are hooking up with them.  Everyone’s accounted for.”

Boost-Rush tapped the side of his helmet.  “Getting data from the security feed…whatever it is, it’s coming up on us.  It’s managed to evade or disable our entire security system.”

“Any chance it’s a false alarm?” Fujii asked.  The rubberized Hero wasn’t joking.  It was a genuine statement.  “Nobody should know the students are here.”

“No one was supposed to know the first time either,” Aizawa snapped.  “Don’t let your guard down.”  Bakugo had to give the hobo credit.  Even in his mid-fifties, he still looked more than ready to kick anyone’s ass who trifled with his “kids.”

“Not a chance,” Mahoro said. “Hatsume and Shield designed all of it. But if it’s not an attack on them, it’s an attack on us Rookies.”

Either way, it wasn’t good.

There was a rustling in the grass of the tree line and suddenly, something emerged.  At first, he didn’t see anything, until he looked down.

“What the fuck?”

It was a… dog?  A Shiba Inu, if he was any judge.  

“What the fuck?”

Not just a dog, he realized. A dog wearing clothes.  It had on a dog-version of a Shiketsu uniform, complete with a peaked cap that its ears were poking through, and a backpack.

“What the fuck?”

The dog looked around and seemed to smile.  There was a strange, human intelligence to his eyes.  Eyes that finally fell on Bakugo, the other teachers, and the Rookies.

“Hi!” the dog said. “I’m Hachi Inuzaki from Shiketsu! Sorry I missed the bus!  It took me forever to get here!”

Katsuki felt like someone had just punched him in the face.  Aizawa, Fujii, and the Rookies were equally dumbfounded.

“What,” he said, “and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck?”

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.5.13 “Solution of Some Questions of The Municipal Police”

Oh man. This one got long.

The spectacle continues. Fantine and Javert do not walk to the precinct alone; they’re followed by all the jeering spectators that were watching the fight. They are still yelling, laughing, genuinely finding amusement in Fantine’s humiliation. Fantine has returned to the mechanical lack of self she had before the fight. In the course of this chapter we’ll see her continuously oscillate between outbursts of presence and self-assertive distress, and moments of frightened distance and emotional shut-down.

“Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour.” Hugo keeps reiterating this. One of the worst things, aside from being an actual antagonist, aside from being an actual actor in the ruin of a person, is to be a bystander, a rubbernecker. There are no innocent bystanders, and by standing there, watching, finding glee and entertainment in the suffering of others, you are part of the problem. Curiosity is good, when it’s curiosity in pursuit of a solution or an answer in order to help someone. Curiosity is bad when the interest is purely voyeuristic. (I want to know why Hugo decided to use “to see” (voir) rather than “to watch” (regarder) in this sentence.)

Hugo’s discussion of the relationship between sex workers and cops is so sharp. The police have complete control over what happens to sex workers, who they choose to let go and who they bring in, how they are punished and for how long. I imagine, in cases that don’t include Javert, there’s a lot of “I won’t detain you if you sleep with me etc” type behavior from other cops. (Perhaps this is why Javert is so scary; he can’t be bribed or convinced and doesn’t use his status as leverage like that.) The police can “confiscate at will those two sad things they call their industry and their liberty.” This line just gets to me. The only thing people as poor as Fantine feel they have left is their way of making a living, and their freedom to be alive. Everything is else is on loan or in debt. And the cops can take those last two things at any moment. Not only that, but their industry and their liberty are both intrinsically connected to their bodies. Their industry isn’t something they can leave at the end of the day; they are always existing within the body that is also the main component of their livelihood.

I don’t know enough about legal proceedings of the era, but Javert is judge and jury here, condemning Fantine all by himself to six months in prison. On the other hand, Valjean (and Champmathieu) must go to court at Arras in order to be sentenced. Is this Hugo doing his Artistic Liberties handwavy thing, or could this have actually been done? It seems odd that some people could be sentenced by a random policeman and others have to go to court in front of a jury.

“It was one of those moments in which he exercised without restraint, but with all the scruples of a strict conscience, his formidable discretionary power.” Javert is extremely aware of his role in all of this. What’s fascinating to me about Javert is that he isn’t going around convicting people willy nilly, randomly making up crimes and things to fit a quota the way cops do in present day. With Fantine (and later, with Valjean, and even with the Thenardiers) he sits and he considers and he thinks about what he’s witnessed until he’s sure he’s seen a crime. The problem is, his morals and opinions are so rigid and unchanging that he could probably find crime almost anywhere, because he’s completely inflexible about what things are good or bad. Also, this arrest of Fantine is apparently a “great” (grande, as in big) thing, which I find interesting. Prostitution is essentially legal, so perhaps for him it’s a big thing because he finally has a reason to arrest someone whose legal profession he morally disagrees with? Or perhaps Fantine isn’t registered while most others are? Or maybe it’s big because it’s not just an arrest of a sex worker, but of a sex worker who has committed violence against a well-to-do gentleman? I don’t know.

“He was conducting a trial.” Nearly every time Hugo uses this phrase, when an individual character is conducting a trial of someone or something else, the resulting judgement is incorrect or too extreme. This happened with Valjean’s trial against religion, Javert is doing it here and will do it again at the end of the novel, Marius sort of does it to Valjean after the wedding. Each time a person’s worth is judged by a single person, the judgement falls short.

Fantine is terrified of prison, but part of her fear isn’t prison itself, but the wages. She’s more worried about the welfare of Cosette than herself. This makes sense to me. To her, prison itself probably doesn’t feel like it would be too much more miserable than her current state. The only increase in her misery would be her worry for Cosette and her inability to pay for her daughter’s care.

“Without getting to her feet, she dragged herself along the floor, dirtied by the muddy feet of all these men, clasping her hands, on her knees.” What an intense image. This is the condition of poor women: forced to beg for mercy from men who have power over them, while crawling through all the problems caused by those men’s uncaring and manipulative actions, dirtied by the utter lack of assistance from anyone with the actual power to help, and scoffed at when they clasp their hands and kiss the coattails of their oppressors.

Fantine’s monologue to Javert makes me so sad because she goes back and forth between “I did nothing wrong” and “maybe I was wrong to react the way I did,” when her reaction was so completely right. She asks, “Do they have the right to throw snow down our backs when we are going along quietly without harming anybody?” and I feel as though, in Javert’s eyes, they kind of do, because he disapproves of her profession in the first place. Fantine also brings up her illness here and in her other monologues, never as an excuse or even as an attempt to elicit pity, simply as an explanation. She also says “I wasn’t immodest with him, I didn’t speak with him. That was when he put the snow on me.” She literally tells Javert that she wasn’t trying to engage with Bamatabois in any way, that she was completely ignoring him even as he tried to incite her. The last chapter doesn’t mention how long he was mocking her for, only that her pacing brought her back to his spot “every five minutes,” which means he must have been out there harassing her for quite some time before he shoved snow down her back and she snapped. And yet, here she talks herself in a circle, suddenly turning around and saying “Perhaps I was wrong to get mad.” It’s just so sad that she’s completely in the right and yet she doubts even that.

And Javert doesn’t hear a word of her explanation or her pleas. She realizes this, and instead tries to use Cosette. But this isn’t her using Cosette to save herself, this is using Cosette to save Cosette. She realizes that if she goes to prison she won’t be able to pay for Cosette. She tries to use her “poor starved child,” tries to ask for pity for Cosette. If Javert won’t pity her, a sex worker, maybe he’ll pity her as the mother of a little girl. But considering Javert’s childhood, he probably sees Cosette as equally as bad as her mother, because she’s the child of a prostitute, born out of wedlock, living in poverty with some random innkeepers two hundred miles away.

“I’m not a bad woman at heart. It’s not laziness and greed that have brought me to this; I’ve drunk brandy but it was from misery.” God, this line. I don’t even know who would think something like greed or laziness (but especially greed) could bring someone into this line of work. Maybe if she was, like, a well-known professional sex worker in a Paris brothel she could make good money, but as a random woman walking the streets in a garrisoned town? She clearly makes practically nothing. And poverty like this isn’t lazy at all. Every second not spent sleeping is spent trying to make money, worrying about being able to pay rent or debts or to find food or some way to keep warm or whatever. I hate that even today people still think poverty comes from laziness.

“Great grief is a divine and terrible thing that transfigures the wretched. At that instant Fantine had again become beautiful.” I don’t really know what to do with this line. It feels like a weird fetishization of poverty and suffering?

“She would have softened a heart of granite; but you cannot soften a heart of wood.” Why can’t you soften a heart of wood? Because wood only rots when it gets soft. I do find it interesting that Hugo calls Javert’s heart wooden, but uses statue imagery for him for the rest of the chapter.

Javert declaring that "The Eternal Father in person couldn’t help you now” is a heavy line. The law is above even god here. If god appeared right now and told him to free Fantine, Javert is saying he wouldn’t do it. A page later we see him reluctantly stand down to Valjean, which negates this statement, but it’s interesting that at this instant, he says wouldn’t even be moved to mercy by god. And it’s true, he’s not moved to mercy, ever. At no point is it ever his decision to let Fantine go. He does not bow to pleas for mercy, but he will bow to authority, even if he questioned it a moment before.

Valjean enters without being noticed and watches the exchange. I feel like this is a weird reversal of Hugo’s “to see is to devour” from earlier in the chapter. Valjean is watching, but not out of voyeuristic curiosity. He intends to actually act, to do something about what has happened and help someone who needs help.

Throughout the last few chapters, Fantine has grown rougher with each loss. Her speech and personality has changed, she drinks, she is louder, less polite, and more childish. She’s lost her “modesty” and with that any pretense. There’s no more masking. She’s not trying to fit in, because that’s not happening anymore.

Somehow I’ve glossed over this line each time I’ve read the book, but when Fantine spits in Madeleine’s face, Hugo seems to imply that it reminds Javert of his suspicions re: Madeleine’s true identity. Javert sees this action and makes the connection between convict-Valjean and Fantine, and instead of seeing the sacrilege of a prostitute spitting on a mayor, for a moment he sees an interaction between two outlaws of society: a convict and a prostitute.

I’ve noticed that Fantine talks to herself in reaction to being freed in the same way that Valjean talked to himself when Myriel was first kind to him/when the bishop told the gendarmes to set him free, and the same way Eponine talks to herself. There’s a marked difference between moments when characters “talk to themselves” but it’s obvious that it’s a narrative mechanic of them thinking in their heads, and when they actually talk to themselves while other people are present. For Fantine and Valjean, it’s in moments when they are in great emotional shock/distress that they speak aloud to themselves while other people are present. (I’m not sure what to make of that in terms of Eponine, who always seems to be speaking mostly to herself.)

Fantine starts out this monologue talking to herself, but then she turns it into talking to Javert. It’s interesting that her utter rejection of Valjean means that she’s actually turning to Javert to speak, despite being absolutely terrified of him only moments ago.

Fantine announces that she’s not afraid of Valjean. Of course she’s not; in her eyes he’s done everything to her that he can. He has caused all her suffering and doesn’t have the power to cause anything more. She’s still afraid of Javert because he still has the power to hurt and ruin her. He can fine her or send her to prison, and condemn her for as long as he likes. She doesn’t know anything about Valjean, except that she assumes he doesn’t care. What she knows about Javert is that he does care, only that care is on the side of punishment, not one of mercy. It’s interesting then that she continues to try and appeal to his better nature (one which he does not possess) or to his pity (which he also does not possess). She also continues to try and convince herself that it is Javert who has decided to let her go, not Madeleine. It’s almost as though she thinks that if she can convince herself that he’s the one letting her go, she can also convince him to actually do it.

