#it could have given us a little investment in her instead of her feeling like some interloper

[fictionadventurer]

A character's motivation should not be a mystery. Their backstory can be a mystery. The depths of their character can be a mystery. But not motivation. If you want us to care, we should know why they're doing what they're doing; we should understand why success is so important to them.

A villain can be a different case. Sometimes, the only motivation you need to know about is "They're evil" or "They work for the bad guys." But if the feud is personal, we should see what makes it personal. Holding the "why" back as a thrilling reveal is almost never as effective as just letting us know from the beginning.

A plot twist gives you one cool moment. Character attachment makes the entire story interesting.

[theminecraftbee]

The moon has fully set over the horizon. The howling over the server has stopped. Four Hermits sit in a circle, staring just slightly away from each other, as to not be caught staring. Joe is miserably trying to wring mud out of his puppet. Stress isn't bothering about the mud at all but is despairing at how shredded her jumper is. Somehow, Zedaph has only lost a shoe, which is more concerning than any of the prior people. Xisuma is deliberately not checking himself. The damning lack of helmet on his head, though, means he can't avoid feeling how he underwent the same terrible transformation as everyone else.

"So," he says, finally.

"I could use pants," Joe says, finally giving up on washing out his puppet, and, ah. Yes. Those are pretty well destroyed, aren't they? Xisuma looks away politely, feeling his face heat up. It heats up more when he realizes everyone can see it, gosh, he's–he's not so sure how he feels about that–

"I think we all need pants. Look at us," Stress says, and if Xisuma can be looking away any harder, he sure is now. Wait, she said 'all', does that include... Oh, oh dear.

"Well I don't know about you, but I still have perfectly serviceable pants," Zedaph says imperiously.

"You know, if anything, that's weirder, given the way we were all giant wolves traipsing around in the night just now. Which is strange itself! However, wolves don't normally wear pants, so really, the fact the only article of clothing you've lost is your shoes is less miraculous and more actively impossible!" Joe responds.

"Well you're actively impossible," mutters Zedaph.

"My god, it was real," Xisuma says.

"Well, I mean, I sort of figured it had to be, what with the four of us being all covered in mud and tired and your helmet being gone and all that," Stress says.

"It was real," Xisuma says.

The four of them sit in silence a little longer. The sun continues its steady march upwards into the sky. It's April; the day is longer than the night, by now, so they aren't wasting but so much time compared to the time the moon was up. The time the moon was up feels a bit more like a dream than anything else, too; distantly, Xisuma wonders if this is what spiders feel like when they become angry during the night, or what drives the undead from the ground. It's a disquieting thought, and he'd literally lived in a skeleton!

"So," Joe says. "So. Which one of us is going to yell at Zedaph for biting us?"

"Rude!" Zedaph says. "Very rude, I'm not the one that bit you! You bit me! Xisuma bit me, actually, you all saw him!"

"What? No, I didn't!" Xisuma says. "Gosh, if I were a werewolf, don't you think you'd know by now?"

"Hm. Suspicious," Zedaph says.

"No?" Xisuma says.

"I mean, I'd try to claim it was my fault, what with being a monster and all, but I'm actually a different sort of beastie normally," Stress says. "Being all doggy is new for me. I should show Iskall. Hey, do you think I should bite Iskall?"

"Yes," Zedaph says.

"No," Xisuma says.

"I'll split the difference and say maybe," Joe says. "Also, since we're arguing about it anyway, I'll say that I think I'd remember if I bit someone, although maybe I wouldn't. It's been a weird night. Maybe I should just go ahead and get everyone apology gifts instead?"

"Please don't," Zedaph says.

"Aww, but I like his gifts," Stress says.

"Honestly, yeah, I was–no, Zedaph is right, it'd be too distracting," Xisuma says, thinking of many of the, er, gifts he's gotten from Joe in the past. "Besides, it's not your fault. But if none of us bit anyone, then why on earth are we all werewolves no–oh no."

"That was ominous?" Joe says.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh," Zedaph says. "Whoops."

"It was supposed to be a joke about investment bankers," Xisuma says.

"Wait, what, do you really think the silly name turned us into werewolves?" Stress says.

"I had other season plans, Xisuma!" Joe says.

"Hey, does that make me a sheep in wolf's clothing that's also a wolf that turns into a sheep that turns into a wolf? If so, neat," Zedaph says.

"Do you know how annoying it will be to get a werewolf puppet?" Joe says.

"Gosh, I absolutely have to bite Iskall now," Stress says.

Xisuma, for a moment, considers putting a stop to it. If it really is the silly name, the collective, the hats and the howls–if it really is the collective weight of story bearing down on all of them–then really, it's still so early that it would be very easy to stop.

Xisuma considers the competition the rest of the shopping district poses, and how easy it will be to move as a collective when they're also a pack.

Also, he hasn't actually been a wolf before. That's one mob he hasn't done!

"You should bite Iskall. I want to know what it does," Xisuma says, deciding that he's quite bored with being responsible and that if someone wants to stop it, it will have to be not him. "But, er, first, in the meantime, do you think he or Doc is better to ask for a helmet that'll grow to fit my muzzle instead of nearly trapping my skull?"

"Hm," Stress says. "Well, Iskall is pretty good at head electronics."

"Yeah, but Doc is a better choice for abominations against nature!" Joe says.

"What about me? I like abominations," Zedaph says.

"It's okay, Zedaph, it's just you don't make many helmets, is all," Xisuma says. "We'll run around being abominations of nature, gosh, most full moons together. Is that good enough?"

"Fine," Zedaph says. "I'm bringing the snacks. I have sheep, and I've always wanted to try cannibalism."

"I guess werewolves wouldn't have to worry about prions," Joe says, nodding.

"Well, if you're going to get Doc, I'm going to go bite Iskall. I know I don't got fangs right now but it'll be very funny either way," Stress says.

"Have fun!" Xisuma says, and even though he's still red, and no one has pants but Zedaph, and he feels vaguely sick without his helmet, he also feels something close to pure delight. Gosh. Werewolves, huh? What a concept, having a little pack. He'll have to make the most of it; they've already seen his face anyway, and not one of them have commented or looked him in the eyes. Clearly, it won't matter so much if Doc takes a while with the helmet.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

A Perfect Bad Day

masterlist

summary: you call in sick to the bureau and hughie rushes to you

paring: hughie campbell x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.8k

warnings: language, crippling depression

author’s note: there’s not enough hughie fics and i will not stand for that! so here’s one to add to the collection for the most precious guy of ‘the boys’ who’s never done anything wrong ever <3

gif source

“Hey, Rachel, have you seen Y/n today?” Hughie asked his assistant. Campbell was running Supe Affairs but he didn’t want to work without his beautiful girlfriend safe inside the office. You weren’t just his romantic partner, you ran the bureau with him. The ultimate power couple, if you will.

So, when you seemed to be thirty minutes late, Hughie began to really worry.

“Oh, she actually just called in sick,” Rachel replied. “Not ten minutes ago,” she added when the look on Hughie’s face seemed to ask why she didn’t inform him earlier.

“Really? That’s not like her?” He furrowed his brows. “I need to go check up on her, call me if anything big comes in but until then-”

“Keep things running smoothly? I’ve got it Mr.Campbell,” she interrupted.

Hughie nodded in thanks before he left the office. His mind was racing as he drove to your place.

What if you were in real trouble? God he should’ve just moved in this week instead of waiting for his lease to end. Then he could’ve seen you this morning and made sure you were okay.

Hughie was considering calling Butcher when you didn’t answer your cell. Butcher was an asshole, but he’d make sure you were safe until Hughie got there.

“Goddamnit, Y/n, if you die on me…” he mumbled to himself, speeding down the highway.

“You’ve reached Y/n! This is my voicemail. Make your voice a mail!” Your answering machine mocked him. He couldn’t help but smile a little at the way you worded the outgoing message. You always loved that damn Supernatural show and had even gotten him to watch all fifteen fucking seasons.

“Hey, it’s me again, getting really worried here! Please answer the phone! I love you,” he said into the phone before hanging up. “Please, please, please be okay!” he exclaimed.

After what felt like ages and an unlucky amount of red lights, Hughie finally made it to your apartment. Technically his apartment too, his stuff just wasn’t in it yet.

He knocked on the door but you didn’t answer so he used the key you’d given him a few weeks ago.

“Y/n?” he called out as he entered. “Baby it’s me, are- are you okay?” There was no answer so he continued walking into the apartment. He opened the bedroom door and let out a breath of relief when he saw you. “Oh thank fucking god,” he muttered. “I’ve been calling you nonstop, are you alright?”

As he got closer he noticed your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you replied flatly.

“No offense but you’re clearly not okay,” he scoffed a little as he sat down at the foot of the bed. You tucked your knees in before he could reach his hand out to comfort you.

“Just not feeling up to it today.”

“Well, then I’m gonna go change into my pj’s so I can get under the covers with you and we’ll watch TV together, how does that sound?” he asked. You nodded as a slight smile formed on your lips. “Perfect!”

He stood up, walked over to the head of the bed, and planted a kiss on your cheek before he went to change into his pajamas. He came back in his sleep shorts and a Billy Joel tee. Obviously he slept in a Billy Joel tee, he only had about a hundred of them!

He got under the covers and pulled you closer to him so you were almost sitting on his lap. He took the remote from the nightstand and turned on the TV on the other side of the room. (The adults in your life had warned you ‘don’t put a TV in the bedroom’ but honestly? Best fucking investment you’d ever made!)

Hughie didn’t say anything. He just held you tight against his body, arm draped over your shoulders as his hand brushed against your bicep comfortingly. He quietly found the show you were watching and pressed play.

“Ooh season four? Perfect!” He smiled.

A few moments passed, two sets of eyes focused on the Yellow Fever episode playing.

“Thank you, Hughie,” you mumbled.

“I love you,” he whispered back, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you so much,” you replied and took his hand in yours, kissing it softly. “So fuckin’ much.”

You really were thankful for Hughie. He knew what was wrong and he knew how to help. He knew you didn’t want to talk and that you didn’t want to be alone. He also knew if anything was to make you feel better it was cuddles, cookies (which he’d get for you later), and a Supernatural marathon.

