#did i buy this comic specifically for this frame?

[hawkeye221b]

Genuinely this is one of the funniest fucking things to come out of a comic book that i own.

LAUNCH!! HIS!! KRYPTONIAN!! ASS!!!

[decepti-thots]

okay well ACTUALLY i will elaborate on my Whirl feelings. fandom tends to parse 'I want my hands back' as Whirl very specifically being upset he has claws, because they are assumed to be less functional, and broadly that he wants a body which is not empurata'd again. but as I said in this post, we know people who underwent empurata can get new hands and faces- perfectly good ones. tarn used to be damus and damus was a victim of it too, and they got the guy a whole new body! there's no way that with ratchet as autobot CMO, he would not be insistent that they make time and find resources for any empuratee who wants new hands or a new face at SOME point throughout the war. let alone now it's over.

but they would be new ones. the point is that when whirl says 'i want my hands back' he doesn't (just) literally mean 'i want hands again instead of claws', or even 'i want the original hands i was forged with back'. i would argue he means he wants to go back to the person he used to be before the shit he went through beat him into a new shape he hates. (because whirl reeeeally hates himself. we are literally introduced to him during a suicide attempt as his defining character moment, i mean…) but he can't, because that's not possible, and getting new hands won't magically make him the person he was when he was a watchmaker even if it'd make it easier to make watches again.

and that's why whirl doesn't get new hands or a new face! because it's scary to admit that doing so doesn't make him the person he once was again, and if he did it and was still the same damn person, it would be that ultimate proof that nothing he does will ever acheive this. it's safer to remain as he is in a body he hates than to change it and not actually have solved the underlying issue.

it's also why he rejects the offer of ratchet's hands in LL #25. at that point, he has been able to accept the person he now is and will always be going forward, so they no longer carry the same symbolism. sure, that means he could choose to take them without fear, but it also means he can reject them as not really necessary anymore, and i think it makes the most sense for whirl's arc that he chooses the latter, tbh.

(sidenote: especially worth noting we never actually see if whirl can't make watches with his claws. he can at least make clocks! i've seen people suggest you can interpret it as him actually being perfectly capable with his current frame and he doesn't want to admit it and learn a new way because *points at above*, and honestly, intentional reading or not, i fully buy this. i like to imagine post-canon, he's perfectly good at making them with his current hands, because now he's not so hung up on all that baggage that teaching himself the necessary new techniques is unbearable to consider like it was before. this also has the bonus of mitigating some of the comic's uhhh. confusing? messaging around forged/constructed stuff and disability, so i'll take it.)

[maxwell-grant]

hi. you've mentioned Donald Duck a few times in your posts, with scrooge being one step removed from pulp heroes, Donalds Paparinik (Italian superhero identity which I love, the new PK Adventures where lovely) in terms of their relation to the Diabolik line of European superheroes and Donalds general tendency to run head first down slippery slopes. so I'm wondering if you have any further thoughts on his comics and weird place in the superhero/pulp world

Oh God, do I. I mostly wanna talk about the superhero side of things but I feel like it's worth mentioning I grew up with Donald Duck comics, specifically the Carl Barks ones. The picture above wasn't taken by me but I own and recognize like 7 of the books in it, my mom always bought these that collected several of his stories and had these beautiful painting covers so we could read them together, and I still flip through them on occasion and love them very much (I really wanna buy a translated edition of Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck to read with her but those cost a liver). Donald Duck was one of my childhood hyperfixations and I got my hands on all the comics and movies and cartoons I could find with him, and I actually did read several of the Italian comics, I could go down the stationery right now and grab 5. I first stumbled on Paperinik via those, and for long I didn't think much of it, because Donald Duck moonlighting as a superhero for decades isn't the kind of thing that comes up often. I just thought Paperinik was a weird but funny idea for the longest time and always liked rereading a story where he puts on the costume to scare a rich jerk into leaving his granny's farm alone. And THEN I stumbled onto PKNA, Paperinik New Adventures, and oh my god this rules so much.

Actually one of the best superhero comics I've ever read, it's just constantly and consistently doing these wild absurd stories and swings into genre territory and quality storytelling. It's famous for opening it's first issue with aliens genociding an entire planet and I thought that was kinda overselled, and it's not frequently this dark (sometimes it actually gets darker though, and I probably stopped before it could really get there), but it is a very weird comic. It's more akin to Fantastic Four's serialized consistency than any kind of graphic novel prestige storyline but it is frequently so good at what it does, even the lamer issues are still worth reading. I like describing it as Donald Duck falling headfirst into Batman-level resources, forced to deal with Superman problems (on both the "huge sci-fi horrors" and "people being really, really irresponsible dicks" ends), while trying to stay Ditko's Spider-Man and failing. These do not feel quite like any Donald Duck comics I'd read before and while they would hold up with a different character, I do think they deserve credit for how they make it still always feel like you're reading a Donald Duck story, if a slightly different one. In fact I'd even say PKNA actually makes the concept feel more suited for Donald Duck in a way that brought the idea full circle.

To those of you that don't know, Paperinik started as a villain, or more of a revenge fantasy. By that point there was a tradition of doing a lot of parody stories with Donald that started in 1953. By the late 60s, readers were dissatisfied with Donald Duck always constantly being mistreated by the rest of the supporting cast and losing unfairly, so it was decided to have one of those parodies feature Donald Duck as uncovering the fortune and resources of "Fantomius" and becoming a masked rogue able to get back at them by achieving the impossible, in that he both steals from Scrooge and defeats Gladstone's luck by framing him for it.

He had a stint as a master thief until it was decided it made him too mean, so he morphed into a superhero trying to overcome his prior bad reputation and using his new skills and gadgets (still prone to malfunctioning) to deal with his typical rogues and new ones, and having the admiration of his nephews who don't know that Unca Donald and Paperinik are the same. PKNA, in turn, was sort of a reboot, shedding the previous history and pretty much getting rid of Donald's traditional supporting cast and having Donald stumble onto a different set of resources and means to fight crime, but keeping the idea of Donald Duck having a superhero alter-ego that nobody suspects. The scale and menace of the threats he's up against DRASTICALLY increases, and if anything that fact is crucial to what allows these to still feel like Donald Duck stories, even with Paperinik being a genuinely impressive and cool hero able to save the world. Nobody believes Donald Duck could be a cool and impressive person if he tried, and so Paperinik becomes not just a power fantasy, or a call to something better or be someone better, but it becomes a key component of Donald Duck stories: a thankless job he's expected to do that he doesn't want to do until his pride or something crucial is on the line. These are still parables about human failures and what can be learned from them.

I'd even say a big part of why they succeed is because they introduce a character who can pick up Donald's slack as a comically unpleasant ill-tempered grouch in need of a lesson protagonist in Angus Fangus, a character who's sort of J Jonah Jameson meets Harvey Bullock. Angus has it out for Paperinik and gets up to a lot of the antics you would traditionally expect Donald to be doing if this was a classic Donald Duck comic (and even has a Gladstone-esque rival of his own in another reporter), and getting to learn lessons and be humbled and even have his own set of impressive moments. The choice to give an entirely new cast around Donald greatly added to the comic's ability to experiment and do new things while still keeping the core of Donald.

I actually like a lot of these new dynamics better than the ones he traditionally has, I love The Raider and Lyla and One and oh god Xadhoom, Xadhoom is so fucking cool, such a cool design and name, this powerful roaring supernova stickbug alien person in a crusade of murderous vengeance who names herself her language's equivalent of creditor because the death of her entire planet is the DEBT SHE WILL COLLECT IN BLOOD ENERGY and she is just the most 90s anti-hero ever made except she's stuck in a Donald Duck comic getting into comedic situations and learning to laugh and feel emotions and learn from her mistakes again whether she likes it or not. These two are so good together.

Even with a superhero lair and supercomputer and gadgetry handed to him, Donald Duck is so comically outmatched against his opponents he still winds up winning through guile and will and comedic trickery. Donald desperately wishes he could go on self-serving ventures or just sit at home and enjoy tv, and not get dragged into dealing with murderous alien invasions, or cyberpunk revenge stories, or collapsing future timelines, and still having to solve those problems so there's a world to come back. The stories are frequently fun and they are prevailingly comedic and very good at it too, but they also get a lot out of taking weird turns into unexpected territory.

I haven't finished it because I wasn't able to find it in full or keep track of what's the og series and what's the reboot, still trying to sort that out, but god what a find this series is. What a great strange turn in the history of this great strange character.

[mostly-mundane-atla]

Since you mentioned the North and South comic, I've been meaning to ask you how do you feel about pre-contact vs post-colonialism fiction about natives?

The one reason I like atla is because the mixture of fantasy with ancient cultures and seeing glimpses of how people lived in the past. The water tribes had little accurate representation and presence, so I was always up for more in-depth stuff about the tribes after the war.

But with this comic, the tribe faces foreign influences and loss of culture becomes the theme of the comic without really showing it (before the war). Sometimes, I'm left frustrated with a lot of post-colonialism fiction as it defines natives by their oppression and not how they live.

However, like you mentioned, the comic tried to tackle complex topics such as loss of culture, disagreements within the tribe, and exploitation of land and resources. I know that it's a reality for many native people today and that it's good to shed light on these issues from their perspective, not from an outsider's (which is typically what I've seen). Yet, I feel I would have a greater understanding of issues like the loss of culture, if I actually got to know it.

So specifically, I want to ask what comes to mind about these two approaches about natives in fiction? If there's some things you're drawn to, some you aren't, and what you'd like to be considered.

I think a post-colonialism take on Native stories isn't a bad thing, but, as with any story involving or inspired by a marginalized people, it requires an understanding of the culture it's trying to portray. Look at how avatar handles Water Tribe characters, now look at Smoke Signals, Reservation Dogs, Molly of Denali, even Anne with an E did a better job. It's the same as a pre-colonialsm take on stories. Look at Disney's Pocahontas and Brother Bear vs Prey or Atanarjuat: the Fast Runner.

You've framed this as pre-contact vs post-colonialism, but the problems of native fiction written by non-natives are not so neatly folded into a dichotemy like this. It all stems from writing what one doesn't know without questioning one's perception.

It's not controversal to say anti-native racists consider native cultures to be invalid as human cultures. We are not like the Ancient Greeks or Romans to them, but backwater savages. The Greeks and Romans had cultures suited to be aspirational, their philosophies solid, their religions fit for artistic depiction and study, and most compelling of all, their histories were recorded in the written word. Many who held them up as the pinnacle of civilization in the past, and many who still do today, considered our philosophies quaint and primitive, our religions savage and godless, and our histories mere stories for children. It may be a touch controversal to say the common perceptions of us still follow that belief, but that doesn't make it untrue. When writing about us, the non-native tends to consider our cultures too unimportant to "get right" or even try depicting. And when we point this out, they may get defensive and say their story is not a documentary and how could they possibly write characters meant to be one of us as belonging to a people with its own culture.

The thing is, there are many ways to show culture through setting up a scene or character actions, it's just hard to understand when you don't understand things like a cross on the wall or a pumpkin carved into a lantern or buying a sausage on white bread with tomato ketchup, yellow mustard, and occasionally sweet pickle rellish and onions from a vendor cart is a cultural experience and not a universal one. A character having football gear and a job at a burger joint at age 16 tells us about the culture they live in, not just about the character. One of the reasons i keep saying Legend of Korra was a step is that we actually see Water Tribe interiors with stuff.

Take, for example, the opening scene of Legend of Korra:

Look at the background! There's a line to hang things up to dry, a ladder that might be used to get into a cellar space, and what look to be storage containers everywhere. It's so clearly lived in.

And for another example, this shot of Tonraq discussing with the tribe

The walls are lined with tools, decorations, storage and possibly a stack of bedding? Tonraq and his family sitting close to the doorway is a nice cultural touch, though the implications of humility on their parts may have been unintended

Meanwhile, the closest the original series got to this with in terms of domestic Water Tribe spaces was the room Bato was staying it with decorative skins on the walls, shown below.

On that topic, i think it's more than fair to say this episode is more remembered for the introduction of June and Aang feeling like an outsider than Bato and how he tried to feel more at home. This wouldn't be bad in a vacuum. I don't fault anyone for finding a hot, snarky badass with a neat steed that is also her hound and a whip and skull hair accessory more memorable than the characters' dad's friend, and having an episode revolve around a character feeling insecure in their importance with their friends belonging to a culture and family that they've never really been a part of or have a history with is a good call for a children's cartoon, especially in the political climate it aired in. The problem lies in the fact that they don't get to meet anyone from the Water Tribes again until the North Pole, and at that point, culture is treated as an obstacle rather than a source of identity. When Zuko can succeed as a firebender, a leader, and a morally decent person it's because the Fire Nation was good before suddenly deciding to be an imperial power a century ago and can still be redeemed. When Katara succeeds as a waterbender and a warrior in her own right it's because she called out her own people for bullshit cultural standards that apparently no one before her questioned. That doesn't feel fair to the cultures the creative team took so much aesthetic influence from.

Alright, that's enough zeroing in on avatar and its meh approach to Water Tribe worldbuilding.

Even outside of material things, culture is displayed by living. A quiet smile and nod instead of a wave is a display of culture. Choosing not to whistle at night is a display of culture. Jokes like "as in the feather not the dot" are displays of culture. The act of cooking up frybread for the potlatch is a display of culture. If you can make less direct references to a character being queer, you can do it for characters being native too.

I think another thing non-native creators should keep in mind is why. Why is the character native or native coded? This isn't an attack, nor is it to say you need to justify having a native OC. Natives are a marginalized people and being perceived in odd and othering ways, even subconsciously and sometimes even by oneself, comes with the territory. For a fandom example of why you should probably ask why: I'm in the Homestuck fandom and I came upon a post about headcanon ethnicities for the characters and among them the only one the op considered could be Native American (and only "Native American" while others got to be French and German and the like) was Equius. Now, you can't make accurate assumptions and especially shouldn't circulate rumors based on subjective fandom contributions, but if you're making such a contribution to fandom, you really should ask yourself why the only character you can see as native is an uncomfortably sexual, controlling young man with long hair, a racist sense of superiority, a need to beat things up, and an affinity for archery and horses.

Is the character native just because you felt like having a native character, or do you perhaps feel obligated to fulfill a diversity quota without seeing the need to diversify charcters deeper than just in skintone? Is the character's identity as a native person important, or do you just need a character to be nigh fantastically part of the land they live on? Are you wanting to depict a rich, underrepresented culture with a lot of history behind it and love in the struggle to keep it alive when so many want to tear it from its people and destroy it, or is the outsider's understanding built on stereotypes and exotified to hell and back just too alluring to pass up? Basically, if you are a non-native creator with a native character, how much do they read like the observations of media made in Sherman Alexie's poem "How to Write the Great American Indian Novel"? And what are you, as a non-native creator with a native character, doing to understand why you may be writing them that way?

Stories about natives pre-assimilation can be good, but there's no use if the native characters are needlessly exotified and/or blatant racist caricatures, regardless of if they have a non-native (who isn't the assumed audience) to be compared to. Similarly, post-assimilation native stories don't have to be bad or even racist merely by virtue of having non-natives in a position of privilege. If people weren't so horny for our aesthetics, otherness, and sometimes frankly our bodies, and simultaneously so willing to give into the cultural conditioning to see us as lesser peoples, we wouldn't even need to have this conversation. Unfortunately that's not the world we live in. It really shouldn't be too much to ask writers do their due diligence in an era where most people of almost every imaginable walk of life has a device connected to the internet in their home or at their workplace or on their person. Sending an email or a dm or posting about asking for sources, academic or more personal, is not that fucking hard. With how wide the internet, hell even just tumblr, is you're bound to get at least three possible leads. When everyone understands that, maybe all native stories written by non-natives can be okay. I'd love to live to see that day.

[katatonicimpression]

I've been thinking about how someone could probably, credibly argue that what they did with x-men green, and somewhat with the feminist themes in marauders, Duggan has presented an alternative to the vapid centricism that's frequently present in marvel comics. Like, what he writes isn't a both sides thing, it isn't respectability and civility - this is characters taking radical action.

This imaginary argument has entranced me and I'm just going to ramble about it

Fundamentally, I think this doesn't work as a defence of this writing. For a start, it's bad anyway. Like, the issues with the structureless self-indulgent blob of a story that is Marauders 2019 don't go away if you somehow manage to salvage the politics of it. Secondly, the "white feminist" vibes of Marauders are still not resolved by this defense. The fact that the series goes out of its way to retcon in victimhood of wealthy, villainous white women while ignoring the canon abuse of the queer men in the cast, while sidelining the poc and being just shamelessly "girl boss" in the least appealing way... that's all still true, yeah? Yeah. Yes, it is.

But like I've said before (I think?), if you enjoyed the feminist themes of the series, then great! Like, I'm glad you had a good time. Not everything has to be politically perfect to still have positives. Similarly with the eco-terrorist fantasy of X-Men: Green. If it works for you, go nuts.

But obviously, it didn't work for me.

I think the problem stems with the portraying of violence and specifically how it is framed in the story. So, the duggan-written x-men: green story centers around Nature Girl and Curse killing random men who are employed in industries that harm the environment. These killings are presented as triumphant moments, albeit dark ones. And at the end of the run, Krakoa itself (and Doug) is like "dw babes you did nothing wrong." But no. They're just killing random dudes and failing to help anybody.

It's not radical leftwing action, it's the vapid centrist idea of what radical leftwing activism is, right? They are literally being the "villain who has a good point but kills people so I guess he's bad", but being framed as the hero. The actual problem (i.e. presenting those who would try to bring about urgent change as inherently dangerous) is still there. So, yeah. I really don't think this would hold up as a defence of (duggan's run of) x-men green, because ultimately it buys into the same bullshit dichotomy.

Marauders has a similar problem, although it's less central to the story. Emma and Kate's "epic" takedown of Shaw is really brutally violent and entirely one-sided (for reasons that make no sense but whatever. It's not how his powers work. Plot hole. Ding.) and leaves him one-eyed and requiring a wheelchair to move. This is drawn out over several issues. And yes it does read as staggeringly ableist. The use of a wheelchair as punishment? It's just... I...

Duggan in general has an issue with the framing of violence in his stories. Elsewhere in Marauders, he has Bobby freeze a room full of guys, seriously hurting them, out of revenge/protectiveness over Kate. Which is fine as a dramatic moment, it's in character. But then later, one of those guys confronts him about how he literally froze his arm off and Bobby is like "wevs". That's weird, that's a weird way for a person to feel about that. Later, he has Bobby picking fights with random ice giants and presents it as fun and triumphant but no...? Starting fights on purpose? That's just a dick move. Or in X-Men, the controversial "Lorna puppeteers Laura's body" thing. It's clearly supposed to be comedic, but he draws it out over an entire comic and it just feels gross and nasty. Duggan is bad at framing violence in his stories. It's partly just forgetting that in-universe, the violence is real and has real consequences (so people should actually care more), and partly a problem imparting tone (things that are supposed to be fun don't feel fun).

So, the problem isn't really that our heroes (Kate and Emma) are being violent, but specifically the portrayal of it. It's presented as wholly triumphant and fun, when what we're being shown is really kind of rough. It's the tone problem. But if you were to interpret this as a radical feminist (like, "radical and feminist" not, like, "radfem") statement, then it's just nuts. Is this how we solve misogyny? No, obviously not. Like, this isn't a solution to anything and it just makes stuff worse.

So, the obvious thing to say here is that, well, the imaginary person I'm arguing against and I are both making the same mistake here. Neither of these stories are manifestos. They're exploitation stories. It's revenge fantasy. It's not a recommendation for action but rather an expression of anger at the system. This is true and tbh it's a very good point.

I think that exploitation (especially sexploitation) revenge narratives are really hard to get right. It's a delicate thing in general, and very subjective. Something might work amazingly for one person and be just offensive and awful to someone else. I, personally, don't find comfort in violent fantasies very often. It's not that I don't have those thoughts so much as they usually make me feel worse. But there are plenty of these types of stories that I do like, so idk maybe this is one of those times where it isn't working for me, but could be working well for someone else.

However, I do think the points about how violence is presented and framed are still relevant. What makes a revenge fantasy satisfying is really feeling the heroine's pain, feeling that her actions are justified, and being able to watch and enjoy without thinking "no, that's actually pretty nasty."

And, just circling back to what this was originally about, if you're not showing radical leftist action as actually doing anything good, then you're not doing a good job at endorsing it.

