#(Time is but a construct for the weak. Queue)

[fangsofdestruction]

Continued from:  ( ☾ ) @blossomingbellflower​

Just as Kikyo understood him well, so did he of her. It was an unspoken mutual understanding that very little could get past the other, so to be more time efficient, it was best not to fuss. Kikyo and Sesshomaru both had the tendency to downplay whenever they were hurt, the former doing so because she’d been through worse and she knew she was not in any mortal danger. The latter, as a Demon knew that what appeared to be fatal for humans was nothing more than a minor setback.

The man had lost an entire forearm at one point and continued to live his life, quickly adjusting to the change. While he trusted her personal assessment of herself to know that she was in no danger, it was still ultimately safer to address the injuries than to leave them for later. There was no telling if some Demon had sneakily done something and somehow had it slip under the radar.

He’d reached for his shoulder and smoothly removed his haori to lightly drape it over Kikyo’s smaller frame. She did not look presentable to be seen by others, with the blood stains and the visages of the fabric she removed to bound the 3 boys. Using a spell to shroud them from being detected by others perception, Sesshomaru took to the skies to take a faster and more direct route to the gumi.

       ❝Leave the rest for others to deal with. Now, we shall get you checked.❞

There was no room for argument here as he’d as smoothly as softened butter, scooped her into his arms and left for the gumi to have their doctor check her over to ensure that the spirit hadn’t done anything sneaky with its dying breath. Placing curses upon their mortal enemy was more common than one would think, and removing curses was a simpler task when caught early on.  

​

[talenlee]

Outlaws of Thunder Junction Draft In Retrospect

Outlaws of Thunder Junction is stepping out the door in a few days as the ‘newest’ standard set, and with it goes the default focus of premier drafting on Magic The Gathering Arena. As the newest and most current set, any time Magic: The Gathering Arena gives me a pack for showing up or having fun or being nice or having a cute smile (like it’d know), it gives me a Outlaws of Thunder Junction pack.

This has been a deliberate part of my focus playing on Arena. See, I really like playing constructed magic, and because of that, I’ve been drafting Outlaws of Thunder Junction regularly.

These things seem at odds, I know.

Here’s my thinking:

Building decks need cards.

The game gives you a bunch of preconstructed decks to start with, but they are explicitly weak and designed to get you started in the game. They’re not about the kinds of things I want to be doing with my cards.

If I want to acquire cards, I can either spend money on buying product or I can do things in the free game that get me more rewards

These rewards can be spent on buying packs in the store, which is how they encourage me to keep engaged with the store, or I can draft.

If I just buy boosters, at maximum payout, it’s 90k gold for 90 boosters, 45k for 45 boosters that give 8 cards, so 360 cards.

If I draft, assuming I do badly, I will spend 10k gold, and open 3 boosters (with no chance for wildcards) that total 45 cards, and get another booster (+8 cards). That’s a much lower rate of return, with 4 boosters being 4k gold.

But the draft sees 53 cards and 4 boosters would see 32.

If I do okay at a draft, I’m spending 10k gold for 3 15-card boosters (45 cards) + 2 boosters (16 cards) and 1,000 gems.

If I draft cards I already have 4 of (which will happen if I draft a lot), they contribute to the vault very quickly and if I draft rares I already have 4 of (which turns out also happens) I get wildcards for those.

Here’s the other thing: Saving up for 90k gold takes more than two months during which there are good days and bad days and sometimes nothing happening. Drafting every week or so is a lot of fun.

Not that I would have necessarily said that at particular points. I mean, there were points in the Thunder Junction season where I had the extremely firm opinion that actually, draft sucks, why am I doing it. One night, I did a draft, got a 1-3 loss, and was so mad about it I immediately spent my gems to queue up again, eating a 0-3 loss. In that moment, I did genuinely storm around the house and think ‘why do I bother, this sucks, why am I doing this.’

It’s very important to face that feeling, because I know full well I was fuming and upset about losing and not handling it well. I talked about it on kind.social, I fumed, I had a little tattle and a little vent about it, but also, it was very important to recognise, I was talking about my feelings. I was venting about feeling bad. I didn’t need to talk about the objective failings, or about the balance of the game, I was talking about the things I felt bad about, and it’s okay to feel bad and it’s okay to express that feeling bad.

Anyway, what did I learn in general?

You Don’t Have To Worry About Getting Enough Playables

Time was when I learned how to play draft, it was a genuinely challenging experience because boosters had cards in it you wouldn’t want to play. That’s because it was the set Scourge, and Onslaught-Scourge-Legions draft was a midnight hellscape. Do you know what commons were like back then? Half of them were non-creatures, and in Onslaught specifically, there were some absolute donkeys.

Have you ever seen Treespring Lorian? It’s a 5/4 for 6. What about Daru Lancer? Six mana, 3 power first striker, bam!

Removal was better, creatures were worse, and you would be shocked at what constituted good evasion. Screaming Seahawk was a ‘good card’, and Severed Legion was one of the most powerful cards in its class.

Outlaws of Thunder Junction has far fewer cards I wouldn’t run and when I cut them it’s because I have better cards, not because the cards are too bad to put in a deck. Even cards that are a bit awkward still have a place – particularly, sometimes you’ll have an uncommon or rare that transform how good another card is. Check out Boneyard Desecrator. I’ve won a few games with it as just a 3/4 menace for 4, which is unexciting but fine, but that’s a little desperate compared to when I got one alongside a Baron Bertram Graywater – which meant I started this creature getting bigger and bigger, slowly bleeding an opponent as I made treasures and vampires, and held off bigeger and bigger threats. Very fun engine, and it leads to the next point…

Sometimes an Uncommon Pulls Something Together

Treasure Dredger isn’t an amazing card, I don’t think. It’s a 2/2 for 2. It can block some things in combat but on its own it’s not really doing a lot. It doesn’t trigger crimes on its own, and you don’t usually need regular treasure production, unless you have something for it to work with. Like, again Baron Bertram Graywater.

Know what else works great with it? A huge expensive card like Cruel Ultimatum, or a huge expensive card like Overwhelming Forces or a card like Gold Rush. If I have one of those cards, suddenly, the Dredger is a lot more interesting. Quilled Charger isn’t a really exciting card, but menace is really good if you also have a Ferocification.

When I found I had a deck hanging around a card like that, I would play as if I was trying to get that card. Cyclers, searches, digging and rummaging all become differently valuable if you have a cool uncommon or rare that makes the whole deck work in a particular way, and that means that cards that keep the game going until you get them have a value for that point too. Gotta keep my head on a swivel and notice when my deck’s priorities are different.

Oh, know another good example? Spring Splasher. It’s not that good a card, but when I drafted two alongside a Lazav, Familiar Stranger, being able to drop Lazav and immediately crime on a creature that was safe and also promised to make the next crime on the next turn was really good. It didn’t matter if they weren’t a great card per se, because if Lazav is a 3/6 the first time they attack, they’re really hard to get rid of!

I remember these stories. I remember winning this way. I remember having fun with these interactions.

Sometimes You Get Dumpstered

In my first OTJ draft, my third game and loss was where my opponent cast, in order:

Thunder Salvo

Sandstorm Salvager

Hellspur Posse Boss

Gitrog Monster

Back For More

Savage Smash

That was kinda impossible to beat. And that happens. In best-of-one free-to-play drafting, there are going to be situations where an opponent gets a handful of heaters and I don’t have anything I can do about it but that’s not most games, it’s not all games, and even when a statistical outlier like this happens, the thing to do is take it, dust myself off, vent about the feelings and be okay with trying again.

I can’t remember when I won like that. I’m sure I have had wins where my opponent just – oh! Oh wait no! No I remember now. The last draft I did, I played a green-black deck where I had two treasure dredgers and a Kaervek, the Punisher. My opponents were convinced getting rid of Kaervak was a big deal, and left my Treasure Dredgers alone.

Then when I had five treasures, I untapped and cast the Goldvein Hydra in my hand, resulting in a 12/12 trampling vigilance haste. And I gotta say if you’re the opponent and you just spent time brawling through blockers and trying to box me into a position to get Kaervak off the table, because you could have no idea that my deck couldn’t do anything with him, only to have the Hydra that had been sitting in my hand vomit itself onto the battlefield and crash over 8 power of blockers for lethal –

That probably felt bad.

I mean, I take the W, but I gotta remember that I’m someone’s bad match too, sometimes. Point is, I’m playing a high variance card game for a reason and I’m not owed a victory, even if I think I am.

Don’t Spend All Your Removal At Once

The target is 20 of my opponent’s life total. Just because I can neatly kill a thing when my opponent plays out a creature and I have the mana up doesn’t mean it’s worth my time to do it. Creatures are going to bash into each other and live and die, and there’s nothing good about keeping the board clear in limited unless I’m already ahead, and ahead in a way that won’t be easily disrupted (so, like, 2-3 good sized creatures), then killing their creature with one of my small supply of removal spells might be a waste of that card. I don’t have a lot! I don’t have tons of removal! I need to hang onto it for the best targets. Killing something to get in for 2 is not a good use of a whole card.

Late Game Gas Is Really Important

I used to play limited in a world where you wanted to be able to engage on the battlefield on turn three, and just go for it. Creature combat was about mediocre creatures hitting one another and killing your opponents’ stuff and broadly speaking if you could draft a bunch of bears you were going to win just because you went 2 drop, 2 drop, two 2 drops against opponents who were still casting more expensive stuff.

That’s not the case any more. Evasion isn’t as available, it’s not as pure. People want to get around things and want to get through things. Menace has an amazing effect. Vigilance is incredible. But just having any big creature that I can draw to in the late game or hold onto in the mid game is important. Without that, even when the end game is stalled I’m drawing cards that aren’t good and don’t matter even if I am drawing a lot of them.

Conclusion

I am fond of  OTJ. I have memories of playing it and it has made me a little less scared of drafting going forwards and I’m really happy with how Magic Arena made drafting it part of my life.

Oh and Bonny Pall is a mess.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[paperanddice]

Inevitables are intelligent, self-driven constructs that attempt to police the order of the world, descending from the Overworld to watch for chaos and ensure balance. Each inevitable has its own duty and structure, many acting independently and seeking to resolve the situation it encounters on its own. When it encounters a source of chaos outside of its own jurisdiction, it will report back to the greater structure of law within the Overworld, and the issue will be added to the queue, an appropriate inevitable assigned to the case when one is available.

Arbiters are scouts for the greater inevitable structure. Many patrol sections of the world, using their small size and great stealth to avoid attention and track sources of increasing chaos. Approximately one foot in diameter, they look like clockwork eyes with two small arms and two small wings, flying more by magic than mechanical capability. Arbiters rarely fight, but will come to battle against creatures of true chaos (as registered by their system), mostly consisting of demons and some types of aberrations. Weak combatants on their own, they rely on allies when fighting anything but the smallest of threats, but in dire situations an arbiter can utilize the electrical systems within it for a powerful, overload attack. This attack is a last ditch effort, as after using it the construct shuts down completely, a scenario that they seem to almost be scared of.

Arbiters can also be assigned to specific individuals who the inevitables have classified as allies of order, becoming advisors and counsellors to these mortals while gaining access to a larger network of resources to catch growing chaos. Arbiters always know the direction to the nearest higher ranked inevitable, and when they encounter a situation that they cannot resolve themselves or with the aid of their assigned mortals, they will report the issue to their higher ups for further processing.

Arbiter Weakling 3rd level troop [construct] Initiative: +8 Small Blade +9 vs. AC – 5 damage. [Group Ability] C: Electrical Burst +9 vs. PD (1d4 nearby enemies) – 5 lightning damage. Effect: The arbiter is stunned for 24 hours after using this attack (remove it from the battle). Group Ability: For every four arbiters in the battle (round up), one of them can use electrical burst during the battle. Flight. Mechanical Reconstruction 2: When the arbiter has been damaged, its mechanical body self-repairs 2 hit points at the start of the arbiter’s turn. It can repair 5 times per battle. If it heals to its maximum hit points, then that use of mechanical reconstruction doesn’t count against the five-use limit. When the arbiter is hit by an attack that deals lightning damage, it loses one use of its mechanical reconstruction and it can’t regenerate during its next turn. Dropping the arbiter to 0 hp doesn’t kill it if it has any uses of mechanical reconstruction left. AC 20 PD 15 MD 16 HP 20

Kolyarut are the size and shape of humans, but the resemblance ends there naturally. Constructed of metal and stone, they look like a statue augmented with gears and machine parts, though all kolyarut have the ability to disguise themselves by magic to look human. They enforce contracts and bargains, descending from the Overworld when a particularly significant contract has been broken to bring the culprit to heel. The exact terms and conditions of these contracts do not matter to the kolyarut; morality gives way to legality in their machine minds, and so even unfair or downright cruel judgments will be enforced. This often puts the inevitable at odds with mortals who oppose such dogmatic and single minded order, a most vexing scenario for the construct.

The nature of enforcing contracts requires more social interaction with the signatories than many other inevitables' work, and so kolyarut are more social and prone to interacting with other beings to ensure their mission is successful. They will even team up with mortals (or let them tag along with the inevitable's mission), though such partnerships are destined to be short lived as the kolyarut has no compunctions about taking advantage of such aid, abandoning or sacrificing these companions if it will help advance the mission successfully.

Kolyarut Triple-strength 6th level blocker [construct] Initiative: +9 Blade of Law +11 vs. AC (3 attacks) – 20 damage. Natural Even Hit: The target takes a -5 penalty on disengage checks, and the kolyarut gains a +4 bonus to attacks of opportunity against the target (save ends both). Vampiric Touch +11 vs. PD – 40 negative energy damage and the kolyarut regains 1 use of mechanical reconstruction. Limited Use: 2/battle. Mechanical Reconstruction 25: When the kolyarut has been damaged, its mechanical body self-repairs 25 hit points at the start of the arbiter’s turn. It can repair 5 times per battle. If it heals to its maximum hit points, then that use of mechanical reconstruction doesn’t count against the five-use limit. When the kolyarut is hit by an attack that deals lightning damage, it loses one use of its mechanical reconstruction and it can’t regenerate during its next turn. Dropping the kolyarut to 0 hp doesn’t kill it if it has any uses of mechanical reconstruction left. AC 22 PD 18 MD 17 HP 280

Inspired by the Pathfinder 1e Bestiary 2. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

[ladylibido]

List of 18+ Social Media

Since making a comparison post on just art galleries, I decided to make a new one again for just the social media services that allow 18+ sexually explicit content.

BDSMlr - A clunky tumblr-like service, it almost seems to be running a much older version of tumblr but is rather broken and clunky. Their backend image hosting appears to be fixed from the last time I used it. It also has very little customization to speak of. It is pretty active, but most of it's users mostly post/interact with posts/images/gifs related to RL porn, a handful of writers, and other kink interest blogs. Very little in the way of illustrators.

CoHost - Still very new, about a year old as of Feb 2023. As such certain features are thin, no queue, no customization. But so far the service itself appears pretty functional and solid. You can make multiple blogs, have unique follow lists for each blog, and you can either mute or block other users. You can also make private blogs. It also has a content warning system, separate from the tags. Tags can be suppressed, collapsing the post, and you can bookmark tags to follow. There is a draft system you can use as a manual pseudo-queue. They currently only permit 4 images per post, and there's no way to re-arrange them on any part of the post. It will take time to see how it pans out.

Mastodon - I bring this up in relation to the whole fediverse of Mastodon services, rather than listing individual services that use Mastodon that are 18+. It's a sort of 'twitter but better' service, but in doing so it has all the pitfalls of twitter in it's general construction. Awkward tag usage, no tag filtering on an individual's page, no way to separate shares from original posts, and character limits. Some have better character limits than others but still a limit nonetheless. Also if an instance goes down, you've lost your account and you have to find a new one all over again. There is also the problem that many 18+ mastodon instances are blocked from other instances, so the purpose of trying to connect and share with other users is already hindered by Mastodon being what it is, so take that as you will.

NewTumbl - As the name implies, it's another service that is like tumblr. While the name is awkward the service is rather robust. Allows for different blogs, but not different watch feeds. There is also no tag blocking but you can hide 'genres' both clean and pornographic, and you can hide blogs. You can also filter based on the age of the user, so if you wanted to lock out anyone under 25, you can do that. It is the most blatantly pornographic related service as you can apply specific genres to your blog. It also has some customization, but no CSS customization. It also has a built-in access list system that can either be free or you can charge users to access, similar to patreon or subscribe star. It's also surprisingly active, I ghosted my account there for about 2 years and I've had activity on my blog the whole time I've been gone.

Pillowfort - A fusion between livejournal and tumblr, it has different strongpoints and weaknesses of both. It offers the tagging, tag filtering, reblogging of tumblr, but the static entry and comment threading of livejournal. There are no multi-blogs and it still requires an invite to make a new account but invites are easy to get, either from pillowfort's twitter or other users. User blogs have the ability to view original posts and reblogs separately, making it very fast and easy to sort through either one on a person's blog. It has some amount of customization but no css changes at this time. It is somewhat on the slow side but it does have a dedicated userbase and is the only option on this list that allows people to see 18+ posts, without an account.

ReblogMe - Seems to use the same system that BDSMlr users, but with some elements about it cleaned up more and tweaks to the UI I prefer. It does not have much in the way of default themes but it does have a CSS editor. Otherwise it functions similarly to older tumblr, so it doesn't have any of the new ease of use features tumblr has, but it's still a little better than BDSMlr. the userbase is very similar to BDSMlr as well. But it is overall, much more stable.

