#i cannot stand all or nothing however there are parts that i think. are noteworthy

[vanweezer]

sometimes a friendship is one guy away from his phone while the other guy is infodumping about the bring it on sequels

[ryukyuan-sunflower]

Major Symbolism in Episode 20+21 (Another MugenxFuu Post)

Episodes 20 and 21’s series of images has been going through my head a lot recently, and I think that it is about time I rant about it.

I’ve written before, how Sara is a symbol of a maternal figure for Mugen. But today, I’m gonna go into something else…

Episode 20’s series of images alludes to Mugen and Fuu not only having feelings for each other, but also the concept of marriage, parentage and the idea of being abandoned. A lot of these details bridge and connect with multiple parts of the episode.

The Sad Bride

The woman upon the boat is dressed in a traditional uchikake wedding kimono. What is happening is “Yomeiri-bune”: a traditional Japanese bridal procession on a robune rowboat.

The robune boat carries the bride’s household possessions at the front of the boat. The bride sits behind the possessions. Behind her, the bride’s two parents sit, wearing black. This boat carries the bride across the canal, to her husband. This traditional procession is still held in one place in Japan: Ibaraki during “Suigo Itako Ayame Matsuri”, or the “Iris Festival”

Here is a video of it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApIeJ384oDo

There are some key details about the bride in the scene of Samurai Champloo. While I think it could be a tale of Sara’s life...I think this is more related to Fuu’s future.

1.The bride has no household possessions. Fuu also has no household possessions of her own. The two women are incredibly poor.

2. The bride has no parents seated behind her. Fuu also has no parents to send her off and celebrate her marriage someday, as her father abandoned her, and her mother died of illness

3. There is a willow tree to the left of the scene. This one may not be major, but willows are symbols of grief, and in Japanese culture, are thought to attract ghosts. For such a sad symbol to be shown in a composition of a marriage seems intentional.

4. The bride is not smiling. Should a bride not be smiling upon her wedding day? It is supposed to be one of the most joyous moments of a woman’s life. She must be unhappy about the arrangement. This exact composition of Fuu’s unhappy face can be seen later, where Fuu is shown in front of glittering blue water. She must contemplate which of her bodyguards she will give up. But I’ll get more into that later.

Notice also, in the composition of the scene, how Fuu is on the far left, where the bride is. Sara and Jin are standing close together, where the parents ought to be seated. Mugen however, is a far distance from them all.

Sara is clearly a maternal figure in the episode, as her entire story concerns her child. Jin also has some parallels to the Sunflower Samurai, and plays a very fatherly role for Fuu throughout the series. I wonder if this position is intentional.

At the end of the robune procession, the boat delivers the bride to her husband. When a woman is given away to her husband, she is also saying goodbye to her father and mother.

There seems to even be a symbol of this.

But it is not to say Fuu wanted to give up Jin. It is clear that after Jin leaves with Sara, how upsetting it is for Fuu. She breaks down into tears. Though, it is important to note how childish these tears are. It is a comical scene, where Mugen gets frustrated and stomps off. It is nothing like the painful moments that Fuu cries when she thinks Mugen is in danger/dying (In episodes 14, 21, 25 and 26).

This seems to be Fuu clinging childishly to the closest thing she has to a father figure (Jin), similar to how this whole journey is her trying to find her father: the last remnant of her past.

The Mother and Child

While walking, the four travelers pass a mother carrying a child. The father is nowhere in sight. Again, this is an allusion to Sara and her son. But it is noteworthy that the only character to look back at the mother and child is Fuu.

The mother has light brown hair, like Fuu. The son has black, wild and unruly hair and orange clothes. More on the orange later.

The next symbol shows how this is not only about Sara...but about Fuu contemplating a future: the fear of being abandoned by a husband and left with a child alone, the same as her mother was.

The fear of being abandoned by Mugen.

The Pinwheel

The mother and child have a yellow pinwheel.

I’ve talked in other posts how pinwheels seem to be a symbol of childhood innocence, and of rebirth. However, we have seen a pinwheel in only one other scene in the series. And it is almost the exact same color. They could have chosen any color for the pinwheel, but I cannot help but feel this color choice is deliberate. Mugen flicks the pinwheel in Episode 1, just moments before meeting Fuu for the first time. 

Rather than childhood innocence, this pinwheel flick could have another meaning entirely. In Chinese culture, the flicking of a pinwheel means to “turn one’s luck around”. Why this is notable, is, in Episode 1, we find out Mugen is not Japanese at all, but Ryukyuan. The Ryukyu Kingdom was a tributary state of China, before being invaded by the Satsuma Domain. For that reason, there is a blend of both Chinese and Japanese culture in the Ryukyuan Islands.

Perhaps Mugen flicked the pinwheel, as a way to wish himself good luck in getting some food. Little did he know, this meeting would greatly change his life.

Furthermore, the pinwheels start to shift into sunflowers. Fuu’s face pans across the scene, as if a symbol that she has come to a realization, or is pondering something important.

This could be a symbol of Fuu coming to a realization of her feelings for Mugen, her fear of the future, and the fear of being abandoned by him, the same as her father abandoned her mother. 

This fear and realization is reinforced throughout the rest of the episode.

The Boy with the Monkey Mask

During the festival, Sara asks Mugen and Jin to pick out a gift for her son. Mugen proceeds to grab a small child, and asks what he wants.

1. The child responds that he wants Mugen’s sword. He’s a little fighter.

2. The child is wearing a monkey mask. This is important because in the previous scene, Mugen, Fuu and Sara bathe in the hot spring. When Sara asks Fuu what Mugen looks like, she gets extremely flustered and proceeds to say: “Honestly, he’s less than human. He’s more like a monkey or a gorilla.”

However, we know Fuu is lying, because when Sara asks, “What?” Fuu sinks into the water and blows bubbles.

The fact that the line and the mask is a scene apart, seems intentional yet again.

3. The boy is wearing orange, similar to the orange of the boy on the woman’s back earlier that only Fuu looked at. Also, Fuu in her childhood, is seen wearing orange...and was abandoned by her father.

This boy is a symbol of Mugen and Fuu having a child together. To reinforce this is the thoughts going through Fuu’s head, Mugen asks Fuu what they should get for a boy. Fuu remembers Sara’s request of taking one of them with her. It is at Mugen’s words and her own thoughts, that Fuu suddenly runs away in tears.

We know that she is pondering the choice Sara gave her: Mugen or Jin. We know that she knows Mugen will willingly leave her. We also know that she chooses Mugen to stay, despite this.

And this is where we see that previously shown picture of Fuu’s sad face, emulating the face of the sad bride. Fuu is afraid Mugen will either abandon her, or will not love her.

Jin is the one to chase after Fuu and appears behind her, not Mugen. He is far more reliable, and would seem to be a better husband. Fuu could very easily marry a man someday that she does not want to be with, because Mugen is not the type to marry. But  despite all of this, Fuu still chooses Mugen to stay and complete her journey.

The two episodes’ composition largely features Mugen and Fuu, while Jin plays a more minor role.

Not only does she give up Jin, but also the entire Episode 21 barely features Jin. It becomes about Mugen facing Sara twice...and it also becomes about how Fuu’s love for Mugen stops Sara from killing him,

Sara’s words to Fuu

She chooses Mugen.

Sara’s Words to Mugen

Sara tells Mugen they are alike, and mentions the closest she came to happiness was having a child. It also zooms in on Mugen’s face here. 

Having a child with Fuu could be his first shot at happiness.

This dialogue completely emulates Mugen’s dialogue with another woman: Koza in Episode 14, in which she asked Mugen if he is happy now. He tells her he hasn’t thought about it. Koza then went on to say “Fuu is happy because she gets to be with you. I want to be with you, like she is.”

A Distance in Episode 20. A Closeness in Episode 21.

Throughout the episode, Mugen and Fuu are barely shown next to, or across from each other. They are always near Sara or Jin instead.

There is is a sense of a distance forming between Mugen and Fuu. But by the end of Episode 20, Fuu still chooses Mugen to stay with her. And Episode 21, they are finally close again, stuck alone together.

She throws herself on top of him to save his life and tends to his wounds which are close, intimate acts.

Other Blatant Hints

Aside from the visual symbolism in the episode, there are other clear indications of the character’s developing feelings for each other during these two Sara episodes, but not expressing them.

Fuu and Mugen see each other naked in the hot spring. This is a painfully common romantic anime trope.

Fuu gets jealous of Mugen’s attention to Sara.

Mugen gets jealous of Fuu crying over Jin and comically stomps away. He agrees to stay with Fuu, even though he clearly could’ve abandoned her, and only claimed to stay to fight Jin. Now with Jin gone, he has no excuse as to why he’s sticking around.

Fuu’s Declaration of Love

Fuu throws herself in the way of Sara’s blade, in order to save Mugen’s life. This action was committed only mere seconds after Sara’s haunting words to Mugen: “It’s as if you’ve never been loved by anyone.”

Fuu throwing herself in the way is proving Sara’s words wrong. Mugen is loved. This is why Sara gasps and stays her blade. Like her previous words, she is unable to read people’s feelings.

Throwing her own life in the way for Mugen’s life to be spared could have easily gotten her killed too. To me, this seems to be an allusion to “Shinju” or “Double Suicide”. Lovers’ suicide was surprisingly common in Japanese history, and there have been famous Tokugawa plays written about the subject such as “Love Suicide at Sonezaki” and “Love Suicide at Amijima”. 

Conclusion

The symbols of a sad bride, a pinwheel, a child with a monkey mask, Fuu’s choice and Fuu’s sacrifice all allude to her feelings for Mugen, and her fear of an uncertain future with him.

Now, combine this giant list of symbols, with the numerous amounts of far more major MugenxFuu scenes, blatant dialogue, interviews of the voice actors and Shinichiro Watanabe, etc...and what you have is a canon subtle romance. 

[halcyon-writings]

family

requested?: yes (anonymous) //tldr, if alucard had a sibling (the reader, of course) dealing with the loss of family, both living and not

note(s)/warning(s): canonical character death, spoilers babyyyyy, violence and injury, angst it’s rare for anyone in this series to have a good time huh?, also for this being that the reader can literally look however you want, imma say Lisa isn’t white bc I do what I want and it’s my fic :) this is also the most i’ve written in a good while omg, im highkey proud so pls don’t let this flop

Lisa Tepes is dead.

Your mother, is dead.

Killed, burned alive. Gone to ashes.

All because the church had believed she was a witch of sorts. Several thoughts dance in the back of your mind as you gaze upon the pyre. Smoldering from the heat, the flames gone. Your father leaving his message, no, his warning, that he would act in one year.

“A farce that was!” You hear a shout, and you force down the bitter laugh, throat tight and eyes burning. Especially so when you slowly begin to hear continued shouts of agreement, from voices previously silent.

Here your mother was, her final resting place. Burned to ashes for some sick show of power.

And you could do nothing as she was mocked for it.

Your fist clenched at your side, you feel your nails cutting into your skin, but you walk away to return home.

And to say that the castle was no less better was an understatement. Your father was most likely in his quarters.

And when you finally sit down, the weight of your weary finally settling against your soul, do you allow yourself cry. Quiet tears turning to sobs as you muffle your voice with a pillow.

You had failed her. Missing the chance to save your mother, too late to have done anything.

But you pause, noticing the presence at your door, your brothers familiar knocking pattern resounding suddenly through the empty hall.

“Come in,” Your voice is embarrassingly raspy. As you clear your throat, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. But it wouldn’t hide the redness of your eyes.

Adrian says nothing, and a part of you wishes he did. His larger hand takes yours. A comforting squeeze.

You blink again feeling your eyes burn, and you squeeze his hand back.

“Father is...” He trails off, no doubt thinking of what he could say next.

“What he plans on doing, it’s not justice.”

You stare up at him, But it would be deserving. A bitter corner of your mind supplies.

While Adrian had taken after Mother in his demeanor, much more kinder, more welcoming. You were no doubt like Father. Reserved, distrusting, easily prone to grudges if you were wronged in some way.

But you bite your tongue.

“He gave them a year,” You murmur after some time, “But no doubt he’s ready to calling his armies.”

At this Adrian turns alarmed. the warmth from his hand slips away.

“We must stop him!”

You’re still reeling from the events from earlier today, and a part of you wishes to have no part in his attempt to try and stop your father. But then you remember your mother.

Her kindness, regardless of how she was viewed for being different.

And your warily stand anyway.

If only you had more sense. Your father remains eerily silent as he embraces you both. His hold tighter, and while Adrian seemed convinced, you saw the dark look in his eyes.

The year had passed. You weren’t surprised to hear of the bloodshed.

It was naive to expect otherwise. While reluctantly following your brother, you can only stand, frozen as your blood feels like ice in your veins as your remaining family clashes.

“No.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

They don’t hear you.

Glass shatters.

And foolishly enough, you rush forward.

-

With your brother injured and fleeing, and you yourself were not free from any sort of pain.

Stepping in between the two as they fought ended with a gnarly gash on your shoulder, as you fell to your knees and blood slipping past your fingers. Your father stands in front of you, like a protective pillar as your brother stares in shock, quickly wanting to help you in some way.

And then the fight is over. Your brother is gone too.

The castle is much larger and colder now.

As you’re confined to your room, the wound healing into an angry red, then to a muted and dull scar. For a moment you wished it took longer, your father guilty and you were reminded of times you had been sick when you were younger. While you had not been too keen on the typical children’s books, reading theory on physics and other sciences only seemed fun when he would read to you and you’d ask questions in between passages. (Your voice funny from a stuffy nose led to laughter and a small coughing fit but otherwise it was nice).

But now was not the time to reminisce on the happy childhood.

You know you cannot stay. Ultimately, Adrian had been right. Once you feel as though you can move your arm once again, slowly, you begin pack a small bag. You didn’t want to build up any suspicions, finding some money in your room and whenever you could take a few coins or so from your father that he would not miss.

Extra clothes were folded and put away separately.

And you make your escape on a rainy evening, the uneven droplets helping hide your tracks. But you knew now that your father had brought back Hector and Isaac, new generals to help fight in his war, you had to be weary of the night creatures that would no doubt be sent after you.

Well, you were creative. At times flying in a transformed look, no one would suspect a bat in the dark of night afterall. And it was easier to. find good vantage points that way. But to also avoid any people, you didn’t quite trust yourself to not get into an altercation with a bigot.

You rarely slept longer than necessary, especially not when those dreams were memories or nightmares.

Now that you had learned how to walk, you were a right menace. It was an uphill battle in itself to keep you in one place. You were curious and the world you knew (being your father’s vast castle) was huge. Your childlike curiosity was never let down by your adventures.

You laugh quietly, which sounds like small squeaks as you fly up and hide above the gaudy chandeliers. Your father, giant coat gone, hair tied back and in a plain dress shirt and slacks as he searched for a curious toddler.

Snickers continuing as he paces down the hall. You hop down, landing slowly and feet planting into the ground, knees bent. Before you had down the opposite direction.

The lab usually wasn’t a place you could be allowed in on your own. But having heard that your mother was there, you knew it wouldn’t be a problem! So your little legs carried you along. Until you found the familiar doorway.

Dozens of tubes and mechanisms had you turning your head as you wandered in, your shoes tapping against the marble floor.

“Now what brings you here, sweetling?” The warmth of your mother’s voice has you smiling before you see her. As you run forward and hug her side, clutching her dress in your small fists. “Not causing trouble for your father are you?”

You shake your head grin betraying your word, “Nope! I’m not doing any trouble!”

“And how since when did that happen?” She laughs gently.

“Now.”

Your brother looks up from his own books, waving before returning to work. Your nose crinkles, so much for playing experimenting. But before you can say much, your nearly yelp as you’re brought up into the air by a pair of strong arms.

“I’ve found you, little wanderer.” Your father’s voice carries no heat behind it. Then again, he was always soft hearted for you and your brother. But most of all, your mother.

“I’m not little!” You pout, “I’m big now!”

-

You’re taken away from your reverie at the snap of a twig.

With your lack of sleep, as you had insisted on traveling more, you were less than surprised to have been snuck up on.

“Peace, my friend,” The old man murmurs. You keep your knife in an iron grip in front of you. Who you’re guessing is his son or grandson, has his hands raised the same way, but no weapon to be seen, magic, oh good. Then again, not like you needed a knife when you could make your nails go into claws and the fangs. Don’t forget the fangs.

“I can’t exactly be peaceful when it’s the middle of the night and suddenly figures in blue robes appear out of now where,” You answer dryly. But seeing as how the others behind the main two have not done or said anything noteworthy, nor were their stances make them look like they could really fight, you lower your weapon slightly.

Clearing your throat, “Although, I shouldn’t be swinging my own weapon around either.”

The old man just smiles gently. And you can’t help but be just slightly comforted.

In the end, the speakers stop for the evening. And the Elder, despite looking like a frail old man, is firm in his decision that you stay and “eat properly.” And like a scolded child, you listen. Food and drink all but pushed into your hands as you’re quickly brought into conversation, the previous confrontation all but forgotten.

And then you perk up when he mentions Gresit.

“So... the sleeping soldier,” You begin, slowly chewing on the sweet bread you had been given. “It was true?”

The Elder nods, “My grandchild and a traveller, they had gone to explore it. Well, the traveller had gone to save my grandchild. I will not hide the fact that I was a bit doubtful. But Belmont had proved himself a man of his word. Although, he does need to drink more water.”

You blink, a look of a surprise clear on your face. Belmont...

Fuck. 

“Although I hadn’t expected the legend of the sleeping soldier to be realized so quickly.” 

At your inquisitive look, the Elder begins to explain. Of a holy warrior beneath Gresit, who would come to save it’s people in their most dire of hours. 

“The pair had come up with a man with long hair, like gold.” You couldn’t help but let out the breath you had been holding. So the Belmont didn’t try to kill him. you could breathe a little easier at that fact. 

“Where are they now?” You ask, holding the empty cup in your hands, as you stare down as though waiting for something.

Getting your answer, you stand, adjusting your bag over your shoulders. You wave off the concern in staying, if it had already been several days since the Speakers had left Gresit, then you needed to cover a lot of land to get to your brother. 

That is, until you saw the expression on the Elder’s face grow stern, as though he was scolding a child. With a heavier bag, one that the Elder insisted that you take some more things you could eat along the way, in exchange you give the Elder a small trinket you had been using to hide from the monsters of your father’s army, you finally set off. While your worries were not completely settled, your shoulders felt lighter. Metaphorically of course.

Of course, giving away the object that kept you hidden made it a bit more, difficult, when it came to trying to hide and travel at night. Much less even try to stop and rest. 

It had barely been two days since you had left the speakers, and already, you had run into some trouble, a beastly creature’s claws barely caught on your sleeve, leaving your arm bare as you shuddered from the chill in the air. You can only sigh mournfully, you really liked that coat. But, better your sleeve than say, you actually getting wounded. 

Your nails resemble claws, while your free hand holds the dagger in a steady grip. But being surrounded on all sides, it did not look promising.

Well, you thought mournfully, if you died you could at least see your mother again.

Until you hear the sound of what reminds you of a whistle? And then a sword flying through the air, slicing through the night creatures, giving you a chance to get some distance.

You hear the surprised shout of your name, and look up, to see your brother wide eyed, sword now returned to him, and a man and woman standing at his side.

“Um... hi.”

-

Much to your relief, the night creatures are easily taken care of.

And as you’re finally able to explain your story, you find yourself relaxing into the extra cloak given to you by the Elder.

“You mean you met the Speakers on your journey?!” A woman, petite with short blonde locks, who you learn is named Sypha, asks, and you notice the way her shoulders sag in relief.

You nod, “Yes. They all were safe.” If her shoulders sagged anymore she’d full on be slouching. You leave out the part of leaving a possibly precious trinket with them, not wanting her to think you cursed them or something.

“So you mean to tell me, Dracula, fucking Dracula, had more than one kid? That he actually had a woman not only give him not just one, but two children?” Is incredulously asked next by the scruffy looking man. Trevor, as your brother says.

You only stare in annoyance, sure your father was about to raise an army to annihilate the human populace but he didn’t used to be that way.

Before you can retort with a scathing remark of your own, Sypha elbows him harshly in the side. And you know it hurts from the way he immediately puts a hand where she hit him, eyes widening slightly. Serves him right.

“And what of...” Adrian- no Alucard as he wishes to be called, asks, near hesitant.

“Father?” You ask, arms crossed, “Same old same old. Planning the same amount of destruction here or there.”

As he looks to the snow covered earth, you roll your eyes, “Did you expect anything different?”

It’s quiet, and neither Sypha nor Trevor speak.

“No.”

You all sat around camp quietly for a while after that.

-

Your lungs feel like they’re being constricted. Your throat burns as you struggle to breathe, claws digging into your skin like knives. Before you’re thrown backwards, landing harshly against the wall. Books fall from the book case and your weapon clatters noisily from the ground. 

You take shallow breaths, barely standing before you’re thrown once more. Curse your father’s stature and supernatural strength. You close your eyes, waiting for another attack and at least hoping to brace yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, your brother stands in front of you, as he and your father remain in a standstill. Sypha and Trevor’s footsteps are rushing towards you three. 

It all continues to move so fast, until he stops noticing the painting of your mother, as she had been holding your brother and then you as a baby, and the next thing you know, your father is staked through the heart. And with wobbly legs, you take your sword, and swing. So falls Dracula. But it felt like no victory. 

You sit up with an alarmed look, stopping yourself from shouting.

That was... a dream? You rub your eyes, feeling that your cheeks are wet and you sigh. 

When you see a shadow looming over you, the light of the fire giving slight visibility, you freeze. Before noticing it’s your brother and not his companions. 

“Sorry,” You say, making sure to not look at him, so that he didn’t see your tears. 

Quietly, he places his coat over your shoulders, sitting beside you, wrapping his own blanket loosely around his own shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

You only grip the jacket lapels tighter, shaking slightly as you hiccup, unable to stop yourself from crying again. 

He must think it’s because you miss your mother, and you do. But this dream was far different. And you say nothing as he brings you into his arms. Your tears having long since dried when the sun rises moments later. But you find yourself falling asleep as your brother rubs soothing circles on your back, feeling the build up exhaustion finally leaving you. 

When you’re awake much later in the day you can’t help but laugh a little when Sypha scolds your brother for being mean enough to make you cry, he didn’t you assure her quick enough, although you’re back to laughing when she then turns around to scold Belmont when he makes another slight comment. 

[theatticoneighth]

Watching The Queen’s Gambit; on the Remarkable Unexceptionality of Beth Harmon

‘With some people, chess is a pastime. With others, it is a compulsion, even an addiction. And every now and then, a person comes along for whom it is a birthright. Now and then, a small boy appears and dazzles us with his precocity, at what may be the world’s most difficult game. But what if that boy were a girl? A young, unsmiling girl, with brown eyes, red hair, and a dark blue dress? Into the male-dominated world of the nation’s top chess tournaments, strolls a teenage girl with bright, intense eyes, from Fairfield High School in Lexington, Kentucky. She is quiet, well-mannered, and out for blood.’

The preceding epigraph opens a fictional profile of Beth Harmon featured in the third episode of The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and is written and published after the protagonist — a teenage, rookie chess player, no less — beats a series of ranked pros to win her first of many tournaments. In the same deft manner as it depicts the character’s ascent to her global chess stardom, the piece also sets up the series’s narrative: this is evidence of a great talent, it tells us, a grandmaster in the making. As with most other stories about prodigies, this new entry into a timeworn genre is framed unexceptionally by its subject’s exceptionality.

