#so i counted and this is almost eight years of catharsis

[haloburns]

ectoblastfromthepast fanfic review 2022

oh man this was a big writing year. i published more than double what the last eight years on ao3, and i've written probably about an extra 100k that i haven't/cant be published yet. dove into two big phandom events this year (phic phight and invisobang) and wrote almost 90k for each. got burnt out from those and struggled to finish the year strong, but was able to post some stuff in december anyway!

Fic Count: 42 new, 1 carried over Overall Word Count: 369,436 Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Wynonna Earp and Charmed (crossovers with DP), Percy Jackson, and Bones

1. totally worth it

Fandom: Percy Jackson Pairing: Percy/Annabeth (Percabeth) Rating: G Total Word Count: 171 words Completion Date: 03-09-2022 Notes: I wrote this when i was working on fluff practice for ghost light, and a friend of mine asked for this. first and only PJO fic so far, but it's cute and dumb and i like it a lot. this is the shortest thing i wrote this year!

2. it never hurt like this before (and now it's too late to lie)

Fandom: Bones (2005) Pairing: Temperance Brennan & Angela Montenegro Rating: G Total Word Count: 862 words Completion Date: 03-07-2022 Notes: Also a first and only for this fandom. Rewatched the show, and there's an episode where Bones, the MC, sees too much of herself in their case and it kinda fucks her up. She tells her partner, Booth, she loves him. But he's already in a relationship, so he gently turns her down. the episode ends with her leaving and crying, and i wanted her to have some catharsis. the idea stuck with me and i wrote it pretty much in one sitting.

Danny Phantom Works (under the cut because... well... y'all know lmao)

3. when you sneeze so hard you accidentally half-die in front of your boyfriend for the first time

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar (OC) Rating: G Total Word Count: 297 words Completion Date: 05-02-2022 Notes: I was in the midst of allergy season and i was very angry abt it so i took it out on my blorbos lmao my original end fic note: "but no literally im posting this waiting on my inhaler for my allergies by my entire state is trying to kill me. fuck kentucky, fuck maple trees in particular, and fuck myalgic encephalomyelitis 😭 there's so much pollen on my car 😭😭😭"

4. something's not quite right...

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 501 words Completion Date: 10-04-2022 Notes: This is an Ectober prompt fill, and it fills in a chronological gap leading up to my invisobang. I had a lot of fun writing CW's pov and in present tense, something i don't do often.

5. second death by allergy attack

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,024 words Completion Date: 10-22-2022 Notes: I promise i wasn't still having allergy issues by this point lmao this is an ancient wip i had that i started back in my early fandom days but never finished. the idea is gone, my notes are incomprehensible, so i cleaned it up and posted what i had! it's a non-au work, one of very few i posted this year

6. sin fransisco (dp x charmed)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: Teen Total Word Count: 1,107 words Completion Date: Started 06-17-2022, WIP Notes: This fic I started bc I'd been toying with a Charmed/AU crossover for a while (still angling for a buffy one...) and the Charmed episode of the same title proved the perfect opportunity. had to figure shit out and it's been stalled in limbo as more important/deadline sensitive fics came to the forefront. I have another 2k written, but it's not ready for publishing

7. teach me how to fight

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: Teen Total Word Count: 1,206 words Completion Date: 10-05-2022 Notes: Another Ectober prompt fill, this one is a really cute fighting practice between Danny and Teo after the events of Invisobang. Surprisingly stayed very SFW, even though this could easily stray into NSFW territory lmao

8. love at first fight

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom (Pitch Pearl) Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,244 words Completion Date: 09-21-2022 Notes: This is a pitch pearl coffee shop enemies to lovers au that i started with Trance and Emeralds it has been SO MUCH FUN. i love this fic. this is the meet cute in the Perky Beans Cafe AU

9. the last night of sadness (it was clear he couldn't go on)

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,441 words Completion Date: 10-06-2022 Notes: JOAN MY BELOVED i wrote this fic for Ectober, it's an outsider POV for my invisobang with an OC i created. she's a medium that isn't aware of that, and she and danny become friends later on. it's very good and emotional, and the writing style was a lot more fun to mess around with in something that wasn't majorly important to the AU but still fun to write

10. one... two... wait, how many are there?

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,608 words Completion Date: 04-30-2022 Notes: PHIC PHIGHT BABEY. i woke up on the last day of phight with this idea in my head. it's little, and it's mostly just filler in around the series, but i love it so much. dan is babey

11. walk the white line at midnight (dp x wynonna earp)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom (Pitch Pearl) Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,667 words Completion Date: 09-10-2022 Notes: another pitch pearl fic based on my favorite other show wynonna earp. danny is wynonna, and phantom is doc holliday. i want to do more with this au but it takes time to translate it and mix the two

12. you’re the best thing to happen to me

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,780 words Completion Date: 11-22-2022 Notes: i wrote this as a tumblr prompt i think a year before i published this as fluff practice. then i realized i could actually make it fit properly in the au and brushed it off and dusted it up so it was suitable for the AU. it's very cute

13. hold onto me

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,793 words Completion Date: 10-02-2022 Notes: this is a shiptember prompt and it was basically an excuse to write danny taking care of mateo. i write a lot of mateo taking care of danny, and i decided it was time to turn the tables.

14. with every sin, i still wanna be holy

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 1,926 words Completion Date: 12-16-2022 Notes: This one is a set of notes, no actual prose, that Dan sends to the people he wants to make amends to. It also has pictures on the notes that I've drawn in addition to the writing

15. by all means i'm gettin' mad (that don't mean i don't feel sorry for you)

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 2,288 words Completion Date: 10-10-2022 Notes: Another Dan fic, where Danny goes to talk to him about his sentence post-invisobang, and the tenuous relationship they start to build. I loved writing this one, I love Dan 💖

16. feed the boy (like and subscribe!)

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 2,663 words Completion Date: 04-21-2022 Notes: Phic Phight! Danny has to eat fear, and they find a fun way to do it. Involves pranking Wes and teenage shenanigans, which are always the best

17. my resistance was once much stronger (i can't go on like this much longer)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 2,694 words Completion Date: Started 10-23-2022, WIP Notes: this is one of the last pieces for the "this is the road to ruin" arc, the last big one. i'm very very excited to finish this

18. heaven's grief brings hell's reign

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo AguilarRating: T (eventually E) Total Word Count: 2,860 words Completion Date: Started 09-25-2022, WIP Notes: This fic has been fighting me forever, I wanted to finish it before the year was up but I did not. It's the smut. Soft smut is not my forte apparently

19. see the lightning in your eyes

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 2,964 words Completion Date: 04-27-2022 Notes: a phic phight prompt i LOVE. lost time my beloved 💖

20. you better promise me i'll be back in time

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 2,990 words Completion Date: Started 04-27-2022, WIP Notes: another phic phight, and this is one i'm so eager to continue. i've started chapter two, i just haven't finished it yet!

21. morning adrenaline rush

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 3,397 words Completion Date: 09-05-2022 Notes: A continuation of "i'm not okay (i promise)" that didn't fit in the story but I wanted to tell so badly

22. i tried hard to make it inside your arms alive

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 4,050 words Completion Date: 10-14-2022 Notes: ohhhhhh this one is so good. it's mateo's pov of what happens in "this is the road to ruin" at the end and... man. it's hard. it's very emo and i love it. good angst.

23. does anyone in this house knock?!

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 4,156 words Completion Date: 04-21-2022 Notes: a lovely Good Fenton Parents fic post-reveal from Phic Phight. i love this fic so much. the first one is soft and sad and sweet, and the second one is funny and sweet

24. new kinds of firsts

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 4,387 words Completion Date: 09-27-2022 Notes: Writing Danny and Mateo's first date after everything theyve been through was so much fucking fun. They're so cute and stupid, i love them

25. decaf to fenton, we have a problem

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 4,599 words Completion Date: 04-30-2022 Notes: I recently reread this fic from Phight and oh man. oh man it's good. and so funny.

26. sore loser

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: E Total Word Count: 5,024 words Completion Date: 09-30-2022 Notes: this is purely indulgent smut with zero plot whatsoever. i'm very proud of it. it's the first kinky thing i've posted which took a lot of courage. i worked on it for months before finally posting

27. four years, that's all you've got to endure

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 5,118 words Completion Date: 02-12-2022 Notes: Swore to the gods I wrote this in 2021... turns out i did not! i want to do more high school shenanigans with danny and the gang, but i gotta think up some first...

28. slip through my fingers

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom (Pitch Pearl) Rating: G Total Word Count: 6,356 words Completion Date: 11-20-2022 Notes: part three of the coffee shop au!! i love this one so much. the chase??? gods, i love that trope. i really need to finish the next part of this...

29. a christmas surprise

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 6,447 words Completion Date: Started 12-26-2022, WIPNotes: I am literally the worst at finishing holiday fics on time. a hallmark ghost light au i have YET to complete.

30. in the shadow of your heart

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 6,609 words Completion Date: Started 06-18-2022, WIP Notes: This is a self-indulgent Atlantis au i have also yet to finish. me?? starting fics i never finish??? neverrrr

31. when the nightmare fades

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T 2022 Word Count: 6,105 words Total Word Count: 7,014 words Completion Date: 05-26-2022 Notes: I started this way back in like. november of '21, when i started the series. but it took me six more months for canon to catch up so i could finish it. and the last three chapters changed so drastically from beginning to end... man. it feels like it took forever, but i really only took six months??? wild

32. longer than the song of the whippoorwill

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: E Total Word Count: 7,244 words Completion Date: 07-27-2022 Notes: this is the first smut of the series!! my favorite bookmark comment on the series actually relates to this one. its something like "the tags say there is pornfic. i do not see it. maybe ao3 is bugging. EDIT 7/27: FOUND IT!" it cracks me up every time. do they enjoy the pornfic or are they enraged??? i will never know also it's got actual plot in it so i was more comfortable posting it first than say... sore loser that has 0 plot and is literally just smutty

33. nine and a half lives

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 8,804 words Completion Date: 04-18-2022 Notes: THIS IS MY FAVORITE PHIC PHIGHT PROMPT EVER. KITTEN!DANNY. WHOEVER CAME UP WITH THAT (wait i thInk it was catmiint. my beloved.) IS THE BEST. IT ALSO HAS DOOFENSCHMIRTZ IN IT BECAUSE I COULDNT HELP MYSELF (yes u read that correctly. THAT doofenschmirtz)

34. against doctor's orders

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 9,976 words Completion Date: 07-14-2022 Notes: I also really love this one. kinda plot-adjacent but mostly Relationship Stuff, talking and smooching. it's great. i get to flesh out my other OCs too which is fun

35. i fought you for so long (i should have let you in)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Valerie Gray Rating: G Total Word Count: 11,740 words Completion Date: 04-07-2022 Notes: What's this?! a gray ghost fic?! yeah, its a phic phight prompt and i love it. its got some great textures, and it was a lot of fun to write in val's pov for a little bit

36. such a big, big world (and only the tools to deal with a tiny portion of it)

Pairing: None (hints at Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: G Total Word Count: 11,809 words Completion Date: 04-30-2022 Notes: big thanks to bib again for this title, it's literally one of my favorites. this whole thing is great, it's mostly the OCs talking about danny and his weirdness in the early school months. did i use phic phight to flesh out my au a little more?? yes, yes i did (and i'm sure annoyed people endlessly. oh well.)

37. hey, dad, look at me, did i grow up according to plan?

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 11,847 words Completion Date: 04-18-2022 Notes: good (learning) parents fenton!! this follows immediately after my version of phantom planet where danny only reveals himself to his parents, and this is their reactions. the kitchen chapter is my favorite.

38. wait til the day you finally see (i've been here waiting patiently)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/OC Tony, Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 11,958 words Completion Date: 10-23-2022 Notes: *vibrates out of my chair* this one is a whim fic (yes almost all 12k) bc of a weird throwaway line in an earlier fic and i couldnt help but make mateo a little jealous of tony. and then proceed to write 12, angsty, angsty k about it. that last chapter is so fucking good, yall can thank dream_trance for that one. its one of his ideas given extra spicy life

39. and they were history project partners

Pairing: None Rating: G Total Word Count: 17,278 words Completion Date: 04-30-2022 Notes: (i finished so many phics 4-30...) Dunno what it was about phic phight but I think i wrote two wes-related fics??? i either wrote Srs fics or Meme Fics, it seems. (wes is always a meme) but this one is one of my best. i also have a UFS version planned for. eventually. maybe.

40. quit telling everyone i'm (permanently) dead!

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: M Total Word Count: 23,607 words Completion Date: Started , WIP Notes: I AM SO MAD I DIDN'T FINISH THIS ONE BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR. listen. i worked my ass off. but then the boys decided on drama, and then i went back to work.... i'm almost done though. only an extra 6k hanging around........ :sob:

41. it's just another day without you (and i can't sleep)

Pairing: eventual Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 37,175 words Completion Date: 01-29-2022 Notes: i'm SUPER proud of this one, especially because i fucked around with narrative stuff, but i think its too subtle to be noticeable... still love it tho.

42. i'm not okay (i promise)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: T Total Word Count: 38,838 words Completion Date: 05-08-2022 Notes: another proud baby. the culmination (kind of) of months of planning and many, many rewrites. i think i was working on this one in tandem with phic phight, actually...

43. this is the road to ruin (and we started at the end)

Pairing: Danny Fenton/Mateo Aguilar Rating: M Total Word Count: 88,917 words Completion Date: Notes: …my four biggest works can literally be summed up "i cause danny and mateo excessive amounts of angst and pain for fun." MY INVISOBANG. MY BELOVED. LOOK AT IT. I SPENT ALMOST NINE MONTHS ON THIS FUCKER. IT IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. I CAN SCREAM ABOUT THIS FOREVER. LOOK AT THAT WORD COUNT. literally one of the first fics i thought of for the au, and i posted it over a year later. (got the idea in sept. '21, i finished publishing like... two days shy of an exact year.)

Man... this last year was a WILD writing year. and this is just what i published. y'all should see my wips.

[pookha]

Two Weddings, One Showdown, One Engagement

M rated for Graphic Violence, Major Character Death

Eight years after the events of 'No tengo las llaves,' Luz is the new Golden Guard, chosen by the Council of Covens. At Amity and Luz's wedding, one of the Collector's parents returns the trap that the Collector took containing Hunter...and Belos.

This story is partly explaining what happens after my Vee/Masha story 'No tengo las llaves,' so if you haven't read that, some of this may make no sense. It was suggested to me that there may be a Christmas miracle to return Hunter and I decided, yeah, why not. Also, catharsis.

Masha moved the flap and peeked into the tent. Vee was just visible in their basilisk form, arms gesticulating wildly at three small, identical, bright red demons with what Masha now knew to be Baker’s Coven sigils on their wrists. They looked like popular culture drawings of Satan; red, forked tail, cloven hooves, but only three feet tall. The cake they stood in front of was shaped like a tree with a thick, twisted trunk and very bright pink leaves on its branches. It was taller than the demons

“If you drop that cake, I’ll make sure to suck out all of your magic!” Vee yelled at the demon on the left, who responded by blowing a raspberry, its long tongue reached all the way out to touch its nose and descended to well below its chin.

“Don’t get any spit on it either,” Vee said to the other demons, who nodded.

“Yes, Ms. Vee.” He nudged the raspberry blower. They lifted the large, tree-shaped cake over their heads and ran off with it at top speed. Masha opened the tent flap for them just in time before they dragged the icing into it.

Vee muttered to themself under their breath; Masha could see them counting to ten in their head. When they’d finished, Masha spoke up.

“It’s almost time, love. Are you ready to go?”

Vee turned, their face fell into a wide smile at the sight of their betrothed. Soon,  both of Camila’s children would be married: Luz today and Vee in…They counted…six weeks! They shifted into their preferred human shape. Masha held up a compact mirror they took from a pocket in their dress and helped them adjust Vee’s ‘dress’ to the proper color to match the leaf-pink of the other bridal attendants.

“You’re beautiful, love,” Masha told them, then leaned forward and kissed them. Vee kissed them back lightly, afraid to smear Masha’s bright blue lipstick. They wore a pastel green dress that complemented the pink that Vee wore. Their dark bobbed hair shone glossily as they moved in the light.

“We better go,” Vee said. They took Masha’s hand and went to the bridal tent.

Luz was inside, looking panicked. Camila was telling her that everything was going to be fine and it was all okay. Luz saw Vee and grinned.

“We were just going to send someone to check on you.” Luz’s whole face twitched as they heard Amity’s voice in another partition in the tent.

“No! The tieback goes further down, Emira!” Amity shouted.

Even through the canvas, they could all hear Emira’s sigh.

“I know, I’m just moving your hair up to get it there; calm down.”

“Ugh, it was those little demons from the Baker’s coven that they made me collaborate with. They’re good, but they drive me crazy,” Vee said.

Luz laughed and then so did Camila.

“Yeah, they’re a bit…” Luz trailed off.

“A bit,” Masha said wryly to their future sister-in-law.

Luz laughed again, this time a genuine one.

“How long?” Luz asked.

“Now,” Eda’s voice came from the entrance. Vee turned and looked at Eda, always surprised at how tall she was and how fierce she was. Her silver prosthetic arm shone brightly and the talon-like fingers it ended in twitched.

“Now?” Luz squeaked.

“Now,” Camila said, and led Luz out. Willow and Gus were waiting just outside the tent. Willow wore a dress just like the one that Vee ‘wore’  and Gus looked dapper in a sharp, human-style black suit with a green tie. Camila took Luz’s arm and half-dragged her out of the tent. Just a few feet away, Amity emerged from the tent’s other room. Edric and Emira walked out right behind them. Emira had the same dress as Willow and Vee, and Edric shifted uncomfortably in his suit.

Vee heard Masha’s intake of breath at Amity. She wore a frothy, white, traditionally human wedding dress. Camila had said it was a Vera Wang and was very expensive. It looked expensive , in all the ways that meant it fit perfectly and the pearl buttons shone with just the right iridescence, mimicking the pink dresses of the attendants. Her natural brown hair was tied back and it fell over her shoulders where it shone glossily in the midday sun.

Luz met Amity’s eye and they both smiled. Alador appeared from around the corner, looking unrumpled for the first time that Vee had ever seen. When he actually stood up straight, he was quite tall, almost as tall as Eda, at least before she put on heels. Eda had flatly refused the pink dress and wore a tight red dress.

But, Vee thought Luz was the showstopper in what Vee would have called a tuxedo-skirt. The frilly white button-down shirt with pearl buttons matched Amity’s dress, but the black of the long skirt, vest and jacket matched the male attendants. A pink cumberbund finished the tuxedo-skirt. Luz’s long, black hair was tied up under a snood with green gems on the netting (real, Eda had said, although when pressed on where they came from, she changed the subject).

Neither Amity or Luz wore shoes and they both wiggled their toes on the grass.

Alador took Amity’s arm in his and Camila did the same with Luz. They walked side by side to the tree that matched the cake; the Grom tree, Luz had explained to them. Both Masha and Vee were in tears when she was done explaining that it had been her and Amity’s first dance. Masha had become a lot more comfortable showing emotion after being with Vee so long.

Willow, Gus and Vee trailed behind Luz, while Emira and Edric walked behind Amity. Masha made their way to their seat in the front row of the Noceda side. Just five seats in the front row for Camila, Eda, Lilith (with Hooty, who horrified Masha, in a backpack/box under her seat), Vee and Masha (Vee’s plus-one and soon-to-be spouse). Eda sat down in the front row next to Lilith. Camila walked Luz to the base of the tree, then came back walking next to Alador who smiled at her from the side of his mouth. Before they sat down, he hugged Camila and whispered something to her that made her grin. Camila sat down next to Eda and left an empty seat for Vee next to Masha.

On the other side, Alador sat down with four empty seats next to him. After Luz and Amity met under the base of the tree, they faced each other and took each other’s hands in an X, with Amity’s right hand in Luz’s and their left hands together. Willow took a long blue ribbon and looped it over their joined hands. Then Emira, Edric, Gus and finally Vee came forward and put another loop over them. They all turned and went to their empty seats. Darius leaned forward from the row behind Alador and kissed him behind the ear. He started to pull back, but Alador pulled him forward and gave him a much better kiss. Emira elbowed her dad and he turned his attention back to the ceremony.

King stepped from where he’d been behind the tree. He’d grown tremendously in the last eight years. Now twelve feet tall and correspondingly broad, but light-footed as he stood next to Luz and Amity. Luz mouthed, ‘I love you, little brother,’ at him.

