#and makes the world feel stagnant and flat

[afanofmanyhats]

You've mentioned your dislike about the Bionicle timeline before. What's your take on it and what doesn't work about it for you? I'm curious to hear your interpretation.

The main issue is the fact that it's a ridiculously, laughably long time for people to stay alive. It takes me out of my immersion to remember that this whole storyline takes place over a period of time ten times greater than the existence of Jericho, but characters like Ackar and Kiina on Bara Magna and the majority of characters in the Matoran Universe have lived that whole time. I'm not opposed to immortal/long-lived characters as an idea, but the story needs to do something with that time scale.

For instance, in Tolkien's works, the ages of the Elven characters has weight in their characterization and relationships to the others. The Silmarillion highlights their horror and sadness as they realize their new human friends will age and die in what feels like no time at all to the Elves. In the Lord of the Rings, the lifespans of Elrond and Galadriel add extra gravity to their advice and foresight; they've lived longer than any of the main characters and know the threat of Sauron better than anyone. Their longevity makes them unique, provides diversity and contrast.

Meanwhile, everyone in BIONICLE ages the same way, so there isn't really a highlightable difference in how aging affects you. It's entirely subjective. Helryx and Artakha are all the same age as Takua, possibly even younger, but they're the ones noted for being ancient. I know Takua had several layers of amnesia, but his personality largely stayed consistent, so the fact that he was apparently an irascible scamp since creation makes him feel static. You're telling me he only underwent major personality changes in the last few years?

The ridiculously long timeline also makes the story feel static because it's frankly pretty sparse. Bara Magna has been a desert wasteland with a half-dozen tribes since the Shattering; the only major political shift occurred when the Skrall migrated to Roxtus less than two years before the '09 arc. The MU's timeline is more detailed, but the information we do have still suggests its development is relatively stagnant. The League of Six Kingdoms and the Matoran Civil War/Great Disruption happen back to back, but then the timeline's fairly empty for 75,000 years. All we have to go off of for the main markers is the Brotherhood consolidating power and Dume is active as a Toa. We don't get more detailed politics until the time of the Toa Mangai, and then things start happening with greater and greater intensity that feels natural.

All this to say: when you're making an expansive timeline, it helps to make it feel dense, especially the closer you get to the events of the story. Human history is intricately complicated, with even Dark Ages still providing us ample discussion through archaeology and the lack of written evidence. BIONICLE's timeline has great worldbuilding from a political and social development lens, but it's too stretched out. I'd say that cutting the timeline down to 10,000 years would solve a lot of the issues I discussed. Also reducing the ages of many of the characters, especially the ones on Bara Magna. It's hard to sell Gresh as young when he'd be old enough to remember when humans first started leaving Africa, you know?

[mylonelydreaming]

I think that the reason why I love Zelda's character so much is, while I do like the other female characters, they just seem so much more flat and stagnant in comparison. Zelda feels more like an actual person to me. Her character isn't entirely just "scientist" or "princess" or "in love with Link", unlike the others, she actually has things outside of that. She has more than one character trait. She develops.

Zelda didn't even like Link at the very start (for reasons that are very relatable and make her feel more human and flawed) or want to be a princess (at least not in the way others wanted her to be). She went through a period of depression, she has anxieties, she can be assertive, strong-willed, she gets frustrated, she doesn't just have one interest, but several. Massive nerd (and continues being a nerd off-screen with Mineru in the past). Founded a research team. She loves frogs and is the likely cause behind Hateno becoming overrun with them. She founded a school and teaches children, she tries to help people whenever and wherever she can, she tries new things (like painting), she is a selfless leader who is willing to make heavy personal sacrifices for her people, she actually has an arc and grows as a person over time, overcoming her insecurities. She plans ahead, and she can think on her feet. The great sky island was her idea. I know that she's now able to cook at least one normal meal without involving frogs and monster parts. She loves fruitcake and the Silent Princess flower. She went from being bad with horses to catching one on her own. Age of Calamity shows her leading troops, shows that she actually does have some form of archery knowledge (if albeit divine), and that she would make much better use of the master cycle if given the chance. She saves and protects Link even when she has lost herself. She is (according to a dev interview) trying to figure out what future she wants for herself, who she wants to become, what her place in the world is.

And, when it does come to her love for Link, it isn't some shallow infatuation based purely on him being attractive, but because they have an actual connection, a past together. She learned who the real Link was, he opened up to her alone about his deepest insecurities, and her affection towards him grew from that connection. Zelda loves the real Link. She knows Link better than anyone else, and she trusts him implicitly. It isn't the shallow celebrity crush the npcs have.

[fipindustries]

bojack horse bad again

you know, i was thinking back to this show again, i watched three seasons of it and that was all that i could tomach and you know what? no.

i dont accept it

i dont care, it was a bad show, it was an objectively bad show and i dont accept that everyone else decided that it was good, i dont care, it was a bad show and im going to tell you why.

emotional terrorism

maybe im a simpleton but i am someone who cares quite a lot about catharsis in my stories. this show refused to grant that, adamantly and violently. im not saying i need a happy ending, i am more than capable of enjoying bittersweet or even tragic stories, but i need a sense of completeness, some satisfaction, some release, some sense that things matter or meant something. this show insisted on refusing to give that. all this show was interested in was get an emotional reaction out of you. it was the emotional equivalent of a jump scare. it was convinced that if it made you feel bad enough people would confuse that with beeing powerful and deep. you could get the same reaction by walking up to someone on the street and kicking them in the nuts. and it would take about as much subtlety or artistry.

2. writer led rather than animator led

you could tell this was one of those shows that were made on the writer's room, not by storyboarders or artists, by "comedians". by people with english degrees. so many scenes of characters just standing around and talking. so many "jokes" that were clearly meant to be funny as something you read on a piece of paper or on a tweet and chuckle as you read it but as animation it just gave limp, stagnant scenes. so much dialog that were references and quips and puns and fast witticisms of the type you come up in the shower when thinking of clever comebacks.

there were so many fucking scenes where everything would stop and a character would launch on some stupid profound monologue about life and philosophy and psychology and relationships. it was like the writers were trying on for size paragraphs of their future memoirs or self help books. so much dialog that was begging for an award for writing. so many "mic drop" moments that were designed to be quoted. i find that the best writing is not the one that you can just quote out of context as a cool pithy phrase. a lot of the best writing ive seen in my life is meaningless when devoid of context, is inextricable of the scene and indeed of the entire story surrounding it but in here i can almost see the seams where the writers look at the camera waiting to see if you are impressed

3. inconsistent tone

this show wanted to eat its cake and then still have it. there are stories that manage to deftly weave in and out of comedic moments into serious moments. everything everywhere all at once does an amazing job jumping from the stupidest, most childish jokes into the most profound commentary about human nature, sometimes doing both at the same time and it worked, one didint cheapen the other.

in here though, it wanted to both have a completly absurd world with the stupidest characters ever and then somehow make us care for it all as if the show hadnt shot itself in the foot. it wanted us to see caroline being in love with what is clearly three children in a trenchcoat and then take her seriously as an adult, to treat any forther relationship drama she has as if it werent completly farcical.

4. ugly animation

it continued the blight that is take over adult animation by doing that disgusting repugnant paper puppet rigged interpolated quasi flash animation that only gives you stiff poses and movements and incredibly boring shots of characters standing in 3/4 perspective in front of the camera. it dull and flat and clunky and ugly, and the character designs were ugly. the noses were ugly and the mouths were ugly and the hairs were ugly and the eyes were ugly. it was all ugly. the backgrounds were fucking ugly and the colors were ugly and it was an ugly show to look at. unbearably so. and even the obligatory "weird" stylized scenes put in to shake things off and try to pretend that it was visually interesting (for like one scene per season) were also fucking ugly.

5. it had not interesting point to make

all it could do was insist and belavor and extemporize about how this one guy sucks and also most people kind of suck but specifically this one guy really sucks and he is not going to get better, or maybe he will? eh maybe, but not really, because he sucks. and we are going to make you like him because we are the writers and we are going to make him relatable and charismatic and sympathetic but actually no he sucks, you fell for it! and what does it say about you that you almost kind of liked him eh????. season after season of him, and in case you almost found anything redeemable about him, we are going to make him even worse, painfully unsubtly so, we are going to make him look at the camera and say that he sucks, because that is the level of nuance we think you can handle, dear viewer. this is called "self aware writing" and its postmodern and meta, which means its clever.

i fucking hate this show and the more i think about it the angrier it makes me, and what makes me more angriest of all is that people like it. its popular. it won awards i think. its largely recognized as a good show and its not! it sucks and its bad and if you like it you are stupid.

[sisaloofafump]

Marvel creates teams, DC creates characters.

Disclaimer: this is a gross over simplification and greatly limited to the comics that I have read. I can think of dozens of examples that do not fit these observations, but it's what I've been noticing as I (an X-Men kid) fell deep into DC over the past many months. TLDR at the end.

Marvel is incredible at writing teams. Look at how well balanced their x-men adjacent stories are—both within the individual groups and within mutantdom as a whole—and compare that to the absolute mess of the JLA or any of DC’s crossover groups above 2 members.

But, DC knows how to write individuals and (when they’re small) their support networks. Where as Marvel, with the exception of Peter Parker, consistently falls flat and struggles to write compelling individual arcs that don’t rely on external characters or world events.

So much of this has to do with how the franchises were created in the first place.

The JLA is a an awkward mismatch of individually created characters and franchises whose only justifications for working together can be massive multiverse-ending events. This leads to a never ending slew of crossover stories where each issue is 70% dense exposition of stakes that are too high to matter and 10% visually discordant fight scenes. The remaining 20% is split between the characters that bring in the readers (Superman and Batman) and the characters without a solo run—leaving all others as background fodder. The villains are only repeats of an individual franchises. There are no JLA-specific villains (aside from bland cosmic entities) because the JLA is not a team, it is a crossover.

Marvel, whose franchises centre on teams rather than individuals, can have a group (be they the Fantastic Four or the X-Force) focus on meaningful, local, character-driven stories. However, take a character out of their designated group and now you have one fifth of a whole acting as another team’s third wheel. Only long-time, well established characters (currently: Emma Frost), or those created as a solo adventurer (Deadpool), can break the mold. Ironically, I feel the Marvel Cinematic Universe betrayed the strength that Marvel’s comics have—by setting up each post-Civil War (and arguably earlier) Avenger as their own franchise it lost the balance of a team and became instead a crossover.

A point in DC crossovers’ favour, however, is that because all the world-changing events only happen when every major player is involved, they hit the whole world equally. Inner-franchise climaxes don’t become large enough that they should disrupt others. It’s believable (somewhat) that each hero family stays in their own city—a major event to Green Arrow isn’t effecting the Amazons, and vice versa. In contrast, because the groups in Marvel get so big, their problems and scope can get even larger. What happens in one stream (say, the mutants terraforming Mars) should have massive effects on everyone, but it rarely does. (To be fair, I think Marvel has been doing an overall good job at balancing this recently).

The individual based module also works great for minor crossovers. But, this only works so long as the pairing stays small—Superman and Batman can have many team ups against new and original villains, whereas mutant/Avenger duos rarely happen and when they do, they stay firmly within their established franchises' concerns. Again though, these pair ups only work when they're small: compare World’s Finest issues that focus just on Superman, Batman, and Robin, with chaotic ones that cameo the whole JLA.

This isn't to say the individual method treats characters better, in fact, it often makes it worse. Lead characters must stay stagnant, their circumstances and relationships never changing. Side characters must fit their original archetypal role and purpose—if not, they're erased (adult Lana Lang), put in limbo (Tim Drake), or added to an ever increasing support team for a franchise not written for teams (basically everyone). When the X-Men needs novelty, they can just rearrange the roster. If a character no longer fits, they can join another subgroup or (albeit rarely and awkwardly) join another franchise's team (just look at Kitty Pryde's whole history). DC will never let Jason Todd escape Batman's shadow, because he was only ever built to orbit him.