Yet as far as tales regaled about young chess wunderkinds go, Beth Harmon’s stands out in more ways than one. That she is a girl in a male-dominated world has clearly not gone unremarked by both her diegetic and nondiegetic audiences. That her life has thus far — and despite her circumstances — been relatively uneventful, however, is what makes this show so remarkable. After all, much of our culture has undeniably primed us to expect the consequential from those whom we raise upon the pedestal of genius. As Harmon’s interviewer suggests in her conversation with Harmon for the latter’s profile, “Creativity and psychosis often go hand in hand. Or, for that matter, genius and madness.” So quickly do we attribute extraordinary accomplishments to similarly irregular origins that we presume an inexplicability of our geniuses: their idiosyncrasies are warranted, their bad behaviours are excused, and deep into their biographies we dig to excavate the enigmatic anomalies behind their gifts. Through our myths of exceptionality, we make the slightest aberrations into metonyms for brilliance.

Nonetheless, for all her sullenness, non-conformity, and her plethora of addictions, Beth Harmon seems an uncommonly normal girl. No doubt this may be a contentious view, as evinced perhaps by the chorus of viewers and reviewers alike who have already begun to brand the character a Mary Sue. Writing on the series for the LA Review of Books, for instance, Aaron Bady construes The Queen’s Gambit as “the tragedy of Bobby Fischer [made] into a feminist fantasy, a superhero story.” In the same vein, Jane Hu also laments in her astute critique of the Cold War-era drama its flagrant and saccharine wish-fulfillment tendencies. “The show gets to have it both ways,” she observes, “a beautiful heroine who leans into the edge of near self-destruction, but never entirely, because of all the male friends she makes along the way.” Sexual difference is here reconstituted as the unbridgeable chasm that divides the US from the Soviet Union, whereas the mutual friendliness shared between Harmon and her male chess opponents becomes a utopic revision of history. Should one follow Hu’s evaluation of the series as a period drama, then the retroactive ascription of a recognisably socialist collaborative ethos to Harmon and her compatriots is a contrived one indeed. 

Accordingly, both Hu and Bady conclude that the series grants us depthless emotional satisfaction at the costly expense of realism: its all-too-easy resolutions swiftly sidestep any nascent hint of overwhelming tension; its resulting calm betrays our desire for reprieve. Underlying these arguments is the fundamental assumption that the unembellished truth should also be an inconvenient one, but why must we always demand difficulty from those we deem noteworthy? Summing up the show’s conspicuous penchant for conflict-avoidance, Bady writes that: 

over and over again, the show strongly suggests — through a variety of genre and narrative cues — that something bad is about to happen. And then … it just doesn’t. An orphan is sent to a gothic orphanage and the staff … are benign. She meets a creepy, taciturn old man in the basement … and he teaches her chess and loans her money. She is adopted by a dysfunctional family and the mother … takes care of her. She goes to a chess tournament and midway through a crucial game she gets her first period and … another girl helps her, who she rebuffs, and she is fine anyway. She wins games, defeating older male players, and … they respect and welcome her, selflessly helping her. The foster father comes back and …she has the money to buy him off. She gets entangled in cold war politics and … decides not to be.

In short, everything that could go wrong … simply does not go wrong.

Time and again predicaments arise in Harmon’s narrative, but at each point, she is helped fortuitously by the people around her. In turn, the character is allowed to move through the series with the restrained unflappability of a sleepwalker, as if unaffected by the drama of her life.  Of course, this is not to say that she fails to encounter any obstacle on her way to celebrity and success — for neither her childhood trauma nor her substance-laden adolescence are exactly rosy portraits of idyll — but only that such challenges seem so easily ironed out by that they hardly register as true adversity. In other words, the show takes us repeatedly to the brink of what could become a life-altering crisis but refuses to indulge our taste for the spectacle that follows. Skipping over the Aristotelian climax, it shields us from the height of suspense, and without much struggle or effort on the viewers’ part, hands us our payoff. Consequently lacking the epochal weight of plot, little feels deserved in Harmon’s story.

In his study of eschatological fictions, The Sense of an Ending, Frank Kermode would associate such a predilection for catastrophes with our abiding fear of disorder. Seeing as time, as he argues, is “purely successive [and] disorganised,” we can only reach to the fictive concords of plot to make sense of our experiences. Endings in particular serve as the teleological objective towards which humanity projects our existence, so we hold paradigms of apocalypse closely to ourselves to restore significance to our lives. It probably comes as no surprise then that in a year of chaos and relentless disaster — not to mention the present era of extreme precariousness, doomscrolling, and the 24/7 news cycle, all of which have irrevocably attuned us to the dreadful expectation of “the worst thing to come” — we find ourselves eyeing Harmon’s good fortune with such scepticism. Surely, we imagine, something has to have happened to the character for her in order to justify her immense consequence. But just as children are adopted each day into loving families and chess tournaments play out regularly without much strife, so too can Harmon maintain low-grade dysfunctional relationships with her typically flawed family and friends. 

In any case, although “it seems to be a condition attaching to the exercise of thinking about the future that one should assume one's own time to stand in extraordinary relation to it,” not all orphans have to face Dickensian fates and not all geniuses have to be so tortured (Kermode). The fact remains that the vagaries of our existence are beyond perfect reason, and any attempt at thinking otherwise, while vital, may be naive. Contrary to most critics’ contentions, it is hence not The Queen’s Gambit’s subversions of form but its continued reach towards the same that holds up for viewers such a comforting promise of coherence. The show comes closest to disappointing us as a result when it eschews melodrama for the straightforward. Surprised by the ease and randomness of Harmon’s life, it is not difficult for one to wonder, four or five episodes into the show, what it is all for; one could even begin to empathise with Hu’s description of the series as mere “fodder for beauty.” 

Watching over the series now with Bady’s recap of it in mind, however, I am reminded oddly not of the prestige and historical dramas to which the series is frequently compared, but the low-stakes, slice-of-life cartoons that had peppered my childhood. Defined by the prosaicness of its settings, the genre punctuates the life’s mundanity with brief moments of marvel to accentuate the curious in the ordinary. In these shows, kindergarteners fix the troubles of adults with their hilarious playground antics, while time-traveling robot cats and toddler scientists alike are confronted with the woes of chores. Likewise, we find in The Queen’s Gambit a comparable glimpse of the quotidian framed by its protagonist’s quirks. Certainly, little about the Netflix series’ visual and narrative features would identify it as a slice-of-life serial, but there remains some merit, I believe, in watching it as such. For, if there is anything to be gained from plots wherein nothing is introduced that cannot be resolved in an episode or ten, it is not just what Bady calls the “drowsy comfort” of satisfaction — of knowing that things will be alright, or at the very least, that they will not be terrible. Rather, it is the sense that we are not yet so estranged from ourselves, and that both life and familiarity persists even in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Perhaps some might find such a tendency towards the normal questionable, yet when all the world is on fire and everyone clambers for acclaim, it is ultimately the ongoingness of everyday life for which one yearns. As Harmon’s childhood friend, Jolene, tells her when she is once again about to fall off the wagon, “You’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.” For so long, and especially over the past year, we have catastrophized the myriad crises in which we’re living that we often overlook the minor details and habits that nonetheless sustain us. To inhabit the congruence of both the remarkable and its opposite in the singular figure of Beth Harmon is therefore to be reminded of the possibility of being outstanding without being exceptional — that is, to not make an exception of oneself despite one’s situation — and to let oneself be drawn back, however placid or insignificant it may be, into the unassuming hum of dailiness. It is in this way of living that one lives on, minute by minute, day by day, against the looming fear and anxiety that seek to suspend our plodding regular existence. It is also in this way that I will soon be turning the page on the last few months in anticipation of what is to come. 

Born and raised in the perpetually summery tropics — that is, Singapore — Rachel Tay wishes she could say her life was just like a still from Call Me By Your Name: tanned boys, peaches, and all. Unfortunately, the only resemblance that her life bears to the film comes in the form of books, albeit ones read in the comfort of air-conditioned cafés, and not the pool, for the heat is sweltering and the humidity unbearable. A fervent turtleneck-wearer and an unrepentant hot coffee-addict, she is thus the ideal self-parodying Literature student, and the complete anti-thesis to tropical life.

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Kurgess the Strong Man

Neutral Good God of Bravery, Competition, and Sports

Domains Community, Good, Luck, Strength, Travel Subdomains Agathion, Competition, Family, Fate, Home, Resolve, Self-Realization, Trade

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 64~69

Obedience: Find the nearest boulder, log, or other unattended object that you can reliably lift over your head, and hold it up high for the duration of the obedience while meditating on the ennobling nature of sports and tests of physical might. If you are interrupted at any time by any creature or person, you must challenge your interrupter to a contest of strength, speed, or stamina, with the boulder or another object of your obedience used as the main focus of the competition. Benefit: You gain a +2 sacred bonus on Acrobatics and Climb checks, regardless of who wins the competition.

Obedience: Be a jock. Auto-succeed if you’re a Str-based martial fighter. I appreciate that Kurgess allows even the physically weak to take part in this Obedience (the path to fitness can be walked by anyone after all), and through constant practice one hour each day, your noodle-armed nerd caster may yet gain some Str and Con from their dedication. It’s not a particularly intense workout, mind, but the dedication to doing it for an hour every single day is something the DM should reward! At least until their Str/Con reaches maybe 13, at which point more strenuous activities would be necessary to raise it higher.

Anyway, easy enough to do if you own literally any item or have access to something you can grab and lift. You may look a little kooky doing it, but other Obediences get much weirder than just doing squats and lifts with whatever you have laying around. You’ll just be the local health nut! One who’s weirdly into challenging people to sudden competitions. Your party may quickly learn not to interrupt your meditation lest they get pulled into a 80s training montage, but if some poor citizen or wandering monster prods at you, you’re spurred on by your god to challenge them. Note that this says any creature, so even a non-sapient creature that was just snuffling around gets challenged, even if it can’t understand you.

No word on what happens if the intruder declines the challenge, or cannot accept it in the first place. Maybe you just automatically win? Not very sportsmanlike to declare yourself a victor like that, but it’s also not very sportsmanlike to force someone else into a competition they want no part of. I’m sure Kurgess will understand; not everyone is built for the life you’ve chosen to live!

Benefit’s bad. It’s half the strength of other benefits on two skill checks that are rarely important (Acrobatics can be extremely useful but isn’t as flexible as, say, Knowledge or Sleight of Hand). And... god, you know. I like Kurgess as an actual character, but this benefit is just a small taste of what’s to come. Brace yourselves, because it’s going to get pretty bad from here on out. 

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Kurgess is a true deity, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

-------- EVANGELIST --------

Boon 1: Blessed Runner. Gain Longstrider 3/day, Cat’s Grace 2/day, or Haste 1/day.

Starting strong, at least! I’m talking of course about Haste, whose power as a buff is nearly incomparable and useful at pretty much every level of play. Longstrider adds a comparatively meager +10ft to your land speed, and Cat’s Grace gives its target +4 to their Dexterity, and though they have a duration that’s an order of magnitude longer than Haste (Longstrider especially, lasting an hour/level), their functions don’t hold a candle to the extra damage output you and your martial allies get from Haste. The only competition it really has here is if two of your allies need increased Dexterity stats for a good long while, but you’ll never see me turning Haste down whenever it’s offered.

Boon 2: Strong One. You gain a +2 sacred bonus on all Strength-based skill checks. 

Just skill checks? Not even Strength checks in general? Eurgh. Couldn’t even spring for, like, just a +2 to Strength.

Strength-based skills are Climb, Swim, and... wait, what? It’s just Climb and Swim? Well, congratulations I guess. At level 11 you’re finally getting that +4 to Climb checks you should have been getting at baseline. Absolutely--ok you know what? Here’s what I’ll do.

--Patch Notes: Strong One now grants a +4 sacred bonus to Acrobatics, Climb, Escape Artist, Ride, and Swim checks. There! Now it rolls thematically into the Darechaser Prestige Class and is actually good! Not the best Boon out there, but on par with what some Evangelists get.

Boon 3: Farmer’s Brawn. Treat your carrying capacity as though your Strength ability score were 3 points higher than it actually is. 1/day as long as you are wearing light, medium, or no armor, you can lift up to two unconscious or dead Medium or smaller creatures and their equipment onto your shoulders and still move up to your base speed, ignoring the added weight. You cannot both attack and move in the same round while carrying one or more creatures in this way. You can carry these bodies in this way for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice; afterward, they encumber you as normal.

The amplified carrying capacity grants you, on average, about 25 more lbs to your maximum load depending on how high your Str was before. Neat! This should have been part of Strong One, though, even with my little buff. Also, carrying capacity rarely matters at the level you get this ability at, either because of Bags of Holding or because nothing really becomes worth carrying aside from what you already have. Aside, I suppose, from unconscious allies.

This is just... A flat bonus to Strength would have been better than whatever this is. An emergency tool of rescue, I suppose, Combine with Longstrider or Haste to grab your fallen allies and get out of there! Oh, wait, no, because “still move up to your base speed.” So there goes that. Also, despite the fact they don’t encumber you, you’re still basically staggered while carrying them (you can still take two move actions, though!). ALSO also, this ability only lasts for around a minute and a half, which is pathetic if you’re using this ability for its intended function (narrowly escaping a complete party wipe); it’s likely to cut out about halfway out of the Evil Lair.

I suppose there’s the utility of just picking up whole entire enemy bodies and running off with them, but seriously, just...

--Patch Notes: Farmer’s Brawn now reads “Gain a +4 sacred bonus to your Strength. Once per day, you may carry two Medium or smaller creatures or corpses and all of their worn equipment without counting them towards your encumbrance for 1 minute per HD you possess.” 

-------- EXALTED --------

Boon 1: Holy Strength. Gain Enlarge Person 3/day, Bull’s Strength 2/day, or Rage 1/day.

Oh hey! All three of these are good and useful at any level! Rage can whip a whole party into a frenzy at once, giving them +1 to attack and damage rolls with melee weapons and giving them +1 HP per HD they have, at the comparatively minor (but still noteworthy) cost of -2 AC. Having a legion of summoned creatures, some hirelings, or just a party with a decent number of martial fighters can expand Rage’s usefulness even further... but a meager +1 to a whole lot of people is only useful if you, well, HAVE a lot of people. If you don’t? Bull’s Strength gives +2 to attack and damage rolls for minutes at a time, and has the added utility of beefing up someone’s carrying capacity and skill at lifting and throwing things around.

Enlarge Person is really the way to go if you have (or are) a powerful melee fighter on your side, though. A nice +2 to Strength is secondary to the delicious, tasty +5ft of reach, letting the target hold a much greater area within their threat radius. Knowing that you always have this spell on hand (3/day with a 1 min/level duration basically means you have it every time you need it) can prompt your primary tanks to take feats like Pin Down and Step Up to make themselves into inescapable tar pits of pain.

All three of these are good and flexible choices! Excellent! Now lets see what else Exalted can do...

Boon 2: Coordinated Escape: 3/day as a standard action, you can shout an inspirational command that affects you and any allies within 60 feet for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice. During this time, affected characters can use the withdraw action to move up to triple their base speed (instead of up to double their base speed).

... run away real good, apparently? The ability is described as showing Kurgess’ wisdom, fleeing from a fight that cannot be won rather than standing and accomplishing nothing, but like. He’s the god of bravery! Eurgh. At least there’s the amusing use of using withdraw to get CLOSER, since it essentially gives you an extra move action. And, for what it’s worth, it IS a decent escape tool, provided the enemy you’re running from has no way to catch up with you or slow you down. Much like the original Farmer’s Brawn, this ability just kind of doesn’t represent a god of sports and athleticism, which is what drives me nuts.

... well now that I think about it, using it exclusively for a sporting event like football or some other “keep-away” type game would be hilarious. But, still:

--Patch Notes: Coordinated Escape has been renamed to “Audacious Escape” and now reads “3/day as a standard action, you can shout an inspirational command that affects you and any allies within 60 feet of you. Any creature affected by this command can move at double their movement speed for one minute, and while they’re affected by this ability, their movement does not provoke Attacks of Opportunity.” Capped the time limit and shrank the movement buff, but made it a far more powerful defensive OR offensive tool.

Boon 3: Break the Anvil: 1/day, you can perform a disarm or sunder combat maneuver with a +4 competence bonus against an adjacent creature and a weapon it holds. If you succeed, the creature’s weapon is simultaneously damaged and disarmed, as though you had succeeded at both combat maneuvers simultaneously. If you exceed the target’s Combat Maneuver Defense by 10 or more, the target drops the items it is carrying in both hands, but you only sunder the weapon you initially targeted. If you don’t have either the Improved Disarm or Improved Sunder feat or a similar ability, this attempt provokes attacks of opportunity as normal; however, if you have one of the feats or a similar ability, this attempt does not provoke attacks of opportunity.

Alright I’ll admit, this is a... well, it’s not a complete letdown. It can be pretty good! Or, it would be better if it were attached to the Sentinel, rather than the caster-focused Exalted. And also if you could use it more than once. Needing to invest in Improved [X] (or at least Dirty Fighting) to avoid being slapped for your attempt to do something cool is also kind of a letdown. Now, I’ll admit, sundering at this level is very difficult to actually make viable, as most enemies you’ll face will have either enchanted weapons (which are very difficult to damage), skymetal weapons (again, difficult to damage), enchanted weapons made of skymetal (basically impossible to damage without one of your own), or no weapons at all (either because they use natural attacks, or use magic)... but that’s why this ability is also attached to disarm, which IS viable even at high levels, because knocking an enemy’s weapon from their hands and allowing an ally to pilfer it can render a great many foes impotent.

It does also require you to be adjacent to someone, though, which means you, the caster, must put yourself in arm’s reach of an enemy. And probably the BIGGEST weakness is that enemy CMD at levels 15+ can get ridiculous, so you’re going to have to focus at least part of your build on it, augmented by either spells or feats or, more than likely, both. The +4 bonus you get from Break the Anvil--which I have to admit is a really good name--is certainly some help here, but you’ll still need to build around it if you really want it to work.

--Patch Notes: Break the Anvil can now be done 3/day.

-------- SENTINEL --------

Boon 1: Master of Games. Gain True Strike 3/day, Bear’s Endurance 2/day, or Heroism 1/day.

It’s been one week and True Strike is still bad, even for the martial-focused Sentinel. Let’s just ignore that.

Bear’s Endurance is the weakest and least flexible of the ‘animal aspect’ spells, granting a +4 bonus to Con which translates to a whopping +2 HP per HD and +2 to Fortitude saves, and basically nothing else. It’s a bandage when someone’s suffering from disease or resisting a poison, and while it may occasionally save someone from being Blood Drained to death, it doesn’t justify taking Endurance over Heroism.

Heroism is a great buff to just use on yourself right before entering the final stretch of a dungeon, or even just after entering the front door. It’s a +2 bonus to attack rolls, skill checks, and most importantly saving throws and lasts for a tremendous 10 min/level, meaning it lasts two hours when you first get it and only rises from there. There’s no reason to take anything but Heroism, and little reason to not have it running the instant you enter hostile territory.

Boon 2: Reveal Frauds: You can, as an immediate action, activate Discern Lies as a spell-like ability. You can maintain this ability for a number of rounds per day equal to your Hit Dice, but these rounds do not have to be consecutive.

I had originally wished this ability had been granted to the Exalted instead... but a character going into Exalted likely started as a Cleric, so their Wisdom is probably already sky high and augmenting their Sense Motive to similarly heavenly levels. Thus, Sentinels gaining this power isn’t as bad as I initially thought, especially since it can be used as an immediate action in response to someone opening their lying gob to speak. Discern Lies doesn’t reveal the truth, nor will it ping you if the target is being evasive or changing the subject (such as by answering your question with a question of their own), so you have to keep on top of that. That being said, this ability has three advantages the vanilla spell sorely lacks which elevates it from ‘sometimes good’ to ‘indispensable:’

1) The lack of components means there’s absolutely no tell that you’re using this ability, aside from perhaps you focusing too hard on them. That means your target has no idea you’re using magic to read their speech; they may conclude you’re simply that good at reading their tells.

2) The casting time of “immediate action” means you can use it right when someone talks, rather than needing to prepare it beforehand. You can catch them in a falsehood without alerting them to the fact you’ve done anything supernatural.

3) The on-off nature of the ability means a hostage you’ve taken can’t simply wait out the duration of the spell. You can shut it off the instant they stop speaking and turn it back on when they start again; a canny caster may know the duration of the vanilla Discern Lies, but your version can be raised or lowered more or less at will.

While it won’t truly help you in a fight, this makes you an amazing interrogator, and not even necessarily a mean one! Just throw your arm around some badguy’s shoulder in the middle of a party or a bar and chat them up all friendly-like, sniffing their every word for a hint of falsehood. Sometimes, knowing what’s false helps narrow down what’s true.

--Patch Notes: None. Good as-is!

Boon 3: Unchained Savior 1/day as an immediate action, if an ally within 60 feet of you would normally take enough damage to fall unconscious or die, you can move to an adjacent space and intercept the killing blow, taking the damage in your ally’s place. If the attack would have inflicted any effects other than hit point damage, those effects are negated. If the damage would bring you to negative hit points, you are brought to 0 hit points instead, and the remaining damage is negated. Any attacks of opportunity you provoke by moving in this way are resolved after you take the damage from the intercepted blow; you take any damage from those attacks as normal.

Ohohoho, it’s been nearly two years since we’ve seen a Boon like this! Unlike Milani’s Martyrdom, though, this ability has a MUCH shorter range, a MUCH more restrictive activation condition (it only activates in response to damage!), and doesn’t save your life if you fall in the line of duty.

But you know what? It’s still a damn solid power. Your tankiness will absolutely allow you to survive a blow that could outright kill an ally of yours, but even if the attack COULD crunch you instantly, Unchained Savior flat out stops your HP from going below 0 from excess damage. 1000 damage, 100 damage, or even just 1 extra damage are all turned to Nothing as soon as your HP hits 0, AND this ability negates all extra effects from the attack, such as diseases, poisons, or additional spell effects. This, very importantly, means that even the dusting effects of Disintegrate and Destruction are negated!

Leap in the way of that 40d6 damage without fear! Well okay, SOME fear, since being dropped to 0 still means you’re unconscious. Unless you have Diehard or Ferocity. Y’know what? If your martial build doesn’t have Diehard, it probably should if you’re gonna walk around as an Unchained Savior! Just imagine the look on your enemy’s face when you tank their best shot and just keep coming.

Oh, also, since this power puts you adjacent to your ally, you’re probably now in slapping range with whatever attacked them in the first place. Draw your javelin and show them that you can give just as well as you take!

--Patch Notes: None! A 10/10 ability, Kurgess! Now if only you had this power while you were still a mortal, eh? Haha ... ha... ha... hwoof....

You can read more about him here.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 39: Sleeplessness

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Notes: And it’s on time today! I didn’t oversleep! YES! Let’s go!