Twitter - We all know it, we probably all use it, but I just have to put it here to account for it. It's undeniable that it's the most frequented service, and drives the most traffic, but there's always the concern that its acceptance with porn could change at any time. So seek other mirrors and archives where you can.

Waterfall - Another tumblr-inspired service, it has the services you expect and users them fairly well. It has tag blocking, though it's way to lock posts as adult is by using a NSFW tag, not any sort of toggle or button which can be easy to forget. Image posts don't have any sorting or organization, they just display one below the other. There is no customization at this time, and activity is almost non-existent on the 18+ front. Fair warning however, the owner made a post about updating the service and it may involve re-making it entirely so it's debatable if it'll remain as is.

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

A Traitor In Our Midst

PART III OF III

PART I

PART II

PART III

And it’s done! What a wait! And for that we are very sorry. For a long time we just couldn’t finish this closing chapter in a way that felt right or akin to the characters and their little story so it has undergone several re-writes. This final part isn’t as long as those previous, or as technical, but we hope you enjoy! There’s fluff, so hopefully that makes up for it! Thank you everyone who has supported this little series! As always, constructive criticism is appreciated!

Summary: Cal Kestis x ex-Galactic Empire!OC, but can be treated like an x reader, ugly secrets from her past are resurfaced. In light of the truth Cal and crew no longer feel as if they can trust the newest member to the trio. Tempers flare, sacrifices are made, and the truth finally comes out.

Warnings: Torture is featured/referenced in this chapter so be warned. Angst, Blood, Violence, Swearing, Torture, Interrogation tactics, Emotional Manipulation, PTSD, Trauma

“...just to protect those who would never do the same for you?”

It had been two weeks since Aylin and BD had been trapped on the Star Destroyer, Cal and crew in the middle of negotiating with Saw Gerrera to organise a rescue mission, the stubborn man finally agreeing once it had been revealed BD had failed to return, the ship the duo had commandeered having been seized by the Empire. Cal, Cere and Greez huddled around the small monitor in the centre of the hull, deathly quiet as they listened to the conversation taking place between Second Sister and their former crewmate. On their rounds of the ship, BD had managed to return just in time to spot Trilla entering the prison cell, and now they waited anxiously, hidden under a series of shelves in the outward corridor. All three members of the crew looked positively sick, Cal in particular turning a ghastly pale as he held his breath, dreading the events to unfold.

“Oh isn't that just sweet.” Trilla’s shrill voice mocked lowly, eerily echoing down the corridor. “You really did care about them didn't you? Isn’t it a pity how they’ve left you here to die?”

“Fuck you.” Cal had to strain to hear Aylin’s response. She sounded weak, worryingly so, the venom in her words sounding as if it pained her to push it past her lips.

“You’re not denying it.” 

The silence that followed was deafening.

“That pretty red-head might have come to save you once, even I can tell you were very important to him-”

Cal involuntarily lurched at his mention, his muscles twitching so as to distance himself from the screen, an icy grip encasing his heart.

“Not anymore.” 

Cal physically felt his heart whither in his chest, his knuckles turning white.

“Not anymore.” The sick woman almost sounded joyful. “All because you were born on the wrong side of the war. How ironic, an unforgiving Jedi.”

‘oh force...’ Cal withdrew, his heart plummeting to his stomach as the words echoed around his skull. Greez’s clawed hand landed on his elbow in comfort but the redhead payed him no mind. ‘please say something’ he silently begged, desperate to know that Aylin didn’t really think the same of him.

She never responded.

“I can’t watch this.” The red-head made an effort to move away from the screen, fully intent on hiding in the shadows of the cockpit. The entire conversation felt like a knife to his heart, and it only became worse when he realised anything could have been happening behind those closed doors, and he was powerless.

“And Cere, she wouldn’t even come to save me.” - A muffled ugly gasp - “Why are you protecting those who would sell you to the order for far less?”

Silence followed, and the trio held their breaths. A strangled cry abruptly cut-off, Cal very nearly almost throwing up as a strangled chocking gasp broke the silence, the sounds of boots scraping and struggling against a metallic surface drowning out the conversation.

A sickening thud.

Murmurs.

Screams.

Another bang.

“No- PLEASE!” Shrill blood-curdling screams assaulted their senses, Cal flinching away from the screen. The trio waited a moment, Cal’s hands covering his mouth, agape with horror - the begging screams didn’t stop.

“We have to do something!” Cal burst, a red hue overtaking his sickly complexion, flinching again at a particularly desperate yell.

“What do you suppose?” Cere bit back harshly, the stress and helplessness of the situation fraying all of their nerves.

“Something! - Anything!” Cal racked his brain for a solution, the echoing screams resonating from the monitor throwing his thoughts into a frenzy. “We need to get Trilla out of the room. We need to get her away from her!”

“And how are we-”

“BD!” Cal lurches towards the screen, shaking hands frantically typing a message to the small BD-unit. “If we can just get her into the main hull of the ship, it would be perfectly reasonable for the trooper who requested her presence to have moved to a different location in the ship.”

“Cal, think about this-”

His hand hovers over the ‘enter’ button on the holopad. His wide bloodshot eyes searing a hole directly into Cere’s skull.

“What is there to think about?” As if on queue, another scream wafted through the monitor. That solidified his resolve, hitting the key before Cere or Greez could even blink, BD immediately setting into motion. 

The cell doors opened with a resounding hiss as BD finished inputting the code, the little droid rolling to the side to enter the cell. The sight that greeted the crew was worse than they could have possibly imagined. The young woman strapped to the table in the centre of the room resembled a corpse more so than the confident and head-strong blonde that had departed from their ship only two weeks prior. Her imperial jacket barely hung to her beaten and bloodied frame, the torn and tattered fabric had been roughly tugged from her torso, wound into a crumpled heap around her waist and elbows, bony shoulders jutting up through the ruins of a once white tank top, now stained crimson. With every breath her ribcage shuddered, ribs pressing against her beaten and sullied skin, protruding almost painfully with every twist and struggle, skin taught. Any part of her not covered in crimson was mottled in varying shades of black and purple, the angry discolouration winding around her ribs and disappearing behind the remnants of her undershirt.

Cal felt positively sick. Anger bloomed in his chest as despair gnawed at his stomach, bloodshot eyes transfixed on the image before him, the sound of blood rushing through his ears, and Aylin’s screams echoing through his mind drowning out the conversation taking place. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the table ledge with all the might his exhausted muscles would allow, his breath clogging his throat and chest as he forgets himself, his one and only concern the one person in the entire galaxy who he couldn't reach.

Trilla hovers over her diminished frame, elbow harshly dug into the blonde’s exposed ribs, gloved hand wrapped languidly around a blade buried to its hilt, fresh crimson pooling along Aylin’s collarbone, spilling onto the table and then onto the cement floor, glistening sickeningly in the overhead lighting. Noteful of BD’s presence, his frantic panicked beeps finally reaching her ears amongst the screams, Trilla leans back, still leant heavily on Aylin as her cold amber gaze lands on the small BB unit, anger and frustration etched across her face. A sickening thud echoes around the metallic room as the blonde’s head falls back pathetically, unaware of the cause of the interruption. She looked barely conscious, beginning to dance across the line of life to death, who’s arms were already open and willing to hold her in their cold embrace.

With all the languidity of a senator, Trilla leisurely pulls the blade from Aylin’s exposed shoulder, leisurely wiping the blood covered blade on her tattered jacket, a cruel smile adorning her features all the while. Aylin barely moves, eyes half lidded and body slack, the only indication of life the erratic yet shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her head tilts to expose more of her hollowed features, Cal’s horrified gaze locking onto her own, the breath he had been holding escaping his lungs and his shoulders falling with the guilt that clawed its way up from his stomach, a tangible trepidation reverberating throughout the force. What little fat she had possessed had surely withered away, her cheekbones appearing almost sharp underneath her taught and sunken complexion, ivory skin now pale and shining a ghastly yellow under the blaring overhead lights, a stark contrast to the maroon-dried blood coating her temple and jaw. Her bloodshot and sunken eyes blearily gaze towards the ceiling, no sign of the life that had once illuminated their honeyed depths, the life that had spilled from her being in abundance no longer to be found.

Cal’s focus finally turns back to the conversation at hand, breaths shallow, BD beckoned from the room with an indignant “Droid.”, the tall figure of the second sister glowering at them from the entrance of the cell, evidently annoyed at the intrusion. With one final glance BD reluctantly turns to leave the room, following the second sister dutifully in their search for the non-existent trooper in the main hanger.

Cal collapses onto a sofa across the room from the monitor, the horrific image of Aylin strapped to a metal table, looking closer to death than life, and drenched in her own blood, permanently burnt into his retinas. A sight to haunt him for a lifetime.

“Fuck Saw, we’re getting them both, tomorrow.”

----------

With little convincing Greez had quickly succumbed to Cal’s persuasion, the two men - after much deliberation and heated debate - had also successfully convinced Cere of their plan. Truthfully, Cal had been conjuring ways to coordination a rescue ever since Aylin and BD had been captured on the Star Dreadnaught, and as he prepared for the events of the day, no doubt entered his mind that their two companions would be with the crew by the end of the day. Companion - Cal almost scoffed to himself - the two were far more than that: BD, in many ways, had become a best friend to Cal in the past few years, the companionable little droid with a taste for adventure never failing to offer a sense of comfort and joy, even in some of Cal’s darkest times, in many ways resembling a younger sibling Cal had never before had the pleasure of having. Aylin, on the other hand, in the time the pair had known one another, had somehow wormed her way into the isolated Jedi’s heart, always offering her support in his times of need, encouraging him with his training through her self-proclaimed ‘tough-love’, becoming a source of confident resolve and rationality - a sense of stability in the ever changing galaxy. 

Cal remembered their many nights spent on some unknown planet, the pair sat beneath the many stars and moons of the galaxy, sharing tales long into the night. Cal had never had a relationship with anyone like the relationship he had formed with the stubborn blonde: heatedly sparring before patching one another’s wounds from the scuffle; longing glances spared with every tranquil moment, hidden behind excuses of exhaustion or a poorly constructed insult; grins and soft smiles shared over meal time or upon their own hidden adventures exploring new planets; a hand reaching out for the others in a busied market or times of comfort; an eye searching for the other in a crowded room; simply basking in one another's presence in the quiet hours of the morning, relishing every moment where they could just be. Cal knew he was a fool, a disgrace to the Jedi code he had spent his entire youth obeying like a holy script, he knew he was a fool the first time the enigmatic blonde had saved his life in her third month of joining the crew, standing over his tired and weary frame with a cocky smirk and a calloused hand outstretched, making some smart-arsed comment as she hauled him to his feet.

Attachments were forbidden, Jedi were trained from birth to let go of everything they were afraid to lose. And Cal? He was terrified to lose her - he had already broken his sacred vows, he had become attached, and he would be damned before he sacrificed one of the only things he was afraid to lose. He would never be a Jedi, yet perhaps that was okay, perhaps there was something more to this world that he had only realised upon stumbling across the Mantis and her crew. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway. 

The point seemed ever more poignant as his cerulean eyes stared conflictingly at the reflection in his mirror. No longer did he adorn the trusty combat trousers, baggy shirt, chest brace, not even his trusting poncho that seemed to make up his daily attire. Instead, a version of himself he had spent endless nights battling against stared back at him, the ironed and pressed midnight coloured uniform clinging to his lean frame. After a pit stop or two he had successfully acquired a knock-off Imperial General’s uniform, a notable fake with the lack of an aura emitting from the otherwise haunting apparel. Tugging harshly at the collar that bit into the skin of his neck, a habit he had seen Aylin recount numerous times in her preparation for the mission, his tired eyes trail over his figure, hoping to all of the stars and force wielders in the galaxy that his Master couldn’t see him now. 

He clears his throat to relieve some of the tightness that had gathered in his chest before he leaves his sleeping quarters, rolling his stiff shoulders as he makes his way into the main hull, lightsaber already hidden beneath his newly acquired jacket.

“So,” The red-head steps before Greez and Cere - already equipped in her own better-fitting storm trooper armour - who had been typing away to BD on the small holopad in the main hull. “How do I look?”

The pair glance up at the young man, Greez’s beady little eyes widening considerably, a good natured grin enveloping his face. 

“Kid-” Humour laced his tone, his dark eyes taking in the sight before him. “Let’s just hope you won’t be on that ship for too long.” In comparison to how Aylin’s uniform had fit her frame, Cal’s uniform may have well as swamped him, the thick fabric creasing at his waist, his belt fastened at the smallest capacity and yet somehow still too big, sitting notably lower on his waist than it should have, polished and barely scuffed boots a size too large, the one thing that actually fit being the pair of leather gloves over his shaking hands.

Everything just seemed slightly wrong, just a little bit askew, just a little bit... fake.

By all respects, Cal had certainly gone to the effort of impersonating an Imperial soldier, skin scrubbed clean of the dirt and grime of the galaxy, hair slicked back under a hat slightly too large for his head, he had even cracked into Aylin’s limited makeup supply and attempted to conceal the many scars he had gained through his years, as well as the stress-induced darkening bags under his eyes. The Empire wasn't him, and it was painfully obvious to all who spared him a second glance. 

“Say all you want, old man.” Cal jibes light heatedly, beginning to head towards the cockpit. “Have you forgotten your own disguise?” The redhead sends a pointed look in the direction of the shell of a modified astromech droid, the humour in Greez’s eyes quickly dying as his gaze lands on his ingenious costume.

“If I have to come and rescue you all in that thing.” Greez stares uneasily at his heavy, small costume. “You owe me a spa day.”

----------

After commandeering a small transport shuttle from a neighbouring planet with a rather small Imperial presence, Cal and Cere bid farewell to Greez, who was to remain with the Mantis and communicate with them through BD and the data pad.

“Be careful.” Cere warns, arms wrapped around herself as she watches Greez fiddle with some mechanisms on the inside of the ship with dull eyes. “We won’t be able to come and rescue you if you get caught.”

He waves her concern off with dismissal.

Cal appears next to her, materialising from the bowls of the Mantis, smoothing his jacket out once again. The older woman turns to the young man, barely out of adolescence, and feels the corners of her mouth tug down. This could go wrong, this could go horribly, horrendously, atrociously wrong, and with Cal’s loosening grip on his emotions, his anxiety rolling from him in waves through the force, chances of failure were ever high. Cal was only young, having grown up during some of the darkest known times of the galaxy, his future destroyed by a war begun before his birth, and now he was to be thrust into the heart of the conflict, into the home of those responsible for all of his suffering. Cal was a victim, just like all those who had lived during the raising of the Empire, his body and mind more marred and scarred than most, but he was a survivor, scorning and mocking the Empire with every day lived. Cere hoped he continued to be a survivor, one of the few specks of light in an ever darkening galaxy, yet this rescue mission threatened to snuff his light out for good.

Her mind wondered at the cause of the young man’s anxiety as she watched his hands tremble as he straightened his leather belt, surveying the pasty sheen of his skin and the poorly-concealed bags under his flitting eyes. As harsh as she had been on Aylin when her past had been revealed, it was undeniable that the two women had held a close bond, and secretly, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, Cere had missed the girl terribly, her own guilty conscious gnawing away at the edges of her conscious whenever she tried to rest. Last night had been particularly bad after the events that she had witnessed unfold on the small data pad yesterday afternoon, the image of her companion, beaten and bloody, a mere fragment of how she remembered the blonde girl on her departure. The image haunted her whenever her eyes had finally agreed to close - as obviously was the case with the redhead stood next to her, exhaustion palpable on his features underneath the mounting anxiety and adrenaline - the added guilt, knowing similar treatment would have faced Trilla due to her own selfishness, depriving her mind of rest, gnawing at her innards and haunting every fibre of her being. 

She hoped desperately for her crew to return, all of them safe, once again, in their home, the Mantis.

“Cal,” She turns to the tall red-head, hands gripping her arms more firmly, “I know what your goal is, I know how badly you want to bring her home.” The red-head watches her with steady eyes, shoulders raising in defence. “I want them home too, but- but please remember yourself. I can’t loose all of you.”

The sounds of the local wildlife and fauna fill the steady silence as Cal mulled over her words, hand running over the saber tucked into his side.

“Don’t worry Cere,” Cal begins heading down the ramp, taking long purposeful strides towards the Imperial ship, Cere’s more tentative steps following in his wake. “I’m going to make it back, and I’m bringing everyone with me.”

Cal didn’t know where the certainty had come from, his voice didn’t waver and his steps didn’t falter. He would do this. He would bring his two best friends back home, and one day he would make the Empire pay.

----------

“We’re here.” Cere slips out of the pilot seat, allowing for Cal to take her place, grasping her blaster in a vice-like grip as she sits stiffly towards the back of the shuttle. She watches as Cal heads to the front of the ship, manning the controls for their landing, frown deepening behind her helmet as the star destroyer encroaches, fear clawing at her throat with every memory resurfaced from the devastation following Order 66.

“We head out the Western exit of the docking bay when we land.” Cal rattles off, flipping some switches as their small vessel is pulled towards the star destroyer. “BD should meet us somewhere in one of the closest corridors and we follow them to the cell, remember to stay behind me, if you don’t they’ll know something’s wrong straight away.”

Cere watches as Cal’s grip tightens around the steering controls, leather gloves straining taught over his knuckles, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes stare unblinking towards the star destroyer.

“Are you ready?” Her voice is stern -  shocking her with how it echoes back to her within the suffocating helmet - echoing around the small hull, yet Cal nearly doesn’t hear her, distracted with the storm brewing in his mind, consumed by a rising tidal wave of anxiety, determination and fear.

