#so you try force it all to still make sense within the same framework even if it doesn’t

[fellhellion]

The way Miles accidentally hits what seems to be - given the severity of Miguel’s reaction - such a huge fucking bruise with the “Are those claws? Dude, are you sure you’re spiderman?” and it’s this trigger for Miguel just fucking. Exploding with everything he’s kept under lock and key like. Resentment over the way he seems to feel deeply isolated in the emotional burden of what he does, blaming Miles for what he believes was the catalyst which led to him being in this position (RIPeter’s death), hitting back (verbally) to hurt with the anomaly comments when it’s like dude. If they keep your origin intact, you’re both the so similar, and because this kid is living proof of every doubt you’re trying to suppress.

[xenodelic]

Actually curious about your take on this. I have been bothered by MUD because I feel like it is the antithesis of antipsychiatric thinking, where disorders are coined based on new patterns of behavior to be pathologized -- and this pathologization is glorified, like in the case of the most popular one (fantasy personality disorder) taking what seems to be benign, if not normal, traits or traits of other conditions like MADD and explaining them in the frameworks of symptoms of a disorder as if it's a DSM entry... Many of these coiners don't seem to have a real understanding of how psychiatry works as a social system rather than a fun hobby. That's how I've been conceiving of it but I admit I really haven't looked into it too much (I think the tag "mud" is banned on Tumblr for unrelated reasons) so I'm curious to see if you all can help me understand it better?

Actually I think your observation/ critique is a very valid one. I do think many of the people participating in the coining of MUD (medically unrecognized disorders, for those out of the loop), are fundamentally upholding the structure of the psychiatric industry in the sense that they find new ways to pathologize human behavior.

However, we don't necessarily condemn MUD as a concept or community. We think that many folks in it are people who have been done harm or neglected by psychiatry, which is what has led them to coining new terms in the first place. I really doubt that someone who would identify as having Fantasy Personality Disorder, isn't genuinely struggling in some way that they feel isn't adequately addressed by whatever frameworks are currently avaliable.

We sympathize with that. Despite ourselves being heavily antipsych, we still strongly identify with the term DID because we feel it adequately labels our struggles with dissociation. For one reason or another, these individuals feel that in some way, the psychiatric industry has failed them. And their response to that is to create new terms within a similar framework to make up for those gaps.

We think that even in a hypothetical post-psychiatry world, people will still likely come up with terms to describe clusters of behaviors. If the term DID didn't exist, we'd likely try to come up with something to describe our struggles, because terms like "disordered plurality" don't cut it for us personally. There is an undeniable usefulness in being able to put a word on your experiences, even at risk of being reductive.

So overall, while I do agree that the MUD community has some issues with continuing the same patterns of pathologization. I think that it stems from the same issues that antipsych thinking does - that they've been failed and neglected psychiatry. I think they've simply chosen a different direction for how they respond to it.

In a way, one could consider the community based coining of new diagnostic labels as a criticism in and of itself. In the way it makes a parody of the supposed scientific, peer reviewed construction of diagnostic terms. It forces one to question what makes an "official" diagnostic label legitimate, as opposed to a MUD term. To us, turning it in a social activity is actually much closer to what we'd want to see in a post-psychiatry world. Where the creation of new mental health terminology falls to the community and the people experiencing it, as opposed to the hands of a beauracracy.

We do hope that those in the community read up more on antipsychiatry, and stray away from intentionally trying to copy the format and rhetoric of diagnostic manuals. I think they do this in an attempt to seem convincing in their legitimacy, but as you said it does unfortunately recreate some of the same problems that the current psychiatry industry has.

We think there's a lot of potential here for opening up questioning of psychiatry and pathologization in general, but there's a lot of work to be done for sure.

[evilwickedme]

Who's your favorite BatFamily member?

Oh my God thank you for asking it's this asshole

Jason Todd's tag on this blog is literally "Jason Todd my beloved" I could not be less subtle about it. This man is everything I've thought about since like, late July

Now you didn't ask WHY I love this man but I will explain anyway. Starting with the fact that as a villain, he outsmarted Batman. On his first try. He planned meticulously and was ruthless in his execution (both of the plan and of, y'know, people) and he SUCCEEDED. If it weren't for that basic human element of not being able to convince Bruce to kill his murderer, he'd have outright fucking won. And let's be real here - Jason is so fucking right. Joker, in the actual DCU, is a villain on par with the worst of them. He's a mass murderer and mass traumatizer who's been proven to be incapable of change (this is partially bc of the way he is represented as chaos, similar to a force of nature, and partially for convenience's sake). The Joker SHOULD die. Preferably with a crowbar.

But I love this fucked up dude even when he's not a villain, although that's my favorite version of him, easy. DC is trying real hard to retcon his run as Robin to make hin "the violent Robin", but we all know that's not true. "Robin is magic", etc, but more importantly the few cases where he is violent are all so clearly coming FROM THE SAME SENSE OF JUSTICE THAT LED HIM TO BECOME RED HOOD. Although he might put on airs to pretend otherwise, at his core he is so empathetic, especially towards children.

Also look how scrungly he looks as Robin 🥹

This is why I'm so obsessed with the fact that he likes reading, specifically Jane Austen. Because it's easy to like reading in general. I work in a bookstore, and all kinds of people walk in, wanting to read the latest thriller or wanting a recommendation for a beach read. People who haven't read in years want something to start out with and people who read every book the week after it comes out wanting our latest releases. But reading Jane Austen means having to employ that same sense of empathy. Austen wants us to feel for her characters, to laugh with them and grieve with them and treat them with respect but also acknowledge when they fucked up. She's funny, and uses irony extremely well. I'm not saying anything new here, I'm just stating the information necessary for my thesis, which is that Jason is capable of all of the above. He feels things incredibly deeply, and for someone with his life style, that verges on weakness.

I also enjoy him as an adult member of the batfamily and in theory as an antihero, although I'm currently still on n52 RHatO and we all know how "good" that comic is. I think he challenges the characters around him by genuinely having a point of view and personal philosophy that's very different from the main Batfam's, but still understandable, worth considering, and sometimes even more correct than the main Batfam's (I would argue that neither position is incorrect within the universe's framework, real life morals aside). I just find that type of character fascinating - a true foil.

Also, he's hot

[lipstickstainz]

true lies - s. r. (6/15)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Series Summary: Spencer is furious, when you rejoin the team after a year and after you left him, when he got arrested. Little does he know, that you leaving him was the only option to ever get him out of prison.

Chapter Summary: A glimpse of your past - and an honest conversation.

Warnings: a little fluff, Spencer talking about his time in prison (spoilers), a lot of angst

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: please don’t hate me. gif not mine. 

Series Masterlist

previous part

"This is the best birthday present I've ever gotten”, Spencer grins as you walk together through Griffith Observatory. It's already evening, but it doesn't feel like you've been here all day. Around every corner there is something different to discover, exhibits to see, new things to learn, and Spencer is almost like a child, so excited is he. He can't keep still and when you stop at an exhibit, he trips from one foot to the other.

"I'm glad you like it here”, you smile as you sit down at a table at the Café at the End of the Universe. You're glad he's enjoying the trip, even though you had to fly here for it. Los Angeles isn't exactly close to D.C., but you wanted to give him something he liked that you could experience together, and a visit to Griffith Observatory seemed fitting.

The view you have from your seat is breathtaking. Los Angeles is at your feet. It's a beautiful view for a beautiful day and you're glad you're here with Spencer. "What did you like best?"

He doesn't even have to think hard before he has an answer. "The Once and Future Griffith Observatory”, he grins, and you roll your eyes.

"But that's only because Leonard Nimoy narrates." You have to grin, too. Spencer is a little transparent, which makes him incredibly endearing.

For a few minutes, you sit together in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunlight on your skin. The silence between you is anything but awkward. Ever since the beginning of your friendship, you've been able to sit together without exchanging a word, enjoying the moment without it getting weird. And although the dynamic between you has changed a bit and you've grown closer lately, it hasn't changed.

"I know you're not into all that stuff”, he interrupts the silence at one point, and you avert your gaze from Los Angeles to look at him. He runs his hand through his hair so that it falls slightly into his forehead, and the reddish glow cast on him by the last rays of the sun makes him look so incredibly handsome that you have to swallow. "Did you like it, too?"

You nod vigorously. "I don't know much about it, but you showed me that the science of the stars can be fun even if you don't look completely behind it." You want to reach across the table and take his hand, but you don't dare. "And I think it's nice to be here with you."

You can't pinpoint exactly when your friendship changed. Since you started working at BAU, you had hit it off and become fast best friends, and you value his friendship very much. But lately you see him in a different light and you can sense that he feels the same, but neither dares to make the first move. Two idiots who have a crush on each other and don't want to admit it.

A few moments later, the sun disappears behind the horizon and Spencer gets up from his chair. "Come on, we have one more thing to do." Carefully, he pulls you from your seat and before you know where he's going, you're there. Even though it's Saturday night, there aren't many people at the observatory, so you can stand in front of a large telescope without waiting in line. "We've heard so much about the universe today, but I want to see the stars with you before we go."

You hesitate, but Spencer tells you to look first, so you take a peek through the telescope. Except for the bright stars, the view is pitch black and deep. A cluster of stars looks very familiar. "What constellation is that, Spence?", you ask, making room for him to take a look himself.

"That's the little bear”, he replies, letting you back up to the telescope so he can explain further and you can look at the stars. "In Greek mythology, the little bear is actually a son of Zeus and a nymph. Or rather, Zeus turned the child into a bear so that the bear wouldn't attack his mother, the nymph, who also became a bear." You look at Spencer. "And then Zeus hurled them both into the sky. Pretty unrealistic."

"I think it's very realistic for a Greek god to turn a mother and child into bears and then stick them in the sky as stars”, you grin, and he gives a short laugh. "Thank you for knowing such things. I find it interesting when you explain things." You smile at him and glance up at the starry sky again. "Do you want to look through here again? The view is phenomenal and breathtakingly beautiful."

"It is indeed”, Spencer replies without taking his eyes off you.

The look he gives you now is one of sadness and pain. You don't see it, but you feel it in your back as you make you both a cup of coffee each. As you turn and place the cup on the kitchen table in front of him, he averts his eyes.

The silence between you is unbearable and only then do you really realize how much everything has changed. How much you have changed. Sitting together in your kitchen in the middle of the night feels as forced as it actually is, but neither of you is ready to get started. For as confusing as the last time has been for you, you know full well that this conversation will either raise more questions than it clears up, or it will be goodbye. And you're not ready for the latter.

You put your hands around the warm cup and realize how cold you are, even though the heating is turned up. Goosebumps come over you and you try to shake the cold shiver off your back as inconspicuously as you can, but the small movement doesn't go unnoticed by Spencer. He looks at you, and as you meet his gaze, he no longer seems sad or pained. Spencer looks lost, and there's nothing you can do to get him out of it.

"What have you been up to for the last year?", he asks you quietly, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I've been here and there. Been working a lot”, you answer, and it's probably the only truth you can tell in the conversation. For the past year, you've really been working, around the clock, but you can't explain to him what exactly you've been doing. And you're also glad he's not asking.

"So you're a professor in between now?", you ask at one point, and he nods mutely.

"Yes, I have to take thirty days off for one hundred days that I work, and I'm teaching during that time."

"Do you enjoy it?", you ask, even though you know the answer. Spencer has always loved teaching other people and sharing his knowledge, which is why you've always secretly thought he'd enjoy teaching.

"Well, a lot of the students just come to listen, which is kind of a shame because the topics are really interesting. Luke said they just come to gawk at me, but I don't think so."

"You're the only professor who talks about crime and everything, but who's also been to prison. I can well imagine that a lot of young women find that very hot." You smile at him and he weakly returns it. When he doesn't respond to that, you keep talking. "I probably have no right to ask about it, but I'd like to know what you've experienced in prison." You take a sip of your coffee. "I can tell it's changed you a lot."

His fingers tighten a little around the cup as he answers. "Prison isn't the only thing that's changed me." To others, his comment would have certainly come off wrong, resentful and bitchy, but not to you. Spencer is simply telling the truth, and that's what the conversation is supposed to be about. You're supposed to be honest with each other, at least within a certain framework that allows you to be as honest as you can. "It really wasn't easy. I became friends with a former FBI agent - Calvin Shaw. He gave me tips on how to survive in prison. Which didn't help much. I tried to help a friend, his name was Luis, by telling a guard that he kept getting beat up by a certain gang, after which they almost killed me." It comes so easily to his lips, but his posture shows that this has not passed him by without a trace. His shoulders are tense and you fear the cup will break, he's clutching it so tightly. "I was supposed to help smuggle drugs in, but I refused, whereupon they beat me up in the laundry room and slit Luis' throat in front of me." He pauses for a moment, as if he needs to sort out his thoughts, and takes a deep breath.

"I wanted revenge, so I poisoned the drugs, hoping it would kill them. But they were just the distributors. Five people got poisoned by it, including Shaw." You can hear he's not proud of that, and your stomach tightens. His hands shake, which is why he lets go of the cup and folds them in his lap. "The jail got into lockdown, but Tara did a cognitive interview with me that didn't do much good. My trial was delayed, and I was really afraid I was going to die in jail. When Shaw and the others were released from the infirmary, Shaw got back at me. He knew I was responsible for the tainted drugs, and he tipped off the others that I was FBI. He said to me I wouldn't see it coming, but they didn't want to put me in solitary either. So I whittled down a knife and took Shaw's hand and stabbed myself to make it look like he did it."

Your gaze moves from his face to his legs, and there you see it. A small scar that you certainly wouldn't notice if you didn't know it was there. Tears well up in your eyes. Not even for a brief moment, did you doubt your decision to leave then, but now you wish you had stayed with him then. You would have helped him, stood by his side. You blink away a tear before it can run down your cheek. "And then?"

"Then at some point I was discharged. The team did everything they could to get me out of that hellhole, and for that I'm very grateful. Otherwise, I would have been murdered in there for sure." He shifts the cup of coffee from one hand to the other. "Look, I don't want you to disappear again. I really don't, but this can't go on like this either. We can't seem to stay away from each other, but we're just arguing and it's not doing either of us any good."

You have a few more questions about his time in prison, but you keep them to yourself.It's clear from him that the subject is closed for him, and you don't want to force it on him. So you just nod.  You wouldn't leave Spencer again for any amount of money. It nearly killed you the first time, and for sure you wouldn't survive it a second time. "What do you suggest?"

He purses his lips into a thin line and starts to tap his foot. "I don't know if I can forgive you for leaving then. It was too painful for that. But I think that maybe, somehow, we can get along. We might even become friends again."

"I'm sorry I left then, Spencer. And I don't expect you to forgive me, I have no right to, because after all, I'm the only one responsible for this situation here”, you confess, running your hand through your hair. A nervous gesture that you seem to have picked up from him. "I'm very grateful to you for not wanting me to leave, even though I've caused you so much pain. I don't know what I've done to deserve this, but I'll do everything I can so that we can live together to some extent. And I hope that someday we can be friends again."

A smile spreads across his face. "Thank you for being honest with me, Y/N. I think this conversation is good for both of us. And it was pretty overdue, don't you think?"

You tighten your mouth into a thin line. "Pretty much." You take the last sip of coffee before rinsing off both cups and putting them back on the top shelf. Your shirt slides up a little, exposing the tattoo on your ribcage.

"You have a tattoo?", asks Spencer as you sit back down. "What did you get?"

You hesitate. "Nothing in particular. Just a saying I picked up a while back."

To this, Spencer doesn't reply, and silence returns. Only this time, it's not as stifling as it was at the beginning of your conversation.

"I should go”, Spencer says eventually, and stands up. He puts on the rest of his clothes and you accompany him to the door. Indecisively, you stand in front of each other. How do you say goodbye to someone you love?

"I'd like to kiss you”, Spencer confesses, and your heart skips a beat. "But that wouldn't be good. For us." He spreads his arms and you fall against him for a moment, hearing his heartbeat one last time before he pulls away from you and smiles weakly at you.

Sometimes you don't even notice a goodbye right away. It happens quietly, creeping, slowly, more painful than a quick goodbye. It goes to your bones, tears at your heart, blinds you. You can't look at Spencer as he speaks, because you know that the goodbye you were afraid of is here now.The glimmer of hope you've carried with you for an entire year is quietly extinguished, the embers cease to glow and the smoke clouds your senses.  For a year, you held on to the fact that you would eventually find each other again. You prayed, hoped, and pleaded for it. The thought gave you comfort as you lay alone in your bed wondering how he was doing and what he was doing. And now it's over. Standing in front of you is Spencer. Spencer, who was in prison. Spencer, who's been through so much. Spencer, who might be your friend again someday.

"Someday you're going to make someone very happy”, you whisper, hoping he doesn't notice how your voice breaks.The pain spreading through you is too intense, and you wrap your arms around your body, afraid to crumble.  But you really wish this for him. You want him to be happy, to find someone he can love as unconditionally as you love him. Someone he can trust blindly. Someone who will not leave him.

Spencer smiles at you and opens the door, but before he leaves, he turns to you one last time. "I have one last question." You look at him and wipe the back of your hand under your nose. "You said it's hard to leave someone you love." He gives you one last look. "Did you leave me because you didn't love me anymore? Or did it have another reason?"

Inside you are screaming at him that you could never stop loving him. That everything you did was for him. That you almost died when you left him and turned your back on everyone. But you can't say it out loud. It was part of the deal. A deal that not even Emily knows every detail of. As you answer him, you die again inside. "I didn't love you anymore, Spencer. I'm sorry."

-

You'd love to never leave your apartment again, but that's not an option. You'd like to call in sick, but that would be a bad start to a someday-friendship, and you don't want Spencer to realize how much this goodbye has destroyed you. You suffer silently, not even telling Emily about your conversation, but trying to let others notice as little as possible how you're really feeling. Work distracts you, and that's a good thing.

When you're alone, it's harder. The pain is unbearable. Loving someone, and losing that person, is the worst pain you could have ever imagined. Your nights are plagued by nightmares, your days are filled with distractions. You try to somehow come to terms with the fact that Spencer would never be yours again, but you had hoped for too long that one day you would find each other again. But that wasn't going to happen. Spencer left. And it's your fault.

After a while, you stop waking up screaming in the middle of the night. You haven't gotten used to the pain, but it's a constant companion now, almost a friend, and you don't try to block it out anymore. You are no longer afraid of the nightmares, because even when you wake up, they are real. You find that you can neither escape nor resist, and so you accept your fate and withdraw so deeply into yourself that you lose yourself.