Raine walked carefully from behind the tree coming around the opposite way from King. They moved slowly on their cane. Eda started to get up to help them, but Raine glared at her and she stopped. Raine stood in front of Luz and Amity and faced the crowd. It was filled with former students and friends from Hexside, the coven leaders, and family. In the back, the Bat Queen stood, watching over everyone. All the Palismen had paid her a visit when they saw her and then returned to their witches.

“We have come here today to witness the joining of Luz Noceda and Amity Blight in marriage.” Raine’s trained voice rang clearly over the now silent crowd; there was no stage fright here today.

“Luz and Amity are taking on one the sacred rites of the Titan: marriage. In the presence of the Titan.” He looked at King, who smiled hugely. Tears welled in King’s eyes.

“In the presence of the Titan and all gathered, Luz and Amity join their families. Human and witch: even worlds will be joined.”

“If there are any who object…”

They paused.

“If there are any who object, then keep it to yourself,” they said, and it sounded much more dangerous than any thought possible with Raine’s quiet voice.

“Luz, do you take Amity Blight to be your wife: in sickness and health, all the days of your life?”

“I do!” Luz declared in a clear, bright voice.

“Amity, do you take Luz Noceda to be your wife: in sickness and health, all the days of your life?”

“I do,” Amity said quietly, but clearly.

“The Titan witnesses your vows and binds them.”

King leaned forward and tied the cord that bound their hands.

“With this knot, you pledge your troth to your beloved. With this knot, you are tied to the destiny of your beloved. With this knot, you are wed until the end of days.”

King said his piece and stepped back. As he did, the cord slowly seeped into their arms, becoming a tattoo of the cord that bound them. They both gasped as they felt the magic of it. With their hands released from the knot, Luz reached into her bodice and pulled out a ring on a chain. She fumbled with a moment until Amity’s hands steadied hers. Everyone heard Luz’s relieved sigh. Luz finally got the chain unsnapped and put the ring on Amity’s finger.

“Pockets, Luz, you have pockets,” Amity said, laughing as they reached into a hidden pocket on their dress and pulled out a ring. They put it on Luz’s finger.

“I present to you Mrs Luz Blight-Noceda and Mrs Amity Blight-Noceda.”

Raine stepped back, leaning on their cane.

Amity leaned in first and kissed Luz. When their lips met, all the leaves on the tree turned into butterflies and flew off in a pink storm. The kiss continued just a moment past propriety as a good wedding kiss often does.

“Wow! Did you do that?” Luz asked Amity, who shook her head.

Willow elbowed Gus who shook his head, too, his eyes wide.

They walked back down the aisle. When they passed the front row, all their family came behind them, then their friends. Luz and Amity greeted them all in a reception line with many hugs, kisses and tears. Eda and Raine brought up the last few. After a kiss and a hug each, Eda said loudly, “Time for Cake and punch!”

Luz sat down at a large table with Amity at her side. Camila flanked Luz with an empty place setting and a card that said ‘Manny.’ Amity had said it was tradition to set a place at the table for loved ones who couldn’t make it. Luz had noticed that Amity hadn’t wanted one for Odalia, and she hadn’t pressed the issue. At the next table over between Gus and Willow there was a card titled ‘Hunter.’

Amity whispered something to Luz, who got up and went to Willow. When she returned to the table, she had a beautiful bouquet of flowers: red roses, pink carnations, lily of the valley and a mix of flowers from the Boiling Isles. She stood at the head of the table and spoke.

“Amity just reminded me that we almost forgot a human tradition. In the Human Realm, the bride will throw her bouquet over her shoulder and the person who catches it is the next to be married. I don’t plan to throw it here, since I know my sibling, Vee, is going to be married in six weeks.”

She walked around the table to Vee, who stood as she approached. Luz held out the bouquet to Vee, but Vee swept her into a huge hug. Masha was the only one who heard Vee say, “I love you,” to Luz. Luz pushed Vee back and put the bouquet in their hands to a huge roar of applause from the assembly.

Vee sat back down and held the bouquet between themself and Masha. They both sniffed it thoughtfully as Eda started the toasts with an embarrassing story about Luz. Everyone laughed and then Alador was up and telling everyone how Amity came by the nickname ‘Mittens’. Willow told a story of discovering herself from listening to her human friend and  then coming back to a lost friendship with Amity; it brought people to tears.

King went last, and told how Luz had been there for him. Ever since she came to the Boiling Isles, she loved and supported him. She was the one who found out he was a Titan; she was the one who found out about the Day of Unity and tried to stop it; she was the one who would always do what was right.

“The Good Witch Luz, the Protector of the Boiling Isles, and the Golden Guard. These are all her titles, but the most important one to me is: sister.”

Great tears fell from his eyes. He wiped them with the back of a hand, swept Luz and Amity both off their seats into a hug, lifting them to his eye level and then setting them back gently.

Vee snapped their fingers and the three Baker’s Coven demons lifted the Grom-Tree cake from its table and ran with it to the brides’ table. Vee held their breath as they set it down, ever so gently. Amity lifted the cake server and delicately cut a piece from the base. She lifted it onto a plate and handed it to Luz. Luz did the same for Amity. They each took a bite and then fed a bite to the other (and didn’t smash it into each other’s face, despite Eda’s urgings to). They sat down and the three demons from the Baker’s Coven started slicing the cake with precision; each of the pieces were the same size, which should have been impossible given that the cake wasn’t symmetrical. The demons squinted, and suddenly there were six of them, then twelve thirteen. (Vee always counted thirteen, but the demons insisted there were only twelve of them; it always kind of broke Vee's mind to think about.) The twelve thirteen demons each grabbed a slice of cake and ran to the other tables, and soon everyone was served.

After the cake, the demons waited on the tables and provided other food. Luz, Camila and Masha got food that Vee had made and the demons and witches got food that had been catered by the demons. Vee and the Baker’s Coven demons kept an eye on how people were doing and refreshed plates or drinks as needed. Wine and apple blood flowed and as people finished their meals, the noise level rose. At a gesture from Vee, the Baker’s Coven demons began clearing plates and folding tables down. They took the folded tables and interlocked them on the ground into a large dance floor near the Grom tree.

Raine sat down near the dance floor, snapped their fingers and their violin appeared. Luz and Amity stood up from their table and everyone else seated there followed suit. The demons cleared that last table.

Luz and Amity walked to the middle of the dance floor. Gus spotlighted them and Raine began to play. 

The song was simple and beautiful; Amity and Luz danced cheek to cheek. Vee noticed that they took turns leading and smiled. Only the students who’d been there, and Eda and King, would know that it was a variation on their first dance together at Grom. They finished in perfect timing to Raine’s playing. The Grom tree, which had been bare just a moment before, suddenly burst back into bright pink leaf.

“Did you do that?” Vee heard Gus whisper to Willow, who shook her head.

Raine started up a lively reel and the dance floor got very crowded very quickly. Masha dragged Vee out to dance, always surprised they were reluctant because Vee danced like they were born to it. Masha had trained for weeks before the wedding so they wouldn’t embarrass themself. When the song was done, Raine played another fast reel, then a slow song. When they took a break, Skara stepped off the dance floor with her date. He conjured a bodhrán and Skara a small pipe. They played several lively jigs and reels and when she wasn’t playing, Skara sang with the voice of an angel. As the last note from her pipe trailed off, the crowd applauded. Raine took their seat back and Eda stood behind them. They both looked rumpled and mussed and there was a definite smear of her lipstick on their neck.

Masha danced until their feet felt like they were going to fall off and took a seat. Vee continued to dance with a variety of partners, including once with the three Baker’s Coven demons dancing a complicated quadrille with Gus, Willow, Luz and Amity. Luz and Gus looked lost, but Willow, Vee and the demons led them through it. Masha laughed and clapped when they were done. Vee came and sat next to them, and surprised them by giving them a big sloppy kiss. Vee usually didn’t do public displays of affection.

“Are you drunk?” Masha asked.

“Maybe,” Vee said.

“How?” Alcohol had no effect on Vee; the only time Vee had been drunk before was when they’d drank a few drops of Titan’s blood.

“I dunno,” Vee said a little louder than normal.

“I think it’s me,” King's voice came deeply from behind them.

They both turned. He knelt behind them and put a large hand on each of them.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to come to your wedding in the Human Realm, but if there’s anything I can do for you, or any gift you would like; please let Eda know and she’ll pass the message to me.”

Vee stood up and would have fallen over if Masha hadn’t caught them.

“You're my brother, too,” Vee slurred and hugged King’s leg.

“I better go,” King said. He pried Vee off his leg.

“I love you! Que lindo! ” Vee shouted at his retreating back. Vee sat back down and put their head between their legs.

“Ugh,” they said.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Masha said and got up. They walked to the refreshment table and got a glass of water. When they came back, Vee was in their basilisk form and stretched out on the ground, their eyes unfocused. Masha made them drink the water, then shook the glass when it was empty. It refilled magically and Masha made Vee drink two more glasses, then sat down and stroked their back. The crowd began to thin as people left. Finally, Raine, Skara and her date played a longing song to finish the dancing. Camila was the last to leave the dance floor with Alador. Darius met them and took Alador’s hand, obviously claiming him. Camila laughed and patted Darius’s cheek. Her cheeks were flushed and Masha wondered if she was drunk, too.

Amity and Luz were just starting to say their goodbyes to go on their honeymoon when a bright light filled the sky. A shooting star flew low from over the horizon to hover just above the dance floor. It trailed sparks behind it that threatened to light the Grom tree on fire, but instead passed harmlessly through the leaves.

“Oh no!” Camila shouted.

“It’s the Collector!” Luz yelled. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her winged snake Palisman.

“Quetzal!” she shouted.

Its tongue flicked as it came to life. It undulated and a staff appeared, with the snake twined around it. Luz snapped her fingers and the Golden Guard mask appeared; it no longer covered the whole face, and was more like an open-faced helmet now with a long nasal guard and heavy brow ridges. A white cloak snapped into place from nothingness on her shoulders. All the witches took their Palismen out and prepared to fight.

The star brightened and a rainbow came down from it to the dance floor. A figure, taller even than King, but much thinner floated down on the rainbow to the dance floor.

Camila relaxed and so did most of the other witches. Luz stepped forward, her staff still in her hand, but no longer held out to attack.

“Luz Noceda,” the creature said. Its white cloak shone with embedded stars. A comet trailed across the wide hem and the swirl of galaxies spun in its loosely tied belt. It had a sun mask on that made everyone who’d seen the Collector think about them.

“Solaris,” Luz replied politely, remembering their name from when they came to take the Collector away. She’d remembered their name at the last moment.

Solaris reached into their robes and pulled out a cube, eight feet to a side. There was no way it could fit under their robes, but Luz’s mind bent to make sense of it. Stars, galaxies, comets, lakes, oceans, arctic ice caps, volcanoes and novae all swirled on the surface of it. Luz recognized it as the trap they had used to trap Belos in the In-Between. When Belos tried to escape it, Hunter had pushed him back in and closed it behind him. Then when the Collector’s parents came to retrieve them, the Collector took the trap with them.

“We have come to return to you what is yours.” Solaris tapped the trap and it became transparent. Everyone saw it play a scene of Belos and Hunter within it, locked in combat. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. In the image, Belos threw Hunter down and stabbed a dagger-shaped hand through him.

“No!” Willow shouted and ran forward. She banged on the trap and it made a loud ‘Bong!” sound and flung her back. She lay stunned at Gus’s feet as the scene restarted, this time Belos pursued Hunter through the Boiling Isles and finished him off by possessing him through a cut in his arm. They all watched helplessly as Belos burst through Hunter’s skin.

“Why?” Luz asked, her staff at the ready again.

Solaris didn’t seem to notice when all the other witches readied their staves, too.

The scene had restarted and now Hunter was killed in his bed as a child, suffocated by Belos’s slime. Willow rose to her feet and started to run at the trap again, but Gus held her back with the help of Skara’s date.

Solaris tapped the Hunter on the scene and Hunter turned his face out like he could see it somehow.

“My child took this without our knowledge, and this one’s…” They tapped Hunter again and this time Hunter swung his staff at them, but it passed harmlessly through the air.

“...This one’s voice is annoying,” Solaris said.

“You can hear him?” Amity asked, as she stepped up next to Luz.

Solaris tilted their head.

“You cannot?”

Luz and Amity shook their heads.

Solaris raised a long-fingered hand to their head.

“It’s so bad. We leave them to you; do with them as you will.”

“Wait!” Luz shouted, but it was too late; Solaris had turned back to a sparkly rainbow, risen up above the dance floor, turned into a star again and flew off, all in the matter of a couple of seconds.

“Well, shit,” Luz said.

“What now?” Camila asked, coming up to put a hand on Luz’s shoulder.

Willow finally broke free and walked to the cube. She put her hand on Hunter and he again acted if he could sense it. He mouthed, “Captain?”

Willow’s eyes glowed green. Plants rose from nowhere from the ground as she raised her staff. They ripped and tore at the trap, but nothing happened to it. Now, in the image, Hunter had his staff raised and when Belos came into his room, he said something. Belos turned to look out of the image. He walked slowly to the edge and touched it. His hand made an indentation on the surface of the trap.

“Luz,” he said, and they all heard him. His voice echoed unnaturally.

“You’ve finally come to your senses and come to free me to save your soul?” he asked. He turned away and fire flew from a hidden glyph in his hand. It consumed Hunter to ash.

The scene restarted with Hunter digging his own grave in Eclipse Lake. Amity gasped. This time no one was there to fight him and Belos crept in. He struck Hunter on the back of the head and buried him alive. Everyone seemed paralyzed watching the images. Luz recovered first and touched her staff to the trap. Belos’s head turned again and his eyes flashed. He could see her through the trap, but then the scene restarted with Hunter being pursued through the castle’s corridors, pursued by Belos in the shape of flesh-eating beetles.

Masha thought of what they had once said, ‘Or maybe he’s still chasing his brother, caught in a cycle of horror and strife.’ Their eyes filled.

“We can’t leave him there,” Willow said.

“No,” Luz said. “We won’t.”

She stepped back and raised her staff.

“I’m going to break the trap, and when I do, Belos and Hunter will be released. Hunter will probably be injured, and Belos might act like it, but he’s probably faking. Don’t believe anything he says.”

She pushed Camila back.

“Go through the portal first. This fight’s not for you.”

Camila stepped back, but didn’t leave.

“No, I’ll stay back, but I’m not going.”

Luz nodded grimly. She turned to her friends. Eda was already in her Harpy form and as she watched Lilith changed to her Beast form, which she could still barely control. Vee staggered to their feet and lurched forward. Masha retreated to the back with Camila and the Bat Queen stood watch over them.

Hooty ripped free from his Porta-Hooty frame and dove into the ground, his size reminding Luz of the worms from the Dune movie she’d seen as a kid.

“Ready?” Luz asked and various shouts and growls answered her.

She raised her staff and struck the trap three times. In the image, Hunter cowered, but Belos looked out at Luz.

“I’m coming,” he whispered.

“Belos, in absentia, the ruling Council of Covens has sentenced you to petrification. If you do not come quietly, I will use force to take you in.” Luz had a tone to her voice that no one had heard before.

“You can’t take me,” Belos said, tapping the edge of the cube. It distended more this time.

“Ah, you wear the Golden Guard uniform. Your end will be the same as Caleb’s.”

Luz struck the trap with one more great blow and it cracked. In a rush of light it was gone. She barely avoided Belos’s first swipe. He was in his large, animalistic form that they’d fought in the castle at the Day of Unity, but seemed much more in control than then. Hunter lay at his feet, unconscious. Willow lifted her arms and plants sucked Hunter into the ground and he reappeared behind the Bat Queen.

Belos moved faster than something that large should be able to, but Luz had learned all the tricks of the Golden Guard from talking with their spirits and easily avoided him. She tried to fight back, but Belos simply slapped away all her attacks. Fire didn’t seem to scar him, ice didn’t hurt him and Amity’s abomination arms just slid off.

Luz made a signal and they all attacked him at once. Raine played a quiet melody on their violin that slowed Belos imperceptibly. Willow wrapped him in vines that burnt away but were replaced quickly as her eyes glowed in apotheosis and she redoubled her efforts. Skara’s voice joined with Raine’s playing and Belos definitely slowed more.

Amity’s human-shaped abomination was joined by her fathers, then they combined their circles and it grew to more than twice the size of either. It grabbed Belos’s legs and pulled him to the ground, even as it boiled away from the touch of Belos’s skin. Eda and Lilith tore at it in their beast shapes. Great gouts of stinking gooey flesh flew away to be burned by the Baker’s coven demons wielding pastry torches.

Hooty came out of the ground and coiled around Belos, driving him further into the ground. Belos’s eyes burned with light and lights shifted on his body under his skin, reminding Luz uncomfortably of anglerfish.

When he was pinned, Vee slid forward, exhaled, then inhaled in a long breath. Magic flowed in a heat-ripple from Belos’s mouth to theirs. Vee edged forward, the magic leaving Belos intensified, but now glowed a sickly yellow-green. Belos began to shrink under his bonds.

“Stop!” Masha yelled from the back and started to run forward. Camila started to follow, but the Bat Queen grabbed her and held her.

Suddenly, the flow of magic stopped and Vee’s head fell. Her limp body slid to the ground and convulsed. She vomited and all her magic started to flow back to Belos. He inhaled it in one gulp and then was even larger than before. He shrugged and all his bonds snapped; vines burst; abomination arms and legs exploded in goo; and Hooty flew off limply to land with a tremendous crash.  Skara’s date managed to pull Vee away, dragging them by the tail and the connection to Belos broke, but the damage had been done.

“All your magic!” Belos shouted and stood, he stepped to Vee through the crowd of stunned witches. Belos took a step forward and raised a hand over Vee. Skara’s date lifted his staff, but Belos backhanded him and he flew to land at the base of the Grom tree, unconscious. Belos turned back to Vee.

One of his eyes disappeared in an explosion of goo. Everyone jumped at the percussion.

Masha stood in front of Vee, a chrome pistol in their hand. They calmly shot him in the other eye, then shot at the glowing lights on his body. They missed more than they hit, but they hit enough to stop Belos for a few seconds. When their clip clicked empty, they released it, let it fall on the ground and reloaded a second clip from the pocket of their dress.

They kept firing into Belos’s body, retreating as he lurched toward them. He struck out blindly and slapped Eda out of the air. She landed with a crack of a broken wing. Lilith, in her beast form, shrieked and landed on Belos’s back, clawing great rents from his hide. Blood and goo flew over anyone too close. Belos’s eyes grew back. Masha’s gun clicked empty again and they turned to run. Belos reached out and gripped them then lifted them to his mouth. He opened it to bite her in half, but instead bit into a rock.

“Nuh-uh,” Gus said from the corner of the dance floor where Masha stood behind him. His hands and eyes glowed with the broken illusion.

Luz, Willow and Amity recovered from being stunned about the same time, nodded and made a single circle with all three of them. Vines with abomination ropes wound around them in a spiral shot out and gripped Belos. They pulled him to the ground again. Raine and Skara restarted, but this time it was driving tune that flashed blades at Belos. The blades avoided the abomination-covered vines and took chunks of Belos. Lilith released her grip on his back and dove under his knees, knocking him down again. Hooty rose and charged Belos and wrapped him in counterpoint to the abomination-vines.

Vee struggled to sit up, vomited bile and magic and shrank.

“I’ve got to suck out his magic,” they said as they finally sat up. A large leathery wing covered them gently.

“You’ve done your part, child,” the Bat Queen said.

She stepped forward as Belos was finally brought under control again.

He looked up at her to say something.

She leaned forward as if to listen to him.

And then she bit his head off. It crunched in her mouth as she chewed slowly.

Blood, mud, goo and ichor spewed from Belos’s raggedly severed neck. Amity looked green, Luz vomited, but Willow looked triumphant. Camila and Masha both ran to Vee. Raine and Skara went to help Eda with her broken wing. Gus just sat heavily on the ground. Lilith kept mindlessly tearing at Belos’s body in her beast form. Hooty tried to pull her away, but she shrugged him off.

The Bat Queen finished chewing and swallowed. They all saw her throat work.

“That was for my children,” she said. She put her wings over Belos’s body and pushed Lilith away. Something in her eyes made Lilith turn back to her normal shape. Lilith looked around, her eyes unfocussed until she saw Eda being helped by Raine and Skara.

The Bat Queen began to sing. The humans didn’t understand the words, but they understood its meaning. It was low and slow and so very sad.

“It’s an old dirge, in the language of the Titan,” Amity said quietly to Luz.