His eyes finally dart away from the destroyer, turning to glance at his companion over his shoulder, his blue irises red-rimmed and owlish in the overhead lights. The uncanny figure of a storm-trooper greats him, black visor reflecting his own distorted expression back to him from an impenetrable mask of white.

He nods lightly, determination sparking in his weary eyes, the collar of his jacket rubbing uncomfortably against his nape. There was no going back now, he couldn't go back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

----------

Cal squints as he exist the transport shuttle, the overbearing overhead lights bearing down on his frigid frame, the jelled hair peaking form underneath his hat shining with every tilt of his head. The first foot fall on the metal floor seems to resonate throughout the entire hanger, vibrations wracking the bones in his leg, tremors coursing throughout his body and echoing in his ears as several troopers’ heads turn towards the new arrival. His breath catches in his throat and the courage in his stomach withers as he takes another feigned purposeful stride away from the comfort and security of the shuttle, and in towards those waging a war on the galaxy. With every feigned purposeful step shockwaves scatter throughout his tense body, the tension in the air threatening to suffocate him, his heart hammering restlessly against his ribcage and lungs struggling for breath as if he had just ran through the last twelve parsecs. His cerulean eyes lock on his exit from the hanger, offering him a brief solace from the white masks that consumed every corner of his vision, Cere’s steady footsteps behind him offering a further sense of comfort.

By the time the pair finally exit the hanger Cal can practically feel the sweat that had broken out across his body, swiping his forehead to rid of any precipitation that had gathered. His shoulders and spine ached with the effort he had put into maintaining his posture - much in the way he had watched Aylin enter the hanger only several weeks prior - and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Although on the outside he may have appeared like ay other Imperial General, cold, unpleasant, perhaps even bored or apathetic to all events that seemed to have been happening around him, inside he had never felt so rattled, his mind a muddled mess, his blood coursing with fear and anxiety which only seemed to mount with every passing second. The panic within thinly veiled with calculated disgust.

Almost as soon as Cal and Cere enter an adjacent corridor to the main hanger, BD comes scuttling around the corner, the pair not recognising the droid in its new round body - Cere’s gloved fingers wrapping dangerously around the hilt of her blaster - until its excited little beeps reach their ears.

“Buddy!” Cal’s facade cracks, grinning down at the little droid as he fights the urge to reach down and give them a hug, worried incase someone should see. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

The little droid, on the other hand, is positively ecstatic, practically vibrating on the spot in both glee at being rescued and frustration that they couldn’t jump straight into Cal’s arms. Truth be told BD had deeply missed their old body during their time stranded on the Dreadnaught. Not waisting any time the little droid rolls behind Cal’s trouser clad legs, ramming into his calves in an attempt to nudge him in the direction of Aylin’s cell and whirring heatedly.

“I know, I know.” Cal steps forward, resolute stature returning to his pale features as he prepares to round another corner. “We’re all going home.”

----------

Within minutes that felt like an eternity the three rebels found themselves amongst the holding cells, BD finally taking the lead to guide them to Aylin’s cell, his happy chirps long silenced as the three grew nearer, all three dreading the sight to await them. Much like when they first arrived, Cal felt suffocated by the pristine atmosphere that seemed to cling to his clothes and hair, dirtying his skin and clogging his throat. It felt fake... the whites and slanted greys, the cleanliness and order, the peace and harmony. The presented image of purity and order, worked into the very steel framework itself, felt so wrong and dirty with the suffering taking place throughout the galaxy at the hands of those that inhabited the ship. Cal could feel the misery and terror that emanated from the dreadnaught itself, seeping into him through the walls and floors, mixed into a terrible concoction with the pride and honour from the officials that walked those very corridors.

It was beloathed, and yet prideful.

Uncomfortably, it reminded him of Aylin.

The red-head tugged at the collar of his jacket as BD came to an abrupt halt at a large durasteel cell door, his mind thrust back to the present. His breath catches in his throat as BD scuttles forward to open the cell door, gloved hand wrapping around the hidden saber at his hip, listening for any approaching footsteps down the corridor. Truthfully, he felt a nervous wreck, the beads of sweat forming along his brow and his greying pallor more so linked to his worry for Aylin than anything else. He could fight if they were caught, and chances are, with both himself and Cere combined, they could easily commandeer an escape shuttle, but he wasn’t certain if he could recover Aylin from the state he had seen her in on the small holopad. At the very moment he couldn’t be sure, and a part of him, a cowardly disdainful part of his conscience, feared opening the cell door to confirm his worry, feared being faced with the broken shell of a woman he couldn’t save. Another person he had failed, a person who had saved him more times than he could count.

Perhaps it was love - his worry at knowing the truth, his fear of seeing the situation first-hand. Cal was ashamed to think such a way.

The cell door hisses open, cool air caressing his feverish skin as he steps through the threshold, the overpowering scent of antiseptic hitting him full force, yet the familiar metallic stench of blood followed. His breath remains in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Bright eyes widening as they flit about the empty room, landing uneasily on Aylin’s still figure. Cal holds his breath, silently begging her to move, for her head to tilt in his direction, for her closed eyes to open, begging her to do anything at all.

“Aylin?” The word echoes around the room, Cal’s voice shaky and cracking around the word, his mouth parched like the deserts of Tatooine. Somehow his palms become even more clammy, and he tosses his gloves to the side without a second thought, small crescents visible in the palms of his hands from how he had clenched them on their short journey. He takes a small step closer.

She doesn’t move.

Cere watches him carefully from behind her helmet as he calls Aylin’s name again and steps further into the room, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. BD, clearly unsure of what to do, hovers around Cere’s ankles, little camera flickering between Cal and Aylin, a barely audible humming even sting from the little droid. She turns to the closed cell door, blaster gripped tightly to her chest, wary of an intrusion.

Things had barely changed from the last time Cal had seen the room through BD’s holopad projection and he was thankful to note that it didn’t look as if Aylin had sustained any more injuries from the day prior, however, that was hard to determine with the crimson that coated her body, undoubtedly hiding wounds from view. Cal stops next to the metal table, peering down at her sullen features, her sunken maroon-bagged eyes closed to the world, chapped lips barely parted. The holopad had failed to pick up many of the finer details, and Cal was horrified to see the blossoms of purple and magenta that littered her face and neck, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her throat - Cal noting with disgust it’s resemblance to a handprint. Her blonde hair appeared dull and lifeless, slicked back from her face and coated in sweat and blood, a small lesion at her temple and brow trickling into her hairline, pooling in the rivets of her angular features. Blood - darker, older - had been smeared across her cheeks and jaw, cracking along the lines of her face and flaking from her skin, leaving it stained red underneath.

“What did they do to you?” Cal questions softly, not expecting an answer. Gingerly he places his hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid any hidden wounds.

His heart almost lurches from his chest when she flinches from his touch.

“Aylin!” He almost cheers, glee coating his voice as he leans closer, a smile cracking his features. Slowly, weakly, her eyes flutter open, familiar hazel eyes squinting up at him through all the blood and gore. She looked exhausted, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, her left eye only partially open. “Aylin, oh my force, it’s me. It’s Cal.” Lost in his own elation Cal fails to spot the weariness to her features, nor the way her gaze turns to the ceiling, vacant and unseeing. He reaches for the cuff around her wrist, but her hand jerks away from his touch. He pauses, forehead creasing. “Aylin, come on, its me, and Cere, we’re getting you home.”

Her eyes flicker to his for the briefest of moments, brightened under the harsh lighting. “Trilla,” Her voice is hoarse and weak, a husky whisper of what it once was, lined with guilt and exhaustion. She tilts her head away from the red-heads confused gaze, something awful gnawing at her stomach. “leave me alone.”

Silence consumes the room, Cal’s gaze landing on Cere who simply shrugs her shoulders in response. He reaches for her again, swiping a strand of hair from her face, hand retreating just as quickly when her eyes snap open in alarm.

“Aylin, its me, come on-”

“You’re not here.” She was trying to convince herself, not daring to allow her hopes to rise. She was in pain, she was beyond exhausted, and she was dangerously close to giving up, hoping for death as some sort of escape. “You’re not real.” She glances down to his hand that rests against her exposed forearm, mind barely registering the warm pads of his fingers pressing against her pulse. “Trilla, we’ve done this before. You’re a cruel woman.”

She glances away as pity overtakes his features, staring blankly at the ceiling, body slack against the tabletop. ‘We’ve done this before.’ Had Trilla done this before? How many times had versions of himself and the crew attempted to rescue her? How guarded had she had to be, not even trusting her own dreams for fear of revealing what she had tried to keep from those who sought to harm them. He was furious - the anger that had lapped up his throat all week rising like a tidal wave - and he would make them pay, but first he had to get everyone back.

“No, no, it’s us, it’s me. I promise it’s me.” He tries, attempting to scrub the makeup from his face, scars glossy under the harsh white light. He catches BD out of the corner of his eye. “Look!- We’ve got BD, we’re all going home.”

Finally she picks her head up, wincing at the effort. Her wide eyes land on the little droid across the room, mouth agape as the air leaves her lungs and her shoulder slump. Terror and disappointment gnaw away at her conscience, the familiar feeling of helplessness returning full force. “They found BD.” She mutters to herself, defeats palpable in her voice as she allows her head to fall back against the table, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Cal, in a stressed panic, and unsure of what to do, reaches out through the force, attempting to project his memories, something no one else could possess. But, as he pressed forward a force stops him in his tracks, Aylin’s body tensing at a presence surrounding her mind. “I can show you, just let me- let me in.”

“No! No, no, no-” Cal had never seen so much fear in her eyes, and he withdraws, hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, I won’t, I won’t.” He quickly retreats as her panic rises, cuffs clanking against the table as she feebly squirms, force signature returning to his own aura, yet outstretched and welcoming, more than willing for Aylin to make the first move. He wracks his tired and frantic brain for a solution, her panic feeding into his own, not expecting her to have such doubts. They needed to be quick, he knew, but there was no way they could coax her out of the room in the state she was in. “I know you. I know things about you the Empire- that Trilla would never know. Do you remember that time on Hoth when I ripped a glove and almost caught frostbite, I’ve only still got ten fingers because you managed to skin that little creature. What about that time I accidentally singed some of your hair off with my saber when I tried to use it as a torch, I had to pay for you’re haircut afterwards and you got the most expensive treatment just to prove a point. I know you have two sugars in your tea but only every other day; I know you always insist on playing with your knives no matter how many times I ask you to stop; I know that you’re favourite game to play is blackjack because you can count cards and know how to cheat, like that time you scammed me for half a brownie.” He was getting emotional now, the stress and turmoil of the past few days causing unshed tears to gather, his knuckles turning white as he wrings his hands together. “I promise you it’s me.”

They’re in you head. Her conscience echoes, the blonde fighting back tears at her own failure. They know, they know everything. Trilla’s playing, she’s already got what she wants.

“You can’t be here.” He voice cracks and wavers, throat scratchy from misuse, her mounting emotions not helping. She wished he was here, with every fibre of her being she wished Cal actually stood before her, frown on his face and eyebrows knitted together in concern. It couldn’t be true. If he was truly here she might’ve cried, and if this was all another elaborate hallucination created by Trilla then she’d probably cry even harder. She so desperately wanted to go home.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, you don’t have to do anything.” Cal reaches again for the cuffs binding her hands to the table, one hand reaching for the saber at his hip. “But please let me help you.”

She doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps around her thin wrist, saber igniting   and casting blue light across the room. Within seconds both cuffs are cut from her wrist, falling against the table with a thud. She rubs her wrists gingerly, wincing at the cuts she has sustained during her stay. Grasping her forearm in a delicate grip, other hand sliding behind her shoulder blade, Cal eases her up, wincing at every gasp that leaves her lips. A jaw in his muscle ticks with every sound from her mouth, pity and fury blooming in his chest. 

“Agh-” She grimaces at the pain enveloping her side, ribs protesting against the movement, healing wounds reopening with every twist of her muscle.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Cal urges her on, arm sliding underneath her legs and behind her back, drawing her to his chest as he rises to his full height. Aylin’s head lolls against his shoulder, scared to hope any of this was real but revelling in the familiar warm comfort seeping from the redheads chest.

With a nod shared between `Cal and Cere they depart, deadly silent as they leave the cell, not a trace of their presence left behind. Cal glances down at the woman in his arms, beyond grateful to have her back within arms reach, satisfied with the knowledge no one would be able to harm her now. He had her and he wasn’t letting go.

Cere freezes in front of him, BD rolling into the back of her legs, and Cal’s heart stops in his chest. She urges him back, but as they’re retreating two troops round the corner, halting in surprise. Both troops helmets slowly turn towards the blonde nestled in Cal’s arms, and their blasters raise, shouting commands. Cal ducks as Cere fires, shielding Aylin as well as he could, BD taking refuge behind Cere’s legs.

Within moments the corridor plunges into silence again, two dead troops lain before the four rebels. Cere glances back to Cal, charging her blaster.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down.” And she runs, sprinting in the direction of the escape shuttles - just to the left of the hanger - with BD trailing behind, Cal sprinting to keep up. Rounding another corner he almost crashes into Cere who doubles back, the pair just managing to dodge out of the way of oncoming blaster fire as they disappear around another corner, the slap of their boots against the metal floor drowned out by the shouts of troops on their tail.

“We’re not far.’ Cere calls, throwing her helmet to the side as she gaps for breath, Cal only a few paces behind her. The pair, plus BD, emerge in a small hanger, smaller, more compact escape shuttles lined on either wall, a squad of five stormtroopers ready and waiting.

Cal’s eyes widen as he watches all five troops raise their weapons, heart plummeting to his stomach. There was nothing he could do, he just hoped they granted them death instead of subjecting them to the fate Aylin had been forced to endure. Cere reaches back deftly and grasps his saber from his belt, igniting the blade mere moments before the first blaster fires. She works in a blur, deflecting shot after shot, blue light cast across her features as she steps closer to the enemy, Cal and BD close behind. It wasn’t often the redhead was able to see Cere in combat, usually taking missions with the girl in his arms, and the skill she displayed, surely a product of the wisdom she had amassed over her years, was awe-inspiring. Every movement is precise, each twist and flick of her wrist purposeful, the weight of the saber in her hand appearing little more than a feather with the ease she displays. She deflects and a troop falls, killed by their own shot. 

Slowly but surely the trio make their way towards the closest shuttle, Cal and BD baking away into the ship whilst Cere remains on the defensive, deflecting shot after shot, a bead of sweat running from her brow. Cal places Aylin down on a small cot in the corner of the cramped shuttle, instructing BD to stay behind whilst he collects Cere, running to the boarding ramp, the sounds of blaster shots once again reaching his ears.

“Cere!” He shouts, hanging out of the shuttles door, unable to do much without a weapon. “Cere!”

The older woman retreats slowly, continuing to deflect as she backs up the ramp, the red-head scuttling to the front of the shuttle and switching the engines on, awaiting the sound of the door hissing shut before doing anything drastic.

“Go!” Cere calls and he immediately sets into action, flicking a switch to his right and grasping the steering in both hands, sighing in relief as the shuttle lifts from the floor, paying no mind to the blaster shots that ricocheted off the steelwork around him. Cere appears, clambering into the co-pilots seat, saber grasped tightly in her hand as the ship lurches forward, charging full speed out of the small hanger, Cal frantically inputting the necessary codes for hyperspace, hands flitting about the dashboard in a blur.

With one final lurch the shuttle departs, the red head sighing and collapsing back into the pilots seat, chest rising and falling as he revels in the safety of hyperspace, stars dancing across his vision and illuminating his weary features, the stresses of the day lifting from his shoulders as he watches galaxies stream past. But the day was far from over, and in moments he’s clambering out of his seat, mind once again consumed by the blonde that hadn’t left his thoughts for an eternity.

Leaving Cere in control of their heading Cal retreats into the cramped hull, making a beeline for the blonde huddled atop a thin casket, BD dutifully waiting by her side, camera trained on her intensely, and rolling anxiously from side to side. Cere stares after him, wanting to offer her services, but ultimately deciding to remain in the cockpit, radioing Greez back on the Mantis, knowing that the redhead needed some time with Aylin, alone. 

“I’m back.” Cal announces, sitting on the edge of the small cot, dropping a small medkit onto his lap the he had found in a compartment. His eyes land on the blonde’s pale face, eyes softening at the worry etched across her features, eyebrows knitted together in both pain and concern. He opens his mouth to speak, protruding a set of stims from the cluttered medkit. “I’m going to patch you up and then we’re going home. You’re safe, Trilla can’t get to you anymore.”

Aylin hums, head tilting to the side as she finally makes eye contact with the red head, looking as if she was only truly seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widen and her chapped lips part, a shaking hand reaching out to rest against his own, testing her own reality. Cal smiles softly as she watches him with curious eyes, shallow breaths parting her lips.

“Cal?”

“Yes,” his voice breaks as she finally looks at him, truly looks at him, hazel eyes brightening with every second, fighting back against heavy lids. “yes it’s Cal. We’re going home.”

A small smile fights its way onto her lips, although the joyous moment is broken abruptly, the smile quickly twisting into a grimace as her body finally begins to acknowledge the trauma it had endured, old and new wounds reopened in the frenzy to escape. Her eyes flicker, hand beginning to feel slack against his own. Cal pales, hurriedly uncapping the stim in his grasp.

“You stay awake, you hear?” He jabs the stim into her bicep, preparing the other one in his grasp. He had her, he couldn’t lose her now.

“It hurts.” Her voice is strained, a pathetic replica of her true nature.

“I know, I know it does. I’m going to make it stop, I just need you to stay here, stay with me.” Her eyes flutter again, and Cal is grasping at straws, digging through the medkit for something, anything that could work. The stims hadn't worked as he hoped and now he wasn’t sure what to do. 