Their treatment of the characters over the course of decades however, is different than its individual stories, and I would much rather pick up one of DC's short side character features than Marvel's. Within a short timeframe, the dynamics switch. Aside from when they're introducing a new mini-franchise, Marvel's short solos often work to push the plot of an adjacent team and the characters are reduced to pieces in a grander puzzle. DC's short solos in contrast exist to spotlight characters, allowing the autonomy and uniqueness that they may loose in the long run.

I don't know which I prefer. I'd love to see the writers/editors of Marvel take over DC for a few years, and vice versa. Might solve some problems.

TLDR: Marvel’s franchises are centred on large teams, and DC’s are on individuals. These both have their strengths and downfalls when it comes to crossovers.

When it comes to teams: The Justice League is a crossover group of individuals, not a team, only focusing on world-ending stories with no room for character arcs. But, the characters have a lot more mobility for small team-ups, and the world feels more cohesive. In comparison, Marvel’s teams are true, well balanced teams. But take a character out of a team, or do small scale crossovers, and they float awkwardly under developed. As large events and characters stay locked in their group franchises, Marvel as a whole feels split into disconnected parts.

When it comes to characters: DC allows for more short term solos but very limited long-term mobility, whereas Marvel characters aren't as stuck in archetypes, but short solos focus on contributing to grander plots rather than fleshing out niche characters.

[kaylor]

Is campaign 3 worth watching 😭 im somewhere near ep 45 and there have just been so many arcs that do nothing for me. The stakes feel absurdly high for uhh level .. 6? and i thought it would get good at some point but if they still cant make a plan by ep 80 i dont think i care to waste my time 😭😭

yuhhhh i don't know man. the malleus key and the fallout of it is pretty dope, and idk how many spoilers you've seen so i'll leave it there. but after that it gets very boring again i can't lie.

you're so right about the high stakes!! these characters haven't had any space to breathe or grow since like episode 20 or whenever it was they found out about predathos and the world ending. they've been chasing a plot they're not ready for without doing any of the character work that makes you care about their goal. it's difficult to see why the party is together in the first place because they don't talk to each other or have any reason care about each other (except fearne/orym and imogen/laudna but the latter is so bland it's actually painful).

the party doesn't gel, there's no motivations from anyone beyond orym having a personal stake in it. imogen is so wishywashy about everything. none of them care about the gods except FCG, and no one in the party cares about FCG. except ashton, who is played so passively and unpleasantly that it doesn't even matter. there's no caleb/vax doing his biweekly checkins with each party member to unlock new dialogue. there's no fjord/grog to make a buckwild (yet thematically relevant) decision to direct the party in any direction. there's no driving force behind any of these characters like sorry liam and travis, turns out if you take a backseat to let your friends have the spotlight, they will do sweet fuck all!!

another problem i think is how they're given so many pieces of the puzzle at once, whilst the big bad is already in play. i don't know if that was matt's intention, but it's led to them barely following up on any character driven plot points because, well, the world might end. so any extracurricular character development is nixed in favor of chasing a maxxed out uberbaddy who is almost definitely going to kill them. any cool character moments kind of happen in spite of rather than thanks to the events, and honestly feel a bit forced sometimes because the characters have all been so stagnant for so long, and honestly the most interesting things about the characters are their backstories, which have already happened. their current motivations are a mystery and none of them seem interested in learning more about each other. it just feels very awkward and stale.

PLUS, the stakes are absurdly high but also there are no consequences for anything!! laudna dying didn't feel important because it wasn't permanent! because they can apparently just ask a member of vox machina for a resurrection!!! absolutely bizarre choice from matt to allow that, if i'm being completely honest. like sorry i know that's your wife but marisha should be 40 episodes deep into her backup character by now because there's absolutely no way anyone in VM would agree to resurrecting a delilah briarwood puppet let's be so serious. the party (especially imogen) dealing with a PC death would have made for some really interesting development, and would have created an opportunity for imogen to either take a leadership role to get revenge on otohan, OR break bad and turn on the rest of the party. some delicious pvp. but unfortunately laura doesn't seem to know what to do with her character and therefore does nothing, so it felt extremely flat and meaningless, which kind of sums up c3 tbh. some of the highest stakes but barely a PC who gives a shit.

the past say 10 episodes have been a slog for only a handful of cool moments, so i really hope post episode 82 it picks up a bit. plot is fun and situations are fun but i'm struggling to care about any of these characters because it doesn't seem like any of the cast care about them either. which is a shame because some of them have huge potential, FCG is literally an aeormaton!!!! my god you have GOT to get into it. why is no one getting into it!!!! will someone PLEASE pick up what sam is putting down!!! the payoff is always so good!!!

[empty-dream]

Just read FGO Götterdämmerung

Aka the Otome Lostbelt as I read somewhere

Also apparently the Attack on Titan Lostbelt.

I said "just read" but in reality it's been like 3-4 months. I didnt have time to put all my thoughts together and I needed a lot of it to actually form any thought lol.

Up till now I've refrained to comment on the Gotterdammerung story that I've never actually read. So now that I've read it myself, now I understand why many think this lostbelt's story is rather weak. I honestly think it's weaker than its predecessor, LB1.

A long time ago, I theorized that Lostbelts stories will explore about love and different aspects of it. While most of my theories are proven wrong, for a lostbelt that specifically does have love as its central theme, I feel like it could have been...more.

Or more accurately, LB2 feels like it bites more than it can chew.

The LB talks about so many love, be it motherly love, romantic love, sisterly love, friendship love, even godly love. Yet in my personal opinion, only the sisterly and friendship love deal a huge impact on me.

Idk why, but even Scathach-skadi's motherly love (the kind of love that's a sure fire way to make me cry) while mentioned over and over again, it just fall flat to me. Only at the end of the story do I feel sorry for her. I feel like I was more heartbroken when I read her chapter in Nakatani-sensei's From Lostbelt manga.

I was also waiting for someone to mention "Gods can't love humans" (Ahem, Noragami reference here), pointing out how she maintains her world by sacrificing 15 years olds and 25 years olds to be eaten Attack-on-Titan style. Even though she has no choice but to do so, and the reason she maintains the world in the first place is because she loves everything in it, does her love justify the means? Isn't the only one who can do something like that someone -something- not humane? Is that what differs God's love to Human's love? Is that even "love"? I was hoping it'd be at least discussed even though we all know she really would not do it if there was any other way.

Ophelia muttering how she shouldn't think about love and can't fail like Kadoc, implying her train of thought being Kadoc's downfall was caused by the love between him and Anatasia, and turns out love saves her lostbelt and becomes her salvation as well as Kadoc's. Oh poetic cinema.

I kept thinking to myself "does the love triangle (quadruple?) necessary for this chapter?" and after awhile, I came to my own conclusion: yes and no.

Yes for Surtr -> Ophelia and Ophelia -> Wodime. No for Napoleon -> Ophelia.

This is not a "What if asshole boy A falls in love with girl B but chooses to be mean to her out of emotional problems and 1000 other reasons." This is a "What if boy A is literally made, knowing, and capable of one and only one thing: destroy the world, and he falls in love with girl B?" Surtr is exactly written with that concept. Ngl I think that's a good logical outcome that he ends up like this: Showing his love to Ophelia by destroying the world harder.

Although he sure is mean. Odin didn't forget to give him nasty personality befitting the "villain" of the world lol.

I can't deny, a meeting at the end of the world destroyed the same way is rather romantic, if I may say so.

As for Wodime, I do believe that romantic love can drive someone to undergo a great change, positive or negative. For Ophelia who has always remained stagnant, her feelings for Wodime becomes her drive for many things she does. Halfheartedly or not, cowardly or not, she pushes herself forward, she makes decisions on her own, whether that is a wrong way or not. And ngl if I was in Ophelia's shoes and saw what she saw when they were all dead, I think I'd fall at least a little with Wodime too lmao.

As much as I love Napoleon's vibe and bravado, I don't get why he falls in love with Ophelia. I don't think the explanation that this Heroic Spirit Napoleon will always search for someone to love in his incarnation is enough to justify it. Not even the "he thinks she's asking for help" thing, that could be written as a non romantic motive and still works just as well to show how heroic and good-natured Napoleon is. There is no reason why it is a romantic love. I know love sometimes has no logic or reasoning but usually a party has to DO something that personally MOVES the heart of the other party.

But I admit Napoleon and Surtr immediately trash-talking each other as love rival is funny.

Besides that, Napoleon is amusing and great buddy. And the scene with his trump card ... Truly a hope bringer, befitting the title Good Fellow of Everlasting Flame.

Ophelia's genuine feeling for Mash is very interesting actually. I understand her POV of wanting to befriend Mash because there are few girls in Team A (and Akuta is very aloof). How she wanted to befriend Mash yet couldn't close the distance but still tried to anyway, and said feeling still exists even now that it actually stops her from going all out because she couldn't bear hurting Mash and truly treasures her. I feel like it wasnt enough for them to really be tight friends, but if only they had more time, they really could have been such :''

And Ophelia regarding Fujimaru with high respect as their Senpai is pretty heartwarming to me. No wonder in Lostbelt no. 5..... ah...

Sigurd: I've been tricked and taken advantage again I'm a sorry excuse of a hero. Brynhildr: No you're not. Me: Well I actually agree with him on this one but sure whatever u say Mrs Wife

I've been screaming about Sigurd/Brynhildr in this chapter ever since this chapter was out and I will scream it harder now. Even if my teeth rot because the sheer diabetes their interaction gives.

Once, I wondered if Sigurd was an asshole because of what happened to Brynhildr. After Gotterdammerung is out, he's literally best husband he'd die for Bryn but he'd also survive her love-translated-into-murder to prove he loves her. How much he loves his wife and loves to declare it is actually starting to be embarassing, even for Brynhildr lmao.

Giving Sigurd (and by extension Surtr) the voice of THE Tsuda Kenjirou is one of the best decision Type Moon ever makes.

Brynhildr's flashback of her rampage gives me so much chill even though there are no visuals of it. So much that I made a fanart of it. That she might have murdered children and women in blind fury, even though earlier in the chapter she is shown to be great with children and The Model Valkyrie herself just makes a great juxtaposition to show how much love -and being human instead of divinity- steers her to deep end.

The reenactment of her myth (sleeping in the castle surrounded by fire) but this time there is no prince (Sigurd) waking her up but she wakes up and saves herself and others is nice.

Brynhildr and the her sisters interaction is also great. The valkyrie's (I assume it's mainly Ortlinde's POV but really it could be anyone in the group?) lamentation of the past, how Bryn changes from the gentle ice to harsh fire, how they all both feared and envied how much she could change after gaining a human heart, and how they end up gaining that very same heart, it's so tragic yet satisfying as it comes full circle with Thrud and Hildr committing suicide out of broken love just like Bryn did in her myth. Ortlinde freaking out and later coming to terms with everything and choose to fight for what she believes is also in line with them as automata gaining a heart.

Oh and I like the Icy Fire concept here, both literally (the world is covered in fire overlaying Scathach-Skadi's snow, and what happens to Surtr later) and metaphorically (how love can make someone's emotion running wild as cold as ice and as hot as fire)

I DIDNT KNOW, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS IN GERDA'S ART FROM ROAD TO LOSTBELT 7 :'''''''''' That scene is so sad yet so beautiful...

Gerda is basically an innocent child character to be protected. Yet her innocence is also what makes it unsettling that she believes whole-heartedly about the Ordained Day and the short lifespan the people have. Goredolf's rant about how could she, and everyone in her lostbelt, can be okay with any of that, while purely an emotional outburst that's like getting angry at a child who knows no better, raises many points and chilingly resonates well with the concern of the Chaldea members.