Fantine’s monologues keep coming back to wages. She specifically criticizes the way that the prison contractors do wrong to poor people by paying them so little for so much labor. Her discussion of her own expenses is also still applicable to modern day. She still owes money to the Thenardiers, but she’s up to date on her rent. This is still the experience of the poor: you deal with more immediate expenses first, and debts come second, even as they continue to rack up.

Both Fantine and Javert are thrown off balance by Madeleine’s declaration. Fantine spends her entire monologue before attempting to leave trying convince herself that it is Javert that has let her go. It is only when she hears Madeleine confirm that he was the one who declared it that she is thrown off-kilter, having to reconcile her opinion of Madeleine with his (perceived) actions. Javert is thrown by someone in an authority position acting the way that Madeleine is; this is the first time we see him actually question authority and refuse to act on an order.

“...that order, law, morality, government, society itself, were personified in him, Javert?” This is the only time, I think, where Hugo implies that a character is consciously becoming a Symbol. The fact that Hugo even suggests the potential for Javert to see himself as the embodiment of law, morality, society, etc is unique, because no other character sees themselves as the embodiment of such big concepts. The closest might be Valjean seeing himself as a Bad Person Forever, but even that is a much smaller concept, in that Valjean is looking at his past self, not at himself as the entire concept of Criminals Everywhere. But Hugo only gives two choices when it comes to Javert: either he is questioning authority for the first time in his life, or he is consciously becoming a Symbol. It turns out to be the former, but both of these things are really extremely significant.To become a conscious symbol, or even to have the potential of becoming a conscious symbol, is a unique level of conceptual engagement for a character, almost like starting to break the fourth wall. And questioning authority is a First for Javert here, significant because it starts the ball rolling and he continues to question Madeleine’s authority from here on out, even if it’s only to himself and not to his face.

“The insult does not belong to him, but to justice.” Okay so Hapgood translates this line a little differently, but WOW I love this FMA version a lot. Just the idea that something as small as an insult doesn’t even get to belong to the person it was directed at, but instead can be entirely claimed by the law. Now, I know that this line is supposed to mean that Fantine’s insult to Madeleine was by default also an insult to justice due to Madeleine’s authority position, but I always read it as the law taking this insult for its own use. Like, “This societal outcast insulted someone, so now we can arrest her, because any sort of social indiscretion from someone like that belongs to the law” or “this insult, because it was made in the presence of police by someone in custody, now belongs to the law rather than her or her target.” (It also reminds me of modern day cops, who arrest or threaten to arrest people simply for hurting their little baby feelings despite doing nothing illegal.)

Fantine goes through a parallel struggle to Valjean here. The man she hated so much (Madeleine) was her savior, just as the religion Valjean doubted and hated had been his. I mean, literally they have the same “two paths, one of light and one of darkness” symbolism, the same angel/demon symbolism, the same conflict about whether or not they must change their whole soul and beliefs, the same absolute terror, and then the final feeling of hope and gratitude. She kneels in front of Valjean the same way Valjean knelt in front of Myriel’s door.

This is also the first time we see Valjean’s benevolence in speech, action, and monetary terms. He rescued Fauchelevent, but we don’t seem him speak to Fauchelevent after that despite the purchase of his horse and cart and getting him a new job. We never see him speak to anyone else that he helps, especially since his usual mode is Reverse Robbery (thank you Mellow for that term btw) rather than in-person benevolence. But we do get him not only rescuing Fantine from prison, but speaking to her, offering her monetary help, offering her pretty much any assistance towards happiness. I wonder if the difference between Valjean’s interaction here with Fantine, and his interaction with Fauchelevent or any other person he gives money to or helps, is that this is the first instance that he feels guilty or personally responsible. Every other act of charity, including Fauchelevent is just that, selfless charity just because. But this, Fantine, is Valjean righting a wrong that has been done. Even though it was without his knowledge, he still seems to feel responsible.

Once again, we have a moment of hope for Fantine that is immediately dashed. Fantine is free, she’s going to get her daughter back, she can leave her miserable life for something better, her debts will be paid, she can be happy. Only she faints, and she spends the rest of her time in hospital until her death.

[churchyardgrim]

#2 from the d&d ask meme? it is a fantastic question

before they met their party, what was their main goal?

oooo excellent opportunity to plug my boy’s four page backstory that i just realized i never posted here!

tldr Silas wants to study a perfect immortal in order to defeat death, bc death insulted him once and he never got over it hghdfg

Silas Edelhart has a problem. That problem is death.

He was born to minor nobility, old money making use of their hereditary ambition to generate new money on the merchant routes, and he was lucky enough to not be his father’s preferred heir; he was allowed to take to academia, or else join some priesthood and curry favor with the lesser sons of other noble houses. He chose academia.

He was enamored with it. The libraries! The minds to learn from. The men. The women! The men. The only disappointment was that apprentice physicians did not get invited to many parties, something Silas was hard at work remedying when he was presented with an unwittingly significant patient.

A farm hand from outside the city had been delayed in reaching them for medical care, and his injuries - an accident with a plow, they were told - had gone gangrenous. He was insensible with fever, and would have lost the leg even if his people hadn't taken so long in getting him to the medics; as it was, despite amputation and efficient treatment for blood poisoning, he expired overnight, in Silas's care.

Silas was crushed. He had done everything right, double and triple checked his protocols, and still the man had died. “No one blames you, of course,” one of the senior physicians said to him, “these things simply happen.”

Maybe they ‘simply happened’ to other people, Silas thought bitterly, but he was better than that. He had decided the man would live, and his performance had been flawless! The terminity of a mere natural law to stand in the way of his will was intolerable. Incensed, Silas threw himself at his studies, dead set that it should never happen again.

Resurrection magic wasn't what he was after initially; he only wanted to keep the living where they were. But he found quickly that the popular consensus was that healing magic could only do so much, and most simply accepted its failures as they did any other misfortune. So he hunted out spells to wrench the dead back, hidden and fragmented in books his instructors only grudgingly let him read. Time would tell if they would be enough, however; none of the accounts of their use he had read gave any indication of the effects being permanent. It would be so embarrassing, to put so much work into defying death only to have his prize killed in a careless accident! He would not settle for anything less than complete immunity from death.

His practice only pushed him deeper into this conviction; plenty of his patients lived, much improved from treatment, but a few still died despite his efforts, reigniting his rage at death every time. He began to get a reputation for it, and some of his peers started tactfully funneling away those patients that seemed likely to die with or without medical care, to spare themselves his rants. Many of them thought his anger came from an insult to his skills, but this was all wrong; he knew his skills were exceptional, the failure was not his.

It is the gods’ fault, Silas decided. The gods had set this wretched law in place, to kettle and humble mortal creatures. But... no, the gods themselves are yet subject to death, have died in scores. So, death is a greater power than even them.

But in one book, ill-used and forgotten, Silas found mention of a god returning from death. A resurrection on a divine scale. And once that possibility had revealed itself, the hints between the lines of other books made themselves apparent; someone had performed that resurrection, exercised mastery over death in such a way that it left Silas’s mouth watering. How? How had it been done?

The next few months of frantic research and evasion - the concern from his tutors was enough to warn him that no one wanted him to go looking for this - led him eventually into the university’s vaults. To a broken-legged construct, dormant, containing a withered, desiccated hand. Not the hand of the godly resurrectionist, no, but the hand of someone who, certain books implied, might have been a devotee of that individual. A relic of a necromantic saint.

Silas stole it, of course he did. Made use of a debt owed by an engineer of the local guilds to repair the construct housing, and treated it as a treasured prize. Such mysteries, opening to him now with the artifact’s communion; he graduated quickly from books to practice, retreating into his own rooms to make frogs twitch and test ancient ideas on the animation of flesh. He took on fewer and fewer patients, withdrew from the society of his peers… for the most part.

Sera Mournleaf was brilliant. Sera Mournleaf was intense. And some days, Sera Mournleaf was the only thing that could distract him from his work. An elf with connections, she did him many favors in getting him subjects to work on, meat with which to test his theories, and had an insightful and sparkling mind with which to discuss the less publicly acceptable aspects of spitting in the face of death. So what if she stayed up later than him some nights, reading and rereading his notes. So what if every time she visited her aging human father she came back slumping with worry. He cannot expect things to be about him all the time!

Besides, he had little focus to spare for things not his research, now. He had been forced to take up the shovel himself, more than once, to find fresh bodies that would be more difficult to trace back to him - they keep a close eye on the university morgue, he learned better than to try that more than once. And he had had no small success, stripping corpses of their unnecessaries and stitching the most promising parts to one another, speaking to his prized relic with equal parts demand and prayer.

The results infuriated him at first. Lurching, wretched things, no better than flesh constructs, most of them had to be destroyed; that shriveled hand granted Silas holy fire as easily as it had clues to the resurrectionist arts. But he persisted, and grew to view them as necessary stepping stones towards a greater perfection. He grew more bold, more reckless, and felt himself forever on the verge of a cataclysmic revelation.

It was not to be. He was found out. The right word in the right ear brought the law crashing down on his shoulders, and he watched them burn his experiments with a guardsman kneeling on his back. It was broken, all of it, his research carted away in boxes (fewer boxes, maybe, then he thought there should have been), and Silas himself thrown in prison to scream his rage at the uncaring stone.

The trial was a farce. Somehow, Silas's family managed to find reason enough to pull half the lawyers in the city to his defense, while at the same time making it very clear that under no circumstances was he to darken their doorstep ever again. In the same two hour span his prospects went from life imprisonment to a mere slap on the wrist of exile, and then summarily informed that he had been neatly removed from the last will and testament of his every living family member. It was a very trying day.

At the end of it he was stripped of his qualifications, most of his wealth confiscated, and ejected from the city with his mouth sewn shut with wire; an archaic punishment for heresy, invoked here merely as sorry consolation on the part of the law that they couldn’t execute him outright. In the proper spirit of the thing, he should have left the stitches in place and let himself starve, and in deference to the bare truth of his crimes Silas endured it for three days before getting sick of the whole thing and cutting himself loose.

He had managed to keep his precious relic in its construct housing, the only thing worth bribing a minor official to sneak out of evidence lockup, and he quickly put distance between himself and wretched Misthaven, thinking nothing but bitter thoughts towards his betrayer. Selfish, horrible Sera; she had gotten cold feet, most likely. Come over all moral about what he had been doing, let slip to the magistrate that perhaps she knew who had been plundering the city's burial grounds at night. Well! She will just have to wait and see, won't she. Wait until he can begin his work again, reach as yet unseen heights of resurrection. Then he would return to Misthaven and enact some fitting revenge, on her and all those who had a hand in ruining him.

(Miss Mournleaf could have argued, the better part of a year later, that his unwitting parting gift was revenge enough. Babies scream like they’re being murdered, and the damn thing looks just like him. She left it with the nuns and got on with the business of saving her father.)

