#it’s blindingly obvious who gets the benefit of the doubt and who doesn’t

[the-descolada]

It’s very hard to reconcile memories of someone being a positive presence in your life when the downturn was so sudden. One second I had a friend whose love for me I thought was genuine and trusting and then that fell apart so quickly and completely I had no idea it was even happening before it was too late bc of irrational fears inside their head I couldn’t have foreseen or even known about and all of that fell on me and their anxiety became a justification to treat me so fucking badly and I just couldn’t handle that bc I’m only human

[pollylynn]

Title: Cut and Thrust WC: 800 Episode: The Dead Pool (3 x 21)

Zack Lindsey would be alive today if he’d simply gone for the jugular and made a snap decision to utterly destroy his rival. That’s probably not the right take-home message from the young man’s murder. It’s equally true that he’d be alive today if he hadn’t placed his faith in an unworthy mentor. That’s a take-home message that hits far too close to home, for him and for her. So he’ll stick with the wisdom of following the gut instinct to reduce one’s rival to a fine powder.

It’s worked out kind of well for him, after all, at least in the case of Alex Conrad. Contrary to his daughter’s usual wisdom beyond her years, giving his mentee the benefit of the doubt was clearly never going to get the job done. Total victory required dirty tricks and a heavy-hitting support squad. Total victory required going for the jugular. That’s one take-home message from that whole situation. He’s not sure it’s the right one, though. He’s not even sure it’s the most interesting one.

He’s trying to walk things backward from where they are now to where they’ve been over the course of Zack Lindsey’s death by lack of killer instinct or death by simply lousy instincts. Where they are now is alternating between their usual—and mutually enjoyable—sniping and silence that’s both companionable and thrumming with a kind of roller-coaster excitement. Where they’ve been has been a struggle he doesn’t understand the whole of.

Truth be told, he understands very little of it, starting with why he signed the permission slip for Alex Conrad’s NYPD field trip in the first place. More accurately, he doesn’t understand why he didn’t tell her he’d signed it. One possibility is that he’d simply lapsed into his default position on asking permission versus begging forgiveness. Another, more likely scenario is some unconscious and stupendously stupid scheme to pay her back for Natalie Rhodes.

He’s just as unsure about her motives throughout the whole struggle as he is his own. Oh, he gets the obvious, on-the-surface motiive. She is absolutely seeking vengeance against him for blind-siding her with a second troublesome writer, and she has no qualms whatsoever about going for the jugular. She pointedly finds Alex Conrad untroublesome. She produces business cards from the ether and invites the newcomer to give her a buzz, to pick her brain about procedure and cases. She giggles over text messages, even though he’s already bleeding out.

He gets that she’s punishing him. But he wonders if there might be more to it than that.

He hates himself for wondering where Josh is in all this, but seriously, where is the guy? He is, alas, all but sure that Doctor Motorcycle boy remains a rival whose jugular really needs attending to. What he’s not at all sure of is whether it’s confidence or cluelessness that leaves him unconcerned about Alex Conrads bearing muffin baskets. What he’s definitely sure of is the fact that he wouldn’t be leaving a certain detective’s evenings so consistently free if he were—oh, if only—in the man’s position.

Leaving Josh aside though, as he’d very much like to do, he comes back around to her. He comes back around to the moment just before this one—the moment just before the mutually enjoyable sniping and the silence thrumming with roller-coaster excitement. Yes, there had still been an element of punishment in that. She’d been knocking him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper for his rival-annihilating antics.

But she’d also been forthright in a way that she usually isn’t—in a way that they usually aren’t—and he’d surprised himself by answering in kind. He’d said right out loud that he was jealous, that he was upset to see her spending time with someone else. He’d said right out loud that he wants her all to himself, and damned if that didn’t set some kind of record for blindingly obvious truths he’s told her.

She’s been setting her own kind of record, too, he thinks. He doesn’t understand the whole of it, but he knows the confessions in the moments just before this one haven’t been one-way. She has asked and he has answered and they know where they stand when it comes to troublesome writers who aren’t him.

But he has to wonder what it all means in the wider world. He hates himself, but he has to wonder about Josh and what would happen if he just kept confessing—if he told her he’s jealous, it upsets him to see her spending time with someone else. He has to wonder what would happen if he just came out and said he wants her all to himself.

A/N: The love eyeballs at the end of this are asymptotic to actual morphousness. But there is no morphousness here.

images via homeofthenutty

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (10)

Warnings: Um, like always, get tissues ready, I guess.

He hated this.

Being in the same room as five other people, three of which he hated, wasn’t how he wanted his evening to go. He wanted to be home with you, watching movies and cuddling under about ten blankets. He regretted ever going to that party and meeting the insufferable redhead. God, he couldn’t believe he’d fucked up this bad.

Even now, as he ate dinner, he tuned out the conversation around him. From time to time, he would glance up at Rina, jaw clenched, hate coursing through him.

It was her fault. Right? It had to be. 

Whatever. He just had to get through this dinner, and then he’d be able to go home with you. And...maybe, maybe he would confess to you. It was scary to think about...he could feel his heart thumping, and his palms were sweaty. But he knew it was what he had to do. You probably didn’t like him back...but he couldn’t keep it in. He’d kept his feelings locked in for so many years, and now that they were finally out, he couldn’t reel them back in. He felt like an emotional wreck.

He didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same. Seeing you with the necklace around your neck had only solidified what he already knew- you were meant to be his, and he would do anything to make sure that would happen.

When Rina had accused you of changing him, that was the last straw.

Fuck Rina. He probably shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but he couldn’t help it. He made his way to the bathroom, not wanting to be in the same room as her anymore.

Splashing water on his face, he wiped it clean and sighed, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, couldn’t wait for this to be over.

As soon as he stepped out of the door though, he was met with her face, uncomfortably close to his as she caged him against the doorway, expression furious.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m really not having it.” 

“My problem is you. Why the fuck can’t you just leave me alone?” He snapped.

“I know you’re not dating her. I know it. I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt but...it’s so hard. I almost believed it at first...but now, it’s just so laughable. You two, trying to fool everyone into thinking that you’re dating. It’s pathetic.” She spat.

He remained silent.

“What I wanna know is why you left. Is there something wrong with me? Am I unfuckable or something?” Her voice quivered a little, a sprinkle of vulnerability before it regained its usual confidence. “There were millions of guys falling over themselves to want me, to fuck me that night.. Have you ever paused to consider how it would have affected my reputation? You running out of the room just minutes after we entered together?”

“Look, Rina...you’re being unreasonable-”

His brain almost short-circuited when he felt her lips on his. He was consumed with the need to push her away...the acute awareness that you were in the other room.

But for some reason...he couldn’t. He was tired of the game they were playing. Maybe if he just gave her what she wanted, she’d finally stop. She’d stop bothering you two, and he could live his life with you in peace.

So he kissed her back. She pulled away after a few seconds, panting and looking at him with shining eyes. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

He shook his head, eyes widening. “My girlfriend’s literally in the other room-”

She scoffed. “Seriously, Minho, drop the act. I know you two are in a fake relationship. You make it blindingly obvious.” She stares curiously up at him. “Do you...actually like her?”

Minho didn’t say anything, averting his eyes and trying to breathe normally.

She let out an incredulous snort. “Jesus...you’re such a cretin. That bitch doesn’t like you back, you do know that, right?”

“I...”

She pulled away completely, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward a little bit, peeking around the wall. Minho felt the dread rising in him as she did so, his throat going dry. His eyes took in Juyeon and you on the couch, him leaning closer to you, his hand on your inner thigh. He couldn’t see your expression as your back was facing him, but he’d seen enough. He felt anger pulsing in him as he looked away, scowling. 

He hated the way his legs and fingers felt shaky. There it was again, that weakness you caused. He’d been prepared to submit, prepared to accept the weakness as a part of him...but you clearly didn’t feel the same way. So what was the point? 

He grabbed Rina, dragging her to the side and whispering in her ear. He’d had enough. 

“Where’s that asshole’s bedroom? I wanna fuck you on his bed.”

She grinned, pulling him in for another kiss as she led him to the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and straddling his lap. 

Somehow, Minho didn’t feel anything, not even arousal, as she moved her hips against him, unbuttoning his shirt rapidly. He felt blank, vapid...his body moving as if it were a robot.

Even as he kissed her furiously, he could feel his actions fueled by his frustration and anger. How he wished you were the one on his lap right now...but you’d made it increasingly clear that you didn’t want him in that way. He could make peace with that. 

“Fuck you.”

As soon your shaky voice hit his ears, he pulled away like lightning, his eyes landing on your face. The shocked, devastated expression on your face breaking his heart.

Before he could even say anything, you ripped off the necklace, throwing it at him and running away. 

He felt tears prick his eyes. That expression on your face...it was now etched in his brain, the memory of it making him nauseous. Why did you look so horrified, so heartbroken? You didn’t like him, so why were you so angry, so sad? The implications of it scared him. What if...

He pushed Rina aside, bending down to pick up the chain, his eyes filling with tears. It wasn’t broken, thankfully. He tucked it into his pocket, turning to the girl on the bed, who was glaring up at him.

“Are you really walking out, again? You do realize-”

“Shut up. I’m done with you. Do whatever you want, I don’t fucking care, okay? I’ve hurt the person who means the most to me multiple times, and you’re to be blamed for some of it. I know I’m the one at fault...and I also know I would have never recognized my love for her if you hadn’t thrown your little tantrum, and forced us into this fake relationship. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all this, it’s that my feelings for her definitely aren’t fake.” He rambled, breathing hard. For some reason, her dumbstruck expression gave him a weird sense of satisfaction.

He ran out of the room, walking to the door as fast as he could and trying his best to avoid Juyeon’s eyes.

***

Minho found you walking down the street. Your back was to him, but he could almost sense the hurt in the way you walked. His heart ached, especially because he knew he was the reason you looked so defeated. He opened his mouth to call out...but he couldn’t.

You deserved so much better.

He inhaled again, working up his courage.

“Y/n!”

You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning around at the sound of his voice. He walked closer, sighing and running a hand through his drenched hair. “Y/n...please...”

“What?” You snapped, crossing your arms. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I...um, I’m s-”

“No.” You scoffed, holding your palm up. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’ve done enough of that.”