[otdiaftg]

The Raven King - Chapter Eleven

Day: Sunday, November 12th Time: 3:10 PM EST

Anytime the Foxes mentioned Andrew's upcoming sobriety or Andrew's name popped up in write-ups on the team's performance at games, the focus was on what a danger he was. People talked about his trial and how it saved them from Andrew. No one said what they were doing to save Andrew from himself. "You told me Cass would never hurt you and would have given you a good education, but you sabotaged your adoption. Officer Higgins came all the way here from the west coast to fix something from your past but you won't help him. You left juvie and killed Aaron's mother to protect him, but instead of fixing your relationship with him you keep him on a leash. You don't want Nicky's parents to hurt him, but you won't let him into your family either. Kevin promised to invest in you but you won't even try. So what is it? Are you afraid of your own happiness or do you honestly like being miserable all the time?" "Neil, look," Andrew said, and pointed up at his own face. "Do I look miserable?" Neil wanted to tear that smile off Andrew's face, but Andrew's obnoxious response wasn't entirely his fault. Neil was dealing with the smokescreen of Andrew's medication. Neither of them could change that, but knowing why Andrew was being difficult didn't make him less frustrating to deal with. All Neil could do was keep his temper in check. If Andrew got a rise from him the conversation was over. That was what Andrew wanted, so Neil wouldn't give it to him. "You look drugged within an inch of your life," Neil said, "and when you're not medicated you're drinking and dusting. When they finally take your medicine away, who are you going to hurt, really?" Andrew laughed. "I'm remembering why I don't like you." "I'm surprised you forgot." "I didn't," Andrew said. "I just got distracted for a moment there. I told her it was a mistake to let you stay, but she didn't believe me. Now look. Oh, for once I don't even want to bother with the 'I told you so'. You ruin all my fun." "Renee?" Neil guessed. "Bee." Neil's blood went cold. "What did you tell her about me?" Andrew grinned at the look on Neil's face. "Doctor-patient confidentiality, Neil! But don't make such a scary face. I didn't tell her your sad little story. We just talked about you. Critical difference, yes? I told her you're more trouble than you're worth. She was looking forward to meeting you, but she won't tell me what she thinks of you. She can't, you see. But I know she likes you. Bee has a thing for lost causes." "I am not a lost cause." Denial was automatic and a waste of time. Andrew put his hand over Neil's mouth to shut him up and said, "Liar. But that's what makes you interesting. It's also what makes you dangerous. I should know better by now. Maybe I'm not as smart as I thought I was. Should I be disappointed or amused?" The perfect retort burned Neil's tongue, but he kept quiet in case Andrew wasn't done rambling. The answer was there, right out of reach, close enough Neil could feel it, but too far for him to make sense of. Maybe Andrew felt it too, because even in his drugged haze he knew to shut up. The smile he flashed Neil mocked them both at that near-miss. He withdrew completely, leaving just the memory of his heartbeat against Neil's mouth, and spun away. "I'll find Kevin. He's too slow." Neil watched him go, then huffed in frustration and turned back toward the racquet.

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think Marinette really loves Adrien or does she loves the idea of him in her head?

Idk but I'm agree with Alya in Elation that you can't really love someone you don't know and Marinette arguably know Adrien only on surface level, either from the magazines or stalking him. We never got a scene where they talk together to get to know each other and then BAM! They just get together.

I also feels like Adrien's love for Marinette also more a rebound than anything. The writers can say anything they want, that Adrien fell in love with Marinette in Pupeteer2. But you don't develop feelings for someone you barely know, especially when in that said episode Adrien still think Marinette hate him. It's just weird. But again, idk, maybe it just me because I don't catch feelings to someone I barely talk to. That's just creepy AF no offense.

It's really hard to say because canon is all over the place when it comes to how close Adrien and Marinette are. Season three and four make them feel like little more than acquaintances, but if you think back to seasons one and two, they legitimately were friends.

Adrien turned to Marinette for dating advice (Frozer). Marinette and Adrien gamed for hours to prepare for a tournament (Gamer). Marinette and Adrien went to a party with their friends and danced together (Despair Bear). Marinette, Adrien, and their friends worked together to make a movie (Horrificator). I could go on, but the general gist is that it feels disingenuous to say that they barely interact. They interact a lot! It's just limited to the first two seasons.

I scanned through the episode list while writing this and seasons one and two have them interact in a meaningful way in about half of the episodes while seasons three and four got distracted by the new love interests, Lila, and the awful broken Ladynoir dynamic, dramatically cutting back on the Adrinette content to the show's detriment.

The other issue is that Marinette's crush is written more and more like a celebrity crush as the seasons go on, making it feel less and less genuine. So it's understandable to feel like she doesn't really love Adrien given how the show presents her, but if you tone down the crush to a non-comedic level, it does feel earned to me and I am also the kind of person that needs to know someone before developing feelings. Celebrity crushes and instant love are things I rarely enjoy in media probably at least in part because I'm ace.

I actually didn't get truly invested in the love square until Origins showed us why they first developed feelings. There's a reason I treat that episode as the golden standard for characterization. It's some of the best writing Miraculous has ever done. The writers crammed an impressive amount of content into 40 minutes and elevated the silly teen crushes into something with real substance. I will forever be sad that the rest of the show falls so short of that episode.

Moving on!

The Puppeteer 2 thing feels like a bad joke and it might be? It's hard to tell given how weird this show can get with its humor. Either way, it would have made a lot more sense and been much cuter if Adrien fell for Marinette when she unknowingly confessed her crush to him Glaciator 2 instead of falling for her after she accidentally forces a kiss on him during a prank gone wrong.

As for the rebound element... yeah, I don't disagree. Everything about the reverse crush was just weird because Ladybug falling for Chat Noir felt way more honest and earned than Adrien falling for Marinette given the way seasons five plays. I mean, the episode right before the reverse saw Ladynoir get married and have children, but Adrien is the one whose feelings are true and Marinette is the one having a rebound? Sure, writers. Sure.

If the reverse had happened right off of the season four finale, though? Then that actually could have worked. In those episodes, Marinette supported Adrien while their friends were oblivious to his true feelings, Adrien finally saw just how much pressure Ladybug was under, and Chat Noir supported Ladybug unconditionally in her darkest hour. I'm personally not a fan of the crushes switching mid-show, but I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a solid setup to lead into it. Adrienette and Ladynoir had never felt closer.

I think it's fair to say that this is why Miraculous is such a complex show for a lot of fans. It has truly spectacular setups, but the payoff always seems to fall flat on its face.

[drdemonprince]

That ask about small talk and fear reminded me: a few days ago my partner and I were at our local café. I went to use the restroom and found the toilet seemingly backed up, so went and told a worker since I didn't want to try using it and then make it worse. A random guy who'd been there for a while came over and said "Want me to take a look at it?" We all thought it was Weird and Creepy but he genuinely just wanted to help, and managed to fix it! It was great! He was just a kind stranger wanting to help. And as we left later it hit me how sad it is that fear was our initial reaction. I wish I would've thanked the guy instead of being awkwardly frozen. But it also gave me a little hope and a reminder that most people are just like me, just a person trying to enjoy the life we have and be nice to others.

Yes, I really do believe that if we are invested in mad pride and disabled liberation at all, we gotta take that initial knee-jerk reaction of "this person is weird" or "this behavior is breaking unspoken social scripts" and throw it into the fucking garbage.

No one is a bad person for feeling wary in that way, it is a socially conditioned response -- but it is very dangerous. It's the same kind of thing that leads to people covering their homes in security cameras and calling the cops on children knocking on their neighbor's doors in search of their missing cat. You probably would never do anything of that nature, of course! But it's all part of the same social ideology. And that ideology keeps you isolated and less likely to seek help -- it doesn't keep any of us safe.

Personally I LOVE talking to fucking WEIRD PEOPLE. I spent an hour this summer at a picnic table talking to a tweaked out guy covered in facial tattoos and scales about my aura and the psychic journey he was on and shit. It turns out that he was a trans woman in the 1980s but he didn't have the language for it! He was drawn to me because he could tell I was gender-weird too, and because he said I had a very open looking soul. I could scoff at that or I could be afraid of him, but why??? He was fucking cool! he had a ton of fascinating life experiences and is friends with a lot of the other people I see on the streets in my neighborhood. Turned out we were both Aries' and we talked about that a ton too.

I also met a guy in a dusty old cowboy hat in the park by Loyola beach who told me he is the official 'patriarch of the park' and gets to decide who he allows to pick up litter there. He pointed to a very clean-cut white woman stabbing at trash with a stick and a needle and told me that he had given her personal clearance to clean up "his" park. She might seem like a fussy white suburban type lady, he conveyed, but she was interested in making the space better for everyone and wasn't doing any Kareny shit, so she was welcome.

Last weekend I was going to a free concert in Ping Tom Park and edgy 19 year old punk kids danced next to 70 year old Chinese retirees and middle-aged yuppie parents and their toddlers and homeless people and 50 something Mexican old head techno fans and it was the loveliest fucking thing in the world. A guy up the street from the park was selling dozens of old back packs and coats and electronics on his front lawn and I dug through them and chatted before getting there.

Living in a city and spending a lot of time outside, I meet people like that a lot, and my life is immeasurably enriched by it. It makes me sick and sad that so many human beings never get to talk to strangers like this, recoil from homeless people or people on drugs, and fear any stranger's intrusion into their life. I think even a lot of left leaning, queer people harbor these reactions and chalk them up to things like "being afraid of men" or "being afraid of straight people" and we even promote that kind of thinking within our communities at times. I find it very damaging. Some of the most wholesome experiences in my life have been random nice/warm things cishet men on the street have done for me.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Seeing in The New York Times the photograph of Helen Keller in the Observation Tower of the Empire State Building, I [Dr. John H. Finley] wrote her asking her what she really “saw” from that height. This remarkable letter written by her came in answer and was published in The New York Times Magazine. It will be agreed by all who read it that, as she said, she “beheld a brighter prospect than my friends with two good eyes.”

January 13, 1932 Dear Dr. Finley:

After many days and many tribulations which are inseparable from existence here below, I sit down to the pleasure of writing to you and answering your delightful question, “What Did You Think ‘of the Sight’ When You Were on the Top of the Empire Building?”

Frankly, I was so entranced “seeing” that I did not think about the sight. If there was a subconscious thought of it, it was in the nature of gratitude to God for having given the blind seeing minds. As I now recall the view I had from the Empire Tower, I am convinced that, until we have looked into darkness, we cannot know what a divine thing vision is.

Perhaps I beheld a brighter prospect than my companions with two good eyes. Anyway, a blind friend gave me the best description I had of the Empire Building until I saw it myself.

Do I hear you reply, “I suppose to you it is a reasonable thesis that the universe is all a dream, and that the blind only are awake?” Y—es—no doubt I shall be left at the Last Day on the other bank defending the incredible prodigies of the unseen world, and, more incredible still, the strange grass and skies the blind behold are greener grass and bluer skies than ordinary eyes see. I will concede that my guides saw a thousand things that escaped me from the top of the Empire Building, but I am not envious. For imagination creates distances and horizons that reach to the end of the world. It is as easy for the mind to think in stars as in cobble-stones. Sightless Milton dreamed visions no one else could see. Radiant with an inward light, he sent forth rays by which mankind beholds the realms of Paradise.