I like how Sitonai appears, but I wish she can appear more. The name Illya just brings so much memories... And she even appears with a mother in the form of Scathach-Skadi, just like the original Illya with Iri. It's funny tho that Sitonai is understandably a bit cranky and cheeky with Skadi, unlike Illya-Iri pure doting relationship. Yet the bit where Sitonai ends up missing Skadi just as the Lostbelt disappears is pretty nice.

*snorts* This wouldn't get this long if Holmes just spits out who the hell this Sigurd really is.

Oh, the scene where Surtr breaks out of his prison is scary. Imagine something gigantic comes out of the sun in broad daylight…

And of course the Mystic Eye scene is one of the pinnacle of this chapter. Truly a culmination of Ophelia's development. The voiced version from Flashback Lostbelt no.1-5 MV is even better.

To be able to create 3 spin-off chapters of this lostbelt and deep dive into the psych of each character... Now I understand how much power Nakatani-sensei has.

Napoleon: "Keep moving as long as you still draw breath. You're never completely out of possibilities. There's always something you can do." Everyone in the vicinity:

[elliepassmore]

Snow Crash review

3/5 stars Recommended if you like: hard sci-fi, dystopian sci-fi, tech bros, sword fighting, VR

TW statutory rape

So...let's have this be the last time I'm fooled by pretty colors and Sumerian cuneiform (also the last time I take a book recommendation from another book). This book and I did not get off to a good start, what with it opening with a million random words thrown together with exposition on what those words meant. Then I got used to it, then Stephenson had to bring in the anthropology and linguistics.

Now, normally I love seeing those things in books. I love both of those subjects and studied them in college and on my own time. That being said, Snow Crash is like if a tech bro was court mandated to take linguistics 101 and anthropology 101, only paid attention 33% of the time, then retold his tech bro buddies all about ancient civilization and ancient languages after having a couple of beers. This is, perhaps, a bit mean, because Stephenson does get some of it right. But then he goes off the rails and while I understand this is sci-fi....well, the basic facts are just plain wrong. Go off, but at least base it in fact.

A slight rant, so perhaps skip these next two paragraphs if you don't want to read about me complaining about linguistics and anthropology more, I'll try to make it brief. Stephenson was off to a good start talking about Sumer and Sumerian religion, he actually stays pretty on track with Sumerian religion, interestingly enough, but then he goes and starts talking about how Sumer was stagnant and yet somehow everyone spoke Sumerian and how me dragged Sumerians out of cave-man-hood.....except, Sumerian wasn't the first language. It's just the oldest language we have written attestation for. People could speak, and were modern humans, well before Sumer became a thing. Hell, Akkadian and and some form of Proto-Old-Chinese (among others) were both spoken at that time, the Sumerians just got to writing first. (and let's not even get into the "cave man" concept)

Further, Sumerian didn't just magically vanish, what happened was a series of smaller and larger civilization collapses caused by a whole host of factors, through which Sumerian gradually went from being the predominately spoken language of the area to a language spoken almost solely religiously due to the influx of newcomers and conquerors to the region combined with certain conquering dynasties forcibly migrating native Sumerians to the outskirts of the empire (where they had to interact with the natives there, who definitely did not speak their language) and bringing other cultural, linguistic, and ethnic groups into the traditional Sumerian heartland. Also, more minor, but there were not "tens of thousands" of languages being spoken in the 1980s. We have approximately 7000 languages today and while we are losing languages at a rapid rate, we are not losing them that quickly. Language, and by some extension culture, was the whole basis of this book and Stephenson just got so much of that basis wrong that, while I enjoyed a decent portion of it, I just couldn't get over the incorrectness of it,

Okay, back to the regularly scheduled programming. As far as plot goes, it was actually pretty interesting following Hiro and Y.T. as they got tangled up in web after web of this conspiracy. There were so many moving parts that seemed disparate from one another and yet somehow connected, and I really enjoyed seeing how it all came together. I liked how things built up and I think the showdown with Hiro gets a good climax, but stuff in the real world fell a little flat. I would've liked to have a firmer resolution with things, even if it left some things open ended. As is, it just feels like a let down.

Hiro was a hard character to get into. He's just kind of there for the beginning part of the book, a problem which is compounded by the sheer amount of lingo and information being dumped on readers at the beginning of the book. He turns out to actually be a pretty chill dude later on and even when he was confused, he at least seemed to grasp things quickly, so there wasn't too much just standing around and questioning things.

Y.T. was a bit easier to like from the get-go, though her lingo is just as confusing as Hiro's. 15 definitely seems young to be doing a lot of the things she's doing, and while I know her mom works long hours for the Feds, I'm surprised she has 0 clue what her daughter is doing. I liked Y.T.'s spunk and tenacity. She could get freaked out at times, but she was a go-getter and immediately jumped into doing anything she was interested in or thought would help.

While I did spend a good portion of this review complaining about the technical linguistic and anthropological side of the book, I did enjoy some of the book. The problem is, is that combined with the factual problems, the book reads too much like your stereotypical hard sci-fi that's easy to make fun of because the authors are using a gazillion weird words to enforce the 'futuristic' idea. Things like "franchulate" I can see where it comes from; 'Kouriers' are on thin ice, but whatever, they're trademarked; but there was a lot of stuff that I thought was just unnecessarily in "sci-fi lingo." All of this put together, plus the very ending of the book, reduced my overall enjoyability.

[inadaydream99]

Can’t Keep Away

A/N - I just wanted to write a short drabble using the idea of forbidden love, no other reason 😂

Disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes only and does not represent any of the members in real life!

Jisung casts a longing gaze across the room, his eyes immediately synching to yours. His heart palpitates, breath hitches in his throat, eyeballs almost pop out of his head. You were already watching him. There’s a longing glint in your eyes as they sparkle from the bright chandelier that dangles obnoxiously from the ceiling. It commands everyone’s attention first thing. Except the two of yours; you’re too entranced by each other. Jisung finds it almost too painful to withstand the distance that stretches out between you. You might be in the same room, breathing the same air, but it feels like you’re in two different worlds. Or, more realistically, two opposing sides of the same world.

“Dude, at least try to have some fun.” Jisung jolts from the force of the slap that Jeno gives to his back, his torso leaning forward to try to steady the drink in his hand. He simply sends a frown towards Jeno in response.

“What? Too busy sending heart eyes to (Y/N)?”

Jeno’s statement annoys Jisung for two reasons: One, because of his friends teasing smirk, and two, because he’s not wrong.

“Was not.” He grumbles. But Jeno only laughs when he sees Jisung jut his bottom lip out in a pout.

“I’m sure you won’t get killed for talking to her, you know.” But Jisung disagrees. It’s entirely possible he could be. Not by you of course, but by your brother, Jaemin. If only Jisung had known when you first met who you really were and why he should have stayed clear of you; your brother is a part of his group, which, by some sort of twisted default, makes you a part of their chaotic family dynamic.

“How sure?” He raises a brow to Jeno, who chuckles at the younger’s clear intrigue into the possibilities.

“She’s alone, just go!”

Jisung is pushed in your direction before he has time to gage what is going on, stumbling over his unprepared feet in a clumsy attempt to withhold from falling flat on his face.

“Jisung, are you ok?” Your soft voice so close to his ear makes his heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter to life.

“Jeno just doesn’t know his own strength sometimes.” Jisung attempts to laugh off his embarrassment, finally making eye contact with you once again.

There’s a stagnant pause between you that only foregrounds the nervousness you share when in close proximity to one another. Clearly neither of you know what to say next.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” Jisung hesitantly speaks up. The shy smile that slowly stretches across your lips as you duck your head down, unable to maintain his gaze, is so adorable to Jisung.

“Thank you.” You shyly glance up at him through your lashes. “You look very handsome too.”

It’s apparent by the way that you look at each other that there’s this unspoken but painfully obvious attraction between you. It extends far beyond just complimenting the others looks, to something warm and comforting and intimate.

“Where’s Jisung taking my sister?” Jaemin approaches Jeno, a brow raised in caution. But Jeno just proudly smirks, watching as Jisung leads you out of the party by the hand.

“Just promise if you kill him, I’m allowed to record it.”

[tentacleteapot]

still vexed and bedeviled by something a youtuber I used to watch said a while back—he made a comment about how Elden Ring didn’t make sense because he couldn’t find any themes or any clear message in the story, whereas the Dark Souls games had a clear narrative centered around whether it’s healthy to continue a cycle indefinitely or to better to let it finally end and fade away so something new can take its place. and while that’s a factual and accurate read of the Dark Souls games, that take on Elden Ring feels almost…willfully obtuse, and uncharacteristically so considering the source.

I guess he must have been expecting Elden Ring to have somebody flat out say something like “this land has been divided by restrictive and appropriative religious structure for too long,” or something, the way Dark Souls characters talk about linking the fire and rekindling the flame/letting the world continue etc., but since that didn’t get said verbatim it didn’t occur to him?

it’s just strange because the more you look into Elden Ring the more you see how heavily it focuses on the idea that the Golden Order is a flawed religion that’s actively detrimental to the Lands Between—the game draws really clear and obvious parallels to the way early Christianity vilified the aspects of paganism that it couldn’t assimilate, the underprivileged classes and cultures that used to be seen as valuable and special but are now considered to be lesser beings who have to be killed, enslaved, or hidden away, and (especially) that things become stagnant when they stay in one place.

running water keeps scarlet rot from forming but stagnant water leads to rot, underprivileged people like the Omens can be driven to heinous acts of evil if they’re rejected by those who should have loved them (Mohg) but those same rejected people might still long for and fight for the love that’s been withheld from them (Morgott)… it’s all there, and it all feels really obvious to me that Elden Ring has a lot to say about religious belief, classism and cultural assimilation (the tarnished are a diaspora called back to a homeland that rejected and vilified them!).

granted, there are a lot of different messages and ideas cycling around, but that’s a product of what a big game it is, and all of these things are byproducts of the main thesis that the dominant religion in the Lands Between is doing more harm than good—which is why we have to reform it, disband it, or remove its influence. it’s just *really* odd to me that a youtuber who very specifically was doing compelling and in-depth character dives after the game came out would pivot to saying it doesn’t have anything to say, and I can’t understand how he’d have come to that conclusion.

[andtheyreonfire]

ev'ry mem'ry i'll keep - 2

2 - that i could die

ao3 Part 1

Wc - 5481

AN: Happy hug a tiny day! Idk why I'm mentioning this. No one gets hugged in this chapter. Kind of the opposite tbh

~

Sumire was captured, Amamiya tells Goro, looming over him like the sword of Damocles.

Goro remembers the stadium, the palace, Maruki gazing at them with an expression of pure pity. He grits his teeth, forces himself to stop shaking where he’s cornered in the subway alley. He asks the giant what happened after, how badly they lost.

An ultimatum, Maruki gave them. Spend winter break watching Amamiya’s friends in pure, artificial bliss. Tell him, in a week, how they’d like to see that happiness shatter.

And, of course, Goro's situation. Amamiya recounts Goro going unconscious next to him, some muttered comment from Maruki about “forgetting a wish.” He recounts Maruki disappearing, just as Goro's newfound curse was bestowed upon him. He recounts walking out of Maruki's palace, the tiny form of a serial killer in his hands.

A wish. That was lead to this, hm? Goro having to clutch his ears every time a train enters the station; having to crane his neck back just to see a glimpse of Amamiya's eyes; having to steady himself every time Amamiya moves, because even the slightest shift jostles Goro like an earthquake. Being powerless, completely at the world’s—at Amamiya's mercy. All because of a single, fucking wish.

Amamiya’s voices faces into a dull roar. Goro’s hands ball into fists. If he thinks Goro will sit there and be a good little instrument to their savior complexes, he's dead fucking wrong.

Goro will make sure of that.

~

Akechi Goro stumbles off Ren’s palm, knees slamming against the wood of his desk.

Ren winces, hand twitching forward him—but, no, he's the reason Akechi flung himself off so quickly, isn’t it? Akechi doesn’t seem to mind the bruises. His tiny arms brace under him, and he blows a microscopic—to Ren, anyways—strand of hair out of his eyes. In one fluid motion, he stands, shuffling back so Ren’s completely in his vision.