The emptiness in your head spreads throughout your body and the biggest hole is your heart.

next part

- tags - 

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[makingspiritualityreal]

Numerology Life Path 22 - Your Birth Card and its Ruling Planet

Numerology Life Path Numbers and their assigned Tarot Card Meaning Series - Master Number Edition

This is a post in my new astrology/numerology/tarot series, that only concerns you, if you are a Life Path 22. Originally, I wanted to do them all in one post, but my writing turned out to be so long, I decided to split the post and seperate the Life Path Numbers. The introduction part of the post will be the same for all Life Path Numbers, in case you only read a post about your own Life Path Number, and nothing else.

Introduction

The concept of a Birth Card links Tarot and Numerology together, in order to deepen our understanding of a vibration of a Life Path Number we are born with. The Birth Card, or rather Birth Cards, are Major Arcana Tarot Cards with assigned numbers, which correlate with Life Path Numbers. Understanding the meaning of tarot cards, mixed with the knowledge of Numerology Vibrations, helps create a more unique vision of your life experience. A person with any given Life Path Number, having several Major Arcana energies present in their lives, usually struggles with one of the energies more than the other. As a result, life will probably force them to focus on mastering one of these energies. In general, however, any Life Path describes both your biggest downfall and ultimate triumph - just like with an Astrology Chart, the highlighted numbers/astrology houses point to your biggest strengths and weaknesses. For a better understanding of this concept, visit my article “Natal Chart - A map of your issues?” Remember, that everyone, besides their Life Path Number and Birth Card also has a unique astrology chart. Thus, for some people embracing the higher expression of their energy is easier, for others it’s harder and it takes more time to master, and some energies become easier to deal with than others. Most human beings are somewhere in between, working on their path and having some achievements while struggling with difficulties at the same time. In the spiritual community, there are differences in opinion on linking Astrological Planets and positions to specific numerology numbers energies. My take is a result of my own personal experience, conversations with other people in my field and research, in order to give you the widest possible spectrum of ideas and increase the understanding of every Life Path Number. Even If you have only a basic understanding of Astrology, Tarot or Numerology, this post will still be helpful to you, because it describes the unique vibrational mix that comes from the expression of both these spiritual sciences mixed together. To calculate which Tarot Cards and what Life Path correspond to your birthday, click here.

Life Path 22 - The Caring Master Builder

The vibration of a Life Path 22 blends within the energies of the 2 and the 4. This makes it a very sensitive, yet energetically heavy combination due to the mixed influence of the Moon, Saturn and Rahu. Early on in life, this Life Path exists in a state of constant struggle between the mind and the heart, fighting between their compulsive urge for practicality and extreme sensitivity. They can be emotionally unstable or drained, depressed, frustrated and compulsively attending to the same, mundane tasks to regain the feeling of control. That dynamic takes time to get a hold of due to the extremely contradictory planetary energies. The energy of the Moon is sensitive and caring, the energy of Saturn is strict, practical and grounded. It is a difficult task to provide for oneself both the internal high standard, that exists with Saturn, and the gentle touch that the Moon needs to function. The additional energies of Rahu can give this Life Path a very compulsive mind, as Rahu continuously desires to move forward with new details, which throws an extra spark of anxiety on the already fragile mind of a 22 vibration, if that progress can't be provided.

Life Path 11 and Life Path 22 share the intensity of the 2 vibration, however the 2 is more pronounced in the 22 Path, being doubled.

That makes a Life Path 22 struggle on a higher level with independence and extreme emotional volatility. While an 11 in crisis tends to shut down internally and downplay their uniqueness in order to be accepted externally, they don't really let anyone in as they are in self-protection mode, as they are fundamentally self-directed. A 22 however, lacks that self-direction, because they have a different mission in this incarnation. As a result, when distressed a 22 latches on to the nearest energetic source for survival, entangling it and integrating itself into their being. The result of this tendency depends entirely on the environment, that a Life Path 22 finds themselves in.

That is why working for a community is a must for a Life Path 22. The intense, Moon ruled energies of a double 2 need a big, energetic outlet that a group provides, and in the framework of a group they can practice, master, share and unleash their 4 vibration, becoming an invaluable asset to any community they are a part of. A group also fulfils their need for emotional belonging. If too isolated, 22s tend to fall into abusive relationships, due to their deep need to be surrounded by and connected to external energy. Out of desperation to have their energetic needs fulfilled, they can become very toxic and clingy, because unlike the 11, the 22 doesn't have the 1 vibration that forces them to work on their individual self expression. The double 2 creates an extreme danger of putting themselves in the victim position, yet at the same time tying themselves to another willingly out of a sense of survival. A 22 vibration has a very deep need for a solid emotional structure, and the threat of having this structure removed threatens their need for stability, which can make them hold on even tighter even to the most toxic partnership. That type of partnership sucking the energy out of them prevents them from developing the positive 4 qualities, which is innovative, practical achievements. Living in a larger community prevents a Life Path 22 from entering this dynamic. Due to connections formed with many people, the setting disperses the overly intense 2 energy among the crowd and gives this Life Path a sense of safety that they so desire, which creates a good environment for their work.

It is equally important for a Life Path 22 to avoid toxic situations as it is not to demonise their needs and emotions. While it may be difficult to handle a Master Number energy in human society for all Master Vibrations, the needs of this Life Path exist to be fulfilled, just like with everybody else. This Master Number is at most risk to try to deny their sensitivity and emotional needs due to being influenced by the 4 vibration. While an 11 is the most likely to hide with their self expression externally, they understand their needs on a deeper level internally and guard them, and the risk of shutdown doesn't eliminate their acute subconscious self-awareness. A 22 however, can completely push out their needs and desires due to their conflicting desire for practicality, progress and material results. That puts them into a negative expression of the 4 vibration, which is a cliché of a dry, uninspired workaholic who feels empty on the inside and compensates it with practical perfectionism. However, since emotional nurturing is what actually drives this Life Path in life, they can't hold on to this perfectionism for too long, and this dynamic eventually leads them to a burnout, when in the tired state they shut down even from their 4 vibration and they are not capable of producing practical results.

To find out about the birth cards associated with a Life Path 22 Vibration, read my writing on Life Path 2 and Life Path 4, as all those tarot cards will be applicable.

The key word for a Life Path 22 is Balanced. This vibration out of all numbers possesses the most potential to create and nurture an extremely abundant, tangible energy, both from a material and emotional standpoint, however this cannot be accessed without internal balancing of an unstable psychological makeup. This combination can produce an expert, who possesses deep knowledge with a high attention to detail, yet is still sovereign and connected to their heart space. This is a vibration of a scientist, that hasn't lost his compassion and can connect both to their mind and their heart. A mature Life Path 22 uses their skills for physical survival, without closing off their heart, or falling into the other extreme of being emotionally overwhelmed and uninspired. No other Life Path has such a unique skill for community building and providing. This is the additional energy that is produced in this Master Number, that differs from a singular 2 or 4 vibration. A mature Life Path 22 is a rock for the network of connections that they have build, which in turn allows them to thrive within this network and continue developing and sharing their skills.

[samwisethewitch]

Some Thoughts on the Norse Pagan Concept of Fate

Norse paganism/Heathenry has been a big part of my spirituality for a long time. However, one of the core aspects of the Old Norse worldview is the idea of fate with very limited free will, complete with a destined “death day” for every person — which I’m having a lot of trouble accepting right now with thousands dying of COVID-19, plus several recent deaths in my family that were either freak accidents or the direct result of human error.

As I’m figuring things out and beginning my grieving process, I’ve been trying to really dig into the concept of fate vs. free will and see not only what historical sources say but how modern Heathens interpret it.

If you aren’t familiar with the concept of fate in Norse culture, here’s a basic rundown: fate, or örlog, is the force that shapes men’s destinies, and many of the sagas seem to take the stance of fate being unyielding and inescapable. Even being told their fate in great detail doesn’t help men escape it, and even the gods can’t escape their fated deaths at Ragnarok.

The entities most closely associated with fate are the Norns. Both the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda refer to three Norns, sisters named Urðr (whose name is often just translated as “fate”), Verðandi (“happening”) and Skuld (“debt,” “future,” or “should happen”). These three Norns are the keepers of the Well of Urðr, literally the Well of Fate, and also tend Yggdrasil. The Norns are said to record the fates of all gods and men.

However, to complicate things, some sources refer to individual norns, with each person having their own norn or group of norns who are responsible for their örlog. A person with a good fate is said to have good norns, while a person with a bad fate has bad norns.

(For a more detailed description of the Old Norse concept of fate, check out this excellent video by Jackson Crawford.)

This is where I run into one of my major issues with reconstruction and with Heathenry specifically. All of our sources are fictionalized accounts (as opposed to purely religious guides) so it’s not always clear what is genuine theology and what is a literary allusion. Were there three Norns, or did everyone have their own? Do the Norns create fate or just record it? Do they weave threads of fate or carve it into sticks? Was any of this actually relevant to Norse religion or is it just a metaphor? We don’t know!

Is örlog a core doctrine of this religion, or a product of Old Norse cultural values like drengskapr? Is it even still relevant to modern Heathens disconnected from that cultural context? How would the concept have changed over time if the religion had continued uninterrupted? We don’t know!

I decided to check out some books by modern Heathen authors to see how other people have adapted the concept of örlog to fit their modern experiences.

Both Diana Paxson and Patricia M. Lafayllve describe two “types” of fate, örlog and wyrd, with örlog being what is set in stone by the Norns and wyrd being the fate we create for ourselves. This doesn’t really make sense to me, because it mixes Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon concepts, and I think it twists those concepts to fit what the authors want to believe. Wyrd is an Old English word that roughly translates to “fate” or “luck” and is the Anglo-Saxon equivalent to örlog. We see wyrd discussed at length in Beowulf, where, like örlog, it seems to be set in stone with very little room for change. Beowulf can’t escape his wyrd any more than Odin can escape his örlog. Because of this, using “wyrd” as a way to describe limited free will doesn’t really make sense to me.

However, I found a much more interesting model for classifying fate vs. free will in Ryan Smith’s book, The Way of Fire and Ice. There’s no way I could phrase this better than Smith does in his book, so I’ll let his words speak for themselves:

I think this is really fascinating because it follows a general trend in modern religions of developing a greater concept of free will as we move into a postmodern society with fewer clearly defined social rules, which is a pattern we can see at work in Christianity, for example. Medieval Christians had a much stronger belief in unchanging fate, while modern Christians tend to believe in some form of free will.

I am also fascinated by the concept of hamingja as a function of free will. The hamingja is personified as a guardian spirit similar to the fylgia (fylgia are a type of animal guide) that embody a person’s luck and happiness/joy. Interestingly, hamingja can be loaned out to other people, literally sharing your good fortune. This makes sense — if you have a lot of resources at your disposal (which the Old Norse would say was because you had a powerful hamingja), you can use those resources to make things better for others.

If we stick with the idea of people having their own personal norns, this means each person has two sets of guardian spirits who may or may not control their fate. Your norn or norns determine things like the time and place of your birth, the family you are born into, and your social class. Your hamingja, on the other hand, is the personification of the choices you make within the framework laid out by the norns. Your hamingja is made up of your natural talents, the skills you choose to develop, the connections you forge with other people, and anything else that allows you to change your circumstances.

What I’m about to say is 100% guesswork on my part — I have yet to find any scholarly backing for this, so feel free to disregard it as me making connections where none exist. But for me, the concept of personal norns and hamingja seems very similar to the dísir. Dísir are feminine guardian spirits connected to family groups, rather than individuals, and like the norns and the hamingja, they are sometimes connected to fate. Some archaeologists believe that the dísir were deceased family members, and that their veneration is rooted in ancestor worship. This makes a lot of sense to me because our fate, the circumstances of our birth, are largely determined by the actions of our ancestors.

It seems entirely possible to me that the norns and the hamingja might be subsets of dísir, or even that the three may all be different names for the same beings. (Remember, Norse literature frequently uses kennings, alternative titles for a person or thing used to express different aspects of that person/thing and to fit the alliterative structure of Old Norse poetry.) Or, more likely, the dísir were originally associated with fate and luck, and the norns and hamingja represent later developments, splitting the role of the dísir into smaller groups of spirits with more specific purposes. 

These are just my thoughts, but I would love to hear from other Norse pagans! How do you think of the norns? How do you see fate at work in your life?

[emmys-grimoire]

Lesson 52 analysis + 53 predictions

Turning this into a routine thing now! They’re fun to write and they’re popular (moreso than my actual commentary posts lmao).

Y’all like my ramblings.

Things guessed correctly from prior lesson

The House of Lamentation was an illusion produced by the fairies

The arc culminated in the completion of the Trial of Patience (star received via Simeon)

The illusion did a number on Simeon's feelings as well due to his fondness for Lucifer and the brothers

They shoved Mammon and Luke off to the side and plopped them back in only after the Satan/Simeon arc was complete. There was no arc for Luke. To be fair, though, they did get more content than I expected even so.

Things guessed wrong

The banshee didn't show up at all. It was a red herring.

There was no significance to the geranium found in the mysterious book

Our adventure also completed the Trial of Generosity. (I incorrectly attributed this to Diavolo, who actually gave us the Star of Gratitude)

Still ???

Whether or not there is some kind of transfer of memories/experiences going on between the brothers' past selves and present selves due to our meddling in time. We've confirmed that past angel Beelzebub has turned into a glutton in between the time we last saw him and now, but we haven't confirmed if it *is* our meddling that has induced that. Currently, no change has manifested in the present brothers, nor has the timeline of events seemed to have significantly changed.

Whether or not present Lucifer becoming more "angelic" in season 2, in lieu of past angel Lucifer's growing doubt, will be a significant plot point. The parallels are getting stronger, though. (This is elaborated on further down)

It feels like 50/50? I’ll probably keep a list like this going for future analysis/prediction posts just so I can keep track of how right/mistaken I am throughout the playthrough. Might help me make less mistakes in my analysis!

As a general rule I try not to meander too far off into symbolism or out-of-game lore because what I write begins to sound like this:

And this is an otome game that is light on writing and plot. Nine times out of ten, it’s not going to be that deep. So I work with the details given and the plot points shown and try to draw connections within the framework of the story, in an attempt to try to deduce where the devs are taking the plot. Unfortunately for me, the devs like red herrings, and red herrings are designed to mislead you. With me, they are quite successful! I’d like to get better at spotting them.

The book was consequential -- it’s used to imprison Satan later -- but that’s the end of it’s meaning. Maybe the Bible verse had something to do with it, too -- those were some weird ass numbers to just throw in the title -- but maybe not. Either way, it doesn’t really matter. 

But enough of that, onwards! We have a lot of points to go over that may be interesting to note, right or not.

Satan the Memory Thief

Back in 50-B we learn that it was Michael who taught the brothers the stories behind the human world constellations. 

When we’re tossed back in time-dreamland (?) again, it is Satan who takes the opportunity to teach the brothers the human world constellations. The room had just been remodeled: Michael hasn’t had the opportunity to give them tours yet. Lucifer mosied into the room so he and the brothers can get the first glimpse.

Sooo if in a future lesson we ask them about where they learned the constellations in the present timeline and they say “oh a guy named Sully, who suspiciously looked just like Satan, taught us!” then we know our meddling is having significant consequences.

It IS worth noting that unlike the prior dream sequence, Satan and Simeon remember what they just went through. This particular time-dream could very well just be an illusion meant to give Satan/Simeon some kind of emotional resolution and nothing else. This is kind of why I hate that they’re bring time travel back into the story: it makes stuff like this confusing and borderline inconsistent. Some sequences may have effects and others may not. 

The chat between Lucifer and Simeon could also be consequential.

“Do you *really* mean that?”

There is a parallel at play here!

After you wake up after dozing off, you go off to find Lucifer and Simeon conversing in a forest clearing, evidently unaware that you’re eavesdropping on them. Simeon says although he knows it is just an illusion, that he was glad to see angel Lucy once more. Angel Lucy is predictably confused, and reassures Simeon that they’ll remain like this forever.

Simeon, of course, knows better. He tells Lucifer that he knows he’s been meeting with Diavolo and he’s having doubts about his place in the Celestial Realm -- and if things really will remain the same. Lucy is caught off guard, and starts to explain with some clear hesitation... and of course we pass out before we could hear his answer.

There’s creepy loud heartbeats when it fades out. Normally I associate them with tense, pivotal decisions -- but it could also just be related to us waking up and returning to reality.

If Simeon ends up being wrong -- and there will be real world consequences to this conversation -- they could be very significant consequences. We’re not sure if the conversation continues for a bit longer after we pass out, but Simeon already woke up before we come to.

Obviously the brothers still fell (they’re still demons in the present), but I wouldn’t underestimate the potential of a butterfly effect changing the circumstances of the Great Celestial War. I kind of hope they don’t do that, though, because they haven’t even begun to explain the present details of that event. We know only the broad strokes. Suddenly changing them to make the resolution between the demons and angels more smooth will feel really forced.

And that parallel I mentioned: Diavolo expresses similar worries and doubt in Lucifer’s conviction in season 2.

I have no doubt Lucifer actually means what he says to Diavolo, unlike his dialogue with Simeon, but Diavolo is aware of just how far Lucifer will go for the sake of his family -- and he’s probably #2 on the priority list, when push comes to shove. Lucifer forsaking the Celestial Realm for Lilith was the thing that brought him to Diavolo in the first place.

Of course, this lesson has Simeon suggesting that Diavolo’s influence on Lucifer was significant prior to all that unfolding, and it may have eventually happened regardless. It was only a matter of when, not how.

Still, Lucifer be writing checks he may not be able to cash. We also get this foreboding warning from Barbatos in Season 2:

As I’ve said before, the inevitable conflict the story was hinting to at this point doesn’t happen in Season 2. Lucifer isn’t forced to make a choice like this. The Night Dagger didn’t demand it.

I’ve also expressed my belief that Season 2 and Season 3 were likely written back-to-back due to the small window of time between their releases, so I believe details overlooked in Season 2 may suddenly become more relevant in Season 3.

It’s worth remembering Diavolo’s growing feelings for MC -- and Lucifer’s inner conflict about it -- were hinted at early in Season 2, as well. It doesn’t really get going until the conclusion of Season 2, leading into Season 3.

Do I have any clue of what this is actually leading up to? Not at all! If it mirrors Season 2′s format, though, it’ll suddenly come to a head in the last 3-5 lessons. I remember feeling equally clueless then, and Season 2 had a lot more foreshadowing...

... a lot of which actually didn’t pan out! But it might now. 

Guardian Angels

Another smaller, but interesting detail. Guardian Angels are indeed a thing.