(-~-)

Although largely unnecessary, no one had thought to inform them of just how early everyone in the manor rose from their slumber in the morning. And that was if they had actually gone to sleep the evening before. It was entirely possible from what little they had come to understand about the Ludwig family that they might not be the kind to sleep in the evening, instead choosing to stay up and practice… whatever it was that they practiced. They had somehow managed to dance around the topic altogether while still giving them a basic overview. It was enough to make one wonder if they were worried about judgment should they actually reveal their secret, or perhaps they studied so many things that they simply didn’t know where to start? Who was to say but them?

Breakfast was served at 6:30 sharp for some reason, although they were all informed that it would continue until 10 am for the mercy of those unable to pull themselves from the grave that early. A fortunate thing indeed considering the fact that as comfortable as the beds had been in their individual suites that none of them had wanted to. But despite that, Nero had forced himself to get up and go to the dining room once he'd been informed of the starting time. He couldn’t say that he’d ever been awoken at 5 in the morning to be invited to eat by literally anyone before, but if the smell that he had been greeted with upon waking up was anything to go by, the last thing that he was going to do was complain.

Making his way down the corridor, the young demon slayer yawned, stopping to lean against a nearby wall so that he could stretch out his back slightly. Upon turning back towards the direction he had been going in previously, he was surprised to see Sirrus sitting upon the ledge of a tall window just above his head. Nero couldn’t recall if he’d noticed his presence before, or if he’d even been looking for him. For a moment he considered the possibility that the adjudicator might be capable of doing more than he continued to let on.

“Hey. Didn’t know you were awake. Are you still reading?”

Sirrus looked down at him, seemingly noting his presence for the first time since he’d entered the hallway. He didn’t seem startled so much as he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed his presence up until now.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Your brother and I spent some considerable amount of time going over a few standouts from Aluta’s privately curated collection, and we believe that we have something.” Sirrus swung his legs around and allowed them to dangle instead of remaining in his resting position before continuing. “I trust that you slept well, then?”

“Pretty much. Yea. I had a lot going on in my head, so it took me longer than I thought it was going to to actually go to sleep, but once I did, I was out cold. You?” Nero said with a shrug. He was sure that there was a lot on the minds of basically everyone right now. Considering what was going on, it was hard to consider that very exceptional. Still, his mind wandered and he found himself contemplating the possibilities laid out before them. There was an awful lot going on in the grand scheme of things that didn’t make that much sense in his mind, and he had a fair number of questions. Maybe Aluta and Sirrus could fill him in?

“Oh, me? I don’t really sleep.”

“You can’t sleep?” That was admittedly strange to him as well as being an interesting revelation. He and the others had just both Sirrus and V sleep for the better part of a day or so after they had returned from Belial’s domain. What in the world was he talking about? Had he simply been faking it?

“No, it’s not that. I just… don’t most of the time.” The adjudicator smiled slightly and hopped down, standing before Nero. The younger of the two shifted slightly, seemingly stiff but otherwise fine.

“So you can just kinda choose not to, then?” Now that was weird even by his standards.

“Generally speaking, yes. I can stay awake for extended periods of time, just as easily as I can sleep for long periods of time. I simply don’t feel like sleeping right now. There is far too much to do to waste my time like that at this juncture.” He seemed both serious and half-joking when he made that statement, so it was decidedly difficult for Nero to tell if he was being entirely truthful, or bullshitting simply for the fun of it. Either way, that was all that he could go off of for now, so he would just take his word for it.

“What about before? You were out for like two days.” As far as he was concerned, that was the only true outlier to that statement. He’d seen him asleep with his own eyes just after arriving to see what had become of his brother. Unless he had been faking for some inconceivable reason, then he had been asleep at the time. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had been unconscious. The two things were not exactly the same, after all.

“Due to a need to recover. I recover much quicker when I am asleep, especially when I am mortally wounded. I dare say that I still have yet to recover from my injuries, at least in a non physical way. I’ve healed, but my power reserves are utterly depleted.” Realizing that he probably needed to clarify the fact that he had been a bit more than asleep during that time. “I had simply been rendered unconscious and then chose to remain that way. It was in my best interests that I allowed myself the time necessary to recover so that I could be of use again.”

Nero took in this revelation, seemingly surprised by how straightforward yet strange that was to him. He could only imagine how strange that must be. But to be fair, it would also be useful. Being able to regulate your energy levels at your own discretion like that had to come in handy, unless that wasn’t the case. The better question might be…

“But… do you feel tired at all, then, or can you just turn that on and off, too?”

Pausing for a moment to consider his response, he made a strange face. “... Is that what you would consider the urge to rest? Because if it is, then no, I can’t say that I really feel that to begin with. The only thing that I feel that is similar to that is the need to rest and recover my strength after an injury, but it isn’t strictly necessary. I won’t pass out if I choose not to like a normal person would. I am incapable of overexerting myself in that manner.”

The young devil hunter had to admit that the more he learned about Sirrus, the more confused and fascinated he was by him. He already knew that he wasn’t human, at least not entirely, but that still didn’t explain away some of his… irregularities. One of these days he hoped that he could truly learn what he was, even if only to satiate his only curiosity. There wasn’t really another reason that he could come up with for why he would want to know something so personal about the other man, so he’d leave it be for now.

“Makes sense, I guess. What about eating? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.” He asked casually, noting that they had gone to the kitchen last night together and the man with the red hair hadn’t bothered to do anything more than taste a thing or two with a spoon and a small glass dish. He never fixed a plate or bowl for himself as the rest of them did, and he disappeared while they were eating only for them to run into them about an hour later when they were heading up to their rooms. It was interesting in retrospect how he hadn’t noticed the strangeness of this at the time.

“It’s much the same thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love eating. I just don’t strictly need to in a biological sense. I guess you could say that my power sustains me. I can’t really starve to death, much as many demons cannot. If they could, the demon world would have fallen long ago, I suspect. Mortal blood is nothing more than a delicacy to them.” Sirrus stopped then, seemingly reconsidering his choice of words. It was thought he had just said “no, that can’t be right” to himself in his head. “... I could be wrong, however. I know that human blood is the source of much of the power that more powerful Devils seek. Perhaps there is something more to it than that. I’m probably oversimplifying things. Perhaps that would be a better question for your father. He seems thoroughly knowledgeable. I can’t pretend to know everything, after all. I’m no devil. All I can say is that I myself do not require such things like a demon or devil would.”

Before Nero could follow up, Sirrus turned his head slightly to the side, seemingly noticing something. Nero followed his gaze until it landed on V, realizing for the first time that the young Summoner had walked up on them both without drawing too much attention. But a quick glance at Sirrus indicated that he had noticed his presence long before now and had simply elected to not mention it. These questions and answers had been directed at both of them, not just Nero.

“Hey, V. What’s up?”

Looking at both of them through a set of heavy, half-lidded eyes, was V, having clearly just awoken from his much-needed rest. It had been a long night for him. Or perhaps a short one, depending on the time that he had gone to bed. He looked as though he might simply slump back against the wall and doze off, or just slink back to bed without a moment's notice.

“... Breakfast?” V said feebly, his brain failing to assemble a more noteworthy statement.

Nero and Sirrus glanced at one another before shaking their heads and laughing slightly. V was clearly tired, and it was probably best that they get him downstairs before he keeled over and hit the floor from apparent exhaustion. He wasn’t much of a morning person to start with, but it seemed that the events of the night before and the residual exhaustion that he probably still felt as a result of the damage that he had suffered at Belial’s hands was still weighing heavily upon him. A good meal and some additional rest was probably in order before he was able to so much as call it even.

“I must confess, it was a long night. We spent several hours together pouring over documents and scrolls and generally enjoying one another’s company. But it was a productive evening, I assure you.” Sirrus smiled brightly, something that genuinely took Nero off guard as they gently guided V towards the stairs. It was probably best that they feed him now and simply send him back to bed. No one that they needed to see was probably up yet anyway. And if they were, Nero couldn’t imagine that they wanted to be bothered this early in the morning. They would try again around noon.

A quick look over at V was enough for Nero to come to that conclusion. V desperately needed sleep, and he had the feeling that he would find a way to achieve that goal, one way or another. And if what Sirrus said was true, at least his brother had had a pretty good time last night. It was rare that he heard anything about him having a good time. “Um, yeah, I can kinda tell. V looks like you poured him into the bed like an hour ago and snuck out of his room so that none of us would realize that you were still awake.”

Laughing in a slightly nervous manner, Sirrus shrugged and gritted his teeth, batting his long eyelashes as he looked down at his feet. He’d been caught red-handed. That was basically exactly what he’d done, if he was being honest with himself. Slithering away at the crack of dawn like some renegade teenage misfit beset by the fear of the wrath of his parents. How very much like him.

“Unfortunately, as a direct result of my lack of a need to rest, I often underestimate the need to do so that others around me possess. I believe that I may have inadvertently forced your brother to stay up far beyond his prime. But at least we had some wonderful conversations.” He shook his head, glancing with fondness over towards the young devil summoner. V would never cease to interest him.

Nero had to admit that he was curious now. What on Earth had they spoken about so late into the night? V had never struck him as much of a conversationalist, except perhaps on the few short occasions that he had made the mistake of allowing him to speak openly about his love of literature. He suspected that his brother was quite literally capable of going on for hours like that if someone didn’t put a stop to it. Perhaps that was what had occurred? Either way, he found the notion that V had stayed up late into the night conversing with Sirrus to be intriguing. His older sibling so very much loved his rest, so the idea that he had delayed it to spend time with someone was… odd.

“Really now… you're gonna have to fill me in over breakfast. I think he’s gonna end up sitting this one through.”

Another soft laugh. “You assume that he will be sitting. He may very well be lying. On the floor.”

“You're not wrong. Let’s get downstairs. He’s pretty light, but if I accidentally bash his head against the wall or something on the way down there my dad is gonna be livid, and honestly, I just don’t want to hear that shit today.” He adjusted the half-asleep summoner, shaking his head again at the sheer state of him. It was almost funny how utterly exhausted he looked. V needed to take better care of himself. He knew that this had to be an awful lot for him to take in. “And I don’t think that my brother would really appreciate that, either. He has enough problems.”

“That is a fair point. We should hurry. I’m sure that everyone has picked the good options dry by now.”

(-~-)

They had spent the better part of the night going over the options presented to them, unsure as to what they could do in a time like this. Dante had been able to do very little with the books presented to him the day before, and not entirely sure what he was reading. Though he had managed to find a few interesting things, they had turned out to all be red herrings. This wasn’t really his forte. The youngest of the Dark Knight Sparda’s twin sons was a bit more hands-on when it came to seeking out information, and he couldn’t say that he really knew what to do with himself.

Lucia yawned sleepily, glancing over towards the far window. They were surrounded by paper and stacks of general reference books. There was simply too much going on in this room, and they knew that they weren’t getting anywhere with this. All attempts at organization had gone out of the window as soon as they had started to become tired, and so had their ability to properly process information. Everything was a mess.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. I need a nap.” Dante said as he stretched and let out a lazy yawn, completely aware of the fact that he just didn’t have the energy reserves to deal with this right now. It was a shame, but it was the truth. He would be more useful after his brain had undergone a little reset.

Nodding in agreement, Lucia stood from her spot on the floor. She’d been full of useful ideas and propositions yesterday, but for now, she was stumped due to the all-nighter that she had just pulled with her longtime friend. She wanted to do her best for everyone, but at the rate that she was going, there wasn’t a whole lot of useful assistance that she could offer.

“You’ve got a good point. I believe we should both…” She trailed off then, walking over towards the open window behind Dante with a slightly perplexed look on her face. From her spot, a procession of servants and worried-looking young women had all started in the direction of something on the other side of the manor, seemingly headed towards something with a frantic pace. “Dante… I think that something might be wrong.”

Upon hearing her declaration, he stood up, redirecting his attention towards what she was talking about. If Lucia had a bad feeling about something then he was going to look into it. It was that simple. She followed her gut, and he got the impression that her gut was normally correct in regards to these sorts of things.

He noticed the procession of members of the Ludwig household and folded his arms over his chest, seemingly as innately uncomfortable with it as she was. The pair turned and looked at one another before heading out of the door, intent on heading over to the other wing of the property and seeing what was going on. They needed to see what was going on over there.

Where were the others?

(-~-)

Hmm… Should we be worried about what’s going on? Because I feel like that might be the case. All the commotion kinda makes me feel uneasy, you know? But that’s a matter for Friday, so I guess we all have to continue suffering until then lol!

So anyway, how is everyone? Sorry for any delays? I’ve sorted out most of the book distribution things… I think. Anyway, I’ll update you on that soon! 

[maverick-werewolf]

Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends Preview - Story 6, “Troubled Waters”

Interior illustration from The Hunt Never Ends story, “Troubled Waters”

We’re almost there - the book releases one week from today!

I am a very special kind of stressed, lemme tell you.

This preview is of the final story in the story collection and my personal favorite: “Troubled Waters.” If you didn’t know, this is a preview for my upcoming story collection, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends. It’s a book, but it’s something in-between a novel and a short story collection.

Each story in the book is individual and stands on its own, but they also go in order and build upon each other. So I’m not sure if one should really call it a novel, but it’s also different than just unrelated short stories. It bridges the gap between the two mediums.

Anyway, here’s another preview - enjoy!

For more info on the book itself, you can also check out this post. Also be sure to check out the Hunt Never Ends tag for a whole lot more book previews!

And remember - Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends is available for preorder (digital only; physical available on release date) on Amazon.com!

Pre-Order Link

Please note that, while the ebook is now available for preorder, Wulfgard: The Hunt Never Ends will also be available in paperback on October 30 from the same Amazon listing! Paperbacks cannot be preordered using Amazon’s system, however.

Be sure to check back October 30 for the physical (paperback) edition!

If you’re interested in purchasing the book digitally, you can now pre-order it right here and have it immediately on October 30!

(Paperback edition will be available on Amazon on October 30)

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There were a lot of things Caiden knew how to do. Clean a sword. Maintain a bow or a crossbow, even customize the latter almost beyond recognition. Make his own arrows or bolts. Investigate a crime scene. Bandage a wound, make a tourniquet, brew a potion, hunt, forage, track, forge his own tools or weapons, carve wood, build houses or fortifications, command an army, cook meals…

But one thing he didn’t know how to do was read. And it pissed him off.

The beds in Castle Greywatch weren’t much. Some straw, changed daily, for a mattress, and some sackcloth to cover it. Any Venatori better off liked to buy their own beds, but Caiden wasn’t exactly drowning in coin. Following the dullahan encounter on Samhain, Kiya had given him a feather pillow as thanks – he didn’t want to think it had belonged to Relgar, but it probably had – and that was the nicest part of his sleeping arrangement in the castle.

He shifted his back against that pillow, currently squashed between him and the shoddy headboard and struggling to retain any fluffiness as a result. He tried to focus. Focus, he tended to be good at, but staring at the book in his hand almost made him wonder. It was a much smaller bestiary than the one Gwen had been given by Illikon, with a likewise smaller amount of illustrations.

If he had any sense, he would have just asked Gwen for help with reading. But his dignity – or maybe his stubbornness, or both – had long since thrown that idea out. He had all day to struggle with this, unless something came up. So, he reached to the nightstand beside him for the bottle of whiskey there. If there was something Castle Greywatch did have, it was decent booze.

Not that it seemed to be helping right now. It made things a little fuzzier, maybe. Slightly dulled that deep, gnawing, empty pain inside him, but not enough.

After they left Illikon, that feeling had grown louder, rowdier – tried to make itself more known. Whatever it was found claws to dig into his spine, using them to reach his skull. There, it chewed into him, left seeds of growing frustration – restless anger he couldn’t seem to muzzle. Any unwanted feelings of loneliness, of being lost, only got worse. A pulling, a need, telling him to do something.

After a few nights spent at Greywatch, it had grown to take a shape he almost recognized: hunger. Impossibly deep hunger that absolutely nothing satisfied.

That was why he couldn’t think. Not the drink. Not the page in front of him, covered in small symbols supposedly forming words, all of which made no sense. It was the smoldering flame in him turning into an empty inferno, and he had no idea how to put it out – or how to give it more fuel to burn.

Caiden’s eyes lost focus on the bestiary, staring at something inside rather than out. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, his grip on the book loosening, letting it droop.

Some tentative excitement came creeping up the stairs just outside the room. Caiden snapped the book shut and shoved it under his pillow, folding his arms and feeling an awful lot like a five-year-old trying to hide something embarrassing.

Except the bottle of whiskey. Couldn’t really hide that. Not like it mattered, anyway; she already knew it.

Gwen rounded the corner, peering into the room past the partially ajar door. She gave a few tentative knocks, eyes on him.

Caiden grunted. Yeah. Come in. You already have.

When she stepped into the room, Caiden instantly noted she was fully suited up, wearing her leather jerkin, belt of potions, weapons… Which for her, unlike him, was unusual to see when they were around the castle. Something was up.

Gwen paused, looked at him, followed his gaze to the far wall obviously in search of something interesting there, then at him again.

He met her stare evenly. “What?”

She shot the whiskey bottle a glance. “It’s a little early to be drinking, isn’t it?”

Caiden shrugged. Did that actually matter right now?

“Sure… Okay.” Cool worry filled the room, emanating from her, lapping jittery and mildly annoying waves against him. Gwen fumbled with a letter she’d been holding halfway behind her back. “Well, everyone in the great hall was talking missions, and a new one just came in. I snatched it up – thought it might be interesting. It’s not really like anything we’ve done before…”

An unnatural urge to snap at her, tell her to get on with it, rose in his throat and forced him to swallow it. Barely. It settled in his stomach, uncomfortable and heavy, and he tried to tell himself not to be a half-drunk asshole.

“What is it?” he prompted, voice coming out too flat as he struggled to find his usual patience.

That made Gwen screw up her brow at him more than a little, but she said, “There’s a village in the mountains not far from here – secluded little place called Norhaven. It doesn’t seem very noteworthy, except it has its own freshwater spring coming out of a mountain. But now a monster’s attacking them over the water, or that’s what they’re claiming. They say it’s been burning people, of all things, and it only attacks in the dark.”

For half a second, Caiden’s mind stuttered and ground to a halt. The first time he met something that only attacked in the dark, it had been his first monster hunt. It wasn’t something he liked recalling.

But he nodded.

“They… want us there as soon as possible,” Gwen added, almost tentatively. No, not almost. Definitely. Her nerves were frayed. She was worried about something, and it only seemed to get worse the longer she looked at him.

Caiden didn’t much like people worrying about him. He never had.

So he huffed, trying to figure out how to give what she might consider a ‘normal’ response. He stood and popped his neck in a short shock of painful relief. Even if it didn’t help the pinching headache he’d gotten from being bent over a book and trying to read for so long, it felt slightly better.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow morning,” said Gwen, still eying him like he was sick.

He eyed her right back. “I’m fine.”

“Caiden, you’ve drunk way more than usual lately – and that’s already saying something – and way earlier in the day. You know how terrible that is for you, right? And besides that, you’re talking even less.”

Gwen frowned. Some kind of hurt came off her then, enough to make his insides almost start to shrivel.

“You can trust me,” she said at length. “If something’s wrong, talk to me about it. Wouldn’t you be the first one to tell me that you need to know if I have something going on, so it doesn’t jeopardize our mission?”

Caiden’s jaw tightened, hard, before he gave it permission. You know she’s right. Yeah, she was right, and he couldn’t tell her. Every word, every phrase that came to mind sounded dismissive. Uncaring, or at least untrusting.

But Gwen gave up fairly quickly, still wearing a frown. She nodded and said, “Okay. Want to leave in an hour or two? It isn’t far to ride. We’ll get there before sundown and we can find a place to sleep.”

Caiden nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you by the stables.”

With that, Gwen turned and left – though not without throwing a quick, and decidedly worried, look back at him over her shoulder.

(More preview under the cut!)

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“These attacks,” said Gwen, “do they usually happen around the spring, under the trees?”

Asger nodded. “Mostly.”

“And has anyone been in that cave since it started?”

“Where the source is? Gods, no. Gotta have a deathwish to walk into the dark after this thing.”

“Yeah,” Caiden said, already walking around the trees and toward the cave. Behind him, Asger sputtered, while Gwen’s quiet footfalls and building, anxious excitement followed in his wake.

“Go on back to town and get some rest, Asger,” Gwen called back to him.

Caiden stopped before the mouth of the cave and squinted into it, reaching for a potion on his belt: one to enhance his senses. Beside him now, Gwen shifted, tension radiating from her like constant lightning.

“If you drink that and that thing burns you, it’ll really hurt,” she said. “I heard some Venatori pass out from pain if something catches them with one of those.”

Caiden huffed. “I didn’t last time. I won’t this time either.”

Just as he drained the potion bottle, Asger’s panting caught up with them again as he stopped by their side, drawing his bodkin dagger and holding it up in a shaking hand. Gwen blinked at him, and Caiden furrowed his brow.

Asger’s face slowly drained of color as he stared at Caiden’s eyes – a side-effect of the potion was his eyes glowing. Not much, just softly, but it tended to scare the hell out of the average person.

“You probably shouldn’t come with us,” Gwen offered slowly, like she was trying to calm Asger down from some fit of panic. “Especially since… your weapon there looks like something my partner might pick his teeth with.”

“This’s a finely-made dagger, I’ll have you know,” Asger blurted. “And I’m the watchman here, this is part of my job. Let’s go on then—”

He stepped forward, but Caiden snapped one hand out and got a firm grip on Asger’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m on point,” he said. “You shouldn’t come, but if you’re following us, then stay behind me. Gwen…”

“On it. I’ll cover your rear— I mean, the rear.” A blush quickly rose in her cheeks. “Tom ruined me,” Caiden faintly heard her mutter under her breath.

Caiden grunted. Then he turned and led the way.

Didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust, then to adapt, thanks to that potion. Faint moonlight spilling in let him see limestone walls slick with condensation and a violently gushing spring, churning the water on the far end of the cavern at the base of the wall. Spitting it out straight into the reservoir, the flow of it turning gentle by the time it left the cave.

Heavy mist hung in the air here, maybe kicked up by the water. But something didn’t seem right.

Then he realized why.

Fear washed down upon them like frigid rain – so much fear that, for half a second, it froze every muscle in Caiden’s body. His nerves pulled taut, ready to break and snap down on him like a whip, hard enough to leave a few more scars on his back. Hand shooting to his sword hilt in a white-knuckle grip, he drew in a sharp breath and fought the chill that ran fast up his spine and forced him to be afraid.

This wasn’t natural. Gwen, from the way she was suddenly fumbling with her gear, seemed to know it.

Asger, on the other hand, didn’t. He bellowed out a hoarse shout, nearly fell spinning around to face the exit, and ran for the cave mouth.

All around them, a shrill voice echoed, “Leave this place!”

It spoke the words very clearly – not the gibberish he’d been told about.

Everything happened at once. A rush of air ripped by him, trailing cold in its wake, like off the surface of the spring itself. Asger screamed, his heavy boots scuffing the stone as something made him stumble and fall. Caiden charged forward at a surging shadow, blade ready to swing.

And an arrow lodged itself in his upper arm with a hard lance of pain and a meaty thunk.

Caiden coughed out a grunt and staggered from the impact, the arrow locking up his sword arm and stopping him mid-strike. Whatever had come past him and attacked Asger seemed already gone, moving faster than he could even understand.