But what of the Empire Building? It was a thrilling experience to be whizzed in a “lift” a quarter of a mile heavenward, and to see New York spread out like a marvellous tapestry beneath us. There was the Hudson—more like the flash of a sword-blade than a noble river. The little island of Manhattan, set like a jewel in its nest of rainbow waters, stared up into my face, and the solar system circled about my head! Why, I thought, the sun and the stars are suburbs of New York, and I never knew it! I had a sort of wild desire to invest in a bit of real estate on one of the planets. All sense of depression and hard times vanished, I felt like being frivolous with the stars. But that was only for a moment. I am too static to feel quite natural in a Star View cottage on the Milky Way, which must be something of a merry-go-round even on quiet days.

I was pleasantly surprised to find the Empire Building so poetical. From everyone except my blind friend I had received an impression of sordid materialism—the piling up of one steel honeycomb upon another with no real purpose but to satisfy the American craving for the superlative in everything. A Frenchman has said, in his exalted moments the American fancies himself a demigod, nay, a god; for only gods never tire of the prodigious. The highest, the largest, the most costly is the breath of his vanity.

Well, I see in the Empire Building something else—passionate skill, arduous and fearless idealism. The tallest building is a victory of imagination. Instead of crouching close to earth like a beast, the spirit of man soars to higher regions, and from this new point of vantage he looks upon the impossible with fortified courage and dreams yet more magnificent enterprises.

What did I “see and hear” from the Empire Tower? As I stood there ’twixt earth and sky, I saw a romantic structure wrought by human brains and hands that is to the burning eye of the sun a rival luminary. I saw it stand erect and serene in the midst of storm and the tumult of elemental commotion. I heard the hammer of Thor ring when the shaft began to rise upward. I saw the unconquerable steel, the flash of testing flames, the sword-like rivets. I heard the steam drills in pandemonium. I saw countless skilled workers welding together that mighty symmetry. I looked upon the marvel of frail, yet indomitable hands that lifted the tower to its dominating height.

Let cynics and supersensitive souls say what they will about American materialism and machine civilization. Beneath the surface are poetry, mysticism and inspiration that the Empire Building somehow symbolizes. In that giant shaft I see a groping toward beauty and spiritual vision. I am one of those who see and yet believe.

I hope I have not wearied you with my “screed” about sight and seeing. The length of this letter is a sign of long, long thoughts that bring me happiness.

I am, with every good wish for the New Year,

Sincerely yours, Helen Keller

Top photo: Times Wide World Photos/Letters of Note Bottom photo: Associated Press

[shuttershocky]

Mahoyo's glimpses of mage culture was fucking wild.

Touko casually reveals that she's done what mages have always considered impossible by grafting the magic crests of every mage who's ever tried to kill her into her back AND made them functional, giving her access to the powers of entire families, and the cast thinks "My god! What horrific things has she done to the poor mages who tried to kill her? She must have ripped them apart and kept their brains alive in jars, forced to endure eternal agony while their tormented souls continue to power the crests she wields! Truly such sickening things would only befit a mage of her level!"

Then Touko's like "What the fuck, I bought them all off after defeating them then invested all my savings into an apartment in London to house them all now that they're disgraces. Half my time goes into seeing to all their needs and requests so that they're as happy and contented as possible which lets me effectively use multiple crests at once. I will kill if I need to, but wanton cruelty is actually highly ineffective."

And then Mahoyo's all "Tsk tsk, BEGINNER mistake from Touko, thinking about human rights and compromises, she's breaking ground on several different fields of magecraft at once and is literally the only Grand mage we have in the modern era but imagine how if she was more like us"

___

It's even wilder when Aoko is like "I wonder, Touko could have just killed grandpa and then me any time she wanted to take her inheritance back. Grandpa's a frail old guy and i was just a little kid, just murdering us, her family, would have been so much easier than whatever she's doing now"

And Soujuurou's all "You're not considering her feelings Aozaki. It's not about the inheritance, it's about how she underwent harsh training all her life to be made the mage heir of the family and then got thrown out on a whim and the inheritance she suffered all her life for got given to her little sister instead. She didn't kill you then because killing you would mean nothing, she wants you to experience the pain of suffering for years because the family told you to only to have what you worked for snatched away instead."

And then Aoko AND the narration go "Oh Soujuurou oh you sweet summer baby naive idiot child that's how a PERSON thinks. Does Touko look like a person? No, she's a MAGE. Feelings mean nothing to us. You are insulting her very existence and pride by insinuating she can feel things like "grief". No, she definitely went out into the world and then randomly changed her mind about losing the inheritance and came back only after I could put up a fight."

AND THEN THEY DO THIS A FEW MORE TIMES

[theamityelf]

In your Kamakura Wrangler Au could you rank who would be the most likely to hurt/endanger Makoto to the least likely to hurt/protective of him out of the students please?

That is a great question.

Honestly, I think his greatest protector (in terms of effectiveness) would actually be Hiro. While he's not actively protecting him or staying with him most of the time, he often does little things to set the right future in motion to protect him. In general, Hiro happens to lack the kind of hollow boredom that most Kamukuras feel; like I mentioned, his vibe toward everything is just that he is watching reruns of real life. Makoto is a recurring character he likes well enough on a show he's seen plenty of times. (The only show. The only channel. But it's not a bad one. It might even be really good, if this were his first time watching.)

Plus, Makoto's luck can occasionally surprise him. One time, Makoto trips and spills food on himself, and Hiro surprises everyone by actually laughing, because wow! A new scene for once!

Second most protective, of course, is Taka. He is vigilant about making sure none of the other Kamukuras kill this innocent and normal person. I think Kyoko and Byakuya would come around to protecting Makoto, too, but initially their vibe might be more, "You won't survive here for very long, so tell me this, before you die..." Taka is protective right away.

The only catch there is, Taka values Makoto's humanity so much that there is a non-zero chance that, if he thinks the scientists will change Makoto into one of them, he might mercy-kill him. It wouldn't be his default response. He's significantly more likely to attack the scientists or whoever else is posing a danger to Makoto than Makoto himself. But if he's identified it as impossible to protect Makoto from being Kamukurified, he would view death as the kinder, more ethical alternative. It would be very quick and painless, and he would cry for the first time, after. Makoto's ability to sway Taka's view on the humanity of the Kamukuras is so, so important to how well everything goes. Though the increasing investment of Byakuya and Kyoko would be helpful.

And Chihiro would also be a big help. They're usually hiding (and as a Kamukura, they're really good at it), so Makoto's conversations with Chihiro read like conversations with a ghost, but the arc there is that gradually Chihiro starts to become a physical presence. Eventually leading to Chihiro protecting him if and when it becomes necessary. Maybe someone thinks they've gotten Makoto alone, his allies are elsewhere, and they can attack him, but lo and behold Chihiro appears and saves him.

Mukuro initially protects Makoto only from being taken away by the scientists. Her strong sense of personal loyalty from before is now expressed as a rigid bond with the new collective, meaning she is very strict about the treatment of the Kamukuras. They have been given this resource, they have negotiated his use, so the scientists are not allowed to take him. Makoto always has Taka on one side of him, but when the scientists enter the room, Mukuro immediately stands at his other side. I think the two of them don't talk all that much, but she still grows fond of him from what few conversations they do have and how positive a force he's been for the other Kamukuras.

On the other side, of course Junko might harm or kill him just on an impulse. More likely harm than kill; despair is one thing, but she does actually need the enrichment. The thing is, the more he interacts with her, and especially the more he reminds her of the past and maybe helps some of her memories return, she might start to actively enjoy despair again, instead of just feeling the impulse toward it. And this time, she's got all the talents of a Kamukura. She would be extremely thankful to him, and killing him might be an expression of that thanks. Or she might keep him on hand as she develops into her new self, with the understanding that she'll kill him when it will hurt her most. If she actually starts to care about what's happening, she can manipulate her friends' eccentricities to get Makoto to herself. (Give or take a wild Chihiro.)

Sayaka would actually be something of a problem, not because she actively bears him ill will, but because she can't handle his attempts to be present as a friend and support for her. Her way of making sense of the trauma she underwent in the Kamukura Project, and even more so the very particular brand of demeaning that is being one of many Kamukuras, is to perceive herself as the one person who doesn't need any help, support, enrichment, or anything. She's supposed to be the one who can help everyone, and then Makoto shows up and talks to her in ways no one ever has, tells her about a past self she's not supposed to yearn for, etc. If she wants or needs it, then suddenly what she went through was just a pointless thing that harmed her and not the thing that made her what the world needs. She feels she needs to take him down several pegs. But I believe she can overcome it.

Hina is a danger, but she doesn't particularly mean to be; she's just very curious and she assigns no positive or negative moral value to any means of exploring that curiosity that pops into her mind. She'll mitigate her own more destructive thoughts because the group will have made agreements as to how to engage with Makoto, but for anything they haven't made explicit agreements about, there is no guarantee she won't hurt him. Even once she considers him a friend, it would be a separate thing for her to fully understand why suffering is a thing that people actively avoid, because she just doesn't factor suffering into her own thought process at all. (She understands suffering, functionally, and she has a full grasp on the ways in which it motivates and influences people's actions, but her own relationship with suffering colors her understanding of what it means that most people avoid it. Not to mention she's an analyst who spends a lot of time around Junko; her data is skewed.)

Celeste will become a danger if it will help her escape, but in most circumstances it won't.

Mondo will become a danger out of agitation over changes in the status quo, since they cause him to feel a lack of control. Like Sayaka and Hina, I believe he can overcome that.

Hifumi and Leon will be more into watching from the sidelines than anything. When Makoto befriends them, they still won't be too active. Sakura I think would be pretty neutral to him. And I'm going to say Toko likes him but does nothing for him.

[a-cloud-for-dreams]

So this is mostly a Choices blog but some of you know that I've recently started playing Romance Club as well because 1) there are some really good books on RC, 2) the art, and 3) to compare both apps. I could probably make this a series(?) to compare and contrast the two but here's one of the main things I've noticed playing both apps:

The Difference in Pacing

Background: The clear reason for this is because of how the books are set up. On Choices, each completed book is approx. 16 chapters (like a movie) while on RC, the book is typically 3 seasons with around 10-12 episodes (like a tv show). So a book like Open Heart, for instance, would be 3 seasons under one title instead of 3 separate books since they occur within a close period. This is different from a series like Heaven's Secret, which has two separate books that span ten years apart.

I bring this up because I assume this difference explains why the pacing in both apps is so different. I can use Blades II, Kindred, Theodora, and DALS as an example.

I've brought this up already, but one of my biggest gripes with Blades II was the very odd pacing. The beginning of the book (in my opinion) took longer than necessary to start the plot and there was a little too much filler with less time to focus on new lore the themes ate tho and I'm grateful we got another book.

