#which is why he does keep her throughout his various adventures!

[chiropteracupola]

in a wilderness where the law can't hear me

[you guessed it, I am still collaborating with @dxppercxdxver]

[bakuliwrites]

Mirror, Story One: Vessel

Disclaimer: Post-Game Spoilers!!!!!!

Next Story

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) for Eventual Smut

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Relationship: Astarion x Tav (OC)

Summary: With Baldur's Gate saved and Cazador gone, Astarion and his beloved work to try to carve out a life for themselves. But freedom does not come without its complications and challenges.

An anthology of short, post-game stories featuring Astarion and my Tav, Orlando.

Chapter Tags: BG3 SPOILERS, ACT 3 SPOILERS, Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Grief, Mentions of Character Death, Depression, Telepathic Bonds, Kisses, Hugs, Karlach hugs and soft kisses from Wyll, Past Tav x Gortash, Ceremonies, Healing from Trauma

Read here in this post or over on my AO3

The streets of Baldur’s Gate are full of mirth, construction paused so that its citizens might celebrate the very fact that there is a city left to rebuild. They dress in their finest, flooding the streets with celebratory joy. Alleyways strewn with rubble are filled with dancing revelers. The air, thick with settling dust, is light with warbling song. And the night sky brightens with shimmering fireworks, sparks fizzling down into the harbor. Vendors sell delicious treats and memorabilia to remember the day Baldur’s Gate was freed from the Absolute. While the city proper is alive with good cheer, anticipation thrums through Wyrm’s Rock as people try to squeeze into the audience chamber, eager to catch a glimpse of the famed Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. They all murmur to one another, whispering rumor and speculation, peering excitedly at the motley crew of adventurers standing before the throne.

“I heard the Duke’s son made a pact with a devil and that’s why he has those horns now.”

“They look quite fetching on him, don’t you think?”

“Is it true that one of the Tieflings has got an engine for a heart?”

“Oooo, bet she’d keep me nice and toasty at night.”

“That pale elf is rather handsome, don’t you think? Mischievous looking, too. Bet he’s a boatload of trouble.”

“I’ve never seen a Tiefling with webbed ears before.”

“Rumor has it that she and Gortash were quite the item.” 

Meanwhile, Astarion fidgets restlessly where he stands, a dour expression on his face. He does his best to entertain himself by tuning in to all the various theories being slung back and forth throughout the hall. There’s plenty of rumor, true or otherwise, to keep him distracted from the empty feeling that has pervaded him since he awoke this afternoon. As the sun sank beyond the glittering waters of the Sword Coast, Astarion found the elation of the last several weeks gradually emptying from him, like a slow leak in a cracked bottle. Has it really only been a little over a tenday since the defeat of the Netherbrain? Battling the Absolute feels like a lifetime ago, and yet, the deep exhaustion makes it seem as if Astarion and his companions fought only this morning. His sore muscles and creaky bones need months to heal. And his foggy thoughts, even longer. He feels weary already from this evening and nothing has even happened yet. It’s nice to be honored, he supposes, but it also seems, perhaps, a bit too much, a bit too soon. He’s hardly had a moment to breathe.

A gentle caress draws him briefly from his swirling thoughts. Orlando’s lips feather kisses along his cheekbones, sending a gaggle of young men and women into a bit of an uproar near the front of the crowd. She chuckles at their nonsense before cupping Astarion’s face in one hand and smoothing her thumb over his cheek. He leans into her caress, letting his eyelids flutter shut. 

“You look lovely, my darling,” she whispers in Astarion’s ear, the tickle of her breath sending delightful shivers up his spine. The outfit he sports is one Figaro tailored just for him: a royal blue tailcoat with feathered, gold embroidery and a white undershirt with a frilled high collar. His knee high boots are made of black leather and have the slightest kitten heel. Orlando helped him pick the shoes, which are both comfortable and stylish, perfectly showing off his shapely calves. 