I think they’re gonna become a thing soon. The devs very sneakily changed a small detail in Season 2, suggesting they might have realized that it may interfere with their plans for later seasons. 

Old version.

New version.

I’m thinking they may have decided giving Michael guardianship of an entire swath of the population was cheating, and they may be individualizing the role of Guardian Angels.

Which leads me to who I think Michael’s chosen human squeeze is:

My man has been scoping him out long before we came around.

It makes sense, too. We know Michael gave his Ring of Wisdom to Solomon, which seems to have kickstarted his career as a demon-pacting sorcerer (though he clearly was a sorcerer before this).

This is a very powerful item, described as the Ring of Light’s counterpart, that would be very useful for a high-ranking angel to possess. I don’t think Michael would fork it over to just anyone, particularly when we remember how he felt compelled to interrogate us via dream hi-jack before the Ring of Light fully came into our possession.

Solomon also makes Michael angst in a way a well-meaning but misbehaving child would make their parent angst:

Solomon also really doesn’t seem to regard Michael like some distant, all-powerful alien being who could smite him out of existence.

Contrast this with how he responds when he’s forced to hang out with Diavolo for a day (he gets more comfortable, but he initially wants to punt the responsibility back to Lucifer ASAP).

And he knows a surprising amount of small details about the guy:

I think Solomon is a significant part of Michael’s long-term plans, but he may not even be fully aware of how. Or he is, and they’re in some kind of mutually beneficial agreement -- possibly related to cross-realm peace -- that we simply haven’t been made aware of yet.

Personally, I think Simeon should be made MC’s ‘official’ Guardian Angel if they’re gonna be a thing with official mechanics behind them. I know Michael is supposed to be the Big Cheese and ridiculously hot, so it may make sense to have him linked to the MC of an otome game because they’re super special too, but Michael may already have Solomon. He shouldn’t get to hog everything. It’s not like assigning Simeon to do job would really inconvenience him, either: MC is Solomon’s apprentice. He can easily work with the arrangement.

Luke may feel left out but he’s a kid so...

Seven Brothers Constellation

We learn there’s a constellation representing the brothers in the Celestial Realm. Everyone there knows the legend, but Luke doesn’t know what the three stars ‘watching over them’ represent. 

He, Mammon, and Satan begin to theorize and Satan suggests they may represent the three realms. The other two like the idea, and Mammon insists the ‘human’ star represents MC. 

He’s probably right, but I’m willing to take it a step further: it represents MC, Diavolo, and Michael. The three “guardians” of their respective realms, and the brothers. Season 3 has been repeatedly beating us over the head with how much Michael still cares for the brothers and his relevance to their upbringing, and likely their future.

It bears repeating: Diavolo and Michael are aiming towards the same goal, though their visions of what peace and harmony looks like may be very different.

Solomon could also qualify as a self-appointed guardian, but I think he lacks the connection to the brothers MC obviously has.

Still, he has the same resolve, and he’s not leaving the story any time soon.

Predictions

I sniff out even the smallest Michael details because he’s clearly the key to whatever is gonna blow up.

This might give us some insight on how the initial dealings with him may unfold:

It’s hard to deduce just what this actually means. Either Michael tends to overthink things that just aren’t that deep (can empathize) and that in itself leads to needless complications, or he’s apt to misread situations and as a result gives poor advice. Or a combination of both.

My initial read on him makes me think that he thinks the best of humans/angels but the worst of demons. He is very, very complimentary towards MC as soon as they start answering his questions.

Am I now? Really?

It could just be the game making characters butter up the MC to make the game more enjoyable for the player of a self-insert character, but dude we just met.

When you tell him you did what you did out of love for Lucifer:

That’s a very telling pause/ellipsis. It’s like his brain momentarily short-circuits and he needs to regain his composure before he continues, and he still doesn’t sound entirely sure of what you just said lol

He also just outright admits he initially thought you must be wicked just because the brothers liked you, and this is a guy who is still fond of them himself. I think he’s having a very hard time with it.

So the inevitable bumps in the roads ahead with him will likely be a result of this, and/or his dad being an asshole. Neither he or Diavolo are actually in charge of the realms they’re overseeing -- they’re both de facto leaders -- so maybe the parents will suddenly barge in and try to knock over their sand castles for whatever reason. It is kind of weird that the exchange program has been agreed to in the first place, particularly on the Celestial Realm’s part.

Regardless, I have no clue what the next arc will be. I know we still have three trials left, but they could combine two again to leave more room for the actual storyline to progress. The climax is going to be the last trial of our sorcerer’s exam, or something happening afterwards. Not sure which one I’m willing to bet on yet: I remember Simeon’s play and the silly Blood Moon contest in Season 2 were what kept use preoccupied for Season 2 until SUDDENLY LUCIFER GETS AMNESIA AND THE WORLD IS IN DANGER AND WE HAVE TO STAB HIM TO SAVE EVERYONE. But they did heavily foreshadow that in the very beginning lol. They just didn’t fill in the blanks until much later.

I wonder what the trial of chastity is gonna be like and how hard we’ll actually fail and the game will need to overcompensate for that

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Would you be willing to explain the ending to last night in soho?

Sure! I'll do my best (although I might not always be able to verbalise it in a way that makes sense, I definitely came out of the cinema Understanding but I was thinking about this and realised I don't? have all the words??? for this????)

Anyhoo! So, loved this movie to bits.

Major Spoilers for Last Night In SoHo under the cut

Near the end of the movie, of course, we discover the old woman (whom I will be referring to as Alex throughout, referencing the policeman's statement that Alex killed Sandie), was actually Sandie, and killed all the men who are now chasing Ellie. Alex is about to kill Ellie to cover this up.

Now, throughout the film, Sandie is very much depicted as dead, even by those who know Alex, who is technically the same person, lived on. Lindsay of course says Sandie was killed, Alex herself says in a way a girl did die up there, and most crucially Sandie is haunting Ellie in only a way that a ghost can. There are many different kinds of ghosts, but they all want something, and Sandie consistently seems to be a ghost that demands justice: she wants her story to be told, she wants the person who "killed" her to be brought to justice. (When I refer to Sandie being dead throughout by the way, I am using it metaphorically as it turns out the movie was using it).

The problem is, the person who killed her is Alex - I've seen people saying oh Sandie did nothing wrong in killing those men and I am inclined to agree better defend herself than let them rape her, but at the same time she did commit a terrible deed, she killed the younger version of herself (because that's the thing about things like murder, even when the people who die within the moral framework "deserve it," the evil turns inwards, it erodes your soul). So justice for Sandie would be imprisonment or more realistically because this is a ghost story and we expect higher retribution, death for Alex.

But the problem is, Sandie isn't really dead! She still is Alex! They're still the same person they've just been split in two, the dead lost girl and the living woman! So straightforward revenge won't work, and Alex is trying to slit her own throat to escape the police, but that wouldn't work either. Because although Alex would be dead, again Sandie would still have recieved no justice for her death because a. the real thing that killed Sandie wasn't Alex, it was the terrible word she was forced to be a part of, that she was trapped in, and if Alex just kills herself at the top of the stairs the world would not have been condemned for what it did to drive her to this, and b. because Sandie is Alex, killing Alex would just be killing Sandie all over again.

So how does Ellie save this?

Ellie offers understanding, and by extension she offers forgiveness. And in a way (and I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense but I can't figure out how to word it), Sandie's justice is Alex's forgiveness. Because not only does that forgiveness acknowledge that the blame lies truly in the twisted world around them, thus condemning it truly (a form of justice), it also wipes away the terrible acts Alex committed (because that's what forgiveness does in a situation like this: it washes away evil deeds), so making her Sandie again. She has been forgiven, the murders which killed Sandie have been removed from her, and thus Sandie was never killed, and thus justice has been served by reversing the evil deed (if that makes sense).

So, Alex and Sandie are no longer two separate identities due to this forgiveness/understanding on Ellie's part, they are again the same person. And so it's OK for her to wait as the house burns down around her, because we don't want her to go to prison either, and now justice has taken place, if she dies it is no longer unfair or unjust or unfinished, as if would have been if the two identities were still divided. In fact, her death feels more like peace than anything else.

So Alex/Sandie dies and Ellie and her friend live.

But there is one thing that this movie does with ghosts which is a little different, it has ghosts which seem content/at rest still being visible. Ellie's mum doesn't want anything except for her to be happy, she's the typical dead at rest, but she can still be seen. And so Sandie at the end in the mirror, she's happy, she's also a ghost at rest. She is Alex/Sandie, who died in that burning house, she is a true ghost now of a real corpse, in her truest form, that of young Sandie. She's like Ellie's mother, she doesn't want anything really. And that's where it ends of course.

Also, Ellie using the fashion show to show dresses inspired by Sandie, that's another aspect of justice for Sandie. Because another aspect of her tragedy is that no one ever told her story, she was erased as an individual by the world, and turned into just another prostitute. So through fashion Ellie is telling her story, she's remembering Sandie and thus still making up for the injustice done to her in that aspect too.

Last point: regarding the ghosts of the men. To be honest I feel there wasn't really enough closure for them as a narrative device, that is my one problem with this film. Obviously there's the scene where they want to help Ellie call the police, and I actually think this scene is interesting because it adds another potential stumbling block to Ellie's quest. Her quest is to save Sandie, of course, it has been from the beginning, and as seen, she can only really save Sandie through forgiveness. But these male ghosts, they seem to be helping her, but they're telling her to kill Alex, something which as mentioned would mean there would not be justice for Sandie. But Ellie doesn't necessarily know that, and killing Alex actually makes a lot of sense for her in that moment, it's a really significant moral stumbling block. But! she refuses! She still does what's right!!! And I think that's what that scene is for. And then those ghosts vanish when Ellie forgives Alex, I like to think, because Sandie has been metaphorically raised to life again and Alex, the murderess, no longer exists as the heartless soul she was when she killed them, she is gone due to the return of Sandie, so those ghosts are at peace to. However, I feel more the intention of the authors was that they vanish because Alex/Sandie dies physically, and so they are at peace because of that physical death rather than a spiritual undoing.

I hope this is helpful and at all clear - if it isn't and you have questions about what I'm saying, absolutely comment or send another ask or anything, I'm always open!!!

[aeternallis]

Unpacking the Anti-Sessrin Argument :: Father/Daughter & Grooming

While I was watching AxelBeats’ newest video on the Sessrin discourse, it got me thinking that maybe the reason why the Anti-Sessrin argument even exists in the first place is because Rumiko Takahashi never fully defined Sessrin’s relationship. The audience had different interpretations, of course, but she never explicitly named whatever it is between them. 

It sounds like I’m just stating the obvious, but hear me out. It often baffles me whenever the antis describe Sesshoumaru as having raised, essentially “groomed” Rin for the purpose of sexual gratification. I mean—that’s pretty much the definition of “grooming,” isn’t it: to consistently lower a child’s emotional defenses and befriend them, for the purpose of sex.

But in that same vein, the anti-Sessrin argument also claims (at least most of the time) that Sesshoumaru and Rin also had a father/daughter relationship, from the context of the original show.

Which...kinda contradict each other? 😅 If one sees Sessrin’s relationship as that of a wholesome “father/daughter,” the idea of Sesshoumaru “grooming” Rin is negated, isn’t it? Because in the context of the original anime and the subsequent sequel, describing these two characters simultaneously as “father/daughter” and “an older man grooming a child” wouldn’t make any sense, considering the fact that both descriptions have virtually opposite intentions. 

It can only be one or the other.

At least in a fictional context, anyway. As I said, it’s always been difficult to pin down Sessrin’s relationship because Takahashi herself had never defined it either. Sesshoumaru’s character arc is hella subtle, considering the fact that he’s not part of the main group and at most, he is a secondary character (but one that definitely makes an impression), if not a minor antagonist in the beginning. Lol

I’ve always been of the opinion that if you’re going to define the relationship of two characters in any piece of fiction, whatever label that may be has to apply to the entire story of said characters. It would be an erroneous flaw to define the relationship of two characters as one thing based on your initial impressions, then another thing entirely just because you don’t like the trajectory of said relationship. 

I don’t mean to say that relationships are static; after all, the emotional connections between two characters are always evolving, either for better or worse. That’s what makes a story, and what allows the audience to connect with the characters. 

I only meant that the label has to be reflective of the characters’ actions. 

After all, Yashahime is considered the sequel to Inuyasha; it acts as a continuation, not a reboot or a separate story of its own. Yes, the focus has shifted to an alternative main cast, but the story is still being told within the framework of the original anime. 

Father/Daughter_________

As I said earlier, a lot of antis describe Sessrin as having a father/daughter relationship, but what specific actions did Sessrin perform in the original anime gave off that impression? 

From the beginning, Rin has never had expectations of Sesshoumaru as one would expect to have of a daughter to a father. Throughout the original anime, she fends for herself and only relies on Sesshoumaru for protection. In the context of the time period, Rin receives no form of dowry from him, she’s not used as any sort of pawn (political or otherwise) to his advantage at any time, and for the most part, has no right to whatever assets he may own as an heir (in this case, Jaken’s services and Ah-Un’s loyalty). Sesshoumaru instructs (forces) Jaken and Ah-Un to care for Rin, but I highly doubt the latter has the right to command them, were she truly perceived to be an adopted daughter to a youkai. 

For example, in episode 162 of the anime, Rin herself acknowledges that she doesn’t know what role she plays in Sesshoumaru’s life. For some context, there’s a scene in the episode where Jaken explains that in the future after the situation with Naraku is settled, Sesshoumaru will most likely build an empire. In this future empire Jaken envisions, he proclaims that he’ll be a chief minister, so Rin asks the following question:

In this scene, it clearly shows that Rin has no expectations of Sesshoumaru as one would have as a perceived daughter to a father.

Conversely, Sesshoumaru doesn’t give Rin any rights as a daughter would rightfully have from a father. Rin isn’t overprotectively cloistered away in a palace (or in Towa/Setsuna’s case, within a barrier that surrounds a beautiful forest), he does not pass on any sort of inheritance to her (unlike, once again, Towa/Setsuna’s case, in which they both inherited his powers), does not actively tell her of his singular interest in pursuing Naraku, and most of the time, remains emotionally distant from her. 

And to repeat that, emotionally distant, but it doesn’t mean that he’s not affected by her kindness. 

In the end, she’s free to roam around with him as she pleases--or leave his side, as she pleases. She doesn’t have the restrictions or expectations that would be placed upon a female of that time period; Sesshoumaru lets her live her life, as she pleases. 

Grooming  _________

On the other end of the spectrum, I ask once more: what specific actions did Sessrin perform in the original anime that gave off that impression?

And before one begins to even think about that question, please note that using the reason “in Yashahime, Sesshoumaru married Rin and they had children” as the specific action would not make any sense; this action is just an end result, but nowhere does it indicate where or how the perceived grooming took place. 

To reiterate, throughout the original anime Sesshoumaru remained emotionally distant from Rin; his main focus for most of the time was trying to take Tetsusaiga, tracking down Naraku, and/or trying to find a weapon that can match/surpass Tetsusaiga. 

Hell, even in one of their first significant moments together when he brings her back to life that first time, it wasn’t for any reason of trying to obtain sexual gratification from Rin; the audience is fully aware that he was just mostly out to test Tenseiga’s power (as Jaken himself reiterates). Mauledtodeath!Rin just happened to be there as a stroke of luck and an opportunity. 

What limited scenes they did have together were brief (not to mention that he ignored her half the time), and with hardly any insight into Sesshoumaru’s thoughts, this argument is very much a moot point. 

To be honest, the “grooming” argument IMO is actually kind of ironic, yknow? XD A lot if not most of the antis hate the Sessrin shippers because they think that we condone pedophilia and grooming...yet they were the ones to reach this conclusion on their own. They’re the ones imagining a Sesshoumaru who only had dirty thoughts towards Rin, who raised her to be his outlet for sexual gratification. Lol 

Either way, the situation is funny in that context! 

My Conclusion _________

So what does all this mean? Nothing much, only that I still don’t really understand where the father/daughter vibe and grooming thing comes from. Lol When I say I never saw those things in the original anime, I meant it. If one were to think about the context of the story and how it was portrayed, the accusations that are stacked against Sessrin are just assumptions based on one singular fact that Sesshoumaru married Rin and had children with her.

To me personally, the one label that defines the relationship between Sesshoumaru and Rin, the one that makes sense if we were to look at Inuyasha and Yashahime as a continuous narrative, is that of lord and vassal.  

In an interview with Yashahime’s staff (wonderfully translated by ayuuria here), the producer Naka Toshikazu stated that it was a challenge trying to continue Inuyasha’s story because of how Rumiko Takahashi so neatly concluded it. They only had direction to go somewhere with a new story when they realized they could make it about Sesshoumaru’s daughter. 

And it makes sense, doesn’t it? After all, the reason why they couldn’t just pursue Inukag or MiroSan’s story is because those relationships had already been defined. Both are two sets of characters who fell in love whilst they went on an adventure, and they’ve done their part to save the world. 

Would a story about Shippo or Jaken or Koga have pulled audiences as much as the main cast did? Where would the conflict come from? How could they continue the story without having to repeat the original narrative? Without having to create a new Naraku? 

It makes sense that Sesshoumaru and Rin would get together, if only because they were the one relationship that Rumiko has never defined, not in the anime nor in the manga. Zero in episode 15 of Yashahime states, “The Lord Sesshoumaru, one who is known to detest both humans and half-demons, has taken a human for a wife.” 

Just think of how bold of a story that is, one that can match the stakes of the original story, whilst still being able to continue within the frame of the narrative? Think of the implications of what that means in the narrative of Inuyasha, that the one character who arguably hates humans the most, feared and respected by other youkai, went through such a character arc that he would marry a member of a species he claimed to hate and sire children with her. 

Of course there would be repercussions; of course other demons wouldn’t be happy or be easily accepting of it, Shikon jewel prophecy be damned. 

Of course Sesshoumaru has to work hard to earn his complete happy ending with his family. He fell in love with Rin, a human woman, after all. And in the story of Inuyasha, has that not always been the catalyst for everything else? 

[oldshrewsburyian]

if u ever wanna dump an essay about edward fairfax rochester to me...I’m here!

Ahh, you must know how dangerous such an invitation is to an enthusiast! It’s a rainy Sunday evening, I’ve poured myself a glass of wine, and I’m ready to do this. I think Charlotte Brontë is doing and exploring some really interesting things in the character of Rochester, which sometimes get flattened/left out in adaptations. To be fair to the adaptations: he’s still compelling as a Brooding Gothic Protagonist.™

Prolegomenon I: I haven’t read the scholarship on Jane Eyre since undergrad, and I haven’t read The Wide Sargasso Sea since graduate school. I make no claims to particular originality here. And of course, literature can and does hold multiple meanings, etc. etc.; this is my take on Edward Fairfax “Self-Delusion” Rochester. The subfields of Jane Eyre criticism I’m most familiar with/informed by are “Jane Eyre + feminist theory” and “Jane Eyre + ‘early 19th-century debates within Anglicanism, pretty wild, right?’” This should surprise exactly no one who follows this blog.

