#I will be avoiding numbering objects in the future!

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Forty-One: Impedance

Chapter WC: 10,077

Chapter Tags/Warnings: a certain character appears that deserves his own warning, actually multiple characters

A/N: Every time I start writing one of these author's notes I feel the need to start off apologizing. But you know what, I'm not sorry. I love drama.

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Coruscant, 20 BBY

It takes four days before the Oracle reaches Coruscant.

Four days of rest and recovery, and four days of waiting.

Waiting for the ship to arrive.

Waiting for the Council to summon you.

You've been on edge, unable to sit still, and Wise has had to threaten you with sedatives several times. The only thing keeping you from going insane is the few minutes each day that you get to see Rex.

Wise has allowed the Captain into the medbay under the guise of acting as your liaison with Anakin and the rest of the 501st, traveling separately aboard the Resolute. It's a reasonable excuse, not that anyone is asking questions. And Wise's word is law in the medbay. If he says Rex can come visit, no one questions it.

Each visit is a welcome distraction from the monotony of being cooped up in the bed. The two of you spend hours talking, and you relish every second you get to spend with him. Your conversations are innocent, for the most part. You share stories, catching up on the months you've spent apart, and you learn new things about him, and he about you.

And of course, you steal the occasional kiss, always careful not to get too carried away.

You know the two of you need to talk about the future, and what happens next, but neither of you are willing to break the bubble you’ve found yourselves in. So you continue as you have been, sneaking kisses and spending stolen hours together, knowing full well that the real world will eventually come crashing down on the two of you.

Today, the bubble is finally bursting.

The Oracle has arrived at Coruscant, and the Council is waiting for you.

You've tried to put it out of your mind, tried to distract yourself, but there's nothing else you can do. You can't keep avoiding the inevitable.

So here you are, standing side by side with Booker in the hangar, watching the men disembark onto the tarmac for the first time in months. 

You'd forgotten how bright the sun is on Coruscant. How loud. The bustle of the hangar, the whine of ships taking off, the shouting of mechanics, all of it is overwhelming. And the sheer number of clones, all walking past you, heading into the base, it's almost too much. You find yourself looking back toward the safety of the ship, yearning to run back inside.

"Relax," Booker mutters to you as he nods at the passing troopers. "You're making everyone nervous."

"I am relaxed," you reply, forcing a smile and waving at the men. They give you salutes and respectful nods, but you can see the wariness in their eyes. Change is coming, and they can sense it.

"Sure you are," Booker drawls. He steps up beside you, his hands resting behind his back, his posture ramrod straight. He looks the perfect image of a Commander, and a pang of pride hits you. He's grown so much in the time he's served with you, and it's a stark reminder of just how fast they've all matured.

"I'm fine," you lie, glancing over at him.

"Uh huh," he murmurs, and he arches a brow. "How's the ribs?"

"I'm fine," you repeat. You shift from foot to foot, grimacing. You'd insisted on being here for the landing, despite Wise's objections, and you're beginning to regret it. "Just...stiff. They're still a bit tender, but nothing I can't handle."

"That's a lie," he deadpans, and he gives a nod to one of the ARCs passing by. "You're wincing. And you're favoring your right side."

"So I'm not a hundred percent," you concede. "It's still healing."

"It'd heal faster if you'd actually listened to me," Wise interjects as the clone medic approaches the two of you, a scowl on his face. "And if your di'kutla Council had let you go back to your quarters like I'd suggested."

"Hello to you too," Booker chuckles as the two men clasp forearms.

"Book," Wise says with a nod. He turns his gaze to you, and his expression darkens. "I told you to wait in the medbay until the ship was unloaded."

"I wanted to say hello to the men," you reply, waving a hand at the crowd of clones, who are milling around, exchanging greetings and hugs. "And to welcome them home."

"Uh huh," Wise grunts. He looks past you, and his expression softens slightly. "Hey, kid."

"Sir," a familiar voice says from behind you. Dash steps forward, his helmet tucked under his arm, a small smile on his face. "Glad to see you're up and about."

"Dash," you sigh, relief flooding through you. You step forward, reaching out and grasping his forearm, giving him a quick squeeze. He looks tired, but there's a spark of happiness in his eyes that warms your heart. "I could say the same about you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm good, General," he replies, ducking his head. He shifts his helmet in his arms and reaches into a pouch on his belt, withdrawing a small device and holding it out for you. "Here. All fixed."

"Thank you," you murmur as you take your comm unit and slide it onto your wrist. You power it up, and the screen flickers to life, a steady stream of notifications scrolling across the screen. "How many missed calls do I have?"

He grins sheepishly. "Just the ones from General Kenobi, or...?"

"Kriff," you groan. You glance at the comm unit, the messages blurring together as you scan through them. "I'm never going to hear the end of this."

"Probably not," he agrees, and he steps forward and reaches for your arm. "I reprogrammed the encryption keys and set up some extra security measures, just in case. Should be good as new."

"You're amazing," you sigh, and you pull him into a hug. He's tense at first, his shoulders stiff, but after a second, he relaxes, wrapping his arms around you and returning the embrace.

"Careful," he chides, a small laugh escaping his lips. "Wise will skin me if you pop those stitches."

"Don't care," you say as you give him one last squeeze before stepping back. You look him over and grin. "Enjoy your time off. Get some rest."

"Will do," he replies. He glances past you to Booker. "And don't worry. I'll take care of Price. Make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble."

"You're a saint," Booker says with a smirk. "Have fun."

"Oh, we will," Dash snorts, and he nods at Wise. "Chief, can you take a look at my shoulder before we leave? It's still a little stiff."

"Sure," Wise says. He motions for Dash to follow him, and the two men walk toward the hangar, leaving you alone with Booker.

You glance over at him, and he's watching the departing clones, his expression pensive. He's been quiet since your conversation the other day, and you haven't pressed him on it. Now, though, with the others gone, the two of you can talk.

"Credit for your thoughts?" you ask, nudging him.

"Not a whole lot to say," he replies with a shrug. "Just thinking about everything that's happened. And everything that's coming."

"Yeah," you murmur. You look around the hangar. It's emptier now, the men having headed off to the barracks and elsewhere in the city, leaving the two of you alone to oversee the few groups of stragglers. "It's...strange. Being here. Like nothing's changed. And everything has."

"I know," Booker sighs. His lips curve up into a half-smile, and he bumps your shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

You open your mouth to respond, but a flash of blue and white catches your attention, and you watch as Rex steps off the ship, his eyes on his datapad. He's dressed in his usual armor, his bucket tucked under his arm, a stern expression on his face.

He looks every bit the perfect clone soldier. But when he glances up and spots the two of you, his gaze softens, his lips curling into a warm, affectionate smile, and the illusion shatters. He's no longer the stoic, professional soldier, but a man in love.

Your breath catches, and your heart skips a tiny, traitorous little flutter.

"Yeah," you breathe, the corners of your lips lifting. "We will."

Rex looks around before pointing to his vambrace, nodding his head toward the doors leading from the hangar. He doesn't have to speak for you to know what he's saying. And you're all too happy to say yes.

You give him a smile and a quick nod, and Rex ducks his head, hiding his grin. A warm feeling spreads through you at the sight of his hand coming to cover his smile, and you feel a slight flush spread across your cheeks as he gives you one last look over his shoulder before disappearing through the doors.

"No," Booker says after a minute. You glance at him, finding him staring after Rex, his brows raised. His gaze snaps to you, and he looks you over from head to toe, his eyes widening in shock. "No way. Really?"

"What?" you ask, feigning ignorance. You clear your throat and smooth the front of your robes, and you straighten your posture, trying to look unaffected. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Please," he scoffs. He waves a hand in the air, gesturing between the door Rex disappeared through and yourself. "That wasn't a hey, how're you doing look. That was a let's sneak off and make out in a closet look."

"That is a horrible description," you grumble. You start toward the door, ignoring his questioning gaze, and you motion for him to follow. "Come on. The men are unloading the ship. We should get out of their way."

"Not until you explain," Booker replies, matching your stride and falling into step beside you. "And I want details. Everything."

"There's nothing to tell," you mutter, and the two of you duck into the hallway, leaving the chaos of the hangar behind. You walk in silence, weaving your way through the halls until the sounds of the city begin to filter through the walls.

When you're far away from any listening ears, you slow your pace, and Booker slows beside you, waiting patiently for your explanation.

"We've just been...talking," you say, keeping your voice low. You don't need anyone overhearing. Not yet. "And we've gotten closer."

"Closer," Booker repeats. He snorts. "As in, closer than you already were? Because that's impossible."

"We've been...we're..." You huff, shaking your head. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I'm going to be honest with you. And I need you to keep it between us. Can you do that?"

"Of course," he says immediately. "Always."

"Okay," you say as you come to a stop in front of the doors to the lift. It opens immediately, and you step inside, punching in the code for the ground floor. The door closes, and you stay standing in the center of the lift, the space feeling suddenly very small. "We're together. As of the other night."

Booker blinks. Once. Twice. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

"Wait. What?" he asks, his voice rising. He shakes his head, and he takes a step toward you, his hands moving animatedly. "Together, together? Like, kissing, holding hands, dating, together?"

"Yes," you reply, and a wide, happy smile spreads across your face, the giddiness bubbling in your chest.

"Holy shit," Booker breathes. He steps back and leans against the wall of the lift, his eyes wide. He props his foot up on the wall behind him and folds his arms across his chest. "That is...wow."

"Yeah," you sigh, the smile not leaving your face. You can't remember the last time you felt so happy, and you're not even with him. The mere thought of Rex has your heart pounding, a blush spreading across your cheeks, and the ache in your chest isn't entirely due to the wound.

"So. You're telling me," he starts slowly. His head tilts to the side. "That the two of you have been sneaking around the ship, doing kriff knows what with Rex, the poster boy for the GAR, without me knowing about it?"

"We haven't been doing kriff knows what," you retort, glaring at him, but there's no heat to it. "And it's not like that. We're taking things slow. We just...talk. That's all."

"That's all?" he asks skeptically.

"Well," you mumble, looking down. "Maybe some other things. But that's all."

"Other things," Booker echoes. "Other things."

"I swear to the Force, if you repeat this," you growl, and his hands fly up. He gives you an innocent smile that does nothing to hide the amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"I won't," he promises. He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's just...surprising. I didn't think Rex had it in him."

"Neither did I," you say softly, and you rub your arm, chewing the inside of your cheek. "I mean, we haven't even really talked about what we are. Or what's going to happen. With us. This."

"Yeah, that's a problem," Booker says. He pushes off the wall as the lift comes to a stop, and the doors slide open. The two of you step into the bustling hall, and you fall into step beside him, weaving through the crowd. 

Within a few steps, you're out onto the street, and the noise from the hangar has faded. The traffic is steady, and there are droids and humans and aliens everywhere. It's a strange sense of normalcy, being surrounded by people who don't know about the war, who don't have any idea of what's happening out there. For a brief second, it feels like none of it matters. Like the war, and the Jedi, and the Council, doesn't exist. And it's nice.

You turn left, heading for the Temple, and Booker follows. He's silent for a minute, lost in thought, before he speaks.

"What do you want to happen?" he asks, keeping his gaze ahead.

"Honestly?" you start. You pause at the crosswalk and wait for the light to change. "I want to keep this. Keep us. Whatever that means. As for Rex..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know," you murmur. You shake your head, and the light changes. The crowd begins to move, and you follow the flow, your hands tucked under your arms. "I know that I don't want to lose him. I just...he already has reservations about this. About being together."

"And that's why you haven't talked," Booker surmises. You nod, and his jaw clenches. "That's a problem."

"I know," you groan. "But I don't know how to talk to him about it. I don't want to scare him away."

He snorts. "I'm pretty sure it'd take a lot more than this to scare him away."

"Maybe," you murmur, and you let out a weary sigh, rubbing your eyes. The Coruscant sun is blinding, reflecting off the buildings and shining directly in your face. "It's just...this whole situation is...complicated. If he's not ready, I'm not going to force him."

"Force him," Booker repeats, shaking his head. "The two of you are ridiculous. From what I've heard, he's been waiting for this since Kamino. Before, if Fives is to be believed. I'd say that's more than a little ready. He's just worried."

"About getting caught?" you ask, and the question hangs in the air. It's a valid concern. After all, the two of you are breaking the rules. It's a serious infraction. You'd be reprimanded, and Rex would likely be dismissed. There's no way the two of you would come out of it unscathed.

"About karking it up," he replies. He looks around, and he grabs your arm and pulls you off to the side. The two of you lean against a building, sheltered from the sun. "Listen. Rex...he's a good guy. The best, really. And he loves you. A lot. But he's never done anything like this before. Hell, none of us have. He's afraid he's not going to be good at it."

"Well, then I guess we're a good match," you snort a laugh. "Because I'm not exactly an expert either."

"Oh, please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Don't give me the innocent monk act. We both know that's a load of bantha fodder. You've been around."

"It was a lifetime ago," you say, waving a hand dismissively as you push away from the wall. You continue down the sidewalk, dodging a speeder bike as it whizzes past, and your eyes fall on the Temple looming ever closer in the distance. "That doesn't matter. This is different."

"How?"

"Because this isn't a fling," you say softly, and your steps slow. The bustle of the city seems to fade away, the voices becoming quieter, the wind carrying them away. The aura of tranquility that seems to surround the Temple washes over you, calming your nerves and clearing your mind. "It's real. This is a relationship. And I've never been in one. Not like this. Not where it's mattered."