Kindred has a similar issue. The concept of a witch book was cool and they had a good plot, but 16 chapters weren't enough to explore everything they wanted to with the book. The ending was rushed and it felt way too easy to defeat the Wraith King. Do I still love this book? Yes. Do I think the authors did well with the amount of time they were given? Also yes. But the rushed plot does make it hard to recommend it since PB is capable of handling a lot of plot (RE: Blades I).

On the other hand, Theodora has 3 seasons and the whole immortality arc (the premise of the book) wasn't explained until near the end of S2. We had an entire season to explore the character and at least half of a second season to explore her life after she realized she was immortal but without knowing why (human -> immortal -> realizing how she became immortal and starts controlling her power). As a result, it becomes easier to get attached to her since we spent more time getting to know her still one of my favorite MCs.

Dracula: A Love Story still can't believe it has 4 seasons spent an entire season before revealing Vlad's identity even though it's in the title. In comparison, PB would have done three chapters of leaving MC in the dark before revealing who Vlad is with the rest of the book being allotted to helping him. I get that we needed to see all the visions and stuff but personally, I feel like I was more invested in Lale and would have read an entire book about her, Aslan, and Vlad. I swear I don't hate DALS please don't be offended lol.

Am I saying I prefer RC to Choices? Not necessarily, I have problems with RC too mostly regarding representation, and I also know it wouldn't be fair to compare the apps since they are set up differently. I just thought this was something interesting to point out.

[evendumbo]

on media literacy, shipping, and Ted Lasso...

This post was helpful to learn Hannah's more nuanced thoughts about Ted & Rebecca. I put the quotes in a word doc for people who can't see the words.

---

The T&R discourse is all over the place and I'm realizing that there needs to be a hard distinction between:

1) Ted & Rebecca as endgame (profess mutual romantic love, live happily ever after), and

2) Ted feeling romantic love for Rebecca and that truth is made clear to the audience through the writing, Rebecca's feelings are ambiguous-soulmate, and the characters are not necessarily endgame.

I had hoped for option 1. I reasonably thought the red bottom shoes were the clearest sign that Rebecca was going to Kansas, and I think the writers intended for me to think that. But the show also has a clear thread of melancholy and I wouldn't have been surprised if endgame was not in the cards. (I was also haunted by the reference to Once in the Christmas episode...)

So, as co-creator, Brendan Hunt, says, there was no enthusiasm in the writers' room for option 1. But option 2 is right there. Instead of the ambiguous ending that created feelings of confusion and being baited, I wish they had let the reasons for the heartbreak be clearer. Let the audience inside a little more so that the signs could maintain their narrative power and promise. In any other show that wasn't organized like a tight three-season arc that's filled with callbacks and parallels and signs, then ambiguity could be fine. But the way Ted Lasso is uniquely written, clear payoff on the central romantic arc was always going to be crucial and total ambiguity was always going to feel like a set up.

The anti-shippers who argue that there were no narrative signs towards a possible romance are dead wrong, but I agree with them that there was very little explicit romantic heat between Ted and Rebecca throughout the show. (I can't think of any except maybe Ted's "body language" during the gala and apology embraces.) I was hoping the story would get there given the signs and the narrative arc, but it never happened. So we're arguing about "media literacy" using different evidence, and I believe that signs are the stronger evidence given their specificity. We can all see that Ted Lasso is baking cookies so he can give them to Rebecca Welton every damn day, and I think most people can agree that that's at least peculiar. These signs of peculiar behavior and symbols piled up over three years, defining a clear likelihood of a romance in the works. But the case about heat is more subjective, a feel.

I have a friend who is a very respectful anti lolol. I encouraged her to watch the show and, when Ted found the matchbook in his pocket, she texted me "👀", even though she still didn't want it to happen. We had different hopes for the story outcome, but having "media literacy" is literally our jobs 😂 and she absolutely agrees the signs for romance were there and affirms the reasons the shippers are upset. The only difference between us was that, as a devotee to the TL writing approach, I became invested in the signs, and figured the heat would come when it came.

So when it ended, I had two distinct feelings. As a shipper, I was disappointed that option 1 did not come to pass. (ETA: Here's a great article breaking down the reasons for that.) But as a lover of the art of television, I felt a legitimate sense of loss that option 2 also did not come to pass, meaning the narrative signs were never acknowledged, they were just dropped like they didn't mean anything. Signs sometimes not being signs after all is life, sure, but tv shows aren't a realistic representation of life, they are an art form. The abrupt abandonment of their unique approach to writing created unnecessary turmoil in the fandom. This would have been bad enough, but then Brendan (and Hannah a bit as well) unhelpfully poured gas over it 🙄 by refusing to seriously contend with the show's narrative method and, instead, implied shippers (largely women) were making things up. But turns out that shippers are fucking smart and we took that shit seriously, look no further than the detailed gif sets on the tumblr tedbecca tag. Their comments broke trust between the storytellers and their very captive audience (including some media literate non-shippers). Their repeated "soulmates can be platonic" explanation was never in debate, it was always what we were seeing on the screen, the storytelling itself.

So, I'm sad that the project of it all played out the way it did. There's still a part of me that thinks maybe it will come back around someday so that the story can pay off the narrative debts it created, "thunder and lightening," daily homemade biscuits, etc. But it's hard for me to imagine I'd want to come back to the story whether or not that happens. Re-watches have also lost something special.

Maybe with time... 💜

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

or read Chapter Four below the cut

He spied the bride to be and her groom, and wondered if he could get away with neglecting to pay his respects to the host. Surely, the only people who would really mark his entrance were those who wanted to fuck him, or make a deal with him, or do him harm. As far as he knew, the Eltans didn’t number among any of them.

Some of their guests, however... He saw Baron De Cloyo—who had been all three at one point or another. The last time they spoke was when the Baron interrupted his solitude in the middle of the night to complain about Astarion not having murdered Isolde. As though he’d disobeyed a direct order. 

Astarion had actually been fascinated by how his investment in the relationship utterly vanished in that moment. 

“You know what they say about thine enemy’s enemy,” someone murmured to him, Astarion resisted the urge to tilt his head around and see who it was, waiting instead for the speaker to step around, bow, introduce himself like a civilized person. “Well met,” Baron Horrold eventually fell in line with public decorum and Astarion inclined his head in return.

“You’ll have to remind me,” Astarion knew it would be rude to immediately excuse himself, but Astarion and Horrold had never been officially introduced, so it would also be the kind of thing that could ensure they never did have any productive interaction.

“My take away was always that they present a fine opportunity—something I believe you know how to recognize?”

“Oh, I’ve some experience on the matter, but I do rather enjoy when it’s explained to me,” Astarion lied, but did so smoothly, inviting. Let Horrold show his hand first. There was nothing in particular that Astarion wanted from him, but like any powerful elite in the city, there were always things he could get from him, if he could make the relationship work.

Perhaps Horrold realized his approach had been too eager already, because his cheeks went a little pink. “I just wonder what you did to De Cloyo; seems he dislikes you even more than he dislikes me. Impressive.”

“Oh, I hurt him,” confessed Astarion. “Inadvertently, but there it is,” He caught a waiter and snatched up a glass, draining it more to have something to do than to quench an imaginary thirst. “It wasn’t even about him—but then again, would that make you feel better?”

“No,” Horrold raised an eyebrow at Astarion, expression pensive for a moment, “I’ve never known it to not be about me.”

He sounded so sincere that Astarion had to refrain from releasing a bark of genuine laughter. 

Obviously, he wasn’t depressed. If he was, he couldn’t possibly take so much amusement in the Baron’s complete lack of self-awareness.

“Is it still Baron then, or are we back to calling everyone by their family names only and referring to them as patriars? I rather fell asleep during the missive,” Astarion confessed.

“I like Baron,” Horrold smirked, “even if the Duke did want us to go back to the old ways, I think it would stick as a nickname, if nothing else.”

“Yes, true enough. Policies like that can lead some prick to calling himself ‘The Emperor’ and everyone following suit.”

“I suppose,” Horrold seemed rightly baffled by the comment, but recovered quickly by getting back to his own point, “And nothing can displace my family from the pedestal I’ve carved for them in the city elite. Baldur’s Gate needs us.”

“I’m sure,” Astarion was not sure.

“Your place is curious to me. I’d like to know more. I’d like to be involved.” Horrold kept his voice low, which in their present setting actually made him seem more conspicuous.

But Astarion wasn’t entirely put off. He could be a valuable ally. But he needed to be trained. Better to begin things in a more controlled setting. “Why don’t we arrange something later in the week? I don’t believe I’ve had you in my home before, seems a dreadful social oversight on my part.”

“You’re forgiven, and your invitation accepted,” the Baron gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what my man has on the schedule and arrange something with yours.”

“Excellent.” A bit of an exaggeration, but at least the evening was shaping up to be a productive one. Astarion released the Baron back to the party and forced himself to seek out a few others. Menotuous, tedious conversation followed in much the same vein as what had proceeded, and by the time midnight rolled around, he was drained by it all.

This kind of thing used to be relaxing for him. Social gatherings of the more banal type didn’t give him energy the way a more raucous event might, but it hadn’t felt like work since… 

Since it hadn’t been his choice.

Was that the problem? Was that what had robbed him of his passion, his appetites?

He could do whatever he wanted now, so why did it feel like he was following directions from some unseen master? Someone very boring who he none-the-less had to take direction from?

The simplest answer was that it was because he was doing quite a lot, and none of it felt like his idea anymore. Maybe it never had been.

At one time, the prospect of finally having the freedom to find out what he wanted had kept him from total, intentional self-destruction. But, at some point, he’d taken it for granted. No one was telling him what to do any longer. He could do whatever he wanted.

And he still didn’t know what that was.

He was just doing what… he used to do, minus a few atrocities and diabolical schemes.

Old habits had him slipping into the seams of the party, finding the quiet, intimate places purposefully structured into the Eltan house to allow for tucking away with someone. Not even to make love just out of sight in a public place—though that had its appeal—but just to have them all to himself for a moment, to hold them and watch them watch him and savor every little interaction. All his.

Even when it was meaningless. Just a bit of fun, or even something more tragic. It was the part when he felt the pain and the pleasure heightened.

Assuming he felt anything.

The Eltans had opened their home to the great and the good of Baldur’s Gate, but that was apparently a broad category of persons because the manor house was overburdened with bodies. It took a hike into the next wing to find any isolation. Someone had clearly planned for and enabled the possibility that some of the guests might wander to find some privacy, because the candelabra were still lit, all the way into the more deserted halls.

The library seemed like a quiet place to find a comfortable lounge. He needed a moment to clear his head before he went back to that place that didn’t feel like home, though he’d lived there for centuries.