Eda nodded to Raine and Skara and they stepped forward to join the Bat Queen’s song. When they didn’t know the words, they hummed. Lights started to come from Belos’s body, just one at first, then a flood. They all poured out, swirled around the Bat Queen, Skara, and Raine then most of them flew off into the night. A few flew into the ground in a wide circle around the Bat Queen. Plant shoots emerged from them, young, green and tender.

The Bat Queen finished her song. Raine and Skara bowed to her, then left the circle of plant shoots.

“Their souls are finally free,” she said. She knelt then pushed off the ground in a swirl of wings and dust.

“Burn his remains, don’t miss any!” she shrieked as she flew off.

Willow reached the plant circle.

“Palistrom trees,” she whispered. She raised her hands and they grew another foot, then another. She slumped, exhausted.

“Now, they’ll be hardy enough to survive,” she said.

Amity and Luz came to her and helped her to her feet. When they got to Hunter, Camila was already wiping his face with a piece of her dress she’d torn off. His eyes were open and tears leaked from them, but he didn’t seem to see anything.

Willow touched him and his eyes flicked toward her.

“Captain?” he asked, in a creaky disused voice.

“It’s Willow,” she said. She leaned over him and hugged him

“I…I love you,” Hunter said, his eyes coming into focus. He saw the others burning Belos’s body behind her.

“It’s really all over?” he asked.

Willow kissed his cheek, kissing away his tears.

“It’s really over,” Luz said and his eyes turned to her.

“You’re the Golden Guard now?”

She nodded.

He took in Amity’s dress and the tuxedo-skirt Luz wore under the white Golden Guard cape.

“Is it…Is it your wedding?” he asked. He struggled to his knees with Willow’s and Camila’s help.

Vee had managed to get up and they and Masha went to stand behind Camila.

“It is our wedding!” Amity said. She knelt next to Willow and hugged Hunter, then got up so Luz could too.

“I’m glad I didn’t miss it all, then,” he said. He seemed to notice Willow’s arm around him. He turned his face to her and their lips met. He tried to keep it a brief kiss, but Willow let him know that she was never going to let him go again with her kiss.

“Vee’s next in six weeks,” Camila said from behind the kissing couple and Hunter turned. He stood with Willow’s help. Her glare warned anyone else off from helping. He saw Gus helping the others with Belos’s body and waved.

Finally, he turned to Camila.

“Mom,” he said and before he could say more, she was hugging him with Willow. Other witches started to arrive drawn by the commotion and medics and the Healing Coven were called. It took a long time for the scene to be closed. Amity and Luz were the last to leave. Darius and Raine stayed to represent the Council of Covens.

Luz waved her staff and the Golden Guard mask and cape disappeared. She put Quetzal back in her pocket and Amity did the same with Ghost.

“Not how you saw our wedding going, huh?” Luz said, taking Amity’s hand.

Amity looked over her stained, burned and ripped dress, thought and said, “No, I thought something like this might happen.”

Luz kissed her while in the background smoke rose from the smoldering ashes that used to be Belos.

Epilogue: Six Weeks Later

Camila’s living room was crowded even with the furniture pushed off to the side. Vee and Masha in their matching wedding dresses; Luz and Amity; Camila; Masha’s mother, Lyuba and their Uncle Vanya; Willow and Hunter; Raine and Eda; and Gus.

Raine had come through the portal to the Human Realm for the first time and was fascinated by everything. They performed the ceremony, which was more standard human much to Masha’s relief. They’d actually already legally gotten married by the Justice of the Peace yesterday, but this was for friends and family and was just as important.

Masha and Vee shook hands with everyone afterward.

“Glad my fake I.D. held up enough for you to get married,” Uncle Vanya said to Vee who laughed. His connections had been good and her human I.D. as Vee Noceda was solid.

“Thank you,” they said and kissed his cheek.

Eda and Raine congratulated them both, made their excuses and left. Camila, Luz and Amity had disappeared into the kitchen after congratulating them. Gus hugged them both, shook their hands and ran into the kitchen. Lyuba kissed both of them on the cheek, tears streaming down her face.

“My child, I’m glad you’re so happy. Many best wishes for the years to come.”

She turned and said the same thing to Vee in Ukrainian.

Willow and Hunter came last. Hunter was still hobbling with his cane, but the Healing Coven said he’d be back to nearly full strength soon.

“Congratulations, both of you,” he said and shook their hands.

Willow hugged them and when she pulled away, she looked in surprise at the tattered bouquet that Vee had stuffed in her hands. It was the same one she’d made for them at Luz and Amity’s wedding. Her eyes widened and her smile was electric.

Hunter noticed it, too and asked, “What’s up with the bouquet?”

Masha and Vee both laughed as Willow smiled even more broadly. She leaned in and kissed Hunter soundly. He went stiff at first, then settled into the kiss. When they broke apart she whispered in his ear.

“It means I’m the next one to get married.”

He went Amity-red and then tried to go to one knee. Vee and Masha helped him.

“Yes,” Willow said.

“Aw, I didn’t even get to ask,” he said.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” Willow said and helped him to his feet.

“I don’t have a ring,” Hunter began, but Camila came from the kitchen with a delicate filigree gold band.

“It’s the one Manny gave to me when we got engaged. I want you to have it.” She pressed it into Hunter’s hand. He took it and tried to slip it on Willow’s finger. It was too small.

Luz’s staff came from nowhere and she touched the ring with it. The ring expanded until it fit. As Hunter slid it on, he asked.

“Willow Park, will you marry me? I can’t promise happiness, but I can promise that I’ll love you. I do love you.”

“I already said yes,” she said and then they were kissing again.

“Both your daughters and now your son,” Lyuba said to Camila.

“You are very lucky.”

Camila looked at her children and agreed.

“Yes, yes I am.”

[blue-dream-rhapsody]

cfyow and kugo come on you know me by now

Pages 381-387.

I hope you appreciate I had to carry this like a weight tied around my neck all through work last night before I could write my feelings down

[for today’s installment, moments where I whisper-screamed will feature a *]

Pfft Giriko tells Ganju the best way to deal with Yukio is to just put up with being insulted

But shit man Yukio’s taking on the members of Aura’s cult now, too. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it a million more times, but Yukio has grown so much and chosen to follow in Kugo’s footsteps when it comes to gathering under his watch the people who most need it. And just another little thing too, when Kugo cracks that it’ll be tough for him to do while so young, rather than keep complaining or even make a final passing gripe like we’d expect him to, he just bucks up and says he’s got it.

“Want me to tell Jackie and Riruka anything from you?” “Nah as long as they’re doing well it’s better I stay out of their way.” “Okay cool I’ll tell them you said that.” “Why are you such an unpleasant child.”

Seriously though, I think Kugo sees the damage he’s done to them and he cares about them, so he’s trying to set them free from him. But Yukio knows that’s not what they want, they don’t just think of Kugo that way and care about him back, and they’d be happy to hear from him and especially to hear that everything he’s been through is settled and over. So fuck you and your “it’s better this way” bullshit boy you made this bed called found family and now you’re gonna lie in it bitch!!!

SHISHIGAWARA HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN*

HE GOES TO TSUKISHIMA’S GRAVE*

TSUKISHIMA HAS... A GRAVE? As in a place to be remembered. A permanent fixture so people know he was there, that he lived and bled and died and that someone knew his name. I’m as surprised as he is that he has one and I’m hurting that he’s surprised he has one (for probably the same reasons I was).*

Also hurting that he’s now able to say he wants Moe to forget about him when it’s Moe’s unyielding devotion to him that gave him peace as he died. It means he’s in a place now where he’s not afraid of being alone the way he used to be. And also in a place where he can want better for this kid too, even if it isn’t advantageous for himself. Tsukishima has become capable of caring about someone else.

Also he’s protective apparently because Kugo jokes that Moe is annoying and Tsukishima replies with a look that says “try me bitch” because the last time Kugo said anything about him it was “kill him once he’s useless” (but Kugo absolutely feels good about getting that response out of him, because it means he’s changed)

Also can we make memes about Tsukishima 1) wanting everybody to read more books constantly like he’s some kind of library mascot with a catchphrase and 2) being entirely indiscriminate about what he’s reading by replacing the book he’s holding with every terribly rated book ever including 50 Shades and YA slush

Here come Kyoraku to talk to Kugo on Ukitake’s behalf oH BOY MY HEART’S ALREADY STOPPIN

Wait are they opening up the Seireitei to like everybody?? The whole Rukongai??? Holy shit I love it. Trash the nobles’ yards guys do it make Byakuya c r y

HE GIVES KUGO VOLUME ONE OF UKITAKE’S STORY HOLY FUCK*

Okay the book thing is gonna be its own subsection here

Kugo: this sounds like a cheesy romance drama Kyoraku, standing right there, author of the literal worst-rated serialization in the Bulletin which is in fact a cheesy romance drama: *sweats*

aw but it’s touching, Kyoraku trying to show Kugo a different side of Ukitake in case it would help with his healing—

Tsukishima: oh I’ve read that whole thing

Kugo:

Me:

Tsukishima: it’s really good for a children’s series. By the way I read this before you knew the author wasn’t personally responsible for your lifetime of suffering

Tsukishima: also it’s probably based on your whole deal with each other

Kugo:

Tsukishima: so, book club?

Seriously I don’t even know how that works being based on their relationship like who the FUCK IS THE SHRINE MAIDEN IN THIS SCENARIO

But even so I’m losing my fucking mind that THE MOST BELOVED BULLETIN SERIALIZATION was directly influenced by KUGO FUCKING GINJO, WANTED CRIMINAL EXTRAORDINAIRE

UKITAKE I LOVE YOU i mean it’s super touching and sobering yeah but it’s also just really fucking funny iM SORRY

When it gets down to their real conversation though, Kugo’s got no use for all these pleasantries and he’s not going to pretend he didn’t do anything wrong, even if he regrets it now. He even preempts that he’s still going to be punished for defecting, and can’t understand how Kyoraku can just throw around letting it go so readily. Honestly, I don’t think the possibility of being vindicated ever crossed his mind. Or of anyone apologizing or feeling bad for his side of things. The fact that he’s so reactive to Kyoraku’s sentiments says that he still very much has a lot of this inside him—if they hadn’t had this conversation, or if Kyoraku had been any less sincere and patient, I don’t think Kugo would’ve ever gained real closure. Like it’s one thing to no longer blame Ukitake, but it’s another to have the Court Guards finally and officially acknowledge that what happened to him was wrong.

I knew Ukitake would’ve definitely appealed to both Captain Generals about letting Kugo be, but glad it’s confirmed both to us and to him.

Wait so I guess they did meet in person at some point? Ukitake came in to defend his men and actually tried to strike back at Kugo apparently. I guess this might be part of the explanation for why he put everything on Ukitake specifically, on top of the badge being his responsibility. Also, Ukitake was prepared to die at Kugo’s hand during that attack. If it weren’t for his duty to his soldiers, he might’ve just let him kill him.*

I think Ukitake’s grave was the only place for Kugo’s arc in the novel to end (be it the figurative or literal sense). It’s the ultimate sign of respect, and of him being ready to let go. I’d been expecting that Kyoraku would have to bring/invite him out there to ever see him go, but the fact that he’s the one to ask where it is shows that he sincerely believes everything Kyoraku has told him.*

His march is finally over.

And y’all, I think this is it. I think he gets briefly mentioned again before the novel closes out, so I’ll hold off a bit longer to air my final thoughts on everything and make sure there’s nothing else to cover.

But I will say right now that, if this is his last appearance here, as a conclusion to his character arc I am not disappointed with it.

[yaku-soba]

the infinite field of sunflowers (i would follow you anywhere)

༶•┈┈ matsukawa issei x f!reader | angst, fluff

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags / warnings: implied/referenced child abuse (reader), mostly catharsis for the author, where is my volleyball player who will drive me anywhere i want in the middle of the night and not ask questions that i cannot answer 

word count: 2.2k

summary: home is your heart and your heart is matsukawa issei, who drives you to an impossible field of sunflowers that he’d willed into existence when he was eight, at four in the morning.

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

“i want to run away,” is the first thing you tell him when issei picks up. and it’s the middle of the night, bordering on dawn, but at the slight hitch of your breath in your throat, shuddering over the line, he’s wide awake. 

“okay,” he says instead of hold on, what happened? - but he knows you’ll only talk about it when you’re ready. so he rolls out of bed, empties the first bag he grabs by holding it upside down haphazardly, and throws in the first few shirts he touches. “can i come too?”

you’re silent on the other end, but issei’s patient. (he’s especially patient with you. he’s used to waiting.) 

“okay,” you say when he’s already padding down the stairs, car keys in hand. 

“i’ll pick you up at our usual place,” he tells you, and scribbles a half-hearted note for whoever wakes up first in the morning. road trip w y/n brb. need the car thanks. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

he pulls up at the playground (it’s dilapidated, the way it has been since you were eight), and you’re sitting on the swing, pushing yourself off almost lazily. the moonlight lands on the harsh line of your clenched jaw and pools beneath your eyes, tracing the tear tracks issei can still see. (his heart hurts, as tender as the quiet slide of knife through fruit flesh). 

“hey,” he says (softly, because you look like you need him to be soft — and he can be soft, if it’s for you). issei doesn’t bother locking the car as he jogs out to meet you, sneakers slipping in the sand. “y/n,” he starts, then realises he doesn’t know what to say to make it better. (he can’t make it better, not unless you tell him what he already knows.) 

so he says, “wanna see sunflowers?”

you look up at him, and it’s almost like he’s looking at you, eight years-old with the print of your father’s hand like a brand on your cheek. the angle’s different, now — he’s taller. (but still useless, still helpless, still only able to watch). 

“where?” you ask, and he would give you everything. he would give you everything, if only you would let him. 

“i was thinking about osaki,” he says, “but i’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

issei watches as you mull over it. “osaki’s okay,” you say after a moment, and take the hand he holds out to help you off the swing. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you think, as issei keeps his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel, that you are being too cruel — you knew, when you’d called him those hours ago, that he wouldn’t stop you. that he would have come with you. 

you knew, and you’d called him anyway.

(you know that he would do almost anything for you. it’s terrifying and powerful and humbling.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

osaki, and the field of sunflowers that issei shows you, is beautiful. it’s morning — though you don’t know the exact time, because you’d turned your phone off right after calling issei — and the sun is as cruel and breathtaking as you feel. 

“there’s so many of them,” you tell him in wonder, wading into the field with your hands upturned, “i wonder who planted them.” was it you, you want to ask, even if it’s completely ridiculous and impossible, did you clear this field for me when we were eight? did you plant the seeds when we were ten?

issei shrugs, content with leaning against the side of the car he’d arguably stolen from his parents. “does it matter? at least it’s here now,” he answers, and you know that he’s not talking about the miraculous field of sunflowers that you still think he’d planted, or at least willed into existence when he was eight. 

you break his gaze, plucking lightly at the bright yellow petals of the nearest sunflower. “yeah, i guess.”

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

after himawari hills, issei brings you to a geyser. 

it defies all common sense, to you — everyone knows that everything goes down, because of gravity, but geysers go up. it’s wonderful and miraculous and you’d always thought it was a little fake, until issei had held you by the wrist (gentle, guiding), and walked you down the path and pointed out every little geyser on the way.

(you think issei is a little like a geyser.)

after that it’s katanuma lake, where you buy bentos from a convenience store and eat it by the water. it’s calming, blue skies reflected on bluer waters, and you ask issei if he thinks there are alligators. 

“i’ll throw you to the car,” he says very seriously, “i was almost a setter.” he’s obviously lying, but it makes you laugh. 

“oikawa had better watch out,” you say, and continue to leave your legs stretched out. if fate is going to screw you over, you might as well tempt it back. 

after lunch you wander around aimlessly. issei drives in the general direction of enlightenment and freedom, and doesn’t complain even when you stop him every time you see a vaguely interesting roadside shop or small town. 

you buy mitarashi dango, seaweed for you and the normal ones for issei, and come to the agreement that it’s much better than the ones you’d had in asakusa, outside kaminari-mon when you were twelve (you say it was during the school trip, when the two of you had snuck away from the group; issei says it’s when you’d talked him into running away with you for the day). 

when it hits evening, you wonder aloud if it would be too cold to sleep in the car. 

“we can cuddle,” issei says, wiggling his eyebrows. but when it becomes clear that you’re actually considering it, he puts his foot down and drives to the nearest somewhat-respectable motel, which turns out to be a run-down b&b. there’s only one room, and only one bed, but it’s still warmer and much more comfortable than sleeping in the cramped backseat would have been. 

neither of you mention it - not in the night, and not in the morning - when he sidles up close behind you and pulls you in. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

in the morning and over breakfast, you google tourist attractions on issei’s phone, ignoring the many missed calls and unanswered texts (it’s mostly makki; iwaizumi was put on mute, and oikawa was blocked a long time ago). you wonder if you even have any new notifications. probably not — turning off your phone had just been childish dramatics. it wouldn’t have mattered. 

(you always feel like you matter when you’re with issei.)

“iwashita kokeshi museum”, you say around a mouth full of rice. 

issei nods, finishing his miso soup with a last slurp. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

issei likes driving with one hand on the wheel. you learn that this is when he’s relaxed, when he doesn’t have anything weighing on his mind. 

(you wonder what he’d been thinking off when he’d first picked you up, on the way to the field full of sunflowers.)

you’ve never really spent this long in a car before, and not with issei, but this is nice. this must be how seagulls feel like, you muse, watching issei from the corner of your eyes, with the whole ocean beneath them and a wind that would carry them anywhere. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you take a gondola at onikobe resort park, and with no one else around it feels like that time you’d gotten onto the ferris wheel with him when you were thirteen, right before your father had banned you from going out after school. 

you don’t remember the fireworks anymore, only the way the light had painted issei in pink and green and gold, the way the steady clunk-clunk-clunk of the ferris wheel winding ever higher had calmed the turbulent riot in your heart. 

the first half of the ferris wheel ride had felt like a geyser. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

after lunch you tell issei that you’re okay to head back, now. it’s sunday, and you don’t want him to miss class tomorrow, because if he has to go for remedial classes he won’t be able to go for volleyball practice. 

“you’re more important,” he tells you. 

“you’re important to me too,” you say, “let’s go home.”

(for him, his family house is home. aoba johsai is home.

you don’t tell him that you’re already home. home is your heart and your heart is matsukawa issei.)

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

issei drives you home. 

and then he punches your father in the face. 

then he takes you home, where his parents are waiting with hot chocolate. 

at least, that’s what he wishes he could do. in reality, he drives as slowly as he possibly can without coming to a complete standstill, and watches, disgusted with himself (as he always is, as he has been since he was eight and you were eight with a red print on your cheek), as you climb the steps to the obnoxiously huge and empty mansion that he knows you don’t think of as home. 

you knock without hesitation, and when the housekeeper answers, you step in with a polite nod. and he hates that he’s just the guy with an idle car outside of your house. 

he finally drives off when you don’t come barreling out the front door after nearly half an hour. 

(he waits, but you don’t text him.) 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you don’t come to school on monday, and issei worries, even though he already has a sinking feeling that he knows what’s happened. then he remembers you telling him that you’re supposed to show up at one of your father’s business parties on monday night (and dance fancy dances with guys that aren’t him, in dresses that he knows you will probably find uncomfortable), and figures that a bastard so concerned with appearances wouldn’t dare lay a hand on his trophy daughter. 

(where it can be seen, at least.)

he won’t risk it, issei tells himself, if only for his own peace of mind. 

he texts you anyway. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you don’t reply, not even after monday night. he drives to your house and waits outside until your father calls the police, and then he comes back on foot. 

he contemplates the structural integrity of the huge tree that is not quite huge enough to reach the window of your bedroom. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

you don’t text him back, but he wakes with a start a few nights later when you crawl into his room through the window. and land right on top of him, because his bed is beneath the window. which means you’re on top of him. he’s fine, this is fine. 

“y/n,” his voice cracks, and he’s so immeasurably lost, because this is exactly the kind of dream he should not be dreaming about his best friend, “what?” 

“hi issei,” you say, and you sound so strongly of relief, of freedom, that he wishes this wasn’t a dream. then you put your hands on his cheeks, and he realises - it’s warm. you’re warm. 

this isn’t a dream.

“y/n,” he tries to pull away, but you refuse to let him go (like the octopus he’d found on the beach when you were fourteen, the one he’d insisted on showing you only for you to ask him if octopus sushi was tasty), so he settles for running his hands up your arms gently (in worry). “y/n, are you okay?” 