Astarion casts a coy look at her, crimson eyes dragging up the length of her body. Orlando looks bewitching in her black and gold robes, swirling tentacles embroidered along her collar and sleeves. She is every bit a formidable warlock and sorcerer, enigmatic and not to be trifled with. And yet, her gentility shines through even her most severe apparel. Her dark hair, long now from many months of journeying without a haircut, cascades down her back in ringlets and waves. Astarion delicately tucks a loose strand behind her webbed ears. Her bioluminescent spots over her eyelids and on the shells of her ears twinkle in delight. 

“And you, my dear, look ravishing,” he purrs, savoring the blush that dusts her cheeks. Before their flirtations can go much further, the din of the crowd softens as the grand doors are flung wide once again. Counsellor Florrick and Grand Duke Ravenguard make their way to the dais, taking their places aside the ragtag team of adventurers who somehow managed to save Faerûn from the doom of the Absolute. 

Wyrm’s Rock lulls to a hush, silenced by a simple flick of the wrist from Counsellor Florrick. Astarion feels the eyes of hundreds fall upon him, upon his companions, and a sudden flutter of anxiety tickles his lungs. He shifts uncomfortably, hardly one to stand on ceremony. He cannot recall the last time he addressed a crowd as large as this. Back in his years as a magistrate, public speaking was not unfamiliar to him. But in the two-hundred years since, it has become nearly as foreign to him as the sun on his skin. 

“Don’t worry, my love,” Orlando had reassured him earlier that evening, “Wyll’s in charge of the speeches today.”

Astarion hopes this remains true. It was already hassle enough to request this gods-forsaken ceremony be held at night, rather than in the morning like it had initially been suggested. He thinks of the hullabaloo that would ensue were he to open his mouth and flash the sharpened canines housed within. He can’t even begin to fathom the uproar that might occur were it to be discovered that a vampire spawn is one of the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Though, stranger things have happened, he supposes. Flying brains wasn’t exactly on his docket for this year. And neither was the adoring woman beside him, flashing a loving look his way just as the festivities officially begin.

The voice of Ulder Ravenguard drones in the background. Astarion is far too focused on looking poised to pay any attention to what the man is going on about. Praise, no doubt. Camaraderie and pride, blowing smoke, yadda yadda. It’s all well and good, but there’s a million other things Astarion would rather be doing with his freedom than sitting through some long winded speeches. The after party promises to be far more entertaining than the ceremony itself. Karlach has challenged everyone to a dance off, which Astarion would gladly pay to see (though he’s not sure he wants to participate). And the after-after party with Orlando promises to be a delight, as always. He catches her eye once again, smirking devilishly at the coquettish beam that plays on her lips. His mood brightens for a little bit after this small exchange.

As the evening wears on, however, the chilly emptiness begins to creep in again. An inexplicable untethered feeling; like he’s adrift in the ocean, unmoored and without direction. Astarion and his companions each gain a crimson sash, heavy with medals of honor and valor. Ordinarily, Astarion might scoff at something so- heroic. But in the wake of the vacuum forming in his chest, he feels a swell of pride when Florrick greets him with a smile, lowers the sash over his head, and moves aside to adorn Orlando with one of her very own. The crowd erupts into cheers, applause, the hall overflowing with joy, relief, elation. Astarion feels their energy burst within him, pushing aside the icy chill in his heart, chest filling with an overwhelming sense of gratification. 

Until anxiety rears its head once again, sudden and without explanation; and all excitement peters out, a flickering candle snuffed out by rain. A thousand eyes on him. Eyes in the shadows. Lurking. But he cannot tell if it is something real, a malignancy out to get him, or if what lingers in the darkness are the ghosts of his past. He searches the faces in the crowd for one in particular, but he cannot find the narrow face of his master, the hateful glowering gaze. And why would he?

Dead and gone, he reminds himself, I killed him, myself. I watched him die.