Akechi cranes his head back, and Ren schools his face into something resembling indifference. It’s still—a lot, to see Akechi look up at him with visible fear.

Ren hunches down, trying to put himself near Akechi's eye-level. All it succeeds in making the boy jerk back like he’s been burned.

Ren opens his mouth. Nothing slips out. Akechi only looks at him, impossibly tiny eyes narrowed in distrust. Not even a comment about catching flies escapes him. It’s too quiet, without his stream of comments.

Ren sighs. He stands, ignoring the violent flinch Akechi gives at the motion, and walks over to his shelf of nick-nacks. He calls over his shoulder, “What do you want to sleep on?”

A beat passes. Two. Ren looks back towards the desk. When their eyes meet, Akechi calls out, “I don’t care.”

Ren bites his lip. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, or what would stop Akechi from looking at him like Ren’s some kind of predator. And yet, it’s still easier to fil the silence. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, we should probably set something up.”

Akechi's eyes harden. “In the event this doesn’t wear off, sleeping arrangements are the last fucking thing I care about, Joker.”

Ren’s fingers drum against his shelf. “Alright,” he says. “Hang tight for a minute, I'll be right back.”

Ren hears a huff behind him, almost lost to the wind. Akechi's still there when he returns from the bathroom, carrying the fluffiest washcloth LeBlanc owns. It’s just—odd, for Akechi to be stagnant, to do nothing but stare. Ren expected him to be halfway off his desk, sliding down a makeshift rope, by the time he came back.

Akechi only watches him, watches as Ren dumps some bracelet from a shallow box. Watches as he rummages around for a blanket and pads it inside. Watches as he sets it down on the desk, inches away —but what must feel like the length of a room—and folds a makeshift pillow, laying the washcloth flat. For lack of a finisher, Ren gives a pair of jazz hands.

Akechi flinches away from the movement, and jolts like he’s been electrocuted when Ren’s phone—resting on the edge of the desk—vibrates.

“Shit—sorry.” It’s Ryuji, tone weirdly—artificially—fake as he offers Ren an invite to hang out with his track team. Guess Ren’s found a target to try to break through to, but...

“I need to get my friends back,” Ren says. Akechi's gaze snaps up from where he’d been considering the box. “I don’t know if...No, what do you want to do?”

He expects Akechi to put his foot down and take the reins that Ren’s giving him, as he’s always, always done. Akechi only gives a brittle smile, and his voice turns sour. “It’s up to you, is it not? Whatever’s in your best judgement, Joker.”

Ren sits down, not particularly feeling like crouching. His floor’s too hard for him to kneel comfortably on. Maybe it would’ve been easier for Maruki to have shrunk them both. “I want to hear your opinion, too. I'm not the deciding factor in this scenario. We’re still a team.”

“Are we? Are we really?” Akechi backs up further, his steps barely putting a few inches between them. He bares his teeth in a grin. “Excuse me for not seeing the level playing field here, Joker. Or did you forget which one of us is the size of the other’s finger?”

“Just because you’re—“ He gestures at Akechi's reduced scale. The boy’s sneer sharpens into a snarl. Ren can’t find the energy to do more than sigh. “It doesn’t mean your autonomy’s been thrown out the window.”

Ren thinks he can see Akechi's hands fist at his sides—it’s, admittedly, a little hard to tell. Akechi licks his lips. “So, if I wanted to walk out of LeBlanc right now, find my way through the streets of Tokyo on my own, you would let me?”

He winces. “I...don’t know if that would be the best idea—“

Akechi raises a hand, cutting him off with a laugh. “And there you have it. Don’t fucking lie to me next time, Joker. You’re better than that.”

Of all the things to respond to, that’s the easiest. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

Akechi doesn’t answer him, hands moving to untie his scarf. His movements are jerky, at least one eye still trained on Ren. Ren leans back, exhaustion washing over him like a cold shower, and mutters a warning before standing up and leaving for the bathroom to change.

He’s messed up—he knows that. This situation is messed up, but he needs some sleep before he can begin to unravel his thoughts. He’s tired. They both are.

When he comes back, Akechi's already sitting in the makeshift bed, curled into the corner with his back facing the wall. His tiny hands clutch his knees. He flinches, just like he always does, when Ren approaches.

This time, Ren kneels.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, “We’ll talk about this more in the morning. I just...” Don’t want to lose you again. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Akechi shakes his head. He seems to subconsciously huddle into the fabric, as if shielding himself from the world. Ren’s heart tightens. “What did I tell you about lying to me, Joker?”

His eyes drop to his knees, and that’s the end of that. Ren’s brow crinkles, but he stands, turning off the light and draping the covers over himself. Even with exhaustion clouding his thoughts, he finds it difficult to fall asleep.

For once, the blare of Tokyo is silent, absent of even the sounds of another body. Akechi’s breathing is too tiny for him to hear. Unlike with sleepovers with his friends, he can’t tell if the other party is unconscious. There’s nothing to fill Ren’s ears.

It’s awhile before Ren drifts off, but when as does, he wonders if Akechi’s still capable of dreaming.

~

Ren pulls himself out of bed to meet a pair of tiny, narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him from his desk.

He blinks. The memories of yesterday flood back to him—trying to get through to Makoto, Akechi finally waking up, watching the boy flinch every time Ren so much as breathed. Akechi didn’t run, which is great, because the thought of him trying to brave Tokyo's foot traffic makes Ren’s stomach churn. Hell, Ren doubts the boy would even end up a smear—

“Are you going to keep staring at me all fucking morning?” Akechi snaps, voice barely reaching Ren’s ears.

Ren reaches for his glasses, if only to prevent Akechi from noticing the next time he spaces out. Although, it’d be...fairer, in a sense, to take his mask off. Akechi never thought of his gaze as intense, right?

He stands up, stretches his back, and caches the perfect glimpse of Akechi flinching away from him, as far back as his make-shift bed would allow. His expression oozes with fear. Ren schools a grimace, and slides his glasses on in one fluid motion.

He crouches next to the desk. Akechi's neck probably hurts from staring up at—god, Ren’s probably the equivalent of a skyscraper to him, isn’t he? He’s so small. Ren hesitates, and Akechi growls, “What?”

Is this real? Ren doesn’t say. Is your reaction? Do you hate me? Ren doesn’t say. I'm sorry. Ren doesn’t say.

Instead, he murmurs, “We need to talk.”

Akechi bears his teeth, like a Pomeranian attempting to be territorial. “About what?”

“A battle plan,” he says, in lieu of something Akechi'd scoff at. “Maruki gave us a week.”

Akechi mutters something under his breath, voice too quiet for Ren to make out anything but a mocking tone. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public restaurant. There are people here.”

“I'll deal with them.”

Akechi stares at him. His body is still, but tense, like a bird poised to flight. Ren’s not stupid enough to think he wouldn’t run the second he could.

Akechi was the best at acting, out of all of them. He wonders where his masks have gone, now.

Ren counts the seconds in his head. After 20, Akechi says, “Fine.”

It takes him longer to climb onto his hand, and even longer to slide into the breast pocket of Ren’s shirt.

Ren keeps his steps steady as he descends the stairs, one hand clinging to the rail like a lifeline. He can’t help but watch his feet, wish for the lithe grace of Joker to carry through. He almost runs straight into Morgana, his too-blue, human eyes sparkling. He blinks when their eyes meet.

“Futaba missed you last night,” Morgana purrs. Ren schools a wince. It’s like looking at the mid-way point between a shadow’s human form and transformation. Ren keeps having to slide his eyes off him, wanting to look but struck by a visceral wrongness every time he does.

And yet—this was still his wish. Tall; broad; handsome; with opposable thumbs, and a rich baritone instead of a meow. To stand on eye-level with the rest of the Thieves, to be every bit the human they didn’t care he wasn’t.

He’ll buy Morgana so much fatty tuna once this is over.

But, first— “I think Haru's been missing your presence,” Ren says.

The-thing-that’s-kind-of-Morgana perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. You were the first one she knew. I know she’s been spending a lot of time with her dad—“ Ren steps forward to hide the violent flinch from his pocket. “—But she probably misses you, too.”

“Yeah, you’re right! I should hang out with her. Ren, you should—“

“What about a sleepover?” Ren searches for a mask. Joker? No. Wingman? Uh. Helpful, logical friend, who only wants what’s best for his other friends? It’s something. “Winter break’s almost over. Why don’t you take the week to stay at her place?”

“I mean,” Morgana responds, uncharacteristically hesitant, ”I wouldn’t want to impose...”

“I think she liked your help with gardening more than she liked mine.” He yawns, stretches, switches masks as he assesses the former cat before him. “‘Sides, it’s winter break, there's so much time. A guy needs his privacy, y’know?”

“Gross.” Morgana wrinkles his nose, but it seems to do the job. “Alright. I'll talk to her about it. No funny business while I’m gone, lil’ bro, alright?”

Ren stifles another grimace. “Aye, aye.”

Morgana pads out, the door jingling behind him. Soiro, thankfully, is an easier job. All it takes is putting on an apron, a wistful mention of Futaba and her mother, before he’s out the door, his keys in Ren’s hand.

There’s no customers. Ren flicks off the stove, the TV, and the kettle. Subconsciously, his free hand drifts to his pocket, over the tiny, curled form against his chest, moving—

Moving?

Moving. Vibrating, really, against his fingers. It’s a small action, repetitive, existing even as Akechi stays still. It gains in intensity as Ren’s hand stays.

Akechi’s trembling.

Ren snaps his hand away like it’s been burned.

After flipping the sign to ‘closed’, shuttering the blinds, and locking the door, Ren bites his lip. His hand hovers over the pocket. He’d let Akechi climb out on his own—but, with what? It’s faster to bite the bullet. Ren approaches the counter.

“Brace yourself,” he mutters, before plunging in and sliding his fingers around Akechi's form. Akechi goes rigid in his grasp.

Slowly, he sets him down on the counter. He tries to put Akechi’s feet under him, but he stumbles to his knees the second Ren’s hand leaves. Ren winces, hand twitching forward to help him up, but stops when Akechi shoots him a withering glare.

He takes his own seat, adjacent to Akechi, leaving him the long, wooden expanse of nowhere to run.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Ren exhales through his nose. He’s starting this, if Akechi's unwavering glower is any indicator. “I just want to fix this, please.”

A beat. Two. Akechi's glare burns more intense. Eventually, he grounds out, “Why should I believe you?”

”We’re trapped in this together. You’re the only ally I have right now. I—“ Ren’s brow furrows. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Akechi scoffs a laugh. “Try again. Why the fuck should I believe you?”

Ren’s fingers clench around his seat. He stuffs his building frustration in the same place he shoves his doubts on the front line, leading a group of high schoolers to the one of the most dangerous jobs in the world. “I want to help you.”

“Of course you do.”

Ren waits for more. Akechi picks at the skin around his nails, his glare never leaving Ren. When his gaze slides towards the near-microscopic digits, they still. Ren feels like he’s having this conversation halfway underwater, “What does that mean?”

Akechi stares at him in disbelief. “Are you really too much of a coward to even admit it?”

Going a million miles at once, and absolutely nowhere. “Goro, please.”

“Don’t fucking—! Maruki granted everyone’s pipe-dreams.” He grounds the words out, as if speaking to a toddler. “He could defy reality, the very laws of nature to do so. Everyone’s dreams, Joker.”

Ren finally picks up the damn cue. His stomach drops.

He rasps, “Are you saying my wish was to shrink you?”

“Don’t deny you wouldn’t like it.” Akechi prowls forward, eyes absolutely livid. His four-inch tall form seems to shake with either anger or fear—no, both. “Me, tiny and helpless in the palm of your hand. You could do anything you wanted. No one’s watching us, correct? No one cares, if you keep me as a pet, or take out the trash, or use me as some kind of—“

“Akechi.” Ren interrupts him, stomach churning. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Akechi looks away, silent. His body trembles as it did in Ren’s pocket.