[visibun]

in this chapter of "what the fuck is going on with visi today this time":

i found skunk, racoon, and red/gray fox tails at the metaphysical store near my home this morning, and seeing as how i was drawn straight to specifically one gray fox tail out of the several others that i couldn't stop focusing on or thinking about no matter what (and haven't been able to keep away from myself for longer than a few minutes at a time ever since i got back home with it this afternoon, on top of... "reflexively" apologizing to it, hoping that it died peacefully, and promising to take care of it as if it were still a living, complete animal), i think that i might have a fox familiar of sorts on my hands now. i'm still looking into that, but i'm almost completely certain that that's what's going on here.

more details on that: after i spotted this tail and tried to resist buying it because of my budget, i started checking something on my phone while standing in front of the rotating rack displaying all of the tails. after a full minute of silence passed, without me moving anything on the display to any notable extent beforehand, without any ambient breezes being present in the room, and without me touching the stand itself at all in that time frame, one of the skunk tails sitting at the top just nonchalantly fell off down to the floor. it had no reason to do that; it wasn't even the one that i touched at first, so it was probably like that all day until then. i literally couldn't stop myself from looking at the fox tail after that happened. i'm actually fully certain that there's a familiar hiding somewhere in this tail, and it chose to grab my attention by startling me with that tail drop before i could walk away.

here... i think "she," is:

i finally had a blissful moment today upon catching wind of some particular news that was very good (to only myself at least, lmfao)

as a comical twist of fate, on top of being a witch serving under tyche for the past six and a half years... i might also be a satanist to some extent now. very long and touchy/personal story behind that one. i received what feels like a loud and clear sign that he's accepted me earlier today after i did a certain "ritual" for something personal a few nights ago, and i offered myself to him in exchange for his help at the same time as a key part of the process. i sure as hell never anticipated the combo of "vaguely hellenistic witch and budding satanist" being my setup after growing up in a christian household, but here it is now, with my black ring linking me to tyche on my right middle finger... and the still-stinging cut on the tip of my left thumb linking me to satan (visible in the fox tail shot, actually). more permanent mark still pending, but it's like i'm now walking with both of them holding my hands, and it feels... pretty nice, honestly. again, long fucking story, and i don't think that i can get into its details just yet, but... yeah, there that is.

[dlamp-dictator]

I know I said I’d talk more about Elsword, but has been in my drafts for a week now. Y’know, the only anime I’m watching this season aside from some Hi-Dive stuff is Kaguya-Sama season 3, Spy X Family, and In the Heart of Kunoichi Tsubaki. I tried watching a few other things, but aside from that Hi-Dive stuff two of those shows almost immediately fell flat for me. And I needed to vent about them for a bit. I won’t tag these aside from my usual personal tags since I don’t want to be that asshole tags my negativity without damn good reason and ruin every fan’s good time, but... I can’t watch Shield Hero anymore.

For a quick synopsis, The Rising of the Shield Hero follows Iwatani Naofumi, an otaku from our modern time summoned to a fantasy world that follows an RPG-like structure... like 85% of all other Isekai anime. The big twist in this one being that Naofumi is summoned as the Shield Hero, a rather hated and discriminated figure according to the past and lore of the kingdom he’s summoned into, and is harshly treated within the first season to an almost comical point by both the kingdom’s citizens and his fellow heroes. This treatment turns Naofumi dark and pragmatic, and as he goes about saving the world in his own pragmatic and blunt way he gains several allies, abilities, and resources to use.

And boy, did I get turned off after episode one of season 2.

For the short version of this whole venting essay: the slave girl party was barely tolerable in the first season and I only dealt with it because the plot seemed to be moving past that. As of episode one of season 2 not only is it continuing that trend, but the length it’s going to justify it is flat out stupid.

But, let me explain this in greater detail

So, Let’s Talk About Slavery

I’ll spare you all a long discussion on why violating human rights and a living, sentient being’s autonomy is, in fact, a bad thing and talking about slavery in the sense of a narrative, setting, and isekai.

Slavery, from the perspective of most isekai protagonists, is the aforementioned violation of human rights and autonomy I mentioned, but most tackle in the same way.

As being only one singular person in a society of thousands or even millions with differing views of slavery due to the culture and time period of the summoned setting, the protagonist either knows or quickly learns that they, as a single person with an extremely different mindset and background to the setting they’re in, likely can’t just overturn the slave trade without becoming a wanted criminal. They usually lament the slave trade and its terribleness, but know it’s safer to stay out of those affairs lest they run into further problems. Depending on the righteousness of the character or how much of a power fantasy the series is, the main character might stop a nearby slave trade with force or guile, and the more pragmatic of them might try to swindle the slave trader in a way that grants the slaves freedom without profiting the slave market, but the most common route I’ve seen is that they buy or rescue a specific slave girl that they specifically pitied.

This is often done as a way to not only show that the main character is sympathetic toward a specific slave, but due to that slave girl being moved out of the dangerous and harmful environment of the slave trade and into the care of the kinder and more generous protagonist they’ll often become a loyal follower that will love and cherish them no matter what as thanks for being freed from what would be a crueler fate.

I don’t think I need to say how this is disgusting on the part of the narrative, but I’ll give you all the brass tacks of it. In a nutshell, this is an insidiously cheap way of trying to frame the protagonist as a good person while also letting them have a slave at the same time. It’s more manipulative than kind on the protagonist’s end for a number of reasons and I’ll just give you all the small list version.

Purchasing slaves, even if one plans to immediately free them, allows the slave trade to profit and continue.

A protagonist keeping a slave under any circumstance, makes them a slave owner by default and it takes some extremely good writing or an extremely pragmatic setting to let that go unaddressed.

The protagonist rarely ever makes an effort to free the slaves in their circle or encourage them to move past them in order to keep them around (I’ve only seen it about twice).

The slave often gains either romantic feelings for the protagonist which is, frankly, not a good thing even with the proper context.

Mind you, all of these points have their own asterisks to them. Purchasing a slave can be done out of pragmatism of having a loyal helper that is familiar with the world to an extend. Being a slave owner within a setting that already accepts slavery isn’t as damning as it would be in our own, even if I, the reader, will judge the protagonist more harshly. The protagonist might be ignorant in their understanding that slave's constant affection is likely a pragmatic coping tactic to avoid beatings or abuse and as we often only have the protagonist’s perspective we never see the internal machinations of the slave in question. I’m not saying it’s impossible to make this work, but there usually needs to be a lot of internal justification and an honest exploration of the topic if that topic is going to be there.

And to be fair, there are a handful anime, light novels, and isekai that address this. Masters of Ragnarok explain that the main character can’t outlaw slavery yet due to his already meritocratic policies and harsher laws forbidding looting and pillaging during war time creating a lot of political unease among the slave-owning elites. Realist Hero has the main character slowly implementing laws and policies to encourage education among the lowest ranked citizens and slaves of his kingdom as a way to pave the way for former slaves to become citizens within the next few decades. Demon Princess Magical Chaos, for all it’s flaws and blunders, has its main character sharply criticize those that engage in the slave trade and spent the first portion of it’s third book outright annihilating a slave market. It can be done, it’s just that some care and acknowledgement is needed to make sure the fact that slavery is, in fact, a bad thing needs to be discussed as well.

But... let’s bring this back to focus.

What Does This Have to Do With Shield Hero?

For those unfamiliar with the events in the first season of Shield Hero, Naofumi spends the first portion of the show buying a slave girl known as Raphtalia to become his sword since the mechanics of the world he’s summoned to doesn’t give him much in the way of using offense. Through various events the two have less of a master-slave relationship and more of a father-daughter one instead, Raphtalia slowly becoming a skilled swordswoman and right-hand woman to Naofumi as she’s the one to keep his pragmatism in check and makes sure he doesn’t push himself too hard through his darker, riskier magic as the series goes on. The party increases with Filo, large bird-like creature that can change into a human form. Through various events she also gains more of a father-daughter relationship to Naofumi.

The latest girl, Rishia, is an archer girl with strong abilities in ki according to the martial artist in Naotfumi’s circle. To keep her story simple, she was left behind by one of the Cardinal Heroes for being too weak and burdening her old party. She finds herself joining Naofumi in order to gain the strength she needs to rejoin her old party and be accepted by them.

And... Raphtalia asks her to become a slave as a way to connect herself to Naofumi.

...

...

...

Look, I’m not going to go on a tirade about this, I’m sure other people already have. My main issue isn’t that Raphtalia has confused slavery to be a form of bond due to her being lucky enough to have a master that actually cares for her (keep in mind she’s, like, 12 and doesn’t know how her own mind works). It’s mostly toward Naofumi, who despite his pragmatism usually shows some pretty clear lines in understanding that all that aforementioned human rights violating and autonomy snatching is wrong. He bought Raphtalia out of desperation and pragmatism due to him being so few allies and so many enemies he had no choice but to buy an ally. And Filo, for as disturbing as her being a slave is, was an honest-to-god pet bird before Naofumi and Raphtalia realized she could obtain a human form. Everyone else in Naofumi’s circle is an independent, free person serving him out of their own free will after seeing his good deeds, or are professionals that were assigned (and likely paid) to help Naofumi under orders of the royal family.

Rishia... has no reason to willing lose her autonomy, especially at the behest of Raphtalia. And Naofumi only gives a nervous shrug and basically says “if you really want to...”

Naofumi. My guy. My dude. Why?

Didn’t you just call out the Bow and Spear Hero last season for ignorantly not taking the consequences of their actions seriously enough? I mean... we, the audience, know you aren’t going to do anything weird with Rishia, especially since pragmatic Naofumi mostly sees her as a hassle with small bits of potential, but... ugh, this really bugged me to the point of starting of losing interest in this series. I just can’t, man. I watched about 4 episodes of this, but it just isn’t working for me. My mind still looks back at that first episode with apprehension and annoyance.

The show has an honestly good hook and I like a lot of its themes, but... man, that’s a real dark stain on an otherwise decent series.

Conclusion

Honestly, that’s really all I wanted to get off my chest. I think I’ll binge this season of Shield Hero at some point, and I know the show has started its simuldub recently, so maybe I’ll keep up with the show that way once the dub pushes past episode 4. That one stain of a moment aside, I find this Tortoise Arc really interesting, as it’s showing off more lore about the world and at the point I stopped watching the other set of heroes are about to get involved, which means we might see Glass again, and she’s best girl of the series so far.

I don’t think this show is completely unwatchable, but I’ll definitely have my eyes and ears open a little more when I pick this series back up next month or so. Until then I’ll just stick with In the Heart of Kunoichi Tsubaki and Kaguya-Sama.

Anyway, I’ll see you folks later.

[thewebcomicsreview]

So for the people that don't know, what does Elon Musk have to do with Free Speech? Wait, looking at Tribulation 29, is Tats saying Twitter will supplant YouTube, Facebook, Tumblr, whatever that one with the alien head is, and GOOGLE because they support free speech? The platform that famously banned Trump for spreading hate speech and lies?

Between this and other asks, I feel like I was making some assumptions re how much other people's frame of reference matches my own, so lemme explain what I was getting at.

So, Elon Musk is in the process of buying Twitter. He offered a big bag of money, Twitter's executives tried to stop it, Republicans leaned on them with threats of investigations and they acquiesced.

Elon's whole shtick is that he'll save Twitter by restoring "Free speech", which most people are interpreting as "Letting the nazis back on Twitter". (He also wants to charge for the ability to retweet, which, lol). Most people assume that once the deal is completed Trump will be back on Twitter in seconds, but there are reasons to doubt that Trump will want to look like Elon bailed him out etc etc etc. Regardless, Elon Musk is buying Twitter and this is likely to make Twitter a much friendlier place for transphobia, as Elon's big bugaboo was a conservative site getting twitter-banned for a tweet declaring a trans woman in the Biden administration "Man of the year". Whether Twitter stays culturally relevant after this or if this'll be its version of the tumblr porn ban is yet to be seen (there really has been a notable wave of people quitting twitter and coming crawling back to tumblr, confirmed by both companies), but Tats clearly believes it will. Otherwise he wouldn't care about Twitter since he has a Spinster and Spinster is basically Twitter for Transphobes already (but nobody uses Spinster because it's full of transphobes and is owned by "free speech" nazi-infested Gab hmm).

Tats expressed his approval for this by having Liberty look on in approval.

This struck me as really funny, because having the statue of Liberty weigh in on events is a trademark of Kelly, a political cartoonist for the Onion who's a parody of boomer editorial cartoonists.

And I thought it was funny that Tats was 100% unironically doing it himself. Kelly is also a bitter old boomer whose comics tend to randomly veer off current events in favor of some weird personal bugaboo, usually involving sex/porn in some way

So what I was getting add was that Tats had become indistinguishable from parody but it was 3 in the morning so not only did I assume people were familiar with the Onion, a site whose cultural peak was in 2006, neither of the Kelly comics I posted as examples even had the goddamn crying Liberty in them, rendering my post nonsensical unless you were fairly plugged in to a very specific cultural milieu.

[bffsoobin]

amortentia

↳year six potions class was never particularly exciting to you- as a Slytherin with much more interest in Transfiguration- but alas, it’s required to graduate. You thought the class couldn’t be any more of an inconvenience, but upon being paired with infamous Gryffindor Beomgyu, you find yourself proven wrong.

➤ gryffindor!beomgyu xslytherin!reader, harry potter!au, enemies to lovers, a little slow burn, fluff

Word Count: ~11k

Requested?: kinda? anon requested a Beomgyu oneshot with no specifics and I spit this out of some depraved, Harry Potter obsessed corner of my mind.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, usual e2l arguments, swearing, usual Gryffindor-Slytherin insults and tension 

A/N: I hope the anon who asked for a Beomgyu oneshot is happy with this!! I finally felt like I had enough time to write a proper hogwarts au so here it is! Also I purposely avoided using any professor names that are clearly linked with the actual Harry Potter series purely because of timeline continuity! Bonus points if you can guess who Georgiana is related to before I point it out :) ALSO this is so long and I feel so rusty so I hope it’s okay lmao

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

The sound of your quill scratching against parchment filled your quiet corner of the common room, allowing you a feeling of solidarity and peace you’d been craving since you arrived back to the castle a few days ago. Of course you’d been excited to be back, sharing the meal in the Great Hall with all of your friends happily as you watched the wide-eyed first years get sorted into their houses. It was hard to believe that 6 years ago that had been you waiting to find your place within the walls of Hogwarts. 

As always, the buzz of the beginning of a new year wore on your nerves. Despite your love for your friends, their energy was- in your opinion- completely draining. You much preferred the moments of quiet serenity that the stone laden dungeon common room afforded you. The last few embers of a fire lit hours before winked at you from across the room, tempting you to raise your wand and reignite them. After a moment you decided against the movement, as you were presumably the only one awake at this hour and the light of the cedar scented candle you’d brought down with you from your suitcase provided enough light for you anyway. 

The scratch of your quill stilled as you flipped to the next page, careful not to accidentally bend the corners of the book you’d just purchased. Several detailed diagrams detailed the process of transfiguring plants to inanimate objects to animals then back to plants and you felt your heart swell with excitement. Transfiguration was hands down your favorite subject, and you’d been craving to learn this process in particular since it had been mentioned offhandedly in class last year. You scrambled to pick up your quill, happy that you’d splurged for the instantly refilling model as ink flowed flawlessly against the parchment. 

A sudden crash from the entrance of the common room popped your comfortable bubble of silence harshly as you clambered for your wand. 

“Who’s there?” You yelled, annoyance and surprise mixing to raise your voice considerably. For a moment you heard nothing as you advanced closer to the door, keeping the three wide stone steps between you and who- or what- ever was behind the door. The door shook a few times before finally flying open, revealing three very normal looking boys stumbling through the threshold. They were all hanging on one another, stumbling over their feet as they pushed into the common room. You recognized the one in the middle instantly as Choi Yeonjun, fellow Slytherin and current Head Boy of the house. He was a year older than you but you knew him well for his infectious laughter and notoriously good grades despite never studying. His cheeks were flushed and his feet unsteady, but he held a charming grin through it all. The identity of whoever was supporting him on the left was a mystery to you, but the boy supporting him from the right sent alarm bells off in your head. 

“Beomgyu?” Your voice left you before you could rein yourself in, and you would have cringed had it not been for the hatred brewing under your skin. Here he was, the one person you tried to forget existed every single summer. And he had been part of the ruckus that pulled you from your reading. He didn’t say anything as the three boys stumbled past you, dumping Yeonjun onto one of the soft black leather sofas. 

“Hello?” You felt like you were in some kind of time warp, somehow totally invisible to the three of them as they sorted themselves out; Beomgyu and the other boy straightening out their clothing and Yeonjun lolling his head back on the cushions with a content sigh. 

“Oh, hey Y/N.” Beomgyu finally drawled, sticking his hands in the front pockets of his trousers. He was still wearing his robes, layered over a sensible gray wool sweater and black uniform slacks. His striped red and gold tie hung off of his neck slightly, obviously having been loosened at some point in the night. He donned the same Head Boy pin Yeonjun did, but in the same colorway as his robes and tie. Loud, obnoxious, attention seeking red and gold.

“Hey? How about instead of “hey” you tell me why the hell you’re barging into my common room at some ungodly hour of the night! Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Head Boy?” The unidentified boy behind him froze as his eyes widened, apparently feeling the sting of your icy words much more than Beomgyu. He just lifted a lazy eyebrow, guiding his annoyingly confident gaze over your body. Fucking Gryffindors and their confidence. It was suffocating. 

“Well you see, Y/N. Yeonjun here can’t handle his fire whiskey for shit, and we were all just having a little start of the year party in the Room of Requirement. So me and my friend here,” he motioned vaguely to the cowering boy behind him- who you now noticed looked like he had just entered his fourth year- “decided to be so kind as to bring him back.” 

You said nothing for a moment; simply simmering in your hatred for him until he spoke again. 

“By the way, what are you even doing up so late? You’re not a prefect...so shouldn’t you be up in bed like the rest of your little friends? What’s so secretive that you have to be up in the middle of the night for it? Are you doing something...evil?” He leaned forward, closing the gap between the two of you and bringing his mouth level with your ear. You cringed at the closeness, clenching your hands into fists until the crescents of your nails indented your skin. His voice had lowered like he was telling a secret, as if Gryffindors even had the capacity for maintaining privacy. “Are you being naughty?” 

You huffed indignantly, finally finding the strength to shove his shoulder away harshly. The skin of your cheeks was certainly flamed, but you hoped he would chalk it up to annoyance and not the intoxicating scent of his woody cologne.  

“If you must know, I was up studying Transfiguration. I was trying to enjoy some piece and quiet until you came busting in.”

Beomgyu stepped around you and made his way for the table you’d previously been sitting at. To your delight he refrained from touching anything, but he stared at the set up for so excruciatingly long that the mystery boy awkwardly slipped out of the dungeon without a word. 

“We start classes in about 5 hours,” he suddenly remarked. His voice made you jump a bit, since you’d become used to the regained quiet. “Why the hell are you already studying? And a subject we’ve all already taken? Any other Transfiguration courses would just be electives, and with how much you care for your class standing I would have assumed you’d be learning ahead on Potions.”

“Well first of all, I’m not exactly studying. I’m just reading. I bought the book myself because I-” you stopped and heaved a sigh at the scrunch of his eyebrows. He clearly wasn’t understanding the concept of reading just for the fun of it. “I’m not studying for Potions because I despite it. Plus, how much is there to study? The book literally spells out every ingredient and procedure. There’s no thinking to be done, and hardly any magic.” Beomgyu’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline comically. 

“Hardly any magic? My god, maybe I was right to peg you as the pessimistic type. Must be hard to feel anything akin to hope down here in your-” he glanced around your common room again, eyes catching on the darkened green and black decorations, the window offering a view of the sparkling Black Lake shrouded with pine trees. “In your dungeon.” 

His use of the word bothered you greatly. Even though you knew it was geographically true and had even used it yourself; something about him coming in unannounced and uninvited to insult your home inspired fresh anger in your stomach. 

“Get out,” you spat, ignoring the way a half-dozed Yeonjun jumped at your voice. With all your might you pushed at Beomgyu’s broad shoulders, willing him out of your sight for at least a few more hours. 

“Oof, must have hit a nerve there, huh?” He continued to speak casually as you pushed him, walking backwards up the steps with an annoyingly perfect accuracy. Once he was finally stood in the threshold of the heavy door you heaved a sigh of relief as you swing it closed.

“Bye bye! Don’t ever fucking come back!”

——

You only managed about two hours of sleep after the Beomgyu drama, but luckily for you the three other sixth year girls you were rooming with had been smart enough to buy and stash away some caffeine potions. They had none of the enjoyable taste of coffee but three times the effect, and soon you felt back in top shape to head to class.

Pushing through the masses of clambering students with a practice eased, you caught up to the familiar frame of Georgiana, one of your oldest friends. She was a Ravenclaw, but you’d ridden together on your very first trip on the Hogwarts Express and stayed close friends since then. She greeted you easily, giving you an award winning smile as she pulled you by the arm of the robes to sit on one of the surprisingly empty stone benches lining the halls.

“Let me see your schedule!” She had to yell just to be heard over the mumbling of the crowd, but you heard her well enough to produce a folded piece of parchment that you carried despite having memorized it. Georgiana’s eyes flitted over it carefully, comparing it to her own schedule which laid open on her lap.

“We’ve got...Herbology 3,” she ran her finger down the parchments a few more inches, “Transfiguration of Aquatics...and NEWT prep together!” You groaned loudly, a feeling of anxiety weighing down your bones as you rubbed your fingertips into your temples.