Relief has not found Astarion, yet. He cannot help but look over his shoulder when he travels through empty alleyways. He cannot help but cower in the shadows at the slightest hint of sunlight. He winces at the sharp calls of hawkers in the market, as if their cries are admonishments for his failure and not promises of goods. His back prickles, tiny needles stabbing his scarred skin, the memory of a blade carving his flesh still poignant in his nerves. There is blood in his mouth, rat fur trapped in his teeth, the horrible crunch of bone when he bites down. Red eyes in the dark, eyes that aren’t there, but seem to leer at him from ages long gone. He has not dared venture anywhere near Cazador’s Palace, now abandoned, but still no less frightening. 

When will it end, this feeling of paranoia? Shouldn’t it be gone by now? Shouldn’t Astarion be feeling the full rapture of his freedom? The full force of ecstasy that comes with the unshackling of his bindings? Shouldn’t he be feeling- happy? And not whatever this hideous, soul-sucking vacancy is? 

Beside him, Orlando’s breath hitches in her throat. Astarion can feel that same lacuna in her, that same draining emptiness. Behind her soft smile is a deep sorrow, an immense exhaustion Astarion, himself, is wholly familiar with. Her eyes reflect a weariness etched permanently into her soul. He nudges her gently with his elbow while the crowd is distracted by Wyll’s rousing speech. They’re seated now, in one of the pews near the front. The Tiefling smiles weakly at him, intertwining their fingers when he slips his hand into hers.

“What troubles you, darling?” Astarion whispers, nudging at her thoughts with his own. They are forever bound, a telepathic link born not of the tadpole, but of Orlando’s eldritch heritage, a gift from her most generous patron. Astarion cannot use it very well and she is still learning, one toddling step at a time. But they each can use it well enough to pass secrets back and forth, or gossip from across the room at parties and what not. However, sharing memories seems to come easy to them both.

Orlando lets him in. The familiar exhaustion of months on the road is first to greet Astarion. He knows that feeling all too well. The constant walking. Gods, the endless walking and jumping and climbing. If he never has to hike again, he could die a happy vampire. Roughing it in tents, trying to find comfort in thin sleeping rolls, and bathing in whatever water they could find has sapped him of his vigor. It has been an absolute godsend to be able to sleep in a comfortable bed and bathe in an actual bath tub, even if it is at the Elfsong Tavern for now.

Deeper than this surface-level exhaustion, however, is a pervading sense of weariness in Orlando’s soul. The pain of her childhood: searing sunlight, brackish water, coarse salt, and jagged rocks. Harsh words thrown at her by a tyrant father, fleeing, and wondering if she’ll ever be safe. A brief reprieve, immense love, shared laughter with her mother and brother, the bustling harbors of Baldur’s Gate, the smooth ocean against her scales, freedom and independence. Confusion, uncertainty. And then darkness: trapped in a dank basement, confined to the shadows, lost and confused, separated from her loved ones, now the property of a devil. This all merges and congeals with the pain of loss throughout these last several months. Betrayal, anguish, ruin. Innocent lives lost, and for what? Tadpoles and brains and undead armies. The death of her father, a complicated and raw recollection. The severing of her tie to his despotic patron. Joyously reuniting with her own, M’aheth, Daughter of the Cosmic Sea. Being named Twin Star, honorary daughter. The pride that comes with such a title. 

Orlando’s thoughts lift for a moment, recalling her relief when she and her mother and brother finally became free of their ancestral ties. But something Wyll says sucks her right back down into wallowing.