Gwen appeared beside him in an instant, hand on his uninjured left arm and sputtering apologies. “Caiden!? I – gods— I shouldn’t have tried to shoot it, it moved so fast—”

The cave around him was far from silent. Asger swore as he scrambled to his feet, Gwen kept on apologizing as she tried in vain to tug Caiden out of the cave until he, halfway in a stupor, finally staggered along after her.

Boots against stone. Grass under their feet, bright moonlight overhead. Plenty of pain in his right arm that twitched useless and limp at his side.

These sensations stayed, but something was missing.

He’d heard once that silence was golden. He had never understood what ‘silence’ entirely meant. This was the closest he’d ever come.

The whispers had stopped – the fleeting memories. All of it. The fear from the monster was gone – his, Asger’s, Gwen’s – he felt no terror from anyone, though they still looked afraid. Sounded afraid. Moved like it. But he couldn’t sense it. It didn’t invade his mind, twist into him, and try to make itself at home.

And he suddenly felt blind. Deaf. Neither of those things, yet both at once – because it was gone. A sense he had known for his entire life, something that was always there. Gone, no trace left. He felt dumb.

Caiden blinked. Furrowed his brow. His shoulders tensed, pulled against the arrow still biting deep into his arm, and made him wince.

What the hell was going on?

In the corner of his vision, he saw Gwen fumble for something in a pouch on her belt, only to draw out the shattered neck of a bottle. She swore and threw it aside, turning her attention to him instead as he stared straight ahead at nothing in particular.

“Caiden – Caiden, hey, look at me!” Gwen grabbed the harness around his shoulders and tugged on it hard enough for his eyes to snap to her and stare. Her face was pale. “That arrow was poisoned. Okay? You’re probably woozy right now; it’s very fast-acting…”

“Gwen—”

She sucked in a hard breath and blurted, “Caiden if you say ‘I’m fine’ I swear to Athena I will punch you in the stomach.”

He paused and cocked his head at her, his mouth ever so slightly ajar.

“Listen,” she said, voice quivering and straining to sound strong, “the bottle for the antidote I had on me broke – I have more of it, but it’s in my saddlebag. We have to get you to the inn so we can get that arrow out and I can give you the antidote. Okay?”

“Just pull it out,” Caiden mumbled, his words coming out slurred.

“I’m not doing that, you don’t just suddenly pull an arrow out – there are procedures for this!”

One sharp tug on his uninjured arm later, and he was following her back down the mountain path, both of them led by a stumbling Asger. The watchman looked at a deep welt on his forearm, his flesh twisted and reddened – what was left of it. Most of it had burned off entirely. Asger swore more colorfully than the average sailor, wearing a deep grimace.

He separated from them with a few hurried words to Gwen – words Caiden should’ve heeded, but paid no attention to – and disappeared into a nearby home. Gwen kept leading the way, up the stairs and into the inn, still tugging on Caiden’s uninjured arm.

“By Jove!” the innkeeper shouted, starting up in an instant from where he’d been sitting in his quiet tavern.

He quickly started throwing questions, which Gwen just as quickly deflected. She mostly did that by dumping a handful of coins on the counter and asking for two rooms. All the while, Caiden leaned his uninjured arm on the nearest table and pulled in one deep breath after another.

Pain quickly found its way across his body, tightening every muscle and settling heavily in his chest, like having molten lead poured into his lungs. It didn’t leave him any room to breathe, and that didn’t leave him much room to think.

[linkspooky]

Shigaraki as a Second Protagonist

In literature, the deuteragonist or secondary main character (from Ancient Greek: δευτεραγωνιστής, deuteragōnistḗs, second actor) is the second most important character. 

Greek drama began with simply one actor, the protagonist, and a chorus of dancers. The playwright Aeschylus introduced the deuteragonist; Aristotle says in his Poetics: 

Thus, it was Aeschylus who first raised the number of the actors from one to two. He also curtailed the chorus and made the dialogue be the leading part. 

A deuteragonist often assumes the role of “sidekick” to the protagonist. Conversely, the deuteragonist could also be a particularly visible antagonist, normally whom the actual antagonist hides behind. For instance while Light is the protagonist of Death Note, due to his equal amount of screen-time and parallel story L could be read as the Deuteragonist, despite acting as the antagonist to Light. 

While there are characters that could be seen as a deuteragonist to Midoriya, (Bakugo the rival, Todoroki, even Uraraka and Iida who are set up as a trio with him), I would argue in a classical sense due to the parallel development between Deku and Shigaraki they are set up as a pair. They share the same conflict. They are both trying to achieve their dreams in a society that is fundamentally unequal. Shigaraki’s memories here directly parallel Deku’s in the first chapter, his desires as well. 

Shigaraki is meant not as the main villain but rather a secondary protagonist who parallels Deku’s journey but from the dark side of society. Shigaraki first appears as a decoy villain, but as it’s revealed he is a victim, there is a much greater villain responsible for the conflict between Shigaraki and Deku that will be found at the end of their parallel journeys. 

1. Midoriya Izuku and Shimura Tenko Origins

Shigaraki and Midoriya share the same conflict from their origin. They were both not allowed to become the people they wanted to be, simply because of the people they were born as. Tenko because he was born as Shimura Nana’s grandson, and Midoriya because he was born quirkless. Not only do they have no control of the circumstances of their birth which means they are suffering from unfair circumstances, but also the environment around them only made this worse. 

Due to the fact that people are born with different quirks, and some are not born with quirks at all, the current society of MHA is unequal. People with flashy quirks, strong ones, are preferred over people with grotesque and dangerous quirks even though there is no helping someone you are born with. “Quirk Society” is something we are presented as being unfair from the very first chapter, it is the opening line of the series. Therefore it makes sense to make this, the central conflict of the series. 

Shigaraki and Deku are both victims of quirk society. They cannot become the people who they want to be, their fully realized self, or even pursue their dreams because of the circumstances they were born into. Rather than trying to assist them, we see society try to force them back into their slots. 

The central conflict of the story is a classic man vs society conflict. Here we see it represented in abstract form, Deku tries to be an individual, and he’s punished because his desires exceed society’s expectations for him. He even says that it’s not wrong for him to try even though it would be more difficult without a quirk. We see the response is for everyone to gather around Deku and oppose him. Deku is the individual, and Bakugo and the crowd around him are depicted as the outside group. Deku is the other, who must fight to find his place in the world. 

The man versus society conflict is when a protagonist has a strong belief against the majority of the community or surroundings and decides to act on it. Since this type of conflict is between a character and an outside group, it is classified as an external conflict.

In the story, we are being shown now that Tenko is dealing with the exact same conflict that Deku is continuously fighting against. In his first flashback with Hana we see that Tenko found out about his grandmother as a superhero, but his father opposed it. 

Tenko and Midoriya both desired to be a hero. They both faced opposition in the form of someone who personally tried to convince them they could never become a hero, likely Tenko’s father because he was abandoned by Nana due to the danger of her profession. Midoriya met opposition in the form of Bakugo who spent most of his life bullying him, in order to prove that Midoriya is someone who could never be a hero and never be better than him. 

However, even though they have loving families that comfort them in spite of this antagonism from Father/Bakugo, those families still repeat what society has always told them. That they cannot become heroes. Both Tenko and Midoriya are both comforted but they are not supported. As Tenko cycles through his memories, he remembers his mother, his grandparents, all being kind but none of them telling him the words he wants to hear. That he can be a hero too. Shimura says that Hana is the only one who ever supported him on that in a way.

Once again, this is the conflict. Society stands in the way of their self realization. Not only are Shimura and Deku told their dreams are impossible over and over again, but also they are repeatedly told they are nothing. Not only can they not become what they want to be, but they can’t become anything at all due to their position as the “outsider” in society. 

It’s even hinted that Shigaraki may have either been abused by his father, or born with some kind of chronic illness that would prevent him from becoming a hero. We see a flashback of his mother treating something wrong with his eye, and everybody else around Shigaraki trying to cheer him up as well. His father is so far the only one who has never appeared in the flashbacks, and it’s also the hand which grips Shigaraki’s face forcefully. 

Either, there was a scar around his eyes left by his father striking him or Shigaraki was chronically ill which caused the wrinkling we see around his eyes and scarring later in life. He needed medicine but he could only keep scratching at it. It’s also noteworthy that Shigaraki shows signs of excoriation later in life, which is a mental compulsion to scratch at his wounds and make them worse when he feels stressed which could have been developed in early life. In the shattered flashback we also see his father’s face up close, as well as an arrow, or pointed object which could have been used to make those scars on his face. 

Shigaraki and Deku have the exact same origin point, to the point of even being harassed and bullied constantly in some form from someone trying to convince them not to become a hero. Shigaraki may have even been a sickly child. However, the greatest thing standing in both of their dreams was simply the person they were born as, something they had no control over and something nobody would let them even try to overcome with effort. 

The only difference is how their origins ended. Shigaraki’s chapter where we first learn of his origin is called Shigaraki Tomura: Distortion while Deku’s is called Izuku Midoriya: Origin. 

They were just both found by people on opposite sides of the conflict. Deku was saved by the right person, and Shimura Tenko was saved by the wrong person. Which again is something that Tenko had absolutely no control over, he was a child. 

Therefore if this is a man vs society conflict, Shigaraki makes more sense as a secondary protagonist who grows and changes and deals with a different aspect of society rather than as a villain to Deku. The reason is because if society is wrong for telling people what their roles should be because of circumstances outside of their control regardless of their efforts to change it, then it would be wrong for labeling Shigaraki as a villain who can only ever be a villain just because he happened to be found by All For One, rather than All Might like Deku was. 

2. A Conflict for Self Realization

Tenko and Midoriya are fundamentally people who want to be understood. They want their dreams to be validated. They want to become the person they want to be, regardless of who they were born as. The primary conflict in this story is each of them struggling against that, and attempting to define themselves and improve themselves with effort to escape the circumstances they were born into.

While Deku gets more screentime than Shigaraki, and he also ends up participating in events not as related to this central conflict (because this is shonen manga not a tightly paced story with limited scope), all of the major moments with Deku are when he faces people who tell him that it is impossible for him to become a hero. He cannot become the person he wants to be. 

Not only do they go so far as to call his dreams impossible, but they also say that Deku himself is nothing. He is ill fitted or lacking, and so they try to push him back into his slot with antagonism rather than try to support him in becoming somebody. 

Not only was Deku bullied his entire life, but also nobody really ever did anything to stop it. Bakugo literally uses his quirk on Deku in front of the entire class and they just watch, because Bakugo is society’s voice in this case. Even if they might think bullying is wrong, they all agree Deku is worth less because he does not have a quirk. They believe what society has told them to value. Bakugo’s favorite nickname for Midoriya is “Deku” because the character means “Useless.” 

Every major antagonist that Deku faces inside of the system insists that he cannot become a hero, either because he was quirkless at some point, because his quirk is not fully developed, or because there is someone else better suited for the role.

When he is faced with these words, Deku describes them as denying his entire being. They oppose him, not by fighting against him, but rather as a person. They are trying to say he must become who they want him to be. They stand in his way, rather than assisting someone who is clearly putting in effort to better themselves and develop. 

At the same time when he talks to Shinso, he realizes that Shinso does not have what Deku has been given. That he had people tell him he could be a hero after all this time, first from All Might then by his friends at his school. That does not change the fact though that every obstacle they continually face, they have to prove the right to be themselves. They have to prove themselves as worthy over and over again which results in low self worth. 

It’s a conflict to be recognized for the person they are, rather than the person that other people want them to be. They have to force others to acknowledge them for the effort they’ve put into their own growth. It’s not enough to simply pursue their dreams, they also have to be seen. 

Otherwise, those words will continue to deny them, everything they are, everything they want. Shigaraki faces a similiar conflict with every villain he ends up facing against. He is continually told just like Deku, that he is an empty person not capable of becoming anything. 

These are two characters who are repeatedly told they are nothing, that they are capable of nothing, that they have accomplished nothing, and that they will become nothing. Yet, we see each of them struggling to become someone, and not only that but to be able to dictate who they want to be. 

They share the same fundamental conflict, to be recognized as an individual in a society that is unequal, unfair, and constantly calls upon them to prove themselves rather than lending them any assistance. For Shigaraki the struggle to define himself is especially pronounced, because rather than All Might who encourages Deku not to copy him, All For One only cares about Shigaraki as becoming a second version of him and has influenced him not to be his own person but rather All For One’s substitute. 

3. Shigaraki and Deku Both Save Others

Deku’s one goal, his one motivation other than proving himself is “Saving other people.” He sees far more value in the people around him than he ever does in himself. 

Shigaraki may be a villain still, but he is not necessarily Deku’s direct antagonist anymore. One, the antagonist shifts every single arc with the overarching conflict behind the scenes being the conflict that All for One and All Might left behind by the scenes. However, Deku may have chose to become a hero, but Shigaraki does not necessarily choose to become Deku’s direct antagonist. 

Shigaraki may spend the rest of the manga as a villain, but a villain is not an antagonist. An antagonist is just a character that directly opposes the main character, they can even be a hero (in the case of Light and L). My point is, Shigaraki has his own separate storyline from Deku, and he’s not even interacted with him that much, only one conversation, and the raid on UA. 

Shigaraki has stepped away from the role of the antagonist, and yet he still mirrors Deku’s actions. The both of them are central characters that save the people around them, by telling them it is alright for them to be themselves. They give the others around them a place to belong. This is what Deku tells to Todoroki in the school festival, that he is his own person and that his quirk belongs to him. 

Deku opposes people who tell others what he was told in life, that he was destined to never become a hero because he was quirkless. He wants to be what All Might was for him, someone who can tell others that they can be who they want. He desires to be someone who tells others the words they desire to hear. 

He does this for Todoroki, he wants to do this for Shinso because he recognizes his past self, he even does this for Eri when he tries to shake her free by Chisaki’s words by calling her quirk beautiful. Every time Deku has a meaningful interaction for saving one of his friends, he helps them by telling them they can become the hero they want to be. As that is his central conflict at heart as well. 

Shigaraki is the same, as a character his priorities have shifted from someone who was just lashing out in an empty fashion, to supporting the other people around him. Shigaraki’s first three attempts at being a villain end in failure. His attack at UA Fails, he cannot defeat Stain and even loses a publicity contest to him, and then the camp raid and kidnapping end with Shigaraki losing All For One.

After that we see the first time that Shigaraki is succesful when he decides to fight against Chisaki. The reason he fights again Chisaki, is because of Magne. Magne’s desire was to be free to be whoever they wanted to be and live the way they wanted to live, and she found that within the league of villains. Not only does Chisaki kill her, but he also denies her true gender, the person she is. He denies the identity of the lady he killed, even after her death. 

Shigaraki not only reaffirms Magne’s identity, but even goes so far as to plot this revenge and destroy Chisaki for Magne’s sake, and for the sake of everyone around him. Because, Chisaki was standing in the way of the people they wanted to become, as long as he opposed them he needed to be destroyed. 

Shigaraki saves an entirely different kind of person than Deku does. He saves those with nowhere to belong, the bad, the dangerous, the non-virtuous, the ones who would never be saved by the heroes. He gives them a place to belong, and values them. 

Not just as disposable subordinates that worship him the same way that All For One did, but rather as friends and equals. They are all together, because they are all whack jobs who do not belong anywhere else. Shigaraki says over and over again, not “me” but rather “we” will become the next ones, even when he defeats Chisaki.

Twice, who was let down by society over and over again until he had nobody left but himself and even betrayed himself in the end, is able to find himself again because of the friends he made in the league of villains. 

Pecko the Gecko, I mean Spinner is someone who became a Neet because the bullying from his quirk was so bad and he thought himself a worthless person capable of nothing, but Spinner began to accept himself when he realized that even someone as worthless as him could still support Shigaraki. 

Himiko is told over and over again by the media lady that her story is tragic, and that she should just become some suffering princess, and martyr for quirk kind because she was always destined to be an outcast born with a quirk like hers, and finding the league made Himiko happy because she found a group of people she could be normal around. 

Even when other members of the league, or Giran himself insist that nobody is going to try to come to save him, we see no hesitation in Shigaraki whatsoever to make a plan into this life or death situation and obvious trap to save Giran. 

Due to meeting Shigaraki, all of these people are on the way to being able to accept themselves. They are making efforts to improve, and we see all of their quirks improve as well, as “quirks are directly linked with personality.” They start to grow because they’ve been told the words that All Might told Deku, that it was okay to be them.

When fighting against the UA Kids, or trying to inherit All For One’s role, Shigaraki always fails. However, when he fights against other villains, and when he fights for connections with the League around him he succeeds. As this is the person that Shigaraki is meant to be. Someone who “Holds his family close.” It was the person he was meant to become if not for All For One’s interruption. 

Shigaraki and Deku are co-protagonists who both develop around the same central conflict, not only that but they tell other people that it’s okay to be themselves while also struggling to realize their full selves. 

The only difference is the sphere of society they interact with. They are both fighting a fundamentally unfair society, but Deku is on the light side, and Shigaraki is on the dark. Deku saves heroes and virtuous people. While Shigaraki is a person who can save villains on the absolute bottom who fall through the cracks.

Shigaraki is the hand which can catch those who have fallen so far even All Might could not save them. He’s also the hand that destroys the unfair society that let them fall in the first place. So once again, are those hands of his really only capable of destruction? 

[sweetiepie08]

Rebelz Chapter 5

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn, @agentpinerulesall​

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list feel free to message me. Also, if you’re on the tag list and you changed your name, please just let me know.

(thought I posted this a month ago, but either I forgot or it got eaten by the tumblr void.)

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8.  Chapter 9. Chapter 10.

[-]

Jerry had just smashed Tom’s foot with a hammer when Dib realized he was watching the robot’s cartoons more than he was watching the house. He’d been staring at these screens all day. Tak hadn't shown up at all. Zim did turn up for a few minutes, but that was hours ago and he hadn't come back since. There were no fights, no screams, no explosions, or at least not that Dib could see. The only noteworthy thing that happened was Zim choking on a soda. Was there really nothing going on?

His eyes drifted to the clock. 6:30 already? He'd just wasted most of his day watching old cartoons through a security feed. His stomach rumbled reminding him he hadn't eaten since noon.

Dib looked back at his monitors. Tom chased Jerry around the room. Jerry ducked into his mousehole and Tom rammed his face into the wall. The robot laughed. Dib’s stomach rumbled again. The idea of a break started to sound appealing.

“Hey Gaz,” he called hitting the record button, “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” she called back.

“You want to order a pizza?” He slid off his chair and started out of the room. “I was thinking we could have dinner while we watched that documentary.”

He headed downstairs and found Gaz in the kitchen. She already had the phone in one hand in the Pizza Factory menu in the other. “I'm thinking Peppers and onions,” she said, not dialing the phone.

“How about sausage?

Her face twisted in disgust. “No pork.”

“Okay, fair enough,” he conceded. That shadow hog thing still weighed on his conscience. “Cheddar cheese? Oh, and get garlic bread.”

Gaz nodded and put the phone to her ear.

Dib smiled. It actually felt good to be out of that room. This break would be good for him. He’d get some food in his stomach and watch something he’d been waiting to see. Then he could get back to surveying the base later. Besides, with the camera recording, he wouldn’t miss a thing, if anything even happened.  After all, he got nothing all day. What could he miss in a few hours?

[-]

Gir laughed every time the cat on TV let out that loud yelp. He liked the yelling. It reminded him of someone. And it was funny.

As he laughed, another robot walked into the room. Gir looked over. A new friend? Maybe. Did master build it? Nah, he would have said something. Wait, he remembered this thing. This was Tak’s robot. What was it doing here? Oh yeah, they friends now. She gave him a present. They must be over to play.

“Want some nachos?” Gir asked.

Tak’s robot lifted its head and looked curiously at the nachos. What was wrong? Maybe it didn't know what nachos were for.

“You do it like this,” he said stuffing a handful in his mouth.

Tak’s robot just stood there. It still didn't get it. “Here, let me help.” Gir got off the couch, walked over to the other robot, and smushed a handful of nachos in its face.

Tak’s robot wiped the nachos away and shook off the remaining cheese. It’s eyes narrowed and glowed red. Oh it looked mad. Maybe it would start yelling at him. But it didn’t.

Oh wait! He got it now! “Hey, you don't gots no mouth,” Gir said, leaning real close to get a good look at the robot’s face. “That's not right. You need a mouth for nachos.”

This was a problem. If it was going to be his friend, it needed a mouth for snacks. “Oh, I know!” Gir screamed. He ran for the trash can/elevator. He'd seen master go down this way earlier. Master could build a mouth. “This way! This way!” He dove head first down the elevator shaft and Tak’s robot followed him.

[-]

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it's not! It's not!” Tak shouted. The can in her hand spilled gignzor on the ground as she gestured wildly. “You cannot tell me! You cannot tell me Foodcourtia is worse than Dirt!”

“It is! It definitely is!” Zim yelled back, punctuating each sentence by slapping the computer control panel.

“It's definitely not!” She slapped the control panel as well. “Dirt is a garbage planet made out of garbage! Everywhere you go, it's garbage! Everywhere you look, it's garbage! You close your eyes and, still, all you can see is garbage!”

“But there's no customers! Zim countered, flinging his empty can across the room. “No one screaming at you all day! No one yelling because their order is late, or cold, or they got the wrong thing! No one saying they want blogrings on the side, but they won't tell you on the side of what. But when you guess, they start yelling! And you're trying every side you can think of, but nothing works! And sometimes they still haunt your thoughts late at night!” He grabbed Tak’s shoulders and shook her. “What side did he want, Tak? What side did he want?!” He kept shaking until she slapped him away.

The sound of a “Whee-hoo” came from the ceiling. It got progressively louder until Gir splat-landed face-first on the floor. Tak’s Sir unit slinked gracefully down and landed beside him.

Gir sprang to his feet. “My friend needs a nacho hole,” he said pointing at the other robot.

“MiMi,” Tak commanded, “Get away from that pile of junk.” The SIR unit nodded and slink to her side.

“Hey!” Zim pointed an accusing finger at her. “You don't get to call my Gir junk!”

“Yeah!” Gir screamed.

Tak smirked. “I built Mimi myself out of spare parts and she’s still more advanced than the standard SIR units issued to the invaders.”

“Well I got a mouth!” Gir shot back.

“Yeah!” Zim shouted. “Hey wait, does your SIR unit talk?”

“No,” Tak sighed. “I couldn't find a functioning vocal chip on Dirt.”

Suddenly, Zim’s computer made an alert sound. “Sir,” computer said, “there is an incoming transmission from the Massive.”

Zim's hands flew to his head. “Oh no, the Tallest can't see me drunk.”

“The Tallest can't see me at all,” Tak added.

“Well, get out of frame, then.”

Tak scooped up Mimi and they ducked under the control panel. Zim tried shaking a bit of his drunkenness off. It didn’t seem to do much, but he answered the call anyway. An Irken in a navigator’s uniform appeared on the screen.

“Um, Invader Zim?” the navigator said, putting a strange emphasis on Zim’s title.

“Yeah,” Heh, he said ‘invader’ funny… Wait a second. “Hey, you're not The Tallest. What is this?”

“The Tallest are very busy at the moment,” the navigator replied. “A traitor has been identified.”

“Traitor? Pfft…” Zim waved his hand. “I don't know anything about a traitor, definitely not one with any conspiracies.” I am nailing this nonchalant performance.