“Hey- hey! You keep those eyes open. Don’t you dare-” Fear grips him like a vice. His blood running cold as he leans closer, both hands grasping her shoulders, uncaring for the blood that caked them. He felt helpless, utterly, hopelessly helpless. It had been bad when he had been forced to endure being trapped behind a screen, but oh, this was so much worse. She was right here, he could touch her, talk to her, feel her weak heart beating underneath his very own fingertips, and yet he couldn't do anything. “Look at me. Look. At. Me. I want to see your eyes. Come on.”

Try as she might, her body was beginning to fail and with every passing moment the darkness that had clouded her peripheral for the past few days encroached, the lights in the hull dimming and dimming, until all she could see was Cal’s hazy face staring down at her, his hands clasping either side of her face. “Please.” She couldn’t, her walls finally falling and mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.

“Cere-!”

He sounded desperate. He sounded scared. And for the briefest of moments, Aylin felt guilty.

And then the darkness consumed her.

----------

Cal drifts in and out of sleep, dozing comfortably with his head propped atop a familiar cot in a familiar ship, hand delicately grasping another's with his legs curled under the old chair he had stolen, the hazy figure of Aylin comforting him in his peripheral. It had been a few hours since himself, Cere and BD had returned to the Mantis, patching up Aylin to the best of their ability before tucking her away in her room, on course to the rebel base in order to take up Saw’s offer of medical assistance once word had reached him of their rescue mission. Although Cal had arrived back to the Mantis full of energy, spurred on by his panic and worry for the girl who had practically collapsed in his arms, the hours and hours of stress had worn him down, the young red-head finally agreeing to catch some rest, but refusing to allow Aylin to leave his sight. 

In his half-conscious state, he fails to notice the way the blonde’s lips twitch and eyelids flutter, barely registering the way her fingers flex against his own as the darkness finally releases her, mind and body returning. Aylin stirs quietly, every muscle and joint aching, the soft fabric against her skin a welcome change from the metal table she had called home for force-knows how long. With every passing second her mind returns, cogs turning as the days events come back to her full force, the sight of Cal’s worried gaze seared into the back of her eyelids, her lips parting in a gasp and her body lurching up out of slumber. Her eyes snap open, crazed and panicked as they dart around the dimly lit room, a groan parting her lips as her ribs protest, the gaping wound at her side, now haphazardly wound in fresh bandages, protesting heavily agains the sudden movement.

Cal is startled awake, almost falling from his chair at Aylin’s abrupt movement hazy eyes fighting for clarity amongst his foggy thoughts. “Hey,” He mutters groggily, mind desperately fighting against the sleep that had consumed him only moment before, hands reaching out to grab Aylin’s shoulders. “hey, hey, hey. It’s me, Aylin it’s me.” Finally, the frantic woman’s eyes meet his own, her body relaxing into his touch as he gently guides her back down, the pads of his fingers digging into the exposed flesh of her shoulders. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I’ve got you.” She takes in a shuddering breath as Cal gently sweeps her messy bangs from her eyes, palm resting against her forehead a moment too long, simply savouring that she was here, she was back, she was safe.

Cal sits back in his chair once he makes sure she was okay and settled, fretting like a mother and readjusting her pillows and pulling the thin sheets back up to her chest, fingers smoothing out the white tank top she had been changed into. His cerulean eyes, still slightly blurry with sleep, never leave her figure.

“What happened?” Her voice was quiet, a mere murmer whisked away on the wind. She runs a hand along the bandages freshly wrapped around her shoulder, noting the wraps of gauze around each of her wrists.

“We got you. Cere and I, we went and got you. You were pretty beat up.” His voice cracks and he quickly clears his throat. Aylin pays it no mind, wide owlish eyes staring at him from underneath a pair of heavy lids. “We’ve fixed you up the best we could, Saw’s offered some rebel facilities if we need them.” The small room plunges into silence, neither of them glancing away, Cal’s thumb unknowingly rubbing circles into the back of Aylin’s hand. As an after thought he adds. “We’re at the other end of the galaxy, there’s no way they can find us here. You’re safe, you can get some rest.”

As if she had suddenly remembered, Aylin reveals her force signature, the walls that she had held around her mind - and that she had habitually rebuilt when she awakened - coming crumbling down. Cal watches her shoulders visibly relax as the final remnants of tension leave her body, allowing his own force signature to branch out, enticed yet apprehensive of the new presence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” She mutters, eyes falling from his gaze.

“I get it.” He smiles softly, thumb continuing to run soothing circles on the back of her hand. As much as he may have been hurt that she hadn’t told him, he couldn’t deny that he understood why, the events of the last two weeks evidence enough of the consequences. “We can talk about it later, you need some rest.”

Silence envelopes the room, the pair simply content with one another's presence. Cal rests his head on the palm of his hand, eyes beginning to close once again, happy that they had a second chance. Undoubtedly the pair had much to talk about, the crew had to figure out how to move forward, but at least they had that chance. For a long time Cal had feared he would never get that chance and now that he had it, he was not going to let it go to waste. 

Things weren’t perfect, not by any stretch of the word, but the universe had given them the opportunity to try and make things right.

Suddenly, Aylin stirs again, wincing as she attempts to sit up, eyes wide and unblinking as they flit about the room. Cal’s hands shoot out again to stop her. “Where’s BD?” The urgency to her voice was hard to miss, resembling its older self. “Is he alright? Did you find him? I saw-”

“It’s okay, we’re all back. BD’ll be over the moon to know you’re awake, they’ve been peaking into your room every chance they get.” Cal coaxes her back down, more concerned with her reopening any of the wounds the crew had spent a painstaking amount of time trying to patch up than anything else. “And we managed to extract the information you both collected. It’s really going to make a difference.” He pauses, unsure of his next words, wondering how inappropriate they might be, unsure of how the blonde felt about him after her departure. “Thank you.”

Aylin smiles fondly at his worry, allowing him to secure her back in place, delighted that her earlier assumptions hadn’t been true, that Trilla wasn’t just playing some sick mind game, that BD was safe and sound, on the Mantis where they belonged. Then, the words fully register, and her forehead creases in confusion. “For what?”

Cal leans back in his chair, hands running through his disheveled hair, the bags under his eyes more visible with the guilt festering in his chest. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve let anyone go and collect the data, and anyone else probably wouldn’t have been in the same danger as you.” His bright eyes drift to the bandages wrapped around her shoulder, flitting across the many bruises visible just from her neck up. “But you did and I- thank you. Thank you for doing this and I know-” He was rambling now, his hands running through his hair as Aylin watches him, a small smile tugging at her chapped lips. “I know I acted like a bit of an ass before you left- and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He hesitates again, reaching forward to intertwine their hands, seeking comfort in knowing she was here, that he hadn’t failed her as he had done his master all those years ago. “I heard some of the things Trilla said to you, and I’m sorry you ever thought I wouldn’t come to get you. It was all I could think about since they caught you. Truthfully I don’t know what I’d do if I hadn’t gotten you back.”

The room plunges into silence once again, uncomfortable and stifling, Cal feeling overwhelmed at the emotions that echoed around him through the force, not daring to reach out to the blonde before him, fearful of what he might discover, fearful of heartbreak. Aylin gazes at the red head from under heavy lashes, weary eyes begging to close. The poor boy looked as exhausted as she felt, deep dark bags under his eyes, skin as pale as snow causing his scars to look red and glossy, highlighting the greyness to his pallor, his hair a dishevelled mess atop his head, tufts sticking out in every direction from the endless amount of times he had ran his fingers through his hair, tugging harshly at the roots in frustration. He had changed since she last saw him, donning a pair of cargo trousers and a comfortable sweater she had suggested he buy form a marker stall once, the navy material bunched up to his elbows, creased and crinkled from the stresses of the day. As tired as he looked and as rough as she felt, she doubted she had ever before been so ecstatic to see him, to see that he cared, even despite the truth of her history. Warmth spread from everywhere he touched, his soft touches and gentle caresses a stark contrast to anything she had felt before; it was everything she had hoped it could be. 

“I remember seeing you in that uniform.” Aylin whispers, daring to break the silence, exhausted yet hopeful eyes boring into Cal’s own. “I’m surprised they didn’t realise you weren't one of them sooner.”

He was taken aback at the abrupt shift in conversation, cerulean eyes boring into Aylin’s own hazel pair with curiosity, his mind reeling at the exhaustingly dazzling smile she sent his way.

“And why’s that?” He questions softly, thumb unknowingly continuing to rub gentle circles on the back of her hand.

“Your eyes.” Cal’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, beginning to wonder if she had been able to understand his words in her drugged state. “They’re too kind.”

A moments pause. Cal could feel the familiar bloom of heat along his cheeks spreading to his ears, he dreaded to think how flushed he must look.

“They didn’t match the uniform at all.”

“You’re obviously delirious,” he deflects jokingly, voice just as soft, warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck. “the uniform didn’t even fit-”

“The eyes are the window to the soul.” She mutters defiantly, determined even despite her dazed and exhausted state. “I’ve seen the eyes of some of the cruelest men and women in the galaxy. You’re too good for them Cal, you’re too good for us, you’re too good for me. I don’t know why you came to save me, but I can’t thank you enough. I never thought I would get to see your eyes again.”

Because I love you. He wanted to say, yet his mind wouldn’t let him, forcing partial truth from his lips.

“I was worried I’d never get to see you again.” Cal admits, leaning forward in his chair. “You have no idea how worried I was. You’ll be the death of me one day.”

His eyes study her face; the softness of her cheeks, the angularity of her jaw, the curve of her lips. His eyes flicker from her eyes to her lips and then back again, watching a small smile carve its way across her small lips. He felt like a boy again, unsure and uncertain, inexperienced and insecure. He had felt like this many times around the blonde, but this time, he wouldn’t shy away. She was a shining star in an ever darkening galaxy, and he’d be dead before he let her fall from his grasp again. Mustering all the courage in the galaxy, his lips part. “I was worried I’d never get to do this.”

Some part of him, the part that remembered his time with the Jedi before the end to it all, the end of an era, stirred fear in his heart; fear of attachments, fear of loss, fear of love. A life of solitude and harmony he had practiced like a mantra, and that in every step of the way, when it came to the blonde in front of him, he had failed, time and time again. He remembers how he had felt when she had been captured, the way his heart had seized and his world had stopped, how his life since than had been nothing but worry and hurt, nothing but pain for what could have been and what might never be, the pain of loving someone and not being able to do anything about it, not being able to protect those he cares for more than anything else in the galaxy. 

He had never been that dutiful of a Padawan anyway.

He leans closer, impossibly so, watching the grin grow on Aylin’s face as her eyes flutter shut. His lips connect with her own, melding together in an innocent affair, a hand coming up to cradle the side of her jaw, the other tightening its grip on her hand. He presses forward, heart hammering out of his chest and blood rushing through his ears as she kisses back, her free hand coming up to tentatively grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down to her; the girl he had been so close to losing, the boy she had been so close to forgetting. It was brief and uncertain, testing new waters both had been too scared to explore, but every emotion they had kept bottled for so long came bubbling to the surface; the hurt, the pain, the helplessness, the love. In moments that felt like an eternity Cal pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, wide uncertain eyes locked with her own with haggard breaths falling from his lips.

“Took you long enough.” She grins from underneath the sheets, her own heart ready to explode from her chest.

“Get some rest.” He mutters behind a laugh, pulling back to sit back in his chair, arms crossing to prop his head on the corner of the bed, one hand outstretched to hold her own in his strong grip. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

[craftypeaceturtle]

I’ve been rewatching LoK and I just finished episode 1, book 4. And I just... There’s was such an opportunity for Bolin to experience so much angst! 

I don’t think I’ll ever write this but I’m going to ramble about this all here:

Bolin obviously joined the military and is helping Kuvira which Opal very much disagrees with. 

Already, there’s so much opportunity to show how people in power can manipulate things. Bolin has been isolated from literally all his friends and family except for Varrick who had previously manipulated him in book 2. He’s all alone around people who know exactly how to read him.

You could have shown this through a scene of Varrick or Kuvira talking to him after Opal storms off once the village agrees to Kuvira’s rule. They would tell him that “haha women are just like that!” or “look at how happy you are making people, she must be being unreasonable”.

It all gets to a point where Bolin is actively angry and betrayed by all his friends and family after being wound up so much.

Can you imagine the angst of Mako trying to get Bolin to leave once they all realise just how bad Kuvira is and they end up fighting. They leave after having screamed insults at each other.

Maybe once Varrick realises how horrible she is, Bolin finally starts to believe everyone. But now he has fought too much and really angered Mako so he feels like there’s no way he could come home now.

Queue the scene we see later in the season where Kuvira threatens to send them to a re-education camp. Something that was constantly threatened over the series but we never saw. We see Kuvira saying she’s pure evil but this time... we actually see that threat made good on.

Bolin, still unsure and not feeling like he has anywhere to go, goes to a re-education camp and we see the brainwashing people faced. I don’t imagine it to be actual brainwashing but rather just very strict and aggressive teaching.

Bolin has now been radicalised to be a very loyal and aggressive member of Kuvira’s army. 

This could all cumulate in team avatar seeing Bolin again with the aim of rescuing him. Maybe Korra just thinks that Bolin is being held captive and seeing him agree with her wholeheartedly just destroys her. 

Bolin ends up fighting them and aiming to defeat them.

Of course I’m a little predictable baby who likes happy endings, but I love the idea that eventually they manage to break through all his toxic thoughts and get him out. 

Maybe Varrick starts off by shouting to him that “you know Kuvira is a crazy lunatic!” and explaining how his re-education isn’t good.

Eventually all of team avatar are shouting that he can be safe with them and all that sappy crap, haha.

Because I’m weak to brother and family stuff, I love the idea that he finally decides to leave because Mako promises that he will always have him to come home to, no matter how bad they argue. 

Kuvira then attacks Bolin and they all defend him. Bolin can then provide key information on the giant mecha suit she’s constructing which then leads into the final episode. 

Mako overpowers the battery and Bolin sees first hand that despite all their arguments, Mako is willing to give everything to him and still loves him. Even after arguing with him, even after fighting him and even after they didn’t talk much for three years while he was on duty. 

Sorry that was long and probably wasn’t my best idea but my brain literally won’t stop thinking about this. I probably won’t write this since I (as harsh as it sounds) don’t fancy writing it and, in all honesty, I don’t think I can write Bolin very well, haha! 

[todourouki]

Some Chick Like You (2) | Bakugou

a requested one shot | part one

✰ the people asked, and I delivered (: thank you so much to the anon that requested part two— here you go <3 also isn’t the anon asked thing cute? Should I keep doing it? Omg idk lmaoooo but yea enjoy!

✰ SUMMARY the one where you don’t really know what to do with yourself when you find your friend kissing your neck on top of you in nothing but pure desire— especially if he’s one of your boyfriend’s biggest rivals.

PAIRING Pro-Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader & Angry-Boy!Izuku

WORD COUNT 2.1k

WARNINGS explicit language, a little bit of physical shit, angst (I’m so sorry bby Izuku), and fluff bc I’m a weak bitch no I don’t take constructive criticism!

You weren’t sure what it was about Bakugou’s lips that captivated you so much, but even with the brainwashingly sinful way his lips moved against yours, the knock on the door brought you back to your senses.

As if on queue, you pushed his body away from yours as you panted roughly and searched for some source of air in the room. You watched his face flush, eyes narrow as a smirk began to lift onto his once soft features.

Somehow through the turmoil, his fingers itched into your folds, squeezing all of what was in you out and now silking across his thick, long fingers. You almost passed out when you saw him suck his fingers and slip them out your mouth with a pop.

“Next time,” he stood up, hovering over your body for a second to grip your chin roughly with his wet fingers in a way that made you gasp, “you’ll clean my fingers for me.”

Without a second glance, you watched his muscular body push your head back and walk towards the door across the couch you were currently resting in. You took this as a sign to gather yourself up a bit, your cheeks still flushed from the intimate acts done moments ago.

With a quick adjustment of both your bra and t-shirt, you heard him open the door and immediately watched as his back tensed up. Without even getting a chance to ask who it was, the voice you heard made your heart fall to the ground and practically explode.

“Hello Kacchan, is Y/N here?” You didn’t miss the malice behind the word Kacchan, the way your boyfriend said both of your names as if there was venom laced within each letter.

You sat up, gulping as you watched a scarred hand plant itself against the door and push an awestruck Bakugou to the side.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice that once rang with such excitement said in the driest tone you had ever heard, and you found yourself gripping onto the couch with white knuckles to keep yourself from exposing what had just happened, “I didn’t expect to find you here. I’ve been calling you for a while.”

“Yea,” you struggled to say, the air leaving your lungs as you fell under his harsh stare, “I was just h-here with Bakugou to get some advice.”

Izuku’s voice never scared you. He never raised his voice at you, never spoke with an attitude or with a scowl, never called you by your first name even. Yet watching as his eyebrows drew forward and watched you plainly made your own eyes gloss over in fear.

“I-” you picked your phone up from the floor, seeing that a phone call was still ongoing and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I didn’t get a call—”

Your voice froze as you unlocked your phone and watched the time frame continue on. Forty-five minutes. You had been on the phone with Izuku for forty five fucking minutes.

Your throat got dry, breath hallowing in a way that made you feel as if the room had started spinning and stopped over and over again. The seconds continued, mocking your horrified glare as your lip began to quiver.

There was no way Izuku didn’t hear anything— he had to have heard everything. There was no way you could escape this, even with the fact that he has your location on and probably stormed over here as soon as he heard you lewdly moan Bakugou’s name.