"Well, lucky for you, neither has he," Booker says, his tone serious, and you glance at him, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. "You'll figure it out. Both of you."

"Hopefully," you murmur.

The two of you pause outside the massive gates, closed as always. You let out a heavy sigh and look up at the towering spires above, the sunlight reflecting off the white stone and causing you to squint. It's been months since you've been here, and it feels like years. Everything has changed so much, and yet, nothing has. The Temple is still the same.

"So. How do you want to play this?" Booker asks as he glances at you.

"With caution," you reply wearily.

"Any ideas?"

"We go in. We tell the Council what happened. Again," you add with a grimace. You cross your arms over your chest, your fingers playing with the sleeve of your robe. "And we let them decide."

He lets out a derisive snort, and you roll your eyes, giving him a sharp look.

"Just let me do the talking," you say firmly. "And whatever you do, don't interrupt. If you can keep your mouth shut for five minutes, we'll get through this."

"No promises," he mutters, but he nods in understanding, his gaze serious. He reaches up, clasping your shoulder and squeezing gently. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

"Right," you sigh. You glance around the courtyard, the nerves twisting in your stomach, and you take a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

The gates to the Temple slide open, and the two of you step inside, heading up the path that leads to the entrance. You ascend the stairs and into the grand hall, which is, unsurprisingly, empty. There are a handful of acolytes milling around, but otherwise, the building is quiet, and you take a minute to breathe, relishing the silence.

It feels odd, having a clone at your side as you walk through the Temple. Rarely does anyone other than the Jedi step foot in the sacred halls. Even meetings are often held offsite, or at least, out of sight. And you've certainly never had one with Booker.

You can see the awe on his face as the two of you move through the vast space, the lights and shadows dancing along the walls and columns. His gaze is roaming everywhere, taking in every detail, his head craning back to see the towering ceilings. You have to nudge him a couple times to get him to focus.

The turbolift to the High Council spire opens, and the two of you step inside. The doors close, and you can hear Booker's heavy breathing as the lift begins its ascent, the numbers ticking by on the display. He shifts beside you, the nervous energy rolling off him in waves.

"What's the worst they can do?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. He lets out a dry laugh. "It's not like they're going to expel you from the Order."

"You never know," you deadpan, and his head snaps toward you, his brows arching. You give him a smirk and shrug. "Well, they could. Not likely, but..."

"You can't be serious," he sputters. "They'd expel you? After everything?"

"I mean, probably not," you admit. You look away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "But...they could. If they wanted to."

"I thought the Jedi were supposed to be all about compassion and mercy," he grumbles, shaking his head. He lets out a huff of annoyance. "If that's the case, they can kiss my—"

The doors to the lift slide open, and the words die on his lips. He gives you a wide-eyed, almost panicked look, and he clears his throat.

"Behave," you hiss as you step into the empty antechamber. He gives a curt nod, his gaze focused straight ahead.

"Yes sir."

You roll your eyes, but can't keep the smirk from spreading across your face as the two of you make your way across the room. The doors to the Council chambers are closed, but a gentle push has them sliding open, revealing the High Council in session.

Booker's shoulders tense beside you, his breath catching, and you reach out and brush your hand against his. His gaze shifts toward yours, and he offers a quick, reassuring smile before straightening his posture and moving aside for you to enter first.

The bright sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating the chamber, and the Masters seated on their thrones look like glowing beacons in the sea of light. Most of the Masters appear in hologram form, their faces projected by the chairs, but Obi-Wan is sitting in the center of the circle, as is Master Windu. Master Yoda is absent, away on Ilum for a Gathering, and his absence leaves an empty seat in the ring.

As soon as you take a step forward and allow the doors to shut behind you, Obi-Wan sits up in his seat, the foot draped over his knee falling to the floor with a thud. The rest of the Council turns their attention toward you, but you remain focused on him. He looks...well, he looks exhausted. Dark circles line his eyes, and his beard is longer than usual, a sure sign that he hasn't taken the time to tend to it recently.

He's a mess, and you feel a pang of guilt, knowing that you're at least partially responsible for his current state. You hadn't meant to worry him, but you have a feeling the last several weeks haven't been easy for him, either.

Obi-Wan's gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering on the bandage peaking out from your collar. You watch his eyes widen, the muscles in his jaw clenching, and the emotions flit across his face. Concern. Fear. Worry. Guilt. It's all there, clear as day. And the weight of it in the Force is staggering.

"I'm okay," you project to him, opening your mind. "I'm here. I'm okay."

His shoulders sag in relief, and he shakes his head. He gives a rueful smile, and you feel his presence pressing against your shields, a gentle reminder that he's here. "You've a nasty habit of causing me stress, my dear."

"I try my best," you project, the corner of your mouth lifting into a half-smile, and you feel a brief flicker of amusement from him, gone just as quickly as it appears. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling yourself. "Sorry."

He nods once, swallowing hard, his shoulders slumping slightly. The concern on his face remains, though, and you wonder if it has more to do with the nature of the Council's summons than your injuries.

You make your way toward the center of the room, the weight of the Council's gaze pressing down on you. Booker trails a few steps back, his head bowed respectfully. The silence is heavy, and it's impossible not to notice the air of anticipation in the room.

This is going to be bad.

"Masters," you greet and bow your head. Booker offers a formal salute and falls in beside you, his back ramrod straight, his expression neutral.

"Master Anathorn," Mace says, inclining his head. His gaze is stern, his brow furrowed, but his expression softens. "I trust you are well?"

"Yes, Master," you murmur. You try not to flinch as he leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees. His brow furrows slightly, and he tilts his head.

"Really?" he asks skeptically, and his gaze sweeps over you. He shakes his head. "I find that hard to believe. The reports we received were quite alarming."

"That's one word for it," Obi-Wan mutters under his breath.

"Obi-Wan," Mace warns.

"I'm fine, Master," you insist. 

"Are you?"

"Yes," you reply through clenched teeth.

"So I suppose the report from Skywalker was inaccurate then?" Mace continues, arching a brow. “His captain indicated you suffered an extensive list of injuries during the battle on the surface, including a wound to the abdomen that required surgery. Is this true?"

"It is," you say, and you glance at Booker before straightening. You offer a smile, trying to look nonchalant, even though your heart is racing. “But the Council summoned me, and here I am. I am ready and able to serve, Masters. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to discuss the mission, and the events surrounding it, at the earliest possible convenience. As I have no doubt you have more pressing matters to attend to."

Mace narrows his eyes, studying you. You meet his gaze evenly, doing your best to look confident. After a minute, he sighs and leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Of course," he murmurs. He glances around the circle. "Let us begin. Master Anathorn, Commander Booker, please provide a full debriefing of the situation, and a report of the actions taken to secure the planet."

You clear your throat, and you turn toward Booker. He arches a brow, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You nod, and he takes a step forward, reciting the same statement he had given over the comms on the ship. You do your best to fill in what he doesn't mention, keeping the report concise, sticking to the facts and not giving away anything more than the Council needs to know.

When you finish, there's a silence in the room. The Council members exchange glances, and the uneasiness in the Force grows stronger, the apprehension hanging thick in the air. They seem hesitant to speak, and your stomach clenches as the anticipation builds.

"First," Master Plo finally speaks, his hands resting on his lap, his fingers steepled. His hologram flickers slightly as he tilts his head. “I wish to extend my condolences to you and your commander for the loss of your men. They will be greatly missed."

Beside you, Booker's posture stiffens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You reach out and touch his arm lightly, and he looks over at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pain and gratitude. He nods once and takes a deep breath before returning his attention to the Council.

"Thank you, Master," you say softly. "Your words are appreciated."

"Indeed," Master Mundi adds. His expression is grim, his lips pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed. "It was unfortunate that so many had to be sacrificed. Especially given the nature of the mission."

You frown, tilting your head, and Obi-Wan clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sorry," you start, glancing around the room. "I'm not sure I understand. It wasn't intentional."

"No," Plo says, his tone conciliatory. "It wasn't. And we do not blame you for the loss of your men, or the failure of the mission."

"We do not," Mace echoes, nodding his head. 

Obi-Wan looks away, and you can see his jaw clench, his hands gripping the armrests tightly. He glances at you with a look that can only be interpreted as apologetic. Suddenly, you have a sinking feeling that you're not going to like what comes next. Your hands clench into fists behind your back.

"But you do," Booker says, his voice flat. The Council shifts uncomfortably, and you turn toward him, surprised by the accusation in his tone. "Don't you?"

"Excuse me?" Mundi asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Commander," Obi-Wan interjects, his tone warning.

"You do," Booker says, ignoring the admonishment. He squares his shoulders and takes a step forward, his gaze hardening. "The fact that we're here means you must. Otherwise, why would General Anathorn have been ordered to report while obviously injured? Why wouldn't Master Kenobi have been allowed to debrief the Council himself?"

"You overstep, Commander," Master Shaak Ti scolds, her voice sharp, but you can hear the strain in it. She looks every bit a disapproving mother, but you know she's not as angry as she appears. Not with him, anyway.

"Do I?" he challenges, and she purses her lips, glancing at the others. "If I'm mistaken, please, correct me. Because this meeting feels a lot like an inquisition."

The room falls silent. There's a sudden rush, a sharp inhale, and you can hear Obi-Wan suck in a breath. Beside you, Booker stands stock-still, his expression carefully blank. 

You can't find the words to reprimand him, and frankly, you're not sure if you should. He's right. This does feel a lot like an inquisition. The silence, the lack of emotion, the questions. It's all too reminiscent of the last time you were brought before the Council, your investigation into Yaddle's death dismissed and your questions brushed aside in favor of a promotion.

You've tried to move past that, to push the memory from your mind, but now, standing in front of them, the fear and shame and anger come flooding back, and the resentment is hard to swallow. You're a general now. A Master. With a clone unit under your command, and men who are relying on you to lead them. And yet, it seems you've made no progress.

The silence drags on, the awkwardness in the room increasing, and it's Mace who breaks it, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You are correct, Commander," he admits, his hand falling away. "It is an inquisition. Of sorts."

"Why?" you ask, your voice strained. Your heart is pounding, the anxiety twisting in your chest, and you do your best to remain calm, to keep your emotions in check. But the anger is bubbling up, and it's hard not to let it get the better of you. "To what end?"

"I think that's obvious," Mace replies, his brow furrowing slightly. He leans forward in his chair, his gaze intent. "You are one of our best, and brightest. I think you've proved that with this campaign. But there are...concerns."

"Concerns," you repeat flatly.

"Your judgment has been...compromised," he explains.

"My judgment," you echo, the words leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. "Really."

"You made a decision," Mundi says, and he rests his hands on his knees, his gaze fixed on you. "A decision based on your attachment to your men. A decision that went against the orders given."

"The orders," you snap, your control slipping, and you can feel the anger flare, hot and bright in the Force. You take a breath and clench your hands into fists, doing your best to keep it under control. “It was the only way. We were outnumbered, my men were dying, I had to—"

"We understand," Shaak Ti soothes, holding up a hand. She offers you a reassuring smile that feels too much like pity. "You were faced with an impossible decision. And you made the choice that seemed the best course of action. We do not fault you for it."

"I would have made the same choice," Plo says, and you can see the hint of a smile beneath his mask. "Your men are worth any risk. And they are fortunate to have you."

"But the fact remains, there is a cost. For you, and for the Republic," Mace continues, and he lets out a heavy sigh. "We cannot afford another defeat like the one at Duro. And we cannot afford our Jedi to act rashly."

"Rashly?" Booker sputters.

"Commander," Obi-Wan starts, his voice firm, and Booker looks over at him, his gaze sharp. "It's not personal."

"Isn't it?" he snaps, and he turns toward the Council, his posture rigid, his shoulders tense. "My men died. Good, loyal men, who served the Republic with honor. Men who were loyal to her. And if it wasn't for the General, more would have died."

"And yet, the shields were destroyed, the city was left unprotected, and the Separatists were able to raze the entire planet," Mundi counters, shaking his head. "All of which could have been avoided if the shield had remained intact."

"You can't blame the General for that," Booker insists. "They had no other option. It was either retreat, or die. Which would you have had her do?"

"Booker," you murmur, reaching out to grab his arm. He flinches away from you, his gaze snapping toward yours, and the fury in his eyes takes your breath away. He's never looked at you like this. He's angry. So angry. And for the first time, you see the anger not just as an extension of his loyalty, but a product of his own fears and emotions. He's not just defending you, he's protecting himself. His brothers. "Stop."

He hesitates, his jaw clenched, and you can see the struggle behind his eyes, the conflict warring within him. But he does as you ask, taking a step back and returning to his position at your side. His expression is blank once more, his emotions carefully hidden, but his hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles white.

"You're right," you say, and the Council looks at you in surprise. You square your shoulders and meet their gazes one by one, doing your best to remain calm. "We could have. We could have stayed and fought until we were all dead. But what good would that have done? Would it have made any difference in the end? Would the Republic have benefited?"

"We would have had the planet," Mundi answers.

"Would we have?" you challenge. "Or would it have fallen as easily as it did without us there? I don't think the answer is clear. Not to me."

"Your point is made," Mace sighs, and he runs a hand over his head. He looks tired, weary. Like he's carrying the weight of the war on his shoulders, and he's close to breaking. "And I will concede that your decision may have saved lives. But that is not the point."

"Then what is the point, Master?" you demand. You're struggling to maintain your composure, the frustration building, and the Force is thrumming around you. "What are we here for?"

The silence returns. The Council looks uncomfortable, shifting in their seats, exchanging nervous glances. Then Mace clears his throat, his brow furrowed.