He tilted his head to the side, his sadness slowly transforming into anger.

Actually, why was he apologizing? What right did you have to pretend like you were the victim here? You had no idea about his feelings. You didn’t know what he was going through. You were the one who’d started it, flirting with Juyeon.

“Why the fuck should I be the one to apologize?!”

Your eyes widened. “Wha...Minho, you were literally making out with the girl who wants to send you to jail just a few minutes ago! It was just...irresponsible.” In all honesty, you could care less about the immaturity of the action. You couldn’t tell him the real reason after all, could you? That you were jealous.

“Do you ever not think with your dick?” You asked, feeling your emotions burn. “You know...they were right. You are just a  fuckboy without any substance.”

The words hit him like a knife. He opened his mouth, closing it as he felt his heart burn at the words, partly because somewhere deep down...he was scared they might be true.

He felt his anger boil over as he took the necklace out from his pocket. “You know what, Y/n? It’s true, what you said in the letter. This friendship was a mistake, after all. I wish I’d never fucking met you, never wasted all these years on someone as boring and mundane as you!” He threw the necklace on the ground, swallowing. The slightest streak of hesitation ran through him, his inner voice telling him to stop and think...before he shook his head, snapping out of it and crushing it under his shoe. 

You let out a small gasp, swallowing your tears as you stared at his feet.

“I knew we’d be breaking up tonight. I just never thought it’d happen this way.” He whispered. He was glad for the rain right then, thankful that they were masking the tears running down his face. He hated the lies he’d just spewed. 

You paused, hiccuping as you felt fresh tears run down your cheeks. You were sure you looked like a raccoon, mascara dripping down your face.

“Minho...you were right. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry.” You took a deep breath. “Sorry I ever fell in love with you.” You choked out, lips quivering as you watched his face slowly twisting with shock. You turned around, not wanting to see it anymore, walking away from him as fast as you could, your heart pounding and legs shaking.

Your dress was sticking to your body and your hair was plastered to your head. The cold rain was making you shake, wishing you’d brought a jacket. Your heart felt colder, though.

They say confessions in the rain are supposed to be romantic. This felt anything but.

***

You cried into your pillow once you reached home, feeling empty. You were a muddle of emotions, your entire body still wet from the rain. 

He didn’t even run after you. Didn’t even care.

Then again, what reason did you have to be angry? He wasn’t really your boyfriend. But...you also had to accept that he wasn’t your best friend anymore. It had come straight out of his mouth. 

Your best friend had disappeared a few years ago. The guy you lived with now wasn’t that Minho, wasn’t the Minho who gave you the necklace, the one who cared about you. He was different. Maybe he did belong with Rina.

At least, did this mean that Rina wasn’t pissed at him anymore? You were glad that he wouldn’t have to go to jail, at least. You didn’t hate him that much...no, quite the opposite. You still fucking loved him. And you hated yourself for that.

By the time you felt the drowsiness settle in, the sun rays were already poking through the curtains.

***

Minho felt like he’d just been struck with a hammer. The sound of thunder was all he could hear apart from your words repeating themselves over and over in his head.

You fell in love with him.

When? How? Why?

He couldn’t comprehend it. He’d watched dumbly as you left, even after you became a dot in the distance. It had felt like he was rooted to the spot, his legs having lost the ability to walk and his brain, the ability to think.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair as it slowly dawned on him. The realization that he hadn’t been alone in pining for his best friend, that you’d also been going through the same thing as him. You were in love with him…

He let out a shaky sob as he realized just how badly he’d fucked up.

***

The sound of the doorbell ringing woke you up. It was still pretty early in the morning, and you groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed, having had only 3 hours of sleep.

You hated your heart for hoping it was Minho, coming to apologize…even though you knew an apology wouldn’t be enough for you to forgive him. It was hard…but you had to stay away from him. You needed space, time to think. Seeing his face so soon would be too raw to handle. You’d forgive him immediately, even if he said nothing. And he didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

It still disappointed you when you opened the door to see Juyeon standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I just…wanted to say I’m sorry. And after what happened, I wanted to comfort you.”

You nodded expressionlessly, trying not to show how broken you were. You wanted to be strong.

He tilted his head, and the look of sympathy on his face made you want to cry even more.

“Can I…come in?”

When you remained silent, he quickly cleared his throat. “I mean…I just want to explain.”

You thought for a moment and shrugged, stepping aside as you went back in, sitting on the couch. He came inside, hesitantly sitting next to you.

“Look…I have a few things to admit. First off…I like you.”

Your eyes widened. Yeah, he flirted with you…but you didn’t know he actually had feelings.

“Rina-“

He shook his head, interrupting you.

“Rina and I aren’t together. We’re literally cousins. Everyone on campus knows that.”

You wrinkled your nose. They were? “Um, ew. Then why did-“

”She doesn’t talk to me much. Just a week ago, she approached me telling me about the whole situation, about Minho running away and humiliating her. I’d already kind of heard about it, but the way she was talking about it painted him in a much more vindictive light, you know? And then she told me about how she thought that maybe you two were faking your relationship. Which I found pretty absurd at first, but I quickly realized it could be the truth.”

He took a deep breath, glancing at you to make sure you were still listening before looking back at his hands, folded in his lap.

“She knew I had a tiny crush on you. So, she made me help her carry out her plan to get you two to break up, saying that she’d be able to get you to like me.”

He looked up at you, his eyes sad. “It was wrong of me to help her. She’s just deranged and obsessed with her ‘reputation’. I understand if you never want anything to do with me ever again. I just have one question.”

He looked at you, asking for permission. You nodded, signaling him to go ahead.

“Do you actually like him? Like, as more than a best friend?”

You paused, trying not to let the tears spill as you nodded. He sucked in a sharp breath, nodding with his lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh.”

You rubbed at your eyes, turning to face him completely. “Look, Juyeon…what you two did was pretty messed up. I never thought one person could be so petty to the extent of wanting to send someone to jail just because they refused to have sex with them, but here we are. A series of mistakes and misunderstandings are what got us here…but, whatever.” You scoffed.

“I’m sick and tired of all this. I don’t like Minho anymore.” Lie. “It isn’t just this situation that changed my mind…Minho changed way before Rina stepped into the scene. And..I think this was just a wake up call, letting me know that he’s no longer the person I thought he was.”

Juyeon took your hand, holding it gently. “You…you deserve better.”

You shrugged again, avoiding eye contact. There was silence for a few minutes.

 “Y/n…?”

“Hm?”

“Give me just one chance, please? A chance to show you I can make you happy?” He asked, biting his lip as he looked at you hopefully.

You paused as you observed his face. Juyeon was…actually quite good looking. And besides assisting Rina in her shenanigans, he seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. He’d always been kind to you. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you this was a bad idea…that you didn’t have feelings for him, that you were still not over Minho...but the word already came out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Okay.” You squeezed his hand.

***

Minho woke up with a yawn. The first thing he noticed was how the bed he was in definitely wasn’t his. He was used to this kind of situation, but usually there’d be a naked girl sleeping next to him. This time, though, the bed was empty.

He got out of bed, heading for the door and seeing Chan sat at the breakfast table.

“Oh, good. You’re up. Breakfast?”

He shook his head, groaning as last night’s memories came flooding back. Your disturbed expression when you caught him with Rina, your tears as you confessed, the broken necklace.

He’d picked it up after you left. It was ruined, the little diamonds chipped and the clef cracked. He’d put it in his pocket, going to his car and driving straight to Chan’s. After what you’d said, he’d thought it would be better to give you some space.

“How long will you be staying here?”

“A while. I just don’t think I can face her again after yesterday.” He mumbled.

Chan nodded understandingly. The first thing Minho had done when he reached Chan’s place was cry, telling him the whole story from beginning to end. He’d felt slightly better after letting it all out.

“You know, you should get your clothes. I don’t have enough spare ones.” He chuckled, turning to look back at his plate.

“Oh fuck..I don’t think I wanna see her again so soon…”

“Just for a few minutes. You need your stuff after all.”

“I can’t just talk to her so soon! How can I act nonchalant and aloof when she confessed to me the other night? When we both hurt each other?”

Chan shrugged. “Hmm, you’re right. Fine, then. I’ll go get your stuff, and also inform her that you’re going to be staying with me for a while. Okay?”

“Okay.”

***

Chan made his way out of his car and to your apartment. He knocked on the door, waiting as he whistled a tune under his breath.

The door opened.

“Oh, hey, Chan. What are you doing here?”

Chan frowned as he stared at Juyeon, looking him up and down.

“Um..I could ask you the same thing.” He thought about how Minho had told him about what he’d seen on the couch.

Juyeon shrugged. “Long story. Y/n?” The man turned around, calling out for you. A few minutes later, you appeared beside him, and he put his arm around your waist. 

“Oh, hi, Chan!”

“Hi, Y/n.” Chan spoke slowly. “Um…Minho was wondering if he could get some of his stuff.”

“Why? Is he going to be staying at yours?”

“Mhmm. For a while.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Wait here.”

As you left, Chan turned to Juyeon with a glare. “What the fuck is going on between you two?”

“What do you think? We’re together now…sort of.”

Chan’s eyes widened. “B-but…”

“But what? I’ve always liked her.”

“Minho likes her too, you know.”

Juyeon stopped, raising an eyebrow. “He does?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t look like it. I don’t care if he has feelings for her. All I know is that I could treat her better than he ever could.”

You came back, handing Chan the bags with a smile on your face. Chan returned your smile. “Thank you, Y/n. Have a nice day.” He glanced beside you. “Juyeon.”

“Wait, Chan…tell Minho I said Hi.” You said slowly, playing with your fingers as you felt your tension grow.

Chan paused, nodding with a fake smile as he went back to his car, his mind swimming with thoughts.

How would Minho react when he tells him this? He had a hunch that it would not be pretty.