(issei is so beautiful like this. he could light a thousand cities with his kindness, but you’re selfish, you’ve always had everything you’ve ever wanted except a home. 

you want issei to be your home.)

you laugh, and issei’s brow furrows a little more at that. 

“i’m the best i’ve ever been,” you say, still shaking with laughter, “issei, won’t you run away with me?” 

under the slanting moonlight, he sees a healing bruise on your cheekbone. there are scratches on your arms that he doesn’t think are from papercuts. 

“just for the day,” you continue, and he would give you everything-

“and then we’ll come back, and then my uncle’s taking my father to court, and he says i can sleepover with friends if i want to until it’s all settled.”

you smile, and it tastes like freedom, like the air that morning on the infinite field of sunflowers that your best friend had willed into existence (for you) when he was eight. “issei, i’m tired of running from home. won’t you run away with me?”

and issei would give you everything, so of course he says, “wanna see tokyo? maybe the mitarashi dango there has gotten better.” 

you brush your thumb over his cheek, tracing the path of moolight. “sure,” you tell him, “let’s stay in a luxury hotel this time - i’ve got my dad’s card.” sure enough, you pull something out of your pocket, and it glints like revenge, a ticket to freedom. 

he would give you everything, and you’re selfish, so you’ll let him. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

his parents wake to another note on the dining table. tokyo with y/n, it says, brb. thanks for the car. 

»»------------- ------------- ------------- ¤ ------------- ------------- -------------««

a/n: as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker, Episode 140

Welcome to the penultimate Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Four Resurrections and an Ass-Kicking.

When I first started this, I declared my intent was to do this until the comeuppance of Trent Ikithon. That may not happen, so, while I may revive it for hypothetical future one-shots centered specifically around the comeuppance of Trent Ikithon, this tracker will otherwise unsurprisingly end with the campaign next week, with the final statuses of all or at least most of these wizards. Also, for some advance notice, it will almost certainly be delayed until Sunday night.

But this week we are still primarily focusing on the wizard NPC of the Nein. Is he, technically speaking, counted among the Mighty Nein such that any breakdowns induced in him by the Mighty Nein have a self-inflicted component? Yes. Is this unique to Essek's situation, by any means? No.

As a reminder Caleb Widogast is a PC and therefore not included.

Currently sidelined: Ludinus Da'leth, Trent Ikithon, Astrid Beck, the Wulf of Wall Street, Pumat Sol, Oremid Hass, Allura Vyesoren, Yussa Errenis.

Lady Vess Derogna: there is a very high likelihood this may be my primary sendoff for her. So: to Vess. We hardly knew you, which is a little disappointing in that I love watching evil women who are committed in their indifference to anything but their goals, and I would personally watch a campaign that was literally just slowly dismantling the Cerberus Assembly provided there was also some combat and romance on the side, but Lucien is, indeed, the worst.

As the red eyes on her body have disappeared, it's gonna be a little awkward for the Nein to explain that no, she actually was a doomsday cultist to an entity they have since killed. [sidebar: my guess is the Magic Eye Book got swallowed by the city as well, which in unfortunate because I would have like to have watched the Dynasty see THAT particular sailboat. It's no "dunamancy existed and still worked fine, even better, for those who wanted to kill the gods", but it's still in Undercommon and I still expect it will put them in a very uncomfortable place.]

I do wonder what her afterlife has been like. The neutral evil outer planes do not seem like a great time, but honestly if I were her I'd probably be lying on the ground in Gehenna right now, looking up into the ash-strewn sky like "you know...I could have done better than Lucien, that fucking hack." Or perhaps "well, at least for me it was quick, and, blood from the eyes aside, at least I did not die a horrifying monstrosity."

Conclusion: 0/10. I haven't been tracking her breakdown otherwise, because, well, she's dead, but I have to imagine she's feeling some sense of vindication that Lucien is also dead and actually, her highly unethical modifications to him were still an upgrade by most standards. She's had three weeks to come to terms with her fate. Also I imagine any magical afterlife for the evil as completely lacking in such amenities as the catharsis of a breakdown.

Essek Thelyss: speaking of the catharsis of a breakdown!

If I may get serious, and I may because I have never actually cared for getting the readers' permission in my entire life and sure won't start now, what struck me about Essek is that there are many things that were implied he did not get much of - friendship, peace, an escape from the rigid confines of his society, people asking him about soup - but in many ways he has lived an immensely privileged life. Talented, powerful, free from want. Except he wanted more, because that's how people are.

I'm sure next week, and in the few following, amid whatever breaks and one-offs occur, (with some premature examinators writing them right now, even), there will be plenty of meta explaining what the Mighty Nein were really about, man. I will even probably definitely make some of them. And even as I make fun of those who are performing vivisections and calling them post mortems, it's not terribly hard to guess what we'll find. Redemption. Found Family Wait No But It's Different This Time. The complicated subtleties of morality across disparate cultures. Who You Are In The Dark. An extended metaphor of the underappreciated nature of utility casters.

But while all of those have truth to them, the story of the Mighty Nein, to me, is seven people-eight, now- being forced to answer one question: What if you actually got what you wanted, for once? What then?

More than anything, what Essek wanted was answers. He still wants them, though his priorities are shifting. He's gotten some answers already. He does not see himself as deserving. He might not, for many years. Perhaps ever.

And so when the people he does see as deserving want something - a relatively small thing, in the grand scheme, to want - and they are unable to get it, that is what breaks him.

Conclusion: let the poor man have a good cry in peace. fucking voyeurs.

Halas Lutagran: Oh? oh is it a long time to be trapped? Is it? Did the Mighty Nein free some souls from the time of the Calamity that had been trapped? for over a millennium? huh. interesting. I just think it's funny how they just did that? freed the souls of the mages? who had been trapped? for a long time?

[malachi-walker]

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

[seventeenwrites]

Catharsis - Chapter Two

-> Group: The Boyz

-> Type: Short Series

-> Member(s) of Interest: Sunwoo

-> Word Count: ~2.9k

-> Genre: angst, fluff, apocalypse au

-> Warnings: alien apocalypse, guns/weapons, blood, violence, death, cursing, female MC

-> Playlist: Hold You in My Arms by Ray LaMontagne; All Right Now by Angel Olsen; Saccharine by Atta Boy; Love & Hate by Michael Kiwanuka

-> a/n: Hey guys! Here's chapter two! Again, I want to emphasize that my goal with this series is to portray a kind of love which transcends any kind of labels we’ve assigned to love (romantic, platonic, familial, etc.). It may seem a bit hard-and-fast, but I think that is a reflection of the world around these characters. When you don’t know if you will live to see another day, when you are surrounded by death and tragedy, you live and you love without regrets, or at least you try your damnedest to.

Catharsis.

And then, fortunately, my eyes opened. Now, this wasn’t fortunate because I was alive, but rather because of the way I was alive. The fire that had separated Sunwoo and I the night before had died, but the coals were still glowing, so that they could easily be re-ignited. Just beyond the pit lay Sunwoo, still sleeping. One of his shoes had been thrown six feet away in the middle of the night, and his left arm was almost completely smothering his face.

Before I had time to laugh at him, a voice interrupted me.

“Oh, Ari! I’m assuming Sunny filled you in last night.” I whipped my head in the direction of the voice, to find the same man who had yelled at us the night before. Jacob, right? When not puffy-faced and half-asleep, he was much better-looking. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes popped out and his cheekbones were raised nonetheless, in a way that reminded me of my mother's face in her youth. Next to Jacob was another man, who I could immediately tell was the leader of whatever this place was. His nose high on his face and his brow heavy, he was reminiscent of a Renaissance sculpture, elegantly beautiful, yet intimidatingly powerful. He was also impressively clean; everything from his ears to his nail beds were devoid of even a single smudge of dirt.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I think so,” I said, sitting up and wrapping the blanket around myself, suddenly self-conscious of my dirty T-shirt and basketball shorts.

“Good. Sangyeon and I are gonna go collect more firewood. There’s berries and nuts in those if you get hungry.” Jacob pointed to a collection of miscellaneous containers by the centermost tent. Wooden crates, mason jars, old metal lunch boxes decorated with superheroes and princesses, even a piggy bank. Resourceful. Smart, I thought to myself. I turned back to the two men, to find that Jacob had already started walking away. Sangyeon still stood before me and assessed me for a few seconds, slightly nodding his head and furrowing his brow.

“We’ll be back,” he said before slinging a backpack over one shoulder and following Jacob out of the camp. I didn’t blame him. If I was running a camp and one of my members suddenly showed up with a random girl, I would be suspicious, too.

As the day got brighter, more of the members woke up and came to greet me, and I got to know more about who these people were and how this place worked. There was Kevin, who came out of the same tent as Jacob, and who was a self-proclaimed genius chef, but judging by the defined musculature on his small figure, he was useful for more than his culinary skills. In the next tent there was Changmin and Chanhee, who seemed to be attached at the hip; they were both lean, perfect for long-distance running. The next tent housed Eric and Haknyeon, who were both robust and muscular, obvious fighters. The last tent was home to Juyeon, Younghoon, and Hyunjae, who entered last and were all visibly athletic, with their long and sturdy physiques. I had finally figured it out. This place was a powerhouse. No Echo would be a match for these boys.

“Always tardy, huh, sleepyheads?” Changmin jested towards the last three to join our circle around the dead fire.

“SHHH!” Eric suddenly play-whispered, “You’ll wake the baby.” He pointed towards Sunwoo’s still-sleeping figure.

“Eric, you’re literally younger than him,” Kevin laughed while trying to catch berries in his mouth, and failing. Hilariously.

“By like eight months!” Eric shouted, a slight pout donning his face.

“That’s pretty significant, if you ask me.” We all looked down at Sunwoo, whose arm was still covering his eyes, but whose mouth was visibly quivering to maintain a laugh. He peeked out beneath his arm to see what Eric’s response would be, but Haknyeon was already holding Eric back.

“Okay, babies. Let’s calm down. Jacob and Sangyeon will be back soon and I’m sure they’ll have food.” Juyeon hushed-- his voice had a way of calming the boys down that could only have been achieved through years of trust and reliability. His voice and the mention of food seemed to lull the pretend conflict, and pretty soon, side conversations enveloped the entire group. I sat and watched Sunwoo. He was chatting with Kevin who was right next to him, and he was laughing at something, his head thrown back. I found myself smiling. Two smiles in 24 hours. That’s gotta be a record.

Sunwoo’s eyes met mine and I felt my heart leap. He excused himself from his conversation and walked over to sit next to me, placing his hand on top of mine. Again, I noted just how soft his hands were. And warm too, compared to the frigid morning air. As if feeling his warmth made me colder, a shiver traveled down my spine.

“Cold?” Sunwoo asked. I nodded in reply. “Let me in there, then,” he said, pointing at my blanket. I opened it and he stuck himself into my arms, grabbing them to close on top of him. He was warm. Physically, but he also warmed me from the inside, like drinking a cup of hot cocoa after playing in the snow, or getting a hug from your mom after your first piano recital. He felt like home.

-------

When Jacob and Sangyeon came back, they were dragging a deer behind them, backpacks chock full of firewood. The boys all scrambled up excitedly; I could only make out random interjections and complaints about hunger from the younger ones.

“You’ll finally get to see me in action, Ari,” Kevin quipped, gathering random tools and ingredients to cook the deer with.

Sangyeon walked up to Sunwoo and I, placing his bag by his feet and looking me up and down, just like he had before he left. Still suspicious of me, I guess. He turned his eyes to the boy next to me, looking him up and down as well, and started, “Go get some water from the stream, will you?”

“Sangyeon, come on! It’s been three weeks already, surely I can do something else?”

“Sunny, I’m sorry, but your legs obviously just not healed yet.”

Sunwoo looked as though he was going to protest again, but Jacob cut in before he could: “Doctor’s orders, bud. I’ll take a look at it again later today.”

Shoulders slumped, Sunwoo dramatically sighed and grabbed my hand, dragging me along with him.

“I’ve been on water duty for three weeks, now. I mean, I understand. They care about me; they want me to be safe, and the path to the stream is clear and short-- almost impossible to get hurt. But like, come on. Three weeks of getting water. I’m sick of this damn path!” He joked, swatting a vine out of his way.

“What happened to your leg, anyway?” I asked. “If you don’t mind sharing,” I quickly added, suddenly afraid that it was too personal.

Sunwoo stopped in his tracks, looking at the ground. I could see the wheels turning in his head, as if he was trying to figure out how much of himself to reveal to me. He sighed and let go of my hand, turning to face me. His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked at me, the morning sunlight shining only on the right half of his face.

“It was about two months ago. A few of us were out looking for clothes and other essentials. We figured we’d go about ten miles east and get to the city that used to be there, hit all of the convenience stores and shopping malls. But we strayed too far from camp, and we got lost on our way back. By sundown we were in the middle of the woods with no shelter, no food, nothing.

“We were ambushed in the middle of the night. Those bastards were wearing our own faces. We couldn’t tell who was real and who was an Echo. Hyunjae did this to me,” he said, referencing his injured ankle, “Pushed me into a big tree trunk. I forgive him, obviously. It was crazy, and he was trying to protect himself. That same night…” he trailed off.

I could tell that he was about to cry, since he was starting to choke on his words, “That same night, I-- I killed one of our guys. Didn’t know it was him until it was too late, until he was already bleeding red. I shot him. He was flailing around all crazy-like with his knife. I didn’t know if he was him or an Echo, so I shot him. I should've-- I should’ve shot his foot, or his hand, to see his blood. But I didn’t. I got him right underneath the heart. Missed it by a hair. So I held him as he went. For thirteen minutes, I held him. I looked him in the eyes as the life left ‘em and I held his hands as they went limp. That poor fucking bastard, I’m so sorry to him.”

Sunwoo was crying. It was a cry I had never seen or heard from a human before. It was absolutely, heart-wrenchingly tragic, and the only thing I could do for him was hold him. I didn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault, because he knew that already. I didn’t tell him that he was still a good person, because he knew that already. I didn’t tell him that I loved him, because he knew that, too.

I didn’t tell him that his member was in a better place, because we both knew it wasn’t true.

-------

When we got to the stream, we were holding hands again. Sunwoo was still wiping tears off of his face with his free hand, but he was smiling again.

“Whaddya say, Ari? Care for a little dip before we head back?” Sunwoo teased, rocking his shoulders as if to say I’m joking, but if you’re down, then I’m really fucking down.

“Fine, kid,” I chortled, “but only because that water looks deliciously crisp right now.”

I turned away to place all of the water buckets on the ground, and when I turned back, Sunwoo was standing a yard or two away, facing the water. He reached down and took his shirt off in a swift and seamless motion, one which seemed to me only men were capable of performing. The sunlight kissed his skin, illuminating its smooth and tanned surface. The shadows of his shoulder blades danced across his back as he attempted to balance on a stepping stone. The gentle slope of his neck blended seamlessly into the crease of his spine which traveled all the way down his back, like a book that I never wanted to stop reading. His arms, outstretched in a balancing act, were lean, yet capable and sturdy shooting arms, slightly different in size as a reflection of his right-handedness.

He turned around to look at me, a wide smile on his face. His eyes were still bloodshot and puffy from crying, and his face still splotchy, but his smile-- his smile was brighter than the light of any sun. I didn’t think I had ever seen anyone or anything so beautiful in my life. I smiled back at him, and I felt my own eyes start to well up with tears.

“Come on, Ari! This stream isn’t gonna skinny-dip itself!” Forgiving his slightly awkward--yet adorable--phrasing, I accepted his challenge, jumping in with him.

As our heads both emerged, we held hands under the water, my thumb rubbing the soft skin of his. He leaned in and placed a kiss on the top of my ear, before settling his face into the crook of my neck. And then, again, we felt like nothing more than an extension of the earth below our feet and the sky above our heads.

Catharsis.

-------

Sunwoo and I arrived back at camp and we were met with ten horrified faces. To be fair, we looked an absolute mess. Our clothes were sopping wet, hanging off of our bodies like rags. As our feet had been too wet to put our shoes back on, we walked back barefoot, as evidenced by the dirt, mud, and scratches littering our ankles and calves. Our hair, like something out of a horror movie, dangling in front of our faces in stringy and curly sections.

“Sunny! What the heck, dude?” Jacob cried, staring in shock at Sunwoo’s now dirty and tattered bandage on his ankle. Sunwoo half-smiled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Sorry, Cobie. You should’ve seen the stream today! It was so beautiful; we just had to swim in it!” He replied, a slight pout on his lips.

Chanhee was sitting at the fire a few feet away, a sly smile engulfing his face. “Oh sure,” he teased, “Swimming. I bet that’s all you two were doing.” He puckered his lips and wrapped his arms around himself, a type of mockery I hadn’t seen since high school. I couldn’t help but giggle at him, even if he was jumping to conclusions, and incorrect ones, at that.

Sunwoo and I hadn’t kissed. We didn’t need to, and maybe we never would. We only needed to hold each other. And frankly, that’s all I wanted to do for the rest of my days.

As Jacob unwrapped the bandage from Sunwoo’s ankle, his smile faltered for a second before he replaced it. I knew that look. I grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“What is it?” Jacob looked at me, contemplating, then turned to Sunwoo and sighed. He resumed his faux angry persona from earlier, resembling a loving parent.

“This is why I told you to be careful, Sunny! The wound must have reopened at some point, and you got it dirty when you were out there. It should be fine if we wash it and dress it with herbs, but you’re gonna have to stay off of it for longer-- and no more playing in dirt, for Christ’s sake, Sunny.” Sunwoo looked like a child getting scolded for tracking dirt into the house, but I could see the twinkle of mischief still ever-bright in his innocent eyes.

Sangyeon walked over to us, still as reserved and stoic as ever. He looked me over as he always did, eyes filled with suspicion and piqued interest. He turned to Jacob, who I had figured out was something of a second-in-command.

“We’ve received word of a pack about a mile west. We should head out now, while it’s still bright out,” he turned to look at Sunwoo, still talking to Jacob“This is sort of an all-hands-on-deck situation. Is he okay to shoot?”

Sunwoo replied for Jacob by standing up, still young and eager to prove himself, “I’m fine, I promise! I’m not in pain, and my ankle won’t affect my shooting if I’m sniping. Sir.” Sangyeon looked Sunwoo up and down, slightly nodding his head, then reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

“Don’t get hurt again, buddy. We can’t lose anyone else.” That was the first time I had seen Sangyeon let his guard down, and I even saw a tear slip out of the corner of his left eye. Sunwoo bit his lip in an attempt to suppress the tears he had already let go that morning. Sangyeon was quick to wipe it and resume his cold air, though, and he turned to look at me, unsure of what to do with me.

“What do you mean you received word? And why are you seeking out Echoes? Shouldn’t we be, like, hiding from them?” I asked.

Sangyeon stared at me again. “I hear you’re good with a knife.”

“Not good. Excellent.”

He nodded and walked off, leaving my questions unanswered, to which I looked at Sunwoo in disbelief.

A slight smile spread across Sunwoo’s face and he started walking towards one of the smaller tents, expecting me to follow him. When I walked in, I saw more radios than I had ever seen in my life. Old ones that couldn’t have been less than 60 years old, the ones that were built into flashlights, walkie talkies, even old car radios.

“Kid, what the hell is this?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“This, Ari, is anything that can send or receive signals through the next hundred miles. Over the year and a half we’ve been here, we’ve found all of them.”

“B--But why?”

“So we can get them before they get us. There are lots of us out there, we send word to each other if we see or hear of Echoes that we can’t get ourselves.”

The wheels in my head were turning so quickly, and I still couldn’t understand it.

“So-- So you guys actually… hunt Echoes? You don’t just run from them?”

“That’s right. And we’re gonna keep hunting them. Until every one of those bastards is six feet under.”

It all finally made sense. How organized and resourceful they all were. How skilled they all were at fighting. The hierarchy and positions they all assumed, with Sangyeon at the top. This wasn’t a camp.

It was a machine. An Echo-hunting machine.

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - 1100 | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  2,494

Warnings:  Enemies to lovers, so general hatred, reader starts out as a Gumm-Gumm spy, angst, death, pain, and later torture, but i don’t think there’s any swearing

A/N:  So, this has been my brain baby for a while.  As of current, I’m working on the eighth chapter, so there’s definitely more to come.  I’ve worked really hard on it, and I’m super proud of myself for sticking with it (my attention span is real short, so this is a miracle.)  Thank you so much for reading, you don’t know how much it means to me.  Also thank you to @mydouxie​ for asking for this super politely, you’re awesome and also the reason I’m putting it out tonight.  Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy the fic.