And so he wandered, working as a physician in small towns and middling cities, trying his damndest to reestablish his research in some capacity. But his funds never stretched that far, and neither did the patience of his neighbors; more than once he had to flee under cover of night, for misdeeds real or imagined. Most of these were unmemorable affairs, and only irritated him. Once, the mercenary paid to kill him proved a delightful match, in combat and energy, and the man made an affair of running away with Silas, and Silas ended up growing remarkably fond of Cassian Hellier, for all his unrefined brutishness. They still keep in touch, whenever either of them is in civilization long enough to hire a messenger to carry letters.

A decade passed in this fashion before Silas began to hear rumors. Travelers between worlds, fading in and out of unearthly mist, serving a genuine immortal. He seized upon these threads, passion alight again; a near perfect undead, far superior to the wretched things he had managed to raise back in Misthaven, yes. He would follow the travelers, seek out their master, see what, if anything, of the rumors were true. If they are... he would study, and learn, and replicate the results. And if not? Well, the corpse of even a lesser undead would be a beautiful thing.

[mrhotmaster]

16 Movies You Can Enjoy At Home During Lockdwown

16 Movies Or Series You Can Watch At Your Home During This COVID19 Lockdown

Whether videos of ping-pongs taken to the zoo or cats play games with their owners, the internet in these coronavirus holiday weeks can be an endless entertainment outlet as you ace social distancing.

Better Call Saul, Netflix 

This current one's a moderate burner made by Vince Gilligan and Peter Gould, and is a side project from the previous' massively effective Breaking Bad. 

A great part of the cast of Breaking Bad, spare the two lead characters, show up in this show. The hero of this wrongdoing dramatization is Jimmy McGill played by Bob Odenkirk. 

The show serves as an independent forerunner to Breaking Bad and outlines the moderate plummet of the adorable and road brilliant McGill into the universe of wrongdoing. 

McGill is an independent man who earned his law degree while working in the sorting room, who at that point turns into a seriously paid legal counselor who works out of the back of a nail salon. 

Despite the fringe criminal ways McGill completes things, the cards he has been managed nearly cause one to identify with his obscure character. 

Hunters, Amazon Prime Video 

Motivated by accounts of genuine 'Nazi trackers', the polarizing show follows a diverse gathering of individuals who have decided to unite as one to search out war crooks stowing away (generally) in America under new personalities. 

The show stars Al Pacino as Meyer Offerman, a Jewish altruist and Holocaust survivor who serves as the pioneer of the gathering secretively chasing Nazis in New York. 

While genuine trackers, similar to Simon Wiesenthal, took their discoveries to the police or the media, the show's characters volunteer to vindicate the Jews who endured because of Nazis. 

Also, it is this demeanor that makes their most youthful enlist, Jonah Heidelbaum (Logan Lerman) who assumes his late grandma's position in the gathering, questions everything that he has faith in. 

With components of a retaliation dream and sarcastic comic book-narrating, the show has issues yet there's some heavenly acting in here. 

Curb Your Enthusiasm, Disney Hotstar 

Changing the least complex stuff into heavenly workmanship takes an uncommon ability. What's more, Larry David, author, and co-maker of Seinfeld, who plays a fictionalized variant of himself in Curb Your Enthusiasm, is a past ace. 

To vent his wrath at flimsy tables and tepid espresso, he opens up a 'show disdain toward store', a café directly close to the café with the shaky tables and tepid espresso. 

Without either, obviously. The tenth and freshest period of this arrangement is as applicable to the occasions as could be expected under the circumstances, tossing in references to Harvey Weinstein and the #MeToo development. 

There's additionally a scene where David circumvents town wearing a MAGA (Make America Great Again) cap after finding that the adornment promoted by Donald Trump has exactly the intended effect in warding individuals off (social separating before coronavirus).

Afsos, Amazon Prime Video 

This miniseries follows Nakul, an essayist so ineffective that he endeavors to end it all sequentially. He stays safe, yet the equivalent can't be said for the individuals who spare him. 

On the off chance that this plot wasn't sufficiently strange to warrant a watch, Nakul chooses to enroll the assistance of 'changed' contract-executioners who presently 'help' individuals needing to kick the bucket. 

While Nakul, played by Gulshan Devaiah, holds the story together, Heeba Shah as the fatal professional killer Upadhyay is a treat to look for her vacant promise to what she calls 'craftsmanship'. 

Toss in a lot of researchers chasing for an everlasting status mixture, and a sadhu following Nakul because he has all the earmarks of being unfading, and you have a story ready with unexpected developments. 

Coordinated by Anubhuti Kashyap, Afsos has a lot of things amiss with it, yet its chilled demeanor to horrible subjects like mortality and casualty makes it watchable. 

Kidding, Disney Hotstar 

This Jim Carrey starrer is currently gushing on the web and it is suggested in any event, for the individuals who have recently been put off via Carrey's over the top acting in droll works, for example, Ace Ventura. 

Carrey is viewed as Jeff Pickles, a cherished TV moderator who is venerated by kids and grown-ups the same, on account of his long-running manikin appear. 

Mr. Pickles is a fantasy-like individual who shows kids important life exercises. In any case, when he loses one of his twins, his melancholy leaves him distressed and all he needs to do is recognize that misfortune on the show and show his watchers (basically kids) about death, something the producers of his manikin show emphatically restrict. 

The impactful arrangement is a story of how Pickles manages the passing of a youngster, at the same time attempting to secure the multimillion-dollar brand domain that is based on his 'glad' picture. 

Self Made, Netflix 

This restricted arrangement sees Octavia Spencer as the chronicled figure of Sarah Breedlove, generally archived as America's first African-American specialist who proceeded to turn into a tycoon in the mid-1900s. 

The independent business visionary and humanitarian made a realm out of making makeup and hair care items for dark ladies. 

Spencer, commended for her job in the Academy Award-winning film The Help, convincingly plays Breedlove, directly from her long stretches of being a single parent who began by being a washerwoman to help her girl to build a business called the Madam C J Walker Manufacturing Company. 

Coordinated by Kasi Lemmons, the story has been fictionalized somewhat to rethink the battles of a lady conceived on a cotton ranch to an in the past oppressed family, yet the vibe great arrangement is to a great extent dependent on evident occasions. 

Am Not Okay With This, Netflix 

This story about growing up figures out how to viably radiate a feeling of relaxed fear. 

The show begins by revealing to us that the hero, Sydney Novak (Sophia Lillis), is managing each adolescent issue ever young person has ever had. 

But, when she gets extremely furious, the object of her annoyance feels like they've been hit by a concealed scoop. 

Among the most inconspicuous of these anger instigated periods is the point at which Novak's closest companion's beau, whom the hero loathes, begins seeping from his nose out of nowhere. 

Things just deteriorate from that point and Novak has no clue why her wrath can "get things going". 

In light of a comic book by Charles Forman, Novak helps us a little to remember Carrie, the hero of Stephen King's eponymous novel, just as Eleven from Stranger Things since both these little youngsters additionally have supernatural forces, yet the likenesses end there. 

Pushpavalli, Amazon Prime Video 

Season two of this dramatization sees humorist Sumukhi Suresh return as Pushpavalli, a young lady whose exceptionally flawed endeavors at charming a suitor, Nikhil (played by Manish Anand), left watchers alarmed. 

A Tamilian from Bhopal who follows Nikhil to Bengaluru, the in any case clever Pushpavalli keeps on keeping crowds snared with her shamelessly tangled endeavors to snare the man she had always wanted. 

In the wake of hijacking his pooch, paying off a chaiwallah to do her offering and getting her leg broken, Pushpavalli proceeds to discover inventive methods for escaping predicament, so imagine a scenario in which that requires getting connected with to another person, or releasing a reptile among clueless kids. 

Extraordinary notice must be made of Bengaluru-based on-screen character Shraddha in this all-around scripted show as Vasu, the nightie-wearing, hockey stick-using proprietor who runs Pushpavalli's paying visitor settlement. Vasu's character alone merits a show to itself.

Guilty, Netflix 

Enlivened by how those blamed for lewd behavior have gradually advanced go into society, this Karan Johar creation means to revive discussions around the #MeToo development. 

Coordinated by Ruchi Narain, the film stars Kiara Advani as Nanki, whose sweetheart Vijay 'V J' Pratap Singh (Gurfateh Singh Pirzada) is blamed for assaulting his school batchmate. 

A government official's child and an artist, V J is the most dateable person nearby, while the lady who blames him, Tanu (Akansha Ranjan Kapoor), is somebody despised profoundly for being uproarious, consideration chasing and uncaring. 

The film gives the advantage of the uncertainty to the two gatherings, making crowds question if Tanu is imagining everything for exposure (something she is prepared to do), just as throwing questions on V J's Teflon notoriety. 

As the specialists examine, Nanki embarks to discover reality for herself, at the same time doing combating her very own evil presence. 

Mentalhood,  ALT Balaji and zee5 

Karisma Kapoor makes her Web debut as Meira, a mother of three, in this account of how defective guardians attempt to bring up their children as most ideal as. 

A previous Miss Kanpur, Meira has as of late moved to Mumbai to raise a 'cutting edge family' with Sanjay Suri who stars as her obsessive worker spouse. 

The arrangement likewise includes a reliable star cast that incorporates Sandhya Mridul, Tillotama Shome, Shilpa Shukla, Shruti Seth and Dino Morea. 

Made by Ekta Kapoor and coordinated by Karishma Kohli, the show diagrams Meira's development into a blogger who composes on everything from nourishment to sex jobs with expectations of making a child-rearing aide. 

The show seems to be being motivated by the Reese Witherspoon and Nicole Kidman-starred American dramatization Big Little Lies and, in contrast to the American arrangement, this sermonizing arrangement is probably going to be delighted in additional by watchers who have youngsters. 

Life of Speed, Netflix 

This new on-the-square narrative portrays the tale of Juan Manuel Fangio, an Argentinian race vehicle driver who pretty much overwhelmed the primary decade of Formula One by winning the World Drivers' Championship multiple times during the 1950s. 

This record stayed unbeaten till Michael Schumacher went along (as a major aspect of four distinctive hustling groups). 

Coordinated by Francisco Macri, this verifiable narrative plans to comprehend the brain of the hustling legend while looking at the lives of race vehicle drivers who routinely change their lives for the love of speed. 

The high-octane universe of hustling was maybe definitely more hazardous in Fangio's time than it is today considering there was no defensive rigging back then and wellbeing highlights were insignificant. 

Maska, Netflix 

This transitioning film sees Manisha Koirala as a Parsi mother doing combating to get her child associated with the privately-run company of running an Iranian bistro. 

'Nineteen years back when Rumi was conceived, his future had been chosen,' says Jaaved Jaaferi, Koirala's screen spouse. 

Rumi was to grow up and turn into 'a mask-waala' (one who applies spread) like his dad (Jaaferi) before him. 

In any case, he chooses to turn into a Bollywood entertainer. Prit Kamani plays Rumi, the befuddled youthful millennial who starts finding his Parsi legacy simply after separating himself from it. 

Maska is as much about Rumi's excursion as it is a festival of Mumbai's Irani bistros. 

With a reasonable sprinkling of youthful sentiment and family show, this is Dil Toh Baccha Hai Ji author Neeraj Udhwani's first endeavor at the course.

Next in Fashion, Netflix 

As Netflix's first endeavor into configuration wars, this unscripted TV drama highlights 18 creators from over the world. 

The candidates are generally experts who have dressed famous people before and have worked with significant design houses, yet none is an easily recognized name, something they all seek to be. 