"The Chancellor is...displeased with the events on Duro," he admits hesitantly. "And he has made it quite clear that he feels the Council failed to provide adequate guidance to our Jedi generals."

"Oh, please," you scoff, rolling your eyes. You let out a harsh laugh. "That's what this is about? Politics? Really?"

"We cannot afford another incident," Mundi adds.

"Another incident," you repeat. "Like what?"

"Like the incident on Hisseen," Obi-Wan answers pointedly. 

Your jaw snaps shut. You can't look at him, can't bear to see the disappointment on his face, and you drop your gaze to the floor, clenching your hands into fists. The silence hangs heavy in the air, and you can feel their eyes on you, the judgment radiating from them in the Force. It's suffocating, the pressure increasing with each passing second, and it's almost too much.

"It's not a punishment," Obi-Wan assures softly. You don't answer, keeping your eyes down. He lets out a sigh, and you can feel him reach out to you, his presence warm and soothing. "You know that, don't you? This isn't personal."

"Sure feels that way," you reply, unable to stop the bitterness from leaking through the bond.

"The point, Master Anathorn, is that the Chancellor has made his concerns known," Mundi continues, oblivious to the conversation taking place between you and Obi-Wan. "And that as a result of our loss, Duro has decided to secede from the Republic."

The breath leaves your lungs in a rush, and you swallow hard as Booker curses under his breath beside you. You glance at him, finding him staring at the ground, his fists clenched, his expression dark.

"Oh," you murmur. You look up at the Council, at the pitying expressions on their faces, and you take a deep breath, your shoulders slumping. "Shit."

"Precisely," Mace agrees. He sits back in his seat and shakes his head. "It was a major blow. And it has placed the Order in a precarious position. We cannot afford to lose any more systems. Especially now, with the war at its height."

"So, what happens now?" you ask, glancing around the room. You shift uneasily, your feet shuffling against the polished marble. "What does the Council suggest?"

"We have spoken at length," Plo Koon says, his tone even. "And the decision has been made. There will be no repercussions. For you, or the 419th."

The wave of relief that crashes over you is staggering, and you sway on your feet, the weight lifting from your shoulders. Booker steps toward you and holds out his arm, and you grab hold, giving him a grateful smile. He nods, squeezing your arm briefly before releasing you.

"There's more," Obi-Wan interjects, and the relief evaporates, replaced by a sense of dread. 

"Yes," Mace agrees. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "There is."

"What else?" you ask quietly.

"Given your recent injury and the restructuring that will need to occur with your unit," he begins slowly, "the Council believes it would be in the best interest of the Republic for the 419th Brigade to be temporarily reassigned, and for you to spend some time at the Temple, recovering and meditating."

"For how lo-," Booker starts, but he stops short, the realization hitting him, and he spins around, staring at you with wide eyes. "Wait. Are they benching you?"

"I...yes," you whisper. The floor sways beneath your feet, and you shake your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind. "That's what this is, isn't it? I'm being benched."

"We would like you to take some time to focus on yourself," Mundi says. "You have been through a lot. And the loss of so many men in such a short period of time is not easy. Consider this a meditative retreat. Nothing more."

"Nothing more," you repeat hollowly.

"It will be good for you," Shaak Ti assures.

"Good for me," you echo, blinking hard. It feels like you're outside your body, watching the conversation play out in slow motion, the words echoing in your head.

"This is temporary," Mace adds. He sounds far away, distant. "Until you are fully healed and have had the chance to regain your strength. And until the 419th has been replenished and readjusted."

"And after?" you ask weakly. "When will the assignment end?"

"That will be determined later," he replies.

"How much later?"

"That is a discussion for another time," Mundi answers.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die on your tongue. You want to argue, to protest, but the energy has left you, and the ache in your chest has returned, a sharp pain that sends a shudder through your body.

"This isn't a punishment," Obi-Wan repeats, his voice echoing in the back of your mind, and you glance at him. He's looking down, his fingers tracing the pattern carved into the armrest of his chair, his expression solemn.

"Isn't it?"

He doesn't answer.

"Well," you finally manage. You offer a strained smile. "Thank you for your...counsel, Masters. And I appreciate the concern. If that is all, Commander Booker and I will be leaving."

"General Anathorn," Mace calls as you turn to leave. You pause and look over your shoulder at him, arching a brow. He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Please. Take some time. Rest. Heal. When the time comes, we will need you."

For a moment, the anger rises, threatening to boil over, and the words are on the tip of your tongue, but you bite them back, swallowing them down. There's no point. No matter what you say, or do, it won't change anything. They've made their decision, and there's nothing you can do about it.

"Yes, Master," you say. Your tone is polite, respectful. "May the Force be with you."

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, and the doors slide closed behind you. Booker strides past you toward the lift, jabbing the button with his finger and waiting impatiently as the door opens. You follow him inside, the silence hanging heavy between the two of you, and he keeps his eyes forward, his expression stony.

"That went well," he deadpans as the doors close and the lift descends.

"Yeah," you sigh, leaning against the wall. You rest your head back and close your eyes, letting out a weary sigh. "Could have been worse."

"Right," he snorts.

You open one eye and look at him. He's still staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched, his lips pursed. The frustration is rolling off him in waves, and you can feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"What's going on with you?" you ask, frowning slightly.

"Nothing," he mutters. He glances at you. "Everything."

"Booker."

"Don't worry about it," he grumbles.

"I'm going to worry," you retort, folding your arms over your chest. He glares at you, and you arch a brow, giving him a pointed look. "Talk to me."

"They were wrong," he snaps. His shoulders slump, and he leans back against the wall, shaking his head. "And you know it."

"I don't know anything," you reply quietly.

"You saved lives," he argues. "Dash's life. My men's lives. They should have given you a kriffing medal, not put you on ice."

"They're doing what they think is best," you say, though the words ring hollow, even to you. "They have a point. I lost focus. I made a mistake."

"Because you saved lives," he hisses. "What kind of general would you be if you'd just left Dash and the others there to die?"

"A bad one," you admit, and he huffs a laugh. You give him a rueful smile as the door opens, and the two of you step through. "But that doesn't change anything. I have to deal with the consequences."

"This isn't fair," he says, shaking his head. He's silent for a minute before he turns his gaze to you, his expression somber. "Does this mean you're staying here?"

"It looks that way," you murmur. You chew your lip. "I'm sorry. I'll make sure you're taken care of."

"We'll take care of each other," he replies firmly, and he reaches out, gripping your shoulder tightly. "Don't worry. We've got this."

"Yeah," you say. You try to smile, but it falls flat, and he lets out a sigh.

"Look," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm...sorry. For losing my temper. And for stepping out of line. That's not...that's not like me. Not usually. I just—"

"I know," you assure him, holding up a hand. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," he counters. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the loose curls from his face. "It only proved their point. And I'm...I'm sorry."

"You were trying to protect me," you say, offering him a half-smile. "I get it."

"I know," he sighs, and he glances around, his eyes sweeping the empty halls. "I just..."

"You just what?"

"I'm gonna miss you," he admits, his voice cracking, and your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat. You swallow hard, the words stuck. He gives a sardonic laugh and shakes his head. "This whole thing has just been...weird. I never expected this. Any of it. But now..."

"I know," you whisper, and the two of you walk side by side through the deserted halls. The sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a warm glow across the walls and floors. It's peaceful, serene. And it's a sharp contrast to the chaos in your mind. "I'm going to miss you, too."

"Good," he grins. "Because if you didn't, I'd be insulted."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, and he nudges you playfully with his elbow. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as the Temple bustles around you. People are coming and going, going about their lives, and you can't seem to shake the feeling of being lost, like a ship without a heading.

Booker hovers, his hand held out toward you as you make your way down the steps toward the entrance. You reach the bottom and turn, smiling softly at him. He lets his hand fall, and his gaze flicks around, taking in the cityscape and the busy traffic lanes.

"You're still going to come around, right?" he asks, and you arch a brow. He shifts nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "When you can. To the base. To check in. Or something."

"Or something," you chuckle. "Of course I will. As soon as I can. You can count on that."

"Good," he murmurs. He swallows hard and holds out his hand. You roll your eyes and grab it, pulling him into a hug. His arms wrap around you, and he rests his chin on top of your head, sighing heavily. "This sucks."

"It does," you agree, and you squeeze him tighter. "I'll see you soon. And I'll be fine."

"Yeah," he says, pulling back. He gives a lopsided smile. "Enjoy your...time off. And get some rest. You're supposed to be healing."

"Yes, Commander," you reply, and he shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

"I'll see you around," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you echo. "You will."

He takes a step back and salutes before turning and walking away, and you watch him go, your feet rooted to the spot. You can feel the exhaustion settling over you, your wounds aching, and you know it's not from the injury. It's from everything. All of it.

Booker gives one last wave as he pushes open the door, and the sunlight spills in, bathing the corridor in an orange glow. You blink a couple times, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the harsh light.

"Kriff," you whisper to yourself.

You're so tired.

So, so tired.

It takes a minute for your vision to adjust, and by the time you've gathered your bearings, the doors have slid shut, sealing you inside.

You sigh and turn away from the doors, heading back into the silence and stillness of the Temple. Your steps echo in the empty corridors, the light from the windows fading as you walk, the shadows deepening.

The silence is suffocating, and a weight settles on your shoulders, slowing your steps as you wander. You're exhausted, but the idea of returning to your room and trying to sleep feels impossible. So you walk, drifting aimlessly through the empty halls, lost in thought.

It's not the worst outcome. Not by a long shot. But it still stings. To have your choices paraded in front of the Council time and time again as if you're some wayward child, as if you're not capable of thinking for yourself, is frustrating. And to have your decision made for you, even if it's a temporary situation, feels like a slap in the face.

You thought you made progress with them. Perhaps it was foolish to think otherwise. But given how things had been left before, the change was welcome.

Now, though, it feels as if nothing has changed at all.

Once again, the decision had been taken out of your hands, and you'd had to stand there and take it. Because, really, what other choice did you have?

None.

The thought has a lump forming in your throat, and you swallow hard, forcing it down. Your fists clench and release at your sides, and you find yourself reaching for the necklace again, the pendant cool to the touch. You roll it between your fingers, the rhythmic motion helping to ease the anxiety building inside you.

You know, realistically, that it's a temporary situation. You've been through worse, and the time off will give you the chance to recover, both mentally and physically. But still, the fact remains that it's a punishment. And that the Council didn't see fit to consult you first is a clear indication of their lack of trust in you.

That's the part that hurts the most.

Your feet slow to a stop, and you look around, realizing that you've wandered into the Archives. The lights are dimmed, the room bathed in shadow, and the faint glow from the shelves illuminates the space. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

It's only then that you notice you're standing among the busts of the Lost Twenty.

It's not an intentional visitation. In fact, it's not one you'd ever really considered. You'd always thought recognizing the Jedi who left the Order, disillusioned with your way of life, was a pointless endeavor. Especially when so many had fallen to the Dark Side, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Your gaze meets the last bust in the row, next to Yaddle's, who was erected only recently on your insistence. Dooku's eyes are unseeing, cold and hollow, and yet, it's as if he's looking right through you, the disapproval clear on his face.

You let out a huff of annoyance and roll your eyes. 

Even his statue is smug.

You can't deny that he'd had a point. The Republic was flawed. There was a rotting core to it, a lack of understanding of the people it was meant to serve. It had grown corrupt, the bureaucracy a hindrance, and the corruption ran rampant, affecting every level. But while you could agree with him on that point, you could never agree with his solution.

It was one thing to speak against the Republic. It was another to destroy it, and everyone in your path, in order to reshape it in your own image. And while you could acknowledge the hypocrisy of the Jedi Order, of the Senate, there was a line. One that had to be drawn, even if you were the one drawing it.

Even if his offer to help you control your power had been tempting.

It's the same dilemma you're faced with now. The same choice.

You could take Dooku's advice. You could leave. You could walk away from the war, the Order, everything. And no one would fault you. You could go anywhere, be anything, and no one would question your decision. They'd understand. It was the right thing to do.

And yet, the thought of doing it, of turning your back on the Republic, on your men and your brothers and your friends, fills you with a dread so profound that it's a physical ache. You couldn't do that. 

No matter how much you hated the politics, no matter how much you despised the Chancellor, no matter how many times you were pulled in a thousand different directions, no matter how many times you'd had a hand raised against you, no matter how many times the Council doubted your motives, you couldn't leave.

You could never abandon those who needed you.

Your hand curls into a fist at your side, and you close your eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. The anger, the frustration, the fear, swirl inside you, threatening to drown you, and you reach for the Force, seeking its calm, its soothing presence.

"This isn't helping," you mutter.

“Another rising star grounded, hm?”

Your eyes snap open, and you whirl around, your hand automatically moving to the lightsaber clipped to your belt. Master Krell steps into the circle of light, his four hands tucked behind his back, his yellow eyes glowing.

"Master Krell," you say. You let go of the saber hilt and give him a slight bow. "Forgive me. I didn't hear you."

"That much is clear," he huffs. He glances at the busts beside you, and his expression turns somber. "Although, I'm not surprised you found your way here. I've often sought refuge in the Archives as well."

"I'm not seeking refuge," you protest.

"Aren't you?" he asks, arching a brow.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words die on your lips. You look away, the flush of embarrassment warming your cheeks.

"I suppose news travels fast," you mutter.

"It does," Krell agrees. He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as they move over you, taking in the bandage peaking out from your tunic. "It was a grave mistake."