[monster-mum]

It’s okay to not be okay

This week I have had a few conversations with some of my Mummy friends, we touched upon many different subjects but there was one common theme: is it okay, to not be okay? A friend of mine is a yoga teacher and is also an amazing Mummy to two gorgeous, spirited children. About a week ago she wrote an inspirational post about how it is okay to not be okay and how we need to check in with ourselves once in a while. You may think this isn’t that important, but man is it, and not just for those of us that are parents. I have friends that don’t have children and they too could benefit from just taking time to check in and say “hey, am I okay?” As mental health issues are ever increasing, not just among adults but also in children and teenagers, one thing that’s for sure is that we have become a society of people who need to take time for ourselves, to know that it is most definitely okay to be a little selfish from time to time and do something for ourselves. It is good for the soul. Life is more than work, it is more than being Mummy and Daddy, it is more than stress and worry.

 There have been many times when I have been overwhelmed with the monsters and felt like my brain was going to explode, and not because someone was trying to hone their mind powers. Children are wonderful, brilliant people but sometimes they are just a-holes. Yep I said it, it’s out there. I adore my three monsters and think the absolute world of them but they do not go out of their way to make life easy at times. BM (Before Monsters) I was one of those women who judged other women who were stay-at-home Mums. I wondered what the hell they got up to all day; lunching with other Mums, going to the spa, more lunches, letting their kids scream in restaurants and supermarkets for fun and maybe a quick stop at a park where they’d just sit down on a bench while their child ran riot. I can remember one time I was in Asda and there was this Mum screaming at her kids pleading with them to behave. I remember swearing to myself I would never be like that woman. Since becoming a Mum, I have realised that I was a pretentious arse when I was younger and that supermarkets are a major trigger for bad behaviour in many kids. I have screamed, shouted, pleaded, begged, threatened and bargained with my monsters in supermarkets, the cinema, restaurants, anywhere and everywhere, for their compliance and good behaviour. It is a guessing game with children and they love to move the goalposts so the answer is never the same as the time before.

 Years ago, Chris and I read a blog written by a man who described the difference in his day at work to what his wife’s day was like at home with their little ones. It was very funny and had us cracking up in places. One of the things he spoke about was when heading home always assume that ‘orc war’ is occurring right behind your front door and your partner needs you home right away. Since we read his blog we have used this Lord of the Rings battle reference as our emergency code. If one of us messages ‘orc war’, the other knows they need to get their butt home asap! There have only been about four or five occasions where the red button was pushed, but it is effective.

 Taking time for yourself isn’t always straightforward when there are kids running riot in your home and I totally get that. You can set everything up and get your timings perfect and it can all still go wrong.

 Set scene:  I have had a stressful day with my little monsters. Chris has run me a bath, we have put the biggens to bed and our tiniest monster is fed and settled. As soon as my bum makes contact with the bottom of the bath I hear a floorboard creek. I close my eyes and use one of my favourite parenting techniques entitled ‘If I can’t hear it I don’t have to deal with it.’ This gets used more times than I should probably admit too, especially when there is a whole load of banging and screaming involved.

 The door creeks open and a head pops round, I continue pretending I don’t notice, hoping he’ll see I am trying to relax and head to bed.

 Steven: “Mummy.”

 UrrghhhAHHHHHH!

 Me: “Yes Steven.”

 Steven: “I need to go to the toilet.”

 Oh, okay wee man, I’ll just hop out of the bath and stand dripping and cold in the hallway just to save you the massive hassle of using another of our THREE TOILETS!!

 Right calm it down Nicola, maybe he’s not noticed you are in the bath.

 Me: Giving him the benefit of the doubt “I’m in the bath Steven.”

 Steven: Looks at me as though I am a complete moron for stating something so blindingly obvious “Yeh, I know but I need the toilet.”

 Just wanting him to go to bed as soon as possible I say “fine. Hurry up.”

 He walks over to the toilet.

 Steven: “Don’t look!”

 What is it with kids thinking us parents want nothing more than to watch them go to the toilet.

 Me: I close my eyes, “hurry up!”

 As soon as he’s finished he turns to leave and then realises that I am trapped in the bath and can’t escape so right now is obviously a great time for a heart to heart.

 Steven: “Mummy, there’s something that’s bothering me and I really need to talk to you about it.”

 I think I’ve told you about Steven’s brilliant ability to trap you in a conversation. You think you’re in control and before you know it it’s been three days and forty-seven minutes and you’re still talking about that one-time Steven put his shoes on the wrong feet. He worked out a long time ago that phrasing certain things in a certain way results in a delay in doing whatever it is he doesn’t want to do.

 Me: “What is it Steven?”

 Steven: “Well, Daddy threw out all of the boxes that I was planning to build with and now I have none.”

 What I should probably explain here is that Steven likes to hoard cardboard boxes, plastic bottles and whatever else he feels would be of great use in building a machine of his own design. It is something we try to nurture, well, to a certain degree. There have been times we have gone into his room and it resembles a dump site. He also likes to pick random stuff up when we’re out, his favourite are bottle lids, you know the ones you get on bottles of ale. One time when I picked him up from school his teacher called me into the classroom (just a heads up, if you get called in by a teacher it is very unlikely to be a conversation about what a brilliant angel your child is.) His teacher opens her hand and shows me a load of bottle lids with various alcoholic logos printed along the tops. She looked at me and said “Steven brought these in. I thought you’d like to know.” I’m stood there looking at her looking at me thinking to myself that this woman thinks I’m an alcoholic or something. I rarely have a drink and even when I do it’s one and it lasts me forever. I had to let this woman know that I wasn’t an alcoholic so I say “I don’t have a drink problem. I rarely have a drink.” She glances at the bottle lids again, looks slightly awkward, smiles and says “Oh, okay. That’s good.” I glare at Steven. Great! As if things weren’t hectic enough I now have to convince everyone that I am not a raging alcoholic! Thanks son.

 Anyway, Steven is a hoarder.

 I am desperate for my relaxation time to begin so I say…

 Me: “Steven, this really sounds like something you need to talk to Daddy about.” Ha! Take that Chris!

 Before Steven can think of anything else to say I quickly tell him to go to bed. He says goodnight and heads to his room.

 Yes! Well done Nicola! You are acing this parenting malarkey! I take a deep breath and sink back down into my bath when the door creeks open again and a tiny, blonde, curly headed monster peeks around the opening with a cheeky smirk on her face.

 UrrghhhAHHHHHH!

 I can hear the sound of Chris playing his PS4 game downstairs and sounding like he’s having a pretty nice relaxing time. Cursing my inability to set his hair on fire with my mind I say…

 Me: “Yes Lyla Rose?”

 Lyla: Takes this as an invitation to come fully into the bathroom. “Muuuummy, I need a toilet.”

 OF COURSE YOU BLOODY DO!

 Me: Wishing that I had locked the door I say “Go on then Lyla.”

 Lyla: “Don’t look at me!”

 Seriously child! I don’t want to watch anyone, literally anyone, go to the toilet, especially when I am in the bath. I glare at her and she smiles, I close my eyes.

 Lyla: “Mummy are you asleep?”

 Me: “No Lyla.”

 Lyla: “Why are your eyes closed?”

 Me: What! Pick your battles Nicola, pick your battles. “I am trying to relax. Hurry up.”

 Lyla: “Okay Mummy.”

 She finishes her business, flushes and washes her hands more intricately than she ever has and just as she is about to leave…

 Lyla: “Mummy, I’m sad.”

 Oh for the love of God.

 Me: “Why are you sad Lyla?”

 Lyla: smiling “A cos when I was a baby my Mummy and Daddy didn’t want me and I was kidnapped.”

 Me: “Lyla, me and Daddy are your real Mummy and Daddy. You don’t need to be sad.”

 Lyla: smiles “Okay Mummy. I love you.”

 Me: “I love you too. Now, off to bed.”

 She runs off to her room. Finally, some me time. I pick up my book and relax into my bath with a big sigh then…

 Lachlan: “Waaaaaaaaaaaa! Oooooooowaaaaaaaahhh!”

 Chris: “Nic, Lachlan is awake, I think he’s ready for a feed.”

 I close my eyes, take a deep breath, pinch my nose and dunk myself under the water and try to imagine I am swimming in a clear blue sea by a white sandy beach in the Caribbean.  

[princesssarcastia]

I thought we had more time

The Clone Wars, The Wrong Jedi AU. 

Ventress’s head still ached as she bribed her way onto a freighter and off of Coruscant.  Her lightsabers had been taken from her, and her mask.  Ventress didn’t need to feel the warning pulsing through the Force around her to know she shouldn’t stick around.  Coruscant was a big planet, sure, but it wasn’t that big.  Especially not for a Jedi.

The threat of future violence circled around her neck, whispering Skywalker.  Ventress idly rubbed her throat as the ship initiated its flight sequence: for a man who walked in the light, Anakin Skywalker was full of darkness.   Ventress could barely defeat him on her best day.  Now, with a concussion, no lightsabers, and the anger on his side (yes, yes, Skywalker used his hate; he used it ruthlessly, without regard, in a manner that put even her former master to shame), well.  Never let it be said that Asaaj Ventress didn’t know when to flee.

As the ship broke from Coruscant’s orbit, Ventress shivered as the feeling around her throat faded away, only to be replaced by something…cold.  Empty.  Angry. It sent shivers down her spine, so violently she almost demanded the pilot turn back.

Almost.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Anakin snarled as he watched the security playbacks, the comm station’s image glitching every few seconds from the rough splicing he’d just pulled to get ahold of the footage.

Of course Ventress would flee, coward that she was.  He just hadn’t expected her to flee so far.  Into the depths of Coruscant, he could track her; he could catch her in time, but off world….

No.  He would find her.  He would bring her back, to take Ahsoka’s place.  To pay for what she’d done to his Padawan.  

As he rushed off to the speeder he’d taken to the lower levels, he activated his personal comm.  “Padmé, I found Ventress; she snuck her way onto a ship, headed to the Outer Rim.  I’m on my way to the Jedi hanger bay now, I’ll catch up to her soon.”

Padmé’s voice was quiet, and small.  “Just…hurry. Please.  I don’t– I don’t know.  Something’s not right here, I can feel it.”  She paused.  “I don’t know if I can get her out of this, Ani.  They’ve pulled Tarkin for the prosecution, and given that he has the Chancellor’s favor–“

“Hey, so do I,” Anakin said, ignoring the feeling beginning to pool in his stomach.  “Don’t worry, Padmé, I’ll be back soon with Ventress, and we can put this whole thing behind us.”

I hope you’re right, she doesn’t say, and cuts the link.