The show takes one through the way toward making a structure, directly from texture choice and preparing it to the time it's fit to be demonstrated. 

The show is facilitated by Tanveer Wasim France (of Queer Eye popularity) and creator, model and TV moderator Alexa Chung. 

The victor gets prize cash of $250,000, and the opportunity to turn into the following large thing in design. 

There's additional space for motivation for watchers as challengers configuration outfits deserving of the runway, formals for work, just as stylish streetwear. 

Special Ops, Disney Hotstar 

Coordinated by Neeraj Pandey of A Wednesday! what's more, Special 26 popularity and Shivam Nair, this is the most recent Indian spine chiller to be discharged on the web. 

It highlights Kay Menon as Himmat Singh, a senior knowledge official. The story exemplifies how Singh has been pursuing a hypothesis that the real driving force of the 2001 Parliament assault was somebody whose presence nobody thinks about. 

Singh has his operators in remote urban areas and has been spending lavishly on tasks to pursue this man down, and now he needs to legitimize the cash spent. 

Between flashbacks, watchers are up to speed with how Singh's group is attempting to discover this secret miscreant. 

The show helps us a little to remember Manoj Bajpayee's The Family Man, which is a superior show. 

Activity scenes and awful writing in the moderate parts let down an in any case not too bad story, be that as it may, for the stuck-at-home and nothing-to-do, it's something one could thoughtlessly watch. 

Miss Americana, Netflix 

Coordinated by Lana Wilson, whose past movies concentrated on suicide and late-term fetus removal, this venture follows the life of American vocalist lyricist Taylor Swift. 

It opens with Swift being encompassed by journals, markers of individual stories. This is critical since Swift has gotten by out of diverting emotions into melodies that have become graph toppers. 

She's at that point told that her most recent collection, Reputation (2018), has gotten no major Grammy assignments. Quick continues, practically aloof in her methodology. 

Wilson proceeds to show Swift tending to her 'decent young lady' picture that has commanded the last's music profession, and how Swift arrangements with the thought that 'pleasant young ladies don't cause a ripple effect'. 

The story graphs her ascent to distinction just as her longing to please fans, all of which have driven Swift to some dull spots. 

The film shows the private side of Swift, the VIP who despite her whiz status drives a real existence shadowed by forlornness. 

Westworld, Disney Hotstar 

The third period of Westworld is presently spilling on the web, and keeping in mind that it is being praised for getting cutting edge tech references right, we are as yet astonished by the splendid execution of the show's story. 

The story starts in Westworld, an anecdotal, Wild West-themed event congregation where guests can do anything they need, with no results whatever, because the 'individuals' in Westworld are life-like androids. 

These androids are so authentic as people that guests continually come back to the recreation center to play out their most out of control dreams, activities that would be inadmissible in the 'genuine'/world. 

Inconvenience starts when the android has at the recreation center increase awareness about what they truly are. 

This new season sees them escape into this present reality, our reality, after a bloodbath. 

In light of Michael Crichton's 1973 film by a similar name, the arrangement stars Even Rachel Wood as Dolores Abernathy, an insightful android.

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[godkilller]

@dokuhai​ said:  How open is Gin in terms of his relationship with Rangiku in your redemption verse? What is he doing to try to earn back the trust of her friends, who I imagine are extremely upset with her for continuing to be with him after all that he's done?

unprompted ask.    //    thank you, love <3

          First off, GIN ISN’T REALLY OPEN ABOUT ANYTHING, let alone open about his relationship with Rangiku. It’s going to take him time, as well as trial and error when it comes down to him revealing more emotions with her. Even simply holding her hand whilst in public requires build-up after the Winter War is done. Taking baby steps isn’t necessarily an option when one considers that ANY act of openness, vulnerability... is a  substantial  leap to him. After everything Gin’s done and everything he’s gone through, there are no small steps left. This is why, for a moment, Gin seems to stand utterly still within Redemption Verse. 

          He knows he can’t get away with avoiding for very long. There are broken bonds to mend, a new life to live. Second chances seldom exist without reason, and Gin has a list of wrongs to right------at first, Gin attempts to give Rangiku space; despite needing to recover, he had every intention of parting from her to allow her ample opportunity to be solely ANGRY with him, rather than swiftly forced to take on a caretaker role. However, Rangiku was stubborn, relieved that he survived, so Gin couldn’t exactly fulfill that for her. Her friends, though ? Gin had no problem giving them space.

          Things would feel strained and odd to immediately seek their approval while wounds, both physical and emotional, remained so blatantly fresh. How could he expect anyone to regain even a drop of respect for him while they still felt the ache of the war he had opposed them in ? No, they needed time, Gin needed time. To feel better enough to venture out alone, at the very least, without Rangiku wanting to monitor him.

          It was surprisingly ( but maybe... not really ? ) easy to approach Hisagi. No matter what level of resentment present, the presence of Tousen, lingering, between them----helped a lot in terms of Gin finding some sort of foundation to stand upon when facing him as one of Rangiku’s friends. No so much in seeking approval, of some kind of blessing, Gin focused more on repairing damage----Hisagi mourned loss, and in a way so did Gin. He grew up with Tousen more than the Lieutenant even knew, and soon enough with a few drinks ( his treat ) Gin could find himself offering small stories, quiet memories, to at the very least ease the man’s suffering over the ordeal. Gin may not have been able to answer all of the man’s questions concerning his deceased comrade, but he did his best to provide better closure------and the offer earned him respect.

         Nanao is someone that Gin is not familiar with at all----as one of Rangiku’s friends, as well as a previous captain of the Gotei 13... she’s rarely even been in the room with him. So getting her approval, her acknowledgment, or dealing with her disapproval simply doesn’t happen. Gin doesn’t think of it solely due to how they’ve rarely actually met.

          Abarai was a little difficult, considering his fierce loyalty to Rukia ( who Gin threatened during the initial betrayal of Soul Society ) as well as his previous classmate Izuru who felt the blow of his betrayal in full. Gin didn’t seek to come to any sort of understanding with him; what was done was done. Thankfully, Renji knew a thing or two already about the act of accepting a deplorable ( in his eyes ) person into the life of someone he cares for. Though the Lieutenant hardly respected him, there was an agreement reached. If he made her happy, he wouldn’t think poorly of him.

          Gin still has not spoken to nor even approached Hinamori, as Hitsugaya personally ( and privately ) warned him that it would be best, for everyone and especially for her, if he didn’t. Lingering resentment towards him as the true villain merely pulling Aizen’s strings, or perhaps the echoes of her fear and despair viewing him as Aizen’s murderer, illogical, fueling her hurt, the traitor would do more harm than good. Gin agreed... but still hasn’t told Rangiku of her captain’s request concerning her friend.

          There’s a massive wall of anxiety, uncertainty, when it comes to approaching one of Rangiku’s main friendships once the Winter War has concluded. His previous Lieutenant, Izuru, above all others, challenges Gin the most in terms of finding that connection again------earning back trust, respect, can be intimidating even for the most uncaring or seemingly casual individuals. Gin knows he fucked up, and while Izuru may be coping and eventually flourishing ( even if out of spite ) he knows it’s still not okay. GIN DOESN’T KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN. He knows he needs to apologize, but then what ? He doesn’t want to pressure Izuru into forgiving him when he damn well knows that’s not even within reason to be expected, or deserved. This extends all the way into Gin becoming his captain again, and only strengthens the tension between them------until it’s actually IZURU who lectures him, letting loose, that he needs to stop sulking. It’s a stern talk, quiet, but ultimately appreciated.

          From there, Gin can rebuild. Be it via physically rebuilding, together, their division’s trampled grounds ( fixing the garden, replanting a new persimmon tree, etc. ) or regaining the trust and respect from his fellow division members------Gin, eventually, finds his footing to make progress alongside his Lieutenant.

          Maybe Rangiku spoke to Izuru about the issue behind his back because of how well their eventual talk went. They both needed a little nudge, he supposed.

[zeverusznape]

EXTENSIVE HARRYMORT/TOMARRY RECOMMENDATIONS LIST (part 1)

4th February 2019

*** = the best I’ve ever read!!!!!!

** = amazing, must read

* = enjoyed

Death of Today by Epic Solemnity ********

COMPLETE LV/HP: Raised in a Muggle orphanage, Harry arrives at Hogwarts a bitter boy. Unusually intelligent, he's recruited by the Unspeakables and the Death Eaters at a young age. As he grows older, he constantly has to struggle to keep his footing around a manipulative and bored Dark Lord, who fancies mind games and intellectual entertainment. Words: 500,882 Chapters: 71/71

When in Rome by: XblackcatwidowX***

COMPLETE: When Harry and Hermione inadvertently tumble half a century into the past, they find themselves in the same year as the notorious Head Boy, Tom Riddle. Both Harry and Hermione's courage will be tested when they are confronted by chances of romance from the most unexpected of places, and unlikely enemies hiding in the tallgrass. Lost in the past, they may well forget the way home. Not DH compliant. Words: 162,416 Chapters: 31/31

When in Rome II: The Lost Children Connection by: XblackcatwidowX**

WIP: A year has passed since Harry returned to the present day. Voldemort’s empire is growing, but Harry remains set on saving the man he knows to be Tom Riddle. When unexpected circumstances lead him back down the rabbit hole of the past, he discovers the world to be a far less forgiving place than he remembers, and Tom is a completely different person from the one he left behind. With an empire to tear down and old and new faces to confront, it’s impossible to know who to trust. School’s out. SEQUEL TO WHEN IN ROME. Words: 14,288 Chapters: 4/?

Butterfly Heart by: The_Fictionist **

COMPLETE AU - Silence of the Lambs/Hannibal inspired. After recent events in his life, Hermione refers Harry to the renowned psychiatrist, Doctor. T. Riddle. He is unlike anything Harry ever expected or imagined, and soon proves to be a great help against the very shadows and name that haunts his waking hours. If only it remained that simple. Words: 103,747 Chapters: 40/40

Consuming Shadows by: Child_OTKW ***

WIP: On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard. But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes. Words: 252,474 Chapters: 38/?

Dreams and Darkness Collide by: Epic Solemnity (Dark_Cyan_Star) **

COMPLETE Major AU! SLASH LV/HP: Though he was raised without the expectation of saving the world, Harry still possesses a savior complex. Only, it's so dark and twistedly immoral, he created an alter ego to practice vigilantism. His second identity makes a name for himself and immediately ensnares Minister Riddle's complete and obsessive attention. A game of cat and mouse begins and morals are questioned. Words: 209,560 Chapters:30?

Mine by: ObsidianPen ***

WIP: After the incident at the Department of Mysteries, Lord Voldemort discovers what Harry Potter is. He reaches out to his human horcrux through dreams, and the course of the Second Wizarding War is forever altered. A dark fairy tale. Words: 4,906 Chapters: 2/6

No Glory by: ObsidianPen ***

WIP: The Dark Lord divines what Harry Potter is in the Forbidden Forest, and revelations lead to incomprehensible consequences. Lord Voldemort has won... and the dystopia is damning. A tale of a fallen hero, dark desires, and a Dark Lord's obsession with something he has lost and finds himself unwillingly lusting after; a soul. Words: 174,989 Chapters: 35/?