"One I'll pay for," you reply, and you shake your head and glance at the busts beside you, the disappointment on the faces of the Lost Twenty. "At least the Council agreed to let me keep my position."

"For now." He lets out a derisive scoff, and you frown. "You may have survived this battle, but the war is far from over. And without a doubt, they will try to ground you again."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because they have little stomach for the fight," he says, his voice bitter. Krell steps up to your side, and his gaze moves over the busts, his lips pressed together tightly, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

"You disagree with their decision," you surmise.

"As should you," he replies, his eyes flicking toward yours. He regards you for a minute, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But I suppose the Council's judgement is beyond reproach."

You snort and look away, unable to meet his gaze. You can feel the anger simmering inside you, the frustration and irritation. The feeling is mirrored by him, and it's like a physical presence, pressing against you. It's almost a relief to feel someone else's anger, rather than having to hold your own in check.

"They were wrong to take you off the active duty roster," Krell continues, and he looks at you with a sympathetic expression. "To force you into this...retreat."

"Yes," you say softly. You nod, biting your lip. "Yes, they were."

"And yet," he continues, his four arms spreading out to his sides, "what can be done? It is the Council's decision, and you must abide by it."

"I don't have a choice," you agree. You sigh and run a hand through your hair, shaking your head. "At least it's a temporary situation."

"Indeed," he muses, and his lips twitch. "But perhaps not as temporary as the Council might like."

"What do you mean?"

"I have heard that the Chancellor's patience is wearing thin," he says, his voice low. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and his smirk widens. "Word travels fast, as you said. And it seems the loss of Duro has him quite concerned."

"He should be concerned," you say. You roll your eyes, your annoyance returning full force. "This isn't the first time a system has threatened to leave the Republic. If he's worried about losing systems, he should focus his attention on actually listening to his people."

"You and I are in agreement," he replies with a chuckle.

"That's a surprise," you muse, tilting your head. You give him a curious look. "I didn't know you cared much for the political side of things."

"I have no desire for politics," he scoffs, and he glances at the busts of the Lost Twenty beside him. "But I will not allow the Republic to turn its back on those who have given so much."

"No," you murmur, and you reach up and touch the pendant of your necklace, rolling it between your fingers. "Neither will I."

Krell looks at you, an odd expression on his face. It's almost as if he's studying you, and there's something else there, too. Something more serious. More calculating. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but the words die on his lips, and he closes it with a snap, his gaze turning back to the busts.

"Your faith is admirable," he says after a minute. He takes a step back, his hands folding behind his back, and he shakes his head. "But it will not change their minds. Or the outcome."

"I know," you concede. "But it's worth a shot."

"Is it?" he asks. His lip curls slightly. "What is the saying? The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?"

"Well, no one has ever accused me of being sane," you reply with a wry smile. "And it's not the first time I've been grounded. I'll figure something out."

He hums, but doesn't respond, and the two of you stand in silence, the darkness enveloping you. It's strange, seeing him in the Archives. You'd never taken him for the scholarly type. He's not exactly the model Jedi. Then again, neither are you.

"Perhaps you're right," he muses after a minute. He steps up beside you and places a hand on your shoulder. His touch is firm, his grip strong. You meet his gaze, and he gives you a small smile. "I do believe the Council is wrong in this matter. But I also believe that you will find a way to rise above it."

"Thank you," you whisper, and you smile, the first genuine smile you've felt all day. "I appreciate the support."

"Of course," he replies as his hand falls away. He gives you a curt nod. "And with that, I bid you goodnight. May the Force be with you, General Anathorn."

"Goodnight, Master Krell," you reply with a small bow.

Krell turns and walks away, disappearing into the darkness, the shadows swallowing him whole. You watch him go, your eyebrows furrowing, his words still echoing in your head.

His support is surprising. You hadn't expected it. And his words echo your own thoughts. You knew the Council was wrong. You knew it would be hard to stay grounded. You knew the men would struggle. But hearing another Jedi say it, hearing them agree with you, is a comfort. Especially someone as strong as Krell.

He is right. There is a certain madness to repeating the same actions over and over, expecting a different result. The question is, how can you break the cycle? How can you prove to the Council that you're worthy of their trust?

"The definition of insanity," you murmur.

You sigh and turn your attention back to the busts before you. They look at you expectantly, judging, waiting for you to make the right choice.

A shiver runs down your spine, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You look around, but the Archives are empty, and, slowly, the feeling passes. You sigh and run a hand over your face, the exhaustion sinking into your bones

You're too tired for this.

Your hand closes around the pendant of your necklace again, and you roll it between your fingers.

You can figure this out later. Right now, you need to sleep.

You turn and start toward the door, and the bust of Yaddle catches your eye, her warm gaze fixed on yours, and you can't resist the urge to stop and say goodbye. You reach out and brush your fingertips over the top of her head, running your thumb along the edge of her ear.

"Goodnight, Master," you murmur.

You step away from her, and she watches you go, her eyes following you until the darkness swallows you whole.

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[merpmonde]

Sangaku Sunday #2

As the tags in a reblog by @todayintokyo indicated, I waffled about what we'll do in this series in the first post without really defining its main object!

Sangaku are wooden tablets on display at Shintô shrines or Buddhist temples in Japan, featuring geometry problems and their solutions, usually without proof. They started appearing in the Edo period, a particular time for the Japanese people and Japanese scientists. The votive role of these tablets has been debated as far back as the Edo period, as indicated by Meijizen who wrote in 1673:

"There appears to be a trend these days, of mathematical problems on display at shrines. If they were true votive tablets (ema), they should contain a prayer of some sort. Lacking that, one wonders what they are for, other than to celebrate the mathematical genius of their authors. Their meaning eludes me."

I feel the debate on their religious role is overrated. If you look at some food offerings at shrines today, I don't think you'll find a prayer on the bottle of tea or pack of rice, as the prayer is made at the time of offering. It likely is the same for sangaku tablets, which went on display with other offerings. But, as Meijizen hinted, they did have another purpose.

Until we expand on that, below the cut is the solution of last weekend's problem.

Place the point H on the line between A and C1 so that the distance between A and C1 is equal to r2. As the lines (AC1) and (BC2) are both perpendicular to the line (AB), they are parallel, and since AH=BC2=r2, HABC2 is a parallelogram with two right angles: it's a rectangle.

So the length we want, AB, is equal to HC2. The triangle HC1C2 has a right angle at the vertex H, so we can use Pythagoras's theorem:

HC1² + HC2² = C1C2²

In this equality, two lengths are known: C1C2=r1+r2, and

HC1 = AC1-AH = r1-r2 (assuming r1>r2, if not just switch the roles of r1 and r2)

Thus, HC2² = (r1+r2)²-(r1-r2)² = 4 r1 r2 after expanding both expressions (e.g. (r1+r2)² = (r1+r2)x(r1+r2) = r1² + 2 r1 r2 + r2²).

Taking the square root yields the result.

[vigilskeep]

hey harker! very much enjoying the lucanis/illario/general crow posting, and im gonna encourage more: now that you’ve had some time to sit with the game i was really curious to hear more about your opinion on lucanis becoming first talon. i can’t help but feel like it’s completely glossed over that lucanis is definitely going to get chewed up by this job in most save states. i have mixed feelings about it personally - but setting those aside because i’m asking about yours.

i TRULY cannot express this enough: that villa is a tomb and if we do not get him out of there we are burying him in it

lucanis does not want this job. he has straight up canonically always avoided thinking about this by assuming he would die before it becomes something he has to deal with. he reacts with paralysed disbelief to being given it and seems to have barely registered it for the rest of the game. and even if he did want it, lucanis is not capable of this job. none of his skillsets are managing people, or making ruthless calls, or watching out for himself. the only driving force behind him being pushed into this is caterina, who will not be around to do the admin and protect him from external threats forever. and she only wants him to do it in the first place because she had a good heir—his mother—and has needed to project that dead daughter onto lucanis for his whole life, to believe she hasn’t already gambled and irrevocably lost her family’s future decades ago. but lucanis’ incapacity to ever say no to her, which is what lets him stay that eternal teacher’s pet, is one of the most obvious shining examples why he would be so bad for the job!

it would be an uphill battle for anyone to recover control of an assassin house that until last week was being run by your cousin who tried to kill you. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to lead the crows in the aftermath of the antaam occupation. it would be an uphill battle for anyone to cope with the fact that relying on viago and teia—which lucanis with his resources and skills has no choice but to do here, even if he didn’t simply like them and make choices based on liking people because he is not a strategist—presents them as an alliance that any other ambitious talon must cut down to get anywhere. three out of eight of the talons is such a ludicrously dangerous number. it does not take an overwhelmingly brilliant mind to notice that there’s more of us than there are of them

the best man for the job would still be fighting for their life, and lucanis is far from the best man. caterina was! and she still lost five children and six grandchildren holding it! that’s so many! have you guys ever seen that one post about people who kept getting a new outdoor cat every time the last one got eaten by cougars and it was pointed out they were basically just feeding cats to the cougars. that’s what caterina dellamorte was doing having kids

the points in lucanis’ favour off the top of my head are the weight of the dellamorte name and reputation, that his victory over illario was decisive and public, and simply the fear factor that he is a god slayer and, lest we forget, a fucking abomination. is that enough to keep him alive? for how long? under what level of constant anxiety and moral degradation for his very soft over-caffeinated heart? all for the questionable gain of several large and empty villas and the privilege of dragging out the slow and lingering death of a family that, you guessed it, you love it, it’s the thedas favourite: has no! next! generation! heirs! at all!!!

(unless illario has a bunch of kids somewhere. i think that would be objectively pretty funny, a sentence i managed to type most of before feeling ill. oh god we need to get them out.)

i apologise that my tone here is somewhat hysterical but i have been living in the mind of my rook, a character very aware of the realities of crow politics who loves lucanis very much. it does not surprise me that lucanis was once again incapable of even conceptualising saying no to his grandmother and accepted the title, or that the idea of abandoning her legacy and his family would seem insurmountable to him when he has been raised to believe it’s all he’s for and he is the last one shouldering the weight. but i am saying this with total and absolute confidence: this is another prison and he is going to die in there if nobody gets him out.

[ichorai]

chiropterology — pinnochio.

drabble synopsis ; bruce wayne prepares to attend a gala alone. warnings ; sexually suggestive, some kisses :0

series masterlist.

You tossed Bruce’s silver cufflinks from one hand to another, watching him get dressed from the bed, lips curled into a coy grin. Bruce’s hair was slightly damp from the shower, but was quick to dry after a quick pass with a blow dryer and a swift comb through. His fingers deftly buttoned up the ironed dress shirt as his eyes met the reflection of your provocative, sultry gaze through the mirror. If there wasn’t a gala to attend in half an hour, Bruce would’ve been crawling over you again in an instant. Self restraint was, however, something he prided himself on.

Though, it was getting increasingly difficult to hold himself back when you slid out of the bed in all your naked glory, a light sheen of sweat still glossed over your skin from your prior… activities. You sidled up behind him, kissed his shoulder, and took one of his calloused hands to drop the cufflinks into them. 

“Close your mouth,” you whispered with a laugh. “This is your fault, you know. I would’ve been happy to join you for tonight’s gala.”

Bruce sighed. “I love you, but I’ll be avoiding bringing you to public events for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t know what could possibly lead you to that decision,” you said, feigning innocence and batting your lashes at him in an exaggerated manner. Bruce scoffed at that.

“The people attending fundraising galas are not your lab rats to test your Pinocchio Serum.” Though Bruce was practically scolding you, his eyes were still soft and playful, despite his exasperated tone.

You held up a finger. “Mm, au contraire—everyone who attends galas are rich, and have plenty of disposable money to get reconstructive facial surgery—”

Bruce groaned out your name, face palming.

“—and their noses only grew if they lied! It’s not my fault every single one of them felt the need to lie about the sizes of their pools, or the number of companies they owned, or how badly they wanted to visit their estranged kids in Bulgaria, or—”

As you ranted about the groundbreaking outcomes of your experiment that he so clearly was not appreciating, he crossed the room to take a silken robe and drape it over your form, tying the soft sash over your hips with a faint blush. If he was going to listen to you talk about your science, he would prefer it if you didn’t do it naked. He had places to be in a few minutes after all.

“I can take you to the next gala. Just promise me—no serums.”

You thought about his offer for a second. “Fine.”

Bruce arched a brow. “No rays, no pills, no buzzers, none of your experiments.”

“Then what’s the point of going in the first place?” you lamented, tossing your hands up in the air. “It’s no wonder none of the kids want to go with you.”

“Hn. It’s more the opposite,” Bruce objected. “It’s best for everyone if the kids don’t attend galas with me anymore.”

Damian was very close to murdering an old woman with a butter knife for pinching his cheeks, and Jason wasn’t any better—he ended up in a screaming match with a high-profile politician. Tim was so sleep-deprived the last time he was forced to go to a gala that he passed out into a plate of mashed potatoes while a senator was speaking to him about some sort of tax law. Cassandra escaped onto the rooftop after two seconds of socializing, and Dick ended up swinging on a crystal chandelier the last time he attended one. You were so proud of all of them.

“You could ask Alfred?” you suggested.

With a sulky huff, Bruce said, “Alfred said I don’t pay him nearly enough for that.”