“What’s up with you? Over me already?” She giggled, leaning back against the wall and handing you back your schedule.

“No, it’s just...if you’re the second class for Herb 3, Aquatics and NEWT prep, that means I have to pray that the second house in Potions isn’t Gryffindor.” You leaned back against the cool wall next to her, pouting in self pity until you saw the grim look on her face.

“What?” You sat up straight again as if a fire had been lit under your ass. Georgiana looked as if she was holding in a laugh and a grimace at the same time while you begged her to give up whatever information she was holding back from you. Her hand hovered over her mouth in an attempt to hide the wavering smirk running across her lips. 

“Okay, don’t freak out.” She began, placing a hand on your knee. 

“Well now I’m definitely going to since you lead with don’t freak out! Should I freak out? What about?”

“I already compared schedules with Soobin,” she said gently.

“Okay, and?” You knew of the sweet Hufflepuff, had sat next to him in a few classes and seen him hanging out with Yeonjun on occasion, but still had no idea why she was bringing him up now.

“And him and I have Potions together.” In the split second it took for the words to process you saw her flinch, clutching at the fabric of her robes over her chest in anticipation for your angry outburst.

“Of course! Of course I have to get stuck with them for Potions class, out of all the other houses. Merlin really has it out for lately you know, I didn’t sleep very much last night, had to pay Melinda 10 galleons for one of her caffeine potions-“

“I can tell,” Georgiana supplied. You grimaced at her and immediately shut your mouth, sensing your rapid talking was quickly becoming over the top.

“Georgie, if I have Potions with him-“ you didn’t even have to specify who you were speaking of before she was rolling her green eyes into her head.

“If you have Potions with Beomgyu, you just need to ignore him. He loves to push your buttons, Y/N. When will you realize that? And you push his back and you both get a good cat-and-mouse feeling that every teenager wants. Maybe if you stop entertaining it, he’ll take it easy on you. Need I remind you of the time you were actually friends with him? Didn’t swear he was the spawn of Satan after every conversation? I even remember in second year when you had a crush on him and made me-“

“Okay!” You replied curtly, gathering your books and parchment back into your arms. “I’m going now! Class starts in,” you pulled back your robe sleeve to look at a watch that clearly was not there, “10 minutes, and I like to be early!” Easily, you slipped into the throngs of students, leaving Georgiana behind with a sly grin on her face.

——

You arrived to the Potions room before any other student, forcing you to idle awkwardly in the small space between the door and the first brewing station. A few of the cauldrons bubbled idly, breaking up the silence of the room with the low hum of white noise. The arched ceilings only amplified the absence of noise- even the never ending buzz of students passing through the hallways was somehow muffled to silence inside the walls. 

“Ah!” The professor bellowed, waving at you from the opposite end of the room where he had been straightening out some piles of parchment that you could only assume were homework papers. “Hello there, you must be quite eager to start the day!” You could feel the skin of the back of your neck heating up as the rotund man approached you gleefully. 

“Oh, um, yes sir. You could say that...” you mumbled, clutching your stack of books to your chest protectively. The man smiled at you kindly but you could still feel the heavy weight of awkwardness seeping into your bones. He opened his mouth again- making another attempt at small talk to which you cringed. As much as you respected the professor on the basis of his knowledge, your ability for any small talk, especially Potions related, was extremely lacking. 

“You must’ve done quite well on your OWLS to be here, yes? Only those with the highest scores can be registered. The class can be quite challenging, but if you’ve got your affairs in order I reckon you’ll fine.” He paused, likely sensing the blankness behind your stare as you nodded politely. “Ah, all things you already know I’m sure. Are you excited to get started with the class?” 

You frowned, holding back your natural instinct for brutal honesty. How on earth could you let this gentle old man down gently? 

“Of course she’s excited! Aren’t we all?” Beomgyu was in the room now, apparently, approaching you from behind and slinging an arm around your shoulders. The loose fabric of his sleeve collided with the side of your face, blinding you for a second. You stumbled on your feet from the jostle, trying to shrug away from the warmth and overwhelming scent of his cologne. Beomgyu never was aware of his own strength as he held you steadily against his side as if he was trying to fuse your bodies together.

“Oh my! So nice to see such great friends between different houses! Back in my day, as I’m sure you know, there was so much hatred between Gryffindors and Slytherins...never would have seen a pair of friends like the two of you!” The professor seemed genuinely delighted, oblivious to the way you tried to wiggle out of Beomgyu’s hold. You offered the professor a plastic smile as more students filed in. As soon as the portly man was otherwise occupied, you stomped the heel of your sneaker into Beomgyu’s foot with all the might you could gather. 

“Merlin, ouch!” He recoiled immediately, withdrawing his arm from around your frame to clutch at the foot you’d hopefully bruised. “I’ve got Quidditch practice after lunch today! How dare you!” 

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t need your feet for Quidditch, Choi. Serves you right for violating my personal space. Next time it’ll be worse than your fucking toes.” You hissed the words lowly, just enough that he would be able to hear them but without alerting your nearby classmates. 

“You two, there!” The professor suddenly exclaimed, making you jump out of your stupor to see he was pointed an aged finger at you and Beomgyu. “Since you were first in and seem to get along, I’ll have you be partners on Station 1.” A few confused whispers passed through the classmates behind you and your face fell at the implication. Potions partners with Beomgyu? For the whole year?

He seemed similarly stalled, not moving a single inch away from the front of the room until the professor cleared his throat pointedly. 

“Right, sir, of course,” Beomgyu nodded, rushing over to the furthest of the high-top tables; unsuccessfully trying to hide the pain of his newfound limp. With a satisfied feeling in your chest you followed closely behind, finally unloading the weight of the books in your arms onto the table. 

——

“How much worse could it get?” You groaned, laying your head in your arms at the dining table. 

“Well, you could be sick, or failing a class, or not have any friends, or have lost your books. Hell, let’s not forget what it must have been like to go to school here at the same time as Harry Potter. I mean, no final exams for a few years, but at what cost? Grandpa Ron always tells me about-” 

“Oh, good Merlin, Georgie, that’s not what I meant.” You picked your head up from the table and scanned the bustling hall. A large plate of sandwiches laid in front of you but your appetite was diminished in the presence of your stress. “I mean, how fucked is it that I have to spend every first period for the rest of the year brewing Potions alongside Choi? It’s bad enough that I hate Potions already, and now I’ll have to deal with his stupid, righteous, Slytherin-slandering ass!” You slammed your hand into the wooden table, shaking the plates and glasses near you under the force. 

“Careful there,” Georgiana scolded around a mouthful of bread. “Just keep your head down, don’t react to him like you always do,” she paused to gulp down a sip of pumpkin juice, “he’ll give up eventually.” You heaved a heavy sigh, propping your chin onto the palm of your hand and scanning the Great Hall. Masses of students bustled around, sharing meals and laughing or gathering over homework problems. You weren’t quite sure who or what you were looking for, but all you found was a rowdy group of forth year boys sitting atop one of the tables, casting small hexes at one another and their lunches. You rolled your eyes at their antics before resigning to picking at the few fries on your plate. 

“And if he doesn’t?” You mumbled, casting a pointed glare at a seemingly distracted Georgiana. It took her a second to shift her gaze back to your face, clearing her throat as she narrowed her eyes towards you. 

“Sorry?” She asked, pulling a section of crust off of the third sandwich she’d picked up off of the platter. 

“If he doesn’t give up? What am I supposed to do then?” The thought of living out the next two school years with Choi Beomgyu as a constant annoyance settled a pit of rage in your stomach. Georgiana was quiet for a moment, flicking a few locks of curled, fiery hair over her shoulder. 

“Then you get back at him.” She shrugged. “You know you get a discount at the joke shop. Just go down there and pick up some puking pastilles or something.” She looked up again suddenly, eyes shimmering and focused intently on something behind you. Out of curiosity you turned on the spot, wondering if there was something of interest outside of the window, only to be met with the sight of Soobin standing mere feet away, hand stalled mid-wave. It didn’t take a genius to notice that the Hufflepuff was staring intently at your best friend, and she was happily returning the sentiment with a goofy grin on her face. You whipped back around to face her, leaning across the table as if the action would provide any secrecy with him so close. 

“Are you and Soobin...” you wiggled your eyebrows at her and she swatted at your shoulder. Her cheeks blushed rosy as she whispered back, “He asked me if I’d want to hang out when we go to Hogsmeade this weekend.” Her voice shook as she spoke but you frowned instantly. Of course you were happy that he had finally manned up and the two of them were on the way to something akin to a date, but...

“First weekend Hogsmeade is our tradition!” You shouted, abandoning any secrecy you might have thought you’d maintained from Soobin. 

“Y/N, please!” Georgiana hissed, glancing up at Soobin with an apologetic smile. “Just once. You can still come along, maybe you can bring someone too?” She offered, trying to placate your irritation. Her eyes continued sliding between you and Soobin as she waited for your response. You sank back onto the bench quietly, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Fine.” You sighed. “I guess I can try to think of someone.” Georgiana’s face lit up as she stood from her seat and gathered her books back under her arm. She rounded the end of the table quickly, meeting up with Soobin just behind you. “Don’t think I’m not still irritated, Weasley!” You yelled after her even though she had turned her back to you. She stalled in her lockstep next to Soobin just long enough to turn her head and throw you a middle finger. 

——

The day of your Hogsmeade visit came quicker than you anticipated, and of course you’d failed to find someone to fill the empty spot that would prevent you from third wheeling. Everyone you asked had either been otherwise busy, sick, or already going into Hogsmeade with other friends.

Georgiana, being the wonderful friend she was, made sure that you hadn’t felt left out on the walk into the village. Soobin was surprisingly good at keeping conversation despite his shy appearance, and the three of you had managed to share lunch and a few Butterbeers at The Three Broomsticks before Georgiana began giving you pointed glances. It took you an embarrassingly long time to recognize what her hand signals and mouthed words were conveying, but once you did you had excused yourself to wander the shops alone in a bid to give the lovebirds some privacy.

The weather was surprisingly pleasant, and as such the streets were lined with witches and wizards of all ages. Large throngs of students and families passed you by, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like a fish swimming upstream as everyone pushed by. When you’d first stepped out you felt odd walking the cobbled street alone, considering you’d never made a solo trip to Hogsmeade for as long as you’d lived. Something about it was quite relaxing, though, as you realized you could enter any store and stay for any amount of time. 

Once you’d wrestled your way through another group of oncoming students, you spotted an endearing baby blue storefront with deserts on display in the window. Many of them appeared to be muggle creations, and your mouth watered as you caught sight of a tray of fudgy brownies with a thick layer of chocolate icing. Your eyes had always been bigger than your stomach; so despite the fact that you’d just had lunch you find yourself stepping into the sweet smelling shop. An expansion charm helped stretch the store far beyond its dainty storefront, and you were met with the sight of even more display cases and tiered plates full of sweets. 

A few other wizards mulled around the store, debating which treats to pick up and pack into the little green pastry boxes which were stacked at the entrance in a never ending supply. You balanced one of your own between your hands as you gathered up treats, sure to grab three of the very brownies that had brought you in to begin with. You packed in a few cookies that you found on a shelf near the back of the store and began to weigh your options between purchasing what appeared to be a type of muggle cake with specs of color floating about the white batter or a more familiar looking pumpkin pastry dusted with powdered sugar. You contemplated the two deserts for an amount of time that would have been embarrassing if you were in the presence of company.

“Wrackspurts on the brain?” A rush of hot breath inches away from the shell of your ear had you reeling, clutching your box of precious deserts to your chest. Of course you’d immediately identified the voice; you were just hoping that you were wrong as you shot daggers into the boy who’d spooked you. Beomgyu looked beyond pleased with himself: a hand cocked on his hip, fake glasses perched at the very end of his nose to perfectly top off the outfit he’d chosen. His robes hung open, one shoulder almost devoid of the fabric as it drooped onto his back. The maroon turtleneck he wore struck a perfect contrast with the golden undertones of his skin and matched impressively well to the emblem on his robes. He had tucked the turtleneck into the waistband of a pair of light wash jeans that made it hard not to marvel at the shape of his waist. The scent of his cologne was faint, overpowered by the sweetness of the shop, but you were picking up overwhelming scents of-

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” He scrunched his nose as he studied you, waving gingerly like you would have at a child.

“Oh! Uh, I’m here, I’m here. What the hell do you want anyway?” You turned your attention back to the two pastries you’d been considering before his sneak attack in an attempt to keep yourself from looking back at his form.

“What’re you doing here alone? Out of friends? Did ya bore them all to death?” He had rounded to the opposite side of the table, forcing you to look at him straight on.

“I walked into Hogsmeade with Georgiana and Soobin, if you must know. They wanted some time alone so here I am.” You glanced up again to see him leaning casually against the table with one arm bracing his weight.

“I just have to point out that you’re also alone, Beomgyu. So I’m not quite sure why so keen on bashing me.” Your eyes skate over the deserts one final time before you decisively package up a slice of the muggle cake. The urge to celebrate the small victory was squashed by Beomgyu’s scoff.

“I’m here alone because I chose to be, not because my best friend is on a date and didn’t want a chaperone. Don’t you find that a little embarrassing?”

To be honest, you hadn’t considered it that way. You knew that finding a person to keep you from third wheeling had been your responsibility. But maybe he had a point. Although he was a constant nagging force, Beomgyu was insightful and intelligent. He’d helped you in class many times back when you were friends. Nervously, you nibbled at your bottom lip and considered his words carefully. Did Georgiana find your presence today embarrassing? She was surely too nice to tell you so, and there was no denying the tension in her face while she waited for you to leave The Three Broomsticks earlier. Your normally stoic face must have betrayed you, conveying that you were starting to feel hurt at the words that suddenly seemed to make so much sense. 

“I was joking,” Beomgyu spoke up suddenly, rounding the table to once again be next to you. “Don’t take everything I say so seriously, Y/N. I’m beginning to worry for your sense of humor.” He picked up a couple of cookies with careful dexterity and settled them into the palm of his hand. 

“Of course,” you concluded bitterly, taking a step back in a bid to get to the counter and buy your treats. “Must be my broken sense of humor and not just the fact that you’re an ass.” His face twisted unpleasantly as you stepped further away. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but you were already pivoting on the balls of your feet to make your way toward the front of the shop. 

——

The evidence of the first frost of the season crunched underneath your feet as you hurried to class. As someone who prided themselves on showing up on time for classes every day, you were particularly embarrassed to have woken up with just twenty minutes to spare before the beginning of potions. There was no excuse, either. You had simply stayed up too late studying for the NEWT practice exam and forgot to set your alarm before lying down.

To make matters worse you’d greatly underdressed yourself, underestimating the absolute chill of the morning when you had peeled out from the window. Only now, as you found yourself feet away from the classroom did you feel the icy temperature begin to bite into your exposed skin. Your cheeks were numb with cold, and your hands shook as you pushed them under your arms for some amount of warmth. Luckily the classroom was warmer when you finally got to it. Guiltily, you grinned at your professor as he notably marked your attendance onto the scroll of parchment. 

“Rough night?” Beomgyu asked under his breath as the professor launched into the lesson for the day. You kept your back turned to the boy in favor of writing down the list of ingredients that was being provided to you. A firm poke in the middle of your back had you turning on your stool, already silently fuming as you came face to face with Beomgyu. 

“What?” You mouthed, trying your best not to alert your professor that neither of you were paying attention to him. 

“You look awful,” he mouthed back, pulling the most exaggerated gagging expression you’d ever seen in your life. Your fingers twitched, resisting the urge to grab him by his necktie and slap him across his annoyingly perfect face. Instead you threw up your middle finger boldly, practicing a muggle tradition that wizards had become quite fond of. Beomgyu feigned shock, laying a hand over his heart and pretending to faint right there at his stool. 

“-so you’ll be using this combination of potions for the group project, due in one weeks time.” Your professor concluded. Wide eyed, you spun back around on your stool only to see the words previously written on the board disappear with a flick of his wand. A group project? Potions, plural? You’d only taken notes on one mixture, and you were sure that Beomgyu hadn’t taken any notes at all. Although maybe the group project wasn’t among your table mate? Your heart fluttered as you prayed for that to be the reality, scanning your classmates to see if anyone got up to switch seats or combine tables. 

Not a single soul moved. 

“Guess it’s just us.” Beomgyu drawled from behind you. 

“Did you take any notes?” You asked, fear running through your veins. If both of you were clueless, you’d have to ask the professor to explain everything to you again, which would only implicate the two of you for not paying attention to begin with. 

Beomgyu shook his head and shrugged much too casually for a student who was in the dark about an entire project. 

“I’ll just ask someone. Hey, Art-” 

“No!” You scrambled for a rolled piece of parchment to hit him on the arm with before he could finish his shout across the classroom. “Please, do not scream across the room that we don’t know what we’re doing.” Your cheeks were flaming, anxiety and exhaustion building to a dangerous level in your bloodstream.

“Awe, are you ashamed to admit you were too busy talking to me to pay attention?” Beomgyu cooed, cradling his chin in his palms.

“No. I’m embarrassed that we’re the only ones not starting the work,” you glanced pointedly to all of the other tables where your classmates were hard at work on...something. Every table housed a slowly bubbling cauldron producing a steady stream of light grey smoke. The cauldron resting on the table between the two of you was alarmingly quiet, your stores of provided potion ingredients remaining untouched. 

“Alright, Y/N. How about right now we work on the one you wrote down,” he points a finger at the parchment containing the list of notes you managed to take, “and I’ll talk to someone about the rest. Since you’re too proud to ask for help.” Without waiting for you to process the words he gripped the parchment between his fingers and pulled it toward the middle of the table. He mumbled a simple aguamenti under his breath and the cauldron filled with the perfect level of water. He then scrutinized the words for just a moment before he began to collect ingredients with a practiced ease, barely even glancing at the labels of the hefty glass containers. You’d never seen him quite as focused in a class as he was at the moment, his nimble fingers uncapping lids and measuring precise amounts of lacewing flies with a delicacy you never would have expected to come from the hands of Gryffindor’s star Beater. 

One after the other, ingredients fell into the wrought iron cauldron, changing the color of the mixture from clear to an odd, murky green. You scrunched your nose in distaste but Beomgyu was nodding to himself in satisfaction, his fluffy hair bouncing back off of his forehead. 

“Stop staring and start taking notes, Y/N.” His voice was casual but his lips were twisted in a smirk as you scrambled for both an excuse and a fresh roll of parchment. 

“I wasn’t,” you defended as you begin to scribble out notes against the parchment, refusing to meet his eyes as the shame of being caught red-handed crawled up the back of your throat and stung behind your eyes. He simply hummed in acknowledgment and tossed in a few leaves of a plant you didn’t have time to identify into the bubbling mixture.

——

Impatiently, you tapped your foot against the stone floor. It echoed a sound that would have been satisfying in its consistency if it weren’t for the annoyance running through your veins. Beomgyu had promised to meet you in the west corner of the library today, at a prompt 7pm, in order to finish synthesizing your plan for the Potions project. You checked the clock on the wall again just in case you had somehow misread the hands only to find them confirming your suspicions. Beomgyu was blowing you off. He had suggested the time and place himself, and yet he couldn’t even have the decency to show up. 

Anger blossomed in your chest as you stood to gather the things you’d brought along. Your chair scraped on the floor and attracted the stares of a few other students put you paid them no mind as you swore under your breath. 

Of course Beomgyu had stood you up in the face of an important project. He was probably laughing away to his friends in the common room, boasting about how he’d left you sitting in the library like a fool. Once again he had proven himself to be an utterly useless and annoying human being that you wished you had never even met. Your teeth sunk into the supple flesh of your bottom lip so hard that blood pooled on your tongue, the bitter tang snapping you into action. The route to the Gryffindor common room was a familiar one, and the hatred brimming inside of you made your legs move even faster than usual, swearing under your breath as you finally came face to face with the portrait keeping you from entering the room. 

“I don’t have time for any password- please just let me in. I’m looking for someone.” Your words came rushed, obviously annoyed as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Now, you know that isn’t how this works, dear,” the painting asserted, crossing their arms to mimic your own stubborn pose. “I can’t let just anyone into the room. I’ve got,” the portraited stopped dead in its tracks and began counting on its fingers silently. “I’ve got 30 students inside right now, and it’s my job to protect them.” Your fists clenched at your sides over the stubborn portrait, fingers itching to grab your wand and level a badgering curse against the damned painting. It must have read the anger on your face as you fiddled with the fabric of your robes, as it’s booming voice came again; 

“Tell me who you’re seeking, and I can tell you if I’ve seen them!” With your fingers still curled around your wand, it took a fair deal of restraint to leave it in your robe pocket. After a deep, steadying breath, you looked back up at the portrait. A beat of silence passed before you slathered on a sweet smile, clearing your throat to quell any remnants of your frustrated growl. 

“I’m looking for Choi Beomgyu.” 