He takes in the terrified, livid form in front of him, starting to curl in on himself. Before Ren can think twice, he stands up—ignoring Akechi's flinch—and runs up the stairs.

He returns with a tiny, thin piece of metal. One end wicked-sharp, the other dull and smooth. It's about half the length of Ren’s thumb. He was lucky to find it, almost tempted to use a shard of glass before he looked in his forgotten pile of infiltration-tool failures. He holds it out to Akechi, who stares at it with unrestrained suspicion.

“If you ride on my shoulder, under my collar,” Ren blurts out, “You’ll have the perfect access to my vital veins. You’ll be hidden, too.”

Akechi continues to stare.

“If you feel like I'm about to do something to you, take this and kill me before I can get the chance.”

It takes 10 seconds, this time, before Akechi wraps his hands around the makeshift weapon. He scurries back the second he’s done, away from Ren’s hand. He strains to hear Akechi's mutter. “I'd hardly be able to kill you without getting killed, myself.”

Ren forces a grin. “Well, I don’t think Iwai sells tiny guns. You can’t shoot me in the head, again. You’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

Akechi looks away, running his hands over the piece of metal. Ren begins, “Akechi, I don’t know how to convince you that this isn’t my wish. I just want to figure out what’s going on and fix it—But, to do that, I'll need your help. You’re my only ally. You’re smarter than me, your deduction skills are unparalleled, and you know the Metaverse far better than I do. You were a star detective. I need you.”

“My work was largely fabricated,” Akechi points out. He shines a little at the praise, either way.

“The second this is over, we never have to see each other again. I don’t want you to live like this.” Ren hunches down, keeping his distance from Akechi, but contorting his body so he's eye level. “Can you help me?”

Akechi runs his fingers over the point of the weapon. He stares at it, at his hands, at Ren.

His gaze hardens. He holds the weapon at his side, and nods. “Fine. deal.”

Ren bites back a grin, and the inane, instinctual urge to hold out his hand to shake.

~

Ren had just finished talking with Makoto when Akechi awoke, he tells him. Akechi hesitantly perches on his shoulder as he leaves, Ryuji decided as their next target. Ren removes his scarf so he has room to hide under his collar. He prays Akechi doesn’t decide to stab him on a whim, and sets off.

They do Ann next, then Morgana, then Yusuke.

Morgana takes a little more convincing, both for his memories to shine through, and to convince him to stay at Haru’s for as long as possible. After Yusuke, he treats Goro and him to oden. He bought Goro his own, separate bowl, and offered to help him, so he didn’t have to struggle with picking up his chopsticks. Goro looked sick at the idea. It wasn’t until Ren turned away from him, keeping his eyes trained on his phone, that he heard the boy begin to eat.

Reluctantly, Akechi teaches him how to comb government databases. Ren’s learned a few tricks from Futaba, which means he doesn’t need to go breaking into Akechi’s apartment just to access his computer. The police database is theirs, too. He manages to find Maruki’s past, his research, and his failings. Most of which he already knew, but Akechi’s questions leave Ren with a half-dozen floating around in his own head.

They also discover that, by all accounts, Okumura and Wakaba are completely alive. This and then some is why they save the conversation with their children until the end.

Wakaba is every bit the person Ren imagined her as, and Goro shudders against Ren’s neck every time she speaks. Akechi clams up when their group walks away, remaining silent and stiff for the rest of the night. It hurts, to see Futaba fighting against giving up her own happiness, to have to move on once again. Ren can’t help but feel sympathy for Wakaba’s murderer, having to process the blood re-appearing on his hands.

Today’s target was their last: Haru.

Ren thinks it went well.

Ren’s greatest skill is lying to himself, and it certainly hasn’t failed him yet.

~

Ren winces as Goro, again, slides off his hand like he’s been burned.

But it’s—progress, in a way, how Goro doesn’t immediately back himself into a corner. It might be their negotiation, or the aftermath of the week they’ve spent together, or a sign that Goro's becoming less terrified.

Goro flinches when Ren sits at his desk, his hands spasming from where they were untying his scarf, and that hope is thrown out the window and right in front the oncoming train that is this situation.

Ren turns away. It feels weird to talk about Haru, but even stranger to deflect and pretend that he didn’t just show a murderer the still-breathing corpse of their victim—Hey, Ryuji isn’t here, someone’s gotta be blunt. For lack of anything to distract himself, Ren drums his fingers against the wood of his desk.

He realizes his mistake when he looks back to see Goro frozen, watching Ren’s fingers—inches away from him—like they’re made of the same dynamite in a Showtime attack.

Ren pauses. “Sorry. I—forgot you’re still getting used to things.”

Goro’s face settles into a sneer. “Oh, forgive me for not using the adjustment period that you’ve so graciously blessed me with.”

Ren blinks. Okay—he deserves that. He leans in, only to freeze when Goro backs up a few steps. Ren sighs, and asks, voice low, “What can I do to make things easier?”

Goro’s hands tighten from where they’re wrapped around his sides. “Stay at least 50 yards away from me—you’re awfully good at distance, aren’t you, Joker?”

Ren takes a breath. Don’t rise to his bullshit—it’d be a distraction, at least, to ask him what the hell he meant by that, but no shut up—and keep calm. Ren wills his voice to stay level. “I'm sorry, you’re stuck with me until we fix this. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, at least?”

Goro snarls up at him, “For as self-centered as you are, I would’ve thought you’d take the goddamn bait.”

Ren’s fists clench in his lap. “What bait?”

Goro throws his arms up. If he were normal-sized, the action might’ve been wild enough to clock Ren in the face. Ren can see the slightest tremble in his hands. “No, you know what? Use your fucking brain, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren sighs, taking the silence Goro offers him as the smaller boy picks at his nails. He’s tired—something about the artificial sunlight, about seeing his friends so happy, of facing a terrified face every time he checks his shoulder is getting to him—

And that’s it, isn’t it? This isn’t about their day, or Okumura, or even Maruki. Goro spat out the word bait like it was—

Personal.

Ren looks at Goro, at a frame barely the size of his finger, and shoves away his frustration to murmur, “I'm not going to take advantage of this, Akechi.”

Goro cranes his head higher, fists clenching at his sides. He seems to grasp at whatever regal composure remains. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Akechi—“

“No, tell me exactly what’s stopping you.” His eyes are burning, body tensed, taut like a drawn bow. It’s painfully easy to imagine how he would snap the second Ren tries to approach. “I don’t want to play this game anymore, Joker. Stop lying to me.”

Ren stays still, makes his voice level, keeps his hands secured in his lap. “I'm not lying to you. I'm benefitting from this as much as you are.”

“Bullshit!” Goro snarls, stumbling back a few steps. There’s the black mask, the traces of Loki hovering behind him. “You know what this is, don’t you? Don’t say things like that with a straight fucking face! You know how this world works as much as I. Tell me—“

Goro unsheathes his weapon, pointing the tiny piece of metal at Ren. The fire in his eyes is on full display, the heat of a distant supernova. He growls more than speaks, “Tell me what you fucking want from me!”

He doesn’t even fill a fraction of Ren’s desk.

“I want you to co-operate with me.” Ren steels his voice. Maybe that’ll make things easier, for one of them. He’s so tired. “I've said this already. I want to fix things, with you. I don’t want to see you—I don’t know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Why me?” His teeth are still bared, as if they were even capable of breaking flesh. With how violently his makeshift weapon shakes in his grip, he doesn’t think that would fare any better. “After all the things I've done to you, why the hell would you waste a single tear over my well-being?”

“Because I don’t want you to go through that,” Ren pleads.

“Aren’t you a harbinger of justice?” He’s grasping at straws, even if he doesn’t realize it. The best actor out of all of them, but hardly the most composed. “Believer in a grand world where everyone gets their just desserts? You’re a noble Phantom thief, a hero. I—I don’t see how you could possibly ignore the monster before y—“

Ren closes his eyes, bites the bullet, and cuts Goro off with a soft, “I wanted to kill Kamoshida.”

Goro makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, the disposal of whatever he was going to say. Ren creaks an eye open to see him staring back with tiny, wide eyes. He doesn’t open his mouth, so Ren continues, “He was a piece of shit. He hurt Ryuji, Ann, Shiho. We found Morgana trapped in the dungeon of his palace. He made people’s lives a living hell.”

Ren smiles, an echo of the mask he wore when he awoken Arsène. He mutters, staring at nothing, “I wanted to kill him.

“But it wasn’t my choice to make, so we changed his heart. Now, thanks to us, he’ll suffer for the rest of his life under the weight of his guilt. Every day he’ll wake up in agony and every night his deeds will haunt him until he falls asleep. Heroic, isn’t it?”

Goro doesn’t interject, so Ren continues. “You never asked me if I cared. You asked if I thought we were just, and I said yes. You never defined your terms.”

Ren takes a breath. Something wiggles past the depths of his heart, slips past his lips. “I never said I didn’t want our targets to suffer.”

A beat passes. Two. Goro asks, voice barely drifting to Ren’s ears, “How does that make you any better than me, in your eyes?”

Ren shakes his head. “It doesn’t.” A brittle smiles splits his lips. “There was just—nothing stopping you, from pulling the trigger. I got lucky.”

“...And why didn’t you? Pull it, I mean.” Goro shifts, interest replacing the heat in his eyes. If he wasn’t so obviously apprehensive, he might’ve taken a step closer. “When it came down to it, why didn’t you finish the job? Kamoshida was yours.”

“It wasn’t my choice to make.”

Ren slides off his chair and shifts into a crouch, back against his desk and head resting on the surface. He looks straight up at his ceiling, deciding to ignore Goro's presence beside him. He can’t see Goro's tiny, fearful eyes like this. It's an adequate bonus.

Ren continues, “Ann was the deciding factor, but everyone was on board with just changing his heart. I’m their leader, not their dictator. You’re the first person I've met who wanted—planned for the person who wronged you to die.”

Ren can hear the mirth in Akechi's voice, even with how quiet it is. “You’ve met him. I don’t think I was entirely in the wrong.”

“No,” Ren whispers. “You weren’t.”

It’s painfully calm, in Maruki's reality. Any other time, the streets would be filled with the blaring of horns, with shouting, with the rush and chaos of Tokyo nighttime. There’s nothing to fill the air between them but the hum of Ren’s heater. It’s far from enough to drown out Ren’s thoughts.

When Goro speaks, his voice is closer, as if he decided to take a few steps forward to the boy twenty times his size. “So, underneath that honest, pure-hearted exterior, you’re just as rotten as me. Is that right?”

“Did you expect me to be better?” Ren asks.

Goro huffs a mirthless laugh. He shuffles, and a flash of tan appears at the corner of Ren’s vision. “I guess not. So, then, do you think I deserve to suffer as much as the people I've wronged?”

Ren closes his eyes. Honesty’s worked so far, so he snaps the bullet between his teeth. “In my opinion, you deserve to suffer far more. More than I could give you, whether you were willing or not.”

There’s the faint, small sound of shoes against wood. Ren allows Goro a second to catch his balance, before he asks, “Were you willing, Akechi?”

Goro's voice is steel. He’s lived with his crimes longer than Ren’s even been aware of them. He knows his answer. “I was.”

“And there you have it.” Ren opens his eyes, but keeps them trained on the ceiling. “Whatever your circumstance, it doesn’t change what you’ve done.”

Even after everything, the air is, somehow, more bearable. Ren resists the urge to jolt when Goro walks completely into his line of vision. He asks, a tiny eyebrow raised, “So, why aren’t we having a conversation with me in a jar? Why aren’t I a smear on the pavement, if my just desserts are long overdue?”

“Because, that’s...that’s not for me to decide. That’s Haru's decision, and Futaba's, and yours’.” Ren gives a strained smile. “We only ever responded to explicit requests, y’know.”