What did he want? 

When was the last time he was sure he’d done something he really wanted to do? It could be something small, he just needed to think.

Astarion wasn’t the only person who had been looking for a little privacy in the crowded party, however. He entered the softly lit library, only to find it occupied. The couple didn’t notice him come in, right away.

They were propped up on a writing desk that was a little too dainty for their purposes. The woman had her legs dangling on either side of her partner as he seemed to struggle with her bodice between them. They clearly hadn’t quite gotten to the act yet, but at this rate Astarion doubted that they would, and couldn’t help but evaluate the whole scene and find it wanting on a few levels. 

Gods, the man was doing it all wrong and the woman did nothing to help. Absolutely no support to any part of her body, she was just sitting there, trapped against the wall behind the desk, pinned in such a way so she couldn’t even use her hands. Then he saw the woman’s eyes over the man’s shoulders.

It was Isolde.

And, she wasn’t exactly fighting her partner off, but it was obvious in the stiff way she held her limbs that she didn’t want to be there.

He waited until she saw him, her gaze widened but she didn’t say anything, just stayed frozen and trapped where she was.

Astarion spared the immediate area a glance and noticed a crystal glass vase on display on its own shelf on the wall. Something to divide the otherwise relentless rows of dusty books. With an undisguised shove, he toppled it to the ground, expecting it to shatter on the polished wood floors.

To his disappointment, the vase bounced, ringing loudly from the impact, but it was fully intact still.

The man pawing at Isolde broke away from her with a yelp and whirled around.

“Gods, how embarrassing,” Astarion swanned along the nearest bookshelf, “had no idea anyone was in here.”

The man was quite good at buttoning up his own trousers quickly, even if his other movements could use some polish. He righted his waistcoat with a tug, but didn’t spare Isolde a look. His face was quite red, but aside from that, didn’t betray the slightest reaction. He eyed Astarion, but whatever judgment he passed on him didn’t reach his lips, instead he simply said, “No one is,” and quit the room.

Melodramatic, even for a patriar.

Astarion watched the man’s back as he slunk into the hallway, then turned to face Isolde, unsure if he’d be met with gratitude or wrath or relief or—

She looked distraught. So much so that it actually stopped him mid stride as he approached her. Isolde righted her skirts, and put her feet back on the ground, but was facing her shoes even as his shade fell on her. He was just about to ask her whatever was the matter, when she recovered. 

He blinked and the shame on her face was replaced entirely.

In its place she wore a placid mask. “You’ve saved me again, My Lord.”

“You didn’t appear to be enjoying yourself,” he remarked with what he hoped was a particularly casual version of his most elegant shrug. “I do hope the manner in which I interfered was the right choice for the situation. I suppose I could have offered to educate the poor fool  on his technique.”

“It didn’t break,” Isolde indicated the vase, still on the ground where Astarion left it.

“Ah, so it would seem,” Astarion returned to the discarded vase and picked it up, “no harm done, but then again—” he dropped it a second time, this time putting a little force into it. The Vase shattered in a satisfying rain of sparkling crystals that sprinkled across his fine boots. “There. A little wedding present for the Eltans. Nothing better than curiosity, is there? I wonder who they’ll blame?”

Isolde regarded him with eyebrows slightly raised. He thought it looked a little like she was resisting the urge to laugh. Why resist? He found he rather liked making her laugh. “Wicked of you,” she indulged in only a smirk, her attention briefly flitting back to the front of her bodice. She appeared to be wearing the same gray silk gown that she’d had on when he saw her at Wyrm’s rock. It was one of those items designed to be appropriate for day or night, and probably the nicest thing she owned, but all the same, suggested a certain level of neglect that her Lady let Isolde be seen in it twice in such quick succession.

“You seem a touch dour, or is it just the disappointment left by an inadequate lover?”

“I’m elated, honestly,” she said in a voice so unconvincing he half expected her to burst into tears the moment after she said it. “My Lady will be the one disappointed. But I think I can endure it better than I could endure him.”

“Your Lady? What’s it to do with her?”

“She was quite set on rewarding his aid to the family with whatever he wanted, and he wanted me,” she revealed simply.

Astarion felt an old pain, deep in his empty gut. 

Her expression changed when she looked at him, like she’d seen something unexpected. She checked her hair with her fingers, trying to tame where he’d kneaded at her carefully coiffed hair, bringing it down in messy curls where it was meant to be pinned back.

“Allow me?” Astarion motioned to her hair, waiting for her to allow him to touch her.

For a moment Isolde looked like she didn’t understand, but then she lowered her hands and nodded, straightening out her neck and leaning in so he could work with what she had left.

Isolde wore a thin band just above her hairline and tucked under the nap of her neck, mostly hidden as she’d braided and pinned the curls into it to create an elegant, gradually elongating fall of dark hair that flowed down the back of her neck. It was loose, which didn’t seem to be the original intent in the work. Astarion tried to find where it was fixed to her scalp, perhaps it simply needed to be tightened.

Being this close to her again caused him to reflect on the night they met, and how she’d clung to him. Her pulse was speeding up again, and he hoped she wasn’t thinking about that. Reflecting on the night one almost died couldn't be much better than reflecting on the night one did die. She didn’t seem upset though, and the way her heart raced didn’t suggest that she was thinking about running for her life, it was the familiar, nearly dancing rhythm of increasing body heat and arousal.

Her face was serene, her breathing even. He liked being close to her, liked feeling how she liked it too, but he didn’t want to find himself mistaken. He shouldn’t assume. Even if she did want him, which he was fairly certain she did, he was too well versed in these matters to dismiss the reality that surely, some part of her was waiting to be rescued from him.

 “Hywel won’t bother me again,” she exhaled slowly, but still he didn’t think her nerves were those of someone who wanted him to get as far away from her as possible. “You probably didn’t get a good look at his face when he realized we weren’t alone. He was furious. Like he suddenly remembered how worthless I am and—he’ll deny he ever wanted me. As I said. I’m saved.”

“Worthless?” That gave him a little pause and Astarion sighed. “Oh dear. This probably isn’t the kind of thing I can offer much of a counterpoint for, sweet one.” The band pulling her hair together wasn’t just loose, it was broken. The brute must have snapped it. Astarion realized if he tried to return even one more lock of hair back to its place, the whole thing would probably fall out, so he took a moment to assess the task.

“I’d ask for none,” but she said it with such a heavy sigh that it was clear she had been hoping for some soothing word. 

From Astarion, of all possible monsters.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t have the highest regard for the sanctity of any life, nor for the individual.”

“I suppose you couldn’t,” Isolde observed, “that would interfere with…”

“Sustaining my existence by consuming others? Somewhat, yes,” Astarion straightened up and walked around the side of the writing desk, trying to get a better look at the back of her head. “We may need to rethink strategy on this, I’m sorry to say.”

“Oh no, is it hopeless?” Isolde started to reach for her hair again, but the smart girl stopped before she made it worse, looking at Astarion out of the corner of her eye. “Help. Please.”

“All is not lost. Give me a moment.” Astarion rested his chin on his hand, taking in the whole image of her. The goal needed to be to find a way to style her hair that looked effortlessly elegant and not like she had just haphazardly attempted to restyle it without a mirror after being amorously groped in a dark library. “Permission to start anew?”

“I knew it. I’m hideous. Do what you must.”

“Oh, yes. Repulsive,” Astarion gave her a lecherous glance that he was quite pleased to see caused her face, neck and chest to all turn bright red. He slipped the tie from her hair and let the last of the curls fall. “Turn your neck. Good girl.”

Half-up would suit her, he just needed to decide on the height and the type of braid and how to plait it. 

Surely, Isolde didn’t really hold herself in such poor regard. She was just hoping to inspire some sympathy in him so he would pay her compliments. But then he thought back to that night again, and how she hadn’t fought for herself. 

It would have been so easy to despise her for such despair and cowardice. Maybe he ought to. 

Giving all the way up on herself like that, what could one expect? If she didn’t care about herself, why should anyone else?

“Worth is often measured in comparisons,” he mused, loosening the braid with deft fingers as he decided it was too tight, better to look soft with the rest of her curly mane. “But. I have seen gods, celestials, inscrutable fey, and devils fall as ignominiously as any poor mortal wretch. In the end, we’re all equally worthwhile, and all equally worthless.”

Isolde already looked better. He was quite good at this. 

“Take that for what comfort you can. You have just as much a right to live, and be a nuisance, and take others for your prey as anyone.”

She snorted, and he couldn’t tell for a moment if she was once again denying him the pleasure of hearing her laugh, or trying to hold something else back. 

“Apologies,” he smoothed out the fall of her hair, tucked the frame back behind her cute stubby human ears and admired the results. “Not for the hair, that looks incredible. I’m very good. But, I do apologize that nothing I have to say can be of particular comfort. Especially given the fact that I’m a reminder of the worst night of your life.”

She did laugh, finally. A sharp, nearly bitter sound. “My Lord, I testify, that night was not even the tenth worst of my life.” All humor gone, but she did look lovely.

“I’m genuinely distressed to hear it. But you're in good company, at least.”

“For the moment,” he wasn’t sure what sparked the feeling, it might have been the soft smile and evasive blush when she faced him and the way her entire body seemed to relax when their eyes met again. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of hunger. It wasn’t so strong as to compel him to lean in and bite down, but warmth spread up from the pit of him into his jaws and he felt his mouth salivate. It was a pleasant feeling, actually. He used to agonize over the constant hum of hunger. He used to personify it as a second tormentor, but removed from his old fears and weaknesses, it transformed into something different, though no less dangerous.

He didn’t need to feed. His elevated state kept him strong even after long fasts, and spare feasts, but the sweet savor of strong blood was an intoxicating memory that he’d managed to connect with after a few dull years of dissatisfaction. He knew in that moment that if he did bite her, he would finally feel that rush that had eluded him. But, if he went too far, he’d regret it.

For a moment, Isolde regarded him with bemusement, but he saw understanding starting to light her face, and tension returned to her neck and shoulders. “You’re… thinking about killing me again, aren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted, partly honest—he’d only thought about it long enough to confirm that he wouldn’t. “No,” he put a hand on her forearm, letting his thumb caress the inside of her wrist. “No, but I was thinking of asking something rather impertinent.”

“Oh, I adore impertinence.” Isolde pressed into his touch, fingertips finding purchase on one of the fine silver buttons on the front of his waistcoat. Her knees began to part, shuffling the fabric of her dress and making space for him to wade into her touch.

She would have made such a fun spawn. Perhaps she still could.

He grabbed her jaw, more firmly than intended, but she didn’t flinch and he lightened his touch to ghost his fingers down her throat. That throbbing quickened, and he felt it glide to keep pace with his own rhythm. “You entice me. May I?” It wasn’t fair, probably, to wait until his lips were brushing the soft skin just beneath her eyes to ask. 