Back | Next

“Douxie?  Doux, come on, you’d better wake up right now.  Wake up.  Wake up!  Douxie, don’t do this, please,”  You begged, leaning over the body of your closest friend, and former worst enemy.

“Oh god,” you choked, “No, no, no, no, please… please don’t leave me,” There was silence,  And then you began to sob.  

The voices of your friends rung out around you, but you were too tired to decipher what they said and too numb to care.

This couldn’t be happening.  It just wasn’t possible.  Hisirdoux Casperan had been in your life for almost as long as you could remember.  There were times when he had been your life.  There was no way he was just gone.  But he was.  And it was killing you on the inside.  You’d been through a lot in the past nine-hundred-and-nineteen years.  You’d lost friends, suffered wars, witnessed pandemics, and been tortured.  You’d stayed strong through all of it, but this?  Seeing your best friend, dead on the ground?  This broke you.

There was once a time, long ago, when you would have celebrated.  Centuries in the past, when you were young and naive, and so absolutely stupid.  It was the beginning for you, and for him, and for this fic.

So, you tuned out your mourning friends and Archie’s sorrowful yowls, and you let yourself melt back into the past.

--

It was sometime in the twelfth century.  

King Arthur was on the throne, ruling his kingdom with an iron fist and a hatred for all magical beings.

And you were a witch.

This led to a childhood of abandonment issues, poverty, and self-hate.  You, and everyone around you,  thought you a freak; a monster.  There is no need to say that you had a rather nasty upbringing.  You’d experienced some of the worst things humanity had to offer, so the obvious next step was to turn against the humans and join the force set to destroy them.

When you were eight years old, you pledged allegiance to Gunmar, offering your services as a witch, and a spy.

Life with the Gumm-Gumms wasn’t much better than life on the streets, but at the very least you received some basic training where your magic was concerned.  The more you practiced, the stronger you became, the better asset you were, the less likely your death was.  It was simple enough.  The knowledge that your strength was the only thing keeping you from dying a horrible death was a fantastic motivator, and it really helped you rise through the ranks of the Gumm-Gumm forces.

Maybe a little too far.

Eleven years after you’d joined Gunmar, he summoned you to the arena.  You were in a panic, not knowing what he wanted, you just assumed that he wanted to kill you and you were absolutely going to die.

Upon entering the arena, however, you were not brutally murdered, which came as a bit of a shock to you.  You had no time to process this, however, when the king troll spoke your name, calling you to the center of the arena. You walked to the middle of the gigantic stone room, kneeling on the cold floor before your master.

“You’ve done well for our kind (L/N),” he bellowed, “You’ve proven your loyalty time and time again,”

You could feel the eyes of hundreds of Gumm-Gumms focusing in on you.  It wasn’t pleasant.  Maybe you’d die after all.

Gunmar rose from his throne, “You support the cause.  You know King Aurthur has wrongfully banished us from our homelands, imprisoned and executed our kind without reason,” 

You stood up straighter as the troll began to circle you, “Yes my lord,”

“Then you will have no problem with this task,”

“Anything you ask, my lord, it will be done,”

The troll made a sound that could have been a laugh.  You weren’t sure, you were pretty busy trying not to do anything that could get you killed.  Eleven years of allegiance were pretty good insurance, but there was no guarantee with the likes of Gunmar.

“You will act as our spy.  Go to the king’s wizard, demand he take you in as an apprentice.  There are whispers, rumors that the wretched magician is building a weapon that could destroy me,”  there was that laugh again, “You will find out everything you can about this weapon and report back to me,”

“Yes, my lord,”

“Do not fail me (L/N).  If you do not succeed, you already know your fate,”

You gulped, bowing to the king as he dismissed you.  Your mission was effective immediately, you packed up your (very) few belongings and headed through the woods to the kingdom of Camelot, preparing yourself to destroy it from the inside.

--

It didn’t take too much to get into the palace.  You were actually quite surprised at how little effort it took to convince Merlin to take you in as an apprentice.  Getting him to trust you was a different matter.

And getting the other apprentice to trust you was a different matter on top of the first matter.

Merlin was cold to you, but you’d gathered that it was just his personality, but the other apprentice?  He was quirky and kind to everyone else, but he treated you as if he already knew you were a Gumm-Gumm spy trying to steal vital information from his master.  His familiar acted much the same.

Maybe it was something about how you behaved?  You were used to the militaristic style of the Gumm-Gumms and Gunmar, who could kill you anytime he wanted if you messed up. 

You had no idea if that was the issue, or if this guy just had something against witches.  What you did know, was that whatever his problem was, it was keeping you from getting any actual work done.

If you didn’t report anything to Gunmar soon, he’d probably kill you, so you decided that you needed to get this apprentice out of the way.  You weren’t going to kill him, that would be too obvious.  You were just going to go up to him and calmly ask what his problem was.

This did not go down well.

By the end of that interaction, you and Hisirdoux Casperan were both screaming at each other, his familiar, Archie, had scratched your shoulder, and no less than three bookshelves had been knocked over.

Your relationship did not improve from there.

You fought with the boy wizard almost daily, with similar amounts of destruction.  It didn’t matter what it was whether it be his stupid man-bun, the colour you wore that day, his lute-playing, your fidgeting, or something even more trivial than that.  The two of you would always find some way to yell at each other because of it.

And it was really starting to piss Merlin off.

On the bright side, it was a decent way to let off steam.  The stress of being a spy was a lot to take, and yelling at someone really helped.  The catharsis really helped your work ethic.  You even managed to find out a little bit about Merlin’s weapon; an amulet of some kind.

Gunmar was pleased with your report.

With the exception of the constant fighting between you and Casperan, things were going pretty decently.  You finally had a place to experiment with your magic and use it for a purpose other than warfare, Gunmar was satisfied and showed no signs of killing you, and the king’s sister, Morgana, had really taken you under her wing.

And then she fell off a cliff and died.

Things took a downward turn after that.

You’d returned to Camelot, everyone mourning the sister of the king when Casperan approached you.

“You have something to do with this,”

You panicked for a moment before you realized he had no way of knowing that you did indeed have something to do with this, “I don’t know what you mean,”

“You have something to do with this,” his tone was angrier, more accusatory.  At his side, his familiar looked very concerned, “I don’t know what you did, but you are the reason Morgana is dead!”

“How dare you!” you cried.  You knew that you were kind of the reason that the sorceress was dead.  And you felt guilty about it.  You hadn’t let yourself feel guilt in years.  You hadn’t let yourself feel anything but fear in years.  You were having a very hard time adjusting to the pit in your chest.  Casperan was not helping.

“I dare because you can’t be real!  You have to be a traitor, or a spy or something!”

“Oh really?  How do you figure?”

“Douxie, stop,” Archie hissed.  Neither of you listened.

“Nobody with your skillset strolls up to the palace and asks to be an apprentice, you’re strong enough to be a master wizard, but you still came here, and stole everyone’s focus, and then you did,” he struggled to figure out your exact motive was, “Something!  Now Morgana is dead, and it’s your fault,”

If you weren’t actually a spy, you’d probably be offended.  You’d also point out how he had next to no evidence of this.  However, you were very much a spy, and you weren’t in the headspace to argue properly.  Instead of taking down his argument bit by bit, you just went for what you thought would hurt the most.

“So you’re accusing me of murder because you’re jealous?”  you scoffed, “Grow up!  It isn’t my fault that I’m better at magic than you!”

It wasn’t your fault, the fear of instant death did that.

“Better at magic, eh?  Well, let’s test that theory!”  Casperan moved a hand to his wrist where his magic bracelet of magic sat.  It glowed blue for a moment, showing spinning runes twisting into the form of a spell.

Then the blue light came at you.

You were more than a little shocked.  The two of you would fight, yes, but it never got physical or magical. Your back collided with the wall, dragging the breath from your lungs and making you cough.  

Archie hissed, once again trying to get the both of you to calm down.  It still didn’t work.

Casperan looked way too smug for someone who had only landed a hit with the element of surprise.  You scowled at him, reaching for your own cuff.  He wanted a fight?  You’d give him one.  

Your magic shot itself at the wizard, suspending him high in the air before dropping him harshly.

This continued for a time, absolutely destroying the room you were in.  The two of you probably would’ve fought for the rest of time had Merlin not barged in.

“What is the meaning of this!”  He exclaimed, stopping both you and Casperan mid-spell.

“They started it!” you and your fellow apprentice pointed your fingers at each other.

“I don’t care who started it.  I’ve had enough of your constant bickering!  You have both taken this too far, and don’t-”

“But master!”

“But master me.  Your fighting is disrupting the order of Camelot.  I cannot allow this to continue a moment longer!”

Oh no.  What did that mean exactly?  Was he going to cast you back out onto the street?  Kill you?  Maybe that was for the best.  If you were removed from the palace, Gunmar would kill you in ways Merlin had never dreamed of.

Maybe death by Merlin was the best outcome here.

So, you didn’t flinch when the master wizard raised his hands and spoke an incantation, painting the room in a green glow.

But you didn’t die.

Instead, a beam of light wove itself around your wrist, then around the wrist of the other apprentice.  The beam glowed brighter, tying itself into knots before it, and the green glow of the room faded away.

“Master, what-”

“What did you do?” you stared down at your wrist, shaking slightly.  You felt like you were going to be sick.

“An ancient binding spell.  You will now feel every bit of each other’s pain.  That should stop your pointless squabbling,”

“What!?  For how long!?” you cried out, grabbing your wrist and backing away from both wizards.

“Forever.  Now if you’ll excuse me,”

You didn’t even notice Merlin leave the room.  You just focused on the patch of skin where the magic had encircled you, binding you to Casperan and sealing your fate.

There was no way Gunmar would let you live if he knew about this.  You were compromised, it was as simple as that.  If the troll king found out that you were bound to Merlin’s apprentice?  And that said apprentice was already suspicious of you, and would absolutely use this connection to find out why you were really here?  You were going to die so painfully.

And suddenly you couldn’t breathe.  Your whole body shook slightly.  Your ribs hurt, your throat felt like it was closing, you had to go.  You didn’t even realize Casperan was talking, whether to you or his familiar, it didn’t matter.  You just turned tail and ran from the room.

And you didn’t stop.

--

Merlin searched for you.

He wasn’t the only one.

A small search party of knights, plus Merlin, scoured the land looking for you, trying to find where you’d run to. 

It was Italy.  You’d gone to Italy.  And you planned to go further, running as far and fast as you were able.

Needless to say, they didn’t find you.

The only reason they knew you were alive was Hisirdoux.  He wasn’t in immense pain, or in a vegetative state, or dead, so you had to be okay, wherever you were.  The thought was comforting, not only to Merlin, who considered you his responsibility but to Hisirdoux, who felt a little guilty.

A little guilty in this context means extremely guilty.  

He felt responsible for your disappearance.  He had wrongfully accused you, and you’d been punished for it.  He felt a little bit guilty every time he tripped or otherwise hurt himself.

The search continued until the battle of Killahead, where Gunmar revealed your spy status, demanding your head on a pike and accusing you of betraying him.  Hisirdoux stopped feeling so bad after that.

Instead, he was angry.  He’d been right, and no one had believed him.  You’d broken into his life, stolen the hearts of everyone he cared about, and none of them listened when he brought up how suspicious you were.  He was full of resentment, not only for you but for himself.  He should have tried harder to reveal you as a spy.  He should have done something, anything, but he did nothing.

These thoughts tortured him on the inside, one day leading him to punch a wall, scaring the daylights out of Archie.  The apprentice ignored the questions from his familiar, electing to stare down at his bruising hand and wondering if you felt that.

And even more than a thousand miles away, you did.

[happymetalgirl]

July 2020

Machine Head - Civil Unrest

On this two-song EP, Robb Flynn once again leans into spur-of-the-moment inspiration in an effort to jolt Machine Head out of the creative fatigue that plagued the polarizing Catharsis, but unfortunately the approach that didn’t really work for “Volatile” doesn’t really work for “Stop the Bleeding” or “Bulletproof”, and it all adds up upon the revelation that these songs are constructed from scraps off the Catharsis kitchen floor. Robb’s finger is on the pulse of the tension underlying American politics and his heart is in the right place (which I commend him for his steadfastness to in the face of the apparently sizable chud subset of Machine Head’s fanbase), he just needs to take his delivery a little off the nose. Of the two songs, “Bulletproof” is definitely the stronger and more hard-hitting, while the goofy 2000′s metalcore melodicism of “Stop the Bleeding” meshes poorly with the grim subject matter Robb attaches to the track. In the grand scheme of Machine Head’s career, this EP (and the two non-album singles that preceded it last year) is disappointing filler that does nothing to lift the band out of the dry creative well they’ve found themselves in.

5/10

Khemmis - More Songs About Death, Vol. 1

A much more solid two-track EP, Khemmis’ More Songs About Death, Vol. 1 is comprised of a groovy cover of Misfits’ “Skulls” and an acoustic rendition of the folk song, “A Conversation with Death”, that the band had covered electrically for a split they did with Spirit Adrift. The band adapt well to the more original acoustic style of the latter song, as soulful as ever even with acoustic subtlety replacing their open-hearted doom metal. As for the Misfits cover, the band apply their signature harmonic doom guitar work to give it a signature seal while adhering to the core foundation of the song, and they show that the song does take to their brand of doom quite well. After Desolation and being signed to Nuclear Blast, Khemmis sure were excited to get working on their fourth LP. Now that of course sits on the list of many projects the pandemic has forcefully postponed, but these kinds of offerings and the band’s hinting that they might just come out of this with two albums’ worth of material is helping make the wait a little more bearable. Thank you as always, Khemmis.

more respect to Khemmis/10

Inter Arma - Garbers Days Revisited

Coming off the back of their magnum opus, Sulphur English, Inter Arma’s offering to hold the quarantined world over until the band’s next opus is a quick (by their standards) covers album of metal and hardcore classics, as well as some surprising classic and southern rock tunes. And the band manage the eight diverse songs with an impressive display of two-way adaptability. Turning “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” into a blackgaze blast-beat fest and “Scarecrow” and into a crushing blackened sludge-doom epic while layering their atmospheric black metal smoothly over the old-school rock grooves of Neil Young’s “Southern Man” Inter Arma show an aptitude for selecting cover songs that fit their style. It sure helps that they’re a versatile act too, bending their mammothian heaviness to suit the core appeal of covers of Cro-Mags’ “Hard Times”, Nine Inch Nails’ “March of the Pigs”, and Venom’s “In League with Satan” while shedding all that sludge to expose their southern rock roots on (slightly) more stripped back tunes like “Runnin’ Down a Dream” and Prince’s “Purple Rain” (a closer so fittingly beautiful it seems almost unfair), which find them embellishing soulfully and clearly enjoying themselves in the studio. A lineup of tracks like this would make be nervous for whatever band was trying to tackle them, but Inter Arma prove that can shapeshift back to their southern roots just as well as they can bulldoze as needed to do their own justice to these several tracks, making for one of the best cover albums I’ve heard for a while.

8/10

This Will Destroy You - Vespertine

Serving as a soundtrack project for a highly rated California This Will Destroy You seemingly took a long time with this project, having released the “Kitchen” single in 2017 under the same premise. The album is entirely ambient, and not quite as experimental with glitchy electro-ambiance as projects like Tunnel Blanket or Another Language were. Instead, Vespertine highlights the serene/somber atmospheric foundation of the band’s post-metal/rock sound that made the Young Mountain EP and their self-titled LP such transcendent experiences and exemplary advocates for post-rock upon their release. And it’s a great display of just how the band’s discernible ambient style can shine through even such a minimal approach. It is basic ambient music for sure, no additives, but it’s unmistakably This Will Destroy You to those who know them, and it hearkens back to some of their best work, so I see it as a welcome addition to the band’s catalog.

7/10

Static-X - Project Regeneration, Vol. 1

Rebooted in honor of Wayne Static after his untimely passing in 2017 the original line-up and Dope frontman Edsel Dope behind a mask resembling the late singer and the pseudonym Xer0, Static-X return after over a decade of radio silence since 2009′s Cult of Static to mesh the final recordings of Wayne Static for the band with contributions from Xer0 on the first of two volumes of new material under this premise of paying tribute. Despite the lengthy absence and the loss of the band’s central creative force, the album is a mostly smooth transition from Cult of Static with some callbacks to the electro industrial metal of earlier albums like Shadow Zone and Machine. While it captures the essence of Static-X across its 39-minute track list with a handful of hard-hitting industrial nu metal bangers, Project Regeneration - Vol. 1 is a bit of a dry recount of the band’s legacy, and I hope the band saved the better chunk of songs for the second installment.

6/10

An Autumn for Crippled Children - All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet

An Autumn for Crippled Children is an anonymous Dutch trio who are helping to keep the blackgaze movement going with their eighth full-length album here. The band released their seventh not long ago in 2018, but this year’s is my introduction to the band, which has been a pleasant one. All Fell Silent, Everything Went Quiet is a moderately sized offering of heartfelt blackgaze as you know it from the likes of Deafheaven and Ghost Bath channeled through more second-wave-like stylings of the Norwegian black metal scene; so it sounds kind of like if Mayhem made more open-hearted music rather than deflected edginess through Satan-worshipping (not to shit on Mayhem or anything). There is more to this album, however, than just diluted or lo-fi Deafheaven worship; through the haze of the band’s fuzzy blackgaze is some pretty dynamic songwriting and impressive. More than just soaking distorted guitars in reverb and juxtaposing blackmetal screams with post-rock ambiance, An Autumn for Crippled Children capture some of that emotional diversity that makes blackgaze at its best (...Sunbather) so divinely captivating. And the spacious beauty the band conjures out of the negative space in the static-y guitars and thin percussion on songs like “Water’s Edge”, “Paths”, and the title track is surprisingly enveloping, but the standout cut on the album I’d say is the very unashamedly Ghost-Bath-y “Silver” for its overt heartfelt delivery with every instrument and its integration of what even sounds like a piano. I doubt this would convert many black metal purists who idolize Burzum and Darkthrone. In fact I bet this album would upset them even more than New Bermuda, but for those without a stick up their ass, looking for some juicy blackgaze with a different set of ingredients than your Harakiri for the Sky or Wolves in the Throne Room, this is some good shit.

8/10

Bury Tomorrow - Cannibal

I gave this one a good several tries because 2018’s Black Flame grew on me significantly after my incredibly underwhelmed first couple of listens, but sadly Cannibal strikes melodic metalcore gold far less often than its predecessor and finds Bury Tomorrow knee deep in the unflattering tropes that the genre is trying to shake off. With a pretty one-note approach to melodicism that results in a largely homogeneously flat emotional tone across the album, it’s definitely a step down from the emboldened and invigorated Black Flame that negates any sense of the band’s ambition that that album might have given off. I can point out “Better Below” and the brief breakdown on “Gods & Machines” as mild highlights in the tracklist, but they only really stand out because the rest of the surrounding tracks are so dry. I’d like to say that things just didn’t click this time or that some experiments just didn’t pan out, but it’s quite clearly just the lack of imagination and ambition that sinks this project deep into the background of forgettable metalcore, and I know this band can do better.

4/10

Kansas - The Absence of Presence

They’re hardly even metal-adjacent but for their sizable contribution to the 70′s prog rock movement that such a huge proportion of metalheads are into, a new Kansas album I suppose counts as on-topic for this blog. The band returned after a decade and a half of absence with a stuttering restart without iconic vocalist Steve Walsh on 2016′s The Prelude Implicit, and it was clear that they needed to do more than yearn for glory days to get the gears back in motion, so with The Absence of Presence the band’s new blood has stepped up to the plate to inject some freshness into the band’s compositional process. The band still sticks to that core violin-spiced prog rock that characterized their iconic 70′s albums, but the structuring and soloing style (especially the keys) are a bit more modernized than the band’s past work, and by modern I mean what Dream Theater sounded like in the 2000′s. Make no mistake, though, it’s an improvement on The Prelude Implicit, and it highlights the band’s talents and natural grandiose tendencies far more than the radio rock singles they’re most widely known for, and the cinematic bridge of the opening title track is sturdy proof of this. It’s a testament to the influence they have had on modern prog through the genre’s biggest bands like Dream Theater, and perhaps a testament to the two-wayedness of that street as well as fun, bombastic tunes like “Throwing Mountains” sound like they would fit easily on something like A Dramatic Turn of Events or as a break from all the melancholy on a Steven Wilson project. The album does wear a little thin on ballads like “Memories Down the Line”, but it makes up for its duller moments with plenty of exuberant prog expressiveness on most of the songs (the closing track being probably the standout example), which should be a good time for most of the band’s fans who fondly remember albums like Masque and Monolith, and any newer prog fans who may not be aware of the band’s influence on today’s prog metal.