“Woe is you,” you snorted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, have fun at the gala, hon. I’m taking a shower, then checking up on Duke and Damian, and then I promised Tim we’d start a new show together. Oh, and let me know if you need a quick escape! I’ve been testing out a new kind of smoke bomb that releases—”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Bruce reassured. Every day of his life he found himself grateful you weren’t a supervillain. With a hum, he swept you into his arms and caught your lips in a passionate kiss, effectively shutting you up before you could insist on him trying out the smoke bombs. It was near painful when he forced himself to pull away, relishing the way you chased after his lips just a little. “You’re too much for me, woman,” he grumbled, as if it were your fault that he had to leave.

“You’re the one who put a ring on it,” you retorted, before giving him a light shove towards the door. “Now go! Alfred’s probably been waiting to see you off for ages now!”

[fredoesque]

ranking terror characters based on how prophet-coded they are

crozier: 4/10 crozier's kassandra status is often overstated i believe. just because franklin is wrong doesn't mean crozier is right. none of his predictions come true except those regarding the ice. that's not prophecy it's just meteorological knowledge. some points for the act of hubris we may not survive though. i can't deny that they did not survive

silna: [ERROR]/10 objectively framed as a prophet character. makes the number one most accurate prophecy in the show ("she said that if we don't leave now we're going to [disappear]."). i can't say whether she truly is one however, bc her standing outside english modes of knowledge is a big part of what casts this statement in a mysterious light. from the english (and the audience's) perspective this is prophecy, but is it from hers? or is it just, as i said before, meteorological knowledge? maybe the prophet is just another role projected onto silna, bc her having supernatural insight is easier for the english to stomach than her having knowledge they lack. this doesn't entirely preclude her being a prophet as well though, since we know that there are in fact supernatural forces at play. english perceptions of her prophethood being incorrect doesn't mean said prophethood is necessarily non-existent. maybe if we saw more of silna, especially with her own people, i could give a definitive answer, but as it stands i'm undecided. whatever the case bonus points for making that terror model without masts that looks like the actual wreck that shit was cool as hell

david young: 7/10 solid first act prophet. hounded by visions he doesn't understand. gives warnings that ultimately go unheeded. not much else to say about this one it's a classic

hickey: 2/10 wants to be a prophet so bad but has little to no insight into the future. some points for his tendency to be the first to say things that are true about the present or to utter thoughts others have but are unwilling to share. may not be an actual prophet but strangely capable of filling the social function of one

jopson: 1/10 never really does anything prophet related but gets a point for objectively looking like he knows how you're going to die at all times

collins: 3/10 collins has visions but they're not of the future; they're of the past which is a different sort of thing entirely. does get some points bc visions are still visions and the past he sees does in fact mirror the future that awaits

fitzjames: 0/10 i've put him on the list bc he's a main character but he is absolutely not a prophet on account of he doesn't know shit. he IS a walking prophecy however and that prophecy is the rot of imperialism. and scurvy

blanky: 11/10 i've said this before and i'll say it again blanky is the only character who actually understands the situation they're in. not only does he give an ominous speech about the future, but his is actually acted upon in a way that ends up contributing to it's fulfillment. that's prophecy, baby! thinking about this is why i made this post

goodsir: 9/10 gets just one big prophet moment but it's an absolute banger: jacko's death. reads the future in an animal's entrails (if you squint) which is objectively the coolest form of prophecy. like blanky's prophecy, stanley hearing it and acting to avoid it only makes the situation worse

franklin: 1/10 the point is for "i've long wanted to move below"

[majokkid]

An Introduction to Creating and Enchanting Magical Tools

Most, if not all, magical paradigms refer to the use of tools for certain tasks and the world of magical heroes is no different! Whether it’s a pen or brooch for a transformation sequence or a key to unlocking arcane magics, we can find many examples of magical items in mahō shōjo media that can be utilized in your own practice.

Please note that this is a non-exhaustive and non-canonical discussion of the creation and use of magical tools. If you’d like a deeper dive into a particular canon, feel free to send me a message and I’ll see what I can do!

It may seem obvious but the first step in creating a magical tool is determining what its use is. This not only contextualizes the tool within your practice but it can also help determine what is necessary for your needs. Ask yourself questions like:

What is this tool’s function?

Is this tool physical or purely aetheric?

What materials should it be made of?

Should this tool remain on my person at all times? If so, how do I carry it? If not, how should it be stored?

When working with mahō shōjo influences it is especially tempting to purchase detailed, manufactured replicas of your favorite characters’ items and while you can certainly go out and find something along those lines, I always recommend taking the time and energy to make your own tools. I find items that I have created myself are more powerful and reliable. (I’ve noticed this particularly so for objects that can be used for divination, such as cards and pendulums.)

And you do not need to be an experienced prop maker to create a potent magical object! While I do stress the importance of doing the creating yourself, don’t ever be ashamed to ask for help or assistance! As long as you have given it careful consideration and genuine energy, you’ll find that something that may look simple to others can carry immense power when you wield it.

Note: I would say the only caveats to creating your own magical tools outright would be if you were gifted a magical item or if you divined characteristics of an item and are yet to piece together all of its properties. If you were gifted a magical tool, or you are repurposing something that you already own, try to get as much information as you can about its creation and what energies it is imbued with (including any emotional or psychic attachments); if there are things about it that you do not deem necessary or appropriate for your work, I highly recommend cleansing it magically before use and find ways to reroot it to your practice or avoid using it all together.

After you have finished your creation, I recommend enchanting it to further connect it to you and your practice. This can be done in any number of ways but I think it is always best to do something that makes sense in context; for example:

Consecrate the item with water, oils, incense, etc. that is imbued with the energies you want it to carry. Consider associations such as celestial or elemental correspondences, if they apply. Just make sure it makes sense to you!

Is your work in dedication to a certain entity? Consider opening communication with it and get its input on how you should store and charge your new tool. They might also have opinions on how you should use it and if there are any voces magicae, or magic words, you might invoke.

If this is an item you associate with dreams or the astral, sleep with the tool placed under your pillow, under your bed, or somewhere close at hand like a nightstand. You can also consider charging it under moonlight after each use.

If you have an altar dedicated to this part of your practice, place your new tool on it and consecrate it as you see fit. By enchanting and/or storing it the proximity of other items that you have already associated with your work, you can easily establish it as part of your canon.

This post is part of my Magi Praxis series. If you have any suggestions for future topics, or you have attempted anything I have shared and want you share your experiences, please send me a message! I am always happy to go back and provide further explanation as well. ☆

[serumandsteel]

Serum & Steels B.Barnes Rec List

It’s Bucky Barnes Season, baby! 🖤

I finally carved out some time to put together a fresh list of my all-time favorite Bucky Barnes fanfics! a mix of OG classics and newer gems that have stolen my heart. creating fic rec lists is what kickstarted this blog and helped build my little corner of the fandom, so it feels extra special to be sharing this updated 2025 version.

this is both a love letter to the writers who’ve kept Bucky alive in our hearts and a spotlight for newer fans to discover some iconic stories that deserve to be read (and reread). let’s give these fics and their brilliant authors all the love they deserve 💌

more to come xx Kiki

@thebarneschronicles

Out of Depth, Into You 18+

Bucky Barnes was supposed to get in and out. Simple. Clean. But Hydra had other plans. An ambush leaves him broken, bleeding, and barely standing—and you’re the only thing keeping him upright. Trapped in a safehouse, patching him up with shaking hands, you realize the truth you’ve been avoiding: you almost lost him. And that scares you more than anything. Because Bucky isn’t just your mission partner. He’s yours. And maybe… just maybe, he’s known it all along. Avenger Bucky x Reader

nine lives 18+

Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore. You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to. Avenger Bucky x Reader

@insomniumstella

where dreams go to die 18+

Steve’s silly joke happened to inspire the best, or possibly the worst, idea Wanda had ever come up with — send James Buchanan Barnes and y/n on an all-expenses-paid honeymoon in Hawaii. the problem? they cannot stand to be around each other. bucky x avenger!reader

@heli0s-writes

take you there 18 +

Sam plays a game called Fuck or Die. It's like he willed it into existence as you and Bucky explore the basement of an old Hydra lair. bucky x avenger!reader

@gogolucky13

mean it 18+

You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated. Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

@msmarvelwrites

for old times' sake 18+

Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue. TFATWS Bucky x Reader

@jolalibrary

almost 18+

bucky gets hurt. you get pissed. bucky barnes x fem!reader

@bitsandbobsandstuff

Keep your eyes on the road 18+

Honestly, this is what Bucky gets for not listening to you. aka an unexpected sex pollen adventure. bucky x reader

@h2obased

Amendments 18+

It feels like everyone has a thing for Bucky's girl, so he comes up with a rule. It's fairly straightforward, although he keeps on adding exceptions, and of course things get out of hand. Bucky x F!Reader

@avecra

misfire

When the end of a mission turns south , Bucky's number one objective is to keep you safe. Though that becomes a challenge when you're miles away from the compound, and stuck in the middle of a storm.

@empyreanwritings

long way home

the reader is forced to face their feelings towards bucky. Bucky x assassin!Reader

@cheekybarnes

The Shape of a Life

You didn’t plan to become a guardian overnight—and you never planned to ask Bucky for help. He wants a future you’re not sure you believe in, and now you’re both standing at the edge of it, trying to decide what comes next.

[chacaillejdr]

What is the Scalecat system ?

The Scalecat System is a TTRPG rules system that I crafted over several years as a framework for the Tales of the Grey games. 

It is a D6 system built around 4 main objectives : 

provide rules that are both simple to master for beginners and offering a lot of freedom for dedicated players

focus on the imagination of the players and the roleplay

give the GM a large adaptability towards the players, but give the players full responsibility over their actions and destiny

decorrelate the rules system from the universe in which the scenario occurs, to be able to use the same system in different worlds.

So, what makes the Scalecat system different from other existing rpg rules systems ?

First of all, it is a system where only players, and not the GM, will throw dices, limiting the number of rolls for each action and making everything faster and more fluid.

It is also a system which offers an original rule for critical rolls, which is more coherent with PC progression (and avoids high level characters just absurdly piling up critical failures) while bringing a touch of malice in the hands of the GM.

Last but not least, the rules system is built in two parts : a “core” part, common to any scenario, and a “universe” part which adapts to the world, the technology, the magic system, etc. for every specific scenario. That makes it the ideal rules system to master TTRPG in original universes and to explore all their possibilities.

Moreover, the Scalecat System will be published with a Creative Commons BY-NC-SA licence, meaning that anyone will be able to use it for their own (non commercial) creations !

More details on the Scalecat System coming soon in future posts, so stay tuned ! And meanwhile, don’t hesitate to ask any question you might have on this system !

[sweetiebean00]

Hopscotch

There is a severe lack of content for Marikim and I've consumed it in an hour, time to adjust that even if it's just me. Listen, I hate cannon, most of it anyway. I'm not writing with Marc or Luka, only because I don't feel wholey comfy writing them. Didn't get that far in the show😅😅 Didn't finish the Lila shit either, so if it's wrong - sorry? #####

To think, it all started with an akuma. 

No, not a poor person taken advantage of. More like a poor butterfly being used by a madman being taken advantage of. 

Kim was snorting, eyes rolling at Alix and Max as the duo continued to class from lunch. Max was lamenting the idiocy of their peers, of how Lila was obviously new and full of shit. A napkin take out someone's eye? Especially someone with glasses? Kim could hear his grumblings as Alix dragged him along, her snickering about whatever else that happened that Kim didn't care to pay attention to. While the new girl was objectively pretty, she was far too much like Chloe for Kim's taste. And Kim had made it a point to avoid anything resembling the blonde, he hadn't been the greatest when he'd been trying to impress her. Marinette had helped talk to Ivan after the Stoneheart thing, and since then Kim wants to say he's been doing better. No more silly tricks to impress and using actual words opposed to teasing to encourage have been shown to help loads. Max never hesitated to remind him of the odds when his old habits would make an appearance, but that's what happens when you're a teenager in the midst of an emotional, magical terrorist attack. 

He still can't believe he mixed his gym bag for his school bag, eyes rolling at himself as he wondered if Marinette would be willing to take a commission to keep him from mixing them in the future. He didn't even want to think about the number of times he did this a week, let alone a day. It had to-

Kim froze, dread like ice in his veins as he saw the black butterfly floating along. He swallowed, holding as still as he could manage when he heard it. Voices. The following sound of a slam had his brow furrowing and he took a deep breath. Is he witnessing the becoming of an akuma? The memory, the feeling of strings connected to his limbs as the world went dark sent a chill down his spine and before he knew what he was doing. Kim was charging into the room after the akuma, eyes narrowed when he found its target.

Marinette.

The world would burn before someone let her get hurt by a fucking akuma. It was getting closer, heading for an earring as she gripped the sink so tight her knuckles were white. Nope! Not today, Hawkmoth.

"Marinette!"

She jumped, eyes wide with fear and tears falling from her cheeks. A squeak tore from her throat at the sight of the akuma and Kim did the one thing he could think of. He threw his bag. Now what Kim forgot was how he hardly missed a target when he threw something, secondly, was his strength. His muscles weren't for show, if he wasn't working out he was usually doing some sport or another. If not challenging Alix, rollerblades versus his own human body. 

The bag slammed into the purple insect, slamming it into the wall. Marinette thankfully seeing his plan had dropped into a roll, moving from the Akuma and Kim didn't hesitate to snatch her around the waist and throw her over his shoulder before they were running from the locker room. Squished Akuma left behind. 

Kim didn't stop running, his blood roaring in his ears and all he could think was to get her away from the evil little thing.