Oh god, he heard you beg Bakugou to fuck you. Your boyfriend of two years heard you beg another man to fuck you harder than he ever has.

You couldn’t stop the single tear from falling down your eyes, the guilt and shock stopping you from being able to thoroughly respond to anything being said.

You eyes snapped up at him, watching the freckle-faced boy glare at you as if you were the scum on the bottom of his shoes. Nobody said anything, both you and Bakugou avoiding each other’s faces as you watched Izuku take a step closer towards you and toss a bouquet of flowers on your lap.

“The worst decision I ever made in my life was consider you to be someone I loved.” He snarled, the flowers seeming to have been destroyed in anger as you glanced over at them. A cry left your lips, shoving the flowers off your lap and quickly standing up in fear of him walking out.

“Izuku please, I-I..” You couldn’t find any words to explain yourself, and the hickey on your neck only showing more as you motioned your way towards him to grab his hand.

The minute he saw it, his body erupted with lightening as he zoomed forward and gripped your neck into the wall. Izuku wasn’t thinking straight, the anger fogging his mind as he snapped your neck towards the side to watch the hickey in disgust.

“Please what, Y/N?” He yelled, his soft voice turning into one of anger as his voice cracked in the midst of his words.

You could see the tears pooling at his eyelashes. Your heart was broken. You never wanted to hurt him, if anyone deserved to be okay and not be hurt and just be happy, it was Izuku Midoriya. The words you wanted to hush his tears with refused to come out as instead a whimper did at the way his hands gripped your neck.

You watched Bakugou from the corner of your eye tense up at the position, taking cautious steps over to the boy with his hands in fists. The bright flash of yellow-orange made you realize he was beginning to get angry and that just frustrated you more than your lightheaded brain already was.

“Deku, let go—” Bakugou began to warn him, his body inching closer until Midoriya’s hand slammed into the wall next to you.

A hole was dangerously carved next to your head and a breathless sob left your lips. The air of the punch repeated next to your ear and you could still feel the intensity of both of their eyes as your head began to lose consciousness. You weren’t even mad at him, how could you be.

“Get the fuck away from me, Bakugou!” Midoriya yelled, making Bakugou raise an eyebrow unamused and place his intently hot hand on top of the one gripping your neck into the wall.

“I said let go of her.” Katsuki now spoke with more authority, the hand now gripping onto Izuku’s letting smoke rise from the crevices and you realized he was literally burning Izuku’s hand.

You wanted to yell and tell him to stop— just get them both to stop but the words couldn’t leave your throat. Nothing could once your body dropped down to your knees the minute Midoriya let you go harshly and faced the unphased blond across from you.

“Why the fuck were your filthy hands on her?!” Izuku yelled, the lightning around his body becoming more and more visible and green in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand.

Bakugou was still unphased.

“Maybe if you fucked your girlfriend right, I wouldn’t have had to.” The hothead’s voice was smug, and you gasped the minute you heard Izuku yell and pull his hands into electrifying fists.

“You two fucked?! That’s what I heard?!” He exclaimed, your body gripping the coffee stand next to you as you regained balance and made your way back to a standing position.

“No,” Bakugou scolded, a smirk then raising up to his lips as his gripped hand then opened and errupting in small cracklings noises to showcase his disguised anger, “but I would have if you didn’t come inter—”

It was like slow motion, and you weren’t fast enough to stop it from happening. Before you could react, Izuku’s hard fist slammed into Bakugou’s cheek in a way that threw his head over to the side. You yelled for him to stop, grabbing his arm back to try to deescalate the situation, yet Izuku’s hand shrugged out of your grasp.

“Get your fucking hand off me, please.” Izuku threatened, making you release his hands and lift yours up to signal you were backing up.

Bakugou spit onto his floor, a visible cut beginning to exude blood from the bottom of his eye to his jawline. You felt a pang in your chest, ignoring it as you turned your attention back to Izuku. He only avoided your gaze, tears still running down his face as his breath only wavered more and more.

“You know, it fucking shocks me.” Bakugou begins, spitting again as some blood slipped through his lips and now into a puddle on the ground. Izuku said nothing, glaring at him with his fists ready to strike again.

Slowly, Bakugou turned his head towards Midoriya again, his red eyes visibly growing in fury as he clenched his jaw with that same smug smirk as before that got him punched in the first place.

“It just shocks me that Y/N would be with someone like you, Deku.” The minute the nickname slipped off his lips, he spat onto the ground in disgust as the smirk returned once again.

You winced are his words, watching the situation with a certain guilty pain in your chest. Why am I enjoying the fact that they’re fighting over me? What is my fucking problem?

“You don’t take care of her, that’s something that she fucking needs.” His words were rough, the anger he once learned how to resolve returning again.

You hadn’t heard Bakugou yell the way he did in high school and in the beginning of his career in years, and the return of it made your eyes widen. This wasn’t getting any better and that worried you.

“I do take care—” “Oh shut the fuck up Deku, if she didn’t she wouldn’t be here with me. I planned on taking care of her the way someone like her deserves.”

Bakugou’s voice rang through your head, a gleam in his eye as he glanced at you quickly and turned back towards the shaking boy in front of him.

Izuku stood quiet, his anger seething through his chest as he surprised you by unclenching his fists. He said nothing, walking over to the counter that held his phone and freezing when his back faced to two of you.

“Your things will be packed away in whatever bags I find and will be sent back to your apartment. Don’t bother coming back, the locks will probably already be changed.”

“Also, I’m sorry about your neck. I’d never do anything to hurt you in that way, and I wasn’t thinking.”

More tears streamed down your face as you wanted to beg for him to stop. His words mocked you, the pain in your chest growing with guilt. You knew that what you did was wrong, and you knew he would never forgive you for this. How could he? He literally sat through 45 minutes of you moaning another man’s name. There was no way of changing his mind and you knew that.

You watched as he slammed Bakugou’s door open, pausing as if he was going to say something else the way he had before but simply slamming it shut again and disappearing into the hall.

A strangled cry left your lips, your hands reaching towards your neck to feel at the bruise you knew was growing. Bakugou fled towards you, softly questioning you to see if you were okay and dragging you away from the holed-up wall and to the sink in his large bathroom.

All while his hands attended to the bruise on your neck with a wet cloth, your eyes trailed over the dry blood on his cheek. His words rang through your head, repeating as you somehow managed to get Midoriya’s crying eyes out from your conscious.

‘I planned on taking care of her the way someone like her deserves.’ ‘Maybe if you fucked your girlfriend right, I wouldn’t have had to.’

You gulped, eyes meeting his red ones as you watched the tips of his ears redden and the same scowl he loved to wear ran across his bruised face one again. As you watched him, soon switching positions to attend to the blood on his cheek, your brain raced all over the place yet always came down to the same thought you desperately wanted to push away.

Even after being caught with Bakugou, you didn’t regret it once. Not when you realized Midoriya heard, not when he gripped your neck into Bakugou’s wall as he saw the hoodie, and not when he kicked you out without any second thought.

You didn’t regret the way he made you feel, and it scared you to think that you actually wanted him to have kept going.

—

And we’re going to end it there for the sole purpose of letting you all imagine what happens next 😗 I hope you enjoyed, anon!

[engelspolitics]

Messed Up Events in Pre-Modern China

https://www.grunge.com/156896/messed-up-things-that-happened-in-pre-modern-china/

Taiping Rebellion à insurrection in southern China in 1850; lasted 14 years, destroyed 600 cities, and killed about 20-30 million people

· No modern weapons; most killing done by hand

· Started when teacher named Hong Xiuquan declared himself the son of God and attempted to build a Christian theocracy in Qing China

o Rebels tried to replace Qing with Taiping Tianguo (Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace)

Opium Wars à between 1839-1842 (British vs Qing) and 1856-1860 (French vs Qing)

· Fighting for right to sell opium in China; Britain in the 19th century was at the forefront of the opium trade, and bringing it to the untapped Chinese market was seen as good business.

· Engineering China's opioid crisis; when the Qing protested, they went to war

o Slaughter the Qing endured in the First Opium War was so bad it helped spark the Taiping Rebellion

o By the 1850s, opium addiction was so widespread in China that it threatened to bring the empire down; implosion of imperial China can be traced back to the Opium Wars.

Imperial China’s civil service entrance exam was soul crushing; less than 1% passed and resits only once every so many years

· Passing the entrance exam could bring honour to entire village; communities often raised the money needed to have a member take the exam à huge mental strain for the chosen ones + entire lives could be spent revising

· Qing exams no longer based on merit but on reciting philosophy; was only laid off in 1905

Anqing 1861; In depths of Taiping Rebellion, Qing forces surrounded and cut off supplies to the rebel-held city of Anqing; after a two year siege, the Qing army penetrated the walls

· Entire economy focused around the sale and consumption of human flesh had risen; one kilo of human meat had a listed market rate

o Qing ended the siege of Anqing by beheading its entire 8,000-man battalion upon surrender; 10,000 civilian women were carried off by Qing soldiers as booty

Fall of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644)

· A combination of weak government and famine led peasants to rebel under the banner of the self-proclaimed Shun Emperor.

· The Shun Emperor conquered Beijing in a bloody uprising, causing the last Ming Emperor to hang himself

· Instead of submitting to Shun Dynasty, surviving Ming loyalists reached out to Manchus (previous enemies), and promised Manchu Qing they could have China if destroyed the Shun

o The Qing conquest of China was annihilating; 25 million people are thought to have died, the Shun were killed, the Ming vanished, and the Qing in control.

An Lushan rebellion

· In 750s, Tang Dynasty was squeezed from all sides by enemy armies; to stay in power, the Tang emperor Xuanzong gave his general An Lushan a giant army à general rebelled in 755, captured thee Tang capitals, and declared himself the new Yan emperor

· In 761 An was murdered by own son; son was then murdered, and Yan empire was in chaos

· Tang took over control in bloody war; however rebellion weakened Tang so much it never regained all its strength and collapsed in 907

Great Nordern Famine

· Officially started in 1876 when drought crippled northern province

· However already problems before; famine was preceded by periods of colonial conflict with Japan, England and Russia + various internal conflicts, which led authorities to allocate scarce resources to the construction of coastal defences rather than famine relief

o Three year famine killed 9-13 million people

Linchi/death by a thousand cuts; reserved for worst criminals

· First used in 10thcentury; last used in 1905 on man who murdered 12 members of a family

Building of the Great War started in 221 BC; farmers were rounded up from around China; over 400.000 people died; Contemporary poems record the construction as a national tragedy

Heavenly Kingdom à build a society in China based on a strict interpretation of the Bible

· Sexual contact was forbidden between men and women under pain of death (while Taiping leader lived in elaborate palace staffed entirely by women, and spent his time with orgies)

· Rulers often decided policy in religious trances, which was used to justify atrocities

· Fall of Nanjing in 1864; faced with a marauding Qing army, the Taiping committed mass suicide, setting themselves on fire

o When the Qing entered the city, they killed all the survivors; 100,000 people died in three days

Clothing police à after the Qing Dynasty conquered the Ming in the 17th century, they forced clothing rules on the ethnic Han population with penalty of death

· Images we have of pre-20th century Chinese dress likely come from the Qing Dynasty

· Women had to wear clothes that would show at a glance their husband's social rank

· The most iconic rule the Qing enforced was the queue (a single long braid men were forced to wear their hair in; cutting it could result in on the spot execution)

o One reason the death toll in the Taiping Rebellion was so high was because Qing forces could easily spot the rebels (not wearing a queue)

Eunuch’s rebellion

· In 184 AD in Han Dynasty rumours began to swirl that a group of court eunuchs was corrupting the emperor

· Formation of an end times Taoist sect which rose in a rebellion that took twenty years to quash, and kicked out the foundations of the Han Dynasty

· Yellow Turbans à went from cult to armed force, and began attacking and wiping out entire towns; the Han executed every civilian linked to the sect they found; however Yellow Turbans remained strong and Han had to start arming warlords, who broke apart united China once the turbans were put down

o Start of Three Kingdom’s War, which also killed millions

[everything-laito]

could you analyze Q.E.D? owo

Anon, you do not even REALIZE how long I’ve wanted to do this. Song lyrics are always challenging for me though, which is why I’ve never gotten around doing it. But, since I have confidence in Laito’s character and his context, I think I can do it. I get most of my DL song lyrics from Silvermoon on live journal, so special thanks to them! If you wanna listen to Q.E.D, it’s on my Soundcloud!

Please note that this analysis is a lot more loose because it’s from a song. Stuff like this is typically up to interpretation even more than Laito’s regular game script. After writing this, I discovered that @/the-madame21 had her own interpretation that QED is Laito talking to Cordelia inside of Yui. So I’m just getting imposter syndrome thinking that this analysis isn’t good enough because it’s not as “confident” as my other ones, but oh well! I hope you enjoy my interpretation too!

Let’s dive in! (and if you have anything to add on, please do, I had a bit of trouble with figuring some stuff out; song lyrics are pretty much poetry which is my weakness haha) Full thing under the cut!

As time passes, the more it expires, fading away Love dies only when growth stops If everything was laid bare, no matter what, Would the heat of the feelings from that day lessen?

I do believe the first line has to do with Laito being a vampire, with his seemingly eternal life. I don’t know what he means by “that day,” either it has to do with Cordelia or Yui. I had trouble understanding what “if everything was laid bare” so I looked up an alternative translation that said “If everything were gone, and nobody could change what went wrong,” Both essentially say the same thing, so I know it’s just a translational choice. So, I believe this is Laito questioning his emotions and thoughts about how love works. 

His statement of “Love dies only when growth stops” sounds more of a definite one; like he’s confident in it. It’s also an absolute statement, which we should all know that absolute statements should be avoided, because there are always exceptions. To me, this implies that he doesn’t have a lot of experience with love––aside from the feelings he’s experienced. Which we know is true (until Yui really, considering this his his more blood character song) and we know it’s not true love with him and Cordelia. 

I think the “growth” part in that really made me think. What does he mean by growth? I’m not fairly experienced in romantic love, but I do know love of any kind (platonic, family) you both grow together or off of each other. It’s a constructive relationship, but the “when growth stops” stumped me, because people typically never stop growing. But, in Laito lingo I think “growth” might mean until he gets bored? It makes sense to his character but I can’t say for sure. 

Even if my life was surely coming to and end, Entertaining the faint hope that this blood of mine will be passed on, The crystal of love it emitted in your body, “……―――It’s meaningless”

This... Kinda sounds like the hint of getting someone pregnant, but I really don’t think this is the case. The “crystal love” is also hard to say what that’s about, but I believe that has to do with biting/fangs. To Laito, pleasure = love, and in this case specifically, (whether we’re dealing with Cordelia or Yui) pain (typically from fangs) = pleasure = love. As for him mentioning his blood, I’m not sure if that’s a reference to turning Yui into a vampire in the first game (x to doubt kinda) or Yui and Laito “intertwining/becoming one” at the end of his More Blood’s route. But, I’m not sure! Because blood as a motif means many things within DL and in real life. 

I do believe this is Laito going back and forth believing in love or not. He’s been through so much shit which is why he says “its meaningless” despite him “entertaining the faint hope.” He’s shutting down his optimistic thoughts in an attempt to be realistic. 

Ah, as time passes, Even if it was somehow replaced, There’s no proof that I ever loved you or anything “………Because I didn’t want to say it”

THIS. THIS. GOD, it kills me. I do think by this point we know he’s talking about Yui. Sure he’s told Yui that he loves her but it was more of a meaningless thing. Yet again he says it genuinely in the scene where him and Yui do it consensually. So, I don’t know! This whole song is vague!!! But what else do we expect from him. 

He’s basically saying that if he moved on to love someone else, there was no proof that he loved them, but like how he directly says, it’s because he didn’t want to say it. Hesitance like this probably links back to the previous lyrics of him going back and forth with whether love has meaning or not. 

After all, it’s all over, isn’t it? In time, won’t everything disappear, no matter what? So without robbing us of our ‘now,’ stringing the memories together, As the continuous bloodsucking stretched out into ‘eternity,’ If you say you wish for ‘immortality,’ We’ll prove it now! Together with you, Q. E. D. ―――…………!!!!!

Queue “It’s Over, Isn’t It” from Steven Universe This is like... optimistic nihilism (which I so vibe with lol) and I think this is Laito saying he just wants to focus on the present and get rid of the thoughts he previously said in this song (whether it be through healthy ways or unhealthy ways... it’s probably the latter). This does insinuate Yui’s presence, and him turning her into a vampire. This I believe is just another distraction for him to attempt to avoid his circling, depressing thoughts.

Now we gotta talk about what QED means. QED is an acronym for the Latin phrase “quod erat demonstrandum,” which means “what was to be shown.” In math or a philosophical argument, it’s used at the end of an argument or problem to basically say “it’s been proven.” Wikipedia also adds on that it can mean “thus it has been demonstrated” when used in this light. 

Laito’s “QED” is his desperate effort to prove if his feelings and thoughts are correct. Man it’s taken me years to actually figure out what he means by this, but this is my own interpretation. 

As the time of death approaches, the nearer it draws, coming into view There is always light behind No matter who, everyone is praying to someone There is just little remaining of that day, isn’t there?

I’m still so confused what he means by “that day.” I know this is Laito we’re talking about, but come on LOL. From this I have a feeling it’s about Cordelia and maybe the first day she abused him? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s meaning that he’s moving beyond Cordelia. I do like these lyrics because it’s super poetic. As for the “everyone is praying to someone,” this doesn’t mean everyone believes in a god, this just means that everyone has that one person they either look up to or look to gain a moral compass. That’s what a religion (to my understanding) essentially is at its basis. 