“Gone are the tyrannical days of Enver Gortash,” Astarion hears Wyll’s voice call out to the crowd. A soft murmur ripples through the room, some voices resounding in approval, others in staunch disappointment. That name is a complicated one amongst the citizens of the Sword Coast. For Orlando, it sparks an aching sorrow, a bereavement riddled with anger and shame. The memory of Gortash lingers strong in her mind, mournful and rife with confusion. Astarion feels this pain on the fringes of all her thoughts. Images of Enver as he was, youthful and mischievous, sweet and intelligent, gifting Orlando a tiny, mechanical figurine of a mermaid, flit before Astarion’s eyes. These images do not compute with the ones that follow: Enver lording over Baldur’s Gate, cool and uncaring gaze sweeping over enslaved Gondians, dead citizens, and pools upon pools of writhing tadpoles. Orlando’s mind struggles to contend with the sickening squelch of the metaphorical knife she plunged into the lordling’s back, an eternal curse falling from her lips out of anguish, a final kiss in his dying breath. Laying motionless at his side, for an engulfing eternity, staring vacantly into an abyss she almost couldn’t return from. 

This abyss enshrouds Astarion’s vision for a moment. Suddenly, Cazador blips into Orlando’s thoughts, and it’s then that Astarion realizes the focus has shifted to his mind. The agony of stolen youth pummels him, sunlight bright and warm on his skin, a forgotten memory. Blank eyes gazing at him in a mirror, eyes he cannot remember the color of. Arrogance, pride, power in his early years as a magistrate. And then pain, body broken and mind fuzzy as he’s beaten senseless. Fear as he realizes he is going to die, and he is going to die alone, in some stinking back alley of Baldur’s Gate. Fear turns to hope- a figure emerging from the shadows, austere, angular face swimming into view, promising he can save Astarion. Promising an end to his suffering.

Icicles in his neck, pinpoints of pain. And then emptiness. Dirt, loam, stifling and cold. His fingernails bleed from how hard he is scratching the inside of- dear gods, this is a coffin. Screaming, wailing for someone to help, please help, he’s been buried alive. Clawing his way through the earth, the first sweet breath of fresh air, only to retch. Rotten blood burbles in his throat, foams in his mouth. And then darkness, for two-hundred years. Darkness and agony, self-hatred and ruin. 

Orlando squeezes Astarion’s hand, drawing him back to the present. He sucks in a breath, as if he’d been holding it. As if he has any breath to hold. He re-orients himself. Wyrm’s Rock, ceremony, Wyll’s boring speech. Astarion settles, quietly pressing a lingering kiss to Orlando’s temple. He feels her mind almost sigh in relief. The contact settles her thoughts and the desolation seems to wash from her mind in a gentle sweep of comfort. Suddenly, Astarion is bathed with the rosy warmth of adoration. All thoughts of Cazador disintegrate, turning to ash and sifting away. Orlando offers up an image of a house he’s never seen before: built out of cream-colored stone, a lush herb garden skirting the perimeter, smoke rising from the chimney. Astarion feels cozy in this vision, the scent of rosemary filling his nose, lungs blooming with warmth.

“Your home?” he puts forth, limited to simple questions by their infant telepathic link. Perhaps this is her childhood home, the one she spoke so fondly of when it was just her, her mother, and brother. Orlando shakes her head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Ours,” she corrects, squeezing Astarion’s hand. He ruffles her thoughts with his surprise, his excitement. He wants to ask her more questions: did she buy it already? Is this a house that actually exists or just the idea of one? What does she mean “ours?” But before he can, he feels her thoughts shift. Now, he sees the two of them on the road, packs slung over their shoulders, hand-in-hand as they traipse through a sparsely wooded area. Fresh air, bright and clean in his lungs, and a clear night sky. The world is aglow with moonlight, a silvery band of stars streaking across the heavens. There is a promise of tomorrow in this vision, of possibility. Of adventure. 

“Adventure, with a home to return to,” Orlando posits, a well of joy overflowing in her heart, “Not ready to settle down quite yet.” 

She winks, knowing Astarion is just as restless for adventure as she is. Though having a home to return to would be more than ideal (less hiking that way, more resting). How long has it been since Astarion had somewhere he could call home? Somewhere that wasn’t a dungeon or a jail. How long has