“Uh, you wouldn't.” The navigator said, raising an eyelid. “A notice went out to all Irkens on planet or in the Armada. I've been tasked with informing all those out-of-range to be on the lookout for her.” He paused. “What was that about a conspiracy?”

“Nothing. I said I didn't know anything about a conspiracy, remember?” Totally nailing it.

“Yeah, but why would you bring it up in the first place?”

Shoot. He was asking too many questions. Better get rid of him. “Yes, yes. Anyway, I got your message,” Zim dismissed, reaching to cut off the transmission. “I'll be sure to look out for Tak. Now you can move on to-”

“Wait, I never said the traitor's name.”

His hand froze. Fuck “Uh, yes you did.”

“No, I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I didn't.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn't!” The navigator shouted impatiently. “And I can playback this conversation to prove it.”

Zim started to sweat as he contemplated his next move. Before he could say anything, however, Gir dove under the control panel.

“Found you!” Gir squealed.

“What was that?” The navigator asked.

“My SIR unit,” Zim answered. “He lost his… uh… contact lenses!”

“SIR units don't wear contact lenses.”

“Your turn to hide.” Gir said. Zim could hear a scuffle going on.

“No, stop.” Tak whisper-shouted. “Stop pushing me, you metallic hunk of-” Tak flew out from under the control panel and landed on the floor with an “omf.”

No, no, no, no, no! Zim slapped a big fake grin on his face. “As I was saying, I'll be on the lookout for that traitor and I’ll get back to you if I see her. Bye!” Zim cut the transmission and the screen went black. He let out a long breath. “I don't think they suspect a thing.”

Tak got up and brushed herself off. She glared daggers at him and snarled, a retort forming on her lips. Before she could speak, the entire base shook violently, knocking them off their feet.

“What's happening?” Zim struggled to stand up, but another shake sent him back to the floor. The base continued to rumble and, with each new quake, the room shrank in size, along with the tech in it.

“You idiot!” Tak shouted, managing to pull herself up. “It's cubification!”

Zim blinked. “Uhh…”

She scowled and rolled her eyes.” When The Tallest believe an invasion has been compromised beyond salvation, the remotely cubify the base, destroying all evidence and crushing any organic matter left inside.”

“I knew that.” Zim jumped to his feet. “Why are you explaining things I already know?”

“You moron, were going to be squashed!” Tak screamed, grabbing the front of his tunic. “And I refuse to let my cells mix with yours!” She threw him down and called, “Mimi!”

Tak’s loyal SIR unit slid up to her side. Mimi saluted, wrapped her arms around Tak, and flew them both up the elevator shaft.

“Gir!” Zim commanded. “Get us out of here!”

Gir bounced up. His eyes flashed red as he gave a salute. He then ignited the propulsion jets in his feet, flung Zim onto his back, and rocketed them up the elevator shaft.

As they flew to the house level, the walls around them closed in at a steadily rapid rate. It became a tight squeeze toward the top. Zim’s waist became stuck in the trash can lid for a moment before he managed to wiggle out.

By the time he made it to the living room, the ceiling was only a few feet overhead. Tak pulled at the doorknob with all her weight, but it wouldn't budge. She let out a cry of frustration and her laser cutters unfurled from her PAK. The lasers on all four tips joined into one large square of energy which blasted a hole in the wall. However, that hole shrunk just as quickly as the rest of the house.

Tak dove through and MiMi followed. Zim looked around for his service unit who was busy giggling and bouncing off of the encroaching walls. “Gir, quickly!” he commanded, pointing to the hole. Gir launched himself through, squealing. Zim followed after, feeling the ceiling brush the tip of his antenna on his way out.

He landed on his hands and knees on the lawn. Once he gathered himself, he turned to watch as his beautiful base crushed itself into a cube about the size of an Urth child’s alphabet block.

Zim’s mouth hung open. “Six years on this miserable ball of filth,” he murmured, scooting up to the teal cube on his knees. “Now look at you.” He flopped face-first on the yard and made pitiful noises. Gir sat down next to him and patted him on the back.

“Get over it, Zim,” Tak grumbled, activating her human disguise. “At least you still have a ship. Mine’s crushed in there with everything else.”

“Everything?” Zim snapped up. “Wait, where’s Minimoose?”

“NYAH,” Minimoose squeaked as he floated into Zim’s line of vision.”

Zim jumped up and threw his arms around his creation. “Yeah! Minimoose! I knew I shouldn't have to worry about you.”

“Quit hugging the moose, Zim,” Tak snapped. “In case you haven't noticed, we have a real problem here. We're stuck on this dirtball with no shelter, no resources, nowhere to go, and we're out of gingzor.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Zim retorted, stomping up to his ship. He reached in, pulled out a spare dog suit, and flung it out Gir. He then began applying his human disguise and he continued. “My base would be fine right now if they didn't catch you hiding out in there.”

“Well they wouldn't have caught me if you could control your sorry excuse for a SIR unit,” Tak shot back.

“Hey!” Zim jumped down from his ship. “Gir is a specialized unit! Operating him takes a deft hand. Simply shouting out commands won't do.”

“why? because then he'd work properly?” Tak smirked.

Zim let out an exaggerated gasp. “How dare?! I just lied my butt off for you and you repay me by insulting my Gir?”

“Oh yes,” she scoffed, “thank you so much for blurting out my name before they even told you who the traitor was. You are a true master of deception.”

Zim put on a smug, mocking grin. “You're welcome.”

Tak growled and kicked nearby rock into the street. After letting out an huff, she turned back to him. “Well, you've been on this planet longer than any other advanced species. Where is a good place to lay low?”

Zim thought about this as he picked up the teal cube and turned it around in his hands. His base wasn't completely destroyed. Everything shrunk as it was being cubified. Perhaps it was all still in there. If he could reverse the effect… “It'll have to be a place with access to a lab. With the proper tools, I could possibly find a way to get my base up and running again.”

“Oh! I know! I know!” Gir squealed, jumping on Zim’s back.

“No, Gir. We're not doing that.”

“But… but…”

“No, Gir,” Zim said again, crossing his arms. “I won't allow my pride to sink that low.”

“But we've done it before,” Gir pointed out.

“Hmm? What's he talking about?” Tak asked sternly.

“Doesn't matter.” Zim answered, waving a dismissive hand at her. “It's not an option.”

“Yes it is,” Gir argued.

“Zim…” Tak growled, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up to her eye level. “Where is it?”

[-]

Gaz flipped open the pizza box and steam rose off the hot, fresh cheese. Dib reached into the takeout bag. The garlic bread was still hot, too. He bit into a slice, enjoying the warm, steamy goodness and hoping the documentary wouldn't bring up any cow disembowelment's while he was eating.

This was shaping up to be a pretty good evening. Good documentary, good food, and he and his sister were just chilling together. There were no fights, no aliens (except the ones in the documentary, of course), no plans for world domination, no nothing. Just pizza, sibling bonding, and the dulcet tones of the narrator explaining bizarre happenings in Utah.

Gaz was right. He needed to take breaks more often. In fact, he was pretty content to spend the rest of the night relaxing. He could do without dealing with Irken nonsense for one night.

[rebelcourtesan]

Horde Prime is a Tactile Villain

It’s been a while since I did one of these so here I am back to form with this.

Another thing about Horde Prime that is discomforting about him is he’s very tactile - of or connected with the sense of touch.  

Long Post Below

In most animated shows (actually all because I cannot recall such like Horde Prime) the villain is not handsy unless its done in violence.  Occasionally, you might see a handshake or a comradely pat on the shoulder if they are trying to fool or lull the hero into a sense of safety.  Horde Prime is more open about his intentions, but is still prone to touching his victims that are non-violent, but no less discomforting.

First, we’re going to compare him to another Dreamworks villain who also considers himself Lord of the Known Universe.

Zarkon is a cold tyrant who rules the Galra Empire with an iron fist and obsessed with gaining power and strength.  The only time we see this man touch anyone is with violence.  Whether it’s fighting Shiro in another realm or his own son, Zarkon is never openly affectionate, not even to his own wife and son.   

He sits straight back in his throne giving orders to underlings from afar or via long distant communications.  The only one who can stand close to him is Haggar and even then there’s no physical contact.  Zarkon is an Emperor who doesn’t allow anyone close to him physically or emotionally.  

However, while Zarkon in intimidating and isn’t someone I would want to angry with me, it is Horde Prime who sends chills down my spine and unlike Prime, he actually smiles.

When we finally see Horde Prime in person for the first time, he’s sitting aloof similar to Zarkon with his valets standing on either side of him like blank dolls.  He’s looking down upon both Hordak and Glimmer from his perch until he does something that we have never seen Zarkon do.

He leaves his throne, approaches Hordak, and kneels down to be on his level.  No, he didn’t have his clones bring Hordak to him, HE went to HORDAK.  Not in the way that he’s the sort that isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, but he’s accustomed to invading other people’s personal space.  This is revealed even more so in the next bit.

He touches Hordak’s face.  Yes, it’s to strengthen the mind reading connection, but why the face?  Why not take his hand instead?  

No, Horde Prime takes the face because someone’s face is everyone to them.  It’s how we communicate, see, express ourselves, and attract others.  Our face is who we are as a person, but Horde Prime doesn’t see Hordak as a person, but an extension of himself.  He looks into Hordak’s face, he’s seeing a piece of himself rebelling against him, like a tumor or cancer.  

And how he handles Hordak also shows how much Horde Prime loves himself.  

The Greek myth of Narcissus is a hunter that so loved himself he fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water.  Horde Prime is narcissist  

Narcissism is the pursuit of gratification from vanity or egotistic admiration of one's idealised self image and attributes. This includes self-flattery, perfectionism, and arrogance.

People say that his touching Hordak like this is a hint of possible past sexual abuse and I do agree that this alludes to it, but I also see it as Horde Prime admiring himself.  Instead of a pool of water, he’s seeing himself in the face of a clone that adores him.

Unfortunately, for Hordak, he is a reflection that dared to think itself separated from Horde Prime.  And like a cancer or tumor, he is removed.

This is the first time and only time thus far we have seen Horde Prime being angry.  All because Hordak had the audacity to think for himself and build his own army.  As much as Horde Prime loves his reflection, he will not allow it to grow any stronger to usurp him as he is, in his mind, the most perfect being in the Universe and there shall be no contender.  

One thing to point out.

This bit right here leads credence to the sexual abuse history.  We have Horde Prime’s hand on Hordak’s throat, a very controlling and dominate hold, while a cord from Horde Prime’s hair tendril plugs (penetrates) a port at the base of Hordak’s neck.  

What’s noteworthy is that Horde Prime could have his clones take Hordak away right then or knock Hordak out with a punch to the solar plexus.  He’s clearly stronger than Hordak and could easily overpower him, but no, he does the deed himself and in a way that’s jarring.

As soon as the cord plugs in, we’re given an organic wet sound like flesh is being cut or torn.  It’s disturbing and does damaging to Hordak.

Zarkon, as abusive as he was to his own son, Lotor, has never done anything that made fans cringe like this.  

And once Horde Prime is done with Hordak, he drops him like litter on the pavement.

I like how zen or meditative Horde Prime is here.  Like he’s shrugging off being angry and he’s trying to calm down.  Being angry means that something has gone wrong and nothing should ever go wrong in his Universe.  

Then we come to his interaction with Glimmer.

He notices (or sets his sights on) Glimmer.  His words are polite and friendly, but the look on his face says otherwise.  It’s not a threatening look, nor angry or disliking.  It’s intrigue, curiosity, and even with what one could call a leer.  He’s interested in Glimmer and even interacts with her by speaking and helping her to stand.

He’s playing the part of the gentleman and he very likely sees himself as one, but the eyes are windows to the soul.  The body language is there.  He bends down, helps her up with hand to hand contact, and speaks with his eyes on her face.  

Look familiar?  From the Secret of Nimh, when Jenner turns on charm to manipulate the court into aiding Mrs. Brisby to give him an opportunity to assassinate Nicodemus?  He’s really putting on a show for the rats to coerce them into agreeing to helping her, but there’s something in it for him.  

It’s possible I’m reading more into this than I should, but I can’t help feeling that this is an abuser who is staking out a potential victim.  However, for Horde Prime, it’s the opposite.  What need does he have to manipulate Glimmer?  He has all the power so why turn on the charm for her?  Why bother lulling her into a false sense of security?  What does she have that he would want?

That’s a deep question with multiple answers.  For one, Horde Prime seems himself as the perfect being and being a gentleman to royalty would paint him as he sees himself.

Secondly, narcissists love having their egos stroked by impressing others.  This could be a means to satisfy himself by impressing Glimmer or drawing her close, which leads to the third possibility.

Grooming her to be his next prey.  

From the moment he drops Hordak like used cigarette, and sets eyes on Glimmer, he turns on the charm.  He looks at her with predatory eyes and his maintains a close distance while locking eyes with her.  If he was dismissive of her, he would be looking away, standing away from her, or even turned away from her, but everything seems to scream being closer to her.  

Watch what happens next.

Glimmer is hopeful that they’ll resolve things peacefully.  

Notice how Horde Prime doesn’t seem happen for a moment here.  She rejected him.  It’s small and blink and you’ll miss it, but I love the subtlety that you have to think to catch it.  

Then you’ll leave us alone?  

He laughs at her and calls her a child in a means of ‘putting her in her place’. Building himself up by cutting her down, he reasserts himself as the main power mover in this exchange.  He’s unhappy because Glimmer isn’t playing the part of being thankful for the ‘order’ he brings. 

Glimmer backs away once Horde Prime becomes threatening, and he’s moves forward to maintain that close proximity to her.  See how his head is bigger than her body in this shot?  Every shot he’s in, he imposing compared to the other characters.  

Then this happens.

The infamous face touch.  As I mentioned before, most face touching in She-Ra is done between between intimates such as friends and family.  It’s used to control and manipulate others, but it’s always done between those who were already close. 

This is different.  This is a touch that Glimmer does not want and it’s from a stranger who is threatening to hurt her.  Look at her face and think back to Hordak’s face.   

Another thing I want to say is that I’m still not sure if he was going to do away with Glimmer right then and there.  I’m sure that Catra interrupted something bad that was going to happen, but I don’t think it was what we’re led to believe.

His words were threatening, but it’s never clear of how he was going to do away with her.  He doesn’t summon guards, doesn’t pull a gun or a knife, nor does he summon some power to blast her with.  He simply and intimately touches her face and it’s how Horde Prime touches her face that sounds off alarms.  It’s gentle, even tender.  Listening to the SFX is a soft little pat and not one second later, Catra speaks up and interrupts whatever was going to happen next.  

If this was an adult show that isn’t afraid of darker themes, then honestly, I believed he would have proposition her if not inconveniently interrupted by Catra.  

And even while Catra tells him about the weapon, he keeps a hand possessively on Glimmer’s face throughout.  Also, notice how he doesn’t seem happy to have been interrupted.  And doesn’t move his hand until he comes to a decision.

Glimmer has been upgraded from a plaything to a useful tool.  So he removes his hand and goes back to playing the charming gentleman again.  How long will this charade last?  And what happens when he doesn’t get what he wants?  Does Glimmer go back to being a potential plaything again?    

This analysis is based upon observation of the five minutes this character has been on a show.  It tells a lot, but also gives us more questions.  I am really looking forward to season 5 so we can see and learn more about Horde Prime.  

[elmidol]

You Never Forget

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

Read on AO3

Warnings: force choke, long chapter

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile Chapter Fourteen: You Never Forget

The sultry question: Can you be good for me? The delicious answer: Baby, I’ll be bad.

From the moment he had revealed his plans to use you for his own agenda, you had known that everything would be conducted on his terms. It was not immediately that you were taken from your cell, but instead the following cycle. A stormtrooper escorted you to the general’s personal quarters. The redhead was not present to greet you, and thus you had to endure the ’trooper’s lecherous stare as you showered. It was perverse, indeed; you knew this from the way his breathing altered the moment you were allowed to strip out of your clothes. Every moment you waited for the armored man to take advantage of you, to touch you in some way. He did not.

It was only when you heard the door to the general’s quarters open and the man bark out an order for the stormtrooper to leave that you fully relaxed. You finished showering, dried yourself off with the two towels that were available—one for your hair and the other for your body—and then wrapped one of those towels around your body before stepping out of the refresher. You paused in the doorway, blinking and allowing your gaze to travel up and down the redhead’s body.

In the few times you had seen him, he had never before worn the greatcoat that was slung over his shoulders. His arms were not through the sleeves, instead the limbs were relaxed at his sides. You clutched the towel closer to your body, completely unsure how to react. He looked…you did not dare finish the thought. General Hux stood his ground. You felt him returning your gaze, observing you and your reaction to the sight of him. “And to think I don’t yet have my hat,” he remarked, and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Dress…” His voice trailed off, as though he remembered that he had no name for you. You had nearly supplied him with tooke, yet had held your tongue.

You moved over to the chair that held your new jumpsuit, and pulled on the clothing. As you did so, you could hear General Hux sliding his arms through his sleeves. You eyed him in your peripheral. You were unrestrained. He was unarmed.

His lips quirked into a smirk as though he could read your thoughts. “I should inform you that I bite back.” Unsure whether or not he was being literal, you ducked a bit. You finished dressing. When you turned, you froze completely. He had pulled on his hat. The First Order insignia was standing proud atop his head. Yet the shape of the hat, in a way, complimented his features. “Certainly the members of the Resistance also wear uniforms.”

“Uh…huh…” Your eyes were darting up and down his body. It wasn’t what you had expected. The other members of the First Order had uniforms as well, and you hadn’t batted an eye. It was the way the man carried himself. He looked good, and not only due to the uniform. There was something all the more masculine about him. “I just never thought I would have the urge to refer to a member of the First Order as sir.”

“Are you attempting to make me blush?” he asked with a sort of lilt that had you blushing more deeply. “I cannot help but wonder if you would be so vulnerable to my words had Ren not kept you away from human contact. It seems I underestimate him in that respect. He did know what he was doing…yet let his guard down with you.”

Your blush faded at the mention of the man who was responsible for your current position. The burn to your neck had healed, yet there was still a mark on it. You lowered your gaze to the floor at the thought of it. You wondered if his neck had a scar on it where you had bitten him. Likely not; he would have received the best of care to prevent something like that from occurring. You snapped out of your reverie at the sound of General Hux stepping closer to you. He took your left wrist into his hand, lifting up your arm so that he could inspect the tattoo on your ring finger. Your gaze, meanwhile, drifted down to the name of Ben Solo.

“For the time being you will not be restrained. Should you prove to be unable to handle this privilege, it will be remedied and you will be punished. Is this clear to you?”

“Y…yes.” His eyes were on your face, and he appeared to be waiting. It was a blow to your pride when you realized what he was waiting for. “Sir.”

You followed him out of his quarters. The members of the First Order that you passed by greeted the general with reverence then shot you looks of disgust. Some of them seemed surprised that you were not in restraints. You knew why it was. It was part of your training, for you to learn to be obedient to the general for the sake of appearances. The only reason you did not attempt anything was that you knew the futility of such actions; and he had already admitted that there would be ample chances for you to help the Resistance, albeit in small ways. You would take what you could get, you had decided.

General Hux took you to the bridge of the Finalizer. There was a generous amount of stormtroopers and officers alike. Even if you wanted to try something, you would not be able to succeed. Some eyed you, their hands near their weapons. You wondered if they were set to stun or kill. The redhead quickened his pace a fraction, breaking away from you and approaching another officer. You paused where you were. You watched the general interact with his subordinate then resumed looking around. You had never before been on a vessel this large. Never been on the bridge of a vessel even half this size. It was quite a view, both through the glass of the windows and of the interior itself. The amount of individuals needed to keep the Star Destroyer running up to the highest standards was noteworthy.

A chrome-armored stormtrooper bypassed you. You stared at your reflection in the armor, then startled when the individual addressed the general. A female voice. Your eyebrows rose. True, you could see that there were plenty of females in the First Order from those working on the bridge alone. Yet you had not expected a female stormtrooper, much less one of her rank as captain. You felt as though everything was suddenly surreal when she voiced that Commander Ren was returning to the Star Destroyer. He had been away—for how long, you wondered.

Then you willed away such ponderings, recalling that the general had said the Force user did not care whether you lived or died. You curled both your thumbs towards your ring fingers. Discarded, your mind shot. You momentarily wished that someone would cut off your fingers, or at least skin them around where the tattoos were.

“Prisoner!” General Hux snapped out, as though he were speaking to a subordinate rather than an enemy. You jumped all the same at the authoritative tone. “To me.” As though you were some dog; yet you obeyed, shuffling over to him with your lips pressed into a tight, thin line. He kept you near his side no matter where he walked. The chrome-armored warrior, who held the name of Phasma, also remained nearby. She and the general conversed at random between issuing orders and listening to statistics. Your brain buzzed with all the information, with the multitude of voices. It was more than you had experienced in months. The redhead’s eyes slipped to you. “You may be seated.” He had led you to a chair away from any of the consoles. You lowered yourself onto the seat, rested your elbows on your thighs, and cupped your head in your hands.

“He is likely still speaking with Supreme Leader,” Captain Phasma said when General Hux appeared to check the time. His face was set in a scowl. “We will have the results of his mission shortly.”

It had been a month since you had heard them, yet you recognized the sounds of his footsteps immediately. Hard, as though he wanted nothing more than to strike fear in the hearts of everyone around him. You well knew that he could be perfectly quiet if he wanted to—after all, he had approached you that fateful day without you realizing he was there until he had wanted you to know. The fingers near your hair twitched. You wanted to lower your hands and grip the chair, yet you did not. You remained in the same position as Kylo Ren made his way to Captain Phasma and General Hux. He seemed to ignore you completely.

Just a discarded toy… A replaceable body…

“None were LDS.” Your chest felt hollow yet beyond full at the same time when you heard that modulated voice. His words struck you; they were still hunting the cell, and more of your allies had perished by his hand. “The lead of the former cell, however, has been eliminated.”

“That is just as well,” General Hux stated flatly. Kylo Ren angled his body so that you were not in his line of vision. You had at last dropped your hands and were staring blankly at the black form. “Her training has begun. She should be ready by the time we are to depart.”

“Should she fail to serve her purpose, Snoke has ordered her death.”

“It won’t come to that,” General Hux said, his gaze sliding to you. You swallowed hard, the muscles in your thighs tensing and your legs pressing towards one another. It had been a month since you had been near him. You were waiting—to see his face, to hear his real voice, for him to look at you, for him to acknowledge that you existed beyond the capacity as prisoner of the First Order.

“We shall see.” Kylo Ren broke away from Captain Phasma and General Hux. You watched his robes billowing behind him, swishing with every step.

When he was satisfied with your progress, General Hux ordered a stormtrooper to take you away. You obediently followed, more than a little surprised that you were still unrestrained. Shocked when the cell you were led to was different. A bed. It was a meager thing, yet it had a pillow and a blanket. A toilet—an actual toilet rather than a bucket—in a corner. You climbed onto the bed, curling up and staring at the wall as your escort left. You heard the door being locked, listened as a guard was set up in front of the door to your cell. Waited.

You lifted a hand to your face, your fingers tracing over your lips.