The feeling grows stronger, but Anakin ruthlessly pushes it down.  He’ll make it back in time.  He will.

He will.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Padmé stares at Ahsoka as the girl stares off into the distance, her eyes listless.   She fights the urge to reach for her hands, her shoulder; anything to try and comfort the girl who was like a sister to Ani.  (A daughter, a treacherous voice in the back of her mind whispers.  She pushes the thought away, gently.  There isn’t time for that, not now.  Not with the shreds of Ahsoka’s defense drawn around the girl like tattered robes, shielding her from nothing)

“It’s alright to be nervous, Ahsoka, but don’t worry.  We can work with your defense, and Anakin will be back soon.”

Ahsoka slowly pulls her eyes away from the invisible point in the distance, and Padmé feels her chest tighten at the emotions swirling through them.  Sadness.  Anger. Fear.  

Resignation.

Padmé hesitantly reaches out a hand, resting it on her shoulder.  Ahsoka stares at it, her ability to grasp the intent behind it muffled by the roaring in her ears; the roaring in the Force.  Something is coming, it murmured.  Something is coming something is coming something is comingcomingcomingshiftingchangingwrongwrongwrongbalancetotheforcedestorythesithnotjointhemPLEASE–

Her breath hitched as her mind slipped back into the present.  The flash of clairvoyance lasted no more than an instant, yet long enough to force tears to trail down her face, to have Padmé pull her in until her arms were around Ahsoka, holding her so tightly, as if she could protect her from everything that was coming.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Ahsoka whispered as she clutched at Padmé, tears streaming and a heavy weight pressing on her mind.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Obi-wan shifted in his seat as Anakin’s Padawan entered the high court, the overwhelming swirl of the Force around her full of anguish and sadness and a touch of something other, something that had never fully gone away after their visit to Mortis.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” he whispers, letting her emotions push at his mind, pull at his heart, until he can barely stand it.  And then releases them.

He watches with a drawn expression as Padmé steps into the view of the holocamera, her presence a soothing balm of light, and lets his fist tighten ever so slightly as Tarkin does the same, a smirk already fixed upon his face.  

He glances at Plo as a wave of anger crashes through the Force. The man’s face is as impassive as ever, but his presence is full of the slow, deep fury he so rarely allows to build. It’s like the tide, drawing him out until Obi-wan’s own doubts and angers and fears are born anew.

“Divided indeed,” he murmurs quietly, knowing they can all hear him.  Knowing they can all sense the feeling of wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong cutting through him.  The living Force has never been strong within him, but when it calls to him, oh did he listen.  Qui-gon had taught him that much, at least.

Obi-wan feels his fellow council members’ sudden doubts, as similar feelings overtake them, and for a brief moment he hopes they choke on them.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Ahsoka watches distantly as Tarkin tears her future to shreds.

This is important, she knows.  She knows. This is important like Christophsis had been important, like Mortis had been important.  The Force is still, so still; it’s waiting.  Waiting to see which way the wind will blow.  Waiting for the right moment to pounce.  It feels like a reflection of herself, in that moment. A fearful predator. 

Her heart seizes with every word that comes out of the admiral’s mouth.  Her tongue is dry, her hands are shaking, and that feeling presses down even harder on her mind…yet she is empty.  Not calm, no.  Just empty, as if there is nothing left of her. 

She wonders if this is what her teachers mean, when they speak of peace.

She wonders if she cares, anymore.  If it matters.

She watches Padmé defend her, fire in her eyes and justice in her mind, and something clicks.  It’s so blindingly obvious, now.  Of course Anakin loves this woman; how could he not? Her passion, her empathy, her inability to stand by as injustice is done.  

Ahsoka watches her world burn down around her, and occasionally catches glimpses of her face on the screens in front of her, when she dares to look up.  She looks…tired.  She feels tired, she realizes.  The kind of tired that sleep can’t fix.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Padmé feels something in her heart burn as she looks up at Palpatine. It was basic psychological manipulation, reminding people of their personal opinions and hinting at the fact that any vote in favor of Ahsoka could be construed as biased.  Forcing them to over correct in order to appear fair in the eyes of everyone watching.

She’s one of the leaders of the opposition; she isn’t blind to Palpatine’s political machinations. Even when she was Queen, her view of the then-senator had never been as idealistic as Anakin’s was now.  

There are whispers, of course there are whispers.  A man couldn’t shrug off two galactic elections without political consequences. Padmé had never believed them, though, never believed that he could be manipulating the senate into giving him more and more emergency powers.  She had never believed that Palpatine was discouraging peace talks, prolonging the war to cling to the power he’d amassed.  Even now, she didn’t really believe it.  But…still.

There’s something in his eyes.  Something in the lines of his face, the tensing of his hands, as if he were grasping at…

Padmé looks up at Palpatine as he stares down at Ahsoka, who looked so frightened and alone, and recognizes the look in his eyes.

It’s triumph.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Oh, it was so beautiful when something like this fell into your lap.  An act of providence, delivered to him on the cusp of victory.

 The Republic is crumbling. His apprentice is Falling.  And here is one scared little togruta; framed so nicely that Palpatine would be remiss, really, in not pretending to believe whoever had trapped the girl.

 Who would have thought that the Jedi themselves would so directly bring about their own downfall?  They abandon one of their own at the slightest pressure from Tarkin, abandon her to be punished for crimes she didn’t commit, leave her to die in a way that will shake Skywalker’s trust in the order, in the Republic, in the Light side of the Force, to its very core.  Not even his dear, precious Obi-wan could justify this; not when the man’s own suspicionconfusionsorrowpain clouds the Force around him almost palpably.

 How convenient that there is still just enough power in the Senate’s proceedings to prevent Palpatine from interfering in any lawful way.

 Palpatine maintains his cloaking in the Force and his even expression as he idly weighs the benefits of having the former Padawan executed by clone firing squad.  He knows Commander Fox will be more than happy to carry out the order, and what a delicious irony it will be: a Jedi executed by a clone, without a single order from Palpatine himself.  A faint taste of what’s to come.

 And there would tip Anakin’s trust in the clone army, the soldiers assigned to guard his back.

 He really should thank whichever disillusioned Jedi was responsible.  He himself could not have planned this out more perfectly.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Rex stares up at the holoscreen, his hands clenching and unclenching as they rest on the table in front of him.

 Fives gave up watching the proceedings almost an hour ago, instead focusing on methodically cleaning the blaster in his hands.  

 The entire torrent company sat around them, along with almost a third of the 212th. There are a few scattered brothers from other battalions on leave, but other than that, they’re alone.

 Cody left the minute Rex switched it over to the trial, his eyes cold.

 Kix glares up at the screen. “They can’t– they can’t believe this poodo.  I mean, Chuchi’s on the jury.  She’ll talk some sense into the rest of them.”

 Murmuring sweeps across the 501st; many of them had been on the Pantoran mission, and still more remember the story Ahsoka had spilled, about her rescue of the Pantoran minister’s daughters.

 “Aren’t those juries supposed to be impartial?” Trapper calls out from the back of the room.

 “Yeah,” Rex says, not taking his eyes off of Ahsoka.  “We all know how that goes.”

 And suddenly the murmuring stops, replaced by a cold anger.  Dogma is still a sore subject with all of them, as is his trial.

 And subsequent execution.

 “What are we going to do about it?” Fives asks, suddenly looking up.  “We can’t just stand by, not again.  This is wrong, and we all know it!”

 Kix runs a hand over his head, then turns to Rex.  “Will Fox–“

 “No; he’s convinced Ahsoka murdered his men.”  Rex flexes his hands again.

 Appo calls out from the back.  “This isn’t the front, either.  We can’t just hold all of Coruscant at gunpoint and demand they hand ‘er over, it’ll never work.  We’ll all get court marshaled, then executed.” Just like Dogma, he doesn’t say, but they all hear him anyway.

 Conversation breaks out again, growing louder and louder and louder until–

 “Ahsoka Tano.”  The Chancellor’s voice rings across the room, freezing every trooper in their place.

 “By an overwhelming count of votes, you are hereby found guilty of possession of illegal explosive devices, resisting arrest, conspiring with enemies of the Republic, sedition against the Republic, and over a dozen counts of murder.”

 Rex swears and pushes away from the table, then stands and kicks his chair, hard.  Jesse barely manages to dodge it, his eyes still glued to the screen.

 “Given the overwhelming evidence and the serious nature of your crimes,”  

 Fives slowly starts to shake his head.  “No, no, they can’t, she’s a Jedi–“

 “Not anymore,” Rex reminds him grimly.

 “This court has no choice but to accede to the demands of the prosecution.  You are to be executed in three days time.”

 Rex’s hands begin to shake as he hangs his head, horrified and resigned cries rising up from his brothers around him.

 “Thank you, senators, for you service to the Republic.  This high court session is adjourned.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

As the Chancellor’s finals words fade from hearing, the Force rings like the toll of a bell, clear and bright, centered on the results of the trial.  It demands the attention of every Jedi within range, piercing them with unadulterated sorrow and regret.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ahsoka stares stone-faced up at the Chancellor, and wonders distantly if he’ll adhere to military protocol and have her executed by firing squad.  The thought is horrifying enough to clear the fog that had lain across her mind, but it does nothing to shake her deep-seated calm.   The man meets her gaze with his own, however, and the spark of hatred within it is enough to push her away.

 She slowly turns to look at the Jedi Council, sees the regret pulsing through the Force around them, and stares at them hollowly.  Too little, too late.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Padmé Amidala grasps the bars of the walkway in front of her so tightly her hands begin to creak as righteous fury burns through her.  She imagines her hands wrapping around Palpatine’s throat, around her fellow Senators’; around the Jedi’s.

 It does nothing to satisfy the krayt dragon awakening within her.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ventress raises her glass to the holoscreen above the bar.  Her head is ringing with the strength of the Force around her, pushing at her mind, telling her this is all bantha poodo.

Like she didn’t know that already.

 She takes stock of her emotions, slightly puzzled at the amount of regret taking root within. Slowly, she examines it.  Ahsoka had been kind, righteous; a fierce warrior and a powerful ally.