The portrait took a moment to contemplate your words, squeezing its eyes tightly and tapping its fingers as you assumed it searched the students inside the Gryffindor common room and dorms. 

“He’s not here.” It finally concluded, snapping its eyes back open to peer down at you again. Frustration flamed your skin red all the way to your hairline. Hogwarts and it’s grounds were extensive, and searching for him would surely take up your entire night. 

“I did happen to see out Quidditch players heading down to the pitch around 5 o’clock, though.” Not needing any further ceremony, you turned on your heels and made your way toward the exit of the castle. The corridors were fairly empty, and the few students still milling around were quick to step out of your way as you hurried through them, robes flowing out behind you. Silently you thanked your lucky stars that no professors had been around to inquire about why you were rushing out of the castle in such a haste. 

As soon as you set foot outside, you regretted not stopping by your dorm first to grab your coat and scarf. It had been three days since you woke up to the first frost, and the temperature had only continued to drop into frigid numbers. Even in the limited light provided by the setting sun you could see your breath fogging ahead of you. Cold air curled around your body, seeming to seep underneath your skin with a harsh ferocity. For now you simply tucked your hands deeper into the fabric of your robes, hoping that the heat of them in conjunction with your brisk pace would keep your body warm enough.

The walk to the Quidditch pitch was deceptively far when you traveled alone. Normally you were so distracted by conversation with your friends and the last minute bets between houses that you didn’t have time to mull over how many steps it took you to arrive at the stands; but today you were nothing short of pissed at how far away the compound had been built. Every step you took sent a shock of cold through your feet, your toes completely numb no matter how much you wiggled them inside your sneakers. The trees shuddered with you as you passed them, leaves spiraling to the ground as they finally give in to the pressure of the cold and resign themselves.

Finally you passed through the solid wood of the viewing stands, coming face to face with the expanse of the pitch in front of you. Totally empty. Not a single soul was to be found warming up on the grass or running practice games in the air. Upon listening, you couldn’t even hear any distant chatter that would indicate the team being huddled into the locker room.

“Shit!” A new wave of frustration crashed through your mind. Had you passed them on the way over? It was plausible that they had taken a different route back to the castle and your whole trip had been in vain. Exhausted, you leaned against the wall and listened to the whip of the banners against their metal poles, the clinking of their bindings matching with the steady, loud beat of your pulse. Just as you were about to turn and head back for the castle in your freezing shame, you heard another sound. This one was different, less uniform, almost like a grunt of exhaustion followed by a heavy thud. Your freezing feet moved almost without you to follow the noise. A vicious wind whipped your hair, mussing it up so badly that you had to stop in your tracks to gather it all back into place. You hazarded every step you took, unsure exactly where the source of the noise was coming from other than somewhere behind the stands. On your next step you heard the noise again, much closer this time, and the excitement of being close to solving this mystery had your footsteps speeding up.

Just as you rounded the curving stands, you spotted the culprit, still a little hard to make out due to the distance you had yet to cover, but the colors and shape of a Gryffindor Quidditch uniform were clear. Upon further inspection, it became obvious that the heavy thud you’d been hearing was a the heavy iron Bludger cracking against the magically reinforced bat. There were only two Beaters on the team, and one of them was the very man who’d forced you to walk into the frigid night. You continued your steady approach to the figure, morbidly curious over who it was that was out here pushing themselves to practice alone in the freezing cold. 

“Hey!” You yelled as you edged closer, hoping to give whoever it may be a fair warning that you were approaching. Within three feet of the body, there was no mistaking it to be Beomgyu. 

“Choi!” You raged, yelling much louder than required for him to hear you. The Bludger was sailing far away from the two of you with a strong hit as you closed the distance almost all the way. “I know you can hear me, asshat.” Beomgyu kept his eyes on the iron ball, effectively ignoring your words. In disbelief you glanced back and forth between his face-seeing the way his eyes narrowed in concentration as the Bludger came closer by the second. 

“Is this where you’ve been all night? Playing Quidditch while you were supposed to meet me in the library?” A strong gust of wind knocked the air out of you, shivers running down your spine as you waited for any response from the boy. The Bludger came whistling back toward the two of you, and in the split second you had the foresight to step back he had tensed his shoulders, gripped the end of his bat and took another strong and precise hit against the Bludger, sending it even further away than the last one. 

“Lost track of time.” He supplied absentmindedly, turning his head to regard you with lazy eyes. 

“What?” You seethed, stepping forward again, placing yourself in front of his frame in hopes of appearing somewhat intimidating. “You lost track of time? Let’s talk about the fact that out project is due in four fucking days, and all we have to show is a single god damn Potion. This was your responsibility,” you pushed your pointed finger into the front of his uniform, the fabric giving way to allow you to feel the firmness of his chest underneath. “I trusted you with the single task of making sure that we could figure out the rest of this project, and you fucked up!” Tears of frustration rimmed your eyes as the worry of failure overwhelmed you. As much as you hated Potions, you’d be damned if Choi Beomgyu became the reason you do poorly. 

“Listen, I seriously did just forget,” he pushed at your shoulders forcefully, to which you planted your feet into the ground harder. “Seriously, Y/N, I forgot! Now move!” 

“No! You are not,” you grabbed at his forearm and pulled it off of your shoulder, “going to blow me off again! We are going to work on this project right now, even if its the last thing I do!” 

“It’s about to be if you don’t fucking move!” He yelled, finally managing to uproot your feet and push you off to the side with so much force that you landed flat on your ass, the cold hardness of the ground knocking the breath out of your lungs. From the ground, you watched helplessly while Beomgyu scrambled to grab his bat in time to hit the whirring Bludger. He was a quick enough thinker to see that there was no way he’d make the move in time, so he simply did the next best thing- turning his back to the ball and ducking his head into his chest, covering the back of his neck with his arms. 

With a sickening crack, the Bludger made foul contact with Beomgyu’s back, striking just below his left shoulder blade. The force knocked him forward, his hands barely catching himself as he met the ground harshly. He cried out in pain, the sound bouncing around the stands and piercing your veins. In a hurry, you crawled toward his heaving body and urged him to sit up with the guidance of your hands. 

“Are you okay?” The words rushed out of you in a hurry, panic crawling up the back of your throat at the shine of tears streaming down his reddened cheeks. 

“Wh-what the hell do you think?” He groaned, body shaking as he struggled to even take a breath. 

“Okay, right. Dumb question. Let’s get you to the infirmary, yeah?” His legs shook as he got them under him, something akin to a baby deer taking its first few steps. Instinctively you shot out an arm to steady him, looping your arm behind his back as effectively as you could given the height difference and placement of his injury. 

“Merlin, I think I broke my shoulder blade,” he groaned, stumbling across the uneven ground with trepidation. 

“You didn’t, I watched. It actually hit right below your shoulder blade, so if anything it’s just bruised, and you probably won’t even need a bone-healing spell, so recovery should be little more than some Devil’s Claw for the pain and-” 

“Did someone cast a babbling curse on you? Merlin’s beard. It’s bad enough that you got me hit to begin with, and now I have to listen to you run your mouth!’ His voice was still pinched with pain, an octave lower than normal as he gritted his teeth. The two of you finally reached the threshold of the castle, encapsulated by the warmth of the torches littered all inside. 

“I’m trying to help! Did you ever consider the fact that if you had showed up to our scheduled meeting time, you could have avoided being hit. I could have avoided freezing all of my extremities off, and I wouldn’t have to be helping your ass to the infirmary.” 

The noise of your bickering outside of the infirmary wing attracted the nurse to the hallway, who furrowed her eyebrow in silent question over the two of you. 

“He got hit by a Bludger, ma’am,” you supply as soon as you see her. Her eyes widen instantly as she rushed forward, helping you guide Beomgyu into an empty cot. She shooed you aside as she fretted over him, asking questions about the incident in a low, steady tone before nodding seriously. Without any kind of warning, Beomgyu was pulling the fabric of his uniform over his head, leaving his top half bared to you. Your cheeks burned, and you cleared your throat nervously. The nurse was too busy prodding at the blossoming bruise to have heard your stutter, but Beomgyu was nothing if not aware. 

His dark eyes found your form standing just a few paces away, staring unabashedly at the faint hint of his abs that had become visible. 

“Somethin’ you like?” He drawled playfully, snapping you out of your reverie. 

“Merlin, no.” You sneered, hoping to cover the thickness of your tone as you swallowed hard. “Just trying to decide if I should tell the Quidditch team to get their backup trained for the game tomorrow night.” Beomgyu’s face fell at the implication of your words and a sting of regret struck your heart. 

“There will be no need for a backup, dear,” the nurse cooed, shuffling her feet as she gathered up a few healing supplies. She offered a bottle of innocent looking clear liquid to Beomgyu and he drank it instantly, grimacing at what you assumed to be a foul taste. “Now, dear, if you don’t fancy seeing your boyfriend in more pain as I heal him-”

“Please. He is not my boyfriend. I just helped him get here. I’ll be going now, anyway. See you tomorrow?” You asked pointedly, hoping he would understand your incessant need to finish the Potions project. He nodded slightly, and you scanned Beomgyu’s form one more time before excusing yourself to the nurse and scurrying back to your dorm. 

——

“I better hear a thank you.” Beomgyu asserted as soon as he slumped in the seat across from you. He had been so quiet in his approach to the table that you hadn’t heard him until now, rocketing your gaze up towards him from the pages of your Transfiguration book. 

“Beomgyu,” you breathed, relieved to see that he had been healed and able to return to classes just the morning after the Bludger hit. You schooled your features into cool indifference as soon as you saw his mouth twitch up at the sound of his name. “For what am I thanking you? Withholding information about the project?” 

“No,” he shook his head, springing a few carefully parted hairs loose from their spot. “For- number one-” he paused dramatically, drumming his bony fingers against the edge of the high-topped table, “providing you all the information for finishing this project.” Out of seemingly nowhere he produced a thick roll of parchment that unrolled to reveal a step by step explanation. Pages of carefully written instructions went into great detail on every step of the potions that needed to be made. A sense of relief and happiness washed through you, enough to make your hands curl into excited fists as you beamed. 

“Turns out our Seeker is good at more than catching a Snitch. She got the highest marks in this class last year, and agreed to share the notes with me.” 

“Thank you, Beomgyu. Seriously. I was beginning to worry.” 

“I know, I know. It feels good to be your savior, Y/N. Oh, which reminds me of reason number two; the fact that I spared you a Bludger hit last night.” 

“I thought we’d already covered this. Most of that encounter was your fault. Plus, your little shove left me with a bruise of my own on my ass.” Pouting, you shifted your weight in an attempt to alleviate the pain against said bruise. 

“Just admit it, Y/N,” he leaned forward, his face mere inches from your own so as not to be heard by anyone around. “You’re indebted to me. Two times over.” He was cocky, but you had to admit he had a point. As much grief as he had caused you, he had saved you from both a failing grade and an injury in just under 24 hours. 

“You’ve got a point.” Beomgyu shrunk back into his seat, cocking his head to the side as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. It seemed like he was waiting for a witty remark or some kind of argument to his words, but you kept a sure, steady gaze on him instead. Either your eyes were playing tricks on you or there was a slowly building flush of red blooming from under the collar of his cable-knit sweater onto his cheeks. Against your will, your mind reproduced the image of his bared chest from last night. 

“What do I owe you?” The question rolled off of your tongue like butter as you took the chance to lean forward to him, balancing carefully on your stool with your elbows planted onto the table. 

“I-I just,” Beomgyu frowned at his stutter, apparently upset by his own lack of confidence. His mouth opened and closed again in quick succession and you grinned wider. Another teasing lilt was right at the tip of your tongue, but the booming voice of your professor cracked the tension wide open and had you sitting back on your stool. 

——

Two days later, you stand behind your stool in Potions class, wringing your hands together nervously. Your portly professor had spent all morning swirling around the class, leaning over the cauldrons and vials present at every table. He muttered a few things to every pair of students, nodding along as they explained their approach to him. It seemed as if he were grading on the spot, since you caught a glimpse of a quill gliding over a small strip of parchment. 

Finally the elder approached your table, bushy eyebrows pinched into one another as he had already begun to scrutinize the potions laid out for him. He said nothing as he approached, quietly appraising your work. One by one, he picked up the vials one by one, peering through the clear bottom and giving them an experimental swirl. He hummed happily to himself and your heart soared. Across the table you noticed Beomgyu looking equally pleased. The professor set down the vials one by one before leveling his gaze onto you. 

“How do you think you did?” He questioned, producing the same thin strip of parchment you’d seen him use at other tables. Palms sweating, you stole a glance at Beomgyu who gave you an encouraging wave of his hand. 

“I think we did quite well, professor. It took us a bit to get the whole project together, but I feel confident in our end results here.” Nervously, your eyes skated down to his quill, tapping against the parchment rhythmically. 

“Well, I think you did quite well, the two of you. These potions are near perfect. Couldn’t make them any better myself.” It felt as if the air had been sucked from your lungs, shocking you beyond belief. Never once in your life did you think you’d be receiving such high marks in Potions- especially with Beomgyu as your partner. Your professor marked a delicate “A+” on the small strip of parchment. 

Beomgyu threw a triumphant fist in the air, wiggling in his spot with pure excitement. Your professor let out a belly laugh, spinning around to address the entire class. 

“I didn’t want to advertise this since I wanted you all to put in your best, pure efforts to the project. But, now that I’ve reviewed everyone’s work and determined the best,” you swapped a look of confusion with Beomgyu, both assuming that he was referring to you. “I am offering an award to our friends at Station 1!” He motioned to the two of you wildly, robes flailing as you ushered to the front of the room. Your peers glared at the two of you, but you were too far onto cloud nine to care. 

“Good thing I got those notes, huh?” Beomgyu muttered to you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“Good thing I spent all last night making sure we actually had the potions to present.” Keeping your voice low and level to keep him from sensing just how grateful you were for his efforts. The class murmured lowly, surely trading snide remarks about the two of you until the professor cleared his throat pointedly.

From the pocket of his robes, the professor pulled out two small, clear vials. One was pressed into each of your palms, and you stared up at him with confusion. Maybe this was a sign you should have paid more attention to the types of potions around you.

“Luck potions, please use them carefully” he supplied helpfully, swirling back around to face the entire class. “Now, who’s willing to take a photo of me and our winners?” The professor bellowed, producing an old film camera from somewhere and brandishing until someone shuffled off of their stool.

——

Fresh, fluffy snow floated down in gentle waves outside the window. It was the thick of winter now, and despite your best efforts to bundle up you were still huddling into yourself for warmth as students shuffled into Potions around you. Everyone seemed especially lethargic, yearning for the break from classes that Christmas promised. You laid your head onto your folded arms, feeling just as exhausted as the atmosphere suggested. 

Sleep had been evading you lately, annoyingly deceptive as you would lay down in bed tired only to be kept awake by your racing mind for several hours. Somehow settling into your arms in this classroom was the most content you’d felt in days. And then you felt a firm push at the back of your head. There was no mistaking who the perpetrator was, especially as you heard the scrape of a stool directly across from you. 

“Good morning to you too, Beomgyu.” He was perched perfectly on his stool, eyes wide and bright. For as long as you’d known him, he had thrived in the cold and the snow. “You are obnoxiously cheerful. God damn Gryffindors.” 

“Not my fault you’re such a grouch. But I guess it is true that snakes don’t like the cold.” 

“Do you ever let up? Or do you get pleasure out of ruining my mood every single morning?” 

A grin cracked his lips as a short laugh bubbled through. “Thinking about my pleasure, are you? Concerned I’m not getting enough? I can assure you that-”

“Okay, gross. Stop. Enough. You know that isn’t what I meant.” Quite honestly, you had no time to endure his usual teasing so you simply turned your body away from him, idly watching the professor gather his things at the desk. 

“Right, let’s get going! We need all the time we can manage today!” He seemed more jubilant than usual as he centered his own cauldron onto the middle of his desk. “Today we’ll be making love potions. Amortentia, you may know. If you’ll open to page 104, you can find the procedure. It is important to note that this potion cannot make anyone truly fall in love, but it does create a strong attraction to whomever you make with it in mind. Of course, the full effect doesn’t apply unless it is consumed. Today we will simply be brewing it for practice. If done correctly, the potion will emulate-” 

“The scent of what you find most attractive,” you muttered absent mindedly, reading directly off of the page you had open in your lap. 

“Exactly, miss Y/N. Your potion today will smell like what you find most appealing.” He nodded proudly. A feeling of anxiety rose in your chest as he rattled on. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t think of the type of scents that would come from the potion. You were quite fond of some scents in candle form, but you wouldn’t classify them as...attractive. Even more worrying was the idea that no matter how hard you tried, you would have to reveal this concoction in front of Beomgyu, who took every chance presented to torment you. Your professor clapped his hands together, marking the beginning of your working period. 

The instructions were simple enough, so you took extra care to be sure that the   measurements were as perfect as you could get them. The room was shrouded in a hushed silence that indicated everyone was working hard on this. After all, this was the most exciting potion that’d been offered to you all year. 

“Can’t wait to see which poor dude you have a crush on,” Beomgyu chuckled as he stirred his pot exactly three times counter-clockwise. 

“Could say the same for you! I seriously petty whichever girl you’ve been fancying. Imagine being at the receiving end of your...ick. You’d better tell me who it is so I can send them a warning.” You stirred your pot the same way he had, watching the mixture turn to a stereotypical bright pink. The instructions lead you to allow the mixture to culminate for exactly two minutes before any results could be sought. 

The students who happened to work faster than you were already taking a sniff at their potions and recording the scents on their parchment, some pairs gossiping amongst one another about what they smelled. A clank of metal had you whipping your head upwards, locking eyes with Beomgyu as adjusted his small cauldron to bend over his potion. Since it wasn’t your own, there was no scent for you to distinguish, but you watched the way his eyes widened in shock for a second. 

Unfortunately you had no time to process his expressions before you had to examine the contents of your own cauldron. Before you could even take a deliberate sniff, your senses were rushed with a mix of sweetened musk, a wood that seemed somewhere between cedar and mahogany, and an addicting citrusy undertone that you eventually recognized as bergamot. You placed it immediately.

“Merlin, Beomgyu. Could you refrain from spraying your cologne right now? Why are you even carrying it with you in the middle of-” The words died in your throat as you realized how incriminating your words had become, seeing as Beomgyu had nothing but his quill in his hands. A feeling of sickness rose in the back of your throat as he let out a hearty laugh. 

“My cologne, huh? I actually didn’t even have time to put any on today,” he peered over at your parchment, his height allowing him to easily read the fragrance notes you had scribbled before complaining. “But those are the exact notes of what I wear.” 

Your cheeks flamed, the heat radiating so fully through your system that you felt yourself begin to sweat despite how cold you’d been before. There was no worse fate than this, you decided. Amortentia had betrayed you, putting you under the mercy of Beomgyu’s knowing stare. Fuck, did he really have to find out now that the smell of his cologne secretly drove you crazy? That as much as you hated the way he teased and antagonized you, somewhere deep down you’d never quite lost the crush you developed in second year? 

“I was beginning to think you might’ve had a crush on me, Y/N. Isn’t that so sweet! The stony little Slytherin finally realizing that she’s attracted to me...this is quite the revelation!” Beomgyu lamented, obviously overjoyed at the new ammo he could load into his teasing. 

As much as you searched, you could find no words to defend yourself, as the proof was truly in the potion. A bit defeated, you sunk back into your stool, content to bury your face into your hands until your next class began; but at your new level you could see Beomgyu’s own piece of parchment scrawled with what he had smelled. Reading them upside down was a bit of a challenge, but he was too busy complimenting himself to recognize your analytical stare. Written in a neat list were the scents: sage, some type of berry (juniper?), eucalyptus, something woody (cedar?). 

Your heart stuttered, a bitter laugh threatening to spill out and give yourself away. Skillfully you held it back, cursing to any god or deity who might be listening. The notes matched up exactly with the perfume you wore every single day.

——

“You asked him why he sprayed his cologne?” Georgiana gaped at you across the table in the Great Hall. The two of you had joined up for lunch just hours after your Potions class disaster.

“Yes, but that’s not all! Just before I melted into a puddle of my own dispair, I saw his list, and I swear to Merlin it’s the exact notes of my perfume! Look,” you produced the travel-sized bottle from your pocket, flipping it to the back label and listing off the exact ingedients.

“Wow,” Georgiana nodded, sinking her teeth into a piece of pizza. “That’s quite remarkable.”

“Why are you not giving me more of a reaction?” You whined, stomping your foot against the floor petulantly. She raised an eyebrow high, taking a few more chews at her food.

“You want me to be honest? Or nice?” She asked, weighing the invisible options on her hands in front of you.

“Honest, I guess.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d pick that one. You see, my sweet Y/N, the two of you have been dancing around this for years. Even though you renounced him all those years ago, I still talk to him on occasion. Not to mention he’s friends with Soobin, so I’ve been provided with some...insider information. To be honest, Soobin and I have both been waiting for the day the two of you finally stopped bickering and like...made out.”