How easy it would have been, to feel relief that Kylo Ren seemed to no longer have an interest in you, if he had been solely cruel. If he had never brought you those little gifts. Had never stated that he kissed you out of respect. Had never been so vulnerable when near you. It was the small part of him that was still the general’s son—and he would deny it, fight tooth and nail to reject these facts—that had you… You squeezed your eyes closed. You did miss him, in small ways.

If given the chance, you would not take back the bite. Instead, you would wish to have successfully killed him. You could have managed missing him if he was dead. Yet it stung, the thought that he was alive without any hope of being saved. The idea that death might be the only way to free him of his identity as Kylo Ren. You could not help but imagine the pained expression on General Organa’s face if ever she had to hear that her son was dead. You doubted she believed the man was beyond salvation. A mother’s hope, a mother’s love.

You sat in your mother’s lap, your arms crossed over your chest and a pout on your face. Though you had declared your hatred of the woman, she only smiled sadly and pulled you closer to her. Your mother wound her arms around you, rested her chin on the top of your head, and dipped her face forward so that she could place a light kiss against you. “Well, I still love you. I’ll always love you, even when you’re a terror.” You wrinkled your nose. In your opinion, it wasn’t your fault. In your opinion, your fit had been completely warranted.

“No. You don’t love me,” you protested. If you were completely honest, you did not believe that at all. But you weren’t being honest; you were being a typical six-year-old who was mad that she did not get her way. Your mother whispered your name, her voice filled with love. You sniffled, feeling tears pricking at your eyes as you tried to deny it so that you could hold onto your indignation, so that you did not have to face that fact that you were the one in the wrong.

“You’re so stubborn sometimes,” she said with a small laugh. Another kiss to the top of your head.

You flipped over onto your back and stared up at the ceiling. The sound of the cell door opening had dragged you away from your thoughts. Those familiar footsteps. The leather of his gloved hand was in your peripheral as he extended his arm. You felt a scraping at your mind, tendrils of pain pushing into you so that you curled up and whimpered. You grabbed at your head, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“The cells must interact with one another…for there to be enough long-distance shooters… Someone to teach others should the two be killed before the trainee has finished being tutored. Who is it?” It felt as though you were being stabbed, knives dragging up and down your skull. “Someone finished your training… Someone who left, and you were to pretend had been killed. Who—?” Your mind had flashed, for an instant, to Ip. “There.” A hum of thought. “There must be another…” The implication made you gag, even as the waves of pain dispersed. Kylo Ren had discovered Ip; he had killed the man. You grit your teeth as you looked up at him and glared.

He ignored your expression, lowering his hand and turning away from you. You twisted up into a sitting position then planted your feet firmly against the ground. You rose, moving to follow, when you felt something pinching your throat closed. You grasped at your neck, clawing at the invisible force that was choking you. Kylo Ren exited your cell, and only then could you properly breathe.

You fell to your knees, bowing your head against the ground and wrapping your arms around yourself as you sobbed. Ip was dead, your mind screamed. He was truly dead now.

When you recovered from crying, you used the toilet, rinsed your hands, and then slipped back into bed. This time you pulled the covers over yourself, the blankets past your head.

Ip slung his bag over his shoulder, his eyes dancing along your face as he turned towards the shuttle that would be taking him away. To train more for the Resistance. “Be good,” he said, giving you a mock salute. You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your throat felt so thick. “Don’t think too much about it. You’ll be fine. You’re one of the best.” You thrust yourself towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso and burying your face in his chest. You could feel snot and tears dripping down your face. You were ugly crying, and you hoped he wouldn’t mind that you were dirtying his shirt. Ip sighed, wrapped an arm around you, and patted your back. “You’ll do fine.”

“I’ll miss you.” Your voice was thick.

Ip patted your back again. “I’ll miss you too, Meep.” It hurt more that the two of you had to put it in your minds that you had each died. A sick game of make-believe to protect the other. “Be good.”

“I will. Be safe.”

“Of course.”

Kylo Ren had killed him, you told yourself again when you woke up. Your eyes ran along his name on your finger. You traced the letters as the door to the cell opened. The boot steps were different. General Hux, you noted. You kept the blanket over your head and waited. The redhead released a noise. You drew down the covers, looking up at him. His eyes swept along your hair, which you did not doubt was messy. He reached forward, smoothing out some of the strands.

“You understand now one of the reasons we have kept you alive?” he asked in a drawl.

“To verify any suspicions you may have,” you croaked, your throat sore from the crying you had done as well as from when Kylo Ren had choked you. General Hux gave a wry smile. “You know I won’t hand over information easily…but if you have a lead…there are ways for you to break down my defenses.”

“You sound so bitter,” he said with mock hurt. He dropped the façade when he pressed on. “You have been behaving rather nicely. Would you like a shower?”

“In exchange for…?”

“More good behavior, naturally.”

“You’re using human acts of kindness as a means for training. A bed. A proper toilet. A shower. If I misbehave, sir, what is it you’ll do to me?”

“That depends, of course, on the severity of the offense. However, as you have likely guessed, such privileges will be taken away. A catheter or bucket. No bed. Restraints. Your current attire is also a privilege.”

“I see… I’ll behave…as much as I did yesterday.”

“That is all I expect,” he stated whilst taking a step backwards to allow you room to rise. As before, you allowed him to escort you without acting out. There was already a fresh set of clothing waiting for you on his chair. You ignored these in favor of entering the refresher. This time, General Hux did not follow you inside. You took a deep breath and waited. He must have heard your hesitance. “Are you wanting an audience?” The humor in his tone caused your cheeks to heat up.

“N-no,” you stuttered then started to strip. You were thankful that he was allowing you some privacy. As he had stated in the past, the two of you had an understanding. He valued good behavior and was rewarding it. You were each knowingly using the other. You could handle that. You showered, and it was the first time you were able to relax so completely. No eyes on you though you did not doubt you were being watched—the general using his ears for the sake of surveillance.

When you were finished, you dried off and walked into the room with the towel still wrapped around you. In the corner of your eye you noticed that he was reading through some reports. The man did not look up as you pulled on the clean jumpsuit. He did, however, mention that there was a hairbrush you could use in the third drawer of the counter in the refresher. You walked there, watching yourself in the mirror as you performed such a normally mundane task. For you, it was everything. You felt almost normal.

General Hux walked into the refresher after a bit, his eyes traveling along you. You stared at his reflection in the mirror. “You shouldn’t over-brush,” he said. You set down the comb, your fingers trailing along its handle. “Come here.” His voice was almost soft, as though he were attempting to get you to drop your guard—yet you knew that wasn’t quite it. You shifted closer to him, turning around when he motioned for you to do so. His hands were fixing your hair, pulling it back and then tying it back with a hairpiece he removed from a drawer. Finished with this task, he removed his hands from you.

You reached back, feeling the way your hair was put up while at the same time looking at it in the mirror. “He killed my mentor.” He blinked a single time. “Do you keep logs of it?”

“The name?”

“Ip…no. Ivun Porl.”

“Ah, the LDS trainer for the cells. Yes, he was killed during Ren’s previous mission. At that time, he was our primary target.”

“Do you intend to refer to me solely as prisoner?” you asked, looking at him. General Hux raised a brow. “For the sake of appearances—I imagine you will use me to appear civil despite your position as my captor, when it comes to political view—it is unwise. I don’t doubt that you’re aware of this. What is it you plan on calling me?”

“I have yet to decide,” General Hux replied. He smiled lazily. “Did you have a preference?”

“No, not really,” you said. “I was just curious.”

“You’ve been known by a number of things, haven’t you?”

“Tooke. Meep. Trainee. Prisoner. Resistance scum. KS”—the last you pronounced as kiss, drawing a look of confusion from the man before you told him it stood for kill-shot, at which point he chuckled—“and a few others. What are you waiting for?”

“To see what name you earn, naturally.” He observed your face for a number of seconds. “How strange—you do seem to miss him. He was your only, is that it?”

“Hmm?”

“Ren. You had never been touched by a man before, had you?” You shook your head. General Hux smirked. “I see. Use your body against you. Force you into a position reliant upon him… A clever strategy. Yet your training is better than that. How many times have you thought about killing me since I brought you here?”

“Less than perhaps I should have,” you admitted. “You’re…interesting. I can see why you’re general. What are you—?” He had worked a small device onto your clothing. You furrowed your brow. “A tracker?”

“You will be allowed access to certain portions of the vessel. A team has already been instructed to watch your every move on the monitors. There are eyes everywhere on the Finalizer. I need you to be able to behave. You need me to allow you such freedom if later you are to assist your pathetic Resistance.” He led you back into his room, where he handed you a small communications device. You could call out only to two preprogrammed lines. “Should you require anything, either I or Lieutenant Mitaka will take care of it. Should this device ring, you are to answer immediately. Otherwise it will be understood that you cannot handle such freedom.”

“Yes…sir.” You winced as you said the latter. General Hux gestured to the door, and you walked over to it and left his personal quarters. You felt nearly overwhelmed at the idea of being able to travel more freely through the First Order Star Destroyer. You paused, which caused the man to literally crash into you. He released a swear, his hands on your lower back as he manipulated you forward a few extra steps so that he could walk. “G-General Hux?” He waited for you to speak. “Wh… Where do I…eat?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, turning on his heel and gesturing for you to follow with his other hand. You shuffled after him, your heart hammering in your chest. “The crew is aware that you shall not be harmed, save for in retaliation should you choose to act foolishly. If, however, there is anything you find questionable, you may bring it to the attention of myself, Lieutenant Mitaka, Captain Phasma, or Ren.”

You frowned when he spoke the last name, yet said nothing in protest. If it came down to it and you were being harassed by the officers or ‘troopers, you would not cut your nose to spite your face. General Hux and you entered the cafeteria, where a number of personnel were eating. Kylo Ren was present, a tray of food in his hand. He turned then paused, having noticed you. The redhead nodded in his direction.

“She needs to be fed,” he said simply before turning. Your hand shot out before you could stop it, your fingers wrapping around his. General Hux stopped, attempting to pry your hand from his. “Release it!” As though you were a dog…and he seemed to be more of a cat person, if you had to categorize him. Kylo Ren’s visor was pointed where your limb was connected with the redhead’s.

“I…” You stared at the man, who had at last ceased his attempts to remove your hand from his. His gaze flickered over to Kylo Ren, who still had not looked away from your hand in the general’s, and then back to your face. You felt dizzy. It had been a month since you had been reliant upon Kylo Ren for anything. It wasn’t a position you wanted to be in again. “C-couldn’t you, sir?” Because, if you were one-hundred percent honest with yourself, being so close to Kylo Ren when he wasn’t prying through your memories made you think of his lips on yours. Of the way he had seemed to cry when you had told him you would rather die than be with him. And that hadn’t exactly changed. “I…I’ll be quick.”

“Let go of my hand,” General Hux said evenly. You obeyed—by slipping your limb up to his wrist instead. The redhead scowled. And Kylo Ren was still staring.

General Hux, you discovered in that moment, was a rather patient individual. His nostrils flared as he released a sigh through his nose, and he moved to walk towards the food line. You, clutching his wrist still, obediently followed after him. All the while you could feel Kylo Ren’s gaze on you. As though he was curious regarding the way you had latched onto the First Order officer. You spared him little thought, your focus instead on the food that was being served up. Your stomach was making small noises that you believed would grow in volume. With his free hand, the general lifted up a tray. This he handed to you, which you accepted without relinquishing your hold on his wrist.

The eyes of everyone in the room were on you. It made plenty of sense. You were a prisoner, the redhead was the General of the First Order. And here you were latched onto him. You knew well why you had grabbed him without a second thought, and perhaps he did as well. He was the first to not subject you to any sort of sexual indecency while observing you shower. The first to show you some level of respect, to acknowledge your abilities and also be upfront with his desire to use you. He also had the foresight to acknowledge that some of his men would be tempted to harm you in some form despite orders to do otherwise. He had more than earned your respect, even if he was your enemy and the two of you were ready to kill one another without a second thought should it come down to that. Yet he had meant to pass you to Kylo Ren, who was in many senses your weakness. You weren’t ready to be so close to the Force user, not in that manner.

General Hux scooped up some food, plopped it onto your plate, and nudged you further down the line. He was choosing only what appeared appealing. When it came to what you would drink, he waited for you to choose. You lifted up a carton of milk, set it on your tray, and tightened your grip on his wrist. You did not want to explore the ship, to be at the mercy of his crew. True, you had the communications device. But that would do you no good if you were attacked.

Kylo Ren had disappeared from the cafeteria. You looked at the spot he had been standing before allowing your gaze to travel back to General Hux’s face. The redhead was once more scowling. It was apparent that he had been intending on leaving you with the Knight for the time being. This plan no longer available to him, he looked directly at you. “Do not spill. Carry your tray, and don’t dawdle.” His eyes darted down to your hand, and it was then that you at last relinquished your hold. He turned sharply on his heel and started to walk away. You held your tray with both hands while shuffling forward to keep up with him.

It was surreal, not being chained. Walking through the vessel without looking for an escape route. The truth of the matter was, judging by the things he had said up to that point, you would be arriving on a planet once he was certain he could use you. Likely in neutral territory. He would appear to be weaker than he was, that his military’s might was nothing as formidable as reality would indicate otherwise. To have you as his prisoner whilst appearing to be being treated fairly, that would only play into the charade. You, meanwhile, would thus be given a chance to do something. If any Resistance sympathizers were present, they could send a message to a base regarding the fact that you were still alive. Countermeasures could then be taken against anything the First Order may have pulled from your mind. It was the least you could do for the cause. Even if it meant momentarily submitting to the tyranny of the First Order.

Upon arriving at the bridge, General Hux had you sit on a chair that was tucked away in a corner so that you could eat. You did so without saying a word to any of the crew. You could feel eyes darting to you on occasion. Sometimes when you felt as though you were being watched, you would look up to find the red haired general considering you. As though, despite the fact that he had complimented you for it, it was your patience and temporary obedience that were impressing him.

At lunch, he had your food brought to you along with his own meal. Dinner was served similarly, and it struck you that the man was a workaholic. It said much for him; that he was dedicated to his cause, willing to put in the hours. In many ways this reminded you of General Organa. You wondered if your observations would be met with disgust should you voice them—not that you ever would. When the day cycle ended, General Hux personally escorted you back to your cell. The gesture was not lost on you. He had the guard outside of the door open your cell. You waited in the doorway, tilting your head to the side and sliding your gaze to the general.

“Would it be impolite if I didn’t ask you inside?” His lips twitched, as though he were tempted to either smile or chuckle at your joke, yet he managed to regain control before either happened. “Should I return this?” You withdrew the commlink from its spot in your front pocket, offering it to the man. He stared for a moment before wrapping his fingers around it. General Hux turned it back and forth in his hand. He then handed it back to you, and you pocketed it. “It really will benefit you, keeping me alive.”

“It will, for the time being.” You nodded, uttered out a Goodnight, general, and moved into your cell. The door was not closed immediately. You endured his stare as you walked to the center of the room. It was small in many respects, yet more than what some people had. “You will not be able to shadow me tomorrow.”

“Then may I remain here?” you asked. General Hux did not answer immediately. He was watching you, blinking twice and considering you before at last nodding. “Thank you.” Another nod, and then he turned around and left. You watched your cell door closed, breathed a sigh of relief, and moved over to the toilet, which you desperately needed to use.

It was longer than a single day that you did not see him. On the second day, Captain Phasma made an appearance long enough to take you to a refresher for a shower. You were returned to your cell after declining once more to venture around the Finalizer on your own. You were not oblivious to the looks of disgust and hatred you received from the crew, and nor were any of the triumvirate that seemed to run things in the First Order. On the third day, you also remained in your cell. The night of the fourth, however, a stormtrooper entered and informed you that General Hux requested your presence. You hesitated in your spot on the bed, eyeing him with your heart racing. Was it a trick? You fingered the communications device that was in your pocket.

Apparently noticing this, the stormtrooper shifted uncomfortably. As though he had never seen the battlefield. You sighed, recognizing him for the newbie that he was. Should you question him openly, he would possibly receive punishment. You stood, and the ‘trooper relaxed his shoulders while walking out of your cell. You joined him, allowing him to escort you to the redhead’s personal quarters. He did not, however, enter with you. He presumably left once you were in the man’s room.

General Hux was seated on his bed, datapad in his hands and a holochess board set up. He gestured towards the refresher, muttering that you could use it while he finished a few tasks. You took him up on the offer, shaving and spending a little extra time in the shower before at last moving out of it. You dried off, took out the hairbrush he had available to you, and watched your reflection while running the comb through your hair. You seized up a hair tie, pulling your hair back in a similar manner to how General Hux had put it a few days before.

You walked into his room, pausing upon discovering the clothes that had been brought were different now. Not a mere jumpsuit. A black tanktop and shorts. Actual pajamas. You pulled on the clothes and then walked over to the bed. You paused at its edge. General Hux set aside his datapad. “You may pull up a chair, or sit on the end if you feel comfortable.” There was something so in-control and disciplined about him that was in contrast to Kylo Ren. Not that the Force user didn’t know discipline; he was just a little more unrestrained in certain respects. You climbed onto the bed, crossing one leg under you and allowing your other to dangle over the side of the mattress. General Hux set the board between the two of you. You stared at it prior to making the first move.

Neither of you said a word to the other as you played. Not well-versed in holochess, you were not surprised when you lost. “You’re accustomed to sitting quietly,” General Hux stated as he started to set up the board again.

You readjusted yourself, bringing your other foot onto the bed and sitting cross-legged. “He never gave me anything to do. It’s fine. I expect it from my enemy.”

“There are things you don’t expect from your enemy?” You frowned at the amusement in his voice. General Hux took his turn first this time. “You are aware that war crimes occur everyday, aren’t you?” You rethought the way Kylo Ren had treated you.

“Maybe…” You ran your tongue along your lips. “Perhaps I should have indulged physically.”

“Had sex, you mean?” he asked, watching as you made your move then countering it with one of his own. You nodded. “You’ve only ever had a single man touch you…your enemy.” A chuckle.

“I don’t know if I expected sympathy from you at all,” you said without a trace of bitterness. “You’re my enemy as well.” A grunt from the redhead. “Yet you don’t mind my company.”

“And you don’t appear to mind mine,” General Hux responded as he made the move that finished the game. Another victory to him, although this time it had been closer. “You do poorly at this.”

“At holochess, or conversing with you?” He replied that it was the former, a sardonic smile on his face. You pulled at the hem of your tanktop, observing the man as he put away the game. “I’m to be escorted back to my cell now, correct?” He nodded a single time. “Goodnight, general.”

“Goodnight,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. You rose from the bed, leaving with the stormtrooper who had come to escort you back. You used the toilet, washed your hands and then brushed your teeth with the toothbrush that had been provided to you at last, and finally climbed under the covers of your bed. You traced over the letters of Kylo Ren’s name on your finger. It was how you had fallen asleep for the past few days.

In his own way, Kylo Ren had seemed to care for you, even if only a little. He had known some of your innermost thoughts, the ones you hid from the world. And he had never appeared to mock you for them.

You thought back to when he had remembered your favorite flavor of hot chocolate. Something so mundane. Why would he have remembered something like that, you wondered. You brought your finger to your lips and placed a light kiss against his name.

If given the chance, you would kill him. If given the chance, you were more than willing to kill General Hux as well. Yet the latter was your means for helping the Resistance. You closed your eyes and dreamed of a robed man in a mask. He sat in a chair, hunched over, whispering words you couldn’t understand to a charred relic on a table.

The following evening you were brought once more to General Hux’s personal quarters. You showered, put your hair up, and dressed in fresh clothing. This time he had out sabacc, which you were more well versed in. You won two out of the three games, prompting the man to pay you a small compliment regarding your skills. Rather than have you taken back to your cell, he instead removed his boots and shirt. You glanced along his undershirt down to his toes. He pulled out a bottle of brandy and two glasses. You accepted the glass he handed to you, watched him pour some of the drink into both cups, and then the man sat back on the bed.

You lifted the rim of the cup to your nose, inhaling the smell while General Hux swirled his glass a bit. He was paying close attention to your every move. You took a sip of the drink, and he mimicked your action.

“You’re terrified to wander my ship alone.”

“Mm. That will look bad if it’s questioned. Being allowed such freedom, rejecting it,” you muttered, thinking in the political sense. “Am I supposed to pretend I’m some sort of guest? That’s what Ren said, that I was his guest.”

“You were,” General Hux said before taking another hit. As he lowered his cup, he licked his lips and then spoke again. “You have always been a prisoner, however you were also his guest.” You released a light hum, considering what had just been said. You supposed, in some senses, it was true. “It’s quite similar to the way you are currently my guest.” Your eyes wandered about the room. His personal quarters, you reminded yourself. It was probably quite a privilege to be allowed inside. Intimate in some ways.

“He raped me. It isn’t something you would do to a guest,” you said with a sigh. You threw back the remainder of your drink, your eyes watering in the corners. “We technically had sex more than once, but it was mostly rape.” The man across from you did not respond. You met his eye, finding his stare to be rather passive. “He’s the only man to have had sex with me. Technically I was touched by others, fondled by the stormtroopers…groped… They waterboarded me when they didn’t get a reaction. I don’t understand the appeal of that.”

“Of their touches or their penchant for waterboarding?”

“The latter,” you replied, relinquishing your glass to the redhead when he reached for it. He set it aside along with his own and the bottle of brandy. “Do you get off with such things?”

“Corporal punishment is more to my liking.” You felt your cheeks heating up, blushing deeper when your natural reaction caused a smile to grace his face. “You have different preferences, I take it.”

“I… Before Kylo Ren… I had never even touched myself.” His eyebrows rose, his eyes darting up and down your body. It was your turn to smile. “He latched onto it when he was in my head. I had been told when I was younger that it wasn’t something…to do. I hardly got the urge, and when I did I was embarrassed because of what I had been told. So I never did it.”

“What did it feel like—cumming for the first time?” he asked. It wasn’t cruel, the way he posed the question. More like pure curiosity, and so you decided to humor him.

“It was…embarrassing. Intense. It felt good in some ways, but I hated it. I wanted to cry. I think I did cry. He’s my enemy, and he… It hurt a lot, because earlier he had used his… his abilities with the Force to… I was made to impale myself on…the…his weapon.”

“His lightsaber?” You nodded, feeling tears prick at your eyes at the memory. You were embarrassed, and a large part of you was wondering why you were telling him this. It wasn’t as though he was an ally of yours. “Was it with the lightsaber that he made you cum?”

“No… No, he used his hand… That was the first time he called me tooke.” You fought the urge to brush away your tears, to bring more attention to them. “He wasn’t even… He didn’t even get aroused from it! It was all a stupid game, and then suddenly…the next time… Because he figured out who I was…. But that first time, he wasn’t even aroused. That’s what it was like. Embarrassing. Physically it felt good, but I hated it.” You hiccupped, brought your knees up to yourself, and cried into them.

The general of the First Order did not touch you or say anything while you cried. It did not insult you when he picked up his datapad and started sifting through reports. On the contrary, you were almost thankful for it. When at last your sobbing lessened, you heard him rise from the bed. General Hux pulled his boots and shirt back on then scooped you up into his arms. You kept a hand over your face as he carried you back to your cell. He set you on the bed, drew the blankets up over you, and exited.