Even if we quietly tried to abandon hope, Your lips on mine again and again, as this bittersweet time passes by somewhere, The crystal of love it left within my heart, “……―――It’s worthless”

This is Laito admitting that he’s feeling love really. This is through Yui’s own love too. But him saying “it’s worthless” is another desperate attempt at him trying to be “realistic” and to not get his hopes up. 

Hey―――………Shall we dream? That we fell ill, and there were days we couldn’t see If the proof that the two of us were alive is stained red, “………Forgive me”

The way he says “forgive me” in the song is SO desperate and sad. But I think this implies that he’s asking for forgiveness for his past actions? I do think that he knows he’s twisted but he just doesn’t know anything else aside from his normalcy. Sure his actions aren’t justified but they’re explainable. 

I also think his “dream” he suggests is maybe he wants to feel alive? Maybe him feeling like his feelings “aren’t valid” because he feels that they’re “human” emotions. Because in the games he repeatedly states how he’s a vampire and not alive etc but it’s interesting how he says “if the proof that the two of us were alive” like woah buddy

The tone that depicted the future of tomorrow always shattered in your ear In your torn eardrum, it left behind a dangerous red wish As the continuous whispers stretched into ‘eternity,’ If you say you wish for ‘immortality,’ We’ll prove it now! Together with you, Q. E. D. ―――…………!!!!!

This might reference that really.... awful.... terrible.... scene in ecstasy 04 of HDB. (I think it’s 04 ((edit: its 03 LOL I should’ve checked)) but it’s the really really uh awful one) But again I’m not sure. He does still reference turning Yui into a vampire though which is interesting, because that’s the only thing I can think of an “eternal love” being.

“If there’s no such thing as ‘eternity,’ I want to destroy this time… That’s…what I’d wished……”

This man really just wants to grasp onto things for eternity, goddamn. I think that he still just wants to distract himself or something because I’m not sure what else he would mean by that. 

Only this feeling, Forgetting the ‘warmth’ that lived, Somehow, it’s becoming vague That’s not the only thing―――……!

This seems that he’s slowly forgetting Cordelia’s “love”, which is nice. Because it’s been a long time and the whole “that’s not the only thing” might imply that he’s losing himself in other ways too aside from the feeling of Cordelia. 

After all, it’s all over, isn’t it? In time, won’t everything disappear, no matter what? So without robbing us of our ‘now,’ Stringing the memories together, as the continuous bloodsucking Stretched out into ‘eternity,’ If you say you wish for ‘immortality,’ We’ll prove it now! Together with you, Q. E. D. ―――…………!!!!!

(I already analyzed these lines haha) but wow I love this song. I know this isn’t as confident as my other analyses but I hope this suffices, anon! 

As always, thanks for reading, and the ask box is open for any business you may have with me!

Ciao! -Corn

[explodinganyway]

what is your relationship with ballet? i mean, i've been following you here and in instagram, and i'm always curious: why did you stopped? i mean, you're working in construction now. how this changed? sorry if this look too nosy, but i find you so interesting haha

I am still doing ballet. To dance: the worst thing I literally can’t stop.

I was teaching for six years, and to keep in mind, I went straight from being extremely sick and being controlled by heavy medicines, doctors, and parents to into the studio. I can’t talk about the love I had for my teacher during that timeframe. She must have seen this pathetic human broken by some extremely dangerous and scary procedures and treatments and she decided to remember the girl I was and work with me to let me become that strong and intelligent person again. I worked with her for seven or eight years in total after my time in hospital and by the end of that she had helped me enough that my dancers were the best in the state and were beyond the general impersonal robotic dance team. They worked hard because they wanted to impress and help me and I worked hard because I wanted to impress and help her and the love I have for that studio is unparalleled.

I dance now with a company. I wasn’t going to continue dancing, I had decided since I wasn’t giving my efforts back to the studio that rehabilitated and taught me then I wouldn’t give my dancing to Anyone. But love like that is in the blood. Every song, every queue I would miss it. I went back to one class, then three, and now two with extension and am currently in a battle on wanting to do my best work but not wanting to give this new teacher Too Much (effort, love, emotion, time, patience, deference) so I’m working on a double into a triple attitude turn en pointe with a brutal weak turned in leg and so much emotion that I’d tear out a window to scream to the people who hurt me.

Construction is my job (and I love it I love it I love it, please work and challenge me) but ballet is and will never not be my peace, anguish and unfettering striving for More all in one. (And My my, what a basic bitch lesson in overdramatic writings) xx

[fangsofdestruction]

“I am not quite sure if this counts as a Valentine’s Day gift but this is for you nonetheless. Consider it just one half of the gift I intend to give to my beloved.” Smiling softly, Kikyou handed him a wrapped square, flat object. It was a painting of himself, Rin, Jaken, Kohaku and A-Un in the feudal era. Kikyou had done her hardest to capture Rin’s mischievous nature, Jaken’s exasperation, Kohaku’s amusement.

When he did open it, her cheeks darkened in color. “I did my best to paint from memory. It isn’t a masterpiece by any means but I thought you would like something like this. To have a glance backwards to your first pack. I hope you like it, my love. If you do not, I will try my hand at another painting.” While she had invested a large amount of time and effort into this present, she didn’t mind doing another portrait if he was displeased.

At the very least, if time had made the visages of his pack blurry, she hoped this helped in providing clarity of those long gone.

@blossomingbellfloweringbellflower has sent Sesshomaru a gift for Vday ( ☾ ). Thanks for sending and hope you enjoy.  ] ||No longer accepting gifts||

-

Sesshomaru unwraps the gift with care, a clawed fingertip topping right above the painting of a picturesque image of a passed memory. Aside from himself, all others have since passed onto the river styx, possibly having moved into a next life cycle, even.

The image of them was quite close to how he remembered them, though seemingly more roseate from the filter of nostalgia. Quite fitting for a piece brought about from memories, as the piece gave the feel of wishing to remember the involved parties in their best light.

With the soft part of his finger, he gingerly traces over the lines that interwove with one another, coming together to form the image he’d wished to see again. Alas, photography had not existed yet in that time period, so capturing such moments was impossible. Though not perfect in the sense that this scene was conjured from the mind of another, parts forged through imagination, the imperfections made the painting perfect.

For a Demon who thought to the past with longing, the atmospheric feeling of the piece was more resonant with him than a photograph would be. Eyelids drop almost imperceptivity as golden eyes slowly scan the piece from corner to corner, scouring each brush stroke to feel the journey the pigments went through to coalesce to this picturesque memory.

His ‘pack’ has moved on and he’d now formed another pack, but they were nonetheless an important part of who he’d become. Had death not claimed them, they would have had a place to claim within the Gumi of modern times. Yes, he’d sorely missed their presence, but he reminisced about them fondly, rather than with sorrow. Rin especially would prefer to be thought upon with happiness above all else.

Surely, she’d be pleased to know that he’d reunited with Kikyo in this life time and had found himself a life partner in her. Jaken, he’d passed on insolently worrying whether his Lord would forever lead a lonesome life, dying without an heir to bestow his resplendent legacy to. At the least, when the current generation of Jaken dies, he may be able to relay the news to his elder.

“Unfortunately, this gift cannot be eaten, so it does not seem to fit the theme of this human holiday.” A chuckle escapes him as he tells a tiny joke.

Eyes soften as a perceivable smile graces his features as if it were trailing behind belatedly after his chuckle. “I appreciate the painting, dearest. It is comforting to have a piece of them seen through the eyes of another.” He would find a place to display the painting where he could gaze upon it when he felt like revisiting their memory.

He does not forget her words, “You said this was just one half of the gift you intended to give. What of the other half?”

[script-a-world]

Constructing Additional Pylons!

...which means, in this case, that script-a-world is looking for new contributors!

Pylons, for anyone new around here, are what we call our group of blog contributors. If you’ve ever wanted to be a part of our question-answering team and you think you have something to offer, this is your chance to let us know!

The Process:

Here’s a quick rundown! If you have been following for a while and you’re aware of the process, feel free to skip this section if you want to.

As questions are received on the blog, they are copied or screenshotted into Discord by one of the mods, along with a link to a google doc for answers to be added to. These docs are open for editing by anyone with the link so you do not have to be signed in to google to use it. Pylons answer any questions about which they feel they have some advice to offer. Some questions end up being answered to the best of our ability by a single person, while others, multiple people chime in on.

Any time a Pylon has something to say but doesn’t have the time to do it right away, they can leave a note on that question in the associated Discord channel and return to it later--the notes ensure that no question gets posted until everyone has had a chance to respond if they wish to.

Then, responses are copied back to tumblr, and the questions go in the queue. It’s a pretty simple process! New Pylons will be responsible only for the question-answering part of this process, as we are currently doing just fine in the blog mod department.

Discussion in the Discord channel before deciding on your answer is welcome, and the back and forth conversation can lead to more ideas to share. A reminder usually goes out in advance of queuing to allow pylons to indicate anything they’re still working on.

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You must have an interest in at least one aspect of worldbuilding, a willingness to help people, and the ability to work with others. As you probably know from reading the blog, most questions are answered by multiple people. We build off of each other’s areas of strengths and make up for each other’s weaknesses. We are here to answer questions and help writers.

What we are looking for:

We want to find 3-5 people to add to our team.

We are searching for people with areas of strength. Being good at worldbuilding in general is helpful, but since we are a team of people, you’ll add more to the team by being able to cover one area with a lot of depth rather than having shallow knowledge about a lot of aspects of worldbuilding. Researching skills, whether in a single area or in many, are also useful.

We would love to diversify. We are currently mostly white and mostly located in North America, and we know that we would benefit a lot from having more diversity among our ranks. Please note that we will not ask for your race, gender, location, or any other personal information during the interview process, and no decisions will hinge on this information should you choose to give it of your own volition.

We are searching for people who will round out our team by helping with some of our weak points. Have you ever read a question on the blog and felt like you have a lot of knowledge or information to give on the subject that wasn’t covered in our answer? Have you ever read one of our answers and noticed that we didn’t have the ability to answer the question very well, but you did? If so, we might be looking for you!

We would love to find people who study History, Sociology, Civil Engineering, or Languages either as a hobby or academically, especially in areas that aren’t white and/or eurocentric. Questions we struggle to answer often have something to do with history.

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[deeperdark]

booksmart 

about: joel and luna completely forget about what they were studying for

author’s note: expansion of this blurb, thanks to the anon who sent it! this is my first time writing for cnco but i really liked it!!

warning: minor fluff, mature content [dirty talk, sprinkle of dom!joel, public and unprotected intercourse (wear condoms, folks)]

word count: 1.9k

library dates were one of the only ways joel and luna could make enough time for each other nowadays. with finals rapidly approaching, neither of them could spare too much time outside of class and sleep to hang out or even watch their favorite shows together. they knew it wouldn’t last forever, just a few more weeks before they could go back to clinging onto one another, but it was torture. they were each other’s better halves, sickeningly sweet in their infatuation with the other and completely consumed by their passion. countless hours apart from each other was so difficult, especially when they were telling themselves to stay away. it only made them more eager.

so they constructed library dates, two or three hours out of the day where they’d study for upcoming exams or quizzes together, balancing their weaknesses with the other’s strengths. they go to one of the more abandoned levels of the library, the seventh floor to be exact, and just sit in one of the corners going over vocabulary and concepts until they had to part ways. 

luna decided to treat today’s date as more of its namesake, donning the cherry printed skirt that joel had previously expressed as his favorite and her olive toned sweater. she spritzed on the honey sandalwood perfume that drove him absolutely crazy, letting her hair do its own thing as she left her dorm for the day. her heart skipped erratically as the clock neared her favorite time of day, six o’clock in the evening, when she’d be heading up to their corner of the library for their studious rendezvous. 

she made a beeline towards the tallest building on campus as her professor finally set them free for the day, thinking about how good he seemed to look now that they had limited time together. she stood in the starbucks line to get them cups of liquid energy, knowing he had a longer walk to the building than she did, ordering his usual just the way he liked it. 

he was waiting for her buy the time their drinks were done, sitting with his back against the wall of books on strepsirhines vs haplorhines that he only paid attention to when he’d taken human evolution the semester prior. their eyes met as he looked up from his textbook, a glittering smile overtaking his face as she dipped down to join him. his lips gravitated towards hers before she could even hand him his coffee with one cream and two sugars. “hi, baby.”

her cheeks grew warm as he slung his arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple. “you look so beautiful today, nena, i love that skirt.” she battled the urge to say i know you do as his hand smoothed over the material and flittered with the hemline. “you smell amazing, too. what are you trying to do, distract me from my work?”

she shook her head dramatically, scoffing in feign disbelief. “no, never that.”

luna opened her backpack to pull out the textbook she needed to her human sexuality class, taking out the diagrams of reproductive organs that her professor was going to have them label on the exam. “how was your day?”

“boring as ever, spent most of it thinking about what i want for dinner.” she took out her notecards, shuffling them into a random order for joel to quiz her with. he laughed at her response, the sound music to her deprived ears as she watched the subtle shake of his shoulders. “i’m serious!”

“i know you are, baby, that’s why it’s funny.” 

she tried to keep her eyes off of the way his shirt hugged his figure, the tight nature of it highlighting all the right places of his torso that made her mouth water. heat set ablaze within her body at the sight of the scruff that littered his jawline, the unkempt look he wasn’t too fond of growing to be her favorite part of him. even his grip on the textbook sent her mind swirling into a highly inappropriate soliloquy about what else he could grip like that, or where she wanted his freshly manicured fingers to be.

it got to be way too much, lust clouding her mind when her exam should be. so she attempted to excuse herself for a moment, just to get herself away from his intoxicating aura. “i-i’m gonna go look for a book. for this class. something to give me a better understanding of... orgasms, and such.”

“where are you gonna find something like that over here?”

luna rolled her eyes as if it was obvious, pushing herself onto her feet and brushing any possible dust off of her skirt. “isn’t this, like, the science section? there should be something about sexual sciences.”

“i could teach you a thing or two about sexual sciences.”

she bit back her laugh, watching the way his eyes raked up her legs and locked on the bit of stomach that peaked through underneath the sweater. “was that supposed to turn me on?”

“if it worked then yes, if not... no?” he put a marker in his book before shutting it, rising to his full height that overlooked over luna. her throat went dry at how his eyes were hooded, the not so subtle lick of his lower lip as he pulled her closer to him by her waist. his voice dropped as he leaned in closer to her. “did it work?”

her head was nodding yes before her mind could even register it, her feet pushing her up to kiss him with a briskness that surprised even her. but his hand stopped her, reaching up to grab her chin before she could press her lips to his. “need to hear you say it, luna. are you turned on?”

“yes.” it came out as more of a moan, her voice betraying her as she gave into his dominate disposition.

he rewarded her obedience with a kiss, his lips overpowering hers easily as he wrapped his arms around her midsection. luna let out another moan against his lips at the feeling of his body molded against hers but he gripped her ass, mumbling a nuh-uh against her mouth in disapproval. “don’t wanna get caught.”

joel twirled them around so that she was now against the bookcase, careful to shield her head from the unforgiving metal of the shelves. her hands took purchase at the neckline of his shirt, snaking around his neck as his hands ventured underneath her skirt. his breathing picked up as he felt how warm her thighs were beneath his touch, her skin inviting him to do whatever he wanted however he pleased. luna was looking up at him through impatient eyes, forcing herself to await his next move instead being as needy as she felt. 

he hiked her skirt up enough to allow himself access to the blush pink panties she’d slid on that morning. “you gonna be quiet for me?”

she popped open the button of his jeans, nodding at him furiously. “yes, i promise.”

“are you sure you wanna do this in the library?” he picked her up by the backs of her thighs, keeping one of his hands at her hip to keep her stable.

luna kissed her approval, biting on his lip to quiet herself as his fingers found their way to her clit. this was pushing boundaries that neither of them had crossed, at least not in such an extreme way. teasing each other in public or even disappearing to a bathroom for ten minutes wasn’t out of the normal for them. but for joel to have her pinned against the shrouded bookcases of their very public library, hand swiping her panties to the side to sink his fingers inside of her, was an entirely new world for them. 

the pads of his fingers grazed across her g-spot, focusing all of his attention there as he curled in and out of her at an agonizing place. luna’s hips responded against her will, grinding along with his motions as joel kiss along her neck. “such a good girl, aren’t you, luna?”

she struggled to form a cohesive response but managed to stutter out, “always.”

joel couldn’t help but smirk to himself as his hand brushed against her clit, luna’s moan stifled by his lips once more. he could feel her legs starting to convulse around him and took it as his queue to pull away, licking his fingers clean as she huffed in disappointment. “need to feel you cum around me.”

he pushed his boxers down enough to free his cock from the confines, a low sigh of relief escaping his mouth. his hand instinctually wrapped around the base, stroking himself before tapping the tip along luna’s folds. she tried her hardest to suppress the whine that bubbled in her throat as he thrusted into her, his own groan of pleasure betraying him. “we gotta be quiet, nena.”

luna nodded, crossing her ankles behind him more securely as he started to move. the rush of being caught, someone turning the corner in search for a specific book but instead seeing them, sent tingles down her spine. she was in absolute heaven with him between her legs like this, his eyes sending her a blissed out look at made her melt. he felt so good stretching her out, lulling his hips to meet hers steadily enough so the noise was minimal. 

joel threw caution to the wind as he pulled one of her legs to rest higher up around his torso, changing the angle so he could reach deeper inside of her. she tried to hide the soft whisper of his name that the feeling elicited but he heard it, confidence coursing through his veins at seeing just how fucked she was for him.

his ring clad hand wrapped around her neck, teeth tugging lightly at her lower lip as he watched her eyes flutter shut. “you love this shit, don’t you?” she moaned in agreement, her fingers gripping his biceps for dear life as he picked up speed. “use your words, baby, tell me that you love when i fuck you like this.”