 Not today, Hawkmoth, not his Cupcake. He didn't even want to think about the slaughter that would take place, because it wouldn't be a fight, a battle. Marinette would take out Hawkmoth and their heroes without fail. She was cunning, he's seen her climb the side of a building and not be late for class every other week. He's seen her when she's pissed, seen her fall and catch herself in a handspring. Seen her make Chloe back down. He wouldn't be surprised if Marinette would make Hawkmoth her little bitch.

"Kim!"

He skid to a halt, lungs burning for air and chest heaving. They were... at the park? Oops. Marinette was poking his back, his sides. Sharp nails digging in for attention, and another one of those squeaks tore from her throat as she clawed at his back on the off chance his rapid stop made her fall. Puh-lease. He played sports, his hands were probably one of the most guaranteed safe zones in the world. Well, maybe. Ladybug or Chat Noir might be safer. 

"Kim, I think you outran the akuma." She said softly, and he chuckled. Heat flaring in the back of his neck as she wiggled to be put down. "Did... did you throw your backpack at an akuma?"

"No..?"

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck now that she was firmly on her own two feet. Her pigtails were disheveled and Marinette's eyes rolled. Lips pulled into a smile as she tugged the ribbons free from her dark hair. Kim grinned, she was smiling! A far cry from the tears she had been shedding when he first found her. The question burned on his tongue, but it might not be a good idea to talk about it right now. Maybe after she seems a bit more at ease? He shrugged, starting down the path of the park and mentally fistbumping when she started along with him.

"That's my gym bag." He grimaced, "Though now that there's akuma juice on it... Hawkmoth can have it."

She laughed, her arm nudging into him as they followed the small path at a slow pace. Kim never thought he'd be skipping class with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, then again, he didn't think he'd have to save the literal sunshine from an akuma. But everyone has their days, everyone has bad days. Kim frowned, probably didn't help everyone was pushing her about today. He heard Nino and Alya criticizing her, but before he could've asked what was going on Lila was claiming a napkin was going to take out Max' eyes. Kim remembers the way his eye twitched, the way Alix immediately stood after Max made a very dry comment and started to preach Lila, her sarcasm missed by the new girl as the trio began to gather their things and leave. Ignoring the tales of wonder of Lila's sacrifice behind as Max proceeded to rant and rave about their classmates having less intelligence than a single cell organism if they believed that.

"Your sacrifice will be remembered," She snickered, patting his shoulder. "I'll make you a new one, if-if you want that is. So it won't be lost in vain?"

"Oh hell yeah!" He fistbumped, ready to brag his ass off about getting a custom design from Marinette and to flex on Alix and Max, on Ondine, on his teammates, mostly on Alix though. "I will never say no to a DC original! Alix is gonna be pissed!"

"Oh, I can make her on-"

Kim interrupted her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pressing into her space. His face turned serious, brows furrowed as he stopped them mid-walk. When he spoke his voice had dropped into just barely above a whisper and eyes staring at her intensely.

"Whatever you do, don't make her one." She squeaked, her cheeks heating as Kim continued. "I want to forever have bragging rights on that little shit."

Marinette blinked, once, twice. Then she snorted, eyes rolling as she playfully pushed at his chest. He grinned, mischief glinting in his eyes as she proceeded to grumble. Trudging along the path quicker, and aware of the effortless way Kim kept up. Never once losing the smile that made dimples form in his cheeks. She delighted in the mock hurt and offense that took over his expression when he actually heard what she was saying. The giant athlete bemoaning her cruelty and begging her to reconsider giving Alix more things to allow Shortstack to have bragging rights on him. 

"Maaaaarrriiiii," He threw an arm around her shoulder, hearing her squawk as he leaned some of his weight onto her shoulders. Snickering as she stumbled about under his hold. "The betrayal of a sweet treat as yourself cuts ever deep as a thorn of roses!"

"That made no sense!" She laughed, shoving at his arm that was refusing to budge. "Kim! Get your meaty arm off me you oaf!"

"Oaf? Oaf?! Oaf!" He staggered, hands pressing into his chest as he spoke with an exaggerated huff. "How dare you! I am a theater jock!"

"Oh, is theater still your secret side piece to sports?" Marinette teased, and Kim grinned. Hands in his pockets as she stared up at him, shoving her fringe to the side. Her hair flawlessly turning into a brain under her deft fingers. He hadn't seen her with a braid in years. He forgot what she looked like with it. "I thought you dropped theatre last year."

"I did, but I didn't like that one class I took instead, oh the one with the thing and thing?"

"Home Economics?"

"Yes! It was laaaame, besides maman is going to show me how to do all that stuff this summer so I took theater and dropped it."

Marinette nodded, "Well if you want help cooking, you know maman and papa will help in a heartbeat."

"What, not gonna help me at all?"

She rolled her eyes, "I know you know how to cook, I also know you pretend not to when anyone asks."

"Rude. Fair, but rude."

They walked for a few moments in silence, the sound of the trees rustling in the wind. The smell of the flowers drifting through the air and surrounding them as the sun warmed them from a cloudless sky. The park wasn't filled, which made sense since most of the occupants of the park were currently in class or at work. Never in their lives did they think they'd end up skipping class, especially together. Not when he skips for sports and bets, and she skips for battle. Not that he knew that last bit.

"Thank you." She said it so softly, he wasn't sure he heard it. "For-for helping me, get away from the akuma and making me... yeah. Sorry you caught me, well..."

"Mari?" She hummed at his question, watching their shoes as they walked. "Why were you crying in the bathroom?"

"I-"

"Was it that chick, Alya? I know you've gotten close since she transferred, and it's good seeing you making new friends on your own." He stopped their walk, gently turning her to face him and lifting her chin from the ground. "But if she's not turning out to be all that great, you know you're always welcomed to break Bustier's rules and come sit with me and Nath, or even Nino, I know she banned the four of us from sitting together because we were hiding you and Nath from her so you could draw, but-"

"It wasn't- it wasn't Alya..." Marinette admitted, he raised a brow. Her gaze broke from his and she sighed. Her shoulders slumping. "Okay, her and Nino didn't help. But, it's-it's fine. We don't have-"

"Cupcake, unless you don't want to talk to me about it, which you know you just have to say so, what happened? Let your big strong knight be your shield again!" 

She laughed, the sound soft, if a little pained. She heaved a breath and when she leaned into his side, he didn't hesitate. Wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close as they continued to walk. It was silent, comfortable. He missed hanging with her, with Nathaniel and Nino. He wondered how well Max and Nath would work together, or Alix and Nino. Considering he can't imagine ditching old friends for new, or new for old. Maybe that's what Marinette needed, some new friends too! He was already thinking of dragging Max to the bakery one day with him, to bond with her. Well, they did like video games and-

"Lila threatened me."

The world stop. The air left his lungs as his vision went dark around the corners. Lila threatened Marinette. Lila threatened Marinette. The Italian sausage threatened! He swallowed the urge to storm back to that school and just take care of that problem growing like fire in his chest. How dare. How fucking dare that new bitch. 

"She should've stayed in Italy." 

"Kim -NO!"

Her hands clawed at him, and Kim grunted when Marinette threw herself onto his back. Like that would stop him. He bench presses her weight, on a light day! He growled, she growled back and it didn't stop him from starting the track back to Dupont. Oh that bitch!

"Kim I don't have a bag to throw if you get akumatised! Stop!"

"Get off."

"No!" Marinette climbed further and he forgot how much a fucking spider monkey she was. "I will tell you everything but only if you promise not to do anything rash! I did and I got expelled."

He froze. She was expelled. Lila did that. Kim remembers asking Max to look into the cameras, remembers Nathaniel looking at the heirloom and telling him that it was a necklace from Gabriel Agreste. He knows because Marinette sent him the picture of them from the window earlier that same week to give inspiration for his art. They had already been on the way to make Damocles look when she had been sent back to class, her expulsion ending and Kim had noticed the look on Lila's face. She had been happy, and now Kim knows why. 

He could see her over his shoulder, her bluest blue eyes wide and darting through the sky over their heads. She was looking for an akuma, watching out for him. Which... considering the butterfly probably no longer smashed against a wall in the locker room, it is a fair precaution. He took a measured breath, fists clenching at his sides. He focused, trying to reel his anger in even if part of him dared the butterfly obsessed freak to send one after him. Just so he could tear it apart with his hands, or better yet. Marinette has carried a sewing kit with her since she wanted to become a fashion designer and he knows she has a pastel pink seam ripper in her purse. 

He breathed again, eyes closing. In through the nose, out the mouth. He could feel her warmth against his back, could smell vanilla, of warm bread, and cookies from the wind. Could feel her hair brushing against his skin as her arms locked around his neck. Holding tight to keep from falling. Her ankles locked on his stomach to keep herself up, and feel her purse pressing into the small of his back uncomfortably.

Kim relaxed, thoughts of tearing something apart with his bare hands replacing thoughts of dismembering something to make Hawkmoth stay the fuck away from him. From her. He needed to go hit a punching bag as soon as he could, just the thought had his anger fading away. The tension in his muscles easing as she continued to cling to him like a koala. 

After a moment, he felt her slide against him. Her fingers clawing down and he shuddered, goosebumps breaking across his skin as she came to stop. Her hands curled in the fabric of his red hoodie gathered at his lower back. His neck burned, and he resisted the urge to roll his shoulders back. Ignoring the pleasant little buzz coming to life in his blood, pushing at all the thoughts trying to rush to the surface. 

He needs her not to do that again, that felt way too good. His mind betraying him with the million and one ways her grabbing at his back could be twisted. He needed a cold shower after beating a punching bag, maybe one of the guys from his sports team would be willing to go a few rounds in the ring with him later? He was going to need it, even if the only reason he felt all pleased is because he liked backrubs. Stop looking at him like that.

She hesitated before taking his hand, leading him down the path until they came across a far off spot. Bushes filled with roses laid about the area and Kim realized she gave them privacy. He didn't know if he liked the idea of this spot, of her taking someone here, probably Adrien because it had become quite clear she had feelings for him. Feelings for the blonde prince, as Alix said to him one day when her phone wouldn't shut up and Alya was trying to scheme them together without Marinette knowing. 

Shaking the thoughts to the back of his head, he waited as Marinette slid against the trunk of the tree. Watched as she slowly stopped with her knees to her chest against the bark and caught his eye before patting the seat beside her. Offering him a seat even if the invitation had been there when she started leading him to the secluded little piece of safety. Kim settled beside her, lifting his arm and resting it on her shoulder when she leaned into his side. The smell of vanilla, of bread and cookies surrounding him with the fragrance of the flowers. She fidgeted, her fingers picking at each other until he caught the aforementioned digits in his other hand and squeezed. She was stalling, maybe trying to get that overworking mind of hers to figure out how to start it all. Kim didn't mind, he'd gladly wait for her to get the words out. She's always been worth the wait, even if he wasn't the most patient of the bunch. That was Nino’s and Nathanial's expertise, but Kim... he could listen. He could sit still for her.

When she began to speak, Kim had reminded himself to keep his mouth shut. To hold his questions to the end as her soft voice washed over him. Any other day it would've been peaceful, would've been nice even. The stuff out of those fairy tales Rose loved so much. He breathed through his nose, letting it out through his mouth slowly with every new thing she told him. When she finished, they sat there. Breathing as she let the weight fall off her shoulders, as he took it from her as he always would. Maybe she should rely on him more? She tossed the thought before it could finish forming, focusing on the questions he asked in that slow, calm, yet tight tone. She prayed to Tikki that Kim wouldn't leave, and wouldn't do as Alya did, what Nino did. Wouldn't do what Adrien did...

Before she could spiral, he squeezed her closer. Earning a squeak as he snickered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. The pink on her cheeks making his smile genuine, despite the protective rage simmering in his eyes. How he didn't attract an akuma, he wouldn't know. What he did know was that he had several things added to his agenda and clear in his mind. 

For starters, Adrien Agreste is no prince charming. Not in any of the storybooks, or tales of love and daring do. Not in a million years, not hers at the very least. Take the high road? Really? That was not the way to handle a school yard bully, maybe tabloids, maybe lie-rags. Maybe even crazy fans. But not a person threatening to tear someone down amongst their peers. It took everything Kim had to not scowl, not to pull out his phone and text the model. Alix' love for the twisted version of the stories came to mind, the one when the princes were the real bad guys of the stories. 

A new sort of resentment built inside him. For Bustier's constant victim blaming teachings, and for separating him from Marinette in the first place. If they were together, Lila wouldn't get the fucking chance to push the sweetest girl in school to the back of the class. Not only that, but she also wouldn't get her nasty ass claws inside Kim like she did Alya. 

Which brings him to his next point.

Alya is no friend of Marinette's. When they got banned from sitting together, he and Marinette had challenged each other. To make friends with whomever they got seated next to. Just her luck she got fucked with blonde prick and fake news. He took a breath, giving Marinette another squeeze. Best friends push you to do your best, but they don't push you into doing your worst. When you aren't comfortable, when you're scared, they are the spotter to catch the weight you're lifting. Alya hasn't been that for Marinette for a while now. 

Not only that, but what person schemes to hook up their bestie with their crush when neither have had a decent conversation? Or encourages the stealing of phones, privacy, and what was it? Oh yeah, stalking. After Kim was far more calm, he would be marching Marinette's ass home and telling her to take down everything. No schedules, no knowing everything there is about him from the internet. No future birthday presents, none of that shit. You're supposed to help coach the crazy, not encourage it. For fuck's sake!

Kim made sure to make a note to himself to have a long overdue chat with Nino. Take him out, sit him down, and if Kim's lucky, Nino can give Alya that dose of reality she apparently needs. If not, well, Nino has always been as protective as Kim. The duo never hesitated to protect Marinette and Nathaniel on the playground as they grew up, or from the teachers. They might have drifted, but they were still friends. 