Field Theory by: machiavelli ***

WIP: They meet for the first time when Harry's ten. Tom tells him he's special - he's a parselmouth and he can do wandless magic. So Harry tells the hat to sort him into Slytherin, and learns to navigate the confusingly political climate of the House of Ambition. However, the more years that slide through his fingers, the more difficult it becomes to hold his best friend back from the path of dark magic he seems frustratingly intent on treading down. What Harry doesn't account for though, is that maybe it calls to him too. Words: 85,668 Chapters: 19/24

Corruption by: itsjustsilver ***

WIP: Hera Potter is the girl who lived, preparing to die at the hands of Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest. Dark story. Words: 12,141 Chapters: 9/?

Enochian Prophecies by: Kalfu ***

COMPLETE: History is the sum of infinite minor events, each one contributing to the next. Some say this is written, this is destiny. Yet when those who walk outside Fate arrive, how can an unmarked invitation change the destiny of the world's two greatest enemies?

Or

Harry Potter was supposed to be the son of Lily and James. His destiny was to become the Boy-Who-Lived and he was fated to be irrevocably connected to Voldemort. But what if something had happened? What if Harry wasn’t James’ son and he never had the chance to survive Voldemort’s curse? What then? But when Fate is involved, a chance encounter between a boy and a Dark Lord can lead to a deadly duo and the end of the wizarding world as we know it. Words: 255,610 Chapters: 45

The Explosion by: AmyTheAuthor **

WIP: Usually, in other Fics, Harry goes to the past, meets an older or same age Tom in Hogwarts, and is sorted into Slytherin. Harry is usually there to change Tom and Tom is a “teenage Dark Lord.” In THIS Fic, Tom is a bullied 3rd year, believed to be a Mud-blood, and has his first ever crush on Henry Peverell, the 6th year Gryffindor, who is not there to change Tom, but rather...Words: 77,000 Chapters: 15/?

you belong to me (i belong to you) by: Child_OTKW **

WIP: After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. His return to Hogwarts causes quite the stir through the staff and students, especially when they realise he is not the same boy as before. He tries to keep his head down, but with the keen eyes of Tom Riddle hounding him through the halls, Harry finds himself unwillingly drawn into a dangerous game with an equally dangerous boy. Words: 50,719 Chapters: 10/?

In death we seek devotion by: flat_teeth (onetrickpony) **

COMPLETE: Voldemort lives, Harry does not. In which Tom Riddle has been purposefully killing his soulmate every time they reincarnate. Kill an individual enough times, when all they want is to be cared for and loved, to be accepted—of course they will come back different. They become someone else. Words: 10,229 Chapters: 4/4

47 Days to Change (a translation) by: snow_owl01 **

WIP: Harry Potter and Tom Riddle are enemies, born adversaries, prophesied leaders of opposite factions 2001 to 1932, forty-seven days to change the fate of the Dark Lord.

This is a 'Harry travels back in time to raise Tom' story. An unfortunate tale of one man's failed attempt to mold young Tom into a decent, law-abiding citizen. Instead, as Fate will have it, young Tom grows up to become the same twisted psychopath, who is hell-bent on winning the love of his adoptive father. Harry's consent be damned. Words: 113,201 Chapters: 51/?

Wear Me Like A Locket Around Your Throat by: VivyPotter **

WIP: “This is Mr Riddle, one of our Slytherin prefects. I’m sure he’ll make you feel right at home. Mr Riddle, this is Harrison Peters. He’s just been sorted into Slytherin and will be joining you in sixth year,” Dumbledore announced jovially, though Tom could see that sliver of constant suspicion in his gaze that had never quite faded.“Harry,” the boy hurried to correct. “Just Harry.” And then he stuck his hand out. How… plebeian, Tom noticed with delight. Walburga would probably faint. Words: 206,954 Chapters: 27/?

The Historical Importance of Runic War Warding in the British Isles by: samvelg **

WIP: After losing Sirius at the Department of Mysteries Harry is left abandoned, lost and alone with her uncaring relatives for the summer. She somehow finds herself sharing dreams with Lord Voldemort who quickly discovers that she is his horcrux, changing the terms of the game between them forever. Because not only is she a part of himself that he is now determined to reclaim, but thanks to the terms outlined in a centuries old will she is also the key to him claiming his birthright and conquering Magical Britain once and for all. And nothing is as seductive to the abandoned as someone who truly wants them. Words: 128,284 Chapters: 23/?

The Art of Hidden Personas by: whitedwarf reviews *

WIP: HP/LV Harry grows up relying on only himself until his adoption, when he is taught the manners and politics of high pureblood circles. Masking his dark intelligence at Hogwarts & intending to escape notice, past secrets and Dark Lords force his hidden hand. Words: 199,424 Chapters: 30

His Twenty-Eighth Life by: Lomonaaeren *

WIP: Harry Potter has been reborn again and again into new bodies as the Master of Death, some of them not human, none of them exactly like his old one—but he has always helped to defeat Voldemort in each new world. Now he’s Harry Potter again, but his slightly older brother is the target of the prophecy, and Harry assumes his role is going to be to support Jonathan in his defeat of Voldemort. At least, that’s what he thinks until Voldemort comes that Halloween night, discovers what Harry is, and kidnaps him. The story of a long fight between Voldemort’s sadism and Harry’s generosity. Words: 145,477 Chapters: 48/?

Harry Potter and the Slytherin Heirs by: SilverAngel621 *

WIP: Tom won. He got everything he wanted; immortality, the ministry, even Harry Potter. And yet though he knew he owned the young wizards body, Harry's heart still remained free from his greedy grasp. Words: 96,880 Chapters: 20/?

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by: ToAStranger **

COMPLETE: Voldemort is dead. It's Christmas, and Harry's just opened a gift from Fred and George Weasley. Words: 34,400 Chapters: 8/8

Guardian Angel by: TosMichiyo *

COMPLETE: Every human being gets assigned a Guardian Angel by birth. This angel watches over them and tries to steer them into the right directions. And even if we humans fall and make mistakes, they love us unconditionally. For they see only the good in us. No matter how deep we may fall, our Guardian Angels always watches over us. And as Voldemort looks up into those bright emerald eyes that seems so innocent and pure. He can’t help but want to taint his own guardian angel, even knowing it might be the biggest sin he would ever commit. Words: 80,824 Chapters: 26/26

My beautiful Angel by: TosMichiyo *

WIP: A voice in the distance kept repeating one sentence, keeping him sane amidst the chaos inside his mind. ‘You’re Harry James Potter, born on 31 July 1980.’

He was Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. He was the son of James Potter and Lily Potter née Evans. Before that life however he had been Hadrian, Tom’s Guardian Angel. With all his memories intact, all lies were now revealed and there was no denying this utter betrayal he felt. Yet Harry’s path was clear and even now he would do anything to protect Tom. He would do anything to make sure Tom was safe and whole. This time he would make it right. This time he wouldn’t fail Tom. This time he had help from an unlikely source, Tom himself. Sequel to Guardian Angel. Words: 33,554 Chapters: 7/?

Your Name on My Heart by: whitedandelions *

WIP: Bearing the Dark Lord's soul mark on his chest certainly isn't easy when his family is firmly on the Light Side. HarryxVoldemort SLASH. Set in the Past. Words: 144,935 Chapters: 20/?

Death is but the Next Great Adventure by: TheObsidianQuill *

WIP: What if that night in Godric's Hollow went differently? What if Harry did die? What if Death stepped in and made a deal with the Savior of the Wizarding World? How different would Harry's life be after that deal? (Or, Harry makes a deal with Death and in exchange gains something Voldemort has fought his entire life for. Immortality. And a strange friendship with Death) Words: 253,128 Chapters: 53/?

Times of Peace by: conquerorofheaven *

COMPLETE: Harry is drinking his life away as usual. Suddenly, he's back in the past, 1943 to be exact. Harry's given a whole new chance at life as Harrison Evans and this time he's not planning on saving anyone.

Unfortunately, the Potter luck strikes again and Harry's sucked back into the conflict and face to face with one Tom Riddle. Somehow the more he tries to stay away the more entangled he gets. Words: 40,305 Chapters: 14/14

Times of Change by: conquerorofheaven *

WIP: Harry is still in the past and Tom Riddle is still as persistent as always. This time though, Harry won't get away with pretending to be weak. His secret's out and Tom has made it his mission to figure out his others as well. WARNING: Read 'Times of Peace' first! This won't make much sense and contains major spoilers if you have not read the prequel! Part 2 of Times of Peace Words: 61,851 Chapters: 17/?

Hem of Your Garment by: adVENTitiious **

WIP: How much can one person change another?

Words: 114,679 Chapters: 58/?

Inevitabilities by: EclipseWing *

WIP: Tom and Harry are inevitable in any universe.

OR: While Dumbledore and Grindelwald play their chess game across Europe, two young wizards form an unlikely friendship. [That one where Tom and Harry are born in the same generation.] Words: 95,543 Chapters:13/14

Words Fail by: NeaMarika *

WIP: Fighting a heroic battle in a room full of mysterious time pieces is not a smart thing to do. Words: 170,309 Chapters: 25/?

A Beast's Virtue by: Arliene *

WIP: Schooled at Durmstrang, forced into political upheaval, pursued by dark and light wizards alike, Harry Potter becomes a leader and icon for his entire generation, thus turning the Dark Lord's attention to him. HP/LV. Politician Harry. Words: 191,564 Chapters: 33

[pearlcrysta]

V Route: V doesn’t deserve the hate he gets from fandom

*V gets blinded by the person he loves*

*yet some from the fandom still think Rika is an innocent victim*

*and this whole Mint-Eye cult is V’s fault*

*does the term...*

PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY

*mean anything to people anymore...?*

I don’t care how mentally challenged one person is. In this instance, Rika was MENTALLY CAPABLE enough to function like a proper human being, running an underground criminal activity draped as a cult, pretending to save hundreds of life through fear and terror as she attempts to warp her believers into “true happiness”. 

Just freaking listen to Saeran, listen to how much he is in pain during V’s route, when Unknown persona is about to come out of him like Alien. That’s not V’s doing.

*It’s Rika’s meds used on him.* 

Plus other torture devices, I’m betting.

*jfc...*

*V didn’t give drugs to people regardless of consent*

*V didn’t torture people*

*V didn’t trap people in their rooms*

*V didn’t want to drug innocent victims with dodgy wine at a party*

*V didn’t fake his own death and stay hidden from Yoosung despite haivng a phone - guys, Rika could have called Yoosung and let him know V was lying, but she didn’t until her charade was up*

*V tried to handle his relationship with Rika in PRIVATE, without needlessly involving the R.F.A. until he realized it was a bad choice to do, since they were dragged into the whole Mint Eye mess.*

*V did everything for Rika*

*V tried to fix Rika, but she cared more about her feelings than logic - so, he never forced medication on her or forced her to continue therapy if she didn’t want it* 

*Rika didn’t want to see any more doctors or hospitals*

*V complied*

*V was being a way too indulgent boyfriend* - fault 1

*V always thought about Rika, to the point of obsession* - fault 2

*V was willing to sleep in a room with their bed next to the window and sun hitting his face in the morning, even though he hated the feelings*

*V always had Rika’s well being as priority, to the point he did not care of his own physical health or sanity --- he was dependent on her and saw her as his muse*

*there are many kinds of love in this world, maternal, paternal, brotherly love, family, love from friends, boyfriend/girlfrend/xfriend love, animal love, lover love...*

*Obsessive love*

V’s Route has established that the love he had for her was obsessive and not real.