7/10

Haken - Virus

Speaking of respectable modern prog though, Haken’s aptly named album this year serves as quite the easy bar to clear for prog metal so far this decade. I regretfully missed out on their 2018 sister album, Vector, but I am partially mending that ill by covering Virus here. Like I said earlier, it’s a solid record that captures the smoothness and tempered heaviness of Soen and the attitude of early Opeth with the angularity of Tool, but even if it ends up being the year’s best prog metal album, I don’t think it will be too long before one of the genre’s juggernauts (or even exciting new faces) kamehamehas this one away. The album starts out pretty solid in its first few tracks, but remains pretty meager and restrained in its explosiveness until midway through the album, relying on rather short bursts of typical prog heaviness like the opening of “Prosthetic”, whose rumbly bassline is a delicious highlight amongst the Townsend-esque choir implementation. The ten-minute “Carousel” ups the band’s expressiveness after the deceptive soothe of the second track with a clash of goth-y ambiance and pounding metallic bombast. The five-part “Messiah Complex” suite finds the band at their most adventurous, straddling the winding mid-song compositional whirl of Dream Theater with the occasional eccentricity and djenty heaviness of producer Nolly’s former band Periphery, the band still sound themselves and confident in every move they make, like true prog masters, ending beautifully on the two-minute “Only Stars”. I think it might end up being the year’s best straight-up prog metal album, and the band have worked hard to earn that honor, but I would honestly be surprised if someone else or Haken themselves don’t outdo it within a year. That’s to take away from what an exciting 52 minutes of prog this is, because with such a moderate runtime for such a tight prog album, it’s definitely deserving of the respect of a top album in its field.

8/10

Skeleton - Skeleton

Even though I tend to end up liking them, I find myself skeptical of projects whose aesthetic feels forcedly retro or whose marketing is focused heavily on nostalgia, and the self-titled debut from the Austin-based trio, Skeleton, complete with its intentionally cheesy and amateurish cover art, definitely checked those boxes. I even got the sense from 20 Buck Spin (being that I’m on their mailing list and follow their accounts and all) that they were more excited than usual to be releasing the trio’s debut. And honestly, after a few listens through of not being all too aroused by the crusty proto-death metal at the core of the band’s sound, the traditional heavy metal focus on infectious guitar riffs helped the album grow on me a good bit. The stylistic versatility of the guitar playing really is the cornerstone of the album, from the Kill ‘Em All-style riffs on “Taste of Blood” and early Sepultura-esque galloping on “At War” to the blackened punk grit of “A Far Away Land” and the even more catchy classic metal riffs on “Turned to Stone” and the melancholic old-school doom atmosphere on “Ring of Fire”. The snarled black metal vocals are gnarly in that old-school sense, throaty and raspy but kind of cheesily thin too to fit with the aesthetic the band are going for, and it’s a pretty similar story with the drums: not flashy at all by today’s standards but just right to supplement the guitar work and complete the vibe. And of course with 11 tracks not even grazing the half hour mark, the songs are pretty trim and compositionally bare bones, falling into quick, crust punk formats foregoing the typical verse-chorus paradigm. Yes, Skeleton has grown on me, and I’m curious to see if they end up expanding this sound like Ghost did from Opus Eponymous to stay creatively fresh or if they plan to draw from the long-abandoned (or less frequented) wells of musical elements they did on this album for the foreseeable future.

7/10

Burzum - Thulêan Mysteries

I know that in a lot of circles (including some I consider myself a part of), saying something even vaguely positive about Burzum invites a wave of disapproval for supporting (or at the very least, excusing) the black metal world’s most notorious villain’s racism, but I can’t say with a straight that Varg Vikernes didn’t play a huge part in shaping Norwegian black metal as we know it or that I don’t like Filosofem or Hvis lyset tar oss. I don’t think that amounts to supporting the guy’s racist bullshit, and luckily Varg has made it pretty easy not to support his racist bullshit because Burzum has been shit for a long long time now; in fact I’d say Filosofem was the last worthwhile Burzum album, with his pathetically bad ambient records during and after his time in prison and the three stale black metal albums that welcomed him back from prison. After such a weak return to music from prison and Burzum’s discontinuation-turned-hiatus, it seemed overdue that Varg finally retire the Burzum project after the unimaginative ambiance of The Ways of Yore. I mean the project has thoroughly emulated the trope of the white guy who views everything he touches as way more genius than anyone else does, which is pretty rich for a guy so willing to dismiss the current black metal scene as derivative, and he’s seemed more invested in whatever it is he’s been doing on YouTube or his blog. Nevertheless, Varg remains an infamous figure in metal probably to a lot of dudes who think there’s some esoteric genius to decode in his lore, to an extent I find kinda disturbing. The weird reverence a lot of the metal community has for the neo-nazi murderer’s cult of personality (the vast majority of whose discography is masturbatory throwaway doodling) is astounding. So this guy’s back, with an hour and a half of, by his own account, ambient scraps of dungeon synth music that he built up over an extended period of time and basically figured he’d compile into an album (because, like I said, everything he touches must be gold in his eyes), and goddamn it sure sounds like exactly what he pitches it as. The first track, “The Sacred Well”, is actually pretty soothing and decent helping of ethereal ambient music, but it doesn��t take long for things to go downhill. The annoyingly repetitive acoustic motif of “ForeBears” and the absolutely amateurish improvised piano plinking of “A Thulêan Perspective” quickly shed light on just how lazily patched together this thing is, while the subsequent “Gathering of Herbs” literally cuts off awkwardly like the full track didn’t upload fully. A few tracks like “Jötunnheimr” and “The Road to Hel” offer some fleeting promise in their eeriness, but they disappear as quickly as most of the tracks here do, in a flash of confusion as clearly incomplete ideas piled into an album for no reason that even Varg can justify. The last third of the album contains some of the longer tracks, but the swapping of fragments of half-assed keyboard doodles for half-assed demos spread thinner than tissue paper is a trade-off akin to the upcoming general election and it’s too little and way too late. I have to highlight the laughably farty synthesizer horns on “Ruins of Dwarfmount”; I mean thank god it’s quick because it’s absolutely awful, but the chuckle I get out of how bad it is is probably the best experience I have from this whole album. Just about everything on here is some combination of irritatingly repetitive, blatantly incomplete, or grossly unprofessional, and the thing that gets me is that it’s not like ambient music or dungeon synth is any sort of rocket science. I’m not at all the kind of music genius Varg’s weird devotees see him to be, but given the same equipment, even I could undoubtedly make a better ambient album than this. Although I’m not nearly as well-versed in ambient music as I am in metal, I have heard enough of a chunk of it to say I know the good shit and the bad shit, but honestly, this album is a new low for me. I didn’t know an ambient album could suck this much. It’s like an extended Daudi Baldrs with a slightly better keyboard, but with no excuse this time for the cheapness of the sound and certainly not the length. Yeah, piece of shit.

2/10

Boris - NO

Tokyo’s prolific sonic shapeshifters have all but given up on giving up, and I suppose the title of this year’s record summarizes their brief questioning of if they stop making music. The band’s first intended farewell album, Dear, which found them (not really) bowing out to the sorrowful drone doom of their most iconic record (Pink), was followed them by last year’s LφVE & EVφL, which saw them revisiting various shades of their career as comfortably as ever. NO finds the power trio on another stylistic tour of sorts, this time through some of their heaviest and most grimy territory, starting from brooding sludge doom to spending most of the album on Slayer-esque thrash and hardcore punk ripe with gritty attitude. The production is thick and nasty as is usually best for Boris, but the writing on this record is just kind of absent-minded for such a stylistically varied project. While the more drony opener, “Genesis”, rides its runtime well on the raw heaviness that the band put the pure simplicity of their slow groove through, the farther the band step away from their wheelhouse, the more apparent sparseness becomes of the more underwritten songs like the meatheadedly punky “Kikinoue” and “Fundamental Error”. We get some crushing riffs like that on “Anti-Gone”, but also some clumsy wailing about like on the song “Lust” that calls into question the effort Boris put in at the drawing board. The sheer power is there, but it’s being used generally inefficiently on a sizeable portion of NO. Still, it’s pretty cool to hear Boris at this pace, and the pure energy they pour into this project is enough to get the job done.

7/10

Tuscoma - Discourse

Tuscoma’s follow-up to the wildly eccentric Arkhitecturenominus is gets off to a slow start with its rather generic churn of blowtorch-blackened post-metal through its first two tracks and is short on risks for the reputably ambitious duo, but Discourse does eventually kick in to dig deep to tap as much of the frightful potential of the band’s sound and showcases a decent example of what the New Zealanders are known for and of lies out in left-field of post-metal.

6/10

Executioner’s Mask - Despair Anthems

Making their debut as a collective for Profound Lore, the quintet of seasoned post-punk creatives embark on an eccentric voyage through darkwave on a ship of modern gothic rock, and the results are as fascinating as they sound on paper, recalling the cerebral ritualism of Children of God-era Swans as much as the energetically veiled despair of Type O Negative and AFI while dipping the rock elements into the industrial side of darkwave every now and then. And again, the product is an effortless immersiveness into the record’s moody journey, not through atmosphere-building, but through the infectiousness of the goth dance numbers take you on. It’s certainly more of a metal-adjacent album than a bonafide metal album, but the way the band captures the despair they set out to is as effective through more subtly seething means as DSBM’s best, and the band’s adventurousness with their sonic palette alone makes for an interesting listen, or several, as I will certainly be giving this project more than its fair share of my ears.

8/10

Ensiferum - Thalassic

Very similar to Amon Amarth’s longtime solidification of their sound, the Finnish talents seem able to simply exhale exhilaration through their both tried-and-true and continually honed black-reinforced power folk metal. And it’s clear the band are on autopilot at least to some degree on Thalassic here because the writing is pretty homogeneous and formulaic nearly all the way through; that being said, the sheer energy of the band’s performances into a sound experience allows them to wield so effortlessly more than carries them across the seas they sing of.

7/10 

Bedsore - Hypnagogic Hallucinations

Stepping out from the shadows of Italy to present the great big world of metal with their forty-minute debut-album, the four-piece on the 20 Buck Spin label make their grand atmospheric aspirations for their brand of death metal immediately known across seven tracks of hellish wails and haunted ambiance. Taking ominous clean guitar motif-writing and structuring influence from Neurosis to the point of uncannily resembling “Souls at Zero” on the second track, “The Gate, Closure (Sarcoptes Obitus)”, Bedsore still inject plenty of their own distorted flair into the cavernous death-metal-flavored howl they espouse on Hypnagogic Hallucinations. The band do bank rather heavily on the immersiveness of the atmosphere they try to conjure, leaving a blind spot in the album’s dynamic beyond the fluctuations between clean and distorted nightmare. Compositional shortcomings aside, this is a solid debut to set the Italians on a bright prospective future.

7/10

Spirit Possesion - Spirit Possesion

Blackened thrash metal is one of those smaller subgenres within metal that feels more like a niche occupied by a few stalwarts like Aura Noir, Goatwhore, and Deströyer 666, but now Spirit Possession is making the bid to join those ranks and potentially turn more spotlight onto the specifically hybridized style. The band’s self-titled debut brims with the thrash enthusiasm of Bathory and the old-school riffing that shaped the way the early progenitors of black metal composed theirs, and not only is the Portland duo’s riff-game on point, but goddamn does it sound savory and spicy as hell through the more flattering production and against the backdrop of modern black metal a la Watain. The nasty chug on the song “Swallowing Throne” really highlights the benefit of the thicker, tastier production. The exceptionally grand “Amongst Inverted Castles and Holy Laughter” is a fine example of the band straddling old and new with impressive flexibility, while the bulk of the album's indulgence into early black metal and thrash is impossible not to want to indulge with, like a really fun party with a good crowd that makes it so much easier to have a few more drinks than you originally intended to.

8/10

Defeated Sanity - The Sanguinary Impetus

Through just enough delicious riffing,  memorable accentuation, and technicality on par with Dying Fetus packed into structurally creative bite-sized portions, brutal death metal stalwarts Defeated Sanity somehow make a pretty persuasive take-it-or-leave-it case for the genre.

7/10

Paysage d’Hiver - Im Wald

The boldly two-hour debut double-album from Paysage d’Hiver is also a bit of a double-edged sword, basing partly its very ethereal black metal atmosphere on the homemade sound that regularly kneecaps the grander feel the project is going for. And the album does indeed reach some soaring heights of blizzard-stung ambiance, which the biting sound of the tinny, but engaged, percussion and the vexed swooning of the tremolo-picked guitar playing across the album’s several indeed well-organized lengthy tracks. It takes a lot to trudge through the long path covered in thick snow that this album sets out on, and the lo-fi production often doesn’t help the individual elements that make Im Wald enjoyable stand out, and it can be all too easy to get lost in the homogeneous whitewash of the hazy winter wind. It’s a rewarding journey to finally make it all the way through with unbroken attention, but blame for the easiness of that attention being lapsed can at least partially be placed on the shoulders of Paysage d’Hiver for its mastermind’s one-note approach to an otherwise well-arranged and well-composed album.

7/10

Gaerea - Limbo

Despite the members’ faceless appearances behind their fully-covering black cloth masks, Gaerea’s music does not hold back its sorrowful outpour through heavy atmospheric black metal that crashes through and drowns like torrential flood waves as much as it tears at the heartstrings through unabashed languishing. The massive weight of the band’s sound invokes the feeling of being in the presence of an incarnate deity weeping at the ills of mankind and the destruction they have forced this deity to bring about. Abstract descriptors of the album’s experience aside, the band aren’t really doing too much new for the atmospheric black metal they’re making, not breaking any rules or pushing any boundaries, but everything that makes the genre so attractive is turned up to eleven. I was ready to be as critical as ever, but I could immediately see not long into my first listen why Season of Mist were so excited to hype up the Portuguese outfit’s incredibly accomplished sophomore release. The guitar playing is simultaneously powerful and beautiful, much like that of the Ulcerate album from earlier this year (Stare into Death and Be Still) that I also loved, and the drumming is just as ceaselessly thunderous in support. The lamenting screamed vocals are possibly the least exaggerated facet of the album, but certainly not the the point of being unfitting, in fact they fit the chaotically despondent mood quite well, or a detriment to the record’s overall barrage of mourning. As for how all these massive pieces are arranged, they all crash in synchronized waves in a fashion, again, not at all unfamiliar to anyone who’s heard blackgaze, but the raw passion of the band’s performances exemplify why this strategy is so widely adopted for atmospheric black metal. Gaerea have made quite the statement of intent on this one, and I will definitely be enjoying it repeatedly throughout the year and beyond.

9/10

Upon a Burning Body - Built from War

Upon a Burning Body went full Lamb of God last year with their very trim and direct 31-minute fifth LP, Southern Hostility, focusing their efforts on making their southern brand of groovy deathcore as tastily whiskey-soaked as possible, laying on the groove heavily and unrestrained in a way that I thought definitely worked in their favor. Just a year later, the band are back with a 17-minute addendum to their infectiously brash display of muscular bravado, and it’s pretty much as brutishly intense as expected as the band bounce through single-string grooves and ripping drum rhythms to the same conclusions they did last year, only this time it feels so much more fatigued, like they’re trying to artificially replicate this genuinely pissed off attitude that produced results for them despite just not being in that kind of headspace at the moment. The songs are pretty baseline for them and generic as fuck, missing that X factor that made Southern Hostility’s distilled rage so tangible and fun. Built from War has some of the staple features that made its predecessor such a good time, but despite its few high-energy moments across the five tracks, it feels like an unnecessary rehash of the lightning in a whiskey bottle they had last year, just no lightning, so empty whisky bottles that bear the smell to remind you of what was previously in them.

5/10

The Acacia Strain - Slow Decay

I have been pretty harsh on The Acacia Strain in the past; they haven’t come up much on my blog, but the times they have, I feel I’ve been a little overly critical of their use of elements that I’ve perceived as excessive that they’ve used to forge their recognizable sound. The band released a mini album (It Comes in Waves) on Closed Casket Activities just before last year was over and I didn’t even hear it until a few months in to this year, and honestly, I wasn’t all too broken up about it because it was some of the band’s most lethargic, meandering material to date; dragging aimlessly until the last two tracks of the album, a significant step down from 2017′s already middle-of-the-road Gravebloom. So with those albums in recent memory I was kind of not looking forward to Slow Decay all too much, but a few days before its release, I refreshed myself on the band’s 2014 album, Coma Witch, which I remember as a culmination of what The Acacia Strain had been trying to morph their horrific, hardcore-tinged deathcore into since Continent, and it was a great time, that album, and it made me a little more hopeful for the band’s tenth LP (if you count It Comes in Waves). And Slow Decay indeed has The Acacia Strain back on track after the stuttering of the past two releases. The burgeoning metallic hardcore movement over the past few years has certainly vindicated The Acacia’s Strain’s steadfast adherance to their hardcore roots, and with there really being no time like the present for that kind of energy, the stars’ aligning has indeed brought the best out of The Acacia Strain. And on Slow Decay, it’s not like the band have changed up their hardcore-driven approach to djenty deathcore all too much from what they did on Coma Witch, they just sound energgized through a good batch of songs this time, the many situations at hand showing their influence on the rage the ban draws from bleeding through the lyrics ranging from critiquing anti-vaccine sentiments to blasting the snobbishly entitled attitude of boomers. The fiery disdain for the state of the world comes through hard on the blood-pumping chug of “Crippling Poison”, the punchy, pissed-off groove of “Inverted Person”, and the rest of the dissonant horror-tinged riffing all across the album, and it just goes to show that The Acacia Strain have found a groove that works for them and when they have the right fuel for their fire, they can incinerate anything in sight. 

8/10

Imperial Triumphant - Alphaville

After revolutionizing the method of jazzification of metal music on 2018’s Vile Luxury, I was ready for a satisfying continuation of jazzy death metal from Imperial Triumphant, but I was not prepared for the wildness of the band’s ambition with their sound and beyond and the incredible success of their sonic expansion on Alphaville. The band are still jazzy as fuck on their successor to Vile Luxury but they’re not advertising it as blatantly like a product-placed soda can this time around, partially because they can’t with so much else going on in the nightmarish mix of sounds. The combination of dissonant grand piano chords over palm-muted chugging and merciless blast-beats on “City Swine” is perhaps the most overt example of the trio’s love for the traditional sounds of the type of jazz often associated with the big apple, but the palpable jazz influence in the winding guitar lines and dizzying drumming all across Alphaville continues to set Imperial Triumphant apart even within their wing of metal’s avant-garde. Indeed, their sound reaches beyond mere genre hybridization; the band incorporates various avant-garde elements in an experimental, yet clearly well-engineered manner all over the album. From the haunting fuzzy dissonance and disorienting electronics of the title track and the odd inclusion of taiko drumming by Meshuggah’s Tomas Haake to the gloriously frightful choir climaxes on both “Atomic Age” and “Transmission to Mercury”, Alphaville is full of surprises, and a size-able step forward for a band already bounds ahead of the curve on their previous album.

9/10

[heroinkspots]

Catharsis; Aizawa / Reader

SUMMARY ( You knew the man you loved could die. You were certain you had accepted it, had moved on from the constant anxiety that makes heroes insomniacs. But when you visit Aizawa in the hospital post-USJ Incident, you’re smacked with the reality there are some losses you can’t help but dread, yet zero you can prevent. )

One finger down.

Breathe.

Two fingers.

Breaking News: Erasure Hero Gets Critically Injured in USJ Aftermath, Current Condition Unknown!

Up next on Channel 86: at five o'clock, Dr. Oishi Hotaka and Dr. Yasuda Kurou broadcast live to discuss the recent developments about the USJ Incident and the repercussions for hero society going forward.

Three.

"I respect your opinion on this matter, Kurou-san, but I personally don't believe Japan can continue with the current status quo! UA's safety standards have declined dramatically in the past few decades, and their negligence will go on for as long as the public and the parents of these students allow it- which, I dare say, won't be long at all. Not long at all, my friend. We'll soon see that what we're giving these children, in UA and across the country in similar hero academies, is a subpar education, with more risks than benefits..and the most horrifying of these risks now includes the potential of their life being stolen from them at fifteen, sixteen years old."

”Well, that signals the end of our slot for tonight, viewers! Join us here next week for a live conference meeting of—"

F..four.

That announcer was right. He was scarily right. Civilians could turn off their television should they be the smallest bit uncomfortable while they were watching their heroes sacrifice their sanity, their every selfish human desire and sometimes even their lives to protect the masses that watcher belonged to.