 It almost makes Ventress feel guilty, like she had abandoned the girl as surely as Skywalker had. Like Dooku had abandoned her. (And there’s something else they have in common, now: left for dead by the people they trusted the most)

 Almost.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Anakin Skywalker growls in rage as the force darkens around him and his ship begins to vibrate, thrumming with the strength of his anger.

 He could tear it all apart, piece by piece, and not so much as twitch.

 Ventress is still hours away from him.

 Ahsoka was abandoned by the Jedi Order.

 Ahsoka is sentenced to die. By the Chancellor.  

 His Padawan wasn’t going to die, she wasn’t.  She wasn’t.

 Anakin won’t let her. He still has time.

 (He ignores the voice inside of him that urges him to turn back now, and stay with her in her final hours. Comfort her.  Hold her like he’d held his mother, too late to save her too, angerfearpainrageNO– kill them, kill them all, slaughter the ones responsible)

 (He doesn’t silence it)

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Obi-wan sits in the gardens at the center of the temple, allowing the Force to roil around him.  Wrong, it whispers, untruthframedinnocentsedition. Slowly, he lets his head fall into his hands, his weight sagging underneath his own regret.

 Somewhere, light years away, he can feel Anakin burning.  Hatred.  Rage. Passion, determination.  Fear.

 His former padawan has always struggled with his emotions, but never with shielding them from everyone else.  Anakin’s mind was a fortress, a Naboo lake, a desert with no end; you could become lost seeking anything from him.  The fact that his mental defenses were so lacking was… well.  It would be surprising if it didn’t add to the weight pressing down on him, pulling him deeper into the horrible feeling that hadn’t left him since the Jedi Temple was bombed.

 Normally there would be dozens of other Jedi in here with him, seeking peace, or solitude, or companionship, or the Force.  Now there is only him.  The war has taken so much from them: masters, history, serenity, purpose, honor. Children.  Children they send into battle with their masters, knowing they won’t come back.  All in service to a Republic Obi-wan is surer with every day, every battle, every death, does not exist anymore.

 Suddenly it all stretches out in front of him, and he knows with wild certainty that if it goes on much longer, the Jedi will cease to exist.  Their number will continue to dwindle, they will continue to compromise their beliefs, their younglings will continue to learn more of war than philosophy or peace, and they will die.  

 He stays on the bench, too tired to be surprised.  Too aware already of what this war means to be surprised.  Somehow it feels like he has always known, from the moment he followed Jango Fett to Kamino, that he would end up here.  Tired, desperate for peace, and alone.

 Grief settles into his heart like an old friend, Anakin burns in the back of his mind, and he knows the Jedi will not survive this.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Plo Koon settles down next to him, anger gathered around him like the violent storm that ravaged his home world.  “Obi-wan.”

 Obi-wan says nothing, knowing his shields are in tatters.  Every time he tries to release his emotions into the Force, it shoves them back at him, suffocating.

 “You sense it too, then.” His voice is sterner than usual, low enough to be mistaken for a growl.  

 Finally, he looks up, feeling the marks his hands have left on his face.  “We should not have expelled her from the Order.”

 We didn’t, the High Councilor doesn’t say, because that way lies schism.  Something they cannot afford during a war.  “She is innocent in this; that is the one thing the Force is clear on.”

 He straightens suddenly. “How fares your padawan’s search for Ventress?”

 “I’m not sure,” he says, anger still thrumming in the back of his mind, turning darker by the minute. “Badly,” he corrects after a moment, quieter.

 “Anakin will not make it back in time,” Plo says, and his intent strikes Obi-wan suddenly.  Knows that this is an offer, a request for assistance.

 “He might,” he protests uneasily, but it’s token and they both know it.  It’s what he’s supposed to say, as a Jedi Knight of the Republic. “We have a duty to uphold the laws of the Republic,” he tries instead, but that doesn’t feel right either.

 “Our duty is to the Force, and to each other; not the Senate.”

 The Force swirls around them as he tries to balance the scales in his mind.  On one side, Ahsoka, and Anakin, and the Jedi Order.  On the other, the Republic, and the consequences their actions will bring about.  Either way, the Jedi will never be the same.

 In the end, it isn’t even a question.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Ahsoka sits with her knees pulled up to her chest.  Her chest is tight with everything she’s holding inside, fearing the emptiness that had plagued her during the trial.  The master in the Temple would be unhappy, would tell her fear and anger and pain had no place in a Jedi’s heart.

 But I am no Jedi, she thinks bitterly.  Not anymore. So she lets it all fester inside of her as the rest of her life slips through her fingertips.

 Something inside of her is fracturing, shattering; she could withstand battle after battle, death, loss, the dark side, but she cannot withstand this.  The Jedi have abandoned her to die, for something she didn’t do.  

 Ahsoka is innocent. She didn’t do this, how could they think she did this, she’s innocent, innocentinnocentinnocentinnocent–

 Her lungs shrink until she can barely breathe and her chest heaves, desperate for air that’s right in front of her.  Tremors wrack her hands, her limbs, her whole body; her vision becomes clouded with tears, and she curls up even tighter, trying to stitch the gaping wound in her chest back together, but it won’t be contained.

 They were going to kill her. They were going to kill her.  She was going to die, the order has left her to die for something she didn’t do; a firing squad appears before her in her mind, familiar armor and blasters she knows almost as well as her sabers pointed straight at her.

 There’s a dull roar in her ears drowning out the humming of the ray shields that have been her only company for the last two days, and it’s all she can do not to scream as she loses everything.  Grey durasteel walls closed in on her, trapping her, and suddenly she can’t even do that.

 Ahsoka’s throat is raw and her ragged screams tear through the facility around, falling on deaf ears.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

“Chancellor, please, I beg you!  Master Skywalker is still conducting an investigation, if you could–”

 “My dear, I have no authority in this matter.  The Senate’s decision is final, no matter how much I wish I could help.”  Palpatine’s face appears drawn, darkened by grief; Padmé doesn’t believe it for a moment.

 Anger burns through her as it has been since Palpatine sentenced Ahsoka to die.  The image of him triumphant over a vulnerable, innocent sixteen-year old girl haunts her every waking moment.  She knows it would haunt her nightmares if she slept at all.

 She continues on like he hasn’t spoken. “You could petition the Senate for a stay of execution–”

 “Senator Amidala, I am truly sorry, but…there is nothing more I can do.”  His voice is gentle, like he gives a damn, like this grieves him. She wants to throttle him.  He has enough influence with both parties to do exactly what she asks, but he refuses.  The only thing she can’t figure out is why.  There is nothing to gain from his inaction, nothing but the murder of an innocent girl.

 Something in her face must speak to her emotions because he leans forward.  Before he offers more platitudes, she sighs, and forces the anger in her expression to display something more useful.  “Can you at least grant me permission to speak with her?  The guards have been barring my passage, even though I served as her council.”

 He nods, all grandfatherly, paternal concern, and she has to fight to keep her muscles locked in resignation.  “Of course. I will send instructions to the prison straight away.”

 Still too angry for courtesy, she turns on her heel and stalks out of the room.  The disrespect will cost her down the road, she knows. Speaking with him these days is a dance of what is right and what is necessary to retain any of her political clout. More and more senators are flocking to him as the war continues, voting for any measure he supports without hesitation. There are only a little over two thousand systems willing to oppose him anymore.

 Typho, Dormé, and Moteé wait for her in the antechambers.  “My lady,” Typho begins hesitantly, but he stops when he sees her face.

 “I need you to drop me off at the prison, then head back to my apartments and contact Rabé.  Tell her I want to speak with her tonight.”

 Dormé breaths in sharply. Rabé had gone to join the Naboo Intelligence Force after leaving her service; she’ll have contacts that Padmé doesn’t, ones who could help.  All three of them know what she’s suggesting.  

 After a moment, Typho nods his head.  “I imagine you’ll be wanting to return to Naboo soon, my lady.  These are trying times; you deserve a break.”

 Padmé smiles thinly. “Yes, I believe I will.”  They could all use a rest, she knows.  She stops for a moment, squeezes her eyes shut and lets her shoulder sag under the weight she carries.

 A warm hand comes to rest between them, and Moteé is there, something glimmering in her eyes.  “We’ll have your ship ready for departure after…after this is all over, my lady.”

 “Thank you.”  Then she pushes her shoulders back and marches out of the room, suddenly grateful for the wide skirts of her gown.  They allow her to get to Ahsoka that much faster.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ventress knows the moment Skywalker’s ship enters the atmosphere; his anger is strong, stronger than anything she has ever felt.  It feels as though the whole planet is suffocating in it, and suddenly those whispers her former master had scoffed at, whispers of twin suns, seem more plausible than ever.

 The future has narrowed down to two paths, neither of them good.  Neither of them certain, for her or anyone else.  One of them is much more likely to end in her death, though, and that is the one where she runs again.

 Precog has never been her talent, but she knows what regret tastes like, with or without the Force. She should have stayed on Coruscant and let him find her there, because the only way this mess ends is in pain. Her pain, Skywalker’s pain, his little apprentice’s pain.  It all felt too much like the way Dooku had abandoned her.

 The Force presses down on her with something like guilt, making her feel small.  Her fear doesn’t help with that; she makes sure to saunter into the landing bay with enough confidence even Kenobi would be fooled.

 Instincts she didn’t know she still had rear up as he exists the ship; primal ones that scream predator and run.  She tilts her head back instead and smirks at him.

 “Well, well, well, look who’s here.  Skywalker, come to beg for my– “

 Her hands fly to her throat as it’s squeezed shut, and she notices wildly that he doesn’t even have to extend a hand to choke the life out of her.  How impressive, she thinks faintly as her lungs cry out for air.

 “I’m sur–prised you’re not– with– your apprentice–” she gasps through the pressure.  Her body is slowly being lifted in the air, and suddenly he’s right in front of her, death on his face.

 “You’re coming with me,” he growls, twitching his hand to yank her closer to him.  “You’re going to go before the Senate and confess to the crimes you framed my padawan for.”

 “Not– your– padawan–anymo–” His grip tightens enough her vocal cords don’t have room to move, and then the panic sets in.  

 Alright.  Even she can admit the banter probably wasn’t a good idea given the circumstances, but old habits die hard.  He starts to drag her toward his ship, still by the throat, and the spots in her vision tell her she won’t last much longer.