Your face twisted unpleasantly, shocked at her words. “Insider information?” You croaked, creases forming in your forehead. Georgiana smiled devilishly and you swore you could see red horns rising from her fiery hair.

“Beomgyu talks about you all the time. Apparently, back when he was dating Klara, he would often talk to Soobin about how she never bantered with him like you did. They broke up because he kept comparing her to you. Told Soobin that he’s had a crush on you just as long as you have, but he thought you thoroughly hated him.”

“He has a crush on me?” You sputtered, stomach twisting into knots somewhere between disbelief and excitement. Georgiana full on laughed upon seeing your face, the cackle permeating through the air and turning heads.

“Well, I’m not gonna be the one to bring it up. If he’s got a crush on me, he can bring it up.” You suddenly decide, finally indulging in the pizza that had been waiting for you since you sat down.

“That’s my girl, stubborn to the very end.” Georgiana grinned and offered her hand for a high five that you eagerly returned.

——

The weekend brought you a much needed break from both schoolwork and all things Beomgyu related. Christmas break was fast approaching, and all of your professors had surprisingly laid off on assignments. It seemed as if they were just as tired of grading as you were of doing the work.

Unsurprisingly you found yourself in the library, sitting underneath the twinkling of the fairy lights set up especially for the holidays. Most other students were out socializing, so the room was pleasantly vacant. As a result you were able to settle into one of the plush velvet couches that were usually occupied.

After roaming the aisles you’d found an anthology of wizard poetry that piqued your interest. Settling beteeen the cushions of the couch with a book made you feel the most at home you ever had, cracking open the delicate binding and balancing the book in your stomach as you began to read.

There was no way to tell how long you’d been reading, but by your estimations it was only about 20 minutes before someone was looming above you. Startled, you lifted your gaze over the book to see none other than Beomgyu standing before you. He was decked out in a sage green sweater paired with slightly oversized beige slacks. He had forgone his robes, but his Head Boy pin still shined on the breast of his shirt. Typical.

“Can I help you?” You asked, finally sitting up to regard him.

“I thought you’d be here.” He said simply, shuffling on his feet awkwardly. You blinked.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you poked, slipping your book shut dramatically. “Did you want to ask me something?” Beomgyu licked at his lips before rubbing his fingers against his forehead.

“Merlin, why do you make everything so hard?” He groaned and seemingly became so exhausted that he collapsed onto the ornate rug under his feet. Seeing that you’d riled him up so much by doing practically nothing sent excitement through your veins. As much as the bickering annoyed you, there was no denying the thrill you felt when giving him back a taste of his medicine.

“What exactly am I making so hard? I don’t even know what you’re here for. To be honest I’m shocked you managed to find me in the library. I figured you would start to burn at the door and have to find a different way in.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at his pillowy lips.

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here.” He finally began to reveal the award winning smile you’d come to know whenever he teased you. “I know what Georgiana told you.” His voice was low, so quiet that if there had been any other souls in the library you’d have missed it.

Your eyes flew open and he flushed instantly. “You two aren’t exactly quiet at the Great Hall, and I’ve got more than a few friends.” It was your turn to flush red, wondering just how many conversations between you and Georgiana had been overheard by other people. 

“So you know that I said...” 

“Why do you think I’m here? All it took was me knowing you also...you know,” he picked at the nonexistent loose threads in the carpet. Honestly, you were shocked at how reserved he had become in the face of this confrontation. All traces of his usual confidence seemed to have vanished in the moment. 

“I do like you, Beomgyu. I had a massive crush on you in second year, but then we got into that fight and-”

“I wouldn’t call it a fight,” he countered animatedly. “You just never understood my humor. All this time, I was hoping that you would catch the hints.” 

“Hints?” It felt like your eyes were going to fall out of your head with how wide you held them. “You call those hints? I’d call those lackluster clues, at best.” 

He was quiet for a moment, examining the smirk on your lips carefully. In a moment of impulse you slid off of the couch to sit opposite him on the floor, knees touching. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, gripping at his thighs nervously. “Didn’t know how else to go about it.” 

“That’s okay, me either, obviously.” A rueful laugh escaped your lips, and he returned one just as easily. Up this close, the planes of his face were defined by the delicate light provided from the fairy lights. Shyly you shared glances, neither of you knowing quite how to deal with the charged anticipation in the air.

“Will you...come to the last Quidditch game tomorrow?” He finally spoke, snapping your attention back to him.

“Only if I don’t have to wear one of your ugly jerseies.” Feeling bold, you leaned forward just a few inches, beginning to close the gap between you gradually.

“Fine,” he acquised, leaning forward just the same as you had, his breath fanning hot over your face. “In exchange for not wearing a jersey, how about you...” he tapped at his lips cheekily. A surge of excitement tumbled through you.

“That’s a shit way of asking me to kiss you for the first time, Choi.” Nevertheless you leaned forward further, bumping your nose against his own before you finally pecked him firmly on the lips. You felt ridiculously shy, like you were having your first kiss all over again, but Beomgyu smiled reassuringly, pulling your hands into his own and linking them together. The touch encouraged you both, and your lips collided with more assurance than before.

The faint scent of pumpkin juice lingered on his lips, and you wondered how many bottles he’d drank before finally deciding to come find you. Finally you both sought a new breath, taking a moment to close your eyes and collect yourself. When they fluttered back open you saw Beomgyu staring back at you intently, pupils reflecting the strands of lights strung above you.

He mumbled something so quietly that you couldn’t even hear it at your close distance.

“What was that?” You asked, wondering if you’d caught the end of a charmingly romantic thought.

“I said you’re in need of practice.” He smirked, leaning back of his hands cockily.

“Fuck you, man,” you slapped at his shoulder with a firm clap. He gasped, a hand covering his heart as if he were being sworn into a committee.

“Already? I didn’t take you for such an impure heart!” Another hearty laugh bounced around the library and you ducked your head into your hands, resigning to the fact that you were stuck with him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Games Workshop declares war on its customers (again)

There’s a difference between a con-artist and a grifter. A con-artist is just a gabby mugger, and when they vanish with your money, you know you’ve been robbed.

A grifter, on the other hand, is someone who can work the law to declare your stuff to be their stuff, which makes you a lawless cur because your pockets are stuffed full of their money and merely handing it over is the least you can do to make up for your sin.

IP trolls are grifters, not con artists, and that’s by design, a feature of the construction of copyright and trademark law.

Progressives may rail at the term “IP” for its imprecision, but truly, it has a very precise meaning: “‘IP’ is any law that lets me control the conduct of my customers, competitors and critics, such that they must arrange their affairs to my benefit.”

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

In that regard, it is a perfect grifter’s tool — a way to put you on the wrong side of the line for simply living your life in the way that works best for you, not the grifter.

Now, copyright and trademark’s framers were alive to the possibility that they might become this kind of weapon, and they wrote limitations and exceptions into each doctrine that were meant to safeguard the public’s right to free speech and free action.

But those limitations and exceptions are weirdly self-eviscerating. Both trademark and copyright’s limitations assume that they aren’t being weaponized by immoral sociopaths. Both collapse if they are.

Take copyright. Copyright has a suite of limitations and exceptions under various global legal systems, including US law. US law also contains a specific set of exceptions colloquially called “fair use,” a subject of much mystification for lay people.

Under fair use, someone accused of copyright infringement can ask a judge to find that their use of someone else’s copyrighted work is permissible because to deny it would be socially harmful.

The fair use law sets out four factors that judges MAY consider when considering such a claim. Note that these four factors are neither comprehensive (judges can weigh other factors), nor dispositive (failing to satisfy a factor doesn’t disqualify your use from being fair).

If that sounds confusing to you, don’t worry. It is confusing. As the lawyers say, “fair use is fact-intensive.”

The specifics of a use really matter: who’s making the use, what they’re using, why they’re using it, how they use it, and how much they use.

That’s why anyone who claims that “X is never fair use” (for example, commercial fanfic) are full of shit — as are people who say “X is always fair use”).

Commercial fanfic absolutely can be fair use. No less a body than the Supreme Court says so:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wind_Done_Gone

Despite all this ambiguity and nuance, IP grifters who want to force other people to arrange their affairs to their own benefit are laser focused on the four factors, reasoning correctly that if they show a judge that the factors favor them, they’re more likely to prevail.

Half of the four factors are out of the grifter’s reach. As a rightsholder, you can’t control “the purpose and character of the use,” or “the amount and substantiality of the portion used.”

But the other two factors are more readily within the IP wielder’s remit. As someone seeking control a work, you can frame “to the nature of the copyrighted work” by talking up how much creativity and originality went into it, which judges will weigh in your favor.

More importantly — and disturbingly — is the way that an IP holder can influence the fourth factor: “the effect of the use upon the potential market for or value of the copyrighted work.”

Think about that fourth factor for a moment here: if my use of your work doesn’t cost you any money, then it’s more likely that my use is fair.

The corollary: if you can bully some people into paying for something they’ve always gotten for free, then you can claim that the people who refuse to pay are ripping you off — that there is a “market” for the use, and that their failure to pay weakens that market.

This is effectively what’s happened to music sampling. Seminal albums like “It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back” were produced with thousands of uncleared samples — but at the time, no one was clearing samples.

https://memex.craphound.com/2011/07/08/creative-license-how-the-hell-did-sampling-get-so-screwed-up-and-what-the-hell-do-we-do-about-it/

Had the rightsholders to those samples dragged Public Enemy into court, they wouldn’t have had the fourth factor on their side. No one was paying for samples, so a failure to pay for samples had no “effect on the potential market for the copyrighted work.”

However, in the 33 years since Nation of Millions dropped, paying to license samples has become common practice — and the mere existence of paid samples makes not paying for samples more legally risky.

So say a rightsholder decided to aggressively license simple quotations — as the Associated Press did in 2008, when it offered to sell you a license to a 5-word quotation for a mere $12.50.

http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/010341.html

All other things being equal, a short quotation from a news article is likely to be fair use. But if the AP managed to terrorize enough bloggers into coughing up $12.50 for a 5-word quote, it could create a market for 5-word quotations.

That market would change the fair use argument for people who don’t pay — yes, they’re making a transformative, critical use, but they’re also undermining the market for the copyright, and a judge might find this change tips the scales away from fair use.

Even more importantly, the additional uncertainty might stampede more people into paying $12.50 for a 5-word quote rather than risk a $250,000 statutory damages award for copyright infringement.

The more people who pay for 5-word quotes, the sturdier the market becomes and the riskier it is to rely upon fair use.

The fourth factor looks like an escape valve for uses that harm no one.

But it actually rewards to bullies who intimidate others out of money they don’t actually owe — until they do.

Trademark has a similar gotcha. Trademark is very different from copyright. Fundamentally, trademark is about protecting buyers, not sellers. Trademark meant to help buyers avoid being tricked into buying an inferior product because it was deceptively named or styled.

If you buy a can of Coke, you want the true Black Water of American Imperialism, not an inferior brand of dilute battery-acid.

But if your Coke turns out to be a fake, you might shrug off the harm or balk at the expense of punishing the fast operator who mis-sold you.

So trademark empowers Coke — and other vendors — to punish third parties who trick their customers, acting as their customers’ champions. Trademark doesn’t exist to prevent Coke from losing money to a rival — it exists to help Coke drinkers get what they pay for.

Trademarks can be registered with the USPTO, who nominally weigh trademark applications to ensure that they’re distinctive and original. Practically, examiners are busy, sometimes careless, and ideologically inclined to grant, not deny, claims.

https://memex.craphound.com/2018/06/14/son-of-cocky-a-writer-is-trying-to-trademark-dragon-slayer-for-fantasy-novels/

But you don’t have to register a trademark to assert it. You can threaten or pursue legal action on the grounds that someone has violated an unregistered trademark, which is any distinctive graphic or phrase that is associated with your product.

Registered or unregistered, trademark enforcement primarily comes down to whether a “naive consumer” would be mislead by someone else’s use of a mark. That is, when you bought a Coke-branded sack of chicken feet, did you think it was blessed by the Coca-Cola company?

If there’s no likelihood of confusion, trademark holders struggle to enforce their trademarks.

This standard seems reasonable, but, like the fourth factor in fair use, it has a sting in its tail.

One of the ways you can induce confusion in the public is to gain a reputation for being a litigious bully. Say Coke is known far and wide for clobbering anyone that uses its trademarks, no matter how trivial the use and no matter how bad it made them look.

If Coke is truly notorious for its zero-tolerance policy, that will lead to a widespread public understanding that every time you see Coke’s marks, the use was blessed by a Coke lawyer — meaning a use that might not otherwise be found to be confusing can be made confusing.

“If that was any other company’s trademark, I’d assume that they had nothing to do with it — but since I know Coke has an army of baby-eating attack lawyers who destroy anyone who uses a mark without permission, that must be an authorized use.”

Like fair use’s fourth factor, trademark’s confusion standard rewards the most vicious and uncaring businesspeople with new rights that their more reasonable competitors do not enjoy. IP selects for sociopathy.

Now, IP — in the most sinister sense of the phrase — has pervaded every industry, but the contradictions of IP are felt most keenly in its spawning grounds: the culture industry.

Culture is in tension with the control of ideas, because culture is the spread of ideas.

Creators (and execs) are vulnerable to the pirate/admiral fallacy: “When I take from my forebears, that’s legitimate artistic progress. When my successors do it to me, it’s theft.”

This pathology, combined with ready-to-hand IP weapons, incentivizes all manner of wickedness. Remember when Marvel and DC teamed up in a bid to trademark the word “super-hero” so that no one else would be allowed to use it?

https://memex.craphound.com/2006/03/18/marvel-comics-stealing-our-language/

These perverse incentives are made tragic by the inherently participatory nature of culture.

It’s not merely that Marvel and DC wanted to steal the word “super-hero” right out of our mouths.

It’s that super-heroes are culturally important because of how we take and remix them in our lives. Marvel went on to use the law to stop us from pretending to be superheroes online, something Casey Fiesler called “Pretending Without a License.”

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/277598023_Pretending_Without_a_License_Intellectual_Property_and_Gender_Implications_in_Online_Games

Which brings me, at last, to Games Workshop, a company that has consistently led the IP bully pack, indiscriminately terrorizing the Warhammer 40k fans who made it a massive commercial success.

Warhammer is a strategy/roleplaying game that is played with miniature creatures that players buy, modify and paint. If you’re not familiar with all this, maybe this sounds a bit like toy soldiers.

It’s a lot more interesting — not just because of the game rules or lore, but because of the incredibly, unbelievable, jaw-dropping virtuosity of Warhammer players when they paint and style those miniatures.

There’s a reason I look forward to Saturday morning’s weekly linkdump from Jonathan Struan of the week’s best Warhammer and other RPG miniatures:

https://www.superpunch.net/search?q=warhammer&max-results=20&by-date=true

and why I follow incredible painters like Aurelie Schick:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/110246635@N06

Warhammer is intrinsically participatory, co-creative and active — it’s not media you consume, it’s media you produce.

Games Workshop has become fantastically rich off of this…and they hate it, and they always have.

For years they’ve pursued fans for producing their own fan-made supplements and additions to the game:

https://www.lumendatabase.org/notices/99301

The more Warhammer players complained about the indiscriminate censorship of their fan media, the harder GW cracked down on them, wiping out whole genres of creative work:

https://www.boardgamegeek.com/geeklist/48933/games-workshop-files-purge-09

GW claimed it was only defending its rights, the grifter’s signature move, making you a crook for having the audacity not to put their shareholders’ interests ahead of your own.

Then Games Workshop claimed a trademark on “space marine,” a generic term that had been widely used in science fiction for decades, including, notably, in Heinlein’s classic “Starship Troopers” (1959).

https://web.archive.org/web/20130207002144/http://mcahogarth.org/?p=10593

They didn’t just go after RPGs that used the phrase — they used trademark claims to remove novels from Amazon for having the phrase in their titles.

“Space marine” is a generic phrase, but GW was betting if they were sufficiently, spectacularly brutal in their enforcement, they could create a proprietary interest: “Now, I know GW destroys anyone who uses ‘space marine,’ so this ‘space marine’ must be endorsed by GW.”

GW just launched a new set of terms of service, including: “individuals must not create fan films or animations based on our settings and characters. These are only to be created under licence from Games Workshop.”

https://www.games-workshop.com/en-WW/Intellectual-Property-Guidelines

Now, this isn’t how copyright works. There are many ways in which a fan film or animation could be fair use, no matter whether GW forbids or permits their production. But this isn’t mere overreach: it’s a direct play against the fourth factor in fair use.

If GW can establish that all animations and vids are produced under paid license, then any fanvid that doesn’t pay for a license has a weaker fair use case, because the fourth factor protects existing licensing markets.

Indeed, as Rob Beschizza points out on Boing Boing, GW timed the terms of service change to coincide with the announcement that they’re launching a subscription service including “cartoons, in-house hobby videos, access to a vault of ebooks and mags.”

https://www.pcgamer.com/now-even-warhammer-has-a-subscription-service/

This is bullying with a business-model, in other words. Fans have figured out how to have fun with each other for free, and GW wants them to stop and pay the company for its in-house version of that fun.

Warhammer creators are demoralized and disheartened. The creator of the hugely successful Oculus Imperia Youtube series posted a heart-rending message of surrender.

https://twitter.com/OculusImperia/status/1421136444437970949

Oculus Imperia also edits “If The Emperor Had A Text To Speech Device,” (TTS) another beloved Warhammer fan series. Alfabusa from TTS posted his own absolutely demoralized goodbye to his work.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OXljeaktnDA

Ironically, both channels would have a stronger fair use case if they mocked and criticized Warhammer, rather than celebrating it, as fair use tips favorably towards critical uses.

The fact is, they love their hobby and its community and they want to improve it, not tear it down.

Neither wants to get dragged into a brutal copyright case against a deep-pocketed corporation. Even people with great fair use cases balk at that:

https://waxy.org/2011/06/kind_of_screwed/

Now, some people might be thinking, what’s the big deal? Why don’t these creators just make up their own stories instead of remixing the ones that come from Games Workshop?

Those people are assholes.

*All* stories are fanfic of some kind or another. Every mystery novel is a remix of Poe’s Murders In the Rue Morgue. Games Workshop’s stories are the thrice-brewed teabags of many sf writers (remember “space marines?”).

Tolkien straight up ripped off his characters from the 1000-year-old Norse poem “Elder Edda,” which features dwarves named “Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Nori, Dori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.”

https://musingsofatolkienist.blogspot.com/2015/07/hobbit-origins-catalog-of-dwarves.html

Culture is made of other culture.

GW made something wonderful with Warhammer — by plundering the stories that preceded it.

The sin isn’t in the taking, it’s in the pretense that it never happened, and the vicious grifting that punishes anyone who does unto GW as they did unto everyone else.

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Bonus Marathon - Tangled: the Manga

Introduction

So I have a couple of reasons to include this particular Tangled adaptation in the review series. For starters, I’ll be covering both the novelization and the comic adaptation of Before Ever After, so it only felt right to cover both the book adaptation and the graphic novel of the original film, seeing as how it kicked off everything.

Also, I just thought it’d be an interesting and unique thing to talk about, since there’s nothing else quite like it in the franchise. And finally, it was free. I got it with my three month free trial that came with my new kindle. So really there was no reason not to include it. Especially, given how short a read it is.

The Content

It’s a manga adaptation of the original Tangled movie. At only five chapters long, the graphic novel speed runs through the first film at a peppy jaunt, using the conventional manga layout. Which is really just a black and white comic that you read from right to left instead of left to right.

This can trip up some first time readers if your not use to reading such things, but I think the author had this in mind when creating the manga. The layout of the panels is simple and action packed, with dialogue kept to a minimum on each individual panel. If you’ve never read a manga before then this can be a good starting point to get you use to the format.

However, one could argue it’s too simple. Any subtlety is lost in this adaptation. Dialogue and atmospheric scenes from the film are hacked to pieces to fit the smaller format of the comic. However, the action is good, and the comedy bits do land, mostly.   

The Presentation

Keep in mind, this is a manga. That means all of the usual conventional manga tropes are present, for better or for worse. Like minimal backgrounds and getting weird wallpaper patterns instead in some panels, sound effects that aren’t really sound effects and say things like ‘smile’ or ‘jerk’ to indicate action rather than sound, and of course everything is in black in white because there usually is no dedicated ink and paint team available and the poor author is forced to do 90% of the work themselves.

This also includes redesigning the characters to fit the traditional anime style, and what we get is a mixed bag.

The more cartoony characters, like the pub thugs and the animal sidekicks, fair fairly well. They have an almost Studio Ghibli like quality to them, and can be very charming at times. However, Rapunzel and Eugene are bland. Now, I don’t care for Rapunzel’s film design to begin with, but just turning her into ‘generic anime protagonist #10,961′ does nothing to endear her to me. While Eugene, and his bishōnen makeover leaves me feeling cold.