Prolegomenon II: when I get caught up in my Rochester Feelings in conversation, there is inevitably a point where one of my English-major or -professor friends will shout me down and say “He kept a WIFE in the ATTIC” and I know. I know. It’s inexcusable and I’m not trying to excuse it, and everyone should read Jean Rhys. What I am really interested in doing, though, is exploring Rochester as three-dimensional character, not “man whose bad behavior gets hand-waved aside because reasons.”

First off: Rochester is a man of contradictions. He is a man who is generous to his retainers and his tenants. He is a man who shoulders even social responsibilities that are not strictly his, as we see in the education of Adèle (who might otherwise have died in an uncharitable charitable institution, or become a laundress, or become a courtesan.) True, we meet him as an extremely awkward and fumbling and sometimes resentful figure in loco parentis. But he is trying. I think this is perhaps the key thing about Rochester: what we see him doing for most of the novel, almost always badly, is trying to achieve better (more just, more humane, more equitable) results within a system (patriarchal, economic, colonial) that is rotten at its core. It is not everyone who has the moral fiber of a Jane Eyre, to say “this system is rotten at its core and it is better to starve on the moors or live forever unhappy than to be complicit in it.” The second thing we see Rochester doing, almost always badly, and this is where the contradiction comes in, is trying to avoid his own pain. I’ve intentionally said pain rather than guilt. I think that gets closer to the heart of the matter.

I’m going to get back to my essay in a minute, but an interjection of sorts, before I put the rest of it under a cut: I think it is vital to the novel that Rochester genuinely changes. Justification of this argument and More Emotions below.

For contemporary readers, the concept of repentance as a process may feel unfamiliar, trite, irreversibly sullied by hypocrites. But even if we take it out of Brontë’s extremely Anglican framework, I read Rochester’s profound, unconditional acceptance of his own sin (wrong, if you prefer) against Bertha and the losses which he sees as divine punishment for it as absolutely key to his having a chance at a future with Jane. The concept of divine retribution is surely stranger to us even than that of repentance, but having Thornfield, Rochester’s inheritance, sign and symbol and engine of his patriarchal wealth, built on colonial exploitation, literally go up in flames like the wicked cities of the Old Testament, is Not Exactly Subtle. And, of course, he loses his sight: “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.” His sight has been, in the most fundamental spiritual sense, diseased. He has been incapable of accurately seeing his own guilt (which is to say, seeing it in proportion to all other things, the other facts of Bertha’s madness, the duplicity of his family and that of the Masons, etc. etc.) So he loses his sight. And then he gains a much richer understanding of, well, everything. Gradually. Not all at once. I have Feelings about the psychological realism of those final chapters, but let me rewind, as it were. [N.B. I’m not arguing that Charlotte Brontë presents all this as a straightforward Divine Smiting. It matters that Bertha gets the freedom to bring all this crashing down (literally), and that she chooses her own end. But I do think that Rochester reads it as Smiting; I think we need to take that final assertion of his seriously. It’s entirely possible to read the Elm Tree Incident, and indeed that bizarre wedding morning, as Rochester waiting, waiting with pounding heart, for the bolt of lightning.]

I believe passionately in Rochester and Jane as a couple for a number of reasons (so many reasons, all the reasons), but perhaps chief among them is that they are both, bless them, raging romantics who have had very little outlet for their rich emotional life or for their unconventional, erudite, intelligent, exploratory spiritualities. OR (sorry, I forgot one) for their intellectual life, come to that! Rochester with his library full of science and his feelings about moths and Jane who becomes a teacher and genuinely loves nurturing young minds. *sobs* I love them so much. But Rochester is far too ready to manipulate others as he has been manipulated, and as others seek to manipulate him. His treatment of Blanche Ingram, for instance, I read as being several things, in shifting proportion 1) an effort to distract himself from Jane; he has few if any scruples about involving the unscrupulous and mercenary Miss Ingram in bigamy 2) an effort to distract the neighborhood and its gossip from Jane; why, after all, has he been at Thornfield so long without entertaining anyone?? very suspicious 3) an effort to find out what Jane’s feelings for him are. We see her ready to sting him into jealousy at the end too, a nice little bit of symmetry. Rochester is, yes, high-handed in the extreme. But I read the conversation under the elm tree not as a cynical test, but a genuine and painfully awkward attempt to figure out what Jane’s feelings for him really are. Yes, they’ve been having High Spiritual Communion and intellectual discussions and mutual teasing and borderline flirting for however many weeks it’s been. But also: he’s her employer. He’s at least 15 years older than she is (I forget the details on this. 15? 20? anyway, point stands.) He is not and never has been handsome, and he knows exactly how little his wealth counts for with Jane. He’s deeply weird and his house is weird and he comes with a French ward and a mysterious attic and a wife. But does she love him anyway? She does! *cries about it* 

Of course, none of this excuses the inexcusable. The proposal-to-wedding sequence shows us Rochester at his moral nadir, in relation to both Bertha and Jane. It also shows him on the knife edge of losing control over his integrity in other ways, now that he has violated this one. (Remember when Jane comes back to Thornfield and says “Reader, I had feared worse; I had feared he was mad”? Yeah, there’s a reason for that.) Anyway, allow me to present excerpts from Chapter 27, which lives in paraphrase in my head at all times:

[W]hile he spoke my very conscience and reason turned traitors against me, and charged me with crime in resisting him. They spoke almost as loud as Feeling: and that clamoured wildly. "Oh, comply!" it said. "Think of his misery; think of his danger—look at his state when left alone; remember his headlong nature; consider the recklessness following on despair—soothe him; save him; love him; tell him you love him and will be his. 

Whew! Anyway, she decides not to despite the fact that she and Rochester feel exactly the same way in this moment:

I am insane—quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot.

*sobs harder* I think it is vitally important to point out that Jane is not cold or even, in this moment, convinced by her own arguments. She and Rochester are, moments after this, in each other’s arms, the language of fire and flame used for them both, and Rochester releases her first because he wants her influenced by nothing but her own will; not their shared passion, and certainly not his own force.

...Where was I before I got caught up with the unbearable sexual and emotional tension? Oh yes, Rochester after Jane leaves. He embraces an extremely thorough program of self-punishment. The most obvious course of action for him -- the one that Jane, the person who knows him best in all the world, assumes he has taken -- is to run away from his pain again, to leave England. He does not do that. He does the opposite of that. He refuses to so much as leave Thornfield itself except to roam the grounds at night. I love this book so much.  Then, after the fire, which happens only 2 months after Jane leaves, he goes to Ferndean. Now! The only thing we have learned about Ferndean previously is that Rochester refused to have Bertha live there because its bad climate would have (or at least might have) killed her. We learn from Jane-as-narrator that literally no one will rent it, again, because of its “ineligible and insalubrious site.” Rochester has, with heartbreaking obviousness, given up on life. He has, by his own account, been “doing nothing, expecting nothing,” in “ceaseless sorrow... [and] delirium of desire.”

 ...Edward Fairfax Rochester has never heard of chill. Also, as we learn, though he is worried about his disabilities because he is worried that Jane will mind, and because they make him a less eligible potential husband in his own estimation (*sniffle*), what he has been chiefly preoccupied with for the last year is worrying about where Jane is and if she’s all right. Again: the man has never heard of chill. But his impulses are generous. He is the heir to a rotten and a poisoned inheritance, and he begins by blaming this inheritance -- his external circumstances, both his privilege and the choices that he is pushed into by his father and brother -- for his own injuries and the ways in which he has injured others. But I (obviously) vigorously cling to the belief that he genuinely turns away from this, that he confronts his own sins and repents and accepts that he will not, cannot, be reunited with Jane in this life. But then he is. *cries about it* Moreover, in a key reorientation from his earlier avoidance-and-denial coping strategy, he accepts Jane’s services “without painful shame or damping humiliation.” He un-hermits himself! He and Jane travel to see friends and family! They receive visitors! These romantic-hearted science nerds proceed to be shockingly normal... for their own given value of that. I’m also convinced that they have the kinkiest sex in nineteenth-century English literature, and I support them. And part of their happiness is the happiness of others; it’s the opposite of Rochester’s globe-trotting, radically individualistic conduct in the first part of the novel. Of course it’s more than he deserves; he knows that, and he needs to know it. But it’s narratively elegant, and (I think) deeply satisfying. And I love it. And, obviously, him... again, more than he deserves.

[beneaththetangles]

Reader’s Corner: Carole & Tuesday, Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol, and The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya

Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol (Rascal, Vol. 4)

My most consistent complaint about the Rascal series, which I otherwise find charming, is that the stories are too full of contrivances. with plots points and character actions often making little sense. Though these developments are often small, such as an explanation that the sisters at the center of this volume aren’t apologizing to each other after a fight because neither would accept such apologies, when that hardly seems true, the way they impact character development and the plot by changing both for the sake of reaching certain resolutions and mile markers in the text, rather than letting the characters and their situations play out naturally, is frequent and significant. The same issue continues, though thankfully at a lesser extent, with Siscon, the fourth volume of the Rascal series, which introduces Mai’s half-sister, Nodoka, an idol in her own right but one far less famous than her actress sister. Both are impacted by Adolescent Syndrome in this volume, switching bodies and being forced to act as one another in different realms and levels of show business. The dialogue between Sakuta and Nadoka is almost as delightful as between him and Mai, and features frequently throughout the text in this fun and warm read which continues the series’ delightful balance between playful adolescence and development of authentic relationships between characters, in whom I’m now fully invested. ~ Twwk

Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol is published by Yen Press.*

Yokohama Station SF

Not every robot overlord is like Skynet, intent on killing all humanity, with android enforcers that are nigh impossible to kill. Sometimes, the enforcers are turnstiles that not only keep the ticketless out of the station but eject rules violaters to unoccupied spaces to meet their deaths by starvation, and sometimes the master computer is just railroad infrastructure consuming the entire island of Honshu via slow, automated urban renewal. This unique and immensely absorbing post-apocalyptic novel begins long after the “Winter War” devastated Earth, and Yokohama Station, a concrete and metal structure growing seemingly without end, has covered almost all of Honshu and threatens the neighboring islands. Hiroto, lives on a sliver of land just outside the behemoth structure on a tiny beach community until an “Insider,” ejected from within the station, gives him a chance to explore the vast unit for five days, also charging him with finding a resistance leader, while he brings in a personal quest of his own. From the description, you may sense both Terminator and Ready Player One vibes, though its more similar in tone and eventually story to the latter, though cutting out that work’s affection for nerd culture and replacing it with efficient writing. Yokohama Station SF features a clever and well-crafted but familiar world, interesting artificial intelligence units—always a plus for me—and believable science fiction, having been written by an actual scientist, Yuba Isukari. Yokohama Station SF is his first novel, and as a compelling piece of sci-fi with anime sensibilities, it is a significant achievement. Paraphrasing another overlord of a sci-fi franchise, I shall be watching Mr. Isukari’s career with great interest. ~ Twwk

Yokohama Station SF is published by Yen Press.*

Love of Kill, Vol. 1

The quiet, beautiful Chateau Dankworth is a bounty hunter, working for an organization that contracts with mafia families to eliminate targets. Ryan-Ha Song is also an assassin, but an especially notorious one, skilled and feared for his prowess. When these two become entangled, it’s not in a deathmatch—it’s because the enigmatic Song wants to date Chateau! Volume one of Love of Kill features plenty of action and establishes the deadly world in which the protagonists work, but otherwise gives very little information about the two. Structurally and thematically, the opening volume is engaging, functioning through leaps back and forth in time and filled with grisly episodes of violence. It’s quite jarring, most particularly when the volume mixes in a romantic interlude between the leads that feels as awkward to readers as it does to Chateau, and for the same reason: Song appears to be entirely psychotic. That also makes it hard to root for the killer, while younger assassin displays so little personality that she’s also difficult to care for. With such coldness, it’s hard to imagine why this manga, which in its initial version was published through the Japanese art site, Pixiv, necessitated a fuller release. Perhaps future volumes will reveal that answer, but for now, the tale of Pixiv to published is the most engaging part of this manga. ~ Twwk

Love of Kill is published by Yen Press.*

Eniale & Dewiela, Vol. 2

This second volume of this very silly series continues within the same framework of gags from volume one. In one story, Eniale causes havoc to the world by using supernatural noises to create sonar in an attempt to find Dewiela’s earring, which she’s lost. This humorous storyline and other chapters also provide a view into the interesting cosmos of this version of the world. While Eniale and Dewiela represent the Lord and Satan, respectively, from a Christian framework, this world setting has other deities and belief structures both existing and being true concurrently. Eniale and Dewiela are trying to reap souls for their respective afterlife locales, while local deities they encounter are pushing back, saying that the local souls belong to them. The duo face especially harsh pusbback by local deities when they enter Japan. The most interesting story comes from the tale of a Catholic priest who, according to Heaven, may become an angel one day to battle during Armageddon. However, something changed in his life and Eniale is sent to investigate. This bittersweet tale ends, as usual, on a gag, reflecting how fun this series is overall, even if it’s theology is just wildly inconsistent. ~ MDMRN

Eniale & Dewiela Vol. 2 is published by Yen Press.*

Carole & Tuesday Vol. 2

Volume two of Carole & Tuesday has the titular girls experiencing new challenges on their way to recognition and success in the music business, but it opens with a focus on a third girl. Angela, a child prodigy famous for modeling, wants to try something different and to become a singer. The manga shares some of her backstory and how she teams up with Tao, a man of mystery who creates popular songs using A.I. He riles up Angela throughout the manga, pushing her (rudely) to try harder. Meanwhile, Carole and Tuesday are try to get DJ Ertegun to listen to their song, which he refuses. Later, they struggle to find harmony on a new song, and take a little break outside on their own, considering their journey up to that point. When they return to their apartment, their slovenly manager, Gus, convinces them to enter the Mars Brightest competition. It’s like American Idol, but on Mars! Angela also enters in the test that will show how skilled these three girls really are as singers. I’ve seen the anime so I knew what to expect, but the manga still entertained me, particularly with its fantastic artwork. The panels pop out and feature intricate detail, connecting more with the characters through the facial expressions, dialogue, and the challenges they face. ~ Samuru

Carole & Tuesday Vol. 2 is published by Yen Press.

The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya (Haruhi Suzumiya, Vol. 5)

Having watched the episodes, but never having read the novel from which they were adapted, I expected the “Endless Eight” story to be much like the anime version: repetitive, dull, and overly long. It is in fact none of these things, taking up just 1/4 of The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya, the fifth light novel in the Haruhi Suzumiya series. While I still admire KyoAni’s decision to spend eight episodes on almost identical material to reflect the time loop aspect of the story (this despite the disastrous reaction it received), the much shorter chapter in Rampage doesn’t need the repetition to convey the peril and anxiety of the situation. It’s an excellent story, joining the funnier material in “The Day of Sagittarius” and “Snowy Mountain Syndrome,” the longest story in the series so far, which initially feels like material already covered but in a winter setting, though it later reveals itself to be a story that not only reminds us of how Nagaru Tanigawa excels as a science fiction writer, introducing further elements of the genre into his work, but also one that conveys serious heart. The last story provides another one of Haruhi’s sincere explanations of her behavior to Kyon and heavily features character development of Nagato, as subtle as it is, which is equal parts uplifting and mysterious. ~ Twwk

The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya is published by Yen Press.*

Maison Ikkoku Collector’s Edition, Vol. 3

Some forty years after it was first published, these chapters from volume three of Maison Ikkokku Collector’s Edition show precisely why this romantic comedy is so beloved, displaying the full retinue of humor and charm that are pervasive throughout the series. This volume continues to demonstrate Rumiko Takahashi’s talent at using misunderstandings to develop strong comedic content, which then gives way to reveal her character’s personalities and hearts. With Godai now knowing Kyoko quite well, but still miserably immature in his outlook on romance, he struggles to “make the leap” into a relationship with her, but each chapter shows that despite the obstacles that get in their way—some significant and others more figmental—the two are more and more making connections between their hearts. And as laugh out loud funny as many of the panels are, it’s these moments of caring, which increasingly find their way into the lives of Godai, Kyoko, and the rest of the Maison Ikkoku residents, that make the series memorable, driving it closer and closer toward fulfillment while keeping us just far enough away to crank the angst up to 11.  ~ Twwk

Maison Ikkoku Collector’s Edition is published by Viz.*

The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat, Vol. 1

The world’s best assassin has run out of time—or has he? On the verge of retirement, he is tricked and killed during his last mission. But upon his death, the assassin appears before a goddess (what a surprise!) who needs him to do her a favor: Kill the hero of the world she’s in charge of before the hero causes trouble in the future for her and the world he is in. She chose the assassin because of his skill and allows him to be reborn whilst choosing his own skills. Much like Rudeus in Mushoku Tensei, this protagonist is reborn literally, as a baby, but retains his previous memories. As he grows up among a wealthy family of assassins in a world of magic and knights, he trains to become better and to prepare to face the hero. Along the way, he meets a girl named Dai who becomes his magic teacher and Tarte, whom he rescues from poverty (she eventually becomes his assistant/servant of sorts). Although it’s rather rushed and features fanservice moments I felt were unnecessary, I enjoyed volume one. It’s a good selection for fans of isekai, though not without some flaws. ~ Samuru

The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat Vol 1. is published by Yen Press.

=====

Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

*Thank you to Yen Press and Viz Media for providing review copies.

[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Ace-spectrum discussion to follow. If you aren’t ace it’s ok if you want to discuss, just keep in mind where this convo is coming from.

This is basically just a stream of conciousness post about something that has been in the back of my mind. Interested to see how other aro/aces/demis/greys feel.

Sometimes posts go around saying something along the lines of this:

“Platonic/familial love is just as deep and important as romantic love, it’s frustrating that allo people put so much intense emphasis on romantic relaitonships, and I wish as an aro/ace person that people would stop trying to force everything to be romantic and shippy just because the characters care about each other!!!”

In a recent one, responders said things along the lines of “yeah I wish people stopped arguing that characters who are deeply devoted to each other is automatically romantic evidence in canon,” etc.