At the beginning of the day cycle, the same stormtrooper that had first brought you to General Hux’s quarters entered with a tray of food. He set it up on a small foldout table he brought it. You sat up on the bed. “What’s this?”

“B-breakfast.” He sounded as confused as you felt.

You winced. “I mean… Am I not allowed out of the cell today?”

“You are… I was told that you haven’t been…”

“Are…are you allowed to escort me?” He nodded a single time. “After I eat…would you?”

“Yes. General Hux has informed me that I am to follow your requests—within regulation.”

It was the first time you were able to walk through the Finalizer without fear of being attacked by the officers. Your hand was always on the commlink in your pocket, and the stormtrooper at your side. You saw his face at lunch, when he removed his helmet for the purpose of eating. He looked so young, or at least younger than you. This made it all the easier for you to accept his presence during the day. The next day was similar, though it ended with you visiting General Hux in his personal quarters.

As usual, you showered, dressed, and climbed atop the man’s bed. He went into the refresher, taking a shower as well. When General Hux exited the refresher, he had dried his hair and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. He wasn’t letting his guard down, you knew. You believed him when he had said that he was willing to bite back. The redhead grabbed out of the bottle of brandy whilst asking if you wanted to play sabacc or holochess. You accepted the glass he handed to you, and sighed.

“The first time he… He used his power to make me fuck him the first time. I wasn’t in control of my own body. I only remember pieces of it,” you said. General Hux downed his first glass and poured himself another. He likely knew that you were not looking for sympathy; you merely needed to tell someone, to speak aloud of the experience. “It definitely wasn’t what I expected my first time to be like. Did you have anything like that?”

“I’ve never had sex with Ren.” You snorted when you laughed, which caused the man across from you to smile in humor. “There was some awkward fumbling on my part during my first time. It was, however, overall enjoyable.”

“Have you ever raped anyone though?”

“Do you believe all men have raped?”

“I don’t know. Part of me says no. But then…people are capable of anything.”

“I have overseen sexual tortures in the past. It is rare that such things occur in my presence, however. Kylo Ren is more than sufficient when it comes to extracting information when other methods fail.” You finally started to drink. General Hux refilled your glass when you emptied it the first time. “It hasn’t only been women, the victims of such torture.”

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or not.” You nodded in the direction of the holochess. “We can play that.”

General Hux stood long enough to put away the bottle of brandy and bring the board over. He allowed you to go first. Having learned a little from your previous games with him, you were able to gain an advantage. That, however, did not lead to victory for you. You lost in the end, yet the man’s comment on your improvement seemed like a small win.

“You’re a rather fast learner,” he said. You hesitated, knowing he was speaking in broad senses, including your ability on the battlefield. “Don’t be modest; I have seen your abilities, or have otherwise read of them. I am simply stating a fact.”

“I suppose,” you conceded. You watched him put away the holochess set. It was getting late, and you knew you would soon be sent back to your cell. “General Hux?”

“Yes?”

“You still don’t have a name for me.” He knit his brow, his gaze sweeping along you as you stood from the bed. You made no move to approach him, simply stood there holding onto your right arm with your left hand. “How long until we depart the Finalizer?”

“Nine days more.” Now you did take a step closer to him, hesitant in case he became defensive. He did straighten a little, however did not do or say anything to discourage the next step you took. He dipped his chin when you closed the distance between the two of you completely. “You will have a name by then.”

“Use my surname. Or a prisoner number. Both are appropriate and won’t be frowned upon.” He said nothing, perhaps distracted by the fact that you had lifted a hand and touched the side of his face. “Goodnight, general.” You lowered your hand to your side, looking towards the door and waiting for the stormtrooper that would escort you back to your cell.

“He broke you.”

“What?” You choked on the word when it nearly caught in your throat.

“You have a hard time believing this is real. That you are away from him. That you are speaking with someone else. You’re so…broken.” A strangled noise of disagreement from the man who had spoken those words. “How you manage to continue to fight…perhaps you’re not quite broken. You’re compromised.” You bowed your head and stared at the ground. “Goodnight, KS.” You blinked at his words. Goodnight kiss. You moved up on your toes and pressed your mouth to him. His hands caught your upper arms, the man lightly pushing you back to your feet. “Kill-shot.” You found yourself blushing in his presence again. “Perhaps I will have to choose something different.” He ran his tongue along his lips, and you did likewise. His hands, still on your arms, did nothing to prevent you from raising yourself again, from placing a kiss on his mouth. His eyelids were half-closed, the man watching you without reacting. You reached up, cupping his face. His lips were soft. So welcoming, even if they weren’t moving against yours.

“Goodnight, general,” you whispered, your breath washing over his lips before you kissed him again. You kissed lower, this time just before his lips. Then on his chin. His neck, his chest. Trailing down until you were on your knees, your hands at the hem of his pants. He caught your wrists. You squeezed your eyes closed, opening them the moment you felt him kneeling with his knees on either side of yours. Your wrists were still in his hands. You searched his face, at the passive, guarded expression he wore.

General Hux lowered his mouth onto yours, his tongue flicking out and tracing along your lips. You permitted him entrance, feeling him exploring you and starting to run your tongue along his in return. His grip on your wrist tightened a little as he pulled back, breaking the kiss. You both licked your lips again, looking at one another. “Goodnight, tooka.” It was similar in sound to what Kylo Ren called you, yet so different when it came down to it. General Hux truly was a fan of felines. He released your wrists, placed a hand on your cheek, and stood. The man dropped his hand away from you, and you rose as well.

The next day, as you wandered the ship with your unofficial stormtrooper friend—at least, the closest thing you would get to one given that they were all your enemies—you froze at the sight of Kylo Ren. His back was to you, and he was again staring up at the stars. The stormtrooper tensed up as well. You touched your ring finger, the tattoo there. The feel of Kylo Ren’s kisses went through your mind. The feel of General Hux’s mouth on yours. The differences, the similarities. You bit down on your lip and carried on, leaving Kylo Ren alone to his thoughts.

General Hux’s word rang through your mind. You realized well that a part of you would not be able to push aside your feelings for Kylo Ren. When you were younger, you had been told that no one forgot their first.

Yet Kylo Ren was the last thing on your mind that evening when you entered the redhead’s personal quarters. “You…you have a cat.” The orange tabby was curled up in his lap. General Hux quirked a brow, stroking the feline’s head.

“Good evening to you as well,” he said.

“I… There was no litterbox…”

“She was receiving her vaccinations and then under observation while I worked.” You stared at the creature with wide eyes. Your heart was hammering your chest. Evil wasn’t supposed to do timid or cute. Yet Kylo Ren cried and spoke to the helmet of his deceased grandfather. General Hux had a cat. “Are you going to shower, or…?”

“Huh? Oh…y…yeah.” You ducked into the refresher, your mind spinning. You finished your shower quickly, dried off, tied back your hair, and nearly raced back into his bedroom. You dressed and climbed onto his bed. His cat, purring, lazily looked your way. “Wh…what’s…uh…”

“Her name is Millicent,” General Hux said, scratching underneath her chin. You reached for the cat, who sniffed your fingertips with some curiosity. She allowed you to pet her. “Now—“ Your mouth slammed atop his, your hand leaving the cat as you grabbed both of his shoulders. Millicent squirmed off her master’s lap, moving over to another part of the bed. His lap now free, you wasted no time in straddling him. His hands were in your hair, ripping out the hair tie, although not painfully. You ground against him, and suddenly he was turning you over and setting you down on the bed whilst breaking away from you. “Don’t be crude.”

“Wh-what?” You felt as though your world was spinning. “Don’t…what?” He ran a hand down the length of his face then set the limb on your hip. “I just…”

“You needn’t be overtly sexual.” General Hux moved back onto the bed with you. This time when you climbed onto his lap, you did not rock against him. You kissed him a little more gently, enjoying the feel of him doing the same. He moved to kiss your cheek. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

“Hm?”

“Ren. You saw Ren…” You did not respond, yet your silence seemed to be enough. The kisses ceased. The redhead pulled back and looked you in the eye. “Neither of us is pretending this is more than it is. There is no love.”

“But…a certain…respect…”

“Yes, tooka.”

“So it doesn’t have to be sex.”

“No.” You relaxed, releasing a breath you had not realized you were holding. “Would you like to play holochess or sabacc?” You looked instead towards the cat, who was kneading the bed. “Very well. You may play with Millicent until it is time to retire for the night.”

[I remember December, after November, The most silent month of all. I reminisce the kiss, after your fits, And still wait for your call.]

[placeebo]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. Owen James Harper PRONUNCIATION. I don’t think it needs to be spelled out lmao NICKNAME. He doesn’t really have any. He goes by his name, though he dubbed himself King of the Weevils.  GENDER. Male HEIGHT. 5′9″ AGE. 27 is his default age, but it varies depending on the verse ZODIAC. Aquarius (he was born on Valentine’s Day!) SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. Brown EYE COLOR. Brown SKIN TONE. Fair BODY TYPE. Wiry, slim ACCENT. English, London VOICE. Not sure what to say here, so here’s a voice clip. DOMINANT HAND. Right. POSTURE. Relaxed and impersonal. He doesn’t slouch, but he does favor putting his weight onto one leg and folding his arms/shoving his hands into his pockets, so nothing prim and proper.  SCARS. Gunshot scar (left shoulder), gunshot scar (waist; left side), gunshot wound (chest; not healing; post-“Reset”), slice on left palm (from scalpel; wrapped up; not healing; post-“Reset”), broken left pinky (wrapped up; not healing; post-“Reset”). TATTOOS. None BIRTHMARKS. I imagine a few small birthmarks, like freckles, but nothing noteworthy. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). I’d say his facial structure. People say it’s shaped like a Dorito lmao. Or his mouth being slightly wider and his lips being almost of the same height, like one solid line instead of a noticeable bow.

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Plaistow, London, England HOMETOWN. Plaistow, London, England  BIRTH WEIGHT. On the low end of average BIRTH HEIGHT. Average FIRST WORDS. ?? Who knows. a mystery SIBLINGS. None PARENTS. Unnamed PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Lacking. His parents were always at each other’s throats and too busy shredding each other to pieces when they, particularly his mother, were not taking anything out on him. His mother kicked him out at the age of 16 and I could only imagine his father, before his death, was either out of the picture, for the most part, or neglectful, seeing as nothing was done about Owen’s being banished. His relationship with his parents has always been wrought with turmoil and interspersed with very rare moments of a stepping-on-eggshells kind of peace. Owen does make an effort, to an extent, to repair whatever is there, but it never works and often dissuades him from trying again.

adult life !

OCCUPATION. Doctor and chief medical officer of Torchwood Three CURRENT RESIDENCE. Cardiff, Wales CLOSE FRIENDS. Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, Toshiko Sato, Suzie Costello (past), Amira Hussein (past) RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Single. He was engaged to Katie Russell before her death and before the events of Torchwood. FINANCIAL STATUS. Average DRIVER’S LICENSE. He has one. CRIMINAL RECORD. None VICES. Drinking, sex, sleeping, ill-tempered

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. Biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. Submissive  |  dominant  |  switch   PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive  |  dominant  |  switch LIBIDO. High TURN ONS. People who know what they want. A sharp mind, witty, and with a biting, playful personality. Someone who’s strong-willed. Of course, sexiness. Seductive and charming. That said, really, he values kindness, tenderness, brains, and loyalty. He’s always honed in on casual sex before, but he later starts caring about and actively seeking the qualities that make for a good life partner rather than a one-night stand. TURN OFFS. Cutesy, callousness, indecisiveness, someone who is wholly submissive and bends to someone else’s will too easily.  LOVE LANGUAGE. Touch and physical affection. Gifts. Remembering details about them. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. Owen, in a relationship, is quite supportive, protective, loyal, devoted, and reliable. He is a full supporter of continually wooing, flirting, and surprising --- it doesn't stop just because you’re in a relationship. He does, however, also have the tendency of keeping things close to his chest. Lack of communication is a terrible weakness of his, and this can often manifest into spats and arguments.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. There’s always “Owen’s Theme.” Honestly, though. everything on this blog is comprised of The National lyrics, and I’d think their entire discography fits him. I also named my url after the band Placebo in tandem with, well, a placebo being medical-related. A lot of their songs also fit him. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Drinking, sex, sleeping... He also games! MENTAL ILLNESSES. I cannot say for sure, but Owen is not well-adjusted.  PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. None. He’s very healthy, minus being dead post-”Reset.” LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. Left-brained, although Owen’s emotions usually control him. FEARS. Abandonment, loneliness.   SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. Confident, but on the surface. He hates people doubting him --- he’s aware of it --- and used to chase casual sex due to the fear of being hurt in a relationship. You can’t be wounded if you’re not invested. But what he really wants is a relationship, not meaningless sex, even if he persuades himself that that is what he really wants. When put in a position of power, he can make poor choices, feels the weight of those choices and choices still yet to make, and crumbles.  VULNERABILITIES. He’s very emotional. Although Owen puts on a tough front, a lot of who he is manifested out of the need to protect himself from emotional pain. He can additionally make decisions that protect the people he loves rather than the good of all, which can be exploited, though he cares a lot about people. More than he lets on. He’s noted to brood and be too fixated on death --- there’s always someone to save; he thinks his own life is worthwhile if he can save someone else’s --- and he gets riled up easily. His ability to put himself in other people’s shoes is lacking. I’d say he doesn’t critically reflect on himself as much or as long as he should, either. He “moves on,” but with little of the healing.

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[septembriseur]

A comprehensive theory of The Terror, Pt. II

The second episode of The Terror features what is superficially the inciting incident of the catastrophe: the murder of the Netsilik shaman, and the appearance of the tuunbaq. It’s easy to look at this episode and see it framing the show as centrally about ignorant European imperialism, especially since we get a pretty naked example of that attitude from Franklin, who says (about Silna and her father): “These people are not our concern.” But I think that this is in fact a misdirection, and the more important issue introduced in this episode is the idea that the presence/location of the expedition in the Arctic is a problem, and not only for the expedition itself. 

Much later in the show, in episode nine, we see a conversation between Silna and a Netsilik man in which the Franklin expedition is framed as an ecological problem for the entirety of King William Land. “There are too many of them,” the man says. “Just as there were too many caribou in the Year of Falling Stars. Too many bear the year before. It’s because of these men the island has nothing for us. Everything on legs has fled.” The Netsilik are starving because the expedition has unbalanced the ecosystem of the island, driving it towards collapse. Yet, interestingly, the comparisons the man makes don’t frame the expedition as a special or “unnatural” kind of threat because they are European— they are no different than bears or caribou. Rather, there seems to be an awareness that the survival of the whole ecosystem (one in which the Netsilik play a part) depends upon the careful maintenance of right relationship between different elements, including man. The Netsilik solution is to send for a new shaman to help “heal what is wrong”— to find the tuunbaq and mediate in order to “balance things again.”

Here is the link between the death of the shaman and the catastrophe that befalls the expedition. The death of the shaman did not cause the catastrophe; the death of the shaman prevented the impending catastrophe from being resolved. The shaman was the one who might have managed what had gone wrong. That was his designated role. After his death, however, everyone in the story fails to reestablish the right relationship between things— in part because the Europeans do not know the right relationship between things in this environment, and make the mistake of assuming that environments are inert and interchangeable, and that they can therefore map their native ideas of relationship onto the Arctic. (This is something I will talk about in future posts.)

In episode two, Silna attempts to explain the impending catastrophe to Franklin. She pinpoints the presence of the expedition (its location in the Arctic) as the problem, saying: “Take your boats away. You cannot be here.” Again, it is not the nature or actions of the expedition that are a problem (at this point) so much as the fact that its existence in this place disorders the material and spiritual ecosystem of the island. It cannot be here.

However, episode two is also the episode in which the specific actions of the expedition begin to cause even further disorder, as the men of the expedition repeatedly demonstrate ignorance of right relationship. Franklin refuses right relationship to the Netsilik, viewing them as not his concern. Only Goodsir seems to understand himself as having an obligation to Silna and her father, and it is also he who protests, in episode three, that the men are being disrespectful of Netsilik beliefs by stuffing the shaman’s corpse down a fire hole— that it might be “more appropriate” to at least “cut the man his own hole.” The word “appropriate” is interesting here because it suggests that there is an appropriate way to behave and that the men are not behaving in this way.

This is also the interval in which we see the rise of another conflict between what ought to be done and what is done: the argument between Crozier and Franklin over whether or not to send out a sledge party, in effect declaring the mission’s failure. Crozier, in this argument, is principally interested in the survival of the men, while Franklin is concerned with the success of the mission. The argument ends with Crozier determined to commit insubordination (potentially torching his entire career) in order to do what he views as the necessary act to protect his people. This is noteworthy, I think, because I’ve seen some discussion in reviews of whether the show as a whole is endorsing the idea of order-is-necessary-yes-any-order, essentially placing the order of the Navy and the order of Netsilik society on a level. Yet that doesn’t seem to be the case here: Crozier’s willingness to violate Navy order for the general good is viewed as positive, while Franklin’s unwillingness to sacrifice personal glory for that general good is disastrous. (This issue is raised again later in the show, when Blanky tells Fitzjames about how close to disaster the Ross expedition came as a result of Ross’s insistence on rank in the face of suffering.) Order cannot be arbitrary; it is only useful when it ensures the wellbeing of a particular “body.” What appropriate/right/correct is aimed at this larger wellbeing, and may require the sacrifice of vanity (as with Crozier, here, or the sacrifice of vanity he actually makes in detoxing himself completely from alcohol) or of the self.

But there is another point about order (point of order?) here, also: order is context-specific, not because certain rules only apply in certain places or under certain conditions, but because when we are talking about order, we are talking about an order that includes places and conditions. The human world is not separate from (as Irving intimates, trying to convince Hickey to see the error of his way by arguing that they are “separated [on a ship] from the temptations of the world”) or pasted on top of the nonhuman world. 

I see this as one of the things communicated by Franklin’s ladder sermon, though it’s certainly not what he intended. There are two references to “the ladder” in the episode of the same name; first, Hickey establishes that when we are talking about ladders we are talking about order: “You’ve sketched out the ladder,” he says, in his conversation with Billy about social rank, “but you’ve got me on the wrong rung.” Then, finally, we hear the speech that Franklin was writing in the previous episode, which concerns Jacob’s ladder, and which begins with Jacob finding himself in “a certain place” that seems “a terrible place.” In this place, Jacob dreams that he sees “a ladder set upon the earth, and the top of it reaching to the heavens,” and he sees “the invisible world, companion to the known one we perceive, with its rocks and its moon, its ice fields and brute animals, and all the people we know, have ever known, will ever know.” This world supplements the material world with angels, spirits, and ghosts, and is “not future, not distant, but present” and “among us.” The picture thus painted is one of an entirety of existence that is alive— a place where the metaphysical and even the dead “yet live”— and arrayed in an intricate structure ordained by God.

Franklin wrote this sermon, but he did not understand it. He did not see the presence of his ships in the Arctic as constituting a violation of order, because he had placed himself on the wrong rung of the ladder— or rather, because he saw himself as standing on top of the ladder, rather than constituting a rung. “Educate this creature as to the dominion of the Empire and the will of the Lord,” he tells his men, as they prepare to face the tuunbaaq. In other words, he perceives the nonhuman world of the Arctic as a wilderness that is essentially without order: in need of being willed, dominated, and taught its place by divinely inspired men. He doesn’t perceive the Arctic as already having an order— as forming part of the highly structured seen-and-unseen world. As a result, it doesn’t occur to him that there might be right relationships towards and between things in the Arctic. And it doesn’t occur to him that, by entering into the Arctic, he may break the rungs of the ladder.

Next post: how language and names fit into this!

[eluvianarts]

My Solavellan Isn’t Hell - Here’s Why

It would first be important for me to note that I was late to the Dragon Age party, & started with Inquisition in 2017. Since then I have, of course, picked up & played all three titles multiple times, but my first playthrough with Inquisition introduced me to the world of Thedas, thus my understanding of terms like “the Fade”, “Grey Wardens”, & “the Rite of Tranquility” were shaped by this game first. It may also be noteworthy to mention that I always play my OCs as my own self - I design them to look like I do, react like I do, make decisions that I would make, etc. (So if I say “I” instead of “Lavellan”, this is the reason).

The first time I first heard the term “Solavellan Hell” I thought it was such a negative sounding reference to such a powerful romance. “Hell?”, I thought, though I had indeed finished the game & all DLCs. “Hell produces pain, suffering, & anguish. None of which I experienced in a concentrated enough amount to be considered hell.” But scrolling through tags I quickly understood where my experience differed from others, & I intended for quite some time to share my thoughts. Let me explain...

[This is the part where I warn the reader that spoilers are bound to follow under the cut]

[[Short version - Just read the last two paragraphs.]]

My inquisitor, Visériel Lavellan, was immediately enamored with Solas from the start. (I literally flung my arms in the air & said to my husband “I don’t even care that he’s bald!”). The way he described his journeys in the fade, (remember, I had no prior experience of the fade from the other games). To Visériel, the fade was a wonder just as Solas described; “It is the fade. They are all real.” ... Also that iambic pentameter. But I digress...

Visériel had eyes for no one else, & her flirting was saved only for Solas. When she stole a kiss in the fade, & it was returned with such passion, she knew they were bound to be a powerful couple, feeding off each other’s strengths, building up each other’s weaknesses, all while maintaining an air of dignity. This bond is important because she believes they are on equal grounds even if one or the other has strengths or weaknesses the other does not, (this feeling doesn’t change after Trespasser either - see below for reasons why Visériel feels she is meant for more).

She was not the big, brave, leader that the Inquisition seemed to position her as, but she took the role seriously, (albeit casually with her friends,) judged with mercy & forgiveness, made responsible tactical moves, (including going the long way about saving the Montilyet name in Orlais), & stood as it’s face even when she denied knowing whether or not the Maker had sent her, (she sees that knowledge has been tainted over the years, & believes that all peoples may be partially correct & partially incorrect). This is important because as more known “truths” concerning the Maker, the Divine, the Dalish gods, & the history of the Chantry are uncovered & found to be inaccurate, or flat out lies, she is not shocked, nor her faith rattled. (However, Sera greatly irritated Visériel because of her disrespectful attitude toward others’ beliefs).

Later on the balcony, when Solas mentions that she is not what he expected, asking if he had misjudged the Dalish, she replies with, “The Dalish didn’t make me like this. The decisions were mine”, because though she loves her family, she is her own person. Visériel had always thought of herself as not-quite-an-outsider, but not-quite-an-insider. Besides her wariness to believe another’s theory without any sort of analysis, she always felt she was meant for something higher. Becoming Inquisitor had partially given her what she felt she was missing, but it also sometimes felt wrong for her to be the face of those who had previously looked so far down their noses at her. This is important because when more is revealed about how the Elvhen used to be, she sees it as how she was always meant to be, especially in Trespasser when she travels the Eluvians, she is amazed at how wonderful it all is & the knowledge to be gained! (Also, Abelas, don’t you point your finger at me “You are not my people!”. Rude!) This is also important because when she discovers that Solas is Fen’Harel, she doesn’t bat an eye, because it only makes sense that she, having always felt she was meant for more, would fall for someone who was in fact “more”.