What chance did she have? Indeed, he felt her breath already coming in ragged. 

“Just a taste,” he punctuated with a light kiss over her racing artery. “And you can say no. Forget pertinence. the titles, the traditions of the Gate, the fine rooms in old houses. Some day, our Duke, your masters,  will be dead as any rat that drowns in the Chionthar and all with burn, and maybe while wandering the fugue plane they’ll realize they made it all up and it was pointless. What matters right now, is what you want, and what I want. So, tell me yes, or tell me no. Do you want to be tasted?”

“Astarion,” she said in a soft gasp, “please.”

“Say that again,” he purred into her throat, letting his teeth brush her flesh.

“Yes. Astarion, please.” Isolde pulled at him, encouraging him to press in more firmly against her, though it already felt like he was falling on top of her.

Astarion pinched the soft skin of her neck between his teeth, but didn’t break through just yet, he could smell the blood, but wouldn't drink yet. He enjoyed the sensation of her shivering anticipation under his breath. He cupped her head, to keep her from collapsing away from him, his other hand finding purchase at the very center of her neckline, gently brushing her flushed and heaving chest.

“Oh, God,” she whispered when he finally bit down. Her grip on him tightened, and he could feel blood and breath coursing through her, into him. The warmth of her spilled into his mouth. She tasted better than he’d imagined, but the yearning lust for her couldn’t be satisfied with a mouthful. He wanted more of her. Her blood, her body, and more of that voice crying his name.

If you take more, you could lose her. Just like you lost everything else. Astarion stopped, but kept his mouth pressed against the seeping marks as she rocked her hips against his, her legs straining to embrace him. The rush of warm blood seemed to flow straight to his cock. A sharper, more desperate gasp ripped from her throat. “Astarion, I—” she covered her mouth, falling to pieces in his arms as thousands had before. He held her close, hands pressing into her back and sliding downwards to her hips, encouraging her to grind into him, a titillating whine escaped her lips.

He forced himself to release her and leaned back. All things considered, the bite was clean and she barely seemed woozy. Instead, Isolde’s eyes were wide, sparkling, she shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe—tell me that’s normal, please?” The heat in her face had caused her to break out in glistening sweat in her hairline. “I’m mortified,” she confessed.

“Can’t say I’ve ever made anyone come just from biting them before,” Astarion wiped his mouth, with the blade of his thumb, not wanting to waste a drop. “At least not so enthusiastically. You’re delicious, my dear.”

Mortified accurately described how she looked. He tried not to betray a level of amusement that would embarrass her further, but Gods, it was funny. If she wouldn’t laugh, then he could make her cry out again. The moment of ebb had actually made him harder, and he started to gather her skirt up in his fists, but the look on her face gave him pause.

“Isolde. What’s the matter?” He heard the way concern sounded so sharp in his voice, and took a small breath, trying to tame it, trying to soften the words. “You’re all right.” He let go of her dress, letting it fall, and laid his hands over hers, cautious, and she managed a steady exhale that seemed to calm her. Though she still looked a little lost through her pretty face. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no need to feel…” what Astarion wanted to say twisted in his throat. He realized he didn’t actually know how she felt. He knew how he used to feel. He knew why he used to feel that way. It was tempting to project onto her, but then he’d probably just end up being wrong. He hated being wrong. “Are you still afraid of me?” 

Was that all? Some conflict in her soul? Some distant voice of self preservation telling her to run from the predator?

Gradually she nodded, but then said, “It’s not what you think.”

“Tell me what I think,” he challenged.

“I don’t believe you’ll hurt me,” Isolde started, and the tender way her sparkling black eyes rested on him tugged at some buried moment. “Or, I don’t believe you want to hurt me. Rather… this is all just fun for you, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything.”

Well. Fuck. This again. He’d hoped she wasn’t so tender-hearted. It was easy enough to fane a little sincerity to preserve her feelings. He’d done it hundreds of times and had perfected the smile, the gentle delivery of exactly what she wanted to hear; “of course it means something. Of course I care for you. In my way.” But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, to wear the mask again, even if it was in an attempt to make her feel better.

“No, Isolde. It doesn’t mean anything.” Astarion didn’t know if he was being cruel or kind. He’d always struggled to evaluate such things in the first place. He’d simply landed on the understanding that he didn’t have to lie to her, and he didn’t want to. “At least, it doesn’t mean what you want it to.” 

She was looking down at their hands, folded over one another in her lap. Was she more disappointed in him or in herself?

“Precious few people have ever let me feed off them. Most of the time, my diet of strong blood comes from the very unwilling. When I do get the rare chance to share in a moment like that one… I realize it’s a gift, and I am grateful. But. I cannot give you what you want in return. No matter how much I might want to. I’m not sure I’m capable.”

“I know that,” Isolde sounded steady enough but still wouldn’t break her intense study of her own lap and their hands clasped together there. “I do. And, I didn’t expect otherwise. It’s not really a gift otherwise,” she shrugged. “I just… I also didn’t expect to like it so much,” her voice sharpened to a whisper, “and I think for a moment I got a little carried away. Forgive me.”

“You got rather carried away is what happened,” Astarion corrected her with one raised eyebrow, “And I too, liked it much more than I expected.” He didn’t want to let go of her hands just yet, but he did want her to look up at him. He leaned it to tease a kiss, letting the tip of his nose touch her cheek. It worked, and her head shot up, mouth listing for his own, eyes fluttering.

He pulled back, “As I said, you did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to forgive.” In this one way, he didn’t have to be measured, didn’t have to hold onto some part of himself for control. He captured her mouth with his own. His coaxing was effective, in that she seemed to forget her sadness, or maybe she was using it. She reciprocated, eager, sloppy even, she slipped her hands free from his, and her fingers found their way to the back of his neck, working into the hair at the nap of his neck.

She delved deeper with her tongue, her legs tightening around him again. If he let her take control, what would she do? Although there was something decidedly inexperienced about some of her smaller, flailing little movements, he was tempted for a moment to let her guide him, and see where she took them. She broke away with a gasp, short of breath already. 

Breath was something he didn’t actually need, which made certain acts so much easier for him. Her eyes were glassy, but alight, the rush of red through her face and chest intensified as she looked at him, seemingly unable to articulate her desire, or her question, or maybe any words at all as she swallowed and took another steadying breath.

He’d have to spare her again, it seemed. She was simply in no condition to be coherent.

Astarion slid to his knees between her spread legs, gathering the silk skirts up to her hips again with her latent, but eventually frantic help. In the low light, he couldn’t see much, but he slid one hand up the inside of her thigh, just ghosting the trembling flesh until his fingers pressed into her. Her underwear was soaked, her cunt throbbing just on the other side. He hooked his fingers through the fabric. She let out a small gasp, her legs instinctively coming together a moment as he pressed into her wet, sensitive clit before beginning to pull the underwear off.

She gasped again, but this one was different—Isolde shot up from the table, pushing her skirts back down, and Astarion released his grip on the underwear he’d managed to work down to the middle of her fat thighs. She was looking past him, eyes wide at the doorway.

This library must be cursed.

Astarion swiveled his head around, and wasn’t terribly surprised to see a pair of young ladies—he didn’t recognize them, but they were dressed fashionably enough that they could easily be the daughters of some patriar families. They looked surprised to see him in a way that suggested, that they did, in fact, know him.

He stole a sideways glance at Isolde, still as red in the face as ever, though the context was suddenly sheepish. Mortified. He remembered her saying just minutes ago.

Their encounter wouldn’t recover from this. He could probably carry on, but Isolde? She’d been caught in a compromising position for the second time in a single night. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. Maybe she was the source of the curse. Maybe, now was a good moment to rethink everything. 

He sighed internally and then released it, and approached the women at an angle, blocking his would-be partner from sight, to give Isolde another moment to pull herself together. “My apologies,” he gave a small bow. “Alas, you have indeed thwarted a terrible rake. The poor woman’s virtue remains intact, thanks to your timing.”

He thought he heard something like a laugh coming from Isolde, but he could have been imagining it.

“How scandalous,” one of the girls giggled behind her hand.

“Oh, quite,” Astarion agreed with another drawn out sigh. “But, they’ll be other days and other unoccupied libraries. This one is all yours,” and he gathered up every inch of both of them in a searching look, “For. Whatever it is you need it for. The two of you.”

The two young women gawked up at him, mouths open. “Oh—ah, no,” one of them finally protested, “I was just going to show her a book—”

“Yes. Charming books in here! I assume,” Astarion let out a chuckle. Isolde appeared by his shoulder. Her hair still looked excellent, and she’d gotten cinched up tight rather quickly. He wondered if she’d abandoned her underwear, somehow situated it back into position that quickly—or if the garment was still constricting her thighs right where he’d left it, just a few soft inches below that delicious little wet cunt.

“Excuse us,” he shooed the ladies aside and ushered Isolde through the doorway without a backward glance, though he heard a scoff from one of them. He didn’t bother to wait until they were out of earshot before he said to Isolde, “well, if they weren’t going to fuck before, they should now.”

“You think so?” Isolde cleared her throat. She was still flushed, still obviously quite overwarm and underworked, but he knew better than to think they would get another chance now.

“In my experience, most people just need an opportunity and a suggestion.”

“Oh,” was all Isolde had to say to that.

He checked his buttons with the tips of his fingers but everything was still perfectly in place; Figaro had such an admirable understanding of the need for a waistcoat that hid one’s erection.

It had felt like such a long, wandering path through the Eltan estate’s dark hallways to get here, but as the two of them marched back, it seemed like they were woefully close to the rest of the merriment and the crowd after all. He stopped her, taking her by the arm and bringing them both to a halt before they could come back into the glow of the party, just at the mouth of the last deserted turn of the hall.

Isolde melted into the pressure of his touch, turning back to face him, eyes trailing along his lips back up to his eyes. He wondered if some part of her hoped to be stolen away into another deserted room to finish what they started—or perhaps she’d even submit to him right here.

“I want to take you home, and tie you to the bed, and keep you there to do with as I like,” he traced the backs of his fingers down the side of her face, watching his words shiver through her. “I am not certain Horrold would approve. But there’s easy ways around that. I can be patient. If I send for you, will you come to me?”

“I want to,” Isolde swallowed, something bubbling up in her breathless words. A similar reluctance to what he’d seen in her before. Was she sure she wanted this? Was she frightened? Yes. That was probably it.

“What are you afraid of?” It was something besides what she’d said before, he could tell. The fact that he was just looking for a good time and she was in danger of getting hurt was a risk she was clearly willing to assume, when it came down to it.

“I do not want to be a spawn,” Isolde said firmly.