“i-i love it, joel, please.” he clasped his free hand over her mouth as his hips pistoned into her, the cries he knew she wouldn’t be able to fight muffled by his palm. their bodies couldn’t hide it anymore, the subtle smacking of hips and the occasional clank of the bookcase from the force he was using. it only motivated joel to achieve their climaxes that much quicker, his hand swiveling between them to massage her clit. 

“can you cum for me, princess?”

she didn’t trust herself to respond, knowing that her attempt would be loud and desperate, and ultimately result in them getting caught. the tension in her stomach snapped, white hot pleasure sweeping through her body as she toppled over the edge. joel wasn’t far behind, his sloppy thrusts leading to his own euphoric high as he spilled into her. he replaced his hand on her mouth with his lips, swallowing all of her sweet sighs as he rode out both of their orgasms. her hips slowed down as her energy suddenly depleted, her legs going limp as he pulled out of her.

he stuffed himself back in his underwear and zipped his jeans before cautiously setting luna back on her feet. their coffee and textbooks were still abandoned off in the corner as he gave her a chaste kiss, swollen lips lingering over hers as he inhaled her saccharine perfume all over again. “who would’ve thought one skirt had all that power?”

“mm, something tells me you did.”

[thevirtualcanvas]

You don’t really know someone until you go on a desert island together ~

Steven's birthday aka the time Connie lured Steven to Watermelon island because I don’t want Steven to be sad anymore. 

Yesterday was a really angsty piece. Today we get to see how he gets his first kiss. Hope you’re all ready for some proper fluff.

“Cmon Steven! We're almost there!”

They were on Watermelon Island, he knew that much. The first thing that gave it away was, well, he was the one that warped them there. The second was the split mountain that hung over his head behind the now fixed warped pad. The third thing was the party of Watermelon-Stevens that welcomed them with a bubbly joy, dragging him by one hand as Connie took the other.

“Connie, where are we going? There's so much to be done before little homeschool opens. My itinerary is clogged,” he thought of the planner on his phone, full of meetings, and jobs and far too many things to do.

Her laughter was infectious, her bright eyes warmed Steven's cheeks. “Well, Mr. Itinerary, I cleared your calendar for the day. Little home-world will just have to do without you, for a couple of hours anyway.”

“Connieeee,” he whined, haphazardly. It was so nice to see her, between his work orchestrating repairs after Spinel, integration of the gems, and meetings with his space Aunts; and Connie's high workload from school and her Mom they saw each other in glimpses. Mostly through video chats and the occasional moonlit jaunt via Lion. So holding her hand, and being led through the crystal jungle of the watermelon island – he could think of worse days to spend his birthday.

The palm trees gave way, the grass turned to sand and a beautiful cacophony of blues decorated the horizon, Steven had forgotten how nice it was here, relaxing even. On the sand sat a banner – Happy 16th Birthday Steven in Connie's lovely cursive handwriting. Beneath that was a picnic basket, blanket, his ukulele, and her violin and another batch of Watermelon-Steven's completing the finishing touches. He wasn't going to cry. Probably.

Connie held her hand out-stretched. “Ta-dah! Happy Birthday, Steven! You didn't think I'd forget, did you?”

“Connie, this is...this is incredible, thank you.”

He walked, enraptured by his surprise. The Watermelon-Stevens scampered to give them some privacy and peace. Steven kicked off his sandals, wriggled his toes in the sand, plonked himself down on the blanket and picked up his ukulele. The instrument had been sat in a stand on the shelf for months. Since the events of Spinel and her injector, he'd lost his child-like wonder, concerned that another attack could happen any moment, Steven had focused more on growing-up; putting away anything that would deem him childish, expanding little home-world, dealing with actual home-world and the Diamonds. His passion, his music, that had taken an unfortunate back-seat. He plucked at the strings, the sound reverberating through his fingers and up the length of his spine. Steven shivered, he missed this.

He took a deep breath, the first one in a long time, he listened to the sound of the ocean, the rustle of the palms and relaxing sounds of Connie breathing next to him. She plucked her violin first, playing and humming along to a creation of their own design.

The sun is bright, our shirts are clean.

Connie smiled brightly at him, loose strands of her pinned back hair danced among the breeze.

We're sitting up above the sea

Was her voice always this beautiful? It sounded like silk in his ears.

Come on and share this jam with me.

She looked at him expectantly, nodding her head as she strummed and hummed the tune. Carefully, slowly, Steven strummed along. In the back of his mind, he was worried he forgot, or worse, didn't want to. But that worry melted away at her sweet harmony, and sweeter face. As the mismatch of ukulele and violin merged tunes, Steven hummed in time with Connie, pulling up the unforgettable lyrics from his mind.

Peach or plum or strawberry.

Any kind is fine you see.

Come on and share this jam with me.

They played together, the simple chord a testament to their friendship, their devotion to one another and the memories of a simpler time. Playing again with Connie, it was the best present he could have ever asked for. To be in her presence, to forget about his responsibilities for just a little while – sure, her laugh, rich eyes, brilliant smile, lithe dexterous hands, and lean figure, made Steven a tad nervous and weak at the knees but it was Connie, his Connie and that was perfect.

I'll do my best to give this jam the sweetness it deserves ~

He sung at her, waggling his eyebrows in time to the vibrato, causing her to laugh, scrunching her nose.

And I'll keep it fresh.

Jammin' on these tasty preserves!

She sung back with enthusiasm, the fine strings of her violin plucking hard at her rocking out.  

Steven's heart was racing, he hadn't felt this happy in months. Not true joy, not like this. Connie picked up her bow and slowed the rhythm down, ready for the climax of the song. Waiting on his queue, she watched her best friend carefully.

Ingredients in harmony.

We mix together perfectly.

Come on and share this jam with me.

The tune faded naturally, petering out in the ambiance of the ocean. They both breathed heavily, the duet taking more out of them then it would have done nearly 3 years ago. Steven placed his ukulele down, content, and Connie followed suit, keeping her eyes firmly on him. She moved closer, so their knees and hips were touching as they looked out onto the ocean.

“Jam buds, back in action,” Connie laughed, nudging him in the side. “Not bad, Mr. Itinerary.”

Steven snorted and nudged her back, taking off his sports jacket and wrapping it around his waist before leaning back into her. “I thought you're supposed to be nice on my birthday.”

“I am being nice,” she responded with a giggle. “Besides, this isn't the only thing I've planned for you. We're gonna have dinner with my parents, your dad and the gems later. Peridot is 'constructing' the birthday cake, my present for you is at the beach house and – ” She hummed and cleared her throat. A dusky hue rose on her cheeks.

“And?” Steven asked, curious.

Connie twiddled her fingers, puffed her cheeks and risked a glance at him. Steven had grown so much since dismantling the Diamond Authority. He was taller, give it another few months and he'd be taller than her for the first time in their friendship. His shoulders were broader, the material of the band shirt he wore stretched over his shoulder blades. His arms and legs had elongated, but she loved the way they felt around her. Connie felt a smug satisfaction whenever he would sit behind her, legs outstretched, arms around her neck. He would rest his chin against her shoulder as they watched a movie marathon, or Connie would read her newest book aloud to him. Steven's jaw, while still soft and round showed signs of a beard under the surface, the slightest five o'clock shadow discoloured his lower face. He would scratch absently, as if not quite used to this newfound adulthood. And what could she say, she'd noticed. Her jam bud was growing-up, and so was she.

“And...I have one more surprise. If you want it.”

His eyes lit up. “A secret present, what is it?” Steven pursed his lips and shook with joy. “Where are you hiding it? Do the Watermelon-Steven's have it? Oh man, I love surprises!”

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, this would make the next part of her surprise so much easier. He made everything easier. “Good to know you're not too old for surprise presents. Steven, do you trust me?”

He creased his brow, what kind of question was that. “Of course I do, Con. You're my best friend.”

Not for much longer if she had anything to say about it. This was a turning point in Connie's life. She loved Steven. She'd tell anyone as much. But recently a lot of mature thoughts crossed her mind; and between the trips in the Dondai, visits to the beach house and increasingly more tense sleepovers, Connie realised something. She loved Steven. Which didn't change much overall; she would do anything for him, want to be in his life for the rest of hers and, jam on the beach whenever possible. But she also wanted to kiss that adorable face of his.

“Good, so face me, and close your eyes. Keep 'em closed too. No peaking.” He complied, swiveled around, knees crossed, hands-on lap, and eyes locked tight.

Connie leaned forward, taking a sallow breath. She reached out of him, fingertips connecting with his cheeks warm at her touch. She could feel his cheeks dimple as he smiled, turning his head into her fingers. Connie brought her face closer, seeing the pores on his skin, his long lashes, and his soft pink lips.

His eyelids trembled a bit, like he was trying to search for her behind them. Connie, what are you – ”

“Don't peak,” she whispered, wetting her lips, running her fingers down to his neck and feeling as Steven hitches and freezes.

“Connie...” His breath felt hot against her lips, and name danced across her skin.

“Happy birthday, Steven.”

Her lips met his, certain, lacking confidence but wanting. They trembled against one another, this was new, scary and exciting all at once. Steven's hands mirrored hers, buried into the hair at the base of her neck, terrified to explore and desperate to hold. He turned his head, pressing his face further into hers. Button nose pressing into her cheek, tight curls brushed against her brow.

Connie pulled back, flustered, gasping for breath,  hands around his neck, playing with the curls at his hairline. She licked her lips, tasting him against them.

Steven opened his eyes and touched his lips, feeling where Connie had just kissed him. He was shocked, giddy and he really wanted to do it again. He pressed his forehead against hers, interlocked his fingers around her back and grinned. How long had he daydreamed about this moment?

“Connie?”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“That was definitely a surprise.”

She snorted, rubbing her forehead against his. “I'm glad.”

He bit his lip, deep brown eyes reflected into hers. “Can we do it again?”

Their stomachs grumbled in tandem, Connie opened the picnic basket and reached for the sandwich on the top of the pile and shoved it into his mouth. “Maybe, after our picnic, and away from prying eyes.” She motioned to the sheepish group of Watermelon-Steven's half-poking out of the brush behind them. Some gave a little wave, others blew a kiss of their own.

“R-right,” Steven said with a mouthful of jam and bread.

Connie waved back to them before taking a sandwich of her own. She shuffled back up to Steven, her Steven and they enjoyed their picnic in peace and quiet. The tension was gone, replaced by a fondly remembered quiet comfort between them. His hand around her waist, her knee against his thigh, watching as the crystals danced in the shallow waters and the sun changed colour in the sky.

“Thanks for dragging me away from gem stuff,” he said after a while.

“You're welcome, it is your birthday, y'know.”

“I know... Connie?”

She turned to him, mid-afternoon light bringing out the warmth in her skin. “Yeah, Steven?”

His hands found her, connecting perfectly. He should just say it, he'd thought about it a million times before.

“I love you,” it was barely above a whisper, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. But he said it. He'd told her. He was holding his breath and going pink in the face. Thankfully not that kind of pink.

He watched as her face turned the same shade of pink as him, she reassured him with a squeeze of his chunky fingers and gave him the exact answer he needed. “Love you too, Steven.”

Maybe he could keep celebrating his birthday after all?

[letterboxd]

Bong Hit!

Today Parasite overtook The Godfather as the highest-rated narrative feature film on Letterboxd. We examine what this means, and bring you the story of the birth of the #BongHive.

It’s Bong Joon-ho’s world and we’re just basement-dwelling in it. While there is still (at time of publication) just one one-thousandth of a point separating them, Bong’s Palme d’Or-winning Parasite has overtaken Francis Ford Coppola’s Oscar-winning The Godfather to become our highest-rated narrative feature.

In May, we pegged Parasite at number one in our round-up of the top ten Cannes premieres. By September, when we met up with Director Bong on the TIFF red carpet, Parasite was not only the highest-rated film of 2019, but of the decade. (“I’m very happy with that!” he told us.)

Look, art isn’t a competition—and this may be short-lived—but it’s as good a time as any to take stock of why Bong’s wild tale of the Kim and Park families is hitting so hard with film lovers worldwide. To do so, we’ve waded through your Parasite reviews (warning: mild spoilers below; further spoilers if you click the review links). And further below, member Ella Kemp recalls the very beginnings of the #BongHive.

Bong Joon-ho on set with actors Choi Woo-shik and Cho Yeo-jeong.

The Letterboxd community on Parasite

On the filmmaking technique: “Parasite is structured like a hill: the first act is an incredible trek upward toward the light, toward riches, toward reclaiming a sense of humanity as defined by financial stability and self-reliance. There is joy, there is quirk, there is enough air to breathe to allow for laughter and mischief.

“But every hill must go down, and Parasite is an incredibly balanced, plotted, and paced descent downward into darkness. The horror doesn’t rely on shock value, but rather is built upon a slow-burning dread that is rooted in the tainted soil of class, society, and duty… Bong Joon-ho dresses this disease up in beautiful sets and empathetic framing (the camera doesn’t gawk, but perceives invisible connections and overt inequalities)—only to unravel it with deft hands.” —Tay

“Bong’s use of landscape, architecture, and space is simply arresting.” —Taylor Baker

“There is a clear and forceful guiding purpose behind the camera, and it shows. The dialogue is incredibly smart and the entire ensemble is brilliant, but the most beautiful work is perhaps done through visual language. Every single frame tells you exactly what you need to know while pulling you in to look for more—the stunning production design behind the sleek, clinical nature of one home and the cramped, gritty nature of the other sets up a playpen of contrasts for the actors and the script.” —Kevin Yang

On how to classify Parasite: “Masterfully constructed and thoroughly compelling genre piece (effortlessly transitioning between familial drama, heist movie, satirical farce, subterranean horror) about the perverse and mutating symbiotic relationship of increasingly unequal, transactional class relationships, and who can and can’t afford to be oblivious about the severe, violent material/psychic toll of capitalist accumulation.” —Josh Lewis

“This is an excellent argument for the inherent weakness of genre categories. Seriously, what genre is this movie? It’s all of them and none of them. It’s just Parasite.” —Nick Wibert

“The director refers to his furious and fiendishly well-crafted new film as a ‘family tragicomedy’, but the best thing about Parasite is that it gives us permission to stop trying to sort his movies into any sort of pre-existing taxonomy—with Parasite, Bong finally becomes a genre unto himself.” —David Ehrlich

On the duality of the plot: “There are houses on hills, and houses underground. There is plenty of sun, but it isn't for everybody. There are people grateful to be slaves, and people unhappy to be served. There are systems that we are born into, and they create these lines that cannot be crossed. And we all dream of something better, but we’ve been living with these lines for so long that we've convinced ourselves that there really isn’t anything to be done.” —Philbert Dy

“The Parks are bafflingly naive and blissfully ignorant of the fact that their success and wealth is built off the backs of the invisible working class. This obliviousness and bewilderment to social and class inequities somehow make the Parks even more despicable than if they were to be pompous and arrogant about their privilege.

“This is not to say the Kims are made to be saints by virtue of the Parks’ ignorance. The Kims are relentless and conniving as they assimilate into the Park family, leeching off their wealth and privilege. But even as the Kims become increasingly convincing in their respective roles, the film questions whether they can truly fit within this higher class.” —Ethan

On how the film leaps geographical barriers: “As a satire on social climbing and the aloofness of the upper class, it’s dead-on and has parallels to the American Dream that American viewers are unlikely to miss; as a dark comedy, it’s often laugh-aloud hilarious in its audacity; as a thriller, it has brilliantly executed moments of tension and surprises that genuinely caught me off guard; and as a drama about family dynamics, it has tender moments that stand out all the more because of how they’re juxtaposed with so much cynicism elsewhere in the film. Handling so many different tones is an immensely difficult balancing act, yet Bong handles all of it so skilfully that he makes it feel effortless.” —C. Roll

“One of the best things about it, I think, is the fact that I could honestly recommend it to anyone, even though I can't even try to describe it to someone. One may think, due to the picture’s academic praise and the general public’s misconceptions about foreign cinema, that this is some slow, artsy film for snobby cinephiles, but it’s quite the contrary: it’s entertaining, engaging and accessible from start to finish.” —Pedro Machado

On the performative nature of image: “A família pobre que se infiltra no espaço da família rica trata a encenação—a dissimulação, os novos papéis que cada um desempenha—como uma espécie de luta de classes travada no palco das aparências. Uma luta de classes que usa a potência da imagem e do drama (os personagens escrevem os seus textos e mudam a sua aparência para passar por outras pessoas) como uma forma de reapropriação da propriedade e dos valores alheios.

“A grande proposta de Parasite é reconhecer que a ideia do conhecimento, consequentemente a natureza financeira e moral desse conhecimento, não passa de uma questão de performance. No capitalismo imediatista de hoje fingir saber é mais importante do que de fato saber.” —Arthur Tuoto

(Translation: “The poor family that infiltrates the rich family space treats the performance—the concealment, the new roles each plays—as a kind of class struggle waged on the stage of appearances. A class struggle that uses the power of image and drama (characters write their stories and change their appearance to pass for other people) as a form of reappropriation of the property and values ​​of others.

“Parasite’s great proposal is to recognize that the idea of ​​knowledge, therefore the financial and moral nature of that knowledge, is a matter of performance. In today’s immediate capitalism, pretending to know is more important than actually knowing.”)