When Cole panics about his possible possession, & begs Solas to bind him, Visériel listens to the kid & reasons with him. Though she sees Varric’s side of the argument that Cole is also “strangely like a person”, she cannot ignore the fact that he is also like a spirit, & she would rather see him safe than sorry, & give him the protection he needs. She also generally leads with compassion & peace, so when confronting the Templar who killed Cole, she encourages him to forgive the man. One of the biggest reasons Cole is one of her best friends is because of his desire to help others, & she encourages him to look for many resolves to a situation, & not to take lives. This is important because she believes spirits can learn & that coexisting is possible & desirable.

When learning of Inquisitor Ameridan & his tragic romance with Telana, Visériel couldn’t help but wonder why Telana seemingly gave up on him. She spent the rest of her life searching for him in the fade when Visériel & her companions only had to find the metal spikes that Telana knew about & free him. Even if she knew it would release the dragon, she then should’ve spent her years learning how to kill it, or to release the spell’s hold on Ameridan, not simply dreaming & waiting for nothing to happen! This is important because when Solas leaves her, she is determined to do something useful, not just wait around for him to return on his own.

Discoveries at the Temple of Mythal, differing from what the Dalish currently believe, didn’t shock Visériel, but instead excited her! She loved finding the truth! Especially when it answered questions that she had been debating. Wanting to keep the peace, & to gain favor with the ancient elves, Visériel made the deal with Abelas even after his uppity behavior, (”You are not my people” Rude!). Honestly, Visériel wanted to destroy the well rather than let anyone have it, which seems contrary to her usual quest for the truth, but everyone was uncomfortable with the well, & if Solas was so adamant about himself not drinking from it, she surely wouldn’t risk it, so Morrigan drinks. When he asks what she will do with the power after the war she replies, “I’ll try to help this world move forward”, & when he responds angrily asking what she would do if it ends up worsening things, she says, “I’ll take a breath, see where things went wrong, and then try again”. This is important because Visériel keeps her head high, & is a beacon of hope even when the world is, (quite literally), falling apart. She prides herself on taking a breath, & moving forward. 

During the Crestwood vallaslin scene, Visériel chooses to remove the markings since she trusts Solas’ word & knowledge. She would rather move forward without the vallaslin, now knowing the truth behind what they stand for, rather than keep them as some form of sentiment. No matter if she originally got them for another reason, the truth is more important, & “my people vowed never to submit to slavery”, though she does express remorse that the Dalish were wrong once again. Her emotional responses are often either hope, agreement, or sadness. 

On the breakup part, I thought the dialogue choice, “I don’t want to lose you” would be more hopeful than a sad cry of “Solas!”. Then given that the dialogue choices were either a hopeful, “I believe in us”, or a sad, “I love you”, she really just wanted those three words said out loud, so I chose the sad dialogue, but a cross between the two choices would’ve been more accurate.

And this is where Visériel’s unshakable faith & fierce tenacity come in. Solas won’t explain to her about the breakup right away, but promises “everything will be made clear” after the defeat of Corypheus. So she is patient, waiting to get her answer, because she trusts him to keep his word. But of course, we know that he doesn’t follow through. When his orb breaks he is lost again, unsure of how to next move forward, & so he runs, to rethink, to replan, & Lavellan is left confused & troubled. Visériel believed something very important must’ve altered his course especially after his somber words of “it was not supposed to happen this way” & “what we had was real”, especially since they had been a force of power together. At Leliana’s gentle words that, “Perhaps he had no choice? He might return at any moment”, Visériel gave a shy smile, hopeful again.

She then used her resources to search for Solas, & as they years passed she grew less certain that he was even alive. Her time as Inquisitor was less appealing without him around, but she continued to try to better the lives of everyone she met. When the Exalted Council had to meet she was embittered at the resounding lack of thanks she was getting for all her hard work. But seeing her friends again brought back good memories, & when Cassandra lets slip that she thinks Lavellan is going to propose, she responds with, “I might get married. I’ve thought about it.”, because even after all these years she hasn’t lost hope that perhaps he may return.

Discovering new knowledge through the Eluvians excited her once more, made her feel part of something real again, but as her arm begins greatly paining her, she cries that she doesn’t want to die, followed by “not knowing the world still needed me”, but what she kept to herself was, “not knowing if Solas is still alive”. Venturing further through the Eluvians she pieces together that Solas is the Dread Wolf, & even more, she realizes he’s the one who’s been fighting the Qunari, which quickens her pace further, now knowing that he is alive & more powerful than she had ever imagined. (I should also mention that I 100% games, so I search every nook & cranny for every shred of information, dialogue, & quest). She wants to find him as soon as possible, to ask him about everything, only hoping that he’ll still look at her like he did on the balcony. Nothing else matters anymore - she is dying, Solas is alive, & the Inquisition is no longer of any use.

“We have to save him!”

Hearing his voice again, & seeing him look at her with even more care & kindness than he had before, all Visériel wanted to do was wrap her arms around him, so thankful that she hadn’t given up on him, nor he on her. (I wish the dialogue option for “You’re the Dread Wolf” wasn’t so accusatory sounding).

“What is the old Dalish curse? ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’?”, he says, afraid she now sees him as all the others do, with disdain, distrust, & disgust.

“Our legends about you are wrong. I saw the truth as we traveled the crossroads.”, she exclaims, filled with the revelation that what once seemed questionable to her now made so much more sense! 

“If you had just told me... Ma ghilana, vhenan!” 

 Visériel, having always believed she could analyze & interpret quite well, tosses aside what others may think of her, fully understanding that the world had been a marvel & could see it’s former glory again if the veil returned magic as it once was, & though it would take a long time for them to first stop mindlessly fighting one another, she believed men & spirits can coexist, as seen with her relationship with Colr. Ready to follow Solas as he had once followed her, & add her strengths to his, she believed that the world would be better in the end if his plan succeeded. 

He tells her everything, letting her gain all the knowledge & all the explanation that she was due.

“Let me help you, Solas!”

“I cannot do that to you, vhenan.”

“But you would do it to yourself? I cannot bear to think of you alone.”

But when time runs out, & her mark flares up again, Solas chooses to save her, but leave her again, hoping it would in fact save her life.

“Solas, var lath vir suledin!”, she confidently declares.

“I wish it could, vhenan. My love...” he whispers, resigned to go against her wishes. “I will never forget you.”. Then he disappears through the Eluvian.

The end of Trespasser is the second time he leaves her, but what has now taken place changes everything to her! The first time he left without a word, without explanation. She had no idea how he felt, why he left, what he was doing, or if she would ever see him again. Now she knows exactly how he feels, the reason he’s left, what he is up to, & she is fully determined to see him again! Last time she took deep breaths to keep her hope intact, searching for any sign of him, but now her hope is in full force, because she knows that he loves her, & she loves him, & she’s going to show him once again that they are stronger together than apart. Visériel disbands the Inquisition, not to sift out the agents of Fen’Harel (as the screen indicates), but because clearly the Inquisition is no longer needed, & she would rather have a handful of reliable friends at her side than an army of possible turncoats, especially when she knows she will be greatly opposed when she announces to her companions that she intends to help Solas against his enemies.

All in all, what I’ve taken away from why I didn’t consider my experience to be Solavellan “Hell”, is that I was always so skeptical of the information given to me, (be it about beliefs, persons, or history), hopeful in what could be, & persistent in going after the truth, & what I wanted. I have heard that Solas takes from Lavellan her beliefs in her gods, (which to my Lavellan only confirmed what she guessed at previously), her connection to her clan via the vallaslin, (if you remove it, which my Lavellan did, because she believes the truth is more important than some heritage marking), & her physical arm, (how can this one be bad? Either remove her arm to save her life or let her die? How about take my arm!). Needless to say, I’m very excited for the next installation of Dragon Age, even if it doesn’t bear the fruit that I hope for. Here’s to possibilities! *and to all Solasmancers*

[firelight-tales-of-exandria]

Firelight Tales of Exandria, Ch.16 part 1 - “Absolving the Scapegoat”

So, I’d like to thank you all for coming, and let’s tell some stories...

“History is replete with events that can easily be traced: events caused by other events; events that, in turn, cause other events. Some: innocuous, everyday, entirely unworthy of mention. Some: having profound consequences; events that reverberate though history. At first they may seem beneath notice, little more than a drop in a still pond, but as with the pond, the waves of that drop radiate outward forming larger and larger rings of causality.

“A people from a foreign land arrive to find an unspoiled continent; and then, ambitious raiders from across the sea seize that land and install a new empire. An emperor, iron-fisted, rules from an unshakable throne, sending his populace into dismay and panic; and then, a single dissenting voice speaks up, rousing a chorus of others to join them to depose the tyrant.

“A thousand years of peace, ancient dangers and threats long forgotten, banished from the history and minds of those who lead their contented lives; and then, tearing through portals in the fabric of reality, winged terrors scour the land, some acting upon primal impulses to feed and destroy, others enacting long-burning vengeance, with machinations to send the world into a thousand years of darkness; and then, small bands of resistance come together, disparate peoples from all walks of life rally around a cause, spearheaded by a small, seemingly un-noteworthy group, but their deeds become a rallying cry to inspire countless others to stand up and lay claim to their own futures, to depose the tyranny of the powerful and fulfill the promise of freedom.

“A tavern, tucked away into the dark corners of a city at a crossroads, where, one by one, disparate wanderers, some seeking, some running, but all manage to come together in the most unpredictable and unassuming of fashions, coming together out of common necessity, then of newfound camaraderie, and finally out of a shared purpose to set things right; and in a single moment, a decision is made, a course of action laid out, and the consequence yet to be played out...”

“And then...”

Cezika and Song return to the room after their long talk with Zeal. Cezika proceeds to push Song onto one of the barracks beds.

Shadow, whispering to Leaf: “Courtship ritual?”

Song: “This isn’t what it looks like: I am taking a nap.”

Song takes his lute in his lap and begins tuning it, claiming that it helps him sleep. The rest of the party watches as he absently strums for a bit, before lazily settling into a mellow lullaby. Eventually, Song falls asleep, but one of his arms continues to move in a steady rhythm, as if conducting an orchestra. After a few minutes, his movements soon become erratic and spastic, and his hand comes down across on the lute strings, sending out an unearthly, discordant tone that pierces the minds of the whole party like a dagger. When the pain subsides, they all see Song slumped on the bed, motionless, not breathing, and bleeding from the eyes, nose, and ears.

Leaf rushes to Song’s side, healing him and pulling him back from death’s door, and his eyes fly open. Song seems genuinely surprised that everyone else was affected.

Song apologizes for unintentionally hurting the party. It seems he has developed abilities that allow him to possibly peek into and affect the future through his dreams (possibly inherited from his mother), but he still has no idea of how exactly it works.

Song tries to explain that he was attempting to divine the true situation of Westruun and what course of action the party should take, and that manifested in the form of a spectral concerto played by the members of the party. Song changed the key of the piece according to which forces would bring about different resolutions: the Margrave, the Clasp, and Alma the hag. The key involving the Margrave and the Clasp together produced the most satisfying tune, tremulous but stable, but the last one that Song attempted was a key without any of those three factors, producing the otherworldly feedback that hurt everyone.

Ladryssa: “What did it feel like?”

Song: “It was mathematically perfect and existentially empty.”

Shadow: “What does that mean?”

Song: “I don’t know.”

Song says, as far as he understands it, their best bet is to somehow get the Margrave and Clasp to cooperate or at least coexist if they want any hope of saving Westruun.

Ladryssa: “We want the city to still be standing.”

Leaf: “It is weird and full of buildings, but it does not deserve to go away. There are people here that I like.”

The party tries to figure out how to show the Margrave and the Clasp that there is a sickness eating away at the city, without killing people and taking out their rotted brains.

Song thinks the Clasp is making a play for the Margrave’s seat of power, possibly using Buddy, or even themselves, as scapegoats. The how and why still eludes the group.

The curiosity Song’s visions comes back into play, so he produces the sheet music he has been writing in his sleep. It is a mess of notes written in various mediums (ink, blood, etc.), and it is incomprehensible to most of  the party, but Song can hear it in his head even without studying the measures.

After Song joking about the party dying tomorrow, Shadow floats the idea of running away again, but the rest of them remain unconvinced Buddy would survive if they abandoned him. The party agrees that they can’t do this alone, and they make plans to ask Dren and Zeal for help, and possibly warn Nellywicke to leave the city.

As the party ask the guards to let them leave to talk to their friends, they are summoned early to speak with the Margrave. The party is escorted to the Margrave’s manor, up to his private office.

Margrave Brandon Zimmerset waits for the party, accompanied by his adjutant, Captain Aubren Sylvain. The party is asked to sit, and the Margrave waits impatiently for them to comply. He extends the gratitude of Westruun to the party for resolving the encroaching corruption, but regrets that the troubles for the city remain unresolved.

The Margrave explains that the competing claims on the bounty, their link to the murder at the barracks, and the mounting civil unrest with regards to the long-standing martial law of the city have raised the suspicions of the Shields. Their own investigation has concluded that the Clasp are using this situation to stoke resentment against the Margrave’s authority within the city’s populace, and are using Buddy’s reputation as an outsider within the community and his status as a suspect to drive a wedge between them.

The party reaffirms the Margrave’s suspicions about Gortman’s role in the current tension and his arrangement with the Clasp. Zimmerset explains that the murder victim from the barracks was actually the one who brought in Buddy, and suspected to have done so under contract from the Clasp. The intelligence gathered by the Shields leads the Margrave to believe that the Clasp is attempting to set up Buddy as a scapegoat the city’s discontented can project their grievances on: a non-human outsider, a part of the “law-biding society’s” fringe, once who comes from the very parts of the wilderness that were threatening the safety of the city itself.

As preposterous as this is, the influence of some of the members of this movement within the community have lobbied for Buddy’s trial to be made public. The Margrave is then presented with a dilemma: let the trial proceed as normal, revealing Buddy to be innocent and setting him free, making the Masrgrave seem weak and unwilling to mete out “justice”; doctor the trial’s evidence to find Buddy guilty and unjustly execute him for treason and murder, sating the crowd’s bloodthirst and diffusing tensions at the cost of legitimizing their insular, xenophobic agenda.

The Margrave, sworn to uphold the sanctity of the law, yet knowing the long-term ramifications of such action, asks the party’s council. The party, in turn, vehemently rejects both options and instead suggests a third course of action: make contact with the Clasp and offer to work together to have them diffuse the fervor and establish stability in the region.

At first, the Margrave is outraged, wanting to concede nothing to the criminal element that was responsible for this mess in the first place. However, through their fight with Alma, the party has reason to believe that the Clasp was being manipulated as well and if it could be proven they may be open to negotiation. Captain Aubren concedes the point, making note of the Clasp’s role in saving Emon’s people during the occupation by Thordak, the Cinder King, and their subsequent aid in rebuilding the metropolis.

Speaking of the corrupting influence of Alma’s malady, Shadow raises the question of loyalty within the ranks of the Shields, makiong mention of the Margrave’s assistant. The Margrave assures Shadow that he trusts his life to Captain Aubren. The Margrave and his aid then produce keys that, in-unison, open a secure drawer of the Margrave’s desk; and some members of the party begin to wonder to themselves the history, circumstances, and true depth of their relationship (the kind that would be found in any cheaply-printed, tawdry, copper-dreadful romance novel, drafted out of context and wholly lacking any basis in truth, yet passed around in secret among tittering youths and gossip-mongering housemarms).

The Margrave produces stacks of golds coins to pay the party’s bounty, while regrettably rescinding part of it as compensation for their obstruction of the investigation. He then counts out several other small stacks of platinum coins, while bemoaning that he cannot officially charge the party with carrying out a clandestine operation to confront the Clasp to dismiss Buddy’s trial and bring about a peaceful resolution to the unrest of the city’s agitators. Getting the hint, the party agree but are told the Margrave can only delay Buddy’s trial so long, and a sentence must be reached by sundown tomorrow.

The group are returned to their barracks pad to plan and rest for the next day. They reach a consensus that Gortman is the key, as he has been present at the meetings that rile up the town, and his bar was guarding the storehouse that housed sickness-infested foods that were being distributed about the town.

Shadow is violently awakened in the middle of the night by the magic of their pendant, as they peer out into the night to see barely-visible motes of darkness descend from the moonlight sky. One of these shadowy apparitions lands in the barracks parade grounds and the Shield guards immediately confront it, only to be batted away, their life-essence drained amidst screams of agony.

Shadow loudly rouses the rest of the party, begging for them to flee. The party bursts out of their pad, running off amidst the chaos of battle. Shadow mounts the rooftops of the barracks and makes his escape over the battlements, Cezika climbing and sprinting after him. The apparition disengages from the desiccated mass of guards to follow them, and Nakiya breaks into the abandoned quartermaster’s office to recover the party’s weapons and equipment in the confusion.

Song, Leaf, Ladryssa, and Nakiya lose sight of Shadow and Cezika, but guess that it would be logical they regroup at a place they all know and feel safe at: The Sloppy Satyr.

As Shadow flees from the Garrison, they see the withered figure of an ashen-skinned elf, intently spying the calamity from a distant rooftop. As Shadow attempts to evade their spectral pursuer, they lose sight of the elf.

The apparition flies after Shadow, despite their efforts to lose it. Making a sharp turn near the Satyr, the roiling figure of darkness stops trailing the frantic tabaxi, only to turn its attention to a drunk vagrant outside the tavern’s walls. Shadow, seeing another victim at their pursuers mercy, decides to stand their ground, attacking the apparition as it makes to suck the life from the bystander.

The spectral creature is somewhat fazed by Shadow’s magic, and as it turns its attention back to them, a streak of holy fire descends from the sky to briefly envelop the spectre. Aeden, the owner of the Sloppy Satyr, comes to the petrified vagrant’s aid, only to be enveloped in the shadowy tendril’s of the apparition’s grasp. The rest of the party arrives on the scene to see Aeden brought low by the creature. As they make ready to pepper it with whatever feeble attacks they can muster, the party sees a flash of holy light pierce the creature as Dren banishes the darkness.

Nakiya and Dren take Aeden down into his bunk in the Satyr’s cellar, as the rest of the party tends to Shadow’s shock and fear. Leaf and Nakiya minister to the haggard barkeep, as he shivers and murmurs his dead wife’s name.

Shadow relates the horrifying history of his clan’s demise at the hands of a massive being or force of living darkness, whispered only as Sin or Oblivion, and their escape with the aid of their Mother’s Mother, who gave them the amulet which alerts Shadow to its presence. Shadow also reveals that their brief contact with the force/creature had bestowed some manner of its power onto them. After Mother’s Mother gave her life to cover their escape from Syngorn, Shadow has been running ever since.

Song asks Dren if he has any insight into what this darkness actually is, but he is at a loss, only saying that it reeks of death. The priest suggests that if they wish to learn more, they should consult either the sages of the Dawnfather (a god of light and life) or the acolytes of the Matron of Ravens (the guardian of the balance of death and renewal).

Dren: “Aeden... Now I know what you’ve seen... It’s why you couldn’t run. It’s why you wouldn’t.”

The party insists on protecting Shadow, in spite of their protests and refusal of their sacrifice on their behalf; whether they choose to run or stand and fight, they will stand by their friend’s side no matter what is searching for them.

Song says, even thought they are deprived of rest and wounded, they should make the best of the situation and go searching for Gortman in the middle of the night. Nakiya reluctantly leaves Aeden’s side, and Song and Cezika ask Dren to keep Zeal safe. Preparing to hunt a misanthropic toady of a menacing thieves guild, the party sets out into the cool night air.

[writing-creatively]

Definition of Fantasy

When people think of fantasy, they tend to think of a story like the Lord of the Rings. Normally something old and outlandish comes to mind, like worlds without technology needing magic to run their society and form the very basis of their world. Their legends and myths within a single story can be entirely unfamiliar to someone reading it. It makes the fantasy genre fresh and new, as it explores the possibility of magic and things that do not reside in our world. While thinking of fantasy like that is certainly not wrong, a world full of elves and other magical humanoids and beasts isn’t the one and only type of fantasy. When it comes to fantasy it’s substantial to know what it isn’t, how broad the genre is, and how it’s noteworthy among similar genres.            Fantasy isn’t realism, which it’s a bit self-explanatory. However, I think people can get that mixed with a day dream sort of fantasy. One can dream of a world where everyone loves them, and nothing ever goes wrong. While it’s not “realistic” it could theoretically happen if someone happened to be an insanely lucky and likable person. It still falls within the parameters of real life. An idealized real life, sure, but unless Fairy God Mother gave that person all their luck and charisma (or lowered people’s standards), then it wouldn’t fall into the literary standard for fantasy. The concept of magic could completely change a story. What once was pure luck is now supernaturally attained. Maybe their luck was granted by someone of high power, or maybe they’re a sorcerer than can manipulate the feelings of those around them. Within the confines of reality, someone who is cherished by everyone and can never do wrong is a rather bland character. Anyone could project a fantasy like that and it doesn’t make for a compelling story. However, once you add a dash of magic, it’s suddenly a wildly different story. There’s many open doors of routes and possibilities that would not happen if the story was rooted in our real world. In its essence, fantasy is something that science can not explain.

It’s easy to think of fantasy as a genre that needs to take place in a completely different world, but many today’s popular movies would be considered a fantasy story. Something like Twilight would be categorized into that fantasy genre. It’s more popularly categorized as romance (and reasonably so), but we don’t exactly have vampire boyfriends in our real world. Some could argue supernatural beings are real, but sadly for them, the paranormal falls into that fantasy genre without science and real proof to back it up. Another popular example would be Harry Potter. Both movies and books take place on Earth, albeit several years ago, but still soon enough to fall into the confines of modern-day society and the urban fantasy genre. Maybe Harry Potter is too easy of an example for a modern fantasy tale considering the characters are called wizards and witches. Those terms highly associated with the fantasy genre, but it still stands as a popular fantasy story. It doesn’t fall into the narrow field of a different world long, long ago, but a magical one running alongside our modern society.            One might ask how fantasy differs from science fiction. The two genres can be very similar. Despite being called science fiction, if you ever watched a show like Star Treck, you know it’s rather unrealistic given current time. We don’t regularly communicate with aliens or go searching through the stars. Humans aren’t able to get into a space ship and travel at light speeds to distant planets. It is something that’s currently out of our reach. However, it is rooted in science. Even if it’s science that might not ever be possible, nothing they do is by magic. There’s no gods or other worldly forces, everything they do is rooted in science and by the power of man. Sure, the aliens might add on an element of fantasy, but statistically there is a very good chance of other life forms. Whether or not we’d all speak the same language and be able to interact with each other, who knows, but it is rooted in real possibilities. Some might consider magic to be a possibility as well as urban legend supernatural creatures, but those cannot be definitively proven. Science can guess alien life form being out there, but it’s generally known that creatures like elves and hobbits don’t really exist. While the thought that “magic is just science we don’t know how to explain yet” is an interesting one and could possibly intertwine the two genres of fantasy and science fiction, at the root core of fantasy, there needs to be something magical and other worldly.            With the mass amounts of fantasy media being produced, all the different parts and genres, it can be difficult to narrow down on what is and isn’t fantasy. Horror and romance movies involving paranormal beings often don’t get categorized as fantasy. When it comes to generalization and advertising, it’s better to go with the genre that’ll sell the best. However, it does stand on its own as its own genre. Do not be mistaken, fantasy expands far further than people seem to realize.