I’ve kind of always had a wierd relationship with this issue because I’m demi, I LOVE romantic storytelling, and several of the fictional romantic relationships that I’ve clocked as romantic are things that allosexual people have tried to argue are an should always only be Purely Platonic (tm) or any other kind of dynamic but romantic, usually with some particular bias or agenda behind why they would argue that.

And when I say argue, I mean sometimes shame other people for shipping or even “deluding themselves” into seeing canonic subtext.

Just as a fairly well-known example, I’ve always viewed Clara Oswald an the Twelfth Doctor as a romantic relationship, which is romantic within the canonical subtext but a surface “friendship” in the sense that they were hiding their feelings for the entirety of the on screen relationship. And when I emphasize canonical, I mean it. I believe they were canonically in romantic love and I think this was a very obvious aspect of the subtext. I believe that this bothered some people because there was a visible age difference, some people hated Clara, an for others this directly interfered with their ship preferences in canon, among other things. But I still believe it was there.

Now, if you’re ace and you feel represented by that relationship, there’s nothing wrong with personally viewing it at platonic. I think it has a lot of room in it to be many things for different people.

That said, a big part of the problem seemed to be personal bias combined with the fact that the romantic angle was handled with more subtlety. There wasn’t obvious sexualized antics (like with River) or YA-level romantic flirting and tropes (like with Rose). The relationship was much more focused on a deeper, complex and intense emotional connection. Like what appeals to me as a demisexual. And in fact I view the Doctor as a demisexual personally, which really is part of why the way their relationship played out on screen made so much sense to me as a romantic connection. This was what it looked like for a demisexual in love.

So all of that said, I’ve often felt underrepresented both by this particular conversation sometimes, and allosexuals forcing every romantic relationship to look one particular way, i.e. heavy sexual tension, flirting, kissing, literal dating, etc. from the point of the characters meeting.

Like, I’ve heard allo people force “why does it have to be romantic,” or “just because you thought they were gonna get together in the end doesn’t make it canon lol” or “intense emotions/devotion isn’t proof of romantic feelings!!!” frameworks onto the things that I’ve gotten invested in, or even interjected over the meta that I and others have generated for those things. So those phrases automatically kind of frustrate me, because while from aro/ace people I can understand feeling frustrated for their own reasons, those are often the same phrases used to shut me down, basically.

Furthermore, A lot of the characters who’ve I’ve found appealing in a “I’d like to see them in a romance” context are characters that a lot of allo people don’t view in a sexual/romantic context at all. Which is not a problem per se, but it’s an aspect of my experience as a demi person in fandom.

I want to make it clear that I don’t think aro/ace people are responsible for this problem. I think this is primarily allo people co-opting certain phrases to justify themselves for reasons that have nothing to do with aro/acre rep.

That said, I there’s something about these conversations that always makes me feel a little left out, or even erased. As a demisexual, my romantic/sexual feelings manifest from friendships and emotional connection on a platonic level. So sometimes intense onscreen friendships or other emotional connections are potential for romantic experiences in fiction that represent my own experience the most out of everything, and a lot of people (particularly allos) seem to get negative, mocking, or even hostile when I and others in my ship groups frame those relationships as romantic.

I’ve never connected this to my demi experience before this moment, because so many of my favorite ships have other aspects that people plant their flag in for argumentative justification. I like a lot of villain/heroine for example. But this framework is something that pops up a lot, and contributes to that feeling of un-acceptance and negativity from a whole different angle. And it’s making me aware that maybe my negative experiences shipping in fandom are connected to the demi experience in a very sublte way.

I don’t think my experience is any worse than somebody further on the other side of the aro/ace spectrum of course, it’s just something I’ve been feeling about this conversation that I haven’t known how to voice.

It’s wierd, because it’s the small stuff like this that makes me feel less connected as part of the aro/ace community, and it’s kind of why I don’t know where I even belong.

[snarkymonkeyprime]

Xerynn doesn’t care for Jac’s inability to understand his place in the world.

Also, this was a prompt of “jealousy” from @magic-ramen after she’d had a shitty day (sorry it took so long, babe!)  <3<3<3

Any other day, Xerynn likely would have ignored the news report.  Besides, it was information he’d already been well aware of.  He’d known the moment Lillian had died.  And how.  That her death was reported, however, was more of consequence.

Xerynn never did concern himself with being known. Given the fragile nature of mortals, they tended to make their own conclusions regarding why a defense attorney from Portland also appeared to be criminally connected and eerily similar to supposed paternal relations.  However, that did not mean he enjoyed the attention.  It was nothing to sway the minds of police but given the option, he would much rather not have to expend the energy to do so.

He scowled at the article on his laptop.  And when that attention came from tools better used in other situations, he grew doubly irritated.

He tapped a button under his desk.

“Yes?”

“Ms. Lusk,” he began, “do contact Mr. Sayer and inform him he’s required at my office.  Sooner rather than later,” he finished.

“Certainly, Mr. Warrgott.”

He sat back, tapping his index fingers against his lips. He would never have this kind of complication with Natalie.  Nor Kai, bizarre as that was to admit.  His brow furrowed.  For as much of a mouth as that man had on him, he held enough sense to know not to cross Xerynn in a way that created impact.  It was abundantly clear, however, that his latest acquisition had not yet come to that realization.

He lifted his chin, glancing toward the ornate doors of his office. Across Portland, he could sense Jac’s intention towards his office, proving that Natalie was once again prompt.  The emotions there were the same as he’d felt the first day he’d noted the assassin; arrogance, confidence, desire, violence.

Initially, he’d found it amusing that Jac still wore the veil and refused to see Xerynn’s godhood.  The idea that someone as steeped in blood and violence, who’s inclination rarely wavered from sadism, could refuse to believe in old, primal gods was charming in its way.

Now it was frustrating.

Less than half an hour later, Jac sauntered into his office, unbuttoning his peacoat as he moved.  “You rang?”

“Sit.”

Jac paused, one eyebrow lifted.  He smirked as he slipped out of his coat, turning to hang it on the coatrack near the door.  “Uh, oh; someone’s in trouble,” he teased.

Not rising to the comment, he turned his laptop, aiming the article at Jac.  “It appears that Ms. Rogers met with an accident last night.”

Jac didn’t look at the article, only kept his gaze with Xerynn’s, grinning all the while.  “Aw, what a shame.  She seemed awfully friendly with you the night before.  My condolences.”

The laptop shut with a thud.  “I do recall you seemed quite focused on her as well that night. Perhaps I should be extending the same,” he drawled.  He steepled his fingers.  “Shame indeed; she was quite useful.”

“Was she?”  Jac shrugged. “She was a pop culture blogger; she was probably at the gala because she’d shagged someone more important.”

Xerynn smiled then, the air around them growing still as his power curled along the windows and the shuttered door.  “That so?”  He pushed back, rising.  Jac’s eyes stayed on him but the smile had faded.  Xerynn smoothed his suit coat and slowly moved out from behind his desk. He stopped within arm’s length of Jac, hands folded neatly before him.  “Jac.”  His power shifted, surging through the room, lights flickering around them.  “Jac, Jac, Jac,” he chided.

The assassin’s brow furrowed but he stayed quiet.

Xerynn stepped close and lifted Jac’s chin.  “I’d suggest marking your territory elsewhere in the future.  Dare to piss on my property again and you’ll lack the ability to do so.”  He let go and lifted his brows, the lamp behind him popping, the expensive porcelain shattering and tumbling to the floor. “Have we an accord?”

Jac craned around Xerynn, frowning at the broken lamp. “Guess they don’t make them like they used to, hm?”

Oh, I see.  You believe you still retain control. Xerynn grinned then, lips drawing back, teeth bared.  Before him, Jac tensed as he shifted back.

“If I deign to employ another, you will accept that.”  His grin grew, reshaping his jaw as it widened.  “If, by chance, you decide your opinion matters more?”  He leaned down, teeth splitting from his jaw, razor-sharp and brilliant.  His voice boomed through the room, pictures rattling against the wall, glass trophies sending shards tumbling to the floor.

“I’d advise you to retain said opinions unless I require them.” He read confusion in Jac’s eyes as the man obviously struggled to reconcile with Xerynn’s horrific appearance.

“She . . . was useless,” he managed, voice rough.  

“Do recall that I required her there.”  The skin around his jaw split farther, bone elongating, the rage of war twisting his visage into that of a charred dragon.  Darkness crowded around them as he pulled Jac into his realm, drawing him into that same darkness he appeared to crave so much.  “You insult me with your petty actions,” he stated, words hissing out with strings of fire and smoke.

Again, he read the discomfiture in Jac’s mortal eyes.  The man wanted so badly to believe he retained all control.  That he alone directed his life and path.  That life and death were so neat and tidy in his blood-soaked world.

Xerynn laughed then, the sound a clash of stone and steel.  “You are more the fool, Jac Sayer,” he warned.  “Understand that I alone now own your soul.  That I decide when you will move.  When you will speak.”  He leaned close, those hazel eyes muddy with desperate turmoil.  “You are a tool, Mr. Sayer.  You will stay sheathed until I decide.”

With a snap, the light returned and they were once more standing in his office, pictures hanging neatly, trophies gleaming under bright lights.  

Jac blinked, frowning as he tried not to glance around.  But even so, Xerynn heard his rapid heart.  The swirl of thoughts as he tried to rationalize what he’d experienced.

Shame.  You would be so much more useful without the veil. A failing, certainly.  One that Xerynn hoped would correct itself sooner, rather than later.  He could force the tearing of the veil but unfortunately, it often left mortals more useless given it tended to overwhelm their fragile minds.  Jac’s was already poisoned enough of its own; no need to encourage further degradation.

He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat as he smoothed his shirt sleeves.  “So.  Done with my punishment?” he rasped.

Xerynn’s eyes narrowed. Still so haughty.  Had it been Kai, he would have left it there and ordered him out.  For all his insolence, Kai was by far the most accomplished Servitor he’d retained.  He allowed the man a long lead.  Jac, however, clearly needed more restraint.

“If I find that you have allowed your baser thoughts to interfere with my business again, our working relationship will be severed.”  

Jac laughed then.  “Oh, please.  You’d never find anyone half as good as me.”  He preened and winked at Xerynn.  “I’m one-of-a-kind.”

Mortals and their egos.  So trying. Xerynn didn’t rise to the comment. He watched as Jac removed a gun from a well-used under-arm holster, checking the clip and letting it hang loose from his hand.  He tilted his head at the action.  “Is that meant to frighten me?”

Jac’s amusement tempered, his mouth struggling to hold his cocky grin.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he purred, lifting the gun slightly.

Xerynn’s hand snapped out, grabbing Jac’s wrist and yanking the man to his feet, the gun falling with a thud to the floor in the process.  “You think yourself untouchable?” he mused.

The assassin swallowed but continued his attempt of controlling the situation.  “You wouldn’t have employed me otherwise,” he pointed out.

Xerynn tutted sharply.  “You, my boy, are not the marvel you consider yourself.” He began to walk, pushing Jac back, the man struggling to keep his feet as Xerynn clasped his wrist.  The bones beneath his fingers creaked and he knew, with a single additional squeeze, he could shatter that fragile framework.  He could rid himself of Jac in a moment, reduce him to nothing but skin and organs.

But the man was useful.  He was violent and effective.  And there was no doubt the man was pleasurable to use.  Recalling that, he shifted his grip to Jac’s neck as he slammed him into the door to his office.  The sudden boom would likely require an apology gift for Ms. Lusk.  A small matter.

He leaned in, whispering low, Jac’s pulse rapid and hot under his fingers.  “You are unique, Mr. Sayer,” he began.  “But there will always be another:  stronger, faster, far more obedient.”  He tightened his fingers, the air bubbling under his grip.  “Do not encourage me to locate them.”

Xerynn straightened, careful to retain his grip on Jac’s throat.  He recognized swirls of anger and arousal in the deep hazel.  He smirked then, amused again that even near death, the man’s mind remained on its singular track.

Even as he struggled to remain conscious, Jac lifted his chin, smug as ever.  “If you tried to get rid of me,” he forced out, “I’d only kill the idiot you wasted time on.”

It was almost amusing, in truth.  That Jac thought himself so highly prized.  Xerynn certainly hadn’t dissuaded him from the idea in the beginning; after all, he needed a confident assassin in his employ.  To do otherwise would be asking to be questioned by authorities at every turn.  But now it grew tiresome.  Mortals and their afflictions had long been a bore for Xerynn.  And he certainly didn’t need to deal with the jealous moods of a killer.

Xerynn didn’t smile. “And who is to say you would even be alive to attempt it?”

For the first time, he saw the assassin’s confidence slip.  A shadow of uncertainty across his face.  Enough to know the words hit home.

“Tell me, Jac,” Xerynn hissed, feeding his power outward.  “What is it that you see?”  He tightened his fingers around Jac’s throat, knowing he could crush the man in a breath if he wished.  It would be simpler, to be fair.  Jac was rapidly proving to be more trouble than he was worth.  Yet, it was rare for Xerynn to find such an exquisite weapon amongst the mortals.  He loathed washing his hands of such a find so quickly.

Jac’s swallow moved rigidly past his fingers.  “A reliable client.”  The words were barely there but Xerynn heard them all the same.  

“Client.”  Xerynn grinned.  He caught a thread of doubt in Jac’s eyes, his power once more manifesting in that moment.  His fingers brightened, gleaming like steel.  Threads of crimson began to bead along Jac’s neck, dripping along paling skin.

“Oh, my dear boy,” he breathed, “I am so much more.”  Skin split further under his bladed fingers, runnels of fluid warm and sticky against them. “I am what you crave.  Without me, you are nothing.”  He leaned in, licking Jac’s ear, catching the strain of his heart and air.  “Were I to be undone, your very existence would lack purpose.”  He pitched his voice lower.  “Do not believe you know what I require.  You will never kill without my direction.  Do so again, and yours will be the last blood you feel through your fingers.”

The beat of the heart under his fingers slowed, growing sluggish.  The blood was thicker now, leaving the man’s crisp, white shirt sodden and dark.  He let go then, snapping his fingers.

Jac’s neck was whole again, his shirt unmarred.  The assassin grabbed for his throat, eyes wide.  He stared at Xerynn, once more struggling to understand.

Xerynn raised an eyebrow. “Have we an accord?” he asked again, voice low and cold.

The man swallowed and straightened, holding Xerynn’s gaze.  “Understood,” he remarked, the arrogance long gone from his voice.  He tugged on the collar of his shirt, a fine tremor on his fingers.  “Anything more, Mr. Warrgott?”

Xerynn smirked then. He reached out and stroked Jac’s cheek, cupping his chin.  “I have no targets for you as of now.”  He swiped the warm, lower lip with his thumb.  “Be at my home in one hour; I have a better use for you tonight.”

The cocky light returned and Jac opened his mouth, sucking Xerynn’s thumb in.  “Of course, Mr. Warrgott,” he purred.  “I’m at your disposal.”

“You would do well to remember that, Mr. Sayer.”

[dwellordream]

“...What about the personal relationships that are formed in the context of conflict? Surely, the ‘band of brothers’ is a truly universal experience, right...? Surely the social bonds that held Easy-Company together in 1944 and 1945 are the same as those from 1415? Or 415? Well, no. Not quite.

We can approach this question through the idea of cohesion – the moral force that holds a group of combatants together on the battlefield under the intense emotional stresses of combat. The intense bonds that soldiers form in modern armies (particularly those in the European pattern) are not an accident, but a core part of how those armies, institutionally, seek to build cohesion.

Going back to last week, we discussed briefly the emergence of the extensively drilled and disciplined ‘mechanical’ soldier of Early Modern Europe, noting that this approach wasn’t necessary for the effective use of firearms (the Ottoman Janissaries, for instance, were quite good with firearms, but were not trained and organized in this way), but rather was a product of elite aristocratic (read: officer) disdain for their up-jumped peasant soldiers and thus the assumption by those aristocrats that the only way to get such men to fight effectively was to relentlessly drill them.

Now the funny thing about this system is that it clearly worked, but not for the reasons its aristocratic pioneers believed. ...What emerged quite clearly was that it wasn’t ‘the cause’ or patriotism that held troops together under fire, but group cohesion born out of an intense need not to let fellow soldiers in the unit down. In short, what held units together and made them fight more effectively was (in part, there are many conclusions in Men Against Fire) the strong social bonds between comrades.

And, in fact, the drill and discipline of early modern European armies unintentionally did quite a lot of cohesion building things. Soldiers were removed from civilian society (isolation from larger groups builds unit cohesion), split into very small groups (keeping the core group that coheres below Dunbar’s number aids in group cohesion; thus why the platoon is a natural unit size) and then pushed through difficult and unpleasant training (that drill and discipline) creating a sense of unique shared experience and sacrifice. All of which doesn’t render men machines, but it does create strong social bonds within the units that will keep the men fighting even when they care little for their cause (which they generally did in this period; one does not find a super-abundance of patriotism among, say, the Army of Flanders).

And there is a tendency to point to this cohesion, its modern source in ‘toughening’ boot camp and to say, ‘aha! That is the true universal about effective soldier-warriors!’ Except – and you knew there was going to be an except – except it isn’t. Systems built on the use of drill and discipline for the development of unit cohesion through social bonds are actually, historically speaking, quite rare.

We see systems like that in use by the Romans from the Middle Republic forward (but significantly faded by the end of late antiquity; the Byzantine army doesn’t seem to function this way), in China from the Han Dynasty onward, in Japan for the ashigaru infantry from the Sengoku period, and in Europe from the Early Modern period. That sounds like a lot, but that is relatively small minority of the historical period and even then in a relatively small minority of places. It is, for instance, a period that only covers about half of the historical period in Western Europe, the place most often associated with this very system of organization (though that association is perhaps unfair to East Asia).

Instead, most societies relied on existing social bonds formed outside of the experience of war for cohesion. Greek hoplite armies, for instance, generally formed up by polis (read: city) and then within those blocks by still smaller and smaller social divisions, so that family and neighbors would be standing shoulder to shoulder in the battle line (Sparta does this through the system of communal messes, the syssitia, but the idea that you fought alongside the men you dined with socially – your neighbors, generally – was perfectly normal in most Greek cities).

That was intentional – it allowed the phalanx to cohere through the social pressure not to be seen as a coward before the men who meant the most to you, whose shaming gaze you would have to endure in civilian life. The same pressures, by the well, held together the (mostly volunteer) armies of the American Civil War (on this, see, McPherson, For Cause and Comrades (1997)).

By contrast, ‘warrior’ classes often rely on a sort of class solidarity along with the demand of an individual military aristocrat to be individually militarily excellent. Richard Kaeuper quips of the literature of the medieval knightly class that it was filled with “utterly tireless, almost obsessional emphasis placed on personal prowess” (R.W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (1999)). We’ve talked a fair bit about the values of mounted aristocrats, both in their role as combatants and in their roles as generals and those values are relatively disconnected from discipline-induced forms of buddy-cohesion.