Mother Gothel, however, looks absolutely stunning this style. If the tv series has the only good Rapunzel design but the worst Gothel look, then the reverse is true of the manga. She looks gorgeous here, as if she had stepped out of an old school 80′s anime; even if her evilness is dialed up to eleven just through framing her in the most sus light as possible.

Would I Recommend It

I mean if you can get it for free, like I did, then sure, why not?

However, weather or not I would recommend you buy a physical copy to place upon your bookshelf, all depends on how big of an manga fan you are, and how big of Tangled fan you are.

For my money, I just feel like there’s better manga out there to read, both original stories and adaptations. Especially if you’re not a hardcore fan of the format; which I am not. And as for the Tangled side of things, you have both the original movie and the better prose adaptation of the story.

This is really only for the most hardcore collector. One that has a very specific niche to fill with manga adaptations of Disney properties. And such people no doubt exist, as evidenced by the many, many Disney manga to date. However, I am not one of these people, and this only got on the review list because the stars a lined just right for it to do so.

What’s Next 

Next review will be our first ‘original’ novel of the series and the first official AU for the franchise. We’ll be looking at the fifth book in the Disney Villain series, Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch.

In the meantime, I’ll be hosting another stream on the discord this coming Thursday at April 7th, 9am EST. We’ll be showing Before Ever After, What the Hair, Rapunzel’s Enemy, and Fitzherbert PI. 

https://discord.gg/bt6KCaPDVN

[mellowswriting]

Helping Hand

pairing || Din Djarin x fem!Reader

summary ||  The clasps on bras should not be so fucking difficult. It’s a good thing Mando doesn’t mind lending you a helping hand.

word count || 4,873

warnings || SMUT! p in v sex, kinda rough tbh, desperate Mando, cockwarming, a singular spank, love confessions bc I am soft for this man 

a/n || this was uh...something! I firmly believe that Mandalorians waste zero time once they find their person. Once they have them, they have them. No such thing as rushing to a Mandalorian, especially our TinCanMan. also, this gif destroys me

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

The second you saw the bra as you perused the marketplace, your face lit up. The fabric was rich in color and ridiculously soft and you knew the second you had your hands on it that you were buying it. It wasn’t too expensive, a few credits more than what you’d usually be willing to pay for clothes, but hey, you deserved to splurge every now and then. You practically bounced with excitement as you made your way back to the Crest where Mando and the little green kiddo you adored waited for your return. It was nice to get some time to yourself, time where you didn’t have to chase after a rambunctious kid or have to squeeze past Mando’s huge frame in the small spaces of the Crest, but what could you say?

You missed your boys. 

The ramp lowered as you drew closer and you smiled. Mando must have seen you approaching. The sight of him standing in the cockpit with the sleeping child cradled in his arm made your chest bloom with happiness. You paused on your way to set your bag on your bunk, distracted by the uncomfortable looking angle he held his arm at, and let out a quiet laugh. Mando’s silent tendencies left you to observe the way he held himself to discern how he was feeling, and after months of living with him, you could gauge him easily by the tilt of his helmet, the way he held his shoulders. You may not be fluent in Mando’a, but you were fluent in your Mandalorian. 

“He wakes up the second you lay him down, huh?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face. The sharp way he looked to you only confirmed your suspicion and you bit your lip to hold back another chuckle. “Here, let me.”

The child didn’t even stir when you fluidly slipped him from Mando’s arms and slowly settled him into the metallic cradle he slept in. Mando sighed loudly behind you, the sound roughed slightly by the modulator. “How are you so good at that?”

“It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” You turned and almost knocked back into the cradle at the proximity of the beskar-clad warrior, a mere few inches between your chests. Heat flared across your face. “It’s just, uh… just lotsa practice.” 

Mando hummed quietly and you instinctively looked to his shoulders and his hands, trying to gauge his mood. They were relaxed, the tension he always carried about him eased for the moment. Content, if you had to guess. It made you smile up at him, brighter than any sun in the galaxy. There weren't many times you saw him without that ready-to-action tension that plagued his surely sore muscles - almost always when the three of you were in the Crest, safe together as you hurtled through space. He turned just as quickly as he had approached you, stepping out of your space to set the coordinates to Nevarro, and you felt like you could finally exhale. 

Bag in hand, you practically stumbled into your bunk and pulled out the pretty bra you were so excited to put on - inky black, accentuated with intricately designed lace and a harness-like back. You pulled off your clothes quickly, stripping down entirely bare to slip into a soft pair of sleeping shorts. It would take a while to get back to Nevarro; you might as well be comfortable for it. The process of undressing while the Crest drew away from solid ground used to have you half naked and on the ground from the jostling, but thankfully you had grown proficient at balancing yourself through the rough takeoffs. 

A quiet sigh escaped you at the brush of the luxurious cloth against your bare skin, deft fingers latching the clasps at your back. It was a welcome change to the usual bras you wore. The straps were a bit too loose, allowing the cups to droop slightly from your breasts, and you fumbled to tighten them. It was just out of your grasp, your fingers grappling uselessly for the elusive adjuster as you huffed in annoyance.

“Need a hand?” Mando’s voice behind you made you startle almost comically and whirl around, one hand pressed against your chest where your heart was battering against your ribs. How in the hell did he always manage to move so silently? Heat bloomed up your neck and across your face unbiddenly. Sure, it wasn’t the first time he had seen you in some state of undress - living in such close quarters and the fact that Mando apparently never learned how to knock had him walking in on you often. But there was no denying the difference in you standing before him dressed practically in lingerie. 

“Uh, y-yeah, if you could?” You stuttered, internally groaning at your sudden inability to speak. The thick tension of the air could have choked you as you stared Mando down awkwardly until he twirled his finger, silently commanding you to turn around, and you could just die. “You just have to slide the, uh, adjuster up towards my shoulder.”

Mando said nothing and before you could move your hair out of his way, one gloved hand gathered it to settle over your shoulder and you had to tamp down on the shiver that tried to wriggle up your spine. He fiddled with the straps silently, leaving you to wrangle with your bordering on desperate need to climb the giant man behind you like a tree and lose yourself in the pleasures you could bring each other. 

You weren’t blind, nor were you stupid. Far from it, actually. Reading people was a gift you had possessed from a young age - one’s intent could easily be sussed by the specific light in their eyes, the slightest change in their tone, the barely-there shift in their body language. Mando may not speak often, you may not be able to watch for the arch of an eyebrow or the quirk of a lip, but you could still read him like a book. 

The fear of complication warred with your need. The child was a beacon of light in your life when you thought there could never be anything but swallowing darkness. He was a reminder of the little things that made everything else worth it - every coo, every small smile as he slept, every time he came running up to you or Mando on his little legs. Even when you were having to explain over and over again that no, he couldn’t eat the buttons off of the comlink, he brought you more joy than you could imagine. 

It didn’t help that every day spent flying through hyperspace left you growing closer to the Mandalorian. Even when there was nothing but silence between you, it was comfortable, companionable. The final straw? Mando slept in your presence. The first time it happened had been entirely accidental. He was exhausted after a strenuous bounty, one that ran far longer than they fought for, and the second the coordinates had been set, Mando collapsed into the pilot’s seat and promptly passed out. Knowing that he was comfortable enough to fall asleep without second thought, that he trusted you enough to be vulnerable like that around you...you never felt more like you belonged.

And Mando? When he woke several hours later, feeling far more well-rested than usual, he saw you curled up in the seat next to him with the child cradled in your lap as the blur of hyperspace reflected in your eyes. You had smiled at him, sleepy but bright nonetheless, and he had never been more grateful for the helmet that hid his face. You were too smart, too observant - you would be able to read the love on his face plain as day.

That little green womp rat and his beskar covered father saved you when you thought there was nothing left. The idea of losing that made you nauseous. The idea of how complete your little family would feel if you gave in made you tempted. 

It was complicated. 

A modulated grunt of frustration came from the man behind you as he couldn’t get a solid hold on that damn adjuster and you bit back a laugh. A Mandalorian, a warrior - bested by some plastic and fabric. Something fell to the ground, landed on the metal floor with two quiet thwaps, and before you could glance down to see what it was, warm bare fingers slid between the strap and your skin. This time there’s no stopping the almost violent shiver that racked your body, paired with an embarrassingly sharp exhale, and Maker your resolve was crumbling to pieces. 

“Tell me when.” Mando rumbled once his nimble fingers finally wrapped around the plastic, his modulator vibrating right in your ear in the most delicious way. The strap tightened slowly as his fingers slid up, the cup of the bra finally flush against your skin, and your voice was hoarse when you whispered ‘when’. 

Instead of simply reaching for the other strap, his warm palm made a lazy path across your skin, pausing for a breath between your shoulder blades before slipping under the thin fabric. He repeats the movement, tightening the strap until you clear your throat and manage to say in a stronger tone, “T-there is fine.” 

Mando hummed, his fingertips gliding over the soft skin of your shoulder and holy hell, his chest was practically pressed to your back and there was no way he wasn’t being a giant tease. “Just fine?”

“Perfect,” You corrected, your voice breathy, eyes threatening to flutter shut as that hand trailed over your shoulder to trace along the line of the cup of your bra. Goosebumps followed Mando’s touch, raised as your body’s desperate testament to the need that had vibrated through you. You just barely caught a glimpse of those tanned hands, hands you had seen a few times as he took care of the more delicate aspects of cleaning of his weapons, and you whispered, “You’re p-perfect.”

Mando gripped your hip suddenly, your soft flesh soft a beautiful contrast to his calloused hands, and it was the dip of his fingertips underneath the hem of your shorts that made you lean back into him fully, your head tilted back against his shoulder. A rumbled moan vibrated from his chest and into your back, felt all the way through his chestplate, as you “You want this, sweet girl?”

You nodded quickly. “H-how? How can we…”

“Leave it to me,” Mando murmured, preoccupied with the heat of your bare skin under his hands as he finally broke, finally explored the body of the woman he had fallen in love with in the months since his clan had expanded to three. “Just...tell me you want this. Please.”

Mando’s voice was rough and desperate even through the modulator and you nodded without a second thought. You knew you were in for it just from the way he pushed you further into your bunk to let the door slide shut behind him. No fanfare, no fuss. Mando was certain. He was going for what he wanted, and it lit a fire in you. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing as Mando methodically unclasped his armor, his visor trained on you with each piece that came off - and it hit you. This was actually happening. 

Finally. 

You grinned up at the t-shaped visor of his helmet and pulled him closer by the hem of his duraweave pants, his grunt of approval stoking the flames of your need. He pulled his shirt off fluidly and your hands froze where they were trying to undo his pants as you admired the sight of so much bare skin. 

“So handsome,” You whispered before kissing just below his navel, smiling into his skin at the way his hand buried in your hair. Mando hummed under your gentle touch, under the trail of your tongue against his skin. It had been so long, too long since he had any form of gentle touch, you knew that. Touch starved, that was the term. 

You would fix that. 

You trailed your hand over his ribs, fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake when your nails scratched him lightly. Finally having your hands on him had you almost giddy, your heart flying in your chest as you slowly kissed down his stomach to the tent in his pants, nerves and need warring in your belly. You wanted to learn every piece of your Mandalorian - his scars and their stories, where to kiss when you wanted to hear those intoxicating groans, his favorite places for you to bite and dig your nails into. You wanted to break him in the best possible way, destroy that headstrong restraint and discipline so he could destroy you in return. 

All it took was a teasing press of your tongue against the outline of his cock to make him snatch you up off of the bed with a firm hand at your jaw and you couldn’t help but smile. His helmet tilted slightly as he took you in, grinning at him like the cat that got the canary, eyes sparkling with excitement, and he gripped your shorts with his other hand hard enough to pop the hem. 

“Off.” Mando rumbled and you immediately shimmied out of them as quickly as you could with his hand still holding your face firmly. The second the fabric no longer hindered his access, he ran his hand over your ass, greedy fingers digging into the firm flesh of one cheek. “Such a good listener. Aren’t you, sweet girl?”

You pressed closer as you nodded, desperate to feel his body against yours, and your eyes fell closed at the warmth of the skin to skin contact of your chest against his. As much as you loved the bra you wore, you wanted to feel nothing between you. It was easy to slip off and Mando’s hand instantly left your jaw to trace along your breast. It amazed you how gentle he could be; those big hands capable of incapacitating, capable of killing, gently palming your skin and tweaking your nipple. A breathy chuckle met your ears and only then did you realize you were arching up into his touch. 

“I won’t be gentle.” Mando warned. 

You grinned, heat shuddering down your spine at the roughness of his tone. “Who says I want you to be?”

You were on your back before you could even blink, the impact against the bed pulling a gasp from you. Mando made an image painted by the gods: stood over you, chest heaving with each harsh breath, cock straining proudly against his pants. That was the last thing you saw before his hand slapped against the light control on the wall and the entire bunk plunged into darkness. 

A hand wrapped around your ankle and yanked you against a pair of firm thighs, forcing out a yelp that morphed into a low whine when your legs were spread wide. Without your vision to guide you, you had to rely on your hearing, your sense of touch, and the low clank of metal on metal and rustling of fabric had you confused until his warm, entirely naked body slid over yours and you heard the first tones of Mando’s voice - unmodulated, raw and low in your ear. 

“You need me, huh? You need this?” Mando growled, sliding down to grind his cock against you, and he grinned impishly at the desperation of your whimper, at the way you angled your hips to try to slide him inside of you. “Let me take what I want and I’ll give you what you need.” 

You could have cried out when he pulled back, could have begged him to stay and fuck you already, but the feeling of his lips latching onto your neck made your voice melt into unintelligible groans. You buried your hands in his hair, memorizing the soft way the curls fell through your fingers. The combination of his teeth and tongue were sure to leave a mark, one you would wear with pride for anyone to see. It was the first of many lovebites he left on your skin, trailed down your neck and over your chest and delivered between significantly gentler bites and licks to your breasts. Your hips moved entirely of their own volition, legs wrapped around his waist to rub against his stomach. 

Mando’s hands found your hips and pressed them down, pressing you flush to the bed hard enough that you knew you would have bruises, ones you would relish as long as they lasted. You had never felt more desperate to be touched, tension rocketing tighter and tighter in your core. 

“So needy, mesh’la.” Mando rumbled as he shoved you further up the bed. He delivered a sharp bite to your thigh and you jumped, a laugh bubbling up from your chest at the suddenness and the way he eased the mark with his tongue. You carded your fingers through his hair again and his chest rumbled, almost as if he were purring. Just as you were about to comment on it, tell him how cute it was that he reacted so beautifully to your touch, his tongue slid through your wet heat. 

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, the grip you had in his curls tightening harshly as you tried to roll your hips to grind against his face, but he pinned your hips with sure hands. Not to be hindered, you pressed your heels into his back and still managed tiny hitches and Mando chuckled at your determination. His tongue rolled over your clit, over and over until you were crying out at the sparks of pleasure radiating through your core.

His mouth left you for a split second, just long enough to slick his fingers with his spit, and his tongue descended back to your clit as two fingers rubbed tiny circles against your entrance. You were almost incoherent in your begging, your voice slurred, words cut off in the middle - and then two thick fingers slid into your cunt, his lips wrapped around your clit, and you thought your heart stopped with the intensity of it all. 

After what could have been an eternity or a mere half second, Mando pumped his fingers slowly and your entire world imploded around you. The groan that left your lover was exhilarating. He mumbled against you, something about the tightest fucking cunt he’s ever had, before his tongue went back to town, flicking over your clit as his fingers curled into that sweet spot deep inside you. Your back arched of its own volition, your entire body tensing as Mando rocketed you to your climax.

“Can’t wait anymore.” Was the only warning you got before he pulled away, leaving you to flutter around nothing, and a high whine left your throat as Mando leaned over you and yanked your thighs up to hook further over his hips. His lips fell to yours and you groaned at the taste of your arousal, your hand cupping his jaw and reveling in the scratch of his stubble against your skin. The heavy weight of his cock pressed against your thigh until he angled himself to press right against your entrance, and - 

“Wait!” You gasped and Mando froze entirely. You reached between you to grasp his cock, groaning at the thick girth that you knew would split you open beautifully. “Let me... let me make you feel good, too.” 

“Won’t last, mesh’la,” Mando growled, his forehead pressed to yours as he fucked into your hand despite his words. For just a moment you thought you had him, had gained some modicum of control as you stroked him with a firm hand, but he batted your hand away to pin above your head. “Need to bury my cock in your tight little cunt.”

“P-please! I need it, I need you to fuck me full.” You mewled so prettily for him and Mando broke. 

The sound that left him was pulled from his very core, an almost feral growl radiating from his chest and leaving you shuddering underneath him, ready to beg until he finally shoved his cock into you, but before you could get a sound out you were flipped you onto all fours. You tried to steady yourself, to press your weight into your hands so you could grind your ass back against him, but a rough hand shoved between your shoulder blades until your face and chest were flush against the blankets beneath you. 

“You want me to claim this cunt?” Mando breathed into your ear as he settled his chest against your back, gliding the head of his cock through your slit teasingly. A dark chuckle followed your pitiful whine. “Oh I think I will. Stuff you full of my cum so everyone knows who you belong to.”

Mando pulled back and steadied a hand at your hip, the other pulling your cheeks apart as he finally slid home. Inch after devastating inch filled your cunt, the familiar stretch on just the right side of painful. A sinful, wrecked groan came from behind you and despite yourself, despite being face down ass up for a warrior, you felt powerful. 

“S-so fucking tight,” Mando stuttered out as he gave a small push forward, pressing even further into your heat despite being buried to the hilt already, short, aborted thrusts as he tried to let you adjust to his girth. 

“Please, please, please,” You huffed out with each exhale, and if you were in your right mind you might have been at least slightly embarrassed by the desperation of your begging, but you were aching for him to move. You clenched around him, reveling in the punched-out sound it drew from him, and finally, finally he drew back halfway to shove back into you sharply. 

Mando didn’t fuck you - the word ‘fuck’ wasn’t enought to encompass the way he drove into you over and over, shoved you further into the sheets with his teeth buried in your shoulder. You wanted to be destroyed, and Maker did he deliver, pressed against that sweet spot deep inside you and making your writhe beneath him. It took a moment to find your voice amongst the harsh thrusts, but the sound of you whimpering ‘Mando…’ over and over had your lover delivering a sharp swat to your ass before yanking you up by your hair and bracing your ass on his thighs, his pace unfaltering. 

“S-such a sweet little thing,” Mando stuttered, one hand holding you by your neck, keeping you flush against him, and the other sliding down to toy with your clit, those calloused fingers rubbing in tight circles until you pressed your head to his shoulder and wailed. “Sound so pretty for me.”

You wanted to tell him how good he felt stretching you out, how much you loved this, how much you loved him, but there was no speaking when his thrusts punched the very air from your lungs. So you buried your hand in his hair and tightened, rolling your hips into every push of his own. The sharp pull of his hair seemed to egg him on and his hand slid up from your throat to tilt your head and capture your lips with his. 

The angle was awkward, the kiss all teeth and tongue, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Mando drank in your every moan, every whine, and sang out his own in response, poured them out in a never ending stream that left you washed out in pleasure and pride. You reduced him to this. The tight clench of your cunt around him left the strong warrior slashed down to his most base instincts, left him to bury himself in you over and over as if he couldn’t bear to hold back. 

Your begging was almost incoherent, words broken off halfway with each harsh thrust, but it all melted into one low cry when Mando toyed with your clit and ground against that sweet spot against you and you broke. The only thing that kept you upright was Mando’s strong grip on your body as your pleasure crested, sparked out all across your body and left you weak in the aftermath of ecstasy. Your hand fell loose in his hair, still tangled in his curls but just barely staying put. 

Mando laid you down almost sweetly, flipped your weak body around to lie on your back and settled between your thighs. He growled low in your ear when you hooked your ankles over his lower back and whined so prettily for him as he pushed himself deep into your cunt - right where he belonged. His thrusts were shorter, stunted in his relentless chase for release inside of your body, leaving you hanging in the precipice between pleasure and overstimulation. 

“Feel so good,” You whispered in his ear, gasping when he buried his face in your neck and latched onto your skin with rough presses of teeth and tongue. The pace of his thrusts stuttered when you clenched around him, urging him to let go.

“Where?” Mando grunted low into your skin, unable to find the words to finish his thoughts but you knew. You knew what he wanted, the desperate want you both shared.

“Inside!” You gasped out in a rough voice, almost desperate in tone, and locked your legs around his waist tighter, using the newfound leverage to meet each of his thrusts. “Please, please cum inside me.”

The choked off sound in your ear was downright addictive and paired with the airtight grip on your hips as he pressed flush against your body and flooded you with his release....well, you wouldn’t be able to live without it, without him. Mando collapsed, crushed you underneath his weight with his cock still nestled in your tight heat. Maker, he was heavy but you never felt safer. He panted in your ear, the ghost of each breath curling across your skin like a loving caress and you could feel the curve of his lips where he smiled against you, a smile you matched. 