Hesitantly, Goro steps forward. “Even so, there’s...no one here but us. No one’s been present to stop you since I shrunk.”

“You’re right.”

When Ren doesn’t continue, Goro huffs a laugh. “So?”

Ren takes a breath. Slowly, he swings his gaze over to Akechi. The boys stands—more than close enough to touch. It’s...

It’s the face of when Goro was recognized on their first meeting. It’s the face of Futaba as she stares into a crowd, of Ryuji after their confrontation with the track team, of Haru every time she recalled how her company’s treated her. It’s the face of a kid—of a boy that didn’t deserve anything that happened to him—staring into the darkness of their closet and trying to be brave.

“You killed dozens. You hurt countless individuals. You hurt my friends, but...” Ren’s eyes crinkle. “You were my friend, too. If things had been different, you could’ve been one of us. The game was rigged from the start.”

Goro's hands flex at his sides, minuscule skin twitching. Eventually, he rasps, “I tried to kill you, too.”

Ren can feel the bags under his eyes deepen. He tilts his head up towards the ceiling. “Yeah. You did. So listen to me when I say I don’t want to see you hurt, alright?”

Ren knows he is fucked up. He can’t put a name to all the complexes he’s seen this year, but he knows one of them is dampening his feelings towards Goro. Ren’s tired, he’s a dead man walking, but the idea of doing anything to the tiny, fragile form of the boy who killed him sends nausea shooting up his throat.

Goro gives something that could be a nod—it’s hard to tell, with him still barely in the corner of his vision. Ren doesn’t hear him move until a head of chestnut-brown hair appears next to him, and a tiny, warm weight rests against his temple.

Is he—sitting against Ren? He doesn’t dare shift to check, not when Goro's slowly relaxing against him, not when it’s the closest he’s willingly, freely been since he woke up in Ren’s palms.

They sit there, while Ren tries to get his heart rate back under control. Goro murmurs, the sound almost at normal-sized volume with how close he is. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“‘Course not,” Ren breathes, “What better pawns to play the game than us, huh?”

Goro snorts. He’s fully relaxed against the side of Ren’s head. After a beat, he asks, “You said you wanted to know what you could do to, ah, accommodate me, Amamiya?”

Ren whispers, “Yeah?”

“I—“ He struggles to imagine Goro's face crumpling, of him losing his composure. After a moment, that tiny voice gains its steel. Ren lets the ghost of a smile split his face. “If you truly don’t want to hurt me, there are a few things you could keep in mind...”

~

[utilitycaster]

i wonder how much of the discourse surrounding the "ending" of c2 is due to the difference between the fanon and canon interpretations of the characters?

"caleb would never do this" and " jester would never do that" etc etc as seen on here and twitter. at some point the fanon version deviated so far that they're like two separate characters at that point.

Hey anon, so, I do agree that this is a thing that happens. Anyway you're getting a totally unasked for overview of my philosophy on fiction and the fandom engagement thereof; feel free to consider this a companion answer to this one, where that's a specific case and this is the probably way-more-zoomed-out-than-you-wanted picture.

I think fiction (and, honestly, literary/narrative nonfiction) should tell a story that can provide one with new perspectives and insight into the world that is vastly different from one's own. I think there is a place for a story that makes you feel wrapped up in a quilt as someone brings you tomato soup and a grilled cheese; but there is also a place for a story that makes you feel like you almost got pulled out by a riptide but barely made it back to shore as a nor'easter begins to blow in. And I think you'll be a better writer and person for favoring the latter.

I don't want stories that I could already come up with in my head, or that people who already think a lot like me and agree with me come up with in their heads. Or at least I don't want that to be the only thing, much as I would like a life where occasionally I get to have tomato soup with grilled cheese in bed but I also get to swim in the ocean.

I think there are a lot of unfortunately some loud voices in fandom spaces, and real literary spaces for that matter, who really do see fiction only as a comfort and not as a challenge, and I think that's a terrible way to approach the world, engaging only with soft toys and dull safety scissors well into your 20s and 30s and beyond. It's lifeless and stagnant. The problem is these people don't just read; they also write. And the only writing advice they actually follow is "write what you know", and so they write characters who are also flat and stagnant, constantly retreading the past and marinating in their own flaws; who are exact replicas of how they see themselves, instead of whatever is actually happening in the story on the page or onscreen.

That's where a lot of fanon comes from. As with fix-it fics, I'm not saying it's universally bad - few fictional tropes are, honestly - but fanon (and transformative works in general) that I consider good expands a character, adding details that just didn't need come up in the story but which make you go "oh, yeah! that makes complete sense from what we know!" Transformative works I think are often bad - not in a moral sense, in a sense of being interesting and engaging to others and well-written and enjoyable - contract them and warp them to fit the creator's projections and desires and nothing else. Caleb's revenge fantasy has nothing to do with Caleb, the character who was onscreen for 141 episodes, and everything to do with Caleb, the character whose backstory we knew by episode 18 and then people decided that The Right Thing To Do was to enact their personal revenge fantasy and they just ignored everything that wasn't that. I don't know what people have to say about Jester's ending; I've never actually seen any explanation of what Jester's Secret Better Ending would be, because frankly that would require those people to consider Jester as a character with her own motivations.

Anyway. I feel like I sound like some kind of mid-90s Drop Everything And Read library poster but like. You could experience anything! You can fly twice as high! Why are you trying to relive your own limited corner of the world over and over? Do you think that dealing with difficult topics or alternate points of view in fiction will make those things happen in real life? Is your own sense of self and morality that tenuous, that you need to only see that, ad infinitum, and any foreign influence or new idea will shatter it? That sounds like a bleak existence, pal.

So yeah a lot of fanon is barely connected to the original and it's written by small-minded and uncreative people who don't even remember what the original was, because they just see a character, latch on to some vague initial details, and then stop listening and fill in an image of themselves and plug their ears or vehemently defend their terrible and immature taste when you point it out. Personally I recommend not engaging with fandom on Twitter because it's hard to convey all of the above in 280 characters and because it's a platform that rewards Loud and Stupid over anything else but it would be really funny to be like. Ok, what would Caleb do? What would Jester do? Because, for what it's worth, I have seen posts about why Caleb would actually do revenge, and it goes like this "Caleb wouldn't do this because I relate to him and I wouldn't." Every single time. And it's very hard to have a meaningful conversation with someone who doesn't understand that other people aren't them, even less so online, but at least if you can get things to that point you know they have nothing to say about the actual story that happened.

[firesofdainix]

October 15: Dragon | Storm

aaaand my queue runs out! i swear once i finish tomorrow’s piece i’ll write more. anyways, not meant to be character bashing. au for a reason.

@morrotober

AO3 Version

*

Green Kai AU

*

"Woah, says here that rainfall is prevalent this season," Morro tells Lloyd as he places a hand past the rooftop to feel the incoming drizzle. The clouds were almost gray, darkening the entire sky as it blots out the sun from its ever-welcome presence. The clouds were moving in a rampant pace, as if they were racing to shroud the entirety of the continent in a prolonged darkness, accompanied only by the soft or wild rains that would happen.

Thunder roars, its presence heard throughout the sky, as if it was, perhaps, mad at Morro for stating the obvious.

Lloyd, too, looks quite irate and serious, contrasting the attempted look of cordiality and friendliness on the Master of Wind's face. He gives the older boy a baleful look, as if Morro had done something that was considered a tragic crime to him. But, he's become accustomed to these looks and expressions; three years languishing in a household who only sees him as a replacement for one of their friends can do that to him. He's seen every single look shot at him since he was integrated into the team; at best a calm, neutral look as they acknowledge him as their colleague. At worst, they either give him pernicious glances if he either does something reminiscent of their old friend or distancing himself from said dead friend, pretending he doesn't exist unless they are currently in an episode where they must acknowledge him. He brushes it off, knowing it was fine and that, simply put, they were still processing the grief of losing one of their comrades.

(He was lying. To hell with them and the way they look at him as if he was a mirror.)

The blonde looks away, and Morro bites back the urge to scream at him. He was not Kai, and he will never be. He's only wearing the red gi because it was both the only thing available for him and Master Wu insisted he wear it. He didn't wear it to mock Kai Smith himself. He barely even knows the guy.

The only reason he knows too much about him like an autobiography is because the others fondly love talking about him when they believe he's not listening. But the thing is, he's a good listener. A great one at that, too.

And, well, let's just say that what Morro concluded from all the stories he's been told of Kai Smith, the alleged Green Ninja, was that no one should become as obsessed as he is over a position. Morro can feel bad vibes from the way they tell his story, clear hero worship blinded by grief. It is one of the times he pities his colleagues. (They aren’t his friends. He attempted to forge platonic bonds, but it feel flat. They were just housemates.)

"... It is the rainy season," Lloyd replies in a forced politeness, as if he was willing to endure through the most torture-filled minutes of his life. Was Morro just such a boring company compared to Kai? "So it isn't any surprise that it's going to rain."

Morro lets out an awkward laugh at that, averting his gaze and running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I also heard there was a storm surge in this area coming right now." First Spinjitzu Master, strike him down right now for having the worst conversation openers. Trying to talk to his teammates saps his energy. It was not even his fault his relationship with the others was horrid and strained. They were living in the past, while he was leaving this stagnant present.

"I heard as well."

They stand in silence, and Morro curses the day he was born into this world. Why, out of all the families that chose to adopt him into their humble abode, he had to pick this one. It was not because they were practically abusive, that was a preposterous concept, but… it is something else entirely.

They see him as an imperfect copy of their dead teammate. And that makes him insane. Not only does he have impossible expectations to live up to, but he is also constantly reminded that, in another timeline, he was brandished out of the picture, and Kai is placed in all of the locations which Morro is now currently occupying. It was both an overwhelming and pressuring task, having to formulate the shape of their fallen comrade whilst also dodging anyone comparing him to Kai; how can he compete with a ghost? He is gone, only a memory, but Morro lives on.

Something which the others cannot accept.

Something that is ingrained in Morro, having to accept it as the sad reality he must now live in.

Too unworthy to be a proper member of the team. Resembling too much of a man who died foolishly to defy the destiny he is not supposed to have.

Morro, so badly, wants to scream at Lloyd— out of everyone on the team, aside from Nya (which he can somewhat understand, but his patience for her is thinning, too), he was the most alienated and detached from the young man. At least the others occasionally interact with him with the motivation of assistance (even when he doesn't need it), even if it is under the guise of trying to be accustomed to him. He ignores the fact he's been their teammate for over three years, if that can actually pacify them into, perhaps, treating him with respect. And, to Morro's extended appreciation, not utter Kai's name as he does any form of action that frankly reminds them of Kai, because he is getting tired of being the reflection to the man who could've been. The thing is, he's gone, and Morro is present.

They should treat the living with respect the same way they treat the dead.

But they do not seem to heed lessons as personal as those; so, with his pride on full display, and the hurt he feels is currently feeding on him growing as time continues to pass, becoming a ravenous and thick vine is something he has kept hidden for so many years, under lock and key.

No wind wishes to be trapped in obscurity for long. The wind is not stagnating, it stagnates. It will blow and blow, until the only thing standing in its way is itself.

But, he supposes he can now excuse Lloyd's actions; his father had been banished to the Cursed Realm, where his former companion also inhabits. It was a sour reminder that the Realm has, once more, taken another of their friends. The complete panic and depression in Lloyd’s eyes as he had no choice but to expel his father from the living Realm, too, was something Morro finds pity in. He did not know what awaits in the Cursed Realm, but seeing their faces pulled into horror, he can assume it was not pretty. This was an occurrence which worsened the household's welfare, and to think they were doing so well, finally acknowledging that Morro was a comrade.

Morro lets out a deep breath as the downpour starts. The wind is, uncharacteristically, wild and unforgiving once the rainy season begins. While it still was not developing into a storm that can claim many lives, it is starting to look that way. He wishes the wind can blow him away someplace else.