 Her own hands flex, using her own power with the force to give herself some breathing room. Skywalker jerks back around, anger surges around them, but before he can kill her– and she knows for certain now that he will– she gasps, “Wasn’t– me!  I wasn’t the– one who– framed her!”

 Everything slows to a crawl, adrenaline speeding up her ability to process to world around her. She feels more than sees the muscles in his flesh hand begin to flex, lives in the space between one heartbeat and the next, and knows it all hinges on Skywalker.

 What a terrifying prospect.

 The moment passes, and his eyes narrow before he abruptly lets go of her.  She collapses on the ground, heaving, and he kneels next to her. His voice is suddenly soft, and all the more chilling for it.

 “Talk.”

 Her glare is a reflex, but the words are harder to force out.  “I heard about your little padawan on the run, and thought she might fetch a large bounty.”  Roughness leaks into her voice, a result of being choked half to death.  When his hand twitches toward his lightsaber she starts again.  “I’ll admit, I was just interested in the money, and maybe a little bit of revenge, but then I realized your fallen padawan and I have a lot in common.”

 The Force sings out a warning two seconds too late, and Skywalker’s anger surges again, so strong she almost chokes on it.  “How dare you compare yourself to Ahsoka.”

 “It’s true!  My master abandoned me, and that’s exactly what you did to her.  You and your precious Jedi Order,” she spits, suddenly disgusted with the lot of them.

 Her muscles seize in fear of another attack, but his eyes widen slightly and she knows she has him.

 “They’re about to execute her, Skywalker, and, where are you? Halfway across the galaxy, instead of by her side.  Pathetic,” she sneers.  

 Despair and desperation pour out of him now, twining with the anger, and she jerks back, not expecting her words to affect him so much.  Ventress catches flashes of what must be his memories– coldsandangergrief, too late, a woman covered in lacerations in his arms– bodies falling to the ground as he howls in rage–

 Her eyes widen as his squeeze shut and he rocks back.  That didn’t feel like something a Jedi would do, not even one who dances on the edge like Skywalker does.  

 “What happened,” he says, and suddenly the anger is gone.  Or at least, it isn’t directed at her anymore.  She’ll take what she can get right now, and puzzle over those memories later.

 She tells him.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Obi-wan and Plo Koon spent the night pouring over schematics and security measures for Ahsoka’s cell block. It was a daunting prospect; there was little room for error in their plan, and none for surprises.

 Her execution was scheduled to be in twelve hours; it had been two and a half days since the end of her trial.  Obi-wan knew Padmé had been making appeals to the Chancellor, but to no avail.  The senator spent the night with Anakin’s padawan, and left early that morning.  Something about that pulled at him in the Force, but there was no time to puzzle it out.

 No one had stopped them on the way out of the Temple; no one had even run into them, which was suspicious enough.  Perhaps they weren’t the only ones who knew this was wrong, but that almost made it worse.

 They were half-way to the sewer entrance chosen as their entrance when Obi-wan’s comm went off.

 Plo looked at him sharply, but he ignored him.  “Anakin,” he answered quietly.  “Have you found something?”

 His former padawan’s voice is completely wrecked, and if he focuses hard enough he can feel that his mind is completely without shielding now.  “It wasn’t Ventress, master.  It was a Jedi who bombed the Temple.”

 Both of them jerk to a stop at that.  “Who?” Plo demanded, stepping close enough to him to appear in the range of the holoprojector.  

“Bariss Offee,” he says darkly, his features twisted with rage.  “She’ll have Ventress’s lightsabers with her.  Please, Obi-wan,” he says, his voice breaking, “You have to get her before the Chancellor, get her to confess.  Ahsoka doesn’t have much time left.”

 Obi-wan nods slowly, shock twisting up in his mind as he agrees and turns off the comm.  He and Plo turn to face each other, caught up in the hesitationsuspicionmistrust curling around them both.  

 “I don’t… I don’t understand,” he says blankly.  “How could Bariss–“

 “There’s no time,” Plo says harshly, and he’s right.  No time to wonder, and no time to argue.  “I will go to apprehend Bariss; continue on with the mission, and keep them from executing her before I can get to the Chancellor.”

 Obi-wan nods jerkily, still swimming in shock, but then shakes his head.  There’s no time.  He sprints, drawing on the Force to edge him onwards, and Plo heads back the way they came.  He does not envy the fallen Padawan now, he thinks grimly.  The price for her deception will be more painful than she imagines; especially if Anakin arrives in time to help arrest her.

 As he heads into the drainage system, something dark curdles in his gut, something twisted and regretful.

 He’s running out of time.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ahsoka pushes herself upwards on her elbow as one of the troopers cancels the ray shields on her cell. Her face has swollen up, and she knows if she tries to speak now her throat won’t be capable of it; she screamed it into oblivion last night, raging into Padmé’s chest until there was nothing left.

 The troopers come forward and bind her hands and feet, dragging her out of the cell with rough hands on her shoulders.  

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Captain Rex marches up the steps of the facility, Kix, Trapper, Fives, Appo, and Jesse flanking him to the right and left.  He checks his pistols one more time, then pulls his helmet on, indistinguishable from the rest of his brothers.

 It was last minute desperation.  The chances of this working were…well.  There were none.  But Rex knew he would never be able to live with himself if he let this happen without trying to save his Commander.  Just last week they had been flying over a battlefield, fighting for the very Republic that was about to murder her in cold blood.  

 The thought struck a chord with him for a moment; fighting for the Republic that had bought him and his brothers, put them under the command of people like Pong Krell, executed Dogma for saving his life.  Even if this did work, even if by some miracle they all got off scott-free… he wasn’t sure he would be able to do that anymore.

 But this wasn’t the time. They had about thirty minutes before someone discovered the troops from Fox’s command he and his men had ambushed and stolen their armor from.  By then, they needed to have Ahsoka and be well into the Coruscant underworld.

 Cody had found them halfway into their frantic planning; it had stopped Rex’s heart dead for a beat or two, because he and Cody were close but Cody was a good soldier through and through.  He followed orders to the letter.  

 He hadn’t said anything, though; just given them a comm number and a name, then walked back out. The fact that it never happened didn’t need to be said, and Rex couldn’t ask any more from him because Cody has given them the one thing they didn’t have: a way to get her off Coruscant.  A besalisk named Dexter Jetsetter had given them transport, no questions asked.

 No fees, either, but when Fives had voiced his suspicions, the man said he was an old friend of Qui-gon Jinn’s.  Rex was the only one who recognized the name, but it was enough.

 They reached the entrance to the prison unchallenged, looking exactly like a shift-change.  Rex only hoped it was enough, but there was a sinking feeling in his stomach that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ahsoka tries to drag her feet, tried to wrench herself from their grip, but she’s still tired, so tired; exhaustion has seeped into her very soul, and her attempts at escape get weaker and weaker each time.  

 Finally, the troopers seem to have enough of her resistance and one of them pulls a stun baton from nowhere, jabbing it into her unprotected side.  Ahsoka cries out, the electricity seizing her body in a way that’s too familiar, but hurts the same as it always does.  

 She sags in their grip, wishing she could collapse on the floor and lie there, pain stiffening her joints, but they haul her up and push her foreword.  

 As they continue on, she quietly collapses inwards.  There’s no escaping this; no last-minute rescue.  All she can think, with each painful step, is that she wants nothing more than to see Anakin one last time.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Padmé knows what this favor cost Rabé to give her; she owes her friend a bottle of Corellian brandy and a long explanation at the very least, when she makes it out of here with Ahsoka.  There had been no time for any of that last night, when she called her over the most secure channel either of them have; it’s the one she uses with Anakin, when he’s off-world.   Rabé had taken one look at her face and given her everything she needed; Padmé’s not sure she wants to know what she looks like, right now.

 Localized security system blockers cost a fortune; the programming involved was extensive, and it required a backdoor into the system you were circumventing regardless.  Not to mention they were illegal in the Republic. Her senatorial access codes had done the trick, though, and now she was crawling through the ventilation system towards Ahsoka’s cell.  It’s just tight enough that the pistol strapped to her inner thigh is desperately uncomfortable, but she’s done things like this before.

 Gregor and Moteé were waiting on her ship, ready to leave the moment she gets there.  Dormé is in a meeting with Mon and Bail as Senator Amidala, and she trusts her friends to not notice the slight differences in their bone structure and height, to provide an alibi for her when she eventually needs one. Rabé isn’t the only one she owes an explanation to, but they’ll understand.  This– this madness, this terrible injustice had to be stopped. She can barely believe it’s happening herself.

 The Chancellor and the Senate had fallen so far, and Padmé’s faith in both was shaken to its core. She wasn’t sure there was any going back from this, but right now that didn’t matter.  All that mattered was Ahsoka.  As long as Padmé got their before they took her from her cell, they would be in the clear, and there were still ten hours left until she was scheduled for…

 There’s still time. That was all that mattered now: there’s still time.  Padmé will make it there in time.

 She will.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 The distance between her and her death is closing so rapidly Ahsoka can almost feel the individual seconds slipping away from her, step by step.  Her vision narrows until all she sees are her own feet carrying her forward, the achingly familiar sounds of clone armor fading from her mind as her heartbeat echoes through her body.  So few of those left, now.

 She’s teetering on the edge now, between panic and…something.  Something familiar.  A memory blooms in her mind, tinged with sadness because suddenly she knows for certain…

 “It’s called moving meditation, Snips,” Skyguy says, completely relaxed for once.

 She makes a face.  “Moving meditation?  Isn’t that kind’ve a paradox, Master?”

 “Not really,” he chuckles.  “Meditation is about calming the mind, allowing the Force to flow through you.  Not everyone can do that while sitting still; we can’t all be like Obi-wan.”

 “Well, you can’t, anyway,” she grins, and he shakes his head fondly.

 “Did you want to learn how to do it or not, Ahsoka?”

 Ahsoka nods eagerly, and he gives her a real smile this time. “Alright.  Before you so rudely interrupted me,” he says pointedly, “I was using a kata to do it; that’s what most people use, because for Jedi they’re almost as familiar as breathing.  It keeps your mind free of any distractions, but takes just enough focus so you don’t get restless.

 “Of course,” he qualifies, “you can do it with any movement really as long as you take the time to focus, because the Force will always be with you, Snips.