Your fingers buried in his hair once more, scratching against his scalp in slow, gentle circles, and the delighted whimper he gave sounded like it came from anyone but the rough and tumble warrior who just railed you into oblivion. One of his hands writhed up between your chests to cup your breast, the gun-calloused skin of his palm a harsh contrast to the soft, unmarred skin of your chest. 

“Mando…” You chuckled in a tone of warning when those fingers tweaked your nipple, sending sparks echoing across your skin. 

“Din,” He grunted in your ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and worrying it with his tongue, only pulling back when you made a small noise of confusion. “Din Djarin. You should know the name of the man who claims you.”

Your heart stuttered, racing to match the pace of your thoughts. This...this was a huge deal for him, you knew that. Your arms tightened around him almost of their own volition as it hit you - this union meant as much to him as it did to you. 

Mando - Din was yours. 

You were his. 

“Cyare,” Din whispered at the small noise that left you, propping himself up on his elbows to hover over you despite not being able to see you. You followed his movements as best you could, not wanting to jostle around enough for his softening cock to slip from your body.  “Are you okay? Was...Was this not-”

“No! No, I...damn it,” You stumbled over your words in your rush to reassure him, reaching up to hesitantly place your hands on either side of his face, giving him plenty of time to stop you in case you crossed a line. He didn’t. Rough stubble met your fingers and you laughed wetly in disbelief. You couldn’t believe your luck. “I love you. I have from the start.”

Din’s breath caught in his throat and he pressed his face back into your neck as he returned the sentiment, his words muffled and cracking under the weight they carried. You giggled at the way his tongue met your neck, surely adding to the multitude of marks he already left there, but tilted your head back for more access nonetheless. He was right - he laid his claim on you, buried his seed as deep inside you as he could and left the imprint of his teeth across your skin for all to see. 

“A clan of three, right?” You said before kissing his temple, yours eyes slipping closed as your exhausted reared. 

“Yes, sweet girl. A clan of three.” Din rumbled. The vibration of his chest only lulled you further into slumber and the last thing you heard before the sleep overtook you was Din whispering, almost to himself, “My own little aliit.”

[witch-and-a-half]

saving up

i’m back with a fic! it’s longer than i’d originally intended because i got carried away with a new idea at the end but hopefully you still like it.

notes: fred x reader, fluff, 7th year, no specific house, georgie gets a few fluffy friend bits too

words: 2.8k

- - -

[y/n] was flabbergasted, “What? You don’t want to go to Honeydukes tomorrow? They’re having a sale, Freddie.”

Her boyfriend shrugged beside her, “I don’t feel like spending a lot of money right now.”

“Why? You and George have been doing such a good job selling things around school… you don’t want to treat yourself a bit?”

Fred gave a silly grin and wiggled his eyebrows playfully, “I’m saving up.” His chest puffed proudly.

The two of them had reached [y/n]’s classroom, so Fred gave her a quick peck on the forehead. His eyes were bright as she grinned up at him. “Fred Weasley… not interested in a trip to Honeydukes… I might have to take you to see Madam Pomfrey.”

He just laughed before heading down the corridor.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] spent the day in Hogsmeade with a few friends, and Fred stayed behind to work on some products with George. When she got back to the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, the twins were sitting on the couch wrapping sweets in colorful foil.

“How was your day?” Fred asked when [y/n] sat down beside him. He set the foil aside and pulled her legs across his lap.

She pulled a cellophane bag of sweets from her knapsack and held it out for him. “It was good! Honeydukes was packed but I managed to knock a few first years out of the way so I could bring you some sweets.”

This prompted a laugh from both Fred and George, which made [y/n] beam. George shook his head and Fred thanked his girlfriend with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Looks like you’ve had a productive day.” And she gestured to the packages of products strewn across the mahogany coffee table.

“Yep, we have,” George said merrily. He was counting out coins, writing down their profit, and splitting it into two piles. Fred hummed in agreement and rubbed his hand on [y/n]’s thigh. “Here’s your bit Freddie…” George passed a handful of knuts to his brother, “... and here is mine. I’ve almost got enough for that new chess set.”

[y/n]’s hand fell atop Fred’s and she gave him an accusatory look, “See! George is going to buy himself something nice. I don’t see why you-”

Fred interrupted with a chuckle, “I told you! I’m saving!”

“You deserve to get something nice for yourself. You’ve both been working so hard.”

George was still writing something down but smiled widely at the comment. Fred just looked at her face intently.

[y/n] laughed at the faraway look in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that! What are you saving up for anyway?”

Fred shrugged and made a gesture like he was zipping his lips closed. [y/n] was a bit frustrated, but it wasn’t her money and she knew she had no business telling him what to do with it. But she was just so proud of how successful the twins had been and knew this was the most spending money they’d ever had, so she was a bit excited to see them get to buy themselves fun little treats. And she was a bit disappointed that Fred was so reluctant to do so.

~ ~ ~

A couple of months passed and Fred was still hell-bent on frugality. At first, [y/n] had tried to ask George—who’d bought a chess set, a shiny new trunk, and a tailored tweed suit jacket to wear “someday”—why his brother was so opposed to buying something nice for himself, but George just shrugged it off, “That’s just how he is, I guess.” [y/n] made her peace with it by the time their anniversary came along though; in fact, she was the one to suggest that the couple have a nice date instead of exchanging gifts.

The weather was warmer than normal—spring was just around the corner—as [y/n] walked toward the Black Lake with Fred. Their hands were intertwined and swung slightly between them as they walked. Fred laid out a blanket on the far side of the lake, where they were least likely to be disturbed, and started unpacking the basket he’d brought. There were pretty sandwiches and pieces of fruit and a little package of miniature pies. “Oh!” [y/n] exhaled in admiration, “This is so lovely.”

Fred nudged her slightly, “The kitchen elves were very generous,”

She laughed and wondered which parts of the lunch Fred had asked the house elves for and which parts he’d snuck out of the kitchen himself. The two snacked and talked for what must’ve been hours. They talked about everything and nothing all at once. The sun was beginning to set when Fred unwrapped his arms from around [y/n], who sighed sadly at the loss of contact. She turned to see Fred pull a small box from the picnic basket.

“Oh, Freddie…” Her voice was marbled with excitement and disappointment, “We promised no gifts…”

“Don’t think of it as a gift. It’s just a…” His smile was softer than it had been earlier in the day, “... a token of my affection.”

He passed the box into her hands and [y/n] unwrapped it slowly. She shook her head as she did so, overwhelmed by the surprise. Inside the box was a beautiful silver locket with an intricate floral design. When [y/n] realized where it was from, her heart sank.

~ ~ ~

Over the past summer, Fred had come to visit [y/n] in her hometown for a few days. She took him to all of her favorite places around town. One day, they were downtown and stopped in a small vintage store. Fred wandered to the back of the store, where they kept all the old Muggle comics and other old trinkets, while [y/n] looked through the vintage dresses and skirts.

When Fred found [y/n] again, she was looking into a glass case by the register and chatting with the woman behind the counter. He stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“It’s absolutely beautiful…” [y/n] said breathily to the older woman, who wore glasses with red frames and had her hair in a playful half-up bun.

The woman smiled at her, “It’s one of our finest pieces. I can pull it out for you to have a better look?” [y/n] nodded eagerly and the woman set the display on top of the glass casing.

Fred looked down at the necklace [y/n] was studying through the glass: a silver locket. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to clasp the necklace around her neck and see her joyful reaction to wearing such a pretty little thing.

[y/n], however, was barely aware of Fred’s presence as she spoke, “It’s so lovely, but I could never justify spending that much on a necklace right now. Maybe someday though…”

The woman nodded gently as she put the necklace away, “I understand completely. Maybe someday you can come back for it.” The couple thanked the woman before heading toward the door.

[y/n] turned her attention back to Fred, who was holding the door open for her, as he spoke, “You really liked that necklace?”

She shrugged, feigning benevolence, “Oh it was pretty but I don’t think I’d ever wear something that pricey.” But she was simultaneously imagining coming back to the store in a few years—once she’d graduated and was working—to buy that necklace as a gift to her younger self.

~ ~ ~

And now, only a few months later, she was holding the necklace in her hands. Fred’s thumb was nervously rubbing circles on her thigh and he watched her examine the dainty piece of jewelry. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and she suddenly felt so undeserving of everything she had in that moment.

“Oh, Freddie… you shouldn’t… I can’t take this.” She blinked and the first tear fell slowly down her cheek. Fred’s eyes narrowed with worry and endearment, “Of course you can. Do you not like it?”

[y/n] shook her head furiously, “Oh no, I love it. It’s perfect… but you shouldn’t have spent so much on me especially since you’ve been saving-”

Fred cut her off with a gentle chuckle, “Love, what do you think I’ve been saving up for?”

As all the pieces fell together, [y/n] squeezed her eyes shut. She needed a moment to sort out her overwhelming emotions. Her thoughts only became cloudier when she felt Fred press a kiss to her temple and take the necklace from her hand. Fred moved so he was slightly behind [y/n] and gathered her hair over her shoulder, which caused her eyes to flutter open again. His warm hands brushed her neck as he clasped the necklace. She looked back at him to see the brightest grin she’d ever seen him wear.

Fred tenderly took her hand and used his other arm to hold her to his chest. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky, their reflections shimmering on the glassy lake. Fred’s fingers were brushing mindlessly through [y/n]’s hair as they sat tangled in each other. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred cleared his throat.

“You know how George and I talk about starting a shop in Diagon Alley?”

[y/n] shifted so she could see Fred better, “Mhm,”

His words came spilling out, tinged with worry, “We’ve been talking about… leaving school early and getting a headstart on it. Between Umbridge and exams and-”

[y/n] pressed her lips to his for a moment, overjoyed by the idea. She knew how talented the twins were when it came to these kinds of things. They loved a little spontaneity and a risk, and they always managed to pull it all off. There was absolutely no reason why this newest scheme wouldn’t be the same.

“If that’s what you want to do, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Fred looked shocked, he’d expected her to worry or even try to convince him to stay. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t go if you didn’t want me to.”

She smiled up at him. The loving look in her eyes melted his worries and filled him with relief. “I’ll miss you, obviously. But we can send letters and then once I’m done with school I can come help out if you and George’ll have me. I think you’ll do an excellent job and I’m excited for you.”

“What is a girl as wonderful as you doing with a bloke like me? Merlin, I love you so much.”

Fred’s lips were back on hers before she could return the sentiment.

~ ~ ~

They walked back up towards the castle, their path illuminated by the moon. Their hands were intertwined again, but their bodies were too close together for their hands to swing like they had when the sun was still out. [y/n]’s free hand wandered to the locket on her chest again, still in disbelief that it was truly hers now.

“I still can’t believe you spent all your savings on me…” She said quietly, half hoping that Fred wouldn’t hear her.

His hand tightened around hers, “I wanted to give you something beautiful.” Then he shrugged playfully and added, “Plus, it wasn’t all my savings.”

[y/n] was relieved, “Oh? So what are you going to do with the rest?”

Fred hummed, taking a moment to choose his next words carefully. [y/n] looked up at him to see a grin wash over his face as he spoke, “I’m saving that… for the future.”

She rolled her eyes, disappointed but not surprised by his answer. They took another few steps and [y/n]’s gaze was back on the path before Fred spoke again, his voice low, “... for our future.”

[y/n] felt a blush warm her cheeks under the cool night air. Fred looked down at her to watch a range of emotions flood her face. She looked like she was about to laugh and cry all at once.

~ ~ ~

Less than a month later, [y/n] watched Fred and George Weasley soar across the sky above Hogwarts. They were surrounded by fireworks and the sound of cheering students. When George spotted her in the crowd, he gave her a cheerful wave and called out to Fred. His eyes locked on hers, even from so far away, and he blew her an exaggerated kiss before the brothers turned to head off on their new adventure.

They hadn’t explicitly told [y/n] that they were planning to leave that day, but she’d known. She’d known because George had spent the day before studying with her in the library—even though he was subtly studying from a finance textbook that definitely wouldn’t help him on his Transfiguration exam. She’d known because both boys had given her some of their old clothes they’d found as they went through their trunks the night before, so now she had a cool pair of corduroy slacks and some soft-from-wear t-shirts to remember them by. And she’d known from the way Fred had kissed her that morning before her exam. The kiss was warm and needy and especially fiery. And, when Fred pulled away, [y/n] could see the sadness in his eyes.

[y/n] quietly watched the Weasley “W” fade from the air as the other students began to head back inside. Once there was no longer any evidence that there were ever any fireworks in the sky, [y/n]’s hand found the locket again. She was shaken from her trance when she realized she’d never opened it. Guilt washed over her as she wondered if Fred would have wanted to see her reaction to whatever was inside, and then she felt worried that maybe nothing was inside. Shakily, she pulled the necklace so she could see the dangling piece of silver and opened the locket.

Inside was a picture she’d forgotten even existed. [y/n] was standing beside Fred on the castle steps outside the Yule Ball. He had on a smart suit and her hair fell delicately on her shoulders. Fred’s arm was draped around her in the loose way it did before they started dating. She remembered that George was behind the camera, and she and Fred were laughing at something he’d said. As they laughed in the photo, Fred’s arm tightened and pulled [y/n] closer to him. She could still remember the butterflies in her stomach as he did so too. [y/n] felt tears prick her eyes as she watched the two of them in the locket. Out of all the photos and memories she and Fred had, he had chosen this one for her to wear around her neck. He’d picked a photo that was taken only a couple hours before he’d nervously admitted that he fancied her and she'd first felt his soft lips on hers.

She closed the locket gently and refused to let the tears fall from her eyes as she walked back into the castle. [y/n] traipsed through the mess in the Great Hall corridor and her eyes fell on one of the only Educational Decrees still mostly intact on the floor. Her eyes lit up as she read it, and immediately she picked it up, knowing exactly where it belonged.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] knocked on the door of the Weasley twins’ shop, a brown paper package clutched nervously in her hand and the silver locket hung dutifully around her neck. Fred opened the door and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“What’s this?” Fred gestured to the package as he led her inside. George was painting one of the shelves on the wall on the floor above them and gave [y/n] a wide grin before rushing down for his own hug.

[y/n] told Fred and George about the day they'd left. She told Fred about how she’d opened the locket just after he’d left and how touched she’d been. Then she told them about how she’d found an Educational Decree only slightly frayed by the chaos, and how she’d framed it as a good-luck gift for their shop.

The look in Fred’s eyes as she spoke was distant, he was so overjoyed to be reunited with the love of his life that he barely even registered the fact that she’d omitted which Decree she’d found.

“What’s it say?” George asked, and [y/n] handed the package to him. She looked at Fred, expecting him to watch his brother open their gift, but instead saw the soft look in his eyes, which were fixed on her. [y/n] beamed and came to stand closer to him as he turned to see George pull out the orange frame.

George’s face lit up as he read the words on the paper, “Oi, this is perfect!” Then he turned it for Fred to see. [y/n] looked up at her boyfriend and watched a cheeky smile spread across his face. He looked down at her in disbelief as George propped up the frame on the check-out counter.

Fred shook his head and kissed his girlfriend’s forehead excitedly, “What would I do without you…”

[y/n]’s hand pressed to her chest, atop her locket, as Fred leaned across her to re-examine the rule Umbridge had put into place back at Hogwarts.

“Educational Decree Number 30 - ALL WEASLEY PRODUCTS WILL BE BANNED IMMEDIATELY.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] S2 Gavin - The Stories Project

🍒 Warning: Detailed spoilers for content not yet released in EN!🍒

Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide

Features S2 Gavin but contains no spoilers regarding the S2 storyline

This is a continuation of The Broadcast Countdown Project. Do read that first!

[ This was released on 25 August 2021 ]

[ Chapter One ]

Gavin and I are standing outside Door 501 of the 7th block in Pavilion Village.

This is also the home of Zhang Nian, the kidnapper who handed me an anonymous letter in the TV station before eventually committing suicide.

A thorough investigation of the case involving the anonymous kidnapper and his suicide has ended. The STF has also removed the cordoning around the scene.

I liaised with the TV station, planning to showcase the incident from start to end in a special episode of the show which will be aired in the last episode of “Inquiries”.

Gavin: This used to be a crime scene. If you’re afraid, wait for me here. If you need any materials, I can head inside and find them for you.

MC: It’s okay, I don’t avoid such things... Also, I have a feeling that there’s definitely something behind this case worth seeing in person.

The husband and wife who were kidnapped had related the details to me, and mentioned that even though Zhang Nian had kidnapped them, they weren’t treated harshly at all.

It’s just that Zhang Nian was deaf and couldn't speak. He could only communicate with them with hems and haws, which ended up frightening them.

In hindsight, they realised that Zhang Nian never harboured malicious intentions towards them.

MC: What was Zhang Nian’s goal and what did he want to tell us? The answers to these riddles... they might be hidden here.

Gavin pushes the door open, and we step into Zhang Nian’s house.

Gavin: This place was sealed off since the incident, which is why the arrangement of furniture we’re looking at is the same as when he was still alive.

In contrast to the dim and cold space I had imagined, the living room is well lit.

The cream coloured wood flooring, a white cloth sofa, a simple wall painting of the ocean... all of these elements set off one another in the indolent afternoon sunlight, displaying a warm atmosphere. 

MC: This place gives me such a strange feeling... the person who lived here must have really loved life...

Gavin: His fiancée decorated this place.

Gavin taps on a magnet on the refrigerator. Tiny colourful slips of paper are stuck underneath zebra, bunny, and elephant magnets. 

“Special discount for wax gourds on Tuesday, special discount for pork ribs on Thursday.” - It’s as though the weekly booklet of discounts from the supermarket had been copied down.

“Invitation cards, wedding dress, decide on the hotel.” - The ring which had rolled onto the zebra crossing in the news immediately flashes across my mind.

Aside from that, they have simple recipes on them.

MC: What a pity. If that incident didn’t happen, they would have had a perfect life here.

Gavin: All the furnishings and decor came to a halt when the incident happened to Xu Wen. He did everything he could to retain traces of her existence. As for his own life...

Gavin opens the refrigerator, showing me that it’s more or less empty aside from condiments which had been used a few times. 

White cold mist hover in the empty space, out of sync with the warm tones in the living room.

Gavin: This too.

He opens a wall cabinet to reveal a few boxes of ordinary flavoured cup noodles. The incandescent light in the cabinet is chilly, shining on plastic film surrounding the cup noodles.

Imagining the taste of cup noodles submerged in MSG, I once again turn towards the recipes stuck on the refrigerator.

Gavin shuts the cabinet, then points at the bedroom.

Gavin: MC, I want to show you something.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Gavin: During the investigation, we found these.

Gavin guides me to the bookcase, then pulls open a drawer at the bottom.

MC: A disability ID, marriage certificate, graduation certificate, guarantee card for a hearing aid and a bank book...

Gavin: We checked his background. He grew up in an orphanage. 

Gavin: Back then, the orphanage didn’t have adequate facilities, and didn’t have teachers or special medical setups for guiding people with hearing issues. He was always reclusive in the orphanage, and didn't have friends. 

Gavin: When he was ten years old, people from the orphanage and community sent him to school.

While saying this, Gavin retrieves a pile of books from the drawer and shows them to me - they are all sketchbooks, and the pages have long since turned yellow. It’s evident that they were here for a very long time.

MC: He can draw?

Gavin: In these books, there are some sketches of streets and still life. Some are comics modelled after existing works. Although I don’t know much about art, I think he could draw pretty well.

While flipping through the pages, I find myself affected by the exquisite details conveyed in these drawings.

Perhaps because he didn’t go through systematic training, he wasn’t limited to one style in the way he expressed his art.

A distinct and unique style leaving a deep impression seems to break through the sheets of paper, revealing the emotions the artist had hidden in his heart.

MC: ...he must have been a really talented artist. 

Gavin points at the wall - there’s a sketch hanging on it. It takes up almost half of the wall, and it’s mounted in a white frame.

MC: The person in the drawing is Xu Wen.

MC: ...it’s drawn really well.

Gavin releases a “mm”, and is unable to hold back a sigh.

Gavin: Extraordinarily well.

It doesn’t matter if it resembles the actual person. It doesn’t matter if it was meticulous or not. 

The person in the drawing has her eyes curved upwards with a smile on her face, and she looks like any other young girl you can find in a crowd.

But the limitless gentleness and happiness contained in her eyes - that’s a unique feature belonging only to one person.

Gavin: They seemed to be schoolmates. I read through Xu Wen’s background - she graduated from the same school for deaf students. But there weren't any questionable points in this case, which is why we didn’t probe further. If you want to know the specifics, we'd have to investigate again.

My heart hovers in the air, wanting to figure out everything about this matter.

But from the STF’s perspective, this case is already closed...

Gavin gives me an affirmative gaze.

Gavin: I know what you're going to say. I want to continue listening to this story too. He wasn’t able to speak, but he left behind a voice that he hoped for others to hear.

After a pause, he turns his head, once again glancing at the drawing hanging on the wall.