To them, Shota was a headline. He was a vague concept, a will 'o wisp leading them home to a sense of safety, but he couldn't be felt with the hands nor seen with the eyes nor experienced with the heart. He was so underground you doubted they could recall his name without having it spoonfed to them by another copycat, know-it-all Dr. Oishi Hotaka reading off a script designed to spark outrage instead of reasonable thought. Introspection didn't sell well. Introspection didn't toss TV show hosts intriguing material to cover and it didn't grant jobs to reporters.

The truth was a bitter pill nobody liked to swallow. And if citizens didn't like the truth, they'd switch to a different channel to hear white noise that tasted good; and the Hotakas couldn't afford that, could they?

Five fingers you'd used up.

He had broken thirteen separate bones–nearly a third of the fingers you'd used so far for this stupid counting exercise. You had heard a summary of the damage from his doctors prior to standing where you stood now, and you had memorized it like a prayer of thanksgiving.

Shota couldn't be hurt if he was dead. Only a living man had the privilege of suffering pain. And dead..dead was your worst nightmare. The imaginary picture of his cold corpse made crippling injury seem like a reverie of inconceivable fortune in comparison.

Six.

Crushed orbital floor, fractured clavicle, nasal fracture, parietal bone oblique fractures, severe left elbow fractures (segmental break in his humerus bone, fractures half as destructive in his radius and ulna), one direct skull fracture—

Thirteen bones, thirteen of your fucking failures.

Seven.

You knew not to overreact. That was why you and Shota had gotten along brilliantly to begin with. You weren't a clingy partner who longed to ensure he was safe to your exacting requirements, but a fellow hero in his stead, laser-focused on furthering your ambitious climb to the top and holding down your position within the twenties once you had garnered your status. You respected him and how obviously reserved he could be, embracing his trepidation about placing himself in the spotlight as a virtue instead of a flaw..and for that, mutual respect bloomed into love in your second year of UA.

You and him had persevered because you were identically persevering personalities. You solved your arguments fairly and calmly, you conceded to his wishes and him to yours, crafting compromises and tempering spots of flickering flame before they could graze gasoline. You took pride in the fact that you knew the consequence of your professions, and you were willing to take his loss with his love.

Your logic couldn't have prepared you for USJ.

Shota Aizawa, that quiet, seemingly stern and uncaring, infuriating, loyal and self-sacrificing son of a bitch hadn't just gone out and danced with Death; he'd preformed a suspiciously intimate tango with her, gotten her number, invited her out for drinks and kissed her on the mouth when their date concluded.

And there was little logic to be found in the strong Pro Hero reduced to incomprehensible sobbing and bawling in the hospital breakroom mere minutes earlier.

Eight.

You'd cried so heavily you had to muffle your mouth with your sweater so passing staff wouldn't be alerted to the sounds of your emotional breakdown. Feeling that fabric grow damp and sticky with the flood of your agonized tears, the humilation stung at you, but it was faint and trivial when measured against the surge of your dominant emotions: anger–anger at yourself, anger at the villains who would target and hunt children purely to force a pathway to All Might, anger at this world which normalized casualty and tragedy; fear that this was the beginning of the so-called Villain League's attacks and that Shota, and by extension, you, would be at the forefront of countless battles; and the knowledge that your Pro license didn't do a damn thing for you.

Could you genuinely label yourself a Hero if you couldn't save your lover of a decade?

It wasn't a lack of faith on your behalf, or you discounting his abilities–you were aware of his skill. You saw how he built himself up to be the highly specialized, skilled Eraserhead; but regardless of how formidable the person, you would pity the unfortunate soul who had the might of Hell and high water bearing down on their head.

You would pity yourself in that situation too.

Nine. Last finger to put down.

You had counted so you could collect yourself, present a solid face to Shota when you finally entered his room, but your efforts were in vain. Your eyes were damp again, and you rubbed them furiously on your sleeve, the irritated rims puffing out from the blood rushing to your temple. Shota's voice rang out- you were effectively busted.

"Come in."

The abruptness made you release a watery chuckle. The recovery room's observation window was advertised as being "one-way," as if that would hinder your lover's keen perception of his surroundings. His demonstration of sharpness eased your concerns to a degree. After all, dead bodies were usually less talkative and dumber than he was being..but you wanted to, no, needed to see him desperately.

"I came as soon as I heard what happened." Your voice shook when your gaze locked with his, peering through the stiff bandaged cast at you, one eyelid firmly shut and quivering with the other parted lazily and projecting an unshakable confidence in your direction. Shota's resolve wasn't frigid indifference but rather reliability, a slowly seeping warmth you could fall back on whenever standing by yourself felt impossible. He looked at you as if you were the wounded party between the pair of you, as if he could tell you wanted to run and he was convincing you you didn't have to–because his relentless determination would stay permanently untouched, and so would he. Unchanging, reassuring.

"But I was already on the plane when I received the news, so I..dammit, I was helpless. I..I just sat there, Shota. Sat there and watched as the headlines rolled in, as the media scrambled for some coherent information to pump out. I sat there for an awful twelve hours– that's how much time it took me to get a one-stop plane ride back to Japan and land. And by then, USJ was completely cleared of people. I heard you were in the hospital and had to track you down out of all the fucking confidential hero hospitals you could potentially be in." You balled your fists in your hair, working a dent into the floor beneath you from your agitated pacing.

You nervously glanced at him before averting your eyeline to the walls. Shame curled within you. "I had no idea where you were located, whether you were dead or injured or comatose," you whispered weakly.

Shota cleared his throat, and although it was dry, scratchy and emerged mainly as a pained gurgling bursting from his chest, your attention was on him anyway. Your head snapped towards him and you flinched as you saw him struggling to prop himself up in the bed. You rushed forward to help, but he fared on his own, evenutally pushing himself into a sitting position with the pillows for extra padding to keep him stable. He stared at you wordlessly, his mouth drawn taut in a frustrated, sad grimace until he patted the bed beside him for you to sit.

You agreed.

"We've had this conversation before, you know," he mumbled into your shoulder. You startled, your muscles jerking at the tickling sensation of his bandage wrap. That minute detail almost caused you to tumble into hysterics once more. Shit, it was annoying and the reflex was inconvenient, but it was a beacon of hope that you could be annoyed–the rubbing and tickling told you Shota's going to be okay since, look, you had the evidence of repair brushing against you to remind you. Persistently.

"We have?" You promoted him, nudging him with the gentleness you would save for a young child.

Shota sighed, puffing air through his nose, and sobered up fast; his demeanor returned to serious thoughtfulness as he straightened, his stature strangely close to traditional etiquette despite being bedridden. You waited in anticipation for him to gather himself and speak.

"We have. When we were twenty year olds rookies with brains thicker than concrete. I was dwelling on a mother and son I had failed to save in a rescue from months before. But it was you who told me– 'the past is worthless until you use it to improve your future, Aizawa, and it becomes worse than worthless when you allow it to impede your future. That mother and her little boy wouldn't want their memory to hold you back from becoming the hero I'm certain you can be. It's doing a disservice to them if you don't take advantage of those mistakes to avoid repeating them.'"

You froze. "Shota, that's not the same situation and you know it's not. I..goddammit, I was lost and confused in a foreign country fighting for a way to get back and I couldn't contact you, I couldn't figure out who made it through, you or the kids or All Might. Or Thirteen. There's a considerable disparity between that and immediate, subconscious mistakes you make in the field. That was no mistake-that was a gaping lack of oversight on my part. That was failure."

Shota raised his brow, unimpressed. "Fine, then. You failed.”

"So what?"

"So you become better for the sake of the people you believe you failed."

You felt like smacking your head against the bed frame. Him and his logical ruses, God. Never giving ground to you, but countering you with few words delivered concisely and setting you up to arrive at a preplanned destination but changing your course before you could catch up to where he'd cleverly spun the talk this round. You couldn't muster exasperation when you glared at him, however–your glare melted into fondness at the minuscule grin he wore and the overwhelming exhaustion and tenderness beneath his layer of amusement.

You were tired and hungry, Shota was tired and hungry, and you ached to hug him and refuse to let go forever.

You could start on attaining your ideal existence by filling your stomach.

"Hey, do you want food?" Affirmative grunt. "Would you like me to go get some?" Equally affirmative grunt. With his enthusiastic approval, you left his designated room and wandered throughout the hospital. It took longer than you would have supposed, but you came back to greet him with armfuls of instant ramen, oden, and sugary treats you bought solely to indulge yourself but tried to frame as 'purchases for two'.

"I brought you the fanciest cuisine they have avaliable in their vending machines," you said. Shota snorted as you dumped the packages across the visitor's chair and gently dropped into your place beside him on the bed, careful not to hit him or disturb his wounds.

Your hand wound up to the crown of his head, where your hand tangled into the strands of his hair, fingers squeezing the tangled mess it was. "Can I tempt you?" You muttered into his ear.

He hummed noncommitally, his lips quirking. "I trust you." You had to restrain yourself from smiling so wide that you scared off your quarry, a pleased smugness rising from how naturally and freely he delivered that.

His humming turned from casual to an evident sign of contentment as your faithful ministrations endured for a while. It wasn't quite normalcy with how you tucked the pads of your fingers in so they wouldn't grace his forehead and circled a cautious breadth around all regions of his face, but it was adequate to drive your fears into some rarely ventured corner of your mind to torture you at a later date.

Definitely became more adequate when Shota passed out draped on your form. He was slouching, his nose buried in the crook of your neck and his unharmed right hand motionless on your leg. When you shuffled subtly to get a nicer angle and actually see the wonderful sight you had achieved, he groaned in protest, and you couldn't find it in yourself to attempt to leave when he was smiling. Deviously soft, and oblivious to your judgment–he was smiling in his sleep.

Most who had to deal with him would deal with Aizawa, the hardass teacher or Aizawa, the workaholic who could be seen bent over his laptop at ungodly hours of morning and night grading papers and drafting reports for his principal. Some unlucky fools would be pursued by him and would be petrified when Eraserhead's eerie crimson irises fell upon them, stripping them of the controlled sense of superiority they clung to as their refuge.

But you knew a secret an extremely select few were privy to. You knew that his shell was dense and tough yet brittle, a personification of intimidating traits he adopted when they served him, and he was a bleeding heart for the victims of the world who couldn't fight for themselves, for those children he taught who had glinting stars inside them he would never permit to be stamped out.

And that was why you were terrified. Because you knew he was breakable.

[nostalgicatsea]

This is my second go at filling out the year-end writing meme that @sineala​ and muccamukk did on Dreamwidth because my computer freaked out and shut down on me without warning while I was writing and my entire post was lost. I was almost done with it so you can imagine how upset I was.

So here’s my reflection on my writing in 2018! This is going to be long. You can read it in full here on Dreamwidth as well.

All of these stories are Steve/Tony unless stated otherwise.

April

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin (MCU) - Post-Civil War soulmate AU, 18,611 words

May

The Great Silence of Loss (MCU) - Post-Infinity War fic about grief and hope vs. despair, 1,075 words

Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude (MCU) - Tony thinks about his relationship with Steve while they wait for a train, 844 words

June

Signals Between Two Satellites (MCU) - Post-Infinity War angst and hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony seeing each other for the first time after the snap, 2,290 words

August

Hidden Declaration (Generation Kill, Brad/Ray) - Ray tries to convince Brad to get matching tattoos with him, 728 words

You and Nothing Else (MCU) - Steve doesn’t like seeing Tony stressed out and unhappy over their wedding plans, 785 words

Every Last One of My Demons (MCU) - Post-Infinity War emotional hurt/comfort fic about Steve and Tony talking after having nightmares, 1,705 words

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction (Avengers Academy) - Steve bids on Tony in their school’s charity auction, wrongly assuming that he’s auctioning off a date, 2,727 words

December

A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars (MCU) - Endgame trailer fic about Tony reflecting on how he’s come full circle from Afghanistan in a way, 2,732 words

Last year I wrote and posted:

Nine stories and 33,333 words, including the 1,836 words I wrote on New Year’s Eve for a Cap-Iron Man comm gift fic but didn’t submit because I wasn’t happy with it.

Overall thoughts:

Last year was a productive writing year for me! My 2018 New Year’s resolution was “to build on my progress and write even longer pieces and more works that I’m proud of.” Suffice to say, that happened. In the past two years, I went from writing one or two fics a year that were at most 1-2.5k to writing my longest fic at the time I wrote that New Year’s post (Multitude of One (4,277 words)) to the number of words and fics above.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would last year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

I didn’t have a specific goal, but nine fics is more than half my fic count on AO3 and the other eight were posted over the course of four years so yeah, WAY more than I thought I’d write. I don’t know how that happened especially as I get stuck while writing all the time.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

Brad/Ray and Gen Kill. I never thought I’d write a GK story because just the thought of doing so is intimidating. Ray Person is intimidating. I love him, but he’s so easy to get wrong and I’ve seen people get him totally wrong or get close but still fall short. I didn’t even want to bother trying until @luxover​ gave me a Brad/Ray prompt and I wrote Hidden Declaration. Just to make things both harder and easier, lux is a good friend so I hoped she would be gentle even if she hated it lol, but I wanted to make her happy because she’s my friend. She’s also the only person I know who writes Ray perfectly so, you know, no pressure. But I wrote a thing! In a fandom I didn’t ever expect to write in!

This year's theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

A toss up between “angst with catharsis/grief and healing” and “post-Infinity War.” Or maybe “I never thought I’d write this.” It’s funny because after Infinity War came out, Alanna (aslightstep​) and I talked about how it didn’t fill us with the desire to write any fics based on it, and three of my fics from last year are post-IW ones (four if you include the one based on the Endgame trailer).

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin hits all three things.

What's your own favorite story of the year?

Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?I’m not sure it makes me the happiest, but it’s definitely the fic I’m proudest of and it so happens to be my longest and most popular one: Leaving Promises Against Your Skin again. LPAYS was the sequel to Multitude of One which, until I posted LPAYS, was my longest fic. I knew it would blow MoO out of the water, word count-wise. That was one of the reasons I was too afraid to write it because I didn’t know how to write long fics nor do I know how I wrote this one now that so much time has passed since I finished it. I’m proud of it not because it’s perfect and I love everything about it (a few things bother me about it actually) but because writing it was agonizing. I wanted to give up so many times.

The only reason I kept going was that I didn’t have that much of an option to do so as it was a STH fill. I’m proud of sticking with it. Once everything snapped into place, the words kept flowing…and flowing and within days, I wrote several thousand words more than I had expected the fic to be. This is how I felt once I was done. For the first time ever in all my years of writing, I got choked up over my own writing lol. I understand how great it feels to finish a long fic, write the scenes you had in mind for so long, and get to the ending that you envisioned from the start (I had the ending of LPAYS in mind while writing MoO even though I kept mum about it when people asked me what happened after the ending of MoO). I got so happy that I made my first photoset! That’s another unexpected thing that happened last year.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

A lot!

- I mostly write angst and never thought I would ever write unadulterated fluff with zero angst and I did so twice in 2018 with my first Avengers Academy fic, which also has a dash of humor (“humor”? I’m not really funny), and this wedding preparation fic, which also is an established relationship fic about marriage. I never thought I’d write those things either especially because wedding fics tend to bore the hell out of me and I never seek them out.

- Both of those fics were prompt fills (I filled four in total). I never take prompts because I get stuck and stressed out that I have writer’s block, but it worked out fine which I’m happy about as the prompts for the two fics were out of my comfort zone. I had no idea what to write for the cheese one, but I was determined to fill it. I can’t recognize myself. Fluff? Humor? No angst? Established relationship? Wedding preparations? Prompt fills? ME? What?!

- Long fics! I wrote my first one because eh, 4k doesn’t count as long even though it was long for me at the time.

- MCU Tony POV. MCU Tony scares me from a writing standpoint, so I avoided writing from his POV until LPAYS and now I have two fics with his POV.

I learned that what may seem or be impossible to do doesn’t stay that way and that trying to get out of my comfort zone can be incredibly rewarding. It’s worth a shot even if I fail because I gain more experience, and it makes me feel hopeful about growing as a writer. It’s hard to think that you’ll ever improve or be able to write things you can’t write when you’re frustrated or not feeling great about your writing.

My best story of this year:

I don’t remember what I put the first time around.

My most popular story of this year:

Leaving Promises Against Your Skin

had the most bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos. Not surprising because it’s a sequel to my most popular fic and it’s a soulmate AU which tends to draw people in.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

Hidden Declaration has the fewest bookmarks, comments, hits, and kudos without contest, but considering the size and lack of activity in the fandom (which is why I don’t care that no one has read it, but I generally don’t obsess over those markers anyway especially if it’s a gift like this one was), I can’t exactly say it’s underappreciated by the universe.

You and Nothing Else had the lowest comments to hits ratio, but it performed well on Tumblr where I originally posted it, so I have to pick Every Last One of My Demons which had the lowest kudos to hits and bookmarks to hits ratios of ALL my fics from 2018 and went a bit under the radar on Tumblr too. I thought it would do better because hurt/comfort! Post-Infinity War! Oh well.

My least favorite story this year:

Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction. I’m not good with humor, and the words kept coming but kind of in a “oh no, I can’t stop word vomiting” way. But hey, I never write dialogue-heavy fic so there’s that. And it’s a silly and fun fic for a silly and fun prompt (“cheese wheel”...I almost ended up ignoring the prompt because cheese wheel?) and universe. RIP soon, AvAc. You’ll live on in our hearts and in fandom.

Most fun story to write:

Hidden Declaration! Ray was super fun, which is a big surprise as I said he’s scary to write. There are one or two lines in the story hat I want to tweak because I think they toe the line in being “too much” (as I said, he’s very easy to get wrong, and many people go overboard with him), but he’s really fun to write and I love him!

Story with the sweetest moment:

You and Nothing Else. The part where Steve tells Tony he doesn’t care about what their wedding is like and Tony not only gets what he means, but he meets him halfway because what he ultimately decides on reminds him of Steve.

Story with the single sexiest moment:

Haha I don’t have any sexy moments. The closest would be Hidden Declaration, where Brad imagines Ray beneath him with a tattoo that matches his (he totally learns how to tattoo so that he can ink Ray himself).

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

None. I didn’t do anything that’s more horrible than what I usually do.

Most overdue:

LPAYS. It took a year for me to post although I only seriously thought of writing it and began writing it months after I posted MoO.

Most eye roll-worthy title:

A tie between Rushing Headlong in the Wrong (Right) Direction which is awful, but I got stuck on a title for that one, and Little Moments in Between: A Brief Interlude, which is so pretentious (that colon!) and long for such a short fic about nothing. I couldn’t decide between the two phrases separated by the colon, so I used both.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

LPAYS. It’s written in Tony’s POV, but it helped me explore Steve a bit and feel better about him. A lot of people, including me, were upset with Steve after CA:CW and hated his letter because it made little sense (I still think this way). I also kept thinking about the line “I can see now I was really sparing myself” and tried to figure out what he meant by that. For once, Steve was selfish and it led to disastrous consequences, but his selfishness came from losing so much in his life and not wanting to lose more and...I really do think he didn’t want to lose Tony and was afraid he’d lose him and that Bucky would fall out of his grasp again. He was a coward, but because he cared too much, not because he didn’t care at all.

Hardest story to write:

LPAYS again! I knew what would happen after the ending of MoO and had the ending of LPAYS in mind too while writing the ending of MoO, but I kept mum about it even though people wanted to know and asked me about it. I couldn’t figure out what scenes to write other than one BARF scene and the ending which I desperately wanted to get to. I couldn’t figure out how to deal with the idea of forgiveness, how Tony could ever heal, and how Steve could earn back Tony’s trust again. It was so, so hard and I was miserable until things clicked and then 8k became 10k...which became 12k. I thought I’d stop there, but then it became 18k. I couldn’t stop which felt so liberating, fun, and rewarding because it had been so difficult to write until that point.Thank you to everyone who listened to me, brainstormed with me, and held my hand through the process as I whined and suffered.<3 I couldn't have written it without you.

Biggest Disappointment:

I couldn’t write a comm gift fic that I was happy with in time, and I wanted this year to be the year that I finally wrote one. Hopefully I’ll be able to participate in another writing-related Cap-Iron Man event this year! Oh, and I didn't write that other soulmate fic that's been on my mind for years.