Even though, imo, I think they were genuinely in love at inception, but a weak foundation a relationship means catastrophe in the end.

You can’t force love on someone who begins seeing your “sun” as a being who wants to erase ur own existence.

You can’t love someone who you don’t fully know or understand.

V did not know much of Rika’s past. (same as Yoosung, and they were cousins)

He did not know the details of Rika’s suffering, so there was no way he could win the battle against her demons. He did not have all the info at hand, only that she was adopted and the relationship was sour.

Also.

It’s not V’s business to fight the demons in Rika’s place.

In real life too.

You cannot help a person who doesn’t want to get help.

Whether it’s an addiction, or something on a mental level, you have little to no chances to help someone improve and overcome difficulties, if the one who is suffering is not willing to take the first step and seek out help. 

Stop blaming V for Rika’s own actions.

Stop blaming a fool, who fought he was in love, for his own injuries caused by Rika’s own hands.

Stop pretending V’s blindness is a joke or something he himself had caused, wtf.

Stop blaming V for Rika’s problems which have their origins stemmed from early childhood: family/upbringing/bad school life and pet dying --- all culminated to her demise. 

To the point she trusted nobody.

Not even V, always making him prove his undying love to her by revealing more and more of her darkness. Will he continue to love her if she pushes him off a cliff and mangles his body? You know at that time V’s answer would be “hell, yeah” --- it’s not a healthy relationship to be in. 

Fiction or real, situations like  V + Rika do not portray a healthy love.

And blaming Rika’s condition and Mint Eye solely on V’s actions is...

...

I can’t even... the amount of facepalm hurts.

V’s adult personality and why he’s so lenient with Rika and accepting of her everything, might be because of his history with his mother. 

Teenage V was an asshole to his mother, brainwashed by his own father to stay away from the woman. She was only a breeding unit for the man, nothing more, losing value after she got sick, then went deaf. Everyone dissociated themselves with her - family, friends, church (the irony). He did not get to know her much before her death, but learnt of the woman and thoughts from her journal, which - miraculously - survived a massive fire. <-< 

This game sure loves fiyaaaaah.

Anyway,

It’s probably V living such a strict existence, emulating his father’s actions and persona, that after learning the harsh truth of how he “lost” his mother after birth, he tried to change.

Do a 180-personality wise.

From a harsh, uncaring existence, V became a kind, gentle and much too lax individual when it came to people he associated himself with. What I mean by this, is V is someone whom people could easily take advantage of. Because he would never want to betray or disappoint someone ever again.

He might have thought that as a child, his harsh words and attitude were like a “betrayal” for the woman who gave birth to him, his mother. He treated her unkindly.

Such a repeat scenario should never take place.

...

Even if his significant other has demons of her own, trying to hurt V in return.

Yelp. That was a lot of text.

So, what i was trying to say is ---- V has been presented to me more as a victim of Rika’s own darkness, but the origin of her own misery lies since early childhood. 

Both are unfortunate victims in their own way.

But personal responsibility should not be shoved under a rug because of this.

Rika is the one who did all these bad deeds.

It’s not V’s fault!!!!

[itachislucius88]

The main Jounin captains (Kakashi Hatake, Kurenai Yuhi, Might Guy and Asuma Sarutobi. ) being jincuurki headcanons. Or being akatsuki

Thank you for the ask! I have to say this is not something I was expecting! Still I hope you like my take on it! ~Itachi 

Jounin Leaders as Jinchuriki

Asuma Sarutobi

Asuma as a Jinchuriki is not vastly different personality wise then he normally is. He doesn’t experience any bought of insanity, and he is considered level-headed. 

As the son of the third Hokage he isn’t given bad treatment, and instead the village considered his sealing to be one of sacrifice for them. A selfless act of their Hokage in giving up his only son to the whims of evil. 

He ended up stuck with the Yonbi, Son Goku a tailed beast with the appearance of a red-furred Monkey. He uses Lava style and is hateful towards humans. Asuma never ended up making friends with the beast personally, but he did manage to establish a mutually beneficial relationship with Son Goku so that he could burrow chakra and occasionally use Lava style. 

Because of his prisoner’s hatred for mortals Asuma heals slower then other Jinchuriki, and as a result of that he is left more prone to an attack. 

Asuma isn’t one who cares of his tailed beast, in fact he mostly ignores the fact that he’s a jinchuriki at all. He uses some of the extra chakra provided, so that he could learn faster, but overall he considers it a sin onto his body that he harbors the four tails. 

Hiruzen didn’t have any qualms with giving Asuma a team, as he knew his son to be in control, and not much controversy was sparked over the assignment. With Shikamaru, Ino and Choji’s father’s all having worked with Asuma in the past they all regard him highly.

If on the rare occasion he does get angry and a cloak begins to form Asuma is very adapt at self-restraining the power, and with him only holding the four-tails there isn’t too large a concern of him losing consciousness and the beast taking over. In order to get him angry you have to do something rather extreme, like kill an innocent child, mortally wound his team, or hurt his father or nephew. 

During the chunin exam where the Sand and Sound attacked he did almost lose himself to Son Goku’s influence after having heard of his father’s death, but was quickly calmed by the presence of his Genin. 

Might Gai

Gai considers it a great privilege to host a Bijuu, the greatest honour the village can bestow on him, so he takes it in his normal manner: with pride and enthusiasm. It’s youthful!

Gai was sealed with the Gobi (five tails), otherwise known as Kokuō which is a horse type Bijuu. Surprisingly in opposition to Guy’s more boisterous personality the Gobi is a pacifistic and rather reserved individual so their meeting was not an entirely pleasant one. They have conflicting personality’s and Kokuo doesn’t agree with Gai’s competitive spirit. Or boisterous tone when they are more of a polite type of creature. Mostly however, Gobi leaves Gai alone and is content within the seal, Gai pays the beast the same respects. 

Gobi was sealed within Gai when Gai was a child as opposed to when he was an infant, the decision was made because all of the infants who were supposed to have the Bijuu sealed within them died shortly after. It was decided that Gai would host Gobi because of his heritage, and due to insight by Kushina who was the Kyuubi Jinchuriki at the time, who recommended someone older out of her own experience. 

Most of his classmates and later comrades are uncaring of Gai’s status as a Jinchuriki as knowing him made them understand his and the Bijuu’s relationship of neutrality. However some of the more paranoid civilians and shinobi consider it safer to give him a wide berth, as the Gobi was sealed into him far later then considered normal. 

As a result of their similar experience Gai and Kushina get along really well, and he often goes to her to talk about everything and nothing, he’s a common guest at the Namikaze-Uzumaki household. Due to that he is also the first man to ask if their baby will be a Jinchuriki like him and Kushina, to which he gets a no. Gai is not disappointed in this, after all he doesn’t want some of the seclusion he experienced to go onto another life. 

Gai does not discuss his status as a Jinchuriki unless it is to convince other’s he is not dangerous. Despite his pride in being a host he does not like people knowing of his companion because of their relationship being strained as it is. 

Gai cannot use Kokuo’s Boil Release kekkei genkai because they do not trust each other enough for that. 

Jounin Leaders as Akatsuki

Kurenai Yuhi

Kurenai is the most reserved of the Akatsuki, she follows her missions accordingly, doesn’t get loud or angry, or speak up impolitely she waits and observes, which is why she gets many of the assassination jobs.

Her partner is usually Kisame when Itachi cannot participate, as he is adapt at having a partner good with Genjutsu. However, if Kisame is not available she will be placed with Deidara instead of Tobi.  Because of her calmer nature and his rash decisions she can be counted on to turn the tide in their favour instead of digging another hole. 

Mostly she gets along with everyone, as she doesn’t attempt to shame or cause discourse as some of the others do. But her and Deidara sometimes have the rare argument -apparently he doesn’t like her eyes.-

She gets along best with Itachi, Zetsu and Konan, as they are the quieter ones of the group, and can be seen with them commonly discussing manners of fighting techniques, often times comparing Konoha with the Hidden Rain with Itachi. 

Usually she works with a partner, but if she is left to a solo mission she will use a very basic Genjutsu style, and prefers to simply let her targets commit suicide in thinking that they’re killing her. 

On her downtime she’ll usually be reading a book or looking into a new type of ninjutsu from the archives. Mostly she reads bad romantic comedy’s. Which garners strange looks from her comrades.

She is seen and respected as one of the more sadistic Akatsuki members as well. Often you will see her revealing in her opponents mental pain, laughing or giggling at the struggle they present. However, she is disgusted by gore which her usual comrades use. 

Unfortunately because she is one of the only female Akatsuki members she does experience some minor failed flirting from Hidan, whom she cannot stand. Often times it ends with him being trapped in one of her genjutsu that is based on not having a body. 

Kakashi Hatake

Kakashi is one of the strangest members, which many consider odd as there is also Zetsu and Tobi to consider. But alas he is usually seen in the main base walking on the ceiling or walls for no reason reading his books or simply watching the other members. 

Despite his strange manner he is also one of the most trusted and reliable members in the Akatsuki. Pein holds him in high regard and trusts him with some of the more important missions. 

He is Itachi’s partner once he joins, Pein doesn’t waste a beat in putting them together. After all they’ve worked together before and with two sharingan who could oppose them? He is also the leader of the unit, due to his previous rank above Itachi, they also get along really well, where as Itachi and Kisame often held differing ideals. 

Most members wish to be paired with Kakashi except perhaps for Hidan, as Kakashi despite being strange is quiet and clever. He was a revered Jounin in Konoha as well as possessing the sharingan he is considered an asset to have for a two man cell. 

Kakashi usually deals with opponents with a simple slash to the neck, and doesn’t bother with anything to fancy, likewise anyone working with him is expected to do the same. 

He gets along with everyone, but can be seen threatening the more unstable members if they get under his skin by accident. His biggest problem is with Kakuzu as Kakashi doesn’t agree with greed, and often insults Kakuzu’s disposition to money. 

He gets along best with Tobi and Deidara, as he enjoys their eccentric personality’s, they often blow things up together away from the base on their downtime. He and Itachi also have a very close relationship of teacher and pupil. He also flirts with Tobi a lot, which many of the other members hate. 

If things get serious though he is the most insane one. He completely flips from his usual persona, he loses all strategy and just attacks as if nothing could kill him. The Akatsuki call him “Red Eye of Madness.” Due to this change that occurs. 

[angstmongertina]

Officium et Honestas (2/?)

Summary: As the eldest of two daughters, Lady Yinliang Hei knows her duty is to marry well and ensure security and a good connection for her sister, but an arranged marriage to Mr. Malavai Quinn, formerly captain of the King’s Army, was the last thing she was expecting. Nonetheless, driven by duty and honor, they may yet find that theirs can still be a match most evenly made.

Disclaimer: I am breaking about 20 rules of how to address everyone but titles and lands and secondary titles and such make forms of address for the peerage way too difficult to keep up with for a fanfiction so I’m not going to bother for fear of confusing either the audience or myself. (Let it be known that I greatly regret giving everyone titles.)

Part 1 || AO3 Link

Lady Hei was mostly true to her word. The mentions of Mr. Quinn and his imminent arrival remained generally nonexistent, particularly amongst polite company. However, she did delight in teasing her daughter at times and would occasionally reference his name in passing, especially when Yin least expected it.