Gavin: I can feel such emotions.

Gavin says this softly, and the light in his eyes grow deeper.

Floating dust in the surroundings gather on Xu Wen's portrait. We stand in this warm and tranquil space, as though we can sense their story surging forth without a sound.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

After this, Gavin and I gather information about Zhang Nian and Xu Wen from various sources.

A few days alter, we arrange to meet at a cafe to exchange materials collected from our individual investigations.

MC: I found the teacher from the school for deaf students. He said that when Zhang Nian first arrived at the school, he didn’t even know how to use sign language. He was gloomy and blue. 

MC: Only Xu Wen knew how to converse with him, and would teach him sign language after school. 

MC: After learning of his interest in drawing, she used her pocket money to buy him colouring pencils and drawing paper in secret without her parents’ knowledge. 

MC: They had a pretty happy time in school. Zhang Nian even organised a small exhibition in school, and many teachers and students supported it. 

MC: But after graduation, his days became a little more difficult.

He didn’t have a place to stay, and he couldn’t find work. While Xu Wen could rely on her parents for financial assistance, he could only rely on himself. 

MC: During this time, Xu Wen seemed to have been using her parents’ money to buy him stationery for drawing, and even accompanied him to set up a stall for his paintings...

MC: But they couldn’t earn money at all.

Gavin opens a few files in front of me.

Gavin: Afterwards, he found a job in a finance company. He went around conducting financial transactions for people, and earned commissions based on the number of successful transactions.

Gavin: Not long after, this company was reported for illegal fund-raising. Both he and his boss were jailed for three years.

I recall seeing his ID from before - a crew cut and a white shirt along with a black suit which looked tidy and fitting.

Turns out he wasn’t working at a bank...

Gavin: Even during his time in jail, Xu Wen never gave up on him. She’d visit him every weekend and converse with him via sign language from across the glass.

Gavin: Of course, Zhang Nian behaved very well in jail, and gave his own drawings to many prison guards. After he was out of jail, he found a stable job.

Separated by the scorching 3pm afternoon sunlight, the gaze Gavin gives me is deep with a tranquil light.

Gavin: Do you know why he planned this kidnapping and handed you the video clip anonymously?

I shake my head. This has been my biggest question.

Gavin takes out a few photographs from the file.

Gavin: Before the case was closed, these documents couldn’t be disclosed to the public, which is why I didn’t tell you at the time.

I scrutinise one of the photographs - an A3-sized sheet of paper is stuck on a door, with a few lines written on it.

From the format of the digits, they appear to be bank account numbers.

Gavin: He was behind this door.

MC: Then these bank account numbers...

Gavin: We checked them.

He points at the first line of digits, then speaks calmly.

Gavin: The first account is for an animal treatment centre. It treats stray cats and dogs which meet with accidents. 

Gavin: This one is for a 10 year old girl with hearing issues. She lives with a granny who sells fruits, and is currently saving money for surgery.

Gavin: The both of them had a habit of sending money to these accounts.

Gavin: Even though Zhang Nian continued sending money to them after Xu Wen passed away, he could only maintain his own livelihood with his income.

MC: What you’re saying is, if the video camera could capture this... and document them properly so that more people would know about them...

Perhaps he could help these people. Even if it was for the last time.

MC: ...but that was such a complex method. There was no need to do a good deed in such a roundabout manner, and even kidnap people to reach that goal.

Gavin silently picks up one of the photos from the table - it’s a note that Zhang Nian wrote before he committed suicide. A short message is written on it - It’s Wen Wen’s birthday today.

Gavin: Aside from that, he more or less did think of seeking revenge.

Gavin’s finger remains on the photograph.

Gavin: In Zhang Nian’s life, Xu Wen was the only one who gave him warmth. She was his lover. 

Gavin: After losing such a person, it isn’t difficult to guess what kind of an attitude he had when facing this world, and facing the people who caused such an ending.

Gavin: When people are in pain, their hatred will involuntarily become amplified.

Gavin: From this perspective, at least he didn't take things even further.

Gavin’s voice is dull, as though he’s mulling over something, or affected by their misfortune.

I can’t help but reach across the table, gently bumping the tip of his finger with mine. 

Silence permeates the air. He curls his finger slightly, hooking it around mine.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

The files, photographs, and a few scattered pages of a notebook are spread on the table randomly, as though illustrating their entire story in front of me.

The car accident was a tragedy, but it wasn’t the only tragedy. I find myself hesitating to speak. When I open my mouth, I sigh.

MC: Xu Wen was such a good person. She tugged onto him from beginning to end, and never gave up on him for a single moment. She actually managed to pull him out of the abyss.

Even though she couldn’t hear nor speak, she used her gentle gaze to heal the person she loved.

Gavin tidies the items on the table one by one, storing them properly.

His composed voice is mixed with ruefulness. He seems to be slightly moved, but has more or less come to terms with his emotions.

Gavin: From the perspective of an observer, there were many dismal and extreme traits in Zhang Nian’s personality. This is a point that can’t be denied.

Gavin: However, he was abandoned from the moment he was born. The path he walked on all these years, and the world that he saw - those are things we’d find difficult to relate with.

Gavin: Perhaps from the time he knew about the world, he realised that living was already something requiring courage.

Probably seeing such stories again and again when handling various cases, Gavin’s attitude is objective and calm.

Gavin: No matter what attitude he had when he made this decision, he shouldn’t have done so.

In contrast to the practised manner in which Gavin handles his emotions, I remain immersed in the regretful ending experienced by the two.

MC: Aside from her, he had nothing else.

The furniture, the recipes underneath the magnets, and the drawing hung on the wall... these images flash past me one by one.

MC: If I were the one who experienced this, and the only important person in my life was gone, I’d lose my connection with this world. Perhaps death would be a form of liberation.

Before I can finish speaking, Gavin raises his voice, cutting off my impending sigh.

Gavin: It wouldn’t.

He looks at me resolutely and decisively.

Gavin: No matter when, death will never be a form of liberation. Pain can always be treated. 

Gavin: Whether it’s because someone important is no longer around, or if you were to lose contact with someone, it’s inevitable to carry some pain.

Gavin: Perhaps time is needed, and perhaps meeting a certain someone is needed, to gradually put an end to such pain, and to use various methods to put an end to such pain.

Gavin: But things will always get better.

Gavin seals the brown paper bag which is filled with materials related to Zhang Nian and Xu Wen, then places it at the corner of the table which has been warmed by the sun.

I watch as his palm presses against the paper bag, a moment of hesitation surging past his slightly lowered gaze. Almost at the same time, he looks up at me -

There’s only certainty in his eyes.

Gavin: No matter when, never give up on yourself. Xu Wen was constantly pulling him out of the abyss. He shouldn’t have given up like that.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

By the time Gavin and I walk out of the cafe, much of the sun’s heat has dispersed. Wind blows over from the river, and it’s refreshing and soothing.

Countless little flowers with names I’m unaware of bloom among the grass along the street, swaying in the evening breeze of midsummer.

MC: The weather is really nice today.

After sitting down for an entire afternoon, I can’t help but stretch, relaxing my shoulders and back.

Before I can take a few steps, I suddenly remember the moment I met Zhang Nian face-to-face, causing me to halt in my footsteps. He had walked towards me in a timid manner, a sincere and apologetic expression on his face.

He had handed me a letter, its edges creased from being pinched. Then, he turned away hurriedly before running away.

Too much time has passed. Even his Evol has lost its effectiveness.

Gavin senses that something is off about me, and draws a few steps closer. I wave my hand at him, signalling that I’m fine.

Having second thoughts, I can’t help but sigh with emotion.

MC: If only Zhang Nian was willing to contact me earlier and tell me about what exactly happened...

MC: If only I could tell him how nice today’s weather is. I wonder if he’d have made such a decision.

Gavin responds decisively from beside me.

Gavin: He wouldn’t. 

Gavin: If someone told him that the weather would be nice today, he’d have definitely held on for a while longer.

Gavin: But he couldn’t always wait for someone to pull him along and bring him out of the abyss. He had to muster his courage and walk out by himself.

I nod quietly, gripping the notebook in my hand. 

MC: Gavin, aside from the original plan for this episode, I think I’d need to add some new content...

Gavin halts in his footsteps, immediately reading the thoughts in my heart.

Gavin: Are you thinking about how there are many people in the world like Zhang Nian?

MC: Mm.

There are definitely some people who are shouldering pain alone, and are hesitating at the crossroads of life and death.

MC: Although this tragedy can no longer be salvaged, we could prevent even more tragedies from occurring.

I turn towards the direction of the river, looking afar at the boundless sky.

MC: I want to tell them about the beautiful scenery all around the world, and the beauty of the four seasons.

MC: Tell them about the colours of sunset, the sounds of the ocean...

MC: And tell them that as long as they’re willing to wait for a while longer, there are still people on earth who will love them.

MC: I want their eyes to be able to see the world that I see. I want them to believe that this world is always worth it.

Realising how overly idealistic and visionary my words are, I give Gavin a smile.

MC: ...I might have sounded too exaggerated.

Gavin: Nope. It will be a very meaningful show.

He suddenly reaches out, combing my hair which has been blown messy by the wind. His fingers linger on the ends of my hair for a long time.

The corners of his lips curl upwards slightly, and he brings me into his arms.

Gavin: Thank you.

Gavin: This world is always worth it.

His voice is far too soft. For a moment, I wonder if I misheard.

MC: What did you say? I couldn’t hear you clearly.

Gavin chuckles, then raises his volume.

Gavin: Since the weather’s pretty good, want to go for a drive?

MC: Did you drive here today?

Gavin: Mm. It’s rare to have such nice weather, so I took the car out for a drive.

MC: Wow~ That is rare. It’s been such a long time since I sat in Captain Gavin’s car.

Gavin takes my hand, striding with large steps as he leads me forward.

Gavin: Let’s go. The car’s in front.

- End -

Filming for the special episode of “Inquries” came to an end. When the final episode aired, the show became a trending topic. After watching it, many members of the audience provided assistance and support for organisations targeted at disabled individuals. Although Zhang Nian and Xu Wen have already left this world, they’ve enabled people who experience difficulties in life to obtain warmth. Such warmth continues to last. I guess being able to allow more people to believe that the world is worth loving, and to do what little they can to help those in need is what it means to be a person in the media industry.

More S2 content: here

[tonysaintborgi]

God I really wish tumblr users could collectively buy the CW lmao. There was only one CW show I actually liked (Arrow, not Supernatural) so I'm perfectly fine with wrecking it harder than it already is

so imagine we did tho, and they just picked users at random to write episodes like that post said and

SUPERNATURAL SEASON 16

Ep. 1: Escape From Superhell

Clearly written by a long time supernatural fanfic author upset by the finale. Soft-retcons most of it. The one guy and the angel kiss on screen.

Ep. 2: Dawn Of The Doodle

The main heroes get trapped in a picture book by a witch who has a day job as a preschool teacher. The majority of it is badly animated and full of whedonisms. Regarded by future fans as "the most unique filler episode."

Ep. 3: A New Hero

A story featuring a new character who's clearly the writer's overpowered original character. Most pre-established characters have few lines, if any. This character is never really seen from again because none of the other writers really gave a shit but they become a minor fan favorite.

Ep. 4: Power Crystals

Inexplicably, a single episode Breaking Bad crossover where the boys help a haunted meth lab. The episode is framed to be in the middle of a lull in the breaking bad story and doesn't contradict either BB or SPN canon, somehow. This episode caused a large spike of people streaming breaking bad.

Ep. 5: The Lock

Written by a frustrated SPN nerd specifically to fix a minor plot hole that most people didn't even notice. The pacing is horrible and the writing is stiff and it's as if the writer was being paid per callback because it's PACKED with them. But it's def by someone who knows their shit about the series.

Ep. 6: Bingo Bongo

This person who wrote this entered the draft as a joke. The word "poop" is said at least 150 times, 50 of those back to back back and forth between the main characters. angel dude blows a raspberry and anyone who follows a supernatural fan sees that gif nonstop for weeks. Everyone comically kills each other at the end in a way you could tell it was just the writer being petty at SPN fans.

Ep. 7: Cas' Day Out

Despite the last episode, everyone is alive. The characters who aren't the angel guy discuss what they think angel guy does when he's alone. One theorizes he tries to live a normal life. Another says he must be the Ultimate Hero of Heaven or something. These ideas are explored. The end of the episode shows angel guy just reading a book.

Ep. 8: Nature of Reality

In a dramatic tension shift this edgy episode begins with learning god is dead. however they all go to heaven and learn god wasn't actually god, they were only third in command. the repercussions on the series are grand, perhaps shaking everything down to the foundation, but is not really explored.

Ep. 9: Fun In The Sun

Beach episode :)

would i watch any of these? probably not. but the entertainment I'd get from watching spn fans watch these? beautiful

[fickle-tiction]

Gotham’s Ticklish Prince

This started out as a headcanon, and then it spiraled out of control. You’re welcome.

  ~~

One day Bruce Wayne makes headlines. This isn’t surprising, or even noteworthy. He’s always making headlines for some silly nonsense he does as Bruce, to draw attention away from Batman. What is surprising is when he walks into the Hall of Justice and sees his face smiling back at him from about 10 different magazines strewn all over the meeting table.

Specifically, he sees himself curling inwards, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched, mouth stretched into a wide surprised smile as Mike, his date to last night’s gala, stands behind him. Thankfully, Mike’s hands are out of frame so no one can tell from the picture that he’s squeezing Bruce’s sides from behind.

“Oh look.” Arthur says, coming out of nowhere with a shit eating grin on his face. “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince decided to show his face.”

If Bruce didn’t have years of training and self discipline under his belt he would have flushed.

A Different magazine comes flying at him and smacks him in the stomach before he can even blink. Bruce catches it on reflex and looks down, only to be met with the headline “Gotham’s Ticklish Prince Has A New Squeeze” and, to his internal horror, it shows a picture snapped about two seconds after the first one. Bruce is clearly laughing in delight as Mike squeezes his sides, in full view of the camera. Several smaller pictures are beneath it, catching Bruce as he latches onto Mikes hands, turns and leans in close to tell him to stop. He didn’t have to flip to page 4, where the story apparently continued, to know what other pictures they surely got. Mike hadn’t stopped after one squeeze, and Bruce was too into character, and for once too unaware of any paparazzo nearby, to make him stop.

He knew he should have skipped the gala last night. Getting only 3 hours of sleep over the course of 4 nights and then slipping into his Bruce persona was always risky. Normally the two whiskies he had wouldn’t affect him at all, but the exhaustion plus the fact that he liked this Mike guy and was feeling comfortable and loose, clearly created a perfect storm. He remembered Mike sneaking up on him, he remember his guard being down just enough for it to catch him unawares and cause a reaction. He remembered how good it felt, but he won’t be letting himself go there. No. No thank you.

What he didn’t remember was the paparazzi being right there.

Or what would happen when those pictures surfaced at HQ.

Bruce finally looked up from the front cover of the Gotham Globe and was met with identical smirks from Arthur and Clark. Well, that explained the newspaper smacking him in the stomach earlier.

“It’s a character.” Bruce said, voice flat as he tossed the magazine onto the conference table. It wouldn’t help his situation if he tried to throw it out or look like he was hiding something.

“Right.” Clark didn’t sound like he was buying it at all. “So you knew you were being recorded. That’s why you put on such a convincing act.”

Recorded?

Recorded?!

Again, Bruce didn’t outwardly react at the news, but inside he was curling into a ball, ready to wither and die at any second. They fucking got that on video?

Naturally, the huge screen on the wall clicks on at the moment, showing a video of Bruce doing something on his phone. He had actually been playing some asinine game as he waited for Mike to come back from the bathroom. Bruce Wayne couldn’t be caught doing anything more than slicing up fruit on his phone, after all.

“I see Victor’s here.” Bruce says dryly, as though his eyes aren’t glued to the screen. His face remains impassive, but inside he’s once again screaming for his past self to turn around as Mike comes into frame behind him. He’s so busy watching Mike smirk and start sneaking up behind him (and, really, how did he not notice this last night? The guy is being so damn obvious about it.) that he doesn’t notice Clark and Arthur inching closer to him on either side.

Bruce feels a hand latch onto either of his sides just as Mike reaches forward and does the same on camera. Thankfully, Bruce’s guard has been up since he first saw his goofy face smiling back at himself when he walked into the room, so he does nothing more than cock an eyebrow and look at first Arthur, and then Clark.

“It’s a character.” He repeats, ignoring the staccato squeezing at one of his worst spots.

“I’m not going to react like he does, even though this tickles like hell. Bruce Wayne is an airheaded goof ball. Batman might be ticklish, but he doesn’t let it show--what the fuck?!” Bruce looked down to see a glittering gold rope wrapped innocently around his ankle. “Diana! What the hell?! I’m going to--” He cut off, clamping his mouth shut as he felt words trying to spill out. Words he most definitely did not want to say in the present company.

“Going to what, Brucie?” Diana asked, smirking as she held the lasso of truth in her hand. Bruce glared daggers at her, lips clamped tightly even as the squeezing on his sides turned to wiggling fingers and, to his horror, he felt his resolve breaking. 

“I’m--” Bruce huffed, biting his lower lip to keep from both speaking and laughing. “--I’m going--” His mouth was trying to curve into a smile, but Bruce was nothing if not stubborn and refused to let it happen.

“We’ve almost got him.” Arthur smirked, venturing a little lower and pinching just above Bruce’s hipbone. 

Clark noticed the jolt that caused and immediately followed suit on his side.

“I’m-Going-To-Pretend-To-Hate-all-of-you-to-keep-up-my-image.” Bruce was forced to say, as he finally caved and latched onto Arthur and Clark’s hands. Not that it did him any good. He might be The Batman, but outside of his suit he didn’t stand a chance against Superman, Aquaman and Wonder Woman, if she decided to get more hands on.

“You don’t actually hate it, do you.” Clark marveled, giving that spot above his hipbone another gentle pinch. Thank God for his super hearing, because without it he probably would have missed the squeak Bruce let out.

“I-” Again, Bruce was trying to clamp his mouth shut, but it wasn’t very effective since his mouth was stretched into a wide grin. “I have an image to maintain!” It was supposed to come out as a growl, but instead it sounded more like a whine as Bruce’s dam broke and laughter started pouring out of him.

“Well, if you’re trying to maintain the Ticklish Prince of Gotham image, you’re doing a fantastic job.” Arthur mocked him, now fluttering his fingers up and down Bruce’s side rapidly. 

Bruce was lost to the laughter, something that hasn’t happened to him since he was a kid. He began backing up, trying to back away from the tickling fingers flying furiously up and down both sides of his body. Absently, he noted that Diana must have let him go because he didn’t trip over the lasso as he tried to get away. He did, however, back himself into the wall without realizing it since his eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to contain the wild laughter pouring out  of him.

“Fahahahack!” Bruce cursed himself as Clark and Arthur boxed him in, each still tickling away. Clark was now experimenting with Bruce’s stomach while Arthur, the bastard, was worming his way under Bruce’s arm. 

They let him try to defend himself for a minute, wordlessly taunting him as they both danced around his arms with half-hearted attempts to get at his armpits. Finally, Arthur spoke up. “Clark, do you mind doing something about these?” He asked, tracing his fingertips gently up and down Bruce’s forearms. Bruce was well and truly gone if even that tickled like hell.

“Wha-” Bruce asked, laughter starting to die down as he got a short break. He cracked his eyes open, realizing for the first time he had been hunched in on himself, arms clamped down tightly, trying to protect as much of his sides as he could. 

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure.” Clark grinned. Lightening fast, he grabbed up Bruce’s wrists in one strong hand and pinned them to the wall above his head. Bruce’s eyes widened comically, too far gone to have any hope of controlling his facial features.

“Hey now.” He said, voice breathy as caught his breath. “You’ve had your fun.” Instead of the gravely voice they’d come to expect, Bruce’s voice was closer to that of his alter ego Bruce Wayne’s now. Nearly high pitched, and just short of panicky as he flexed his arms against the steel grip they were in.

“Tell me Bruce,” Arthur started, fingers slowly crawling up his ribs towards their destination. Bruce’s nerves immediately jumped to attention because they were already so worked up. “Are your armpits ticklish?”

Bruce tried to glare at him, even as his muscles twitched beneath Arthur’s fingers and his mouth started curving into another grin.

“Diana left.” Clark added, grinning at the man he had pinned to the wall. “And she took her lasso with her. I guess we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”

“Fuck.” Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while.

When Clark and Arthur finally let him go, he slumps to the floor in an exhausted heap and marvels at the last time he laughed that much (The answer: never.) or the last time he felt this exhausted without getting his ass whooped, or whooping someone else’s.

Once he’s regained some of his dignity, Bruce goes to the security feed with the intention of deleting the last hour of footage. He surprised to find it’s already gone, the tapes spliced seamlessly, with only a minor blip to show anything is missing. 

Victor, naturally, saved the entire thing to his personal servers. Just in case.