For now, he's stuck trying to hide the fact he hates being treated as the replacement. The black sheep.

The young man turns to Lloyd, who had a pensive expression on his face. He's been having these certain kinds of looks since they defeated Chen. Morro chooses to ignore it.

The drizzle turns into a whole downpour, blanketing their surroundings with a misty gray and the sounds of rain colliding with roofs. The smell of petrichor hangs on the air, smelling sweet yet bitter at the same time.

Morro loves this time of month; especially now that he would not be suffering with any kind of sickness anymore. Especially when the winds were cold and gentle, touching his skin like any mother would.

He forgot why he and Lloyd were standing underneath the location of the bus stop, in the first place. He looks at Lloyd, who was one jump away from dozing off. The way his head drops to the side, lolling around, his eyes slowly drooping… Morro can empathize with him.

He fights the urge to let Lloyd fall down on the bench, and helps him up. No matter his grudge with the Green Ninja, he is first and foremost his teammate going through mourning right now.

So, with a resounding huff, he summons the wind to cushion Lloyd's fall before he disgracefully ends up hitting his head on the metal pole. Lloyd awakes with a snort, regaining his energy, before feeling the cushions of the wind arising from within him. Glancing at Morro with a blank look, he regains his composure, balance, and energy by standing up straight again.

"Sorry," he says, clearing his throat, averting his gaze. Not even a thank you? "I'm feeling down about the weather."

Morro can clearly smell and sense the bullshit wafting from the way he speaks about it. It is clear that his father’s banishment is affecting him, but, like the self-sacrificing great ninja that he is, prefers to keep it under wraps.

He did not want to pry, really; the two of them are not close at all, and Morro, too, did not want to be caught in the middle of the rain with Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon.

But, it is clear that, for all his faults, Lloyd needs a thorough break from it all.

The only reason Morro was tagging along with him is that he was — forcibly — asked to go with him to Ninjago Museum on the summons of the officials over a certain robbery. They had specifically asked for the Green Ninja, which Lloyd was ready to come and take, but Wu had Morro accompany him. He did not know why either; he was a cryptic old man.

“Look, Lloyd,” Morro says after a long sigh. The mentioned boy whips his head to face him. “I know we don’t see eye to eye over a few things—” More like Lloyd doesn’t see eye to eye with his existence, “but I know you’re still upset over the whole… banishing your dad to another realm thing.” Morro doesn’t like keeping it implicit. He was always blunt with what he said, after all.

Lloyd scowls at the callousness of his response, but to hell with it all. Morro has already figured out that he will always be considered the outcast. He may not be fine with that, but it is all he will ever be.

“I guess I am,” he replies derisively, but Morro doesn’t care. As long as he gets out of Lloyd’s way.

“I’ll take over your task today,” Morro says.

The blonde turns to look at him with a face of shock. It was as if he was seeing the young man for the first time. “Really?” He asks airily.

This was the first time Lloyd’s expression wasn’t unreasonably cold towards him.

There was a ghost of a feeling and a chance that, perhaps, things would get better.

Morro nods, waving off that hopeful feeling. He’s hoped for years, but in the end, it was all a scam that lulls him to make a fool of himself. “Yeah. I think you and Nya should have a good day today. It’s better to be with friends than with policemen who want you in for questioning, right?”

Lloyd thinks for a moment, then sighs, nodding. His expression returns to the baleful but relieved looks he’s given to Morro. He can feel his heart breaking as another one of his lost hopes become even more lost. “Okay. I think… I can live with that. No one is going to notice, right?”

“I mean, they all know I’m the Red Ninja, but I’m sure the authorities won’t mind.”

Lloyd visibly cringes over Morro’s ill attempt to placate the fact that he is technically the Red Ninja, but he nods, although this time it was less energetic than before. “Yeah. Sure. I’m going to find a bus that can take me back to our village. Is that fine by you?”

More than fine, Morro wants to say. He doesn’t trust his words so, he nods.

Five minutes later after calling a bus to come pick Lloyd home (neither he nor Morro bid any farewell), Morro was left alone in the rain. He does swear when the bus that was carrying Lloyd drenches him in rainwater, but he supposes it’s better than spending his time attempting to please Lloyd. It is clear that he didn’t want to be pleased.

No matter what Morro does, they will never be pleased.

So he starts his long, liquid walk toward the museum, regrettably musing about how he forgot to bring an umbrella. He pins the blame on Lloyd as he walks towards the street to the museum, languishing over how, for the first time since coming to this city, it was astoundedly quiet. There were flashes of lightning and the sounds of thunder roaring through the sky, and the pitter-patter of rain as it clings to his skin, making it sag and grow heavier as time passes. The gray skies were dark, almost mimicking the night sky. He continues on in this frigid, somewhat depressing weather, no anymore caring if he will obtain a flight from this reckless attempt of crossing the rain. The sound of it, the smell of petrichor, is enough to make Morro forget all of the bad memories and the way he was treated as a glass mirror.

When he reaches the museum, his gi was heavy, he was cold, he was wet, and he was hungering for some bowl of warm, hot soup to melt the icy throes in his heart. He frowns at the sight of the museum’s front doors; filled with police tape, with only darkness inside the interior. Did a murder happen?

Well, he is here to find out.

Stepping into the museum — relieved that the torrential rainfall would not bother him any longer — he finds himself shrouded in darkness. He did not know if this was better than being doused by the storm.

A flash of lightning ahead, and he uses it to glance at the room to find the authorities who wanted Lloyd.

Morro’s eyes narrow.

There was no one there.

The silence continues to loom ominously.

However, he does feel the unsettling feeling that someone was watching him and his every move.

His gut so badly wants to turn around, to run back and head for a bus…

But he was a ninja.

Taking a breath, coaxing down his strange feeling of anxiety, he makes his way down the halls. He’s particularly ingrained all the halls, rooms, and exhibits in his mind, so, even in the dark, he traverses this area rather smoothly. The only thing he hears are the muffled rainfall outside, the crack of thunder and his footsteps reverberating over the smooth, marble floors. He’s checked everything, even left signs of his dripping footprints everywhere.

There was nothing.

He frowns, feeling irritation flooding into his core.

Was this all just a prank?

Gritting his teeth, he summons his wind to dry himself up. He could have done that when he entered, but due to the frigid air of his surroundings, he was not willing to risk some form of mild hypothermia.

“Hello?” He tries to call for someone. Anyone, really. It feels as if he is being set up in a macabre horror film now. “Is anyone there? Did someone literally just prank call us?”

No response, but the wind flows in his direction.

He ignores the intensity of someone’s eyes boring into his back.

Morro finally has had enough of this. He was tired, he was cold, and the entire museum has no susceptible electricity, so, he decides to just get out of there.

Turning around to find the exit, that’s when he hears it.

The sound of someone, flicking a match and lighting up a fire.

Morro skids to a stop, as he feels those eyes watching him gaining a human shape.

He feels flames around him.

He wonders how that was even possible, when he can only pinpoint one location where—

Morro’s eyes grow wide, his green-gold irises shaking with something akin to fear and a sick kind of wonder.

Standing before him was a ghost— a specter of a human, phantom and translucent and green.

And he was carrying a fireball in his hand.

“You’re— you’re an Elemental Master.” He wonders why that is the first thing he must say to the young man. It is clear that he was not here for any form of maintaining cordial relationships. The fire flickers, but it continues to burn bright in this dank, cold room, radiating the warmth Morro truly never obtained during his years with the other ninja. He was separated from them with an ice wall. He lets out a deep breath as the young man — or ghost? — steps closer, the darkness obscuring his face. But the fire brings forth secrets never truly buried properly. “Yet, there is only one known Master of Fire.”

And he died ten years ago.

Indeed, he can immediately see who this man is, only observing his appearance. Spiky, unruly hair, long and untamed; a scar on his right eye; the ruins of a red gi clutching to him in an ill attempt to cover how green he is; and the red-orange eyes, dirtying his ghostly presence.

Morro was in front of Kai Smith, long deceased Elemental Master of Fire.

The man of many myths. The man of many stories. The man of many regrets.

The one to who they keep comparing him to.

Their greatest regret.

Morro doesn’t know what to think of him; he was always taught to treat Kai with respect. He’s never formulated an opinion that was not about his lesson being a cautionary tale to the world.

The ghost in front of him (holy FSM, Morro just realized this man was a teenager when he died) scrutinizes his appearance, looking at him up and down. He then scoffs, turning away from Morro. “I was supposed to take Lloyd. I specifically requested for him. Why did you have to show up?!” His anger was brimming in his tone like a spark turned to a flame. For a dead man, his flames were alive, wildly dancing around his fingers as he attempts not to extinguish them.

Morro’s breath hitches. He reminds himself of the stories he’s been forced to listen to multiple times, to the point it has already been ingrained in his head like a catalog.

Morro was told he perished after accidentally opening a rift to another Realm.

It turns out that they weren’t lying— he did die. He became Cursed.

And now, he is confronted with Kai, who was neither a human nor a very welcoming ghost. Morro knows Cursed Ghosts; their humanity is all but stripped off them, like their skin and bones. While he didn’t like Lloyd, nor the others, he is sure they didn’t want to see Kai turned into all the things that were bad about him. And he was playing it strategically here; if he unleashes Kai into the general populace, what then?

He backs up. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Kai sneers. “Garmadon should’ve made sure that I didn’t escape so fast. Now he’s trapped there as I roam free.” His fire grows closer, and Morro stumbles backward. He would’ve believed he humiliated himself if not for the utter urgency of the situation. “You’re not Lloyd, but you’ll make do as a replacement. That’s why you’re wearing the gi I’m supposed to wear since the son of Garmadon took my proper one, right?”

Morro’s heart starts to beat at the implications of his words, as his entire vision starts to swim.

Kai’s hand reaches for him, and he can feel burning hot flames leaving his skin.

Morro realizes one thing in this debacle, before Kai takes his body as his.

“No matter how much you try and change yourself, to remind everyone that you and I aren’t so different… you will always be a second choice. You will always be a replacement.”

Morro doesn’t fight Kai any longer as he could feel his body getting invaded by the man who controls fire, burning embers to the ground.

He will always be a replacement.

He is nothing to them.

And, perhaps, that’s where his story will always revolve around in.

[silviawrites]

Writing characters properly

Characters are obviously a very important part of our writing. They're what the story centers around (other than the plot) and play a very big role in a lot of the books and other writing we read.

A lot of the characters, however, are not written properly. And I especially mean the characters that are way too perfect. The kind, gentle, energetic and optimistic character who can do no wrong. They. Are. Annoying. Or maybe the MC is depicted to be the good guy, but he's completely selfish and condescending.

So how exactly do we make a character, unlike the ones we hate? Easy. Write characters properly. That's easier said than done though.

Let's see how we write them!

Give them good and bad characteristics

Personally, I like to give three good characteristics and three bad characteristics to my characters. For example, let's say we take a character, "Mara". Mara's good characteristics could be she's assertive, hard-working and brave. But her flaws could be she's impatient, sensitive and can't handle it properly when she doesn't get what she wants.

This here is a flawed character. She isn't 100% good, but she isn't 100% bad. She's somewhere in between, describing real-life people in real life. Of course, you don't have to do this exactly, writing is different for every person. Just do what's comfortable for you!

2. Character development

While it isn't that bad if a character remains stagnant/flat throughout the writing, it is very satisfying to see a character begin to develop and mature throughout whatever you're writing. Maybe a character is completely selfish and condescending in the beginning but as the story progresses, they begin to become a better person. Of course, don't remove all the flaws at the end of the story, but it would definitely be enjoyable to read about a character who slowly begins to change and mature.

3. Make them struggle

Struggles, struggles, struggles, struggles. We all go through them in our life and is completely normal to be challenged as our life goes on.

So imagine how annoying it is to see this perfect character just get everything they want in life. They want to get an A for an exam they didn't study for? They got it! They want to defeat an evil, powerful queen in about one day without struggles? They got it! They want to be the richest person in the world overnight without doing anything? They got it! You get the point.