Biggest Surprise:

Everything under the “writing risks” part. Um...that LPAYS did so well. There’s a risk with long sequels; the longer a oneshot fic is, the less likely it is to get as much feedback as say, something that’s in the 5-7K range (I forgot the exact range, but someone put up stats about this), and if it’s a sequel? People back out because they think they won’t know what’s going on unless they read the first story. I was that “Troy from Community enters a room on fire with a pizza box, smiling and then alarmed” gif when MoO did incredibly well, and I sort of feel like that with LPAYS, even if MoO has double the bookmarks, comments, kudos, and hits.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story:

I don’t know.

Favorite opening line:

I’m not extremely fond of any particular opening line from last year. This is easier with opening paragraphs. If I had to pick, though, it’s “They were like bedtime stories, his nightmares” from Every Last One of My Demons.

Favorite closing line:

The one from LPAYS and the last four paragraphs of that are my favorite closing lines ever, but they’re spoilery so I’ll pick something different. My favorites have to be from Every Last One of My Demons, Signals Between Two Satellites, and A Long, Final Rest Among the Stars. I’ll pick two.

Favorite in terms of meaning: Hope, he thought as Tony turned to look at him, exhausted and afraid and beautiful from Signals.

Tony is the embodiment of hope for Steve!!!! I honestly think that Tony embodies that for the Avengers and especially Steve in so many ways, even in the MCU; it’s not as apparent as the other universes, but if you think about what Tony did for Steve in all their movies together and in Infinity War, which they aren’t in any scenes together, it makes sense.

Favorite in terms of writing/prettiness/mood: “Tony,” he heard the voice whisper again, and it was all their voices all at once, calling him to them from here and beyond, all with him as he drifted off, into the boundless darkness, into the stars and the lights he had loved and then feared and loved again from A Long, Final Rest.

In conclusion:

I’m proud of myself.

Fic-writing goals for 2019:

I’m not going to try to top what I did in 2018. I don’t think that’ll be possible. What I hope to do in 2019, other than write my MTH fill for @sabrecmc​, of course, is to finish the two fics that have been on my mind for years: the reconciliation/reunion fic and the one that everyone must have heard me complain about by now as I’ve been whining about it on and off for about 4.5 years. Yes, that one. That soulbond fic. The one that I tried to abandon, but even if I put it aside for a long time, I can never actually let go of. It haunts me. I WANT TO BE FREE. I WANT TO BE FREE. If you’re curious, the two fics are the second and third fic on this post. I have some other stories I want to write, but those two are my only priorities. PLEASE, I WANT TO WRITE AND POST THEM EVEN IF I DON’T KNOW HOW.

Anyway, happy 2019. One more year until 2020! What a scary thought. I wish you all a prosperous, joyous, creative, and prolific year.

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: Made in Italy

(Image courtesy of IFC Films)

MADE IN ITALY— 3 STARS

Actors are often asked by the many curious people fascinated by their work where they find the inspirations for the characters they play. Dropped by talk show hosts and adoring fans alike, it’s a common question, but a welcome open-ended one. The answers are almost always a fascinating blend of intentional craftsmanship and revealed individual quirks. If you know the personal history of Liam Neeson away from his tough and towering screen personas, you will know he, and his son Micheal Richardson, did not have to dig far for their characters in Made in Italy. 

LESSON #1: THERE ISN’T A TERM FOR EVERY FAMILY DYNAMIC— “Widower” is a ready-to-assign term for a man losing his spouse. Neeson himself is one. “Orphan” is the title of a child who has lost both their parents. There isn’t, however, a label in between for a child who has only lost one of them. Count Richardson among that lot. They are sorted into the same malaise as other single-parent-led children that come from divorce or other undesirable circumstances. People will resign themselves to some shallow “at least you still have your dad” sympathy when the pain and trauma couldn’t be graver for their situations.

Take that further. What if the one parent remaining pushes away or denies the steps of healing necessary for the child? With other and lesser external influences instilling limited resilience instead of the most important source in the home, how would that kid turn out? 

That’s Jack Foster (Richardson), a struggling art gallery manager at odds with his absentee father Robert (Neeson). They lost their matriarch Rapheala many years ago in an automobile accident. At the time, Robert was a well-regarded painter who passed Jack on to boarding school, beginning the split to their present contentious alienation. The rough-hewn artist is romantic where it counts and cynical where it doesn’t. Disdain fills Jack’s thinly-veiled pleasantries around him now.

Jack is about to lose half of his gallery ownership stake in a messy divorce from his wife Ruth (Yolanda Kettle). He has a month to sort out money issues. Impatience and desperation fuel Jack’s regrettable request for help from his prickish father. His plan is to fix up and sell his mother’s former Tuscan estate to gain the necessary funds. Robert is the other half-owner this time that needs to sign off on such an asset. 

LESSON #2: QUALITY TIME THROUGH ATTRITION— At the behest of a local realtor (a curt Lindsay Duncan of About Time), a great deal of work is needed to get the place into selling shape, spit and polish the two DIY-challenged Foster men think they can do themselves on top of the home’s “great bones.” Their forced and haphazard teamwork creates butted heads, vented aggression, overdue contrition, and the most shared time they’ve had in years. More than doors are going to be unlocked and more than floorboards are going to be hammered out between the two amid the idyllic Italian cypresses.

LESSON #3: THERE IS NO TIMELINE FOR GRIEF— “You can’t remember and I can’t forget.” That line shows the divide between Robert and Jack’s different approaches to the memory of Raphaela. The son who was removed from gaining catharsis at a young age fights to remember so much that was repressed or unaddressed. Meanwhile, the father and husband desperately seeks to remove his inescapable regret and guilt. Time has not helped either man in their differing directions. Yet it’s never too late to heal and the effect multiples when they align.

If you’re going to have sunlight cauterize wounds of the heartstrings and tan the skins of sadness, it might as well be in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Cinematographer Mike Eley (My Cousin Rachel) had the enviable job of shooting the picturesque Montalcino in all its majesty. Parallel to the angles, production designer Stevie Herbert made just enough of the beautiful ugly for mock architectural rejuvenation alongside the human project. One could call this setting a little too easy, but the scars here are not entirely superficial.

This positive and emotional journey that seemed tailor-made for this father-and-son combination was written and directed by actor James D’Arcy, known to many for Dunkirk and Cloud Atlas. Made in Italy is his feature debut in the big chair and the culmination of a passion project twelve years in the making that he intended to star in himself. As fine an actor as D’Arcy is, the pairing of the two leads feels like special cinematic providence and witnessed therapy beyond the script or cameras.

Eight and a half years ago while reviewing The Grey, this writer wondered about Liam Neeson’s acting approach in a very similar fashion to the opening paragraph of this new film’s critique. There was a fear in regards to where the Irish star called upon the inner darkness, loss, and will it took to play the bitty and angry parts he had been playing. Time has softened that edge and added silvering wisdom.

Eager audiences may relish his current typecasting of violent gruff, but they need to marvel at Liam Neeson’s capacity for softness. With Made in Italy and its occasional dalliances into comedy, the shell that comprises Neeson’s defenses sheds layers of honesty and translucent prisms to his heart. Fear is no longer in the equation and that’s a remarkable and gratifying sight to behold.

That appeal is entirely aimed at lifting up his son. He may not have anywhere near the marquee cache of his father (yet, with crossed fingers of optimism), but Micheal Richardson is the leading soul of this movie. Jack’s arc may indeed be the simpler, more outward, and more predictable one of the two men, complete with forced contrivances here and there (like a romance with a local chef portrayed by TV actress Valeria Bilello) to ensure positively-tied ribbons and bows. Still, calls of nepotism be damned, the young actor comports himself admirably generating his own empathy.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#900)

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[lordoftimeandspace]

Missy/Master and the Doctor - The whole bloody mess

(spoilers for season 10 finale)

Many people have argued quite differently about the Master, Missy and the Doctor and their motives and relationships. I have discussed it with a tumblr user in two threads (x and x) so for convenience, I collected the arguments here in one thread because I do have a few things to add.

The Master is an awful person, to the point of almost being a one-dimensional caricature of evil.

This is your conclusion so let me start here. The Master, in all the years he has appeared on Doctor Who is a lot of things but never one-dimensional. I'm not sure how familiar you are with his background so let me fill you in quickly. Mind you, I will of course only canon:

1. During their childhood the Doctor and the Master were bullied by a boy named Torvic. To save his friend's life the Doctor had to eventually kill that boy. Later a personification of death asked the Doctor to be her champion. He refuses and suggests she takes the Master instead as her disciple. She agrees and the Doctor forgets about the whole encounter. In canon it is the Doctor who becomes a killer first and then conveniently escapes responsibility for it by making the Master bear the consequences.

2. At the age of eight the drums were implanted into the Master's head and always seen as a sign of madness. The drums worsened over time. It was only when the Master forced the Doctor to actually listen to them, that the Doctor believed. So we have a little boy thinking he is not worthy being a Timelord (because why else would he “turn mad” when he looked?) and not even his very best friend even so much as entertains the idea that it could be something else.

3. Koschei (as the Master preferred to be called for a while) was on an academic research mission when the Doctor was expelled from the academy, forcing him into a conflict of loyalty. Again, it is the Doctor who is kicked out first. The Master follows on his own accord because after all they made a pact to see all the stars together.

4. Koschei was obsessed with order to the point that the Timelords planted a spy to monitor him. That spy, a Timelady posing as a human, became his companion. When he eventually found out about her true identity he lost a good part of the ability to trust anyone. Isn't it beautiful that the Master wanted companions, too? Companions, not servants, not “disposables”. And is it really so wrong that he would despise the Doctor's companions and insist that they themselves are the only real companions for each other?

5. Later the Doctor made a deal with Death to grant the Master ten years of peace and sanity. At the end of those years the Doctor was supposed to kill him. During those ten years the Master forgot about his true identity, took the name of John Smith, became a doctor and even had a stable relationship. If this is the Doctor's attempt to take responsibility, it really is rather poorly executed. He never asked the Master if he wanted that kind of “saving”. What are ten years in the life of a Timelord after all? Is the Doctor portrayed here as agreeing to a mercy killing? Possible. But completely without any consent from the Master. Also, isn't it ironic that of all things the Master, free from the drums and his past, chooses to be a doctor? That “good” is obviously in him.

6. The Master met Sato Katsura, a samurai who was accidentally made immortal as a result of his involvement with the Doctor. It had left him so bitter, he began to follow the Master. This is probably the most obvious moment of the Master picking up after the Doctor. The Doctor has always liked to use people however he sees fit, often not caring much about the consequences. An example from New Who would be the 12th Doctor making Ashildr use a device that kills her instead of trying a little harder to eliminate that possibility.

7. The Master was continually used by the Timelords and other entities to fight for them. He was deliberately turned into a weapon. The latest example of that is his resurrection to fight in the Time War but what he saw scared him so much that he turned himself into Professor YANA and ran away to the end of the universe. The Doctor however stayed and fought. Sometimes I wonder if this is cowardly running away as opposed to courageously doing what is right. Sometimes I wonder if the Doctor's tolerance for bloodshed, war and violence is higher than the Master's.

8. At some point he posed as the Doctor and began to work for UNIT were he helped them to fight off several alien attacks on Earth. Does it really matter that he posed as the Doctor? Does doing good only count when it is done in the “right” way?

There are many more examples but these should make it very clear that the Master is anything but one-dimensionally evil.

Let's look at some of your arguments about Simm!Master's character:

He told Ten to “get out of the way” because Rassilon was right there, in front of him - the one responsible for his ‘condition’. The intended catharsis of that scene was about the Master getting revenge on Rassilon. (…) It was something that happened in the moment and the status quo of his existence was restored by the Time Lords. (…) People don’t just change in a moment.

So even although the Master had tried to kill the Doctor before time and time again he doesn't do it when he can because shooting at the Doctor first and then at Rassilion is somehow not cathartic enough? Killing them both, the two people he considers responsible for all that went wrong in his life, wouldn't be the ultimate revenge? No, the Doctor spared him and so the Master spares him in return because in that moment the Master understands that his friend still loves him, that there is still hope for a future for them together, seeing the stars. Maybe it is not the huge change in character some people want to see. But it is a redeeming quality. The Master doing “what is right”. All by himself.

Likewise, time has passed since then. The Master went back through the gate with Rassilon to Gallifrey, the Time Lords made a mutual bargain to remove the drums from his head and fix his botched regeneration (…) He just continued with his old ways because that’s what the Time Lords enabled him to do, it was convenient for them to do that in order to get rid of him.

Sometimes I wonder what the other end of that bargain was. What did the Timelords do to him, or make him do for them to remove the drums? After all, they have used him all his life. Why change so suddenly. I think it is very plausible that the Master ran away again and hid on that spaceship (a “mutual kicking out” can mean many many things). Also, despite everything he has done, the Timelords still keep him around. Later, Missy isn't executed as ordered by the Timelords. They still need the Master for whatever future war they need a monster for. I can't even imagine what that does to a man. Going back to his “old ways” after once more being confirmed by the Timelords that that is all he is and all he can do is really not that surprising. After all, if they fixed the drums they could have fixed so much more. They could have helped him. Truly helped. With all their knowledge and wisdom. Instead they try to keep him as a convenient weapon.

The premise of the argument “the Master is not self-destructive” kinda falls apart because he literally chose to die at the end of The Last of the Time Lords instead of being at the Doctor’s side. The last two of their kind and he chose to die, not knowing that his ring would be picked up by Miss Trefusis and he’d later return.

Two things: 1. He chooses to die because the idea that the Doctor would imprison him and just “keep him” was so incredibly appalling to him that he couldn't bear it. It's not just for his own good or the good of the universe. The Doctor sees the Master as his responsibility, his burden. Considering that the Doctor played a considerable role in the Master becoming the Master, that is incredibly arrogant and self-righteous. 2. The Master has “died” so many times before seemingly without the ability to to come back. His mind has been in other people and objects before. Even if he wasn't entirely sure about the ring, he must have known (and said so to the Doctor before) that he is pretty much indestructible.

He sees Missy as such a fundamental violation of who he is with regards to her perspective on the Doctor that he chooses to kill his future self. That is who he is in extremis.

Exactly. He simply cannot agree with the fact the Missy has been changed so much that she would forget who she is and how she came to be. He hates that she basically turned into one of the Doctor's fangirls. He can't understand why she would regress so much in her development that she is barely more than the child they used to be, looking up at the Doctor hoping for guidance. Let's remember here that yes, the Doctor saved their life as a child by killing someone. And he put the blame on the Master. The Master simply cannot allow Missy to forget that the Doctor is not morally pure and superior. He cannot allow that standing with the Doctor on the Doctor's terms leads to their death. He'd rather do it himself. If anything, this was a mercy killing, just like the Doctor agreed to do with the Master many years before. Considering that the Master has survived many of his “final deaths” we can be sure that they will return. When they do it will most likely not be pretty because right now, she thinks that the Doctor believes that she has betrayed him and that he lost his hope for her and does not come after her once more. She might also believe that he is dead and blame herself. The Master's next regeneration could be the most messed up yet.

And there really was nothing at all self-righteous, self-victimising, or egotistic about the Doctor’s speech. It was about self-sacrifice, out of kindness. (…) the message was simply to just be kind.

The Doctor tries continuously to sacrifice himself. The 9th legion, the cybermen, … It's a compulsion. Makes me wonder why? Is it because he is so incredibly good (then why does he never die, only regenerate, when he does? Why is his sacrifice never real?) or is it because he needs redemption and forgiveness just as much as the Master does? The Doctor is consumed by guilt and tries to get rid of it by offering himself up again and again. That is not without reward and therefore not entirely and purely good. There is always an agenda behind what the Doctor does, especially when it's self-sacrifice or kindness. He always goes to extremes to prove that he truly is “good” even although it is only his definition of “good” that counts here. Good is only good in extremis. Only in self-denial and self-sacrifice.

I mean… the Master is a sadistic murderer. (…) The Doctor didn’t “force” anything on her, and, to be honest, what you want when you’re somebody who commits the kind of atrocities that the Master does on a regular basis really doesn’t matter all that much. (…) Your “leave their names out” argument doesn’t really work because that’s just removing the context from the situation. The Doctor has always been a flawed hero, but the whole thing with Missy’s arc is really not an instance of that.

It is exactly here that the greatest flaw of your perception of both Doctor and Master becomes obvious. We are talking about fiction so for a moment let's talk about real life. Operation Neptune Spear as sanctioned by then-President of the USA Obama was a capture or kill mission directed at Osama bin Laden. US-offficals have also simply called it a kill mission. The mission was accomplished in May 2011 resulting in the death of Osama bin Laden. Criticized as a “revenge mission” by foreign governments and organizations like Amnesty International, this mission remains controversial until today. The reason is simply that a criminal, no matter how bad, does have rights, that human rights are non-negotiable, that the crimes of a person do not make them less human. At the same time, acting as if a criminal has lost his human rights because of (past or future) crimes is morally incredibly flawed and honestly, simply plain wrong. It's not hard to see the parallels to the Doctor and Missy here. It does matter if there was consent or not and if there continued to be consent because Missy is still a sentient being with rights and the Doctor (with Gallifrey being back) has no authority whatsoever to decide otherwise. By locking Missy up and isolating her the way he did he violated her. He of all people who always thinks he is morally superior. He messed up epically here. Leaving the names out returns them to what they both are: sentient beings with rights.

She said to the Doctor that she’d be good, asking him to teach her how to be, and consented to being imprisoned for rehabilitation. Whether that was what she actually wanted at the start or if she was saying that to get out of being executed, that was something she made good on. She says as much that she could have escaped the Vault if she’d wanted to, but she’s chosen to stay and engage in the process.

Again, it is highly questionable if it was continued consent, or even just consent born out of an honest desire to change and not just desperate words uttered to save her life.  And yes, continued consent is a thing and it is necessary. Ask anybody who agreed to anything and then changed their mind mid-way through. It's one of the very obvious symptoms of rape culture to think that continued consent is not a thing. Besides, the difference in power between them was so huge by then that in order to keep at least some kind of dignity Missy would have probably said anything, including suggesting that she could have escaped the vault, something the Doctor clearly disagreed with.

It’s not just that Missy decided to stand with the Doctor… It’s that the reason WHY she decided to do that was because her whole perspective and understanding of him has changed. (…) she says to her former self “he’s right”. It’s not just about standing with her friend because she wants to, it’s that she actually has come to understand and empathise with his philosophy.

I stand by what I said in the first place. Isolating a prisoner and depriving them of stimuli is torture. And no, a few books and a piano are not enough to keep someone like the Master sane. Time and time again it was shown in studies and experiments that sentient beings, from monkey to human to most likely Timelord are social animals and lose their minds if isolated for too long. That alone, that isolation over decades must have worn her out so much that the Doctor could have planted any kind of philosophy into her head. He chose the only one he knew of course. Self-denial through self-sacrifice. Let's remember here that his self-sacrifice has always been fake. Doctors 10 and 11 regenerated after acts of self-sacrifice but it is just never real because he never dies. He always knows that he has a way out. Regeneration. And so his sacrifice doesn't mean all that much. He of course cannot see that and so he believes his way to be the “most good”, the only right way. And that is the way he tries to make Missy understand.

And she kills her former self, not just to get him out of the way, but to ensure, in that moment, that he will regenerate into her so everything will come back around to this moment - to make it happen. Without hope. Without witness. Without reward.

There is literally no reason to get the Master out of the way at this point. She doesn't know that he would shoot her should she try to go back to the Doctor. She could have literally shoved him into the elevator, sealed the door and send him back down. There was no reason whatsoever to kill him. Especially because she utters remorse about having lost herself, about not being how he is. She is not burning anymore and she knows it. Mind you, we do not know if she refers to her whole existence as Missy or just her time as the Doctor's prisoner. But even if she does kill him to ensure that she comes around to this point, isn't that a reward all in itself? Let's also not forget that the Master concludes from Missy not being able to remember her “birth” that he will regenerate in the very near future. He knew it and simply wasn't ready for it. Another reason why he wouldn't stand with the Doctor.

Conclusion:

1. The Master has never been one-dimensionally evil. If anything the Doctor and the Master are more ying and yang than black and white.

2. The Master and Missy never lost hope that they could be reunited with their childhood friend but they always wanted it to be a mutually benefiting reunion. A reunion that happened on both their terms. The Doctor continually insisting on it to be one-sided was too much for the Master.

3. The Doctor mistreated and violated Missy greatly and the Master could not accept that. And honestly, who would?

4. The Doctor doesn't understand that his so-called self-denial that does work quite well for him, just isn't the go-to-thing for everybody and so he screws Missy up and blows his reunion with the Master.

In the end Missy was right, she has always been on the Doctor's side. All her faces, all her regenerations. They were always his friend. He just always insisted that they be that on his terms and his terms alone.