Kim stood, tugging her up with him and offering her a charming smile. She blinked up at him, but let him lead her out of the park to the Bakery. Kim had some work to do. No sausage haired new chick was going to alienate his honest to kwami best girl.

[zooophagous]

do you ever worry that you might have, like... a pet hoarding problem? you're one single person with, what, 4 cats, 2 dogs that fight each other, and an undisclosed number of snakes, rabbits, rats/mice?, and birds. i'm not trying to diss on you and i don't mean this as an insult, but it's a genuine concern that worries me sometimes

No offense taken, it is kind of a lot from an outside perspective. And tbh, I did not need another cat. I went through a bit of a mental health crisis and got one to talk myself down from the edge, but that's not really a healthy coping mechanism lol. I don't regret getting another kitten, I love the kitten, the kitten will be well cared for, but it was probably a bit of a big thing to do on impulse like that.

Hoarding is however a pretty specific issue, and one I do not fit the criteria for objectively. You could make the argument that I use animals as a substitute for meaningful relationships with humans sure, but objectively no, this isn't a hoarded house.

It's a chaotic one at times, but every animal gets individual attention, individual training, one on one play time and regular veterinary care. They're also all spayed and neutered (except Tuunbaq who may be a breeding prospect in the future) including the two bunnies, and receive vaccines on a regular schedule.

Their homes are clean and I wouldn't hesitate to let a guest into my home at any point. I like to think I'm pretty fastidious.

As far as my dogs fighting goes, I am working with a professional dog trainer for both of them, and have narrowed it down to resource guarding specific toys and chews, so by making sure the dogs only receive those kinds of things in their crates we can avoid further issues. Tuunbaq is just sort of a pushy moron who wants everyone elses toy. He's still a baby. He just need patience and structure.

There are no longer any rats in the rodentry, haven't been for some time now. Just the mice, and I gave a large chunk of them away to another local friend and breeder to start her own mouse projects, so I don't really have a problem holding on and not letting go.

But if you have any questions on the critters I'm more than happy to answer them. I'll jabber away all day if you let me.

[jewishvitya]

Mesarvot is a group of young Israelis who refuse to serve in the military out of an objection to the occupation. They posted to Instagram something shared with them anonymously by someone from one of the Kibbutzim not far from Gaza. I'm putting it here:

100 days of war, and I'm at the Kibbutz again. I haven't slept here since October 7th. When I left it was still warm outside. Now, I'm wearing a sweater and still shivering. The Kibbutz is rather empty, but not quiet. There are sounds of work, army vehicles, and especially loud cannons. Even us Kibbutz residents, who are used to explosion sounds, jump from them occasionally. There's a new scent in the air. Smoke, gunpowder, and something else I can't identify. It's bad, the kind of smell animals avoid.

I think that with all the news, the television, the tiktoks and tweets, we sometimes forget about simple things, like the human body. It's not a great politician. It shivers when it's cold, gets hungry when it's lacking food. Recoils when a bomb drops. It's always fighting to hold on, it grows weaker and collapses. For the body it's just a matter of time.

Not far from me there are people who for 100 days have been feeling hell itself on their bodies. Gazan children who face the cold in sandals and short sleeve shirts. 136 hostages who slowly starve. The cannon that made my home shake sent a bomb that will tear down the walls of another. I think about it with every cannon I hear, and the sound is deafening. It's louder than the voices that say "we have no choice," who say "victory," who say "revenge." With this deafening sound, you're only left with numbers. 100 days. Tomorrow, 101. The next day, 102. And every day, another body loses the battle to hold on, and stops.

My October 7th is over. For 15 hours my body was the only real thing I had. My hammering heartbeats. My ears, hearing gunshots outside. My mouth drying from thirst. But for me, those 15 hours were finite. Since then, it's been 100 days, where over 23,000 Gazans, over 10,000 of them children, were massacred. Where around 2 million people lost their homes and whole neighborhoods were destroyed.

100 days.

101.

102.

For me, these numbers don't bring up the memory of our dead. Not even the fact that after 100 days of war, no security or peace were achieved, just destruction. No, to me these numbers are a burning reminder of the lives that can still be lost. So today, don't mourn quietly and say pretty words. Today, scream, for the living, for their chance to live and the future they deserve. Scream tomorrow too. And the day after. This has to stop.

[bakasara]

Trying to parse my thoughts on Izzy's death and why I had a different reaction to it than I thought I would. To summarize: I thought I wouldn't like it, but also that they wouldn't do it; the opposite happened– they did it but I'm ok with it.

I'm also feeling like talking through some mourning for an amazing character, so follow along if that's you, too 😌

(I should probably clarify the following thoughts are coming from someone who deeply enjoyed this season.)

I first wondered what would be of Izzy around the end of season 1. I expected him to have a heel-face turn – which I object to calling a redemption arc and I'll get into why, because the distinction ties into his death imo. A lot of antagonistic characters' changes of heart end directly in death, but I thought they'd subvert that trope. And they... did, actually, despite Izzy dying. Not an option I had imagined.

What the show avoided is the logic, the set of tropes attached to the deaths of this kind of character. These deaths usually come as a consequence of the character's changed ethics or "redemption". My being against that scenario came from the diverging natures of traditional redemption arcs and OFMD's rhetoric.

A traditional redemption arc functions by a kind of catholic logic, if you will: the villain can become one of the good guys by balancing out his "sins"/bad deeds with enough good deeds to tip a moral scale. This often involves a purifying suffering, which acts as an agent to expiate one's faults. To the viewer, this suffering can serve to activate our empathy and make the character more sympathetic. It can also legitimize his quest: our trust in the character's good intentions comes from seeing that the character is ready to make sacrifices to become better and he isn't deterred by the hardships of doing the right thing.

The death occurring at the end of a traditional redemption arc acts as the ultimate sacrifice and/or purification. A number of ideas might be at play behind it, depending on each story: only in death can the soul become fully pure, or a final sacrifice is "needed" to demonstrate the change once and for all, or change was only possible up to a point after which there is no viable/acceptable future – the character deserves moral points for changing, but not so many that he also deserves a full life, or past crimes make him more expendable, etc.

But these are all ideas that aren't evoked in any of the crew's journey in OFMD. For starters, the show isn't interested in "catholic" redemption; its focus is on reintegration/rehabilitation into the community. Rather than appealing to the more traditional (in Western media) and more christian principle of "purification of the soul through mortification of the body", it plays with notions of restorative justice.

We see it especially this season with Ed and Izzy. Ed's arc is a whole little lab for it. We have the community being made to decide whether he can stay or should leave; catbell!Ed is made to apologize to the people affected – which he initially does abysmally, with what fandom has dubbed his "CEO's/YouTube apology". Later, he's given the opportunity to have a more honest and genuine conversation with Fang where he learns about how he hurt him. He's made to repair some of the material damage his behavior caused. Some members feel repaid by the idea that they did to him the same he did to them (Fang) while others don't (Lucius), and the show touches on what this means for each/legitimizes both feelings. Arguably, Ed using his treasure to throw Calypso's birthday party – a much needed refrain and moment of social (re-)connection within the community – is an additional form of reparation. While Stede's belief in Ed has a clear role in helping Ed change for the better, Izzy's s2 journey focuses even more intensely on the role of social support within an individual's constructive (re-)integration into their community. The show is condensed by choice of format, but the beats are all there.

With that kind of rhetoric set up, I'd never be able to accept Izzy dying in a way that feels like a punishment for his past crimes, nor in a way that should "confirm" his positive change/"purify" him for good. And he doesn't! By the time he dies, we know full well he's deeply changed, it's already established to completion. How it happens has nothing to do with proving himself – he's randomly shot in battle. It's never questioned that the time he got to live surrounded by affection mattered. The speech he gives Ed is only possible because he's changed, accessing a completely different perspective on piracy/life than before, like we see when he talks to Ricky earlier. The reason the whole crew is paying respect and crying is because he became "the new unicorn", a treasured member with a defined role. But his death itself is the show going back to the initial symbolism of Izzy as ultimate pirate. The narrative function of his death is underscoring that the age of piracy has come to an end. It's nothing to do with his change. It's posited as the "natural conclusion" (again, by symbolic function) of a character that represented piracy through-and-through, not the "natural conclusion" of a process of becoming better.

And for me, that difference changes everything. I can see and accept the logic behind it, even as I mourn Izzy as a character. It makes the grief feel like a catharsis I experience within the context of the story I'm watching, rather than a grief I feel from a show "betraying" me.

It's also a difference that completely changes how Izzy's death relates to his queerness. Izzy's change is intertwined with being able to express queer affection openly. Becoming "a unicorn" is this extremely queer imagery already – a magical rainbow creature. His role becomes akin to a mother to the crew (the mother hen!Izzy many headcanoned last season, tapping into his potential), a position that isn't extraneous to older queens, including our honored real-life mean-old-queer men. Last season he threatened another queer man for showing too much delicacy, effeminacy, vulnerability. Now, his change is a process that culminates in him singing a tender love song among the crew in drag. He's given the privilege of playing the soundtrack to our protagonists making love for the first time, which ties him symbolically to the event in a way it does no other crew member. Suffice it to say that insinuating his process of change should end in death would have been disastrous, as far as I'm concerned. Antithetical to the show's supporting ideology.

But that's not how it went. Grief occupies a big role in the queer community, but it's so rare that we get to experience it cathartically. In real life, we often have to contend with the ways queerphobia causes us trauma or even shortens our lives, or the lives of our friends. In fictional narratives, a lot of characters that get to express queerness unabashedly still die for the transgression. They're still usually the only queer character with relevant screen time or at all, at best one of two that formed a tragic couple.

We almost never have the opportunity to just mourn some motherfucker who died because they meant something else as well that was central to their character. To mourn and know we're mourning someone who wasn't ever punished for being queer-as-in-fuck-you and going all out. To mourn and not feel like it's another message of queer doom, because for once the character is surrounded by an entire crew of other queer characters that go on to live and be happy. To know the story is saying something about life, not about being queer. To know this kind of crafting was deliberate, too, because the creator has talked about working to avoid those tropes. I struggle to remember another time I had the opportunity to grieve for a queer character like they're a human being, without the implication that it's queerness itself that's a death sentence.

And honestly? It feels good. It feels like a form of catharsis I do not dislike. That I'm maybe kinda glad for. OFMD is and stays a magical world. Beyond that, in a show full of queers, one of them dies after getting some extraordinarily meaningful happiness, and it's peaceful, and I get to just be sad for the fucker without the gutting of being reminded that if you're gay, better not shoot too high. It feels like a completely different emotion that no other show, for now, would give me, but OFMD. To me, it's yet another thing it's pulled off.

As it's been known to do.

[rigormortissettingin]

how to get perfect grades from a short attention span girlie that nobody asked for

when you get home from school, rewrite all your notes from all the important classes that day (if you’re a british slag like me then just do all your gcse subjects)

learn how to do deep work: work for a really long period of time with barely any breaks where you don’t get distracted and get shit done — having noice cancelling headphones whilst listening to white noise etc works best for me

don’t let anything distract you, put your phone away in another room, etc

if you can’t concentrate, before your revision sesh, stare at a still object for 1 min to help with your focus

have a schedule/a weekly routine!!! i know you’re lazy and have been avoiding making one so here’s my routine: on school days I rewrite all my notes from the classes (that you care about) that day and do some homework then leave the rest for the weekends

mindset is EVERYTHING. be positive about everything in your life and stop being a pessimistic bitch. everything will be okay. jeez.

for music, find a few white noise/focus music playlists and listen to them with noise cancelling headphones for most intense focus (linking my fav spotify playlists below)

write everything out by hand. don’t be lazy you dumb fucker and type everything up on quizlet. quizlet is bullshit and you know it. it’s been scientifically proven that writing things out help you remember them better

go over things early in the morning and late at night (quickly proven to stick in your brain more)

find what works best for you. find your perfect environment, music, time of day to revise, method etc. i work best in my room after 4 pm by using flash cards I have written out by hand

don’t let food distract you!!! if you have snacks nearby but you’re eating them instead of working then put them away

have an app for revision. study bunny if my favourite one it’s so cute but it doesn’t distract me

holidays are a blessing. dedicate some time every day in the holidays for revision, even if it’s not a lot

have a good balance between school and other hobbies. i would say have a good social life but i honestly don’t think having one is that important. or at least it’s not important to me, but if you want a good social life then go for it

have goals for the future, like if you want to go to uni and where you want to go if you do, what field you want to specialise in, etc and work towards them

if you want to exceed in school then you have to make revision and academic excellence your coping mechanism or a safe haven to calm you down

reading books, especially literature helps so much with everything. not just your vocabulary but it also helps your understanding of the world and helps you see everything in a different light. and don’t give me that “but i do read” bullshit because tiktok smut twisted love twisted hate icebreaker all that crap that you’re not even old enough to read don’t count. my fav books if you need any recs: the virgin suicides (not literature, just well-written), the secret history (not literature, just well-written), girl, interrupted (again, well written but not literature), crime and punishment, carmilla, dracula, alice in wonderland, emma, pride and prejudice, sense and sensibility, much ado about nothing, a midsummer nights dream, rebecca, the outsiders, little, women and loads more

delete social media if it worsens your mental health or your grades. deleting tiktok has been the best decision of my entire life, i was so unhappy for so long because endlessly scrolling was a coping mechanism but now im actually happy for once in my life and my grades are quite good

pray like you didn’t revise and revise like you didn’t pray

i have to have a number 20 because odd numbers besides 13 and 7 annoy me

thank you

[princesspenguin-1]

Headcanons 3

(I gave names to the twins and carefully thought through their Nen abilities. I wanted to create something similar to Illumi's, but also original and independent)

.