Using struggles to make your character's journey harder is one great way to make the reader sympathize for your character and it makes the reader root for the character as well. This character has worked so damn hard for this, so do you know how depressing it would be if they didn't get it? That is what readers want. Characters who struggle to get what they want because it shows how much the reader wants it, it can make the reader sympathize with the character and can make the character relatable.

Sorry, I hope this wasn't too long! Feel free to add some more ways to properly write characters, whatever I've written definitely isn't all of them!

[cedar-glade]

Angelica venosa,

it’s amazing what a change in ph and a bit of tanic acid mixed with iron does to an ecosystem. Along the stream that passes through a section of the white cedar/ black ash tulip poplar swamp. A species more associated with a core habitat of acidic wet meadows of the Allegheny plateau and the adjacent Appalachian mountains finds it’s range limit. These iron seeps and the acidic pools of cedar duff that eventually make tea and leach out through permeable gravel banks create a unique micro habitat, only a few feet deep before meeting alkaline marl. Enough for cation exchange capacity increases, enough for nutrient requirements, enough for this species to somehow grow.

Obviously this species may be under appreciated and under studied in my opinion.

East fork State park has an acidic flat wood meadow. so does warren county. There are plenty acidic flat woods in Indiana near Versailles sp and Madison, big oaks ect. Boone co. KY is green(common) in this map. but not Cincinnati, Is it because our acidic meadow are removed from development or invasives. (maybe) there is still subtle bits of sandstone hiding at the tips of some hills, on road cuts its somewhat visible. Some springs are still lurking in private properties on the edge of Indiana and butler county along the great Miami. The concept of a species range is somewhat nebulous because it’s based on site history, how a seed moves, and the local geology and ecology.

A lot of stuff is like this, I feel like there is romanticism in finding new things and understanding more about the history of the land. I feel like people are quick to become stagnant before realizing how much of the united states is  not documented at all.

This video gave me some strange ideas myself, so i contacted Joey via instagram because i was visiting oklahoma around the same time the phenology of bloom overlaps. ( i look at phenology from i naturalist observations and time of picture) then I checked to overall host ranges and the overall parasitic range on both inat and bonap. oklahoma has the panhandle counties adjacent which have the host species but not any reports on the parasite. the habitat requirements are met. Dalea frutescens as a primary host based on herbarium and i nat reports. Woody species also and scrub forbs closely related like Amorpha spp.

60% of all hosts being Dalea frutescens.

But bonaping dalea, and going through each genus to figure out if some are woody and which ones helps me figure out potential hosts.

I talked with Joey a bit about habitat which helped clarify what I was looking for.

to finalize I start planning a trip based on accessibility to areas via parks.

if you are ever curious about what was in your county, check bonap, i nat, and herbarium records. It can be fun and can benefit the worlds understanding.

[dramioneasks]

Dramione fics with little to no smut but still romance?

Try these:

Aurelian by BittyBlueEyes - T, 43 Chapters - Two years after the war, a young stranger pays a visit to the burrow. His arrival alone is baffling, but the news he brings of an upcoming war turns the world upside down. Hermione's quiet, post-war life will never be the same.

Friend Number Three by riptey - T, 26 Chapters - COMPLETE - How do you deal with the Pureblood aristocracy, Ministry corruption, Muggle culture invasions, and constant questions about your love life while juggling more than two friends and not being a total jerk? Don't ask Draco: he doesn't know. D/Hr

Off the Cuff by Abroma - T, 3 Chapters - At Hermione’s intimate-dinner-party-turned-raucous-drunken-celebration, a mystery guest left behind a single silver cufflink (presumably, the only guest who followed the dress code on the invitation), and Hermione is determined to find the owner if it’s the last thing she does. Unless it’s Ron’s, because she’s avoiding him. Or Draco’s, because he’s avoiding her (good thing he wasn’t at the party anyway).

Fight this Feeling by QuinTalon - T, 11 Chapters - Hermione Granger knew better than to fall in love with one of her best friends. But, her heart had never really listened to her brain. Now she was faced with a choice - tell him how she feels and hope it doesn’t cost their friendship, or fight this feeling and help him find the happiness he deserves, even if it’s not with her.

New Year's Resolution by sodamnrad - T, one-shot - Among familial pressure to find a wife, Draco makes it his New Year's resolution to fall in love by the end of the year. Meanwhile, after losing her job at the Ministry, Hermione's goals centre around turning her aunt's sinking cafe into a profitable success. Friendship blooms between Hermione and Draco when he becomes a regular at Full Steam Ahead.

The Flatmate by attica - T, 5 Chapters - After the Ministry seizes all of Draco Malfoy's possessions - including his beloved Malfoy Manor - he takes up drinking and finds himself taking up temporary residence at Hermione Granger's flat in Wizarding London. But what neither of them expect is that a lot can happen in 139 days in such close quarters - even the impossible. DHr. COMPLETE!

Enough by floorcoaster - T, one-shot - If you just realize what I just realized, Then we'd be perfect for each other and we'd never find another Just realize what I just realized We'd never have to wonder if we missed out on each other, now ~ Realize, by Colbie Caillart

Of General Incivility by attica - T, 21 Chapters - COMPLETE! "From the very first moment I met you, Mr. Malfoy - from the first words you uttered to me without even so much as an attempt to hide your disdain, your arrogance, your conceit - I knew that you would be the last wizard on earth I would ever be prevailed upon to marry." D/Hr, Regency era, adapted from Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice. WIP.

Heavy Lies the Crown by floorcoaster - M, 36 Chapters - For seven years, Draco has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and just when he thinks he'll be released, something happens that will make him seek help from the last person he could have imagined.

Two Desks Apart by msmerlin - T, 6 Chapters - Draco used routine to work through his emotional baggage post-war, using a strict set of rules to regulate his once out of control life. His parents and friends express concern over his stagnant life in the form of setting him up on blind dates in hopes of helping Draco find 'the one'. Little did they all know, the witch who captured his heart had been just two desk apart from him for the past two years.

Out of Order by worksofstone - T, one-shot - Hermione's stuck in a broken lift with a tipsy Draco Malfoy. What a way to spend the Friday before Christmas.

The Nymph Hunt by AkashaTheKitty - T, 5 Chapters - Sometimes you're a hag in a nymph's body, and sometimes you're just a witch trying to hide the nymph in you... DMHG. Post-DH disregarding epilogue. Written for an exchange, see prompt inside.

The Wrong Strain by Colubrina - T, 48 Chapters - Everyone knew what veela were. Veela were magical creatures, breathtakingly beautiful, who captivated men with a single look. It would have been nice to have been that strain. Instead, Hermione Granger was infected by another. Instead of captivating all men, she was captivated by one. She'd die without him. She was already in almost constant pain. DRAMIONE. COMPLETE.

Innocent Monsters by itscometothis - T, 12 Chapters - Draco Malfoy thought he had reasonable expectations for his mandatory Eighth Year at Hogwarts, where he would be confined to the grounds as part of his probation. Isolation, hatred, and passing his NEWTs were really all he had in mind. What he wasn't anticipating: 1) Having a small firstie latch onto him like a bloody koala 2) Said firstie adopting an erkling as if they didn’t feed on children. To protect his little nuisance, he’ll have to seek help from uncomfortable places, including the Swottiest Witch of Her Age. Joy of all joys.

medicine by perennial - T, one-shot - Slowly, steadily, Draco becomes part of the cement of their group; so much so that his presence among them is expected instead of requested, and they all modify their wards to grant him access, and Harry's kids include him in their drawings. Hermione feels like she's watching someone come to life.

Inosculation by DragonAndPhoenixForNaNo - T, 19 Chapters - When circumstances force Hermione to put her fate in the hands of Draco Malfoy, she doesn't think any good will come of it. Only time will tell whether she's right... HG/DM. EWE.

A Home for Christmas by LittleSixx - T, 11 Chapters - Of all the things Hermione Granger wanted for Christmas, a fake relationship never made the list. It might just be the best present she's ever received.

Forgiveness is the final form of love by silverbirch - T, 19 Chapters - Eighteen months after the battle, Hermione is a volunteer in a soup kitchen, aiding those cast aside by Voldemort's defeat. So, what's HE doing standing in the queue for a handout? Can she put aside her her hatred and reach out to her oldest foe?

Plus One by Darkrivertempest - T, one-shot - Initially, Draco just wanted a date to his ex's wedding. He got what he needed instead.

The Perils of Fairy Dust by FedonCiadale - T, 32 Chapters - Draco Malfoy was meant to be an important wizard. He had everything: wealth, a good family name, even brains. But somehow, in a bargain with a fairy he got far more than he asked for. A soulmate bond and a few extras on top. As a treat. Or how a fairy fucked up Draco Malfoy's life.

- AgnMag

[neonbvtterfly]

my time in scotland

she sits and she wonders about

how the ocean rippling in front of her

is a sheet of shimmering, silver tulle being

slipped over a stagnant, textured surface.

it is the same color as the sky.

they are cousins just as

the crow (sat atop the

few rocky structures that

serve as the one disruption

to the watery fabric,

pecking and eating at organisms and isopods

that are too small for her to

ever have known their existence)

is a brother to the one perched

on the rock wall before her.

it displays generations, pockmarked

in white as new mineral overtakes old

and grows as if it is living and protects her

from the fog, making the countryside across the bay

look flat and untextured but

close enough to touch.

she sees mothers with their children

on the dock far away

and as she watches them and knows that

they have no idea of her gaze or presence

although she is so acutely aware of theirs

she feels painted on

to her lonely bench,

just as those seeing her from across the expanse

might feel if they saw her and her book while tending to their

sheep or enjoying a period in isolation as she is,

if they have the time.

someone gets off of a big, double deckered bus

that seems bigger than life and reminds her

of a film she saw once

and someone slams a car door and

she catches the voices of two bicycling partners,

one with only the left hand on the handlebars

while the right gesticulates wildly,

making the story seem interesting enough

along with the fact that the other

is completely enraptured, silent but for

the spokes of his wheels

spinning off to some unknown destination

that might just lead right back to his front door.

a bit of aimlessness is healthy but one

always finds a way back home, usually.

perhaps they will ride past the sign that says

“do not block gate, access ramp used frequently”

and they will notice that someone has parked

directly in front of the gate

but they will not mind because

althought the access ramp is used frequently

it isn’t being used right now.

maybe they are not directionless but

headed towards

the imagined elderly woman who

must live in the line of houses

protruding behind her like crooked teeth,

who she thinks must have a large part

in the life story of the swaying potted flowers

next to her chosen resting place,

how the lady must amble out out every morning

followed by a collie or spaniel who

pounces towards pigeons as she waters each one.

she loves them and imagines them to be

her grandchildren who have yet to call

this week.

maybe they don’t need to call because

after her flower-watering excursion she

leashes the pup and waltzes up the street

to where they live in one of the dwellings above,

each sprouting turrets and bay windows that

make them but children imagining they are castles,

or maybe they are castles in their own right

because they are just houses and can’t

be told what to do.

they have gates made of spoons

and behind one of them someone

fastens another colored wooden pinwheel

to their fence post,

adding to their collection they started when

they were young.

above, the trees are growing, angled in a way

that suggests a mountain or a steep hill

they know they are concealing

but want you to experience anyways

in a secondhand manner,

like they are sorry for hiding what

could be a patchwork

of landscape and flora.

they are still and the leaves look like jewels

until an unseen animal makes a ripple

in the canopy that the creatures must feel,

it must make them aware of their own existence

in a way that a simple being may never understand

but at least helps them know that

unseen does not equal alone

and once again she is thinking about the waves.

she chews on the skin by her nails and

bounces her leg although there is nothing

to be anxious about but it seems that

nervous ticks follow you across the ocean

whether you like it or not

but such is the way of the world

even when you aren’t at home