Of course exactly what ‘good generalship’ or ‘good officership’ looks like varies wildly from place to place – Alexander was expected to command his cavalry from the front; Roman emperors rarely took the battlefield and when they did they commanded from the rear since it would be foolish to risk the ‘brain’ of the army in personal combat and in any event someone at the front of a cavalry charge can hardly direct the rest of the army.

One of the things I find most striking about the ‘warrior ethos’ advanced by writers like Pressfield is that it accepts as normal the unique nature of the bonds that hold soldiers together in battle, assuming this bond and its shared sacrifice to be at once unique to combat and also transcendent to all combatants. But one of the key points made very well in Sebastian Junger’s War (2010) and later Tribe (2016) is just how strange that experience is, historically.

Junger notes that in earlier societies, soldiers would have returned from war into communities (often small, agricultural communities or tribal communities) every bit as close-knit as the infantry platoon – and indeed, often involving literally the same people as the infantry platoon. Instead, the intense feeling of uniqueness that modern soldiers feel about the bonds of combat is because of the historically unusual deracination produced by modern societies by the industrial revolution and the post-industrial period.

And Junger’s point is born out quite clearly when looking at the myriad of historical societies where those non-combat social bonds were the basis of the principles of military cohesion, be it the small-town cohesion of the hoplite phalanx or the class-based-expectation cohesion of a group of knights, or (for that matter) later modern regimental-system armies that recruited on the basis of states and towns precisely to get this kind of cohesion (something that comes out quite clearly in McPherson, For Cause and Comrades (1998) of regiments in the American Civil War, but was also a factor in the British regimental system as late as World War I).

In short, the singularity of those bonds is by no means historically universal, but in many societies would have instead been paired with equally strong and demanding bonds based on family, clan, neighborhood, village or patronage – merely one thread in a web of many threads. Assuming that such bonds extend infinitely back into the past of war means treating as normal a facet of modern society which is both unusual and possibly maladaptive.

At which point it seems useful to note that all of our examples so far are from within the second or third system of war, where there is considerable focus in holding ground in conventional engagements and thus a need to condition combatants to do something very unnatural – to hold their position and fight even when directly threatened and at a very high risk of death. But what about the first system of war, which generally does not demand combatants to stand in rigid order under fire or to resist mass enemy charges, but is instead focused on a ‘pounce and flee’ system of raids and ambushes only resorting to open battle (itself almost never decisive) when those fail?

For a first system force, the very thing all of this cohesion is trying to produce – to get men to stick together when the going gets tough, is entirely counter-productive; instead, if the situation is disadvantageous, the best response is often ‘scatter and regroup.’ As we’ve discussed before, these societies often have low populations which simply could not sustain high-lethality pitched battles. Consequently, societies in the first system tend to only engage when conditions are very advantageous (a raid, an ambush) or when they have no choice (being raided or ambushed).

This is, of course, not to say that such forces lacked what we might term combat motivation; these are still humans and so human psychology matters. But such motivation was organic to the community structure (ties of kinship and bonds within the village or tribal grouping), individual rather than group-based (one was not holding a position as a group but making an individual assessment of stand vs. flee) and finally was not predicated on one’s willingness to hold in a disadvantageous position.

...In short, such systems of war make little effort to build the sort of cohesion seen in second and third system armies because such cohesion is maladaptive to their combat style (and consequently, lacking the social-value framework that supports such cohesion, it can be difficult to train members of such societies to fight like second or third system soldiers, something readily apparent by the repeated difficulties of building ‘western’-style armies in countries without traditions of cohesion).

What does that leave us with? The systems to build cohesion – and indeed, cohesion itself – turn out not to be universal at all, but quite subjective to specific cultures and places. I’ve actually sold short just how many different systems and methods are used to build cohesion, but in practice every society’s mix for doing this is unique. Moreover, some societies, because of their style of warfare are largely uninterested in developing much cohesion at all and are instead focused on other forms of combat motivation.

Beyond the banal observations that humans are social animals that build relationships with each other and that humans tend to bond in conditions of shared adversary, there is nothing here. Those same conclusions might as well be marshaled to support the ‘universal graduate student’ or the ‘universal video-game crunch developer.’ The observation that the bonds of fellow soldiers are singularly stronger than any other sort of bond only seems to hold for modern deracinated post-industrial societies that have (often for good reasons, like liberating individuals) steadily weakened all of the other social bonds.

One only needs to look, for instance, at the failure of these intense bonds to hold primacy over the bonds of family, class or tribe when efforts are made to train ‘western’-style armies in non-western countries to see that the primacy of ‘comrades’ is socially contingent. Once again, the idea of the universal soldier indulges in the classic error of historical thinking whereby a distinctly contingent and modern experience is anachronistically retrojected into the past; the foolishness of the ‘universal soldier’ is the circularity of the argument where by this anachronistic retrojection is treated as the evidence of its own existence.”

- Bret Devereaux, “The Universal Warrior, Part IIb: A Soldier’s Lot.”

[tategamis]

these are just some of the old short writings i liked from my previous tategamis, i wanted to compile them here : )

the first 2 are based on an au idea i had, that while humans die, constellations don’t, and there’s been generations of bladers who take up beys passed down from ancestors. so the beys remember rivalries from constellations from across generations, and that carries over to their bladers over time. and beys don’t directly communicate with words to their bladers, they use mainly sounds like ringing, and it’s up to the bladers to understand what they mean.

( 1 ) “In every life of its Blader, the rivalry is never lost.”

           He’s only felt the ringing this badly once before.

           It’s not a time that he’d like to think about, but Ginga can’t help letting the particular memory resurface.

           The moment Pegasus had landed in his palm, just after his father had launched the Bey to him, right before the man had been buried beneath rubble.

           Ginga almost physically remembers how he’d been overwhelmed by some sudden surge of energy—that’s the only way that he can coherently manage describing what he’d experienced then. The feeling of his entire body clenching in on itself, his muscles tightening, his head aching with the increasingly shrill ringing… It’d taken him everything to hurry out of the collapsing, lava-ridden cavern without stumbling and accidentally sending himself to his own demise.

           In the midst of his recollections and trying to stifle the ringing in his head, Ginga grimaces. He wills Pegasus to calm down for a moment and reassures the spirit that everything’s all right. They’ll find out whoever is causing this, and it’ll be fine.

           It won’t be the same outcome like when Pegasus and L-Drago had met back then, in his hometown.

           There’s a sharp trill that runs through Ginga’s mind, and he grits his teeth. The ringing returns, but this time, it’s a tad subdued, and Ginga, now having more time to really listen to Pegasus, feels that this is a bit of a different message from the one that he’d gotten about L-Drago.

           For what seems like the millionth time since he had started to, and finally bonded with, Storm Pegasus fully, Ginga thinks about one of the other famous legends—besides that of the Star Fragments—from Kouma Village.

           The legend about bonding between Blader and Bey.

           “If the Blader and their Bey are truly compatible, they will bond. You will hear your Bey’s emotions and feel as it feels, and your Bey will hear your emotions and feel as you feel.”

           “But how is that possible?” Ginga had wondered aloud, peering at his father. “How can I hear my Bey’s emotions?”

           Directing his gaze to his son, the man smiled. “Oh, you will understand one day, Ginga.”

           “What’s it like?” Inquisitive and unwilling to drop the subject, the young boy had continued to prod.

           Laughing, his father looked up to the night sky, filled with speckles of white, again. “It’s good to know you want to learn more. There is an ancient legend passed down here in Kouma Village that  tells us about the experience of Blader and Bey bonding.”

           He clears his throat and speaks, “‘The stars are seemingly endless in the sky, which is full of extraordinary things. Humans took great wonder in the realm above, seeing the stars that glittered in the midnight, and rendering from them, with a passionate creativity, the concept of constellations. Seeing the patterns that the stars created, and complementing it with the creation of the first Bey from a Star Fragment, humans linked the two. Humans believed that if Beys were born of stars, and the stars formed constellations in the sky, there was a powerful connection between them.

           “‘Over time, it was true. The constellations in the sky became a part of the Beys in spectacular flashes of light, and although humans found it strange that powerful beings from the constellations were then alive in their Beys, they believed they had some purpose for doing so. Perhaps it was to spread Beyblade to others, or it was to protect the world from some kind of sinister force. Sensing that the latter would pose a troublesome problem, the first Blader bonded with the first Bey from the Star Fragment from Kouma Village. It was then discovered that through an unbelievably selective process of trust and dedication, if the Blader and their Bey are truly compatible, they will bond. The Blader will hear their Bey’s emotions and feel as it feels, and their Bey will hear their emotions and feel as they feel. They will develop, together, a true Blader’s Spirit.

           “‘And so, over time, as more and more Bladers have come and gone, but Beys have remained the same, it is also said that when Blader and Bey have truly bonded, and when they come across another pair of an incredible bond, there may be some great reckoning between them. Whether that is a long-lasting rivalry since the beginning of Beyblade, or an unbreakable friendship across different eras of time, both Bladers and Beys will feel it, and they will be drawn to one another.’”

           “But how do they know?” Ginga scrunched his brows together.

           His father chuckled. “The legend says they can feel it in many different ways, but most Bladers feel it as a kind of ringing in their minds, unlike the typical humming of the voice of their Beys.”

           It’d definitely taken some getting used to—having another presence in his mind, but not necessarily ever saying anything, ever making any noise, unless something caught its attention. Ginga lets a smile form on his face. It’s a presence that’s become his friend over the past year. And from what Ginga can tell from his friend, is that it doesn’t feel frightened.

           Instead, Pegasus almost seems… uncontainable. Practically rearing to go, Ginga concludes. It’s clear that the spirit understands something that he doesn’t—something about whoever’s a part of that Face Hunter gang—and that’s what makes Ginga somewhat uncomfortable. Is it a mix of excitement and anxiety and heated old feelings that is coursing through Pegasus now? Ginga regrets that he’s not fully certain.

           For a split second, he wonders if he shouldn’t have accepted these Face Hunters’ challenge, but then he’s met with another fierce trill from Pegasus, and he abandons the idea with a slight wobble in his step. Obviously, this person with the Bey that Pegasus is reacting to is important, and Ginga can’t help wondering if they could be another rival like Ryuuga. That’s enough to make him still support his choice of accepting their blatantly one-sided fight. But only one-sided through the lens of numbers.

           Even if they’re a group, and he’s only got himself and Pegasus, Ginga knows they won’t lose. He grins.

           “What’re you smiling about?”

           Ginga notices that the purple-haired Face Hunter with the beanie pulled over his head is scowling at him.

           “You’re not gonna make it out of this battle the winner, you know!”

           Ginga knows better than to rile him up further, and he shakes his head. “We’ll see.”

           The ringing in his head has only grown stronger, but Ginga does well in taking it in stride. He should try to get used to it, even if he doesn’t experience it often, because he doesn’t want an excruciating headache every time it does.

           Continuing to follow the group of Face Hunters, Ginga steps into a construction site, the beginnings of the building’s metal framework rising high into the air.

           He notes that there are many more of the gang members skulking about or actively leering at him on the unfinished structure. Huh, he wonders what kind of battle they have planned.

           No matter, Pegasus is up for anything.

           There’s a brief dulling in the ringing, and Ginga withholds a chuckle. Pegasus agrees.

           Somehow, Ginga ends up center stage, it seems. He doesn’t really pay much attention to whatever is being said to him about how this is a “One Hundred Bey Battle,” as the ringing in his head returns full force, sending all other noises into the background, and guiding him where to look.

           Ginga looks up, and up, and then there.

           It’s him.

           The second that Ginga sees the boy laying on a hanging crossbeam, he knows it’s him.

           And Ginga’s pretty sure that the other adolescent, with his keen pale blue gaze trained only onto Ginga’s form, knows there’s something up as well.

           Suddenly, there are Beys everywhere, and ah, seems as if he’d missed their launches. Ginga pushes back the ringing and turns his attention to the matter before him.

           “I accept. Whether it’s a hundred Bladers or a thousand.”

           As he attempts to attune himself with the whims of Pegasus, he ignores the Face Hunters’ heckling. He hopes the ringing will stop, but he doesn’t think it will.

           Ginga can faintly hear Kenta—he wonders how the younger Blader had found him, but doesn’t question it for now—yelling from beside him to not go through with this awful match. As what seems to be popular belief, the fight apparently is heavily skewed in favor of the Face Hunters, and it nearly spells disaster for him and Pegasus.

           However, he knows better.  

           “Remember Kenta, a Bey’s attack power doesn’t come from its attack power or its stamina, and it doesn’t matter how many there are!” Ginga declares resolutely, remaining still as he feels inside himself Pegasus’s spirit, running rampant with enthusiasm.

          ��It’s at this moment that teen lounging above sees something else to confirm his suspicions about this Ginga Hagane in front of him. As if the mysterious and obnoxious ringing in his mind isn’t enough.

           He’s glowing with an odd, sapphire aura.

           The Lion spirit dwelling within his Bey growls, and the Face Hunter’s leader can feel it.

           Ginga Hagane, huh?

           The moment he launches Pegasus and calls its full name, the ringing changes.

           As Ginga lets his Bey tear through the hundred others, he can hear Pegasus singing. It’s a strange, light—but still loud—humming in the back of his mind that he’s felt in many instances before, though this time, it’s much more intense. Ginga can now confirm that Pegasus is excited. Pegasus isn’t at all scared of the old rival it seems to have in whatever Bey that that guy possesses.

           In fact, Ginga’s sure that Pegasus is delighted, by the way his chest seems to loosen, and his hands seem to be tingling.

           Only seconds tick by before Pegasus is throwing the Beys into a spiral of ashen blue as it continues to pick up speed. Then, Pegasus is tossing them out of its tornado, and Ginga can feel the taunt that his Bey is sending out to the other, egging it on to reveal itself and fight.

           Ginga can barely hear the clattering of Beys over the ringing in his head. He watches as they tumble down to the ground around him, and he looks up, a grin on his face as he catches Pegasus.

           “Like I said, the difference between winning and losing is the Blader’s Spirit.”

           He watches as the teen with the piercing blue eyes finally stands.

           “Ginga Hagane, Storm Pegasus…” His adversary grins as well. “You feel it too, huh?”

           Ginga’s not surprised that those are the other boy’s first words, and he nods his head. What does surprise him is that the ringing in his mind begins to pulse out, and Ginga thanks Pegasus silently for giving him respite. Perhaps Pegasus figures that it’s important to hear what this rival has to say.

           “At last, it seems an opponent worthy of me and my Rock Leone has made himself known!” proclaims the Face Hunter’s leader with a smirk as he holds his Bey forward.

           It catches the light in a strange way that Ginga knows isn’t natural.

           “Who are you?” Ginga asks, and he can feel Pegasus nearly answering the question for him. Buzzing, and then ringing, the two alternate, and Ginga gently reminds his Bey to settle down for a second.

           “I’m Kyouya Tategami,” the spiky, green-haired teen introduces haughtily, and Ginga swears he sees an emerald aura flaring to life around him. “This should be interesting.”

           Pegasus ignores his suggestion, the ringing grows louder, and Ginga can feel his Bey’s spirit tugging in his mind and energizing him. Its behavior screams to him that this is a challenge it won’t let go, that it’s been searching and searching for this rival, and it’s realized that ever since it’d become Ginga’s partner, it’d known this day would come. In every life of its Blader, the rivalry is never lost.

           Ginga holds Pegasus tightly in his fist.

           Interesting, indeed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

( 2 ) Once more, we meet again.

           Kyouya doesn’t expect to meet anyone competent here, but this is the only way he can go to the World Championships, so he toughs it out. Chances are, the Bladers who’ll make the Savannah team with him won’t be terrible and irredeemable. They just won’t be anywhere near his level. That’s fine. He’ll be pulling most of the weight anyway, since it’s his goal to reach Ginga and be the one to defeat him.

           He’s not going to get his hopes up about his teammates. There’d be no chance to be “disappointed but not surprised,” then.

           That’s why he is surprised when the ringing starts in the back of his mind, loud and unrelenting.

           Kyouya mumbles a curse, but he’s careful not to let it show that his head is almost being ripped in half from inside out. His lips tighten into a frown, as Kyouya finds it’s the easiest expression to maintain when this happens. Shakily raising a hand over his face, Kyouya points his gaze downwards, his bangs hiding the pain flashing through his eyes.

           Sometimes, he really hates when Leone does this.

           The green-haired Blader pushes back against his Bey’s spirit as he tells it that yes, yes, there is someone here with a Bey that connects with him. That Leone has had ties to this other spirit before. Yes, he understands, now please stop. The ringing dulls for a moment, but the stinging continues to pulse in the back of his mind every now and then. He knows that this Bey wasn’t an enemy of his Leone before, as the pain associated with a foe is much different. It’s searing. Gouging, almost. At least this one… This one is a bit more tolerable.

          Enduring it well, Kyouya focuses on the fact that Leone has identified someone with a Bey who’s worthy of his attention.

          He’ll see about that, though.

           There’s another noise underneath the now dulled ringing, though. It’s more like a soft buzzing, as if Leone’s softly growling, but not because danger has been detected. Kyouya wonders about it. Perhaps another Bey spirit? [1] Clearly not belonging to someone with as much perceived strength to make his head almost split, but enough to be identified by Leone. Kyouya supposes that he’ll keep that notion in the back of his mind for now—quite literally and figuratively.

           After the selection tournament rules—which Kyouya had only half-listened to—had been declared, he, along with the other Bladers, walk to their respective stadiums. He readies his launcher, and when the countdown reaches its end, he’s prepared to clean out the competition in seconds flat. He doesn’t want to spend more time than needed on boring preliminaries.

           The second that everyone launches, Kyouya grimaces. Leone is reacting even more to that Bey, even though it’s not in their stadium. Ugh. Just because it’s spinning and active now.

           Overriding the pain with sheer willpower, Kyouya scowls and yells, “Leone!”

           He smirks when he sees Leone’s tornadoes juggle his adversaries’ Beys around mercilessly. In an instant, the moment the thought crosses his mind, the tornadoes break, and Beys are raining down from the sky. Clatter, clatter, clatter…

           And that’s that, Kyouya thinks as Leone hops back into his hand and sends a surge of energy throughout his body. Still telling him about that other Bey, huh.

           Kyouya ascends the steps to the announcer’s platform where the winner’s bracelets are up for retrieval. He snaps one around his wrist and observes the other two matches. The vantage point is much better up here for seeing who the owner of the Bey is, and as Kyouya’s gaze sweeps over the blue stadium, he knows.