Astarion let out a single note of a laugh; dismissive and cruel his voice sounded, he felt a slight twisting in his gut. “I know. I remember. You’d rather die. No worries, my dear. I have no intention of trying to change your mind.” A lie. Perhaps, the kind that was so obvious it would barely be called a lie, but still. “And how could I? I saw for myself that your desire to be free outweighed even your desire to live.” Her full, swollen mouth was so close and still so warm and soft from their encounter. He stole one more kiss, brief and teasing under the conditions. “What other desire could possibly be stronger than that?”

Isolde responded with a sharpening stare, and finally a shrug.

Astarion could have laughed at her again, but resisted the urge. “I’ll see you later darling, I’m sure.”

[2n2n]

Any theories on what the next chapter will be like? Do you think they would find out about Amane or will Aida Iro show us just a little of Amane's past again?

I don't really do 'next chapter' theories! Iro-sensei often has a very unconventional and unpredictable way of going about things moment to moment, after all....

Let's look at Picture Perfect. I could have hypothesized broad concepts like...

-tackling the concept of 'fantasy' or 'ideal'; this tying into Nene-chan's life, being a ghost VS living -escapism not as something pleasures, but a form of self-rejection and defeatism, for Hanako -Amane-kun definitely being Hanako, and becoming a temporary antagonist -Amane-kun not being a sincere or earnest representation of what Hanako wants, or is.

I couldn't have ever predicted....

-anything about Shijima-san, a new character with a new history -Tsukasa and Hanako actively working together-- unprecedented! -Tsukasa actively helping Nene-chan escape this world (little to imagine of his feelings or interactions with her at this point!!!) -it not being necessary to kill Amane to escape (would have sooner thought killing him was thematically appropriate when considering 'accepting' a ghost); the existence of a random other way out -everything with the paint brush and Shijima-san's splitting identity taking so many forms.... including the gap between living and rumor Shijima-san (even after learning about shijima-san, who could have possibly anticipated how warm & charming living Mei-chan was, how much she'd like Nene-chan? Even after meeting Shijima-san, we couldn't have predicted what she was like alive.)

This goes for any arc, really. Who could have imagined new conduits for understanding kaii history in the form of Sumire and Hakubo? The entirety of the Far Shore arc is the reveal of these two's story, and the continuation of the manga's themes furthered therein....

Instead of chapter-to-chapter, I like to focus on themes or story beats we can more broadly anticipate or figure might be coming, based purely on what is waiting to be revealed or what was set-up just before in the previous arc. What I think is...

-Nene-chan will NEED to learn about the Yugi's past in order to understand what was 'changed' to remove 'Hanako-kun' from the timeline. That could involve talking to Tsukasa, who she just spent the last couple chapters hanging out with. Aida-sensei has been drawing them interacting a lot in general... so, maybe we should anticipate more Tsukasa and Nene-chan, given that they coexist in this school right now. Tsukasa is an entity that answers questions... Nene-chan has questions! She had just dwelled on Tsukasa's curious loneliness before the trial...

-Aoi seems to pause on Akane! I think Akane using 'Ao-chan' could stir her memory to recall her past. Maybe not so soon, though? I'm also not sure what Aoi would really feel about Akane choosing to not explain everything to her... she does resent lying a lot... she could be underhanded in this situation or only perform having no memory...

-Teru recently had his character development with Kou after the Far Shore, opening up to him, just before this arc beginning. Maybe Teru's broad conflict would be whether he wants this 'ideal' timeline with Aoi, or his history with his little brother. I personally think Teru values his family above ALL else, so I don't think he's really invested in this Aoi thing. That said we've never explored his Aoi thing seriously at all, so who knows if we finally will? It feels like 'the time' to either address it as serious or as unserious!

-we will surely learn what the absolutes of Amane's personality and decisions are. Just what kind of determination does Amane have, for the Clockkeepers to have made their earnest attempt to destroy Tsukasa, and for him to have successfully preserved some form of Tsukasa anyway? What is it that makes Amane exert so much power over Tsukasa, no matter the situation he's in, no matter what is stacked against him?

DISTRACTING DELUSIONS CORNER:

-AHHNNNGGGG G GG I WANT NENE-CHAN TO BECOME TSUKASA-KUN'S KANNAGI IN ORDER TO WORK WITH HIM!! TO GAIN THE POWER TO PEEL YORISHIRO AGAIN!!! !! !! ! ! ! pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase it would be hot and thought provoking............................................

[misscrawfords]

Strong Girl Nam Soon is falling into that sweet spot for me between being good and entertaining enough to make me invested in it and having sufficient flaws to make me deeply frustrated.

So obviously I'm going to analyse it way more than it deserves!

I think

The characterisation (or lack of it) of Nam Soon herself. Quite a lot to delve into here. She started off with a really intriguing origin and character with lots of directions in which she could go in... and she just hasn't developed at all really. She starts up very idealistic and naive which is understandable considering her upbringing. She acts charming in a childish way. She is rash and thoughtless but fundamentally good-hearted and on the side of the underdog and uses her powers for good. All of these are qualities that make sense in who she is but she is very immature. The show keeps these qualities but instead of interrogating them and allowing her to mature realistically while suffering inevitable set-backs and challenges to her idealism, she keeps all of this, is somehow incredibly attractive to both the hero and villain (despite her child-like tone and mannerisms - I genuinely find this so odd) and adds being a super spy to her list of accomplishments. (Surely being a good spy is literally the opposite set of skills to being good at brute force and not thinking before you act?) Dare I say it... she's a Mary Sue! Which leads onto the second issue with Nam Soon which is she is both over-powered and not given enough to do with her powers. The first few episodes showed her frequently using her super strength and it was very cool and superhero-like and fitted the apparent theme (and name) of the show. But she's rarely used them in the latter half of the show. Meanwhile she also has super speed, super vision and I'm sure something I'm forgetting. If she's got these skills, she needs to use them frequently and to advance the plot or it feels quite pointless. Instead, we see her playing the role of a spy which feels totally OOC. How is she so good at lying all of a sudden? It doesn't fit at all with the character we were introduced to in the first couple of episodes. Someone who just builds a ger in the middle of a public park and beats up everyone who tries to stop her without any thought for consequences is... not going to be good at a danger-filled spy mission in a high security mafia joint. Right???? It's hard to care too much about Nam Soon because there seem to be no consequences to her actions, she doesn't seem to respond realistically to what happens around her based on her own established character, and she doesn't seem to have developed from the beginning to close to the end of the drama.

Second issue is the way the romance(s) are being played. Look, I'm happy for the grandma and all and I think it's lovely she's getting a romance with sweeping soundtrack and dramatic moments but it is a bit odd that this is the relationship that is getting the most attention in the show. Nam Soon and Hee Sik are adorable and I can get behind a cute relationship without ridiculous manufactured impediments but very little attention is given to it and just as Nam Soon's character is very static, so is the relationship. There are no issues between the pair of them (and there easily should be) and their relationship doesn't seem to impact the other at all and make them grow individually as well as together, which a really good fictional relationship should do. It's cute - and that's it. As for Ryu Si-o, hmm, another puzzle. I'm usually behind villain romances and redemption arcs (I'm a Reylo shipper, for goodness sake) but I'm struggling to see it here. Mainly because Nam Soon acts so childish, I feel a bit icky shipping her in a relationship that is so adult coded. I know she's an adult (I'm not some weird purity shipper who can't deal with a bit of an age gap) but the way the actress plays the character makes her come across as so immature that I just can't read it romantically. And she has no interest in him. Nothing he says seems to sway her or interest her. She's a good little foot soldier and nothing else. Which is very boring, but that's the characterisation... Frustating. And don't get me started on the bizarre way Nam Soon's family is gunning for this "you have consummate this relationship and have strong girls when you're 22". Any normal person would be running for the hills! Why is this not creepy and an issue? Very bizarre.

The way the characters are forced to be unbelievably stupid to make the plot work. Like, it seems TOTALLY unbelieavable that Nam Soon has not been caught. She's really unconvincing as a spy - why is nobody running better background checks on her? How has Si-o not found Nam Soon before? Like, with his resources, it can't be hard! Why is nobody suspicious? Why did the police department let their supervisor lick a known deadly drug then believe him when he said he was okay and not take him to hospital etc.? Absolutely clown behaviour. Why does Geum Joo take the trouble of putting bodyguards around her family because they are all in danger but her closest confidante doesn't come into work on a very important day and won't answer the phone, just texts to say "she's ill" and Geum Joo is like "Sure, that sounds legit"? Why did nobody communicate about Nam In and the symptoms of the drug? The whole Nam In plot altogether... Why are the men in the family not just "not strong" but completely emasculated and massive losers? We're apparently dealing with wealthy and successful people but they're all behaving like complete incompetents! Which would be funny if the show had retained the comic tone it started with but it's got quite dark and so it's tonally off.

Okay. Enough whinging. Under the cut, I'm going to give some suggestions for how I would rewrite aspects of the show to try to make it less frustrating. (I'm so close to writing fanfic but I know I won't haha.)

First, the things I'd definitely keep:

The grandma's entire plot

Geum Joo being a total badass

Nam Soon's initial characterisation (and her plaits)

Cute romance with Hee Sik

Si-o's characterisation and tragic backstory

The drug plot - I don't mind it at all

In other words, I'd keep the show telling the same story but I'd alter the characterisation.

Nam Soon would have a lot more inner conflict, which she can have without losing a fundamentally optimistic outlook. She finds it very hard to living in Korea. Her homeless friends play a much bigger role and she dedicates herself to trying to make social changes to make society more egalitarian and is continually frustrated by her inability to make progress within the system. It leads to clashes with her mother after an initial honeymoon phase of being reunited who cannot understand why she can't just throw money at individuals and consider it done and why Nam Soon even grows to resent her own family's wealth. It also leads to clashes with Hee Sik, whose role as a police officer means he is upholding the very social order she finds so unfair. On the other hand, it drives her towards Ryu Si-o who she discovers knows more than anyone else in her life about destitution and who is willing to operate outside the law to effect change.

I also think it would be very interesting to have Si-o discover very early on who Tsetseg is. She is a terrible liar and not sneaky at all so he realises first that she is planted as a spy but she is so obviously terrible at it that he is more amused than angry and then he digs around and realises she is Nam Soon. He realises all this before/as he develops feelings for her. He decides to keep her around to keep the enemy close but quickly finds her straight forward attitude which comes through despite her best intentions and frustrations with many of the things that frustrate him too compelling and he ends up getting distracted from his business with the drugs in order to do big bad mafia villain type things like funding soup kitchens. And of course, social justice warrior Nam Soon who is learning about class inequality and really trying to do something about it is shown to mature by her dropping her childlike tone and mannerisms over the course of the show.