As such, Yin found herself taking long excursions out of their townhouse, frequenting the shops, calling upon friends who happened to be in town, and taking her mare on extensive rides through the park. Each provided some reprieve from the possibility of Lady Hei speculating aloud, with a twinkling smile at either her or Rhinaa whenever present, whether or not Mr. Quinn would be appreciative of her fine stitching or pianoforte playing, a pastime in which both her mother and her sister appeared to find great enjoyment.

Instead, she escaped the confines of her home, in which her mother and sister preferred to remain, to the parks or, on occasion, her favorite bookshop, owned and run by the rather eccentric though kindly Mr. Drellik. Often, she found herself accompanied by her long-time friends Miss Jaesa Willsaam and Miss Vette Drayen, the former a serious and quiet young woman of eighteen and the latter a cheerful, talkative woman of one and twenty. Vette generally paid no mind to her reticence, and though she noticed Jaesa watching her with some concern, neither spoke on her unusual reservedness.

Nonetheless, Yin had been keeping a mental tally of the passing days herself, silently awaiting the arrival of her to-be suitor. Whether she felt more anticipation or dread for the projected date of his return to town, she could not be certain.

The day before his arrival found her astride Zephra, trotting through Hyde Park and silently lamenting the absence of a large field and, indeed, of witnesses uncaring of the propriety or lack thereof in riding across the countryside at a full run. Jaesa and Vette had a previous engagement, leaving her alone with her ruminations, a fortunate circumstance considering the tumultuous state of her feelings. That her life would change irrevocably held no doubt; unless this Mr. Quinn were truly abhorrent, she had no intention of calling off the engagement, particularly in light of the security it would bring for both herself and her family.

Her sense of duty did nothing to alter the distaste in her spirit, however. That, she suspected, little would change; her lifelong goal had been to find in her companion for life an equal, one whom she could love and respect beyond all other. It was, after all, what her parents had done in pursuing a love match and while there was nothing to say she would necessarily succeed in finding equal happiness for herself, having all of her future decided for her still meant she had no opportunity to attempt it.

Yin pressed her lips together as she crested the top of a small hill, Zephra leaning into the bit as though she sensed her mistress’s thoughts: to race away across the country, far from the expectations which guided all genteel women on their paths. Yet the thoughts lasted for but a minute and, presently, she gathered the reins, turning her mare back towards home with a gentle pat.

Focused as she was on her thoughts, she failed to notice a young man ride up beside her until he called out. “Out for a ride, Miss Hei?”

Recognizing the voice as an old friend, she turned with a smile. “Indeed, Lord Malcom. It is good to see you. How is your family doing?”

He grinned back. “Mother and father are doing well. He is still doing his best to drive her to Bedlam, it feels like on occasion, but she never seems to truly mind, so all the better.”

Yin nodded, slowing her mare to a walk. “Certainly. And Lady Estelle and yourself?”

“My sister has been doing well. She has been with her governess, primarily. I hear she has gotten quite talented at painting while I was at school. She has been hoping to visit with your sister sometime, as I understand. And I have been mostly just helping my father with the estate, since I finished school. He keeps insisting that his body is no longer what it used to be, though he remains hearty enough, thank the Lord. We just arrived back in town and I thought I would take Hermes for a ride.” He reached down to give the stallion in question a light pat.

“It seems we had a similar idea, then.”

“Indeed.”

She studied him as he rode a little ahead of her. Lord Theron Malcom was a few years her junior and, having grown up on neighboring estates without any other children nearby, they had been the best of playmates until she was under the care of her governess, and he had begun his studies in earnest. She had not seen him since he had left to attend school, though he had written on occasion, and, more often than not, included little gifts and mementos for Rhinaa. In the passing years, he had grown from the gangly boy of her childhood, looking every bit the earl he would eventually become.

However, he still had not managed to lose his nervous fidget, she noticed with some amusement as Hermes tossed his head at a sudden tightening of the reins. “And how is your family?”

“They are doing well. My mother and father had their hands busy managing the estate this planting season but everything was completed with time to spare so we have been in town for nearly a month now.”

Hermes fidgeted again and she hid a smile, saying nothing as he calmed his mount, though she suspected she knew what he wished to say, or more specifically, whom he wished to ask after. She had long suspected that her friend harbored an ardor for her younger sister, and she had no reason to believe Rhinaa would be against the courtship once out, though she also saw no reason to take pity and make things easier for him.

Finally, he turned to her, the slightest hint of a flush on his face. “And Miss Rhinaa?”

She let the smile she had been hiding show. “My sister is doing well. She will be glad to know that you are in town, though she may be a bit cross in having to hear it from me. It has been far too while since we have had any letters from you.”

He looked rather contrite at her mild admonishment. “I am aware. I admit I had been so caught up with helping run the estate that I quite forgot to keep up with my correspondence.”

She laughed. “That is understandable. I shall forgive you if you might accompany me to Drellik’s bookshop.”

“That is a fair deal, my dear Miss Hei. And I shall owe you a great debt if you might advise me on what to get Miss Rhinaa to dissuade her ire?”

The questioning look was for more than just on the gift, she knew, and she smiled with a bit of mischief. “I believe that, as her sister, it is my duty to remind you that she is not yet out, Lord Malcom, but I daresay I have some idea of what she may have her heart set on from Drellik’s, yes.”

His flush deepened but he smiled nevertheless, albeit a little sheepishly. “Then lead the way, my lady.” He gave an elaborate bow as she passed.

Laughing, she did so, though she came to a stop before the store with a frown. While Drellik’s was generally fairly popular, she was certain that there were quite a few more individuals than typically frequented the place. Indeed, many young ladies she suspected had never before set foot within the shop were meandering about, ostentatiously checking the shelves and, only somewhat more covertly, conversing with one another in low tones.

Lord Malcom stopped beside her, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “Has Drellik’s been getting more business since I left?”

“Perhaps somewhat but never to this extent. Something else may have drawn them here?”

“Perhaps another patron?” He gestured towards a carriage stopped on the side of the road, bearing an unfamiliar livery, around which circled no small number of ladies as well. “Though I must admit I am unfamiliar with whom it might be. Clearly someone the Ton is quite entranced by, if the current crowd is to be believed.”

She inclined her head in agreement, though she did not bother to hide her smirk. “Are you certain it is not yourself, Lord Malcom? Perhaps your arrival back in town did not go as unnoticed as you think, and, indeed, with your schooling finished and your current training to manage the estate, you might start considering turning your mind to matrimony? Surely you may look for your future Lady Malcom from such paragons of society.”

Both horror and indignation crossed his expression in short order before he realized she spoke only with the intent to tease him. With a rather put-on sigh, he shook his head. “I would ask whether you must always jest so, but seeing as how I am well-aware of what your response may be, I shall not bother.”

Nonetheless, he offered his arm, which she accepted with a genuine smile of affection, before leading her to the entrance.

Within, the tranquility typical of the shop had been transformed into mayhem; young women filled the interior, flitting about from shelf to shelf, attention focused either on tittering amongst themselves or on something—or, more plausibly, someone—beyond her vision. Even determined as she was, she could not help but feel her resolution falter, but still she pushed onward, leading Lord Malcom forward.

He, conversely, held back, reluctance clear on his visage. “What precisely was it you were seeking here? And is it entirely necessary to pursue it currently?”

Yin turned to peer at him with the hint of a teasing smile on her lips. “Come now, Lord Malcom. Does your courage falter already? Imagine the despair of the Ton’s matchmaking mamas when they discover that such an eligible young bachelor such as yourself is daunted at the prospect of spending time with such a varied and doubtless equally eligible group of young ladies. I have no doubt that, regardless of who has caught their attention, they would be equally, if not more, intrigued by you should they become aware that the heir apparent of the Earl of Barcaria was amongst them.” The look of sheer horror she received for her fanciful speech was such that she could barely restrain a most unladylike cackle.

Composing herself, she continued, “Furthermore, I do believe you have promised my sister a gift and I should hate to inform her you were too intimidated by the crowd at Drellik’s to follow through.”

“Enough. You have made your point, my lady.” The expression on his countenance informed her that, at that moment, he considered her anything but worthy of the title. “Come, let us get what we have come here for.” He paused for a moment before turning back to her. “What was it exactly that Miss Rhinaa wanted?”

A smirk danced on her lips. “My sister informed me last night that a lovely tome on the lives of Varius and Adrijana has come out recently that she very much desires to peruse.”

“From the opera about the late Duchess Adrijana Kallan?”

“The very same.”

There was a rather pregnant pause before he nodded. “Very well then. And for yourself?”

She smiled. “I merely wished to find the sheet music for the latest Beethoven sonata. Mr. Drellik sent word that he had set one aside for me as soon as they arrived.”

Lord Malcom laughed aloud at that. “I can hardly be surprised he would do so for such a loyal customer and talented musician.”

Waving off his flattery with one hand, she wove her way to the counter, where the crowds were notably thicker, before coming to a stop. It would have been difficult indeed to miss that all of the attentions of the women around them were focused on the two men conversing by the counter.

Mr. Drellik had run his bookshop for many years, inheriting the establishment from his father before him. For the past seven or so, Yin had been frequenting it as her preferred location for purchasing books and pianoforte music of all sorts, enough so that Mr. Drellik had teasingly suggested labeling one of the window seats with her name given how often she claimed it as her own. And despite all of the many times she had visited his shop, she had never seen him as animated as he was when talking with the man across from him.

It was clear from a single glance why the man’s presence alone was such that the Ton had deemed the shop its most fashionable meetingplace for the day. He had all the appearance of nobility in his stature, a considerable height and sharply handsome features adding to the appeal of his well-kept attire. With the air of mystery surrounding his situation, as well as the vibrancy his clear friendliness with the shopkeeper lent him, all in all, she had to admit that the stranger was a sight to behold, certainly of enough interest to draw the bored ladies from their homes once the word was out. Those unknown to the Ton were rare and far in between, particularly ones as striking as he.

Carefully dodging out of the way of a giggling Miss Harriet Clay, Yin halted some distance away, resolving to wait until Mr. Drellik had finished his discussion before alerting him to her presence. She was in no hurry to return to her mother and sister’s teasing nor had any real desire to interrupt what appeared to be a warm reunion.

It was not to be so. Mr. Drellik happened to look up just so, spied her, and called her forward congenially with an apologetic look to his conversational partner. “Ah, hello, Miss Hei. I have your music right here if you will wait half a moment. And Lord Malcom, good day. What can I do for you today?”

She scarcely heard what was said in response; the man opposite him started at the mention of her name, pivoting to focus his gaze on her with startling bright blue eyes. In her turn, she dipped her head in greeting, to which he flushed and gave a small bow before stepping forward.

“Excuse me, Miss Hei, was it?”

His voice was quieter, rather stiffer than she would have expected from the man given how warmly he had been conversing only but a minute earlier, and she dropped her head again to earn another second for regaining her equilibrium. “Indeed, sir,” returned she when she was certain she had collected herself. “I believe you have the advantage of me, Mister…?”

Mr. Drellik seized the opportunity to step forward with a companionable wave of his hand. “Ah, yes. Here is your Beethoven, Miss Hei, and the book you wished to purchase, Lord Malcom.” He turned to the other man. “The Honourable Miss Yinliang Hei would be one of my most frequent patrons, and her talent with the pianoforte is quite renowned through the Ton.”