           It’s the Blader with the orange and brown hair.

           It’s him.

           Leone sends out a stream of incoherent buzzing into Kyouya’s mind when the Blader’s Bey finishes off all its opponents, and Kyouya is certain that it’s him even more.

           He stares up at Kyouya, and when they make eye contact, a harsh trill zaps through Kyouya’s mind, and no more confirmation is needed.

           The second Blader to claim victory makes his way to where Kyouya is, and he takes a bracelet for himself. Kyouya lets silence brew between them before he crosses his arms and decides to say something.

           “Ally? Rival?” Kyouya grunts out first, as he glances sidelong at the Blader standing beside him. He’s pretty sure that his new teammate has felt the same things he has. There’d be no way that his Bey had been silent throughout this whole competition.

           The shorter teen laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. His laughter is warm and musical, clearly indicating his genuine amusement. On the other hand, Kyouya doesn’t find anything about this all that entertaining.

           The stranger spends a good amount of time chuckling, and Kyouya is impatient to be enlightened on why what he’d said was so funny.

           “Why not both? It’s what Horuseus has been telling me,” replies the stranger, finally, tilting his head to the side. “More specifically, ‘friend.’”

           “Horuseus?” Probably his Bey, figures Kyouya. And then he hones in on the last word, “friend.” Kyouya almost repeats the word. It leaves a bitter expression on his face, even though he hadn’t even said it. Just thinking about it irritates him. The other Blader senses Kyouya’s guarded annoyance, and he chuckles.

           “He isn’t the most approachable, is he?” is how the Egyptian teen understands Horuseus’ humming in his mind. He thinks to himself that this outlander isn’t, but he’ll do his best to get along with him. After all, they’re teammates.

           “I’m Nile, by the way,” the Horuseus Blader introduces himself, ignoring the fact that he has yet to hear a comment about their Beys’ association.

           “Kyouya” is the prompt and sharp response he gets, and Nile smiles thinly. He can tell that Kyouya is an outlander. He’s not judging by looks, since that can get you nowhere, but rather by aura.

           Horuseus tells him that there’s something different about Kyouya, and Nile can’t help agreeing.

           This time, Leone sends a wave of soft humming through Kyouya’s mind. The green-haired Blader almost imagines it as his Lion prodding him with a paw playfully, an attempt to subtly make known its feelings about interacting with this rediscovered “friend” in Nile’s Bey. It certainly seems what Nile had said about their Bey spirits’ past is true, Kyouya admits a bit wryly as he watches the last battle royale play out. If Leone had let its guard down so easily around this “Horuseus,” then Kyouya thinks that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have a teammate like Nile. However, trust would still have to be built and earned, no matter what Leone tells him, Kyouya reaffirms.

           “I look forward to going to the World Championships with you, then, Kyouya,” Nile informs him politely. Thanks to Horuseus and his own judgment, he can sense that Kyouya has the drive and desire to win, a limitless resolve, and brazen determination. Merged with the nearly unparalleled synergy between him and his Bey’s spirit, it’s all overwhelmingly noticeable. Perhaps just as strong as his with Horuseus.

           “You mean ‘winning the World Championships,’” corrects Kyouya without missing a beat. “I have no interest in losing. Especially not to a certain someone.”

           Nile blinks back his surprise and then shakes his head, a laugh bubbling from his throat. “Of course. I should have known that you don’t think small, from what Horuseus is telling me about your Bey.”

           “I don’t.” The humming grows louder, and he sighs.

           Kyouya tries his hardest to push away the inkling of the idea struggling to take front and center of his mind. He tries and tries, but knowing that Leone is fully backing the notion too, Kyouya lets it into his thoughts.

           Perhaps it would be all right to become “friends” with Nile.

          As much as Kyouya doesn’t want to think about it, he realizes, much to his chagrin,

          he’d like to.

[1]: Scorpio‼ DEMURE!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

( 3 ) Reliance.

          Mei-Mei shuffled out of her room, blanket pulled over her shoulders as she stumbled around in the darkness of Beylin Temple. A small paper bag was clutched in one of her hands as she rested her other against the wall to guide her way to the kitchen. As much as she hadn’t wanted to get up, she knew that she probably should. She’d awoken with a sore throat, and even though she hated to admit it, she was sick. Mei-Mei knew what that meant: She’d have to face dire consequences in skipping training tomorrow, or go to training and perform poorly.

           Either meant that the boys would make fun of her, and Mei-Mei hated it.

           Even though she’d proven herself as a strong Blader, one of the best at the temple, the same stupid boys would always try to pick fights with her and make her look bad no matter what.

           It really was annoying since most of the other boys were quite fond of her after she’d earned her place at Beylin Temple.

           She sighed. She didn’t have time to think about that. She just had to get to the kitchen, make herself her medicine that she’d brought from home, and hopefully feel better once she’d gone back to sleep.

           After wrapping her blanket around her tighter, Mei-Mei filled a kettle with some water and set it on the stove to boil. She took a seat at one of the dining tables and rested a hand against her face as she blinked sleepily. She really was tired. It was only truly hitting her now, but she’d definitely overworked herself during the first few months that she’d been here.

           It wasn’t her fault, really, though. All the training, having to prove herself, the annoying other recruits, waking up so early…

           Mei-Mei hadn’t even noticed that she’d drifted off into slumber until someone was lightly tapping her hand.

           “Huh? What?” She looked around confusedly before seeing that Da Xiang was standing on the other side of the table, a fond expression on his face.

           “I hadn’t expected to see you here, up so late, Mei-Mei,” he observed, his head cocked to the side in mild surprise.

           She looked at him flatly. “Oh, I was just trying to make my medicine… I got sick, or something.”

           “I see, that’s too bad.” Da Xiang moved back towards the stove and reached into a cupboard for a mug. “I hope you feel better soon.”

           “Yeah, thanks.” Mei-Mei wasn’t really watching him, her mind still a bit foggy from how tired she was, and the fact that she very well could be running a fever.

           Da Xiang had already poured the hot water from the kettle into the cup and opened the bag of medicine that had been on the counter top. He hoped that the teal-haired Blader didn’t mind, but noticing that she was nodding off again, he figured that she wouldn’t. The older teen pulled a spoon from one of the drawers near him and set it in the mug as he examined the medicine and read the handwritten characters on the bag. Ah. He was familiar with this.

           Popping open one of the small pouches, he poured its contents into the mug and began to stir it, before adding a little bit of cool water to it. He watched as the water turned brown, and he smiled. It reminded him of what his mother used to make him all the time when he was sick.

           “You should take more time for yourself, go to sleep and take a day off tomorrow,” Da Xiang suggested, still mixing the herbal drink as he turned towards Mei-Mei, the cup in his hand.

           She seemed to have snapped awake, glowering.

           “Well, it’s either that I don’t go to training and everybody makes fun of me, or I go and then I fall flat on my face because I’m sick, and everybody still makes fun of me,” she grumbled, folding her arms and tugging her blanket around her closer.

           Merely smiling at the younger girl, Da Xiang placed the mug on the table and pushed it towards her. “Here.”

           Mei-Mei hadn’t even realized that he’d been preparing her medicine for her, so when he set it down in front of her, she blinked up at him in slow acknowledgement. “Oh. Thanks.”

           She dreaded drinking the medicine, for its taste was foul and its texture was not pleasing at all, but Mei-Mei took a large gulp of it anyway before gasping for air and stating disgustedly, “I hate this stuff.”

           Da Xiang chuckled softly before sitting across from her. “It is quite awful, isn’t it? But it’s good for you, so drink up.”

           “Yeah, yeah, I know,” replied the girl with a scowl, not directed at him though. “You sound like my old grandma.”

           This time, Da Xiang laughed quite loudly before remembering that everybody else was asleep and hushing himself instantly. He murmured quietly, “Well, that’s the first time I’ve had someone tell me that.”

           Mei-Mei was in the middle of taking another sip of her medicine when Da Xiang said, seemingly out of nowhere, “You have another option, you know.”

           “Huh? What do you mean?” She’d set down her cup after grimacing obnoxiously, and then tilted her head as she stared at the Temple’s top Blader.

           “You said that everybody will make fun of you if you skip training or if you go to it and do badly,” he brought up, resting a hand on his chin.

           “Oh. Yeah. Well, it’s true,” Mei-Mei said with a deadpan. She stared at the brown medicine with a frown.

           Da Xiang shook his head. “I say that you take time to rest and take of yourself for the next few days. No one will tease you over those days and once you’re back.”

           “I’d like to see how that’d happen,” she answered without missing a beat, her tone anything but optimistic.

           “I will make sure of it. Everybody gets sick, and it’s nothing to be worried about.” Da Xiang stared seriously at Mei-Mei, his emerald eyes sharp and cool. However, the girl could see that there was a hard look to them, and she hid her shock.

           She blinked before bringing up the mug to her lips so that it’d block her face, and that Da Xiang couldn’t see how she was embarrassed. No one had really stood up for her before; she’d have to do all the standing up for herself, well, by herself.

           “Thanks…” mumbled Mei-Mei into the cup, her voice echoing into the ceramic slightly. She finished off the rest of her medicine as Da Xiang laughed softly at her reaction.

           “It’s no problem. Besides, even with a few days more of training than you, most of those guys out there are still long behind you in skill,” he pointed out, taking the mug from her hand once she’d placed it down again.

           He stood up to wash it, and Mei-Mei was about to protest before he turned to her and recommended gently, but firmly, “You’d better head off to sleep. Don’t worry about this, I’ll clean up.”

           Mei-Mei got to her feet and tucked in her chair before inclining her head slightly and saying, “Thanks, again, Da Xiang.”

           Da Xiang looked back at her and smiled thinly, addressing her by name telling her that it was no problem.

           She was about to turn out of the kitchen when she’d realized that he hadn’t called her by name, but… She thought about it again, and recognizing that he’d changed the tone on his words, she understood that he’d called her “little sister.”

           Mei-Mei grinned, and as she left the room, she said loudly enough for Da Xiang to hear, “Thanks, big bro.”

           Da Xiang’s smile widened a little, and he waved shortly at her. “No problem.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

( 4 ) To consume.

           Zeo stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his knees drawn up to his chest. He had fallen deep in thought, about the same thing he’d been poring over for the past few weeks. Angrily, he clutched his knees and glowered, and his brows pinched together when he was reminded just why he was here again.

           It was all Masamune’s fault.

           Digging his fingers into his unruly tresses, Zeo screamed, frustrated.

           No… He seemed beyond mere frustration… He was incensed, a wild rage lashing out inside him as he screamed again.

           He didn’t care if someone could hear him beyond his room’s walls. No one else really cared about him here. No one else wanted to know how he was feeling. And Zeo didn’t care about them either.

           He was only here for Toby, and because Masamune also didn’t care about them. He and Toby, his best friends. Zeo gritted his teeth and snarled.

           Training in the day seemed to get his mind off the maddening thought, for the most part, as he was preoccupied with bearing the Arrangements and harsh exercises. Zeo admitted that he did think about why he needed to be the best Blader, but when he was alone, in his room, in the quiet night…

           He always ended up coming back to it again—letting his fury boil as he thought about Masamune running off to fight Ginga.

           As if that was supposed to be helpful for Toby’s recovery, Zeo scoffed to himself. He’s just completely selfish. Always saying he’ll be number one, all by himself, huh?!

           Zeo began smashing his fist against the wall, over and over, uncaring towards any bruises that would surely splotch all over his knuckles tomorrow.

           He only continued to slam his hand against the wall when he realized that he was holding back annoying tears, a burning behind his eyes. He wasn’t sad at all, no. He was just beyond pissed. And with no one to turn to, no one to listen to him, no one to understand why he was so angry… Zeo stopped the angry tears from coming out at all, and he closed his eyes.

           He’d already cried once, when he spent his first night at Hades Incorporated’s training facility, when his rage had overwhelmed him. Zeo remembered it clearly. The first thing he’d thought about when he’d fallen onto his bed was that he didn’t know what the hell was going on with his body when he’d been shoved into an Arrangement pod. He’d never been so terrified before, and it had hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced—

           Zeo had stopped that thought and lifted his head slowly as realization dawned on him. No. What had hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced…

           Masamune betraying him.

           That had hurt him more than anything he’d ever experienced.

           Zeo had let the tears fall from the corners of his eyes when everything came crashing down around him. He was stuck in this place he knew nothing about, and he’d practically signed himself up to be some kind of experiment. He had no friends here. Damian and Jack were far from being his friends, and in all honesty, Zeo got a bad feeling from the two of them. So, he was alone, his rage threatening to consume him whenever he was awake, and he was hurting.

          But even though he was feeling all of this, Zeo told himself that he had to endure it. This was for Toby. It didn’t matter what happened to himself if Toby was all right. That was it. A plus would even be that he would have the chance to crush Masamune if he ever saw him again, since he’d become much stronger here.

           Opening his eyes, Zeo scowled.

           Oh, yes. He would become “Number One,” and he’d show Masamune who was the true winner.

           A wicked smile played upon his lips as he laughed shortly to himself, his fist idly hitting the wall in a slow rhythm, the action more subconscious than anything.

           “Abandoning me and Toby like that, huh, Masamune, it’s just like you… Just like you…” Zeo repeated out loud, his teal eyes dead despite the rage that bubbled within his soul.

           Zeo had long gotten used to the fact that this room was nothing like his own, where there was a pretty window that always filtered in soft moonlight to help him fall asleep.

           This room was completely different. There was no window, and practically no light even slipped in from beneath the door’s crack. He’d first felt trapped when he had stepped inside, but now…

           Zeo was alone in the darkness, but he was perfectly all right with it. He wasn’t trapped, no, he was just fine…

           This was the way to help Toby, the only way…

           And, with another short laugh, Zeo murmured to himself, “It won’t be long.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

( 5 ) I think I know you, and I do, don’t I?

           “Time is such a funny thing, isn’t it, Ginga?”

           Ginga looks over to his right, and he can faintly see the silhouette of Hyouma’s sprawled out form beside him. It’s dark, but the lack of light pollution in Kouma Village lets the moonlight and faint starshine guide Ginga’s eyes to his friend.

           Before the Pegasus Blader has a chance to ask what Hyouma means, his childhood friend chuckles. “It feels like we were just here. Another day of playing in the fields gone by, and then laying down in the grass at night and stargazing. It’s like things haven’t changed since when we were younger.”

           “Yeah.”

           Ginga closes his eyes and thinks back to those times. He vividly remembers the two of them excitedly playing tag among the tall grasses dotted with pastel pinks, blues, yellows, and oranges from the blooming wildflowers. In the midst of his recollections, though, he can sense that Hyouma isn’t done speaking, and he’s right, for in a few a seconds, Hyouma continues, “But I guess I’m just reminiscing too much. Things have changed, and the year’s almost over.”

           Ginga feels like he heard a good amount of bitterness in that. He scrunches his brows together as he opens his eyes and lets them wander from brightest star to the dimmest, his fingers absently brushing through the cool grass around him. He wants to ask what Hyouma means by, “Things have changed,” but he can’t bring himself to do it.

           He knows what he means. The Nemesis Crisis. The world really hadn’t recovered from that yet. He’s not sure it ever will.

           “As much as it feels like this is the same as it was when we were younger, it isn’t the same, is it?” Hyouma whispers, closing his eyes.

           “Yeah, it’s not.” Ginga smiles wryly, his lips barely lifting.

He really does understand what Hyouma means when he’s talking like this,

           …But then Hyouma says something Ginga doesn’t really understand.

           “I’m not sure this world can really offer you much anymore, with how you’ve been clearing every single challenge coming your way,” chuckles Hyouma softly, and this time, for sure, Ginga can detect a hint of bitterness in his friend’s voice.

           The chilly night breeze washes over the both of them.

           Ginga’s eyes soften, and a thin smile appears on his face.

           “What are you talking about, Hyouma?”

           The Aries Blader’s eyes snap open. He can’t read Ginga’s tone. That doesn’t happen often. He can’t tell if it’s indignant, if it’s dubious, if it’s shocked, or if it’s amused. Hyouma’s lips curl downward slightly. He doesn’t know what to say. So he just keeps his gaze pointed up at the starry night sky instead and hopes that Ginga will perhaps clarify the ambiguity of his response.

           Hyouma hears Ginga laugh, and he relaxes. Ah. Ginga’s playful. Amused. He had expected him to say something somewhat nostalgic and somewhat wistful at some point, huh.

           Hyouma’s kind of glad that it’s too dark for Ginga to see him.

          “There are always things that this world has to offer that make me happy that I’m here. My friends, Beyblade, the little things in life…” The red-haired boy laughs again and nudges Hyouma with his shoulder. “Like spending time with you, Hyouma! My best friend. I don’t need a huge challenge just to make me happy.”

           Hyouma lays there, stunned, for a moment, as he finally peers over at Ginga. There’s that signature, bright grin on his face that Hyouma can barely recognize in the darkness, but all the same, he knows that smile when he sees it.

           “That’s just like you, Ginga…” murmurs the boy with periwinkle hair, a hand raised toward the sky as he idly connects some stars with his fingers.

           “Well, I can only be me, right?” Ginga muses, slightly teasing as he tucks his hands behind his head. “And you can only be you!”

           “Yeah.” Hyouma smiles. He drops his arm back to his side.

           “I’m glad that we’re us!”

           Hyouma looks over at Ginga, who’s looking back at him.

           “Yeah… Me too, Ginga.”

           There’s a silence between them, but then Hyouma speaks once more,

           “And just like you, you’ll leave again.”

           That gets Ginga to sit upright and stare down at Hyouma, who has his eyes closed. Ginga doesn’t know what to say. The disjointed direction their conversation has suddenly taken veers Ginga straight into a swirl of mist. What is Hyouma thinking?

           Hyouma opens his eyes, and Ginga expects them to be—wants them to be—sharp, furious, and defensive, but instead… They’re sad.

           Ginga brings his knees up to his chest, his shoes tearing at some of the grass beneath him.

           He hadn’t really expected Hyouma to look mad at all. He just wants him to be. It’s easier to have Hyouma be mad at him than for him to be sad that he’d probably leave for Metal City again. Or somewhere else in the world, and not with Hyouma, who’s bound to guard Kouma Village.

           But, Hyouma’s right.

           “I’m sorry, Hyouma. But Ryuuga had to be stopped…” Ginga mumbles, crossing his arms over his knees and digging his chin into the crook. “I’m sorry, Hyouma.”

           “You didn’t even tell me you were leaving,” answers Hyouma immediately, his voice gentle, but sounding more defeated than firm.