Honestly, can this end up being a Hee Sik/Nam Soon romance when he has so little he can contribute to her development? I'm honestly not sure. It depends how far down the redemption path you're willing to take Si-o. And I don't know how the show will end but redemption by death is so boring...

More exploration of strength and how Nam Soon and Si-o parallel each other. Oh botheration, no matter how I try to look at it, they ought to have the most compelling dynamic for a ship! It's just Nam Soon's mannerisms that stop me shipping it. :( On paper, it's a no brainer! Maybe I'll just plan a superhero/villain original romance instead!

Anyway, I just wish this show made more sense and was more coherent because I do like it enough to be engaged and invested. And the ideas and initial characters were so cool. Geum Joo - what a bamf! A whole series about her but without her strange lack of attention to issues with people near her... or deal with it properly as a significant character flaw.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Do you think Gabriel and Tomoe trying to force their kids together when they never seemed to care about that before season 5 was too much drama? @tallwriter

Yes.

Here's a little writing tip: if you want to keep your audience emotionally invested, make the drama build and try to keep most of it tied to the plot. Miraculous is really, really bad at this. It has no idea how to build the drama up to a solid, satisfying, logical conclusion. Instead, it tries to keep people invested through extremely cheap, pointless drama that goes nowhere. I'll use season five to explain.

Season five's conflict is that Gabriel has all of the miraculous and the heroes want the miraculous back. Season five ends with that happening. But does anything in the season actually lead to that ending?

Here's a list of all (or at least most) of the multi-episode conflicts introduced and arguably resolved in season five:

Nathalie no longer blindly supporting Gabriel

Gabriel getting cataclysmed and slowly dying

Nathalie slowly dying

The reverse crush drama

Kagami having a crush on Adrien (and Marinette?)

Lila's lies and team up with Chloe

Gabriel and Tomoe wanting their kids together

Felix having the peacock miraculous

Marinette being unable to say that she loves Adrien

The senti plot

Adrinette getting together

The only thing on that list that kind of mattered to the final was Gabriel getting cataclysmed because it meant that he could die without it feeling like suicide since he was already dying. Everything else on that list could be cut and the ending would not meaningfully change because there is no story arc for season five. Stuff just happens.

This is what I mean by cheap, pointless drama. Season five doesn't care about setting up a good, powerful ending. It just cares about keeping you invested and asking "what's going to happen next?"

The is not how epic stories are told. This is how soap operas are told. The entire draw of that genre is melodrama. In other words, it's for people who enjoy drama just for the sake of drama. People who don't care if the characters are mostly shitty, awful people or if plots get dropped mid-season or resolved in wacky ways because the audience is not here to fall in love with the characters or to hear an epic story. They're here for the drama and that's about it.

To be clear, there's nothing wrong with soap operas. It's a massively popular genre for a reason. I'm sure that there are even standout examples that have fantastic plots, but that's simple not a requirement for something to be a good soap opera any more than a good romance requires the main couple to be healthy. The problem with Miraculous having a soap opera structure is that - as far as I can tell - Miraculous is not trying to be a soap opera. It's trying to be a serious narrative (which is why you have the writers claiming things like Marinette and Gabriel are supposed to represent individual creative spirit versus corporate greed), but it's failing and failing hard.

A show that was succeeding at telling a good, logical plot would have had multi-episode conflicts like:

Chat Noir and Ladybug figuring out how the miraculous powers are being given to people

Chat Noir and Ladybug trying to figure out if Tomoe knew that her rings got hacked/assuming the Tsurugi tech is behind everything and somehow infuriating the company, likely with Kagami's help

Chat Noir and Ladybug learning the truth of the butterfly and peacock and dealing with that/going to the mansion with purpose

Felix, Chat Noir, and Ladybug playing a season long game of cat and mouse

You know, stuff that would actually lead to the ending of the season instead of Felix randomly telling Ladybug what she needs to know right before the final without her actually doing anything to make that happen. (But don't forget that she's smart and clever guys. I promise you that she's smart and clever! The writers totally know how to write a smart and clever character!)

Another thing you may have noticed is that most of those suggested plot points build on each other. This is how good stories work. You should be constantly resolving subplots and, in the process of the resolution, you introduce new subplots. For example, they figure out that the rings are how the akumas are getting their powers, which leads to the investigation of Tsurugi tech. Two separate subplots that naturally link together to allow for a logical story flow while keeping things interesting.

This was a big problem with season four, which introduced the Ladynoir conflict that was just kind of there, looming over the story, but not doing anything for 20-something episodes. For all of season five's flaws, at the very least the writers kept things interesting. They just didn't keep it interesting in particularly talented way. It's all bullshit melodrama and, while I truly have nothing against soap operas, I'm not a fan of the genre.

All of the above is why I don't have any faith in the next season of miraculous. They writers clearly cannot handle conflicts that last longer than an episode because literally nothing they introduced set up the final. It actually weakened the final because season five spent a lot of time making Gabriel worse than he's ever been, which is not how you setup a dramatic, last-minute change of heart.

To end on a positive note, the one thing that I will give the writers some credit for is the reverse crush BS. Rumor has it that this season was originally supposed to have The Reveal and, if that had happened right after all of the crush stuff, then it would have been more satisfying than a reveal without the reverse crush.

While Adrien has always been a Marinette fan and him eventually developing a crush feels logical, Ladybug has been really anti Ladynoir for a while now, so having her backtrack that stance pre-reveal would have strengthened the reveal and the relationship that follows. It still will even though Ladybug's Chat Noir crush is now nothing more than a brief rebound that was quickly forgotten. That doesn't change the fact that it happened which means that we now know that she's okay with her and Chat Noir being in a romantic relationship no matter his identity when it previously came across like she was completely opposed to the idea until she learned that it was Adrien under the mask, which was something I always viewed as a terrible writing choice, so I'm glad they backtracked it instead of trying to solve it post-reveal.

[imthepunchlord]

Speaking of your question about Plagg and Tikki, I feel like the kwamis aren't really... necessary? I mean, they work as sidekicks at times, but most of the time I feel like their role as actual gods is really null, they don't really advance the plot unless it's kwami related episode and their point as mentors suck.

It's why I prefer their PV selves, at least we can see how much they actually help. Plus, the whole reason they even enter the jewel makes me think "are all people who use Nooroo and Duusuu villains or something?"

So, I'd much rather prefer if they were this holographic animals (since I never understand why each one is considered that) over tech suits. Especially since they can't even offer advice when transformed.

(That's my opinion though, can be wrong)

Oh they really aren't. For the show, kwamis are an after thought. They're really just there to be the "anime mascot" and sell toys. They aren't included to be actual characters and powerful beings that have been around longer than humanity. Biggest show of this is that, we hardly have anything on the kwami-holder relationship outside the lead duo, and they just quickly default to "I like/love this human", and when there's multiple kwamis together, they default to a hive mentality and act like little kids.

You cut them out, you don't miss much. At most, you'll miss out on kwamis adding chaos and stress to Marinette's life, and you'd miss out on Plagg being with Adrien, which Plagg makes the most fun in the Adrien focused scenes. Take Plagg out, and Adrien just sits in his room. Though, that could be a plus cause if they want Adrien to be engaging, he'd have to DO something since there's no kwami to work off of.

Tikki and Plagg, who have the most attention for kwamis, aren't true characters either as their views and personality and actions will all come down to the whims of the writers and what they need kwamis to do for this specific episode. Like, take Tikki and her involvement in romance; some eps she will push the LS agenda or get invested in the romance, some eps she doesn't get it, or say she can't be involved as "kwamis don't feel romantic love". You got Plagg in some eps resisting the transformation cause he doesn't want to power the ring and just wants to laze around, but in another ep he'll be trying to get Adrien into action and be a hero.

So with all that, kwamis don't warrant existing in the show as they don't bring anything in or progress anything; and the bit of focus they get is often clashing with anything prior. Like, take Barkk who has 2 different personalities; you got a dutiful Barkk who is serious and diligent in Furious Fu, but then you get high on puppy energy Barkk in Strikeback. So, what's the true Barkk? Is Barkk a diligent and dutiful kwami? Is Barkk playful, warm, and energetic? Is Barkk a mixture of the two, knowing there's a time to play and a time to work?

They just don't care or prioritize the kwamis enough to establish character (though this does extend to a lot of ML characters who will have clashing actions and personalities).

I do find it to be a shame, cause I think the kwamis could've been the most fascinating aspect of ML. Cause these are beings who've been there as humanity grew and developed, and they did live through much of history and clearly have traveled all over the world and got to be involved in a variety of cultures. They should all be incredibly wise and have unique experiences to share. And given the animal motif, there could've been fun basing their personalities around animal stereotypes, and working off their symbolism and mythology.

Like, instead of no thoughts head empty, eager to be a servant Pollen, she should have been as sweet as honey, open minded, have strong values in diligence, duty, teamwork, communication, and nurturing others and all life. And if you actually successfully piss her off, she's going to be one of the scariest kwamis to face. Cause hey, bees will sting back, and in Hindu mythology, through the goddess Bhrami, bees and wasps are associated terminated evil/chaos; also actual bees will terminate a bad queen bee. So Chloe getting the Bee should have gone very differently. Could've also worked off Pollen being the only kwami to have a gender preference to what humans can use her power.

There's also a lot of potential in kwami relationships, as in mythology and fairy tales, many animals have complex relationships; some would be close friends, and some would be rivals if not enemies. Plagg and Mullo should be tense with each other and have a rivalry; Plagg and Barkk could frenemies, as well as Longg and Roaar. Plagg and Roaar could be tight as a loose nod to pair of Guardian Lions, Barkk and Orikko should be rivals with Trixx with the latter enjoying messing with Barkk and Orikko. Sass and Wayzz should be best friends, ect..

Another thing that could've been interesting, especially post Guardian Marinette, is that the kwamis all should have different views and opinions on what to do. And the chaos Marinette should have experienced is more too many cooks in the kitchen than dealing with floating toddlers. Like, take Marinette struggling whether to stay connected with her friends or cut ties to fully focus on being a hero, Barkk, Pollen, and Kaalki think she should continue to be friends with them, let them in. Ziggy, Sass, and Stompp though think she should cut ties to focus on her duty, embrace the independence. Trixx and Tikki think Marinette should try to do both, cause you need your friends, but you should also prioritize your duty. And Marinette is torn on who to listen to cause there's no easy answer.

So, should kwamis have not be included? Given the writers, yes. They don't care enough to really focus on the kwamis, and clearly can't handle all 19 kwamis that exist. But I do think they're a big missed opportunity cause they easily could've been the best part of the show given that many animals have a lot of myths, stories, and lore tied to them that could've been incorporated into the show and really make each kwami unique and fascinating.