“Indeed,” was the short reply, blue eyes still focused on her with an intensity she had rarely seen until then.

“And this,” Mr. Drellik continued, clapping his companion on the shoulder and hardly seeming to notice the curtness of the response he received, “is my dear friend, Mr. Malavai Quinn.”

A/N: Eheheheheh I am almost sorry about the cliffhanger. Almost.

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MEDEA. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Pika, you have no idea how absolutely ecstatic I am with this application. You capture their erratic nature -- how they seem never completely there but when they do...oh, when they do you should be careful. The future plots have me absolutely giddy with anticipation, the interview got me swoonin’, and the para sample seemed like the ribbon on top of it all. I am so excited to have Mallory in our midst once more and I can’t wait for everything to unfold!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

                                                                            WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, idrc.

Activity Level | lmao u already knooooo :))))))) terrible :))))))))))))

not great, to be completely honest. however, now that school is slowing down, i should be a lot more consistent; realistically, i’ll be on about every other day.

Timezone | pst.

Current/Past RP Accounts | hugo, noelle, miles, landon. the last two are hella old, ngl.

In Character

Character | madea ;; mallory chanda.

What drew you to this character? | lookie here: i loooooove the dynamic of the witches, the idea of each as an aspect of fate. cinead, the all-seeing, bears down the judgement of the past; hea, all-hearing, plays the fickle strings of the heart and mind as they shift in the present; and mallory, all-knowing, dances with fate, swapping secrets like gossiping old friends. each transcends the concept of the individual, but each is incomplete without the others. they’re delightfully enigmatic, and i love me a good mind screw.

i think that the thing that draws me to mallory in particular is their caprice, and their capacity for more. when you read mallory’s bio in tandem with their siblings’, you (or i, at least lol) definitely get the feeling that they’re the baby of the family. the siblings are cold and they are no exception, but underneath the facade of ice lies a deceptive blue flame—one so hot it burns you frozen, one that changes direction with the lightest breath of the wind. they seem to be more impulsive than their siblings (i mean seriously they just…..went out and won the lotto, nbd), but you can’t help but wonder: are they merely whimsical, or working toward some grander scheme? maybe it’s just because i have an undying love for meta, but i feel like it’d be such fun to play a character consistently a step removed from the present, eyes always flicking around the scenery because ultimately, it is not the individuals that matter, but what they do with themselves—how they leave a mark on the world.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

001. ► supernova (gods, impartial? ha. tell that to the greeks, darling.)

mallory’s relationships with hector and clark fascinate me in that, imo, despite being completely different in sentiment, they both stem from the men staunchly denying fate. my interpretation of mallory is one who believes strongly in fate, and the contrast between them is one that i’d like to see play out. they will not meddle with the fates of the men who meddle with fate, no matter how much they itch to, but i want them to do so. bring the god down to the level of mere mortals. make them give into their whims and engage with the world.

002. ► white dwarf (a deal with the devil; can you sell your soul when your heart holds no credit?)

mallory is more impulsive than either of their siblings. though they likely wouldn’t pick a side in the war for verona, i could certainly see them making deals with one side or another—with the clear caveat that they are neutral, and equally likely to assist another willing to bargain with a god. how would this play out? more importantly, how would their siblings react to this? there is a price to pay to make deals with gods, and i would love to see how mallory reacts to having multiple puppets on their strings.

003. ► black hole (the world began with a bang, and shall end similarly.)

mallory’s siblings are more than their family—they are the counterparts to their soul. how will they react to a threat to their existence? though their souls transcend the limits of mortality, their bodies do not, a fact mallory is simultaneously acutely aware of and utterly uncaring of. but, just as the gods of olympus are most vulnerable at their most opulent, what would happen to the witches if somebody attempted to question their omnipotence? i want fire and brimstone. i want the wrath of gods. mallory already has the fire. i’d like to see them burn.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

They touch an impeccably manicured finger to their lips, considering the question. It’s rare that they have to field personal questions—most given the honor of their counsel are after a specific goal, and their questions tend to reflect that single-mindedness. Still, the triviality isn’t unwelcome, and though Mallory raises a wry brow, they answer genuinely.

“Did you know,” they begin offhandedly, “that I had originally proposed putting modern art in the Twelfth Night? My siblings and I diverged in opinion on this, obviously. And, as you can see, my opinion was overruled.” A sigh. “Is it not tragic, the plight of the youngest?”

But a smirk slowly slides across their face. “Please do not tell my siblings I said this—I do hate being wrong, you see—but they were right; Baroque has been a most fitting choice for the museum. Tell me: have you been there at night?” They close their eyes indulgently, snapping open to reveal an unreadable expression. “It’s great fun. One could even say that it is magical.” This sets them off, peals of musical laughter falling from their lips. “But I don’t think it’s magic that compels guests to kiss the statues, no? That is a human honesty, and truly, there is nothing more fascinating to observe.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Hm.” They drum their fingers across the top of their other hand, but their attention seems elsewhere. “I’m afraid the answer may bore you.” They uncross their legs, re-cross them, and continue their answer. “I wake up…hm. After the sun, but before noon. I will usually tend to business at the hotel in the afternoon, and perhaps fit in a catnap before the evening. Come then, I go to the museum and turn those who stay after closing into statues.”

They smile prettily. “Just kidding.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

They still, and a chill falls over the room. They still, and for the first time, there is a presence in their eyes—it is as if their mind has been elsewhere until now, and they have finally joined the present conversation. A smirk rolls over their lips, different than the one before; this one is distinctly feline, languid and knowing.

“It’s silly. Pettiness is such a waste of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not quite truth, either. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but one Mallory is fascinated by, the way an entomologist is fascinated by a colony of ants. One to be watched from afar, perhaps on the sofa with their siblings. And—

“Oh.” The moment is broken; they have moved on to a new thought. “Perhaps I ought to ask Hea to buy popcorn before they come home.” They stand, obviously dismissive. “Yes. I shall do that.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It is a beautiful evening, the type that romantics write poetry over and lovers meet under. The sun paints a cascading orange against the sky, pulsing the last vestiges of light before it inevitably falls into bed with the shadows chasing it. And Mallory walks to work.

The heels of their shoes—four inch wedges, sensible for crossing cobblestones—glide soundlessly across the streets of Verona, leaving no trace of their owner behind. They walk languidly, confidently; their siblings are conducting business elsewhere, but their only responsibility for the evening is to prepare the Twelfth Night for the night. There is no rush. There rarely ever is.

And so, when a man approaches them, face alight with the reluctant, cautious awe characteristic of arrogant men humbled by proper power, they allow him to speak.

“Please,” he says, begs, “read my fortune. I’ll give you anything—anything!—I just…I think something bad may have happened, and I need to know what’s coming next.”

The only indication that they heard the man is in the single, perfectly-groomed brow that raises at his plea. The man certainly looks a mess, clothes rumpled and sweat beading on his brow. Mallory is unmoved by his appeal to their ethos.

But, admittedly, they are intrigued. Desperation is an endearingly human trait, one that Mallory finds almost charming.

( they can hear their siblings groans in the back of their mind, particularly cinead’s. well, it isn’t cinead’s time that they are wasting. )

“Hm,” they say. A beat passes. The man trembles. “Follow.”

—

“Three of swords, the Hanged Man reversed, and the Tower. Fascinating.”

“F-fascinating? What does that mean? Is that good?”

A laugh bubbles from Mallory’s chest. “Good? Bad? To label fate with something so crude would be boring.” They rise, and gather the three cards from the dusty stoop, brushing them off gently. “Fate is fate,” they say, and their eyes meet the man's—he cannot hold the contact for long, and looks away quickly. Their head inclines, feline in its judgement. “Though yours…your selfishness shall be caused by suffering.” They sigh. “How dull,” they say, more to themself than the man, shaking their head in disappointment. “If that is all, I shall take my leave.”

Mallory rises, and turns to walk back to their intended destination.

“W-wait!” The man calls to their back. “I can’t…I…You have the power to help me, right? I…I want to make a deal with you!”

Mallory pauses. Smirks. It seems they now have an appointment for the evening.

How fascinating.

Extras:

a playlist:

→ i put a spell on you ;; nina simone

i put a spell on you / and now you’re mine

→ never catch me ;; flying lotus ft. kendrick lamar

life and death is no mystery and i wanna taste it / step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity / high philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation

→ special affair ;; the internet

penny for your thoughts, i know what you want / i can read your mind even from behind

→ bone+tissue ;; gallant

sell me something i can use to catapult my value / treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

→ fantasy ;; alina baraz and galimatias

so you say you wanna get so high, breathe me in like air tonight / let yourself get lost in the garden of my mind

→ white ;; frank ocean

i dreamt of storms, i dreamt of sounds / i dreamt of gravity keeping us around

→ ready or not ;; the fugees

i play my enemies like a game of chess / no stress where i rest if you smoke some sess

hc’s and misc. bits

mal likes to read fortunes—tarot, palms, astrology. to them, it’s a silly game…but for those brave enough to ask, there’s always an eerie accuracy to them, a thrum of power that beats through the air when they turn the cards. unlike cinead, they will never turn down a request to read fortunes, delighting in the schadenfreude that comes with being the messenger of fate.

more on astrology: they check their horoscope every morning (for a loose definition of morning). even though they don’t necessarily believe in it, if one of their siblings’ signs are low in the luck ranking, they won’t let them leave the house without their lucky item.

in keeping with what’s apparently a running animal motif, mallory has a unabashed fondness for cats. (they also have a remarkably similar temperament to the animal, but they vehemently deny this when their siblings poke fun at them for it.) they have a cat named metis, whom they love dearly.

mallory is a night owl; the witching hour is their favorite time of day. mornings, to them, are entirely overrated—there’s no sense of romance to them. or so they say.

they love dancing, and practice all styles one could imagine, from ballet to salsa to hip hop. it is not an uncommon sight to see them at the tempest, undulating in a dance that is unorthodox but undoubtedly alluring, liquid moonshine slipping deftly through the crowd.

drunk!mallory’s passion is singing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

drunk!mallory cannot sing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

to call mallory vain is not incorrect, per se, but also not entirely right. they take great pride in maintaining their appearance—their aesthetic is black and flow-y, lace and long skirts and dark lips—but it is more a matter of preference than vanity.

mallory enjoys mixing drinks, though they rarely indulge in them themself. it is not an entirely rare sight to see them creating concoctions at the bar of the tempest. they cannot stand coffee.

on occasion, mallory will spend the day simply wandering the city. they won’t talk to anyone, but they enjoy people-watching.

—

( They stood in order: Cinead, then Hea, then Mallory. It was a habit ingrained by age, ingrained by habit, and though it was in Mallory’s nature to push against convention, it was one of the things they never questioned.

Cinead, Hea, Mallory. Order, balance, chaos. Always three. Always one. )

—

( the whisper of silk on skin, the bite of a frosty morning. wind that whips through the trees, displacing all but the birds. fingers brushing through hair. catching someone’s gaze from across a busy intersection. the ghost of breath. fractals in snowflakes. )

—

( each time they take one of you, you do not clench your fists. you do not yell childishly, you do not reach out to your siblings

and make no mistake, they are your siblings, even if your blood traitorously refuses to acknowledge this

because

you know.

you know that fate will return you where you ought to be:

by each others’ sides. )