           Ginga doesn’t reply.

           The wind blows by.

           Hyouma’s right.

           “I’m sorry, Hyouma. I should have told you,” Ginga finally tells his friend as he apologizes for a third time. He feels so guilty. Hyouma’s never so forward with his emotions, and that makes this even worse. He looks away from Hyouma, who’s now sitting up and gazing over at him.

           “I know,” Hyouma responds shortly, his eyes now focusing on the sky as he tilts his head back.

           Another pause of silence.

          Ginga can feel his brows pinching together. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Hyouma at all. But he knows he had. He’d known when he’d seen him the first time after descending the summit of Mount Hagane, with all his other friends nearby.

           “I know you’ll have more things to do out there in the world, and I’ll be here.” Hyouma hasn’t looked away from the stars. “But… you’ll still be my best friend, Ginga. I understand you better than anyone else.”

           Ginga lifts his head, and then he meets Hyouma’s eyes.

           There’s no hint of anger in them, and Ginga feels like it’s okay to smile. He understands Hyouma better than anyone else, too, and Hyouma knows that too.

           “And you’ll always be my best friend, Hyouma.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

( 6 ) Golden light.

           “Just about finished.”

           Bao pinched the folds of the last dumpling in his hands, an unsuspecting smile curling onto his lips. Having always been rather fond of spending his time in the kitchen now, Bao deemed the event of preparing breakfast quite relaxing. Perhaps the subtle warmth slowly filling his heart wasn’t solely from the joy he found whenever he was cooking, but because he was cooking for more than a just a few. For the first time in many, many years. The auburn-haired teen admitted that he could get used to this, despite how early it was in the morning. It was peaceful, and quite a change of pace from the years he’d spent wandering along with the other Beylin Fist Bladers. Yeah, he could get used to this. The first pink and tangerine wash of dawn hadn’t yet appeared over the darkened horizon, but Bao loved the tranquil and the soft reminders of home both inside and outside the temple walls.

           Edges of burnt gold crinkled as his subconscious grin only grew wider, and he chuckled to himself as he examined the spread of food he’d prepared. Quite the party he’d be feeding today, as was routine. They wouldn’t show up for a little while, so there was still time for him to cook the rest of breakfast.

           He had a few skillets ready as he finished gathering the dumplings together to cook, and he confidently surveyed the rest of the food he’d set out. There was a huge pot of rice porridge dabbed with a delicate balance of green onions and preserved duck eggs, rolls of youtiao set beside it as a complement. Large bowls of wheat noodles sat next to the plates of steamed custard buns that he’d also readied since yesterday. Leftover tofu pudding from the night before also joined the ranks of food, and Bao nodded to himself. Everything looked good.

           The quiet sizzling of the dumplings filled the kitchen as Bao placed them on the skillets, his motions smooth and practiced. This was almost as rewarding as winning a Bey Battle, Bao thought, slightly entertained by the notion. Nothing of the sort would have ever crossed his mind when he had first joined Beylin Temple and when he’d departed from it. He really had changed. Of course he was working to be an even stronger Blader than before, but sometimes it was the little things like these that pleased him the most. Making the most use of his capabilities would never grow tiresome, and if this suited him as a person as well, then he didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed it. The domesticity of it brought him back to a time when he hadn’t been consumed by vengeance, and he could be the young man he was.

           Bao thought that he was lucky. He was really, really lucky. Everything was back to normal now. He didn’t have to worry as he had before.

           He was in the middle of transferring all of the cooked dumplings onto serving platters when a familiar voice floated into the room.

           “Oh man, tell me you didn’t—you made custard buns, Bao? Those are like, my absolute favorite!”

           Ah. The only thing he had to worry about was Zhou Xing and Mei-Mei’s black holes of stomachs.

The hurried footsteps told Bao that Zhou Xing had dashed over to the food in question, and a characteristic laugh followed from the Virgo Blader. “Heeey, these are cute! I like the little pink and white petals you’ve got on them too. You’ve got an eye for taste and style, Mr. Chef.”

           Bao prided himself on being collected and cool for the most part, with not much fraying his nerves. However, it was the nickname and such blatant flattery, or perhaps such meaningful praise—Bao still couldn’t quite pinpoint the flamboyant superstar’s compliments sometimes—that sent the faintest of blushes to his cheeks and pushed ripples throughout the calm pool of his composure. He wasn’t often the center of attention, that was for sure. Being brought into the spotlight for something other than a sound play during a battle was something that Bao hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. It was typically only a commendation from Aguma that made him childishly giddy inside and almost brought his carefully sculpted façade of indifference to ruin. But, here he was, the flutter of satisfaction and happiness touching his heart, a smile edging out his previously serious expression.

           “I thought it would be nice to have them today. Spring is just around the corner.” Bao kept his voice level as he walked toward the rows of dining tables around the kitchen corner, a dish of dumplings in his hands.

           “Look at you, being all one with the aesthetic,” teased Zhou Xing as he brought over a bowl of noodles to the same table.

           Bao merely snorted in an attempt to brush aside his qualms about how to reply to another compliment.

           More Bladers began filing into the kitchen, variously sized clouds of sleep hanging over their heads. They exchanged greetings with the others already there, and Bao could only smile when he saw them carrying the rest of the food out of the kitchen.

           Without even having to say anything, Chi-yun was beside Bao in the kitchen, prepping a kettle of boiling water for tea.

           “Which?” The Lacerta Blader hadn’t bothered to look at Bao, but the latter knew that Chi-yun was debating between a canister of high-mountain tea and simple green.

           It was like this every morning, somehow a little ritual between them.

           Bao hummed as he readied another kettle for steeping the tea leaves. “Green, today.”

           “Mm.”

           The clinking of the tin made Bao stare fondly at his own can in his grasp, and with a brightness in his eyes even he wasn’t aware of, he suggested, “Let’s add some rose petals in there, too.”

           “Okay.”

           Neither of them had to turn to one another to know that they were both smiling.

           When the water was hot enough, Bao and Chi-yun headed toward the others, teapots in hand. The rest of the Bladers were already eating, and as was the norm, chatter filled the room. Zhou Xing was always surprisingly excitable in the morning, perhaps a product of his dedication to Blading born from the promise at the last World Championships.

           “Always stirring up quite a ruckus, even for so early in the morning, aren’t you?” mused Bao with a gentle smile, his tone exasperated but the teasing light in his eyes revealing his true feelings.

           Zhou Xing shrugged and snapped up a steamed custard bun between his chopsticks, the hasty action only seeming to emphasize the crux of his accompanying words, “Well, it’s hard not to when there’s such good food around! Your cooking puts everyone else’s to shame, my man.”

           Ah. Bao would confess only to himself that he couldn’t quite handle Zhou Xing’s flamboyant, but open-hearted nature. He hadn’t really encountered anyone like him before, and even though he had been at Beylin Temple for months, he was still working on how to approach the relationship with him. Perhaps his uncertainty stemmed from the obvious observation that they were quite differing in personalities.

           “…Thank you,” Bao finally pronounced, his voice low as he let the smile win out. “Don’t exhaust your words, Zhou Xing; you sing my praises much too often.”

           With a huff, the brunette waved his chopsticks—bun and all—at the Crown Blader. “Stiff as always, Bao. Compliments are meant to be given out, you know.”

           Bao swore that he heard a chuckle from behind him. He pushed down the rosy heat budding on his face when he could almost confirm that Aguma and Da Xiang were not so silently laughing at him.

          “And hey, it’s kinda hard not to, when you get good food like this. I mean, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.” Zhou Xing nodded, affirming his assumption before stuffing the custard bun into his mouth.

          “I agree! You’re the top-tier chef, Bao!” piped up Mei-Mei from the seat across from Zhou Xing. Enthusiastically, she stacked a sizeable pile of dumplings onto her plate and began plowing through them.

          Absently wringing his apron, Bao felt his smile turn a bit lopsided at the next bout of acclamations that was gradually taking over the majority of conversations in the room. Part of him knew that there was nothing to be so embarrassed about, for the people he was surrounded by were his friends. But another part of him felt uneasy, unsure of how to reciprocate the kindness of their words properly. After all, it wasn’t like he was the most pronounced with his emotions or quite keen on letting them know how he felt. It was a defense mechanism he’d long set in place from his earliest days, and it was going to take a lot to break it down. He was safe here, but his subconscious couldn’t let go of the past so easily. He could get used to making breakfast in peace every morning, but he was still working on getting used to the love that came along with it.

          “Now, now, I know Bao best, and he’s just a tad bit embarrassed by all your compliments. Give him some time, all right?” The half-joking, but half-serious remark from Aguma startled Bao out of his reverie, and he almost turned on his friend with a sharp, reprimanding utterance of his name.

          Surprisingly, Aguma had acclimated well to the new environment of Beylin Temple, and much more quickly than Bao had. The last time Bao had seen Aguma act in such a carefree and lively manner had been when they were both still very young, and he wondered why he couldn’t bring himself to do the same. Was it a matter of principle, or was it because of the reservations he couldn’t let go of? The lock around his feelings jangled almost noiselessly, but Bao heard it anyway. A reminder of all of this that Bao knew he had to overcome. Cooking for everyone was one of the first steps he’d taken to shattering such limitations—to integrate himself into their lives once more. It was still tough, though. Bao discovered that as much as he enjoyed being reassured by the glow of friendship radiating all around him, he was at a loss at times, too.

           “Chi-yun was quite the same in the past,” Da Xiang commented with a knowing grin. “It’s no wonder that the two of them get along so well.”

           From his place beside their leader, the blue-haired boy sent a peeved look in the Kirin Blader’s direction. A flat declaration of his name followed, “Da Xiang.”

          The playful banter among them eased him out from behind his wall, and Bao couldn’t help smiling behind his hand. It was true that he and Chi-yun had been the most receptive to one another upon the remerging of Beylin Fist with the main temple. He couldn’t deny that at all.

          And so, Bao also couldn’t help letting the mildly snarky remark from pushing past his lips, “Meddling seniors seem to be both our problems as well.”

           A roar of laughter chorused from the room, and Bao forced his expression to remain neutral at the unexpected, animated response. Chi-yun cracked a smirk at that, and Bao took a seat beside him as Da Xiang and Aguma exchanged a glance.

           “Cheeky juniors seem to be both our problems as well,” retorted Aguma as he reached forward to lighty flick Bao in the forehead.

           “Nghk—!” Bao reeled back in stunted shock before shaking his head and letting a laugh get the best of him. “…Sure.”

           Aguma returned to his bowl of rice porridge with a chuckle, and Da Xiang laughed as well. Chi-yun looked less than amused, but even so, mirth twinkled in his coral eyes.

           And in Bao’s eyes, there was such a tenderness unknown to him that he feared he would never be able to explain it. As he bit into the fluffy steamed bun, he wasn’t sure that he ever would have to.

           All it would take was for his friends to look at the raw emotion in his eyes in that moment, and they would understand. For now, as long as he still was traversing the winding path of his emotions, this was all right. Even if he wasn’t inclined to speak about those very emotions, Bao was sure that his eyes would never convey anything but the truth of his feelings to his friends.

           That was enough, and Bao could say that he was undeniably happy, with or without words.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Ten Sides (Part 18)

This is the reaction he had expected during the fire chakra or even the air chakra, if he had expected it at all. He is certain that he had expected it. How could he not, Azula has kept a lot of things pent up. And with that much to face at once, how could she not reach a breaking point.

He isn’t sure how to console her so he lets her lay there while he rubs careful circles upon her back. Her shoulders shake, her entire body shakes with each soft cry. He wishes he knew exactly which truth is the hardest for her to face--which one has evoked this response. He is reluctant to ask.

“It’s hard to face the truth. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to accept that I’m the Avatar. But now that I have...I promise it’s so much easier.”

“Easier?” She mumbles resentfully. “It was easier because you had to learn to accept glory and a heroic destiny. I have to accept…” She knocks the heels of her hands against her head somewhere between lightly and firmly. He tries to prepare himself to catch her wrists should she hit herself with any more force.

“I don’t know what fate you think that you have to accept, but I think you have some options.” He smiles. “Some really good ones.”

“Good ones.” Her tone falls somewhere between skeptical and bitter. “What good ones?”

Truth be told, he doesn’t entirely know. But he can’t imagine that everyone would just write her off. “I just know that you’re really smart and really powerful and you can do a lot of amazing stuff with that. You just have to choose to do them.”

She doesn't look anymore reassured. If anything she almost looks more distraught and he can’t fathom why. His smile falters. He not only is it that hasn’t gotten to the heart of this issue but he has also made it more unbearable somehow.

She hears the footsteps before he does and her distress amplifies. There is a visible struggle to regain composure. He gives her shoulder a small squeeze before he makes his way up to the approaching feet.

“You ready for dinner, Avatar?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“What about, you know…”

“Azula doesn’t want dinner yet either.” Reflexively he cringes; torn between knowing that he should ask her before speaking for her and not wanting to risk the man intruding on a private moment. He prioritizes the latter, he can always chase the man down if she does want dinner.

“Should I check back in a few minutes?”

Aang shakes his head, “we’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

He returns to Azula’s side to find her sitting back up with her legs drawn to her chest. Her lips are pressed firmly together, eyes fixed upon a spot on the wall. She has wiped the tears from them but he doesn’t think that they are quite ready to stay gone.

“What is the truth that is so hard for you to accept?”

She only shakes her head.

“I can’t help you accept it if you…”

“I don’t need help.”

.oOo.

And it is mostly true. She has accepted the truth in some manner or another. At the very least she has acknowledged it which she thinks counts for something. But to accept her truth is to accept that she is simply not a good person. At the very least, to accept that she likes being dictated is to accept that she may not have ever made a significant choice of her own in her life. To accept that would be to welcome agency...welcome accountability.  Welcome the change she has been trying to resist.

By Agni, she is not ready to acknowledge that she is the central source for her conflict. Not ready to acknowledge that Sangyul and Aang had simply been working with the framework that she had laid out for them and allowed them to exploit. For the most part they haven’t instilled anything new within her, they simply coaxed it out and rudely confronted her with it. She supposes that they had certainly put some thoughts into her head. That Sangyul had certainly imposed his will upon her and to a degree she truly didn’t have a choice even if she hadn’t partially welcomed it.

She isn’t ready but she has acknowledged it all the same and now she can’t stop. And now her head is cluttered and chaotic in an entirely different way. Now she is forced to acknowledge that she can’t just ‘wait for the tampering to wear off’.

She rubs her hands over her face.

“This was a bad idea.” Aang mumbles. “I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

Despite it all, she can’t bring herself to agree. For all of her conflict, insecurity, and reluctance she still has her a sense of honor. A knowingness that it is time to stop shifting the blame and thinking for herself, truly so.

She shakes her head, “it isn’t a bad idea. I...I need this.”

Aang’s smile is back.

She also needs to sort out exactly which things are the product of Sangyuls invasion and which things were already there. She takes a deep breath and lays back. Aang opens his mouth to speak but she lifts a hand. She needs quiet. He gives her quiet.

And eventually the quiet gives her answers; she has cut herself off from her fire. She has come to question her own strength on her own. She is certain that she had started doing so after her defeat. And in her defeat she had started to question her nation and by extension her sense of self. She grits her teeth and shudders.

Sangyul, she decides, is still a vile man. While her inner conflict is not of his making he has certainly exasperated it, made all of those complex facets twice so. He had taken a mess and added more clutter to work through. He added a newfound questioning of her own agency of her own will, her own thoughts…

She concludes that she has already worked through and mended the damage that he has dealt her. Her decisions are hers again, they have been since she’d left that facility. What remains is what was there before. What he dug up and flashed in her face.

The only thing that she is still truly unsure of is whether or not her budding affections for the Avatar are her own. Decidedly, that is a thought for another time.

She almost informs Aang of her new revelations. Instead she asks, “am I a bad person, Aang?” He is probably so exhausted by hearing this same tired question. She doesn’t even know why she is asking, his validation does little to make her feel any less rotten on the inside.

He tilts his head, “what kind of lies are you facing?” He furrows his brows.

“Just answer the question.”

“You know what I’m going to say.”

She has to give him at least a little respect for not caving to her games and antics. She supposes that she is going to have to give him an inch. But she can’t give him that inch without giving him the whole league.  “Am I a bad person for...wanting my father to be here to tell me what to do?” She doesn’t have to give him the context after all. He doesn’t have to know...

His face softens. “You’re not a bad person for following your dad’s orders and wanting him around, he’s your dad.”

She shakes her head perhaps she will have to clarify, “I want his orders.”

“You want him to tell you what to do?”

“If he does then I won’t have to.” She mutters.

She thinks that it clicks in his mind, though she isn’t sure exactly how many dots he has connected.

“Why?”

She inhales sharply. “Let’s be clear Avatar, we are having this discussion so that I can open my chakra and get my fire back and for no other reason. I do not have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Azula.”

That is as good a segway as any.

“Yes well sometimes it is easier to not have one.”

He presses his lips together and nods. “You liked having your father directing your life because it’s easier than making your own choices and facing the consequences.”

She remains quiet.

He chucks, in equal parts bitter and genuine. “That’s why I didn’t want to be the Avatar. Everything I do seems to matter so much because I’m the Avatar and I was afraid of that and so I made the choice to run and…” He trails off. “You know what happened.”

Understanding. He...understands. Her tummy flutters at the notion that she isn’t some feral beast. At the notion that she can connect with someone else...that she can empathize. The feeling is so daughtningly foreign.

“But that’s the thing, in choosing to not make choices a made a choice. A really bad choice. You think that you can hide behind your father’s demands but you can’t. You chose to follow them. That was still a choice and you still have to face that.”

Azula swallows, she supposes that she has already come to that conclusion but hearing it spoken has such an ugly sound. “so it was for nothing?”

“What was for nothing?”

“I. I let him do it, Avatar. The same part of me that liked taking father’s orders liked having Sangyul take his place...” so that she could shift the blame onto them. She doesn’t make it that far into her confession and she has no desire to do so. She is already sick at the realization that she had completely overshared again.

He shakes his head, “it’s not for nothing. He’s a horrible man and he...and I did some horrible things to you. But I have a feeling we would be making progress if he...we hadn’t done those things to you.”

“You call this progress.” She snarls. Frankly if feels like at least ten steps back.

“I do.” He answers firmly. “Even if you can’t see the results yet. You already found the heart of the problems. Now you can start fixing them. I know you, Azula.” He reaches for her hand and she lets him take it. “I know that you like facing things head on because you’re a strong person.” He gives her hand a squeeze.

Even if there had been a push to ignite the feeling, she is beginning to think that her affections for the Avatar are just as of her own making as everything else.