 “Ready to try it with me?”

 “Ready.”

 …she’s never going to see her Master again.  But he taught her well; he taught her everything.  How to meditate, how to use her lightsabers, battle strategies; he taught her how to fly a ship, and how to crash one.  He taught her how to be brave, and she won’t disappoint his teachings now by going to her death in fear.

 Her footsteps jar her body with every step, and she allows the motion to fill her mind until it is all there is.  Breathe in. Step.  Breathe out.  Step.  

 In.

 Step.

 Out.

 Step.

 Everything slows down around her as the Force flows freely through her.  A powerful ally, she thinks distantly, recalling Master Yoda’s teachings from the crèche.  

 Not powerful enough to free her; she knows that for certain now, and releases the panic it would have caused into the Force, allowing its currents to carry away her fear.  What it does is let her See.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Obi-wan creeps through the facility, using the blind spots he memorized last night to remain undetected by the cameras, and the Force to redirect every clone he comes across.  

 He stretches his senses out in the hopes of preventing any catastrophes before they arrive; he knows time is running out faster than it should, but he will not fail here.  All he has to do is stall until Plo can bring Bariss before the Chancellor, and clear her of any wrongdoing.  

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 The Force in the Temple trembles as Jedi cross blades for the first time in centuries, clashing with terrible anger as they battle across the halls.  Sparks fly from their lightsabers and leave marks on the walls.

 Guards had come running at the first sign of conflict, but the pair are fighting viciously enough their interference would only spell destruction for one or the other.

 Bariss snarls in desperation as her blades lock with Master Plo Koon’s again, and she heaves desperately against them to give herself room to break through the window and fall to the courtyard below, uncaring of the audience they gain in moving the fight down there.

 Plo nearly snarls back as he jumps after her.  He barely checks his anger as he follows her, knowing if he doesn’t she will die here, from his desperation and her own.

 She comes at him from the side, almost catching him off guard.  He barely gets his sabers up in time, and wonders darkly whether they could be held responsible for the deadly dueling skills a Padawan specializing in healing had. Perhaps they could.  But her actions in framing Ahsoka speak to a deeper, more personal darkness in Master Luminara’s apprentice.

 And there is another mystery to puzzle over, when this ordeal is behind them: why Luminara could not sense Bariss’s intentions before they were all reduced to this.

 He twists his blades around, pushing the hilt of one of Ventress’s lightsabers out of the fallen Padawan’s hand, but she jumps away from him, snatching it back up and turning to face him again.

 As she attacks once more, all he can think is that there is no time left for this; their luck is about to run out.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Padmé pulls herself over Ahsoka’s cell with a muffled groan, pushing through the aches in her arms and shoulders.  She’ll still have to get out of here with Ahsoka, she knows, and it’s the only though that keeps her going.

 The grate leading into the holding sticks for a moment, sending a spike of adrenaline through her, but it slides up and over once she gives it another tug.  She can’t see Ahsoka immediately from this angle, but the cot is still hidden from view.  

 “Ahsoka,” she calls quietly, but there’s no answer.  Something takes root inside her, something tight and aching that makes her breath catch in her throat.

 Her movements become frantic as she lowers herself through the hole in the ceiling and drops neatly into the cell.  As she looks around, her stomach rolls and the world drops out from underneath her.

 Ahsoka isn’t here. She’s gone already; they– they’re executing her ahead of schedule.  The Chancellor must have realized what she was going to do and–

 Padmé slaps a hand over her mouth, shaking her head.  No, no, nonononono– this can’t be happening.  She can’t….

 Her legs give out from underneath her and she collapses on the floor, trying to calm her breathing because if someone finds her here she’ll be arrested on sight.  The moment stretches out into eternity, the weight of Ahsoka’s death on her conscience because she was too late.

 Anakin’s padawan was going to die because she failed; they had all failed, today.  Democracy had failed, condemning an innocent being to death.

 Her eyes squeezed shut and tears began rolling down her face.  She was supposed to have more time! It wasn’t supposed to end like this; it wasn’t supposed to end at all.

 Padmé curls up in the empty cell as her faith in the Republic, in herself, shatters.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 They make it halfway to her cell before Fox’s men catch on; then every step is a battle.

 Fox’s men are good, but they’ve been here on Coruscant for too long; Rex and his men have been on the front lines, serving under the best strategists in the Republic.  Their numbers aren’t an issue, are something closer to an advantage, because with the size of these hallways it’s easier to bottleneck the larger squads they come across.

 The problem is that they’re shooting to stun, and Fox’s men are shooting to kill.  Rex takes a blaster to the shoulder that’s almost blindingly painful, and he thinks he saw Kix take one to the thigh earlier but there hasn’t been time to stop and check, and he’s keeping up well enough.

 They’re almost to the right cell block when he gets an inkling something’s wrong.  There aren’t enough guards here, not for a prisoner as high profile and dangerous as Ahsoka; no for a prisoner who’s already tried to escape once.  

 He ignores it, though, ignores the dread creeping through his body like he had on Umbara before it all went to shit.  Fives can feel it too, he knows; sees it in the way his brother keeps eying every corner like its hiding a trap for them.

 “This is it!” Jesse yells, gesturing to the door.  The ray shields are still active, so they all turn to cover him as he yanks open the panel to splice it open; they weren’t able to get ahold of the new codes in time.

 None of them think to check the cell before it’s open, and Rex feels shock start to kick in as they see who’s inside.

 Senator Amidala, of all people, is collapsed in the middle of the cell with tears streaming down her face, shaking her head.  Rex takes in the stealthwear she’s in, the open grate in the ceiling, the device on her belt, and has an inkling of what’s just happened.

 “She’s… she’s already gone,” the senator gets out, her voice hitching with grief, and Rex closes his eyes in resignation.

 “She could still be in the facility,” Fives says, his tone dull.  

 They’re all silent for a moment, until Trapper calls from outside the cell.  “We’ve got incoming, maybe thirty seconds.  Whatever we’re gonna do, we’ll have to do it fast.”

 It’s Appo who speaks up. “I’m not giving up yet; not without a fight.”  The steel in his voice makes them all straighten their shoulders, and he sees the Senator take a deep breath.

 “Let’s go, then,” she says, pulling herself to her feet and drawing a diplomat’s pistol out of nowhere.

 “Senator,” Rex says haltingly, before seeing the look in her eyes.  

 “We don’t have time for this! If we’re gonna go, it has to be now!” Trapper yells again.

 The senator races out ahead of them and they fall in around her.  Appo memorized the way to the execution site, just in case, but they’d all hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.  They should have known better.  Known it wouldn’t be that easy.

 Fox’s men are two corridors over, waiting for them.  Senator Amidala ducks easily back behind the corner and starts taking shots at them, and they all do the same, but at this point they all know it’s an empty gesture.

 They’re out of time.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ahsoka breathes in. Steps. Breathes out.  Steps.  Sees her friends racing to save her, failing, falling.  Love, a voice inside her whispers. Attachment, says another.  

 Unconditional, murmurs the first one, and it sounds like Anakin.  She knows now, she loves him.  Loves all of them, unconditionally, and it hurts so much that for a moment she can’t breathe; she almost loses her focus.

 There is no emotion, there is peace.  She breathes in.  Steps. Breathes out, and releases her emotions into the Force: the fear of dying, the anger at the Order, at the Republic, the pain of losing all of them.  

 Breathes in.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.  Ahsoka Sees, she knows; they all tried to come for her, all tried to save her; they did everything they could, and it eases her mind.

 Breathes out.

 There is no passion, there is serenity.  It hurts to let go of this, but it’s easier now than it was before.  She offers her passion for the Republic that failed her, for the people she tried to protect, and for the Order that had been her whole life, to the Force, trusting that none of these will fall without her when she’s gone.  It whisks them away, leaving her mind clearer than before, offering her strength to go on in return.

 Breathes in. Steps.  Breathes out.  Steps.

 There is no chaos, there is harmony. The troopers force her into position in front of the wall and she kneels gracefully, resting her hands on her thighs and feeling the Force settle around her; it swirls as it always does, caught in the gravity of every living thing, before settling into a more solid presence.  Something warm, and comforting; fierce, protective, loving.  Light.

 Ahsoka feels Force binding them all together: Master Plo stands over Bariss, his lightsaber pointed down; Padmé and Rex relentlessly fight to reach her in time; Obi-wan steps into the other side of the execution chamber, close enough to shout to her;

 Anakin, flying as fast as he can to reach her in time.

 Anakin, she thinks.  Skyguy.  I love you, Master.

 Daughter, the Force murmurs to her.  Come with me.

 There is no death, there is the Force.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Obi-wan reaches his hand out to Ahsoka where she kneels in front of the clones as they prepare to fire.

 “NO!” he shouts, pushing at her executioners with the Force, but he’s too late.  The first shot strikes her right between her ribs; the second in her stomach;

 The third goes through her heart and time slows as she collapses to the ground, her presence in the Force dissipating into nothingness.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Yoda clutches at his chest as the Force screams at him, at all of them.  The younglings around him begin to cry out, confused and hurt, but it is Master Plo who whispers “No,” and collapses to the ground, bracing himself against it.

 Bariss trembles with fear, and anger, and confusion; when Master Plo asks bitterly, “Is this what you wanted, Padawan?”, tears slowly drip down her face.

 “N–no,” she heaves, shaking her head frantically.  “This is what I wanted at all.”

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Ventress feels the Force surge with the anger of a thousand Jedi and bows her head, letting her own join their chorus.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Padmé rushes into the chamber with the squad of clones behind her and stutters to a halt.

 There are still bodies scattered about the room, unmoving, and Obi-wan sits in the center of it all gently cradling Ahsoka’s head in his lap.  

 She distantly feels her weapon slide out of her hand and onto the floor, but it doesn’t matter. Her footsteps are muffled over the roaring in her ears as she makes her way over to Obi-wan and collapses next to him, reaching out a hand to Ahsoka’s face.

 “We were too late,” Obi-wan says thickly, and Padmé bows her head until it rests on Ahsoka’s chest and sobs.

 ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 Anakin clutches the arms of his chair tightly, letting Artoo pilot back because he doesn’t trust himself, not now.