Things you’re noticing on re-watches: “Min and Mr. Park are both seen as powerful figures deserving of respect, and the way they dismissively respond to an earnest question about whether they truly care for the people they’re supposed to tells us a lot about how powerful people think about not just the people below them, but everyone in their lives.” —Demi Adejuyigbe

“When I first saw the trailer and saw Song Kang-ho in a Native American headdress I was a little taken aback. But the execution of the ideas, that these rich people will siphon off of everything, whether it’s poor people or disenfranchised cultures all the way across the world just to make their son happy, without properly taking the time to understand that culture, is pretty brilliant. I noticed a lot more subtlety with that specific example this time around.” —London

“I only noticed it on the second viewing, but the film opens and closes on the same shot. Socks are drying on a rack hanging in the semi-basement by the window. The camera pans down to a hopeful Ki-Woo sitting on his bed… if the film shows anything, it might be that the ways we usually approach ‘solving’ poverty and ‘fixing’ the class struggle often just reinforce how things have been since the beginning.” —Houston

The birth of the #BongHive

London-based writer and Letterboxd member Ella Kemp attended Cannes for Culture Whisper, and was waiting in the Parasite queue with fellow writers Karen Han and Iana Murray when the hashtag #BongHive was born. Letterboxd editor Gemma Gracewood asked her to recall that day.

Take us back to the day that #BongHive sprang into life. Ella Kemp: I’m so glad you asked. Picture the scene: we were in the queue to watch the world premiere of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite at Cannes. It was toward the end of the festival; Once Upon a Time in Hollywood had already screened…

Can you describe for our members what those film festival queues are like? The queues in Cannes are very precise, and very strict and categorized. When you’re attending the festival as press, there are a number of different tiers that you can be assigned—white tier, pink tier, blue tier or yellow tier—and that’s the queue you have to stay in. And depending on which tier you’re in, a certain number of tiers will get into the film before you, no matter how late they arrive. Now, yellow is the lowest tier and it is the tier I was in this year. But, you know, I didn’t get shut out of any films I tried to go into, so I don’t want to speak ill of being yellow!

So, spirits are still high in the yellow queue before going to see Parasite. I was with friends and colleagues Iana Murray [writer for GQ, i-D, Much Ado About Cinema, Little White Lies], Karen Han [New York Times, Vanity Fair, Vulture, The Atlantic] and Jake Cunningham [of the Curzon and Ghibliotheque podcasts] who were also very excited for the film. We queued quite early, because obviously if you’re at the start of a queue and only two yellow tier people get in, you want that to be you.

So we had some time to spare, and we’re all very ‘online’ people and the 45 minutes in that queue was no different. So we just started tweeting, as you do. We thought, ‘Oh we’re just gonna tweet some stuff and see if it catches on.’ It might not, but at least we could kill some time.

So we just started tweeting #BongHive. And not explaining it too much.

#BongHive

— karen han (@karenyhan)

May 21, 2019

Within the realms of stan culture, I would argue that hashtags are more applicable to actors and musicians. Ariana Grande has her army of fans and they have their own hashtag. Justin Bieber has his, One Direction, all of them. But we thought, ‘You know who needs one and doesn’t have one right now? Bong Joon-ho.’

And so, you know, we tweeted it a couple of times, but I think what mattered the most was that there was no context, there was no logic, but there was consistency and insistence. So we tweeted it two or three times, and then the film started and we thought right, let’s see if this pays off. Because it could have been disappointing and we could have not wanted to be part of, you know, any kind of hype.

SMILE PRESIDENT @karenyhan #BongHive pic.twitter.com/Dk7T8bFYtv

— Ella Kemp (@ella_kemp)

May 21, 2019

But, Parasite was Parasite. So we walked out of it and thought, ‘Oh yes, the #BongHive is alive and kicking.’

I think what was interesting was that it came at that point in the festival when enthusiasm dipped. Everyone was very tired, and we were really tired, which is why we were tweeting illogical things. It was late at night by the time we came out of that film. It was close to midnight and we should have gone to bed, probably.

Because, first world problems, it is exhausting watching five, six, seven films a day at a film festival, trying to find sustenance that’s not popcorn, and form logical thoughts around these works of art. Yes! It was nice to have fun with something. But what happened next was [Parasite distributor] Neon clocked it and went, ‘Oh wait, there’s something we can do there’. And then they took it, and it flew into the world, and now the #BongHive is worldwide.

I love the formality of Korean language and the way that South Koreans speak of their elders with such respect. I enjoyed being on the red carpet at TIFF hearing the Korean media refer to Bong Joon-ho as ‘Director Bong’. It’s what he deserves!

I like to imagine a world where it’s ‘Director Gerwig’, ‘Director Campion’, ‘Director Sciamma’… Exactly.

Related content:

Ella Kemp’s review of Parasite for Culture Whisper.

Letterboxd list: The directors Bong Joon-ho would like you to watch next.

Our interview with Director Bong, in which he reveals just how many times he’s watched Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.

“I’m very awkward.” Bong Joon-ho’s first words following the standing ovation at Cannes for Parasite’s world premiere.

Karen Han interviews Director Bong for Polygon, with a particular interest in how he translated the film for non-Korean audiences. (Here’s Han’s original Parasite review out of Cannes; and here’s what happened when a translator asked her “Are you bong hive?” in front of the director.)

Haven’t seen Parasite yet? Here are the films recommended by Bong Joon-ho for you to watch in preparation.

With thanks to Matt Singer for the headline.

[sworntoprotect]

THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all had witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat. Long post!

MUN NAME: Pie     AGE: +25       CONTACT: IM, Ask, Discord (mutuals only, by request)

CHARACTER(S): Cullen

CURRENT FANDOM(S): Dragon Age

FANDOM(S) YOU HAVE AN AU FOR:  I have a modern verse for everything not Dragon Age, but I might add some actual alt verses for other fandoms

MY LANGUAGE(S): English (native), Spanish (intermediate), Korean (baby lol beginner), bits and bobs of other languages (namely French and French Patois)

THEMES I’M INTERESTED IN FOR RP: FANTASY / SCIENCE FICTION / HORROR / WESTERN / ROMANCE / THRILLER / MYSTERY / DYSTOPIA / ADVENTURE / MODERN / EROTIC / CRIME / MYTHOLOGY / CLASSIC / HISTORY / RENAISSANCE / MEDIEVAL / ANCIENT / WAR / FAMILY / POLITICS / RELIGION / SCHOOL / ADULTHOOD / CHILDHOOD / APOCALYPTIC / GODS / SPORT / MUSIC / SCIENCE / FIGHTS / ANGST / SMUT / DRAMA / ETC. (I started this and realised I’d be bolding almost everything, so: EVERYTHING)

PREFERRED THREAD LENGTH: ONE-LINER / 1 PARA / 2 PARA / 3+ PARA / NOVELLA. / ALL

ASKS CAN BE SEND BY: MUTUALS / NON-MUTUALS / PERSONALS / ANONS.

CAN ASKS BE CONTINUED?: YES / NO / OCCASIONALLY   - only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO

PREFERRED THREAD TYPE: CRACK / CASUAL / SERIOUS / DEEP AS HECK. / ALL

IS REALISM / RESEARCH IMPORTANT FOR YOU IN CERTAIN THEMES?:   YES / NO.

ARE YOU ATM OPEN FOR NEW PLOTS?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. (after my paper is submitted, yeah sure)

DO YOU HANDLE YOUR DRAFT / ASK - COUNT WELL?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. (irl makes coping difficult sometimes)

HOW LONG DO YOU USUALLY TAKE TO REPLY?: 24H / 1 WEEK / 2 WEEKS / 3+ WEEKS / MONTHS / YEARS. / DEPENDS ON MOOD AND INSPIRATION, AND IF I’M BUSY 

I’M OKAY INTERACTING WITH: ORIGINAL CHARACTERS / A RELATIVE OF MY CHARACTER (AN OC) / DUPLICATES / CROSSOVERS / MULTI-MUSES / SELF-INSERTS / PEOPLE WITH NO AU VERSE FOR MY FANDOM / CANON-DIVERGENT PORTRAYALS / AU-VERSIONS.

DO YOU POST MORE IC OR OOC?: IC / OOC. (I strive for more IC over OOC, but my queue does a lot of work too)

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WITH FOLLOWING OTHERS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.  

BEST WAYS TO APPROACH YOU FOR RP/PLOTTING:  Talk with me over IM, asks, or Disco. I’m down for almost anything as long as I see it’s feasible.

WHAT EXPECTATIONS DO YOU HOLD TOWARDS YOUR PLOTTING PARTNER:  Transparency. If you have an idea, let me know! If you’re stuck, let me know! If you want to start something new or scrap something or whatever...LET ME KNOW! I promise I don’t bite and I understand.

WHEN YOU NOTICE THE PLOTTING IS RATHER ONE-SIDED, WHAT DO YOU DO?:  I’m not very good with coming up with plots myself, so I’m typically the weak link when it comes to that. Sorry! But you bet I’ll pull up a plot generator and start throwing things down to see what sticks haha.

HOW DO YOU USUALLY PLOT WITH OTHERS, DO YOU GIVE INPUT OR LEAVE MOST WORK TOWARDS YOUR PARTNER?:  I’m all about equal opportunity, so I try not to leave the plotting work to my partner. Let’s negotiate and find something that makes both of us happy. That’s the point after all.

WHEN A PARTNER DROPS THE THREAD, DO YOU WISH TO KNOW?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - AND WHY?: If you want to drop a thread, I’m completely fine with it. I want to know so that I don’t end up replying to something you have no interest in anymore. Saves both of us the time.

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY LEAD YOU TO DROP A THREAD?:  If drafts eat it (as they are wont to do these days) or if I feel it has reached a natural conclusion. I rarely, if ever, drop a thread in the middle. I’ll just let you know I’m going to finish it on my side and allow you a chance to finish on yours if you’d like.

WILL YOU TELL YOUR PARTNER?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS.

IS COMMUNICATION IN THE RPC IMPORTANT TO YOU? YES / NO. - AND WHY?: You don’t need to chat with me every minute of every day, but I like knowing the people I’m writing with. Discerning your personality and your approach to your muse gives me a much stronger understanding of how to write with you, and what vibes between us. Plus, it’s easier to remember different people’s boundaries if I talk with them a lot, too.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH ABSOLUTE HONESTY, EVEN IF IT MAY MEANS HEARING SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT YOU AND/OR PORTRAYAL?: I am all for constructive criticism. Even if you think it’s nitpicky, it’s going to be a great help. Good crit allows us grow as writers and as people in general. However, I am not for baseless accusations, childish name-calling, or outright insults under the name of “constructive crit”. Remember the “constructive” part: we need to build each other up. 

DO YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE SUCH SITUATION IN A MATURE WAY? YES / NO.

WHY DO YOU RP AGAIN, IS THERE A GOAL?: I love a good story. While I don’t agree with everything Cullen does (and no one should, for anyone real or imagined), his story is intriguing. He’s a deeply flawed, deeply broken man. I love to take on a character, toss them in every situation I can think of, and watch them evolve and grow.

WISHLIST, BE IT PLOTS OR SCENARIOS:  A real redemption arc, for one. A realistic struggle with substance abuse and recovery. A future of happiness.

THEMES I WON’T EVER RP / EXPLORE:   Rape or sexual assault, unless being spoken about as a past event (as I truly believe that Cullen was sexually assaulted at Kinloch along with the other psychological and physical torture he endured). In-game racism is baked in, unfortunately, but it’s not something I seek out to roleplay as a PoC myself. Finally, while I play Cullen as canon-straight, I will not play out homophobia and most definitely not transphobia. If he rejects your muse for hitting on him, it’s not because he’s being homophobic: he’s just not interested. That also doesn’t mean he’ll never be interested; people can and do change, and I ship chemistry overall. He doesn’t hate your muse for their gender, orientation, or sexual preferences. I feel like I really have to spell this out for people who don’t understand. If you feel personally insulted by this somehow, feel free to address me directly, off anon. It’s probably an issue of fuzzy wording that I’m 500% willing to fix and talk about.

WHAT TYPE OF STARTERS DO YOU PREFER / DISLIKE, CAN’T WORK WITH?: I love starters that set the scene and provide plenty to work with, be it in terms of interacting with the environment or with the other person. If your muse shows immediate disinterest in communicating (and I don’t mean argumentative, which is perfectly fine), I am not going to respond. I might politely ask for more if I feel like it’s a salvageable interaction.

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE MOST?:  Stoic soldier types, bubbly short girls, and semi-mad scientists.

WHAT TYPE OF CHARACTERS CATCH YOUR INTEREST THE LEAST?:  Characters that come across as Mary-Sue / Gary-Stu types. No flaws and barely any room to grow. 

WHAT ARE YOUR STRONG ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I'm very easy-going and I have an unearthly level of tolerance for almost everything. I try to provide partners with as much to work with as possible IC, and will pretty much support your very existence OOC. I believe in open communication so you’ll know what’s going on with me and/or our threads. Also, I typically reply within a week or two. Currently I’m tethered to finishing a big paper so I’m not a good example of that right now.

WHAT ARE YOUR WEAK ASPECTS AS RP PARTNER?: I can get overwhelmed by too much which slows my pace down considerably. I’m also a bit distant and do shut down on occasion; that’s usually no fault of my partners, though. Just my brain being a dick.

DO YOU RP SMUT?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. (the closer we are OOC, the easier getting here will be)

DO YOU PREFER TO GO INTO DETAIL?: YES / NO / DEPENDS. (it’s not going to be XXX but it will be descriptive)

ARE YOU OKAY WITH BLACK CURTAIN, FADE TO BLACK?: YES / NO.

WHEN DO YOU RP SMUT? MORE OUT OF FUN OR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?: I prefer to write smut for character development and to mark a progression in a relationship. Plus Cullen is not a “one and done” guy so getting to the smut stage will take a bit of build-up.

ANYTHING YOU WOULD NOT WANT TO RP THERE?:  Hmmm things that he personally wouldn’t go for I guess? Honestly I don’t know. And obviously, no rape/animal abuse/predator nonsense.

ARE SHIPS IMPORTANT TO YOU?:   YES / NO Ships are a great way to further explore a character and their motivations. People do not exist in pure isolation, so I don’t believe characters should, either.

WOULD YOU SAY YOUR BLOG IS SHIP-FOCUSED?: YES / NO. I bolded both because the focus of the blog isn’t ships, but this thirst trap guy is really easy to ship with other people I tell ya hwat. I am severely picky with romantic ships for Reasons, but I don’t eschew any other types of ships. I encourage them!

DO YOU USE READ MORE?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES WHEN I WRITE LONG STUFF.

ARE YOU:  MULTI-SHIP / SINGLE-SHIP / DUAL-SHIP  —  MULTIVERSE / SINGLEVERSE.

WHAT DO YOU LOVE TO EXPLORE THE MOST IN YOUR SHIPS?: Characters who challenge Cullen into revising his point of view and force him to be a better person. Also, characters who understand his past and they are in no ways obligated to forgive it, but do recognise that he’s struggling very hard to mend whatever mistakes he can and is willing to pay the price for his decisions.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS?: YES / NO / DEPENDS.  - Be a good salesperson and I might buy it.

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- WHAT COULD POSSIBLY MAKE YOUR MUSE INTERESTING TOWARDS OTHERS, WHY SHOULD THEY RP WITH THIS PARTICULAR CHARACTER OF YOURS NOW, WHAT POSSIBLE PLOTS DO THEY OFFER?: Cullen is a massive stick in the mud, which means it’s incredibly easy to taunt him and get him flustered all at the same time. He’s loyal, he’s intelligent, and he’s largely self-aware. He likes swords and using them. Anything your character hates about him, he most likely hates about himself 100 times more.

WITH WHAT TYPE OF MUSES DO YOU USUALLY STRUGGLE TO RP WITH?:  Those from the start that show absolutely no interest in speaking with/interacting with him. Mun and muse are going to struggle to stick around. I’m not going to fight for attention and neither is he.

WHAT DO THEY DESIRE, WHAT IS THEIR GOAL?:  Redemption. He wants to be a better person and make up for the past as much as he can.

WHAT CATCHES THEIR INTEREST FIRST WHEN MEETING SOMEONE NEW?:  He can sniff out a fellow Templar a mile away (or several miles, in the case of Samson). 

WHAT DO THEY VALUE IN A PERSON?:  Honesty, a strong will, devotion (not necessarily to the Maker or the Chantry, but to a just cause that focuses on protecting others).

WHAT THEMES DO THEY LIKE TALKING ABOUT?:  War stuff, chess, books, trebuchets, dogs.

WHICH THEMES BORE THEM?:  Lectures about anything. He did his time in Azkaban in the Circles. No more. Please no more.

DID THEY EVER WENT THROUGH SOMETHING TRAUMATIC?:  His parents died trying to escape the Blight, he was tortured for weeks/months on end by blood mages, almost all of his friends died because of it, he was manipulated and brainwashed by his superior, he was forced into a near-debilitating substance addiction by his workplace... yeah just a few things.

WHAT COULD LEAD TO AN INSTANT KILL?:  Darkspawn and abominations. 

IS THERE SOMEONE /-THING THEY HATE?:  Darkspawn and abominations. Blood mages on principle. Regular mages (but he’s working hard to remedy this extremely bad and prejudiced thinking). Himself.

IS YOUR MUSE EASY TO APPROACH?: YES / NO.    - BEST WAY TO APPROACH THEM?:  Just be polite and he won’t turn you away. He’s guarded, yes, but not impossible to talk to.

SOMETHING YOU MAY STILL WANT TO POINT OUT ABOUT YOUR MUSE?: You’ll find out by writing together! ;D

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

tagged by: pirated tagging: anyone who actually read this