.

.

Iddi's Ability: "Reality Puppeteer"

Iddi, a manipulator, can bring dolls, figurines, or any figures resembling living beings to life. He can use them to attack, defend, or perform complex tasks as if they were his army. The more an object resembles a real being, the stronger his control.

Limitations:

The larger the "doll" (for example, a large statue), the more Nen is required to control it.

The created "dolls" cannot act at a significant distance from him.

The "dolls" do not have a mind - they obey only his orders. The same order must be spoken clearly and correctly, otherwise the "doll" will either not carry it out, or will do it in the most simple and poor quality.

Future development of abilities:

Over time, Iddi can learn to "transfer" part of his consciousness or his Nen into one of the dolls in order to act through it, like an avatar.

He may create his own special collection of "perfect" dolls, each with unique abilities (for example, one for combat, another for reconnaissance).

Oddi's Ability: "Form Master"

Oddi, an amplifier, is able to transform the appearance and characteristics of the Manipulator's "dolls", giving them new forms, properties, or combat capabilities.

He can combine several dolls created by Idi into one more powerful entity.

Transforming a simple statue into a terrifying beast.

Strengthening the strength of the doll's material so that it is indestructible.

Adding weapons or combat elements (wings, claws, armor).

Limitations:

Changing shape requires concentration and Nen, so he can only work with a limited number of "dolls" at a time.

The more complex the transformation, the more energy is required.

Need a lot of imagination and strategy to figure out which "doll" to create which addition so that it will be more advantageous in battle.

In single combat, he uses his body enhancement ability or temporary combat constructs to balance against his opponents.

His skin becomes tougher, his blows become stronger, and his speed increases.

This requires a significant expenditure of Nen, so he can only use this form for a limited time.

He can create temporary combat constructs from his aura, such as weapons, armor, or extra limbs, to help him be a worthy opponent in combat.

A few more facts about their lives:

Illumi sometimes allows his children to choose how they want to train, giving the appearance of freedom. However, both options he gives always lead to his goal.

He also often tells his children stories about his childhood, showing how he himself went through harsh trials to become who he is. He may be proud of his children following in his footsteps, but he also reminds them that their goal is to become stronger than him.

He avoids situations in which his children may become attached to toys or other people. Illumi believes that emotional attachment makes them vulnerable. If he notices someone paying special attention to something, he can force them to get rid of it. At such times, Illumi gives the twins a task: destroy a valuable object that they themselves created and loved (such as a favorite doll or weapon).

Although Illumi is strict, he can secretly protect them from too difficult situations. For example, if someone is in danger, he will subtly intervene so that they do not realize that he is helping them and think that they have won themselves.

Sometimes, Illumi uses fear to motivate the children. For example, he may tell them that the family's enemies prey on the weak, making the children believe that their safety depends on their own strength.

(A little sketch of my OC ^o^ I thought about their clothing design for a long time, but I like what happened. I'm not sure if I'll finish the rest, but I'll try)

[linkspooky]

What do you think of Sora Siruha character? Before this chapter, i thought Ishida seems wants us to think of her character as a tragic hero and a character that is fallen after leaving yamato mori, but then he drop a chapter where she committed genocide when she was still in yamato mori, so i wonder what do you think of her character?

Sora Siruha is an interesting character because Nietzsche would have hated her. Yet she's still seen as morally ambiguous by both characters in her own story and members of the audience. Not that you're wrong to see her that way but Nietzsche sure did hate it was religion. So, perhaps the literal nun, with angel wings, with cross tattoos, and a black halo that doubles as a crown or thorns might be a bad guy in the Nietzsche manga.

That's not to say that she's irredeemably evil, it's just ironic the Choujin X of her generation named after the "ubermensch" represents the antithesis of a lot of Nietzsche's ideas.

Nietzsche famously called Religion the opium of the masses. in Nietzsche's view suffering was not only good but necessary to life, because it aspired people to grow and anything that promised avoidance of suffering alcohol and religion for instance stagnated growth instead of promoting it.

Religious suffering is at the same time an expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the sentiment of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.

So, it's not coincidence in the Nietzsche manga that Sora who has so many religious associations tied to her is also, an opium addict who cannot survive without it's pain numbing effects.

If by Nietzschian philosophy pain is a part of the human experience, then by losing her pain, Sora Siruha also lost her humanity which is heavily implied to be part of the cause of her mental spiral.

One other thing associated with Sora is that she uses what are primarily utilitarian views to justify her atrocities - something else that Nietzsche hated as a philosophy.

So Sora believing that her future visions will come to pass goes on to committ atrocities in order to avoid even greater atrocities. Let's say that her visions are in fact one hundred percent correct. That Sora killing 200,000 people would avert the deaths of 2,000,000 or more.

Sora's reasoning in this case is purely utilitarian.

Utilitarianism actions are morally permissible if: They produce at least as much or more net happiness as any other available action. Everything should strive for a balance of happiness over suffering.

By Utilitarian reasoning her actions are morally permissible. Sora herself does not want to kill Anitise, she takes no joy in it, but she believes like any utilitarian she's responsible for bringing the most happiness over suffering to the world.

However, even if Sora's vision was 100% correct and by pulling the lever on the trolley problem and killing 200,000 she saved 2,000,000 Nietzsche would still have a bone to pick with her moral reasoning.

Nietzsche famously hated Utilitarianism. because it ignore the value of suffering, which strengthens the man. He saw that doing every and all actions for the sake of the "greater good" was something that denied the individual and discouraged individual development.

Nietzsche's criticism is that value is not something that can be quantified or proven. You can't mathematically measure in an objective sense, the suffering caused by your actions, the benefits caused by your actions. There's no universally agreed upon value for human life.

What is the "unit" of one human life?

Why are the 2,000,000 people that Sora saved more worthy of life than the 200,000 that she killed. What justification can Sora have other than "that's a smaller number." A person among the 200,000 killed could have grown up to cure cancer. Of course, even if the 200,000 weren't especially talented people, even if they were all going to grow up to work at mcdonalds why are there lives inherently worth less than the 2,000,000 that sora decided to save?

Sora is not a nihilist, she is a pure-hearted utilitarian who's actions are taken to give pleasure to as many people as possible but one more obvious criticism of her moral reasoning in choosing to sacrifice the few to save the many is that she is not an unbiased judge of values.

For example, if Anitise really did become a mad king then who would his victims have been? If he invaded Yamato Mori and killed 2,000,000 then why are the 2,000,000 lives of the Yamato Mori citizens he killed worth more than the 200,000 people that Sora killed preventing his invasion? It would be because being a citizen of and responsible for Yamato Mori Sora is unconsciously biased to put her own nation above Anitise's kingdom. In that sense, she's not really acting for the greater good, but rather the national interests of her country but she's still posing herself as a savior figure.

Sora goes on to commit these atrocities, while also continuing to see herself as a savior and believing she's operating from a higher moral viewpoint than everyone else. Yet, you can easily point out where her biases are as I just did.

In addition to the fact that we have no way of knowing if Sora's visions of the future actually are true. The fact that there are two people with future seeing powers (three if you count Tokio's dreams) who can see different things then points to the fact that Sora's visions aren't 100% true. However, even if you give her the benefit of the doubt that her prophecies were going to come true if she didn't do something, you can still make moral arguments against her actions as I just did above this section.

Sora is also extremely biased in other ways. In her origin story, she saw a vision of Queem coming to burn her convent, and was unable to stop it from happening. This clearly has affected her for all of her life, as even when presented with direct evidence that her prophetic dreams might not be true (such as another seer who disagrees with her) Sora doesn't even consider that possibility or hesitate to commit atrocities, because she's still guided by her guilt over being unable to stop her convent from being burnt.

In Tokyo Ghoul, Yoshimura once theorizes that Ghouls and Humans are psychologically the same, but because Ghouls live violent lives they eventually lose their empathy and stop seeing any value in human life as a coping mechanism.

I think Sora's slow corruption makes sense through this lens, not because of her future visions but rather because of the amount of power she had.

Choujin e aren't any different from human psychologically, they experience human emotions, but convince themselves they are different because one they're prone to get in more violent situations, and two the power they wield leads to them developing superiority complexes.

Sora plunged herself into war and had to walk on too many corpses in order to get stronger and gain the strength to fight Queem, but it's clear she didn't stop there after Queem was defeated. After Queem died Sora became the war-monger, and why? Her visions provide us one reason, but like, Sora didn't consider alternative means like diplomacy or warning anitise of what she saw? She just jumped straight to launching a modern day crusade against a foreign country, why?

Was it just easier for her to consider a military invasion because after having been through the hell of war, 200,000 became just another statistic to her?

What other reason than she had the power to do so, and Sora's superiority complex told her she had the right to wield that power however she chose to do so.

Sora and her savior complex, provides an uncanny mirror to Queem and his choujin and his choujin supremacy doctrine. Sora may have believed herself invading Antoland in order to prevent a future disaster, but when has a foreign country invading a soveriegn territory "for their own good' ever historically been a good thing. Sora may not have preached choujin supremacy but her actions don't make her too much different from Queem in the end.

Then, there's the possibility that Sora's prophecies might not even be nearly as true or certain to happen as they think they are. One of the birds basically spells it out to Tokio, that humans wanting to know the future is just wishful thinking.

Which puts Sora's absolute certainty in a new light. Is Sora's beliefs in her prophecies just a longing for control, the kind of absolute control over the future that nobody in the world but god is supposed to possess. Sora wanting to take God's place in knowing the future and being able to control her destiny goes all kinds of wrong.

I'm reminded of Attack on Titan where Eren coming into contact with the paths and being able to see the past, present and future at the same time doesn't give him godlike power, but reduces him to a helpless child. Eren's ability to see the future ends up bringing into existence similiarly to Sora, a future where he's the one comitting the atrocities.

There's also Paul Atreides from Dune who is given the power to see the future, and despite knowing and feeling guilt for a long time that some of his actions might lead to him releasing a holy war against the galaxy and killing billion, goes on to follow the future timeline he saw where he caused those atrocities anyway.

The absolute godlike power to know the future for all three of these characters Sora, Eren and Paul actually leads to them committing atrocities, not averting them as they'd hoped.

Yet, there's the tragic element of the fact she was just sixteen when this destiny was thrust upon her.

In Tokyo Ghoul Eto once referred togod as a child with extraordinary power to justify the world being as messed up as it is. Doesn't this fit Sora Shihouin as well? A child given way too much power and suddenly thrust into a leadership position?

In that way Sora reminds me tragically of X-Men characters like Jean Grey, if someone is given the power to see the future, or the insane powers of the phoenix that Jean Grey was given would they really have the moral fiber not to abuse that power? Can anyone wield that much power and not be corrupted by it?

[tsaritza-mika]

Sharing a peek at my current WIP that I started writing in an effort to distract myself from the actual horrors of real life

Not sure if I should post the full thing, but let me know if there's interest

It was a difficult question to answer. How does one go about feeding so many spawn without giving themselves away, and drawing the wrong attention? Unfortunately it wasn’t a question they were going to be able to answer in a single night either. Feeling a familiar set of hands settling on his shoulders and giving them a firm rub, he relaxed slightly, glad that she was there with him to keep him grounded when he needed it. “Alright... While it’s far from ideal, I suppose for now we have no choice but to continue as you have been. Though keep your feedings to simply wild creatures. Hook horrors and the like, for example. Do your very best to avoid attacking other inhabitants of the Underdark for now.”

“So no Duergar then? Gnomes? Drow?”

“None. No Drow, no deep gnomes, no duergar, and no other inhabitants of similar intelligence and organization. And, as I said, that’s strictly ‘for now’. Taking on a project like ours may necessitate an alliance of convenience or two, so the last thing we should be doing is making enemies while we’re still this vulnerable. Now if you’re attacked... Well, we can hardly be blamed for defending ourselves, and if we get the benefit of a meal in the process...” 

The six of them looked at each other, likely searching for any objections to the idea. Frankly Astarion was surprised there didn’t seem to be even a little push back on the idea. Though considering the putrid swill Cazador had force fed them, healthy animals and creatures were still a marked improvement. “With that settled, we have two immediate objectives: First, we’ll need to start creating something of a census. A way for us to keep track of the other spawn, and since we’ll be needing to make use of such things in the very near future, we’ll need to have a working list of all of their former professions. The second is far more simple, yet just as important. I want to address them, and tell them all of this. We need to drive home the fact that we are free spawn. They have the right to leave if they wish, but they need to know that ultimately if they stay, they will be a part of something.”

“Wait, you want to let them leave? Just like that?”

“Of course not! But remember what it felt like when we knew we didn’t have a choice in the matter. If you take away the choice, then that’s all you want. What we’re offering, is safety in numbers, and a chance to simply live among others who understand their condition. It won’t be perfect, but when put up against being held in a cage and neglected for decades, roughing it for a while as we build a place of our own sounds akin to fucking paradise!” Giving his shoulders one last gentle squeeze, Mika backed away as he stood once more. Gods she was so proud of him just then. He’d come so far, made so much progress toward actually claiming his own life and body, his own future for the first time in two centuries. Of course, there was still a way to go, but she was more than confident that he could make it. Watching as they began to make their way back outside, Mika followed closely behind Astarion, ready to act however he needed as he stood to take the reins and lead.