 Anakin. Ahsoka’s voice sounds in his head like they’re in the same room, like they’re right next to each other, not half a galaxy apart.

 He bolts out of his chair. Ahsoka? He calls back.

 Skyguy, she says, and he feels something in his chest shatter. Snips, he says desperately.  Snips, please.

 I love you, Master.

 I love you, too, so much; just hold on, Ahsoka, hold–

 Their training bond snaps and Anakin collapses, falling to the floor of the ship.  He feels her die, feels something in his heart burn and he screams.  He screams and the Force explodes around him, sending waves of anger through it.

 He screams and the ship begins to vibrate as he loses control, Artoo rolling up behind him to ask what’s wrong before the ship suddenly drops out of hyperspace, unable to withstand his loss of control.

 The ship loses power and Anakin lies there, screaming at the absence in his head where his Padawan used to be.

 I thought we had more time, he thinks blindly.  Ahsoka, please, come back.  I’m sorry, I should have been there, I’m so sorry I–

 I thought we had more time.

[deltaengineering]

spring anime 2017 part 2: girlfriendship is magic

I can’t believe Maidragon was so powerful it brought the entire 90s back.

See also:

• spring anime 2017 part 1: woke up late

• spring anime 2017 part 3: comfy and easy to wear

• spring anime 2017 bonus round: things you already knew were good

Clockwork Planet

Yes, forecasts this season predict heavy showers of magical girlfriends.This time the dude afflicted by this sudden precipitation is a clockwork nerd, who gets a clockwork gothloli dropped on him. This may be less of a coincidence than it sounds because for spurious reasons the entire planet has been replaced by clockwork – if you thought this show was mentally capable of having a metaphorical title, I have bad news. So basically this is teen schmuck + robot superweapon having fights in a city that looks like a lazy steampunk cosplayer’s top hat, in between erotic misunderstandings. I’m regretting that I called Macchiavellism’s fights bad because a couple good action cuts are already a lot to ask for, as evidenced here: It looks just terrible, and obviously the content itself is even worse. Nuh-uh.

Eromanga-sensei

I love Hiro Kanzaki’s character designs. There, I said it. I just wish they weren’t attached to bullshit like OreImo or Eromanga-sensei, which, being by the same author and all, is more or less the same thing. It’s pretty bad when the implied incest fantasy is the least revolting thing about your celebration of otaku shittery: So a schlubby light novel protagonist who also writes light novels (and who happens to be surrounded by hot bitches that just love people who write light novels because that’s so cool) finds out that the mysterious porn artist he’s collaborating with over the internet is actually his hikkikomori little sister, who reacts to this revelation like any girl would: being tsundere. This means it’s full of mildly self-deprecating nerd humor, the infuriating kind that makes it abundantly clear that if the author meant any of it, he wouldn’t write this crap. Even worse is that the sibling relationship is played for sappy family feels, which I would be more willing to give the benefit of the doubt to if this wasn’t OreImo 2: The Sequel To OreImo. And the main guy can’t keep his eyes from wandering anyway, so it’s not like there’s a mystery here. I’ll say it looks real good, obviously there’s money in the OreImo market and it’s well made as a result, plus the aforementioned character designs. But if I want more Hiro Kanzaki I’d rather watch Go! Go! 575 again.

Hinako Note

There’s actually no Manga Time Kirara adaptation this season, but worry not, Hinako Note is indistinguishable from one of those (that one being GochiUsa). So it’s Kirara at it’s most basic too: 5 girls with mild, generic quirks hang out and cute things take place. You get your shy one, you get your hungry one, you get your tiny maid one, etc. Ostensibly this is theater-themed, but as of episode 1 it’s less about theater than K-ON is about music, and that’s saying something. Now, these shows are always extremely inoffensive by design, and if they do nothing fundamentally wrong they just come across as dull. Since this does nothing fundamentally wrong, it just comes across as dull. Congratulations, Hinako Note, you pulled it off even while being born in the wrong magazine.

Kabukibu!

The easy hook when writing about Kabukibu is that it’s another DEEN show about a classic Japanese performance artform, but it’s blindingly obvious right away that Kabukibu is no Rakugo Shinjuu – it being about a school club is right in the title after all, and it has the requisite spurious punctuation too, so everything else falls into place from there. The main innovation is that this is about cute guys doing cute kabuki. As always, our main dude has to gather the five members to bring the school club back to life first. So it’s unimaginative and honestly rather bad, but I still like it. For starters there’s the bit where our lead is such a nerd that he spends every conversation clearing up common misconceptions about kabuki, which is hilarious, since it resembles weeaboo Richard Stallman wanting to interject for a second over and over again. Secondly, the comical cast of misfits does seem to have potential, with a rock singer that can’t sing, an obvious woman that is actually a woman, and so on. Overall it reminds me of Cheer Danshi, an obvious C-list production that gets by by being earnest. If I can learn to not be annoyed at the yodelling kabuki inflection, I might actually watch this for a lark.

The King’s Avatar

This may be completely outside the “Japanese cartoon” purview of this post since it’s 100% Chinese and doesn’t even have a Japanese dub like the Haoliners productions, but it’s on MAL so it counts I suppose. Also, it’s rather... good? The King’s Avatar is about a legendary MMO pro gamer who gets kicked off his team and has to give up his account, which afflicts him with a multitude of sads. After a bit of soul-searching he starts playing the game again on a new server, starting from level 1. What makes this not as bad as it sounds is that it’s not an isekai bonanza, but a sports show where the sport happens to be visually interesting, and it’s a slow and contemplative sports show at that. The whole “starting from level 1" thing is a topical twist on the sports comeback story, and it looks fairly nice too, a few bits of unfortunate CG aside (but that’s common, so whatever). Yeah, I like this, and if fansubs turn out to not be a huge hassle to get hold of I’ll give it a try.

Love Kome - We Love Rice

Back in Japan, please enjoy this short comedy about rice crop gijinka, boyband edition. It has atrocious character designs and is painfully unfunny. So nothing new there.

Re:Creators

Girlfriends keep falling in my lap, and that might mean my eyes will soon be turning red. Hey, this is the old “reverse isekai”, where some nerd gets to live with a bunch of characters from his favorite anime that inexplicably became real. Brace for domestic hijinks and fish-out-of-water comedy - and a lot of action, because this is Ei Aoki working with offbrand Fate material. He may be this show’s saving grace, because I’m willing to forgive dumb action anime a lot if it at least manages to have some actual fucking action in it. The idea that these anime characters think they’re in the “realm of the gods” (i.e., their creators, you see) also has some storytelling potential, if it doesn’t get buried under stuff blowing up and comedic trips to the konbini. And it doesn’t have a “walking in on the girl naked” scene, which probably counts as “classy” in this field. I don’t know, it sure is stupid as hell but it might be a good time. We’ll see.

Renai Boukun

Renai Boukun is a comedy’s comedy about a very silly cupid that ships people, and herself. As a real anime comedy, it is of course chock full of people acting wacky followed by reaction faces, which is my kryptonite. I do have to admit that this show at least goes all out with it, it’s fast and furious and never lets up. Some of the jokes are even okay (mostly the more absurd ones like the unsettlingly bizarre cat with a human face), though most are just repetitive, like the yandere girl being constantly jealous. Yeah, this is just totally not my thing, but if I give it any amount of praise that probably means it’s a good one?

Seikaisuru Kado

Never say that bureaucrats don’t get no respect, because this is the second season in a row where we get an anime about pencilpushers being totally awesome. The main difference between this and ACCA is that ACCA was roughly 80% style, and Seikaisuru Kado has no style. It makes up for it with conviction, because this is a show where some desk jockey assigned to wind down an electroplating business spends a night googling, with the result being him developing a new electroplating procedure that saves the company and impresses physics professors – and that is the intro before the science fiction aspect comes into play. Oh yeah, there’s a science fiction aspect. So after a job well done, Super Bureaucrat Man is taking a flight from Haneda airport when a Borg cube unceremoniously drops on the plane. The rest of the episode is spent with scientists trying to figure out what happened, mostly by shooting tank shells at the cube and so on. Guess they just aren’t bureaucratic enough, because by the end our hero emerges from the cube, having apparently come to an agreement with the proprietor. Uh. Yes, this is an extreme amount of nonsense, and I have no idea where this is supposed to be going. With the amount of military hardware on display, it makes me think “GATE, but not for total assholes”, but who knows. It looks very weird too, it’s a CG show that cuts a lot of corners by using 2D animation (I know, right?). Usually CG characters are good when you have a lot of action because it enables a fluid camera, but this has no action and they still could have done their special effects in CG like everyone else. So it ends up as an anime where the important characters look worse than the unimportant ones they couldn’t be bothered to build a CG model for. The whole thing is bizarre enough to be intriguing, but I don’t have high hopes for it, especially since the slots for shows I actually want to watch are now filling up.

Tsuki ga Kirei

Case in point: Tsuki ga Kirei is a romance about a bookish nerd dude who loves to quote Dazai at his most morose, and a neurotic girl. Needless to say, it is very awkward, but also kind of cute. This may seem like a slim synopsis, but that’s pretty much it: Tsuki ga Kirei is the sort of show that has the potential to be great if it pays off, but just becomes boring to infuriating Mari Okada clone #3879435 if it doesn’t. So it’s a risky proposition, and not one you can call based on the first episode. On the execution level it seems to do it right so far, it’s well directed, sticks to its slow, sensitive tone and looks pleasant and detailed – the only distracting thing are regrettable and robotic CG background characters all over the place. Overall, this is a show that demands at least three episodes, which it will get from me. Ask again later.

Twin Angel BREAK

Finally, if you’re looking for some basic-ass mahou shoujo shit, here’s the new Twin Angel spinoff. It’s indeed some basic-ass mahou shoujo shit (two-girl team aka PreCure version). The genki red one and the reserved blue one go around fighting evil by the moonlight or whatever, while being cheered on by their one-gimmick-each friends. I somehow doubt this thing is setting itself up for a subversion of any kind, so yeah. What you see is what you get. The only memorable thing is that the action is more than merely bad here, it’s comically bad. Seriously, it’s somewhere between Astro Fighter Sunred and Ninja Slayer. Too bad the rest of the show is just unambitiously competent, so watching it for production pratfalls seems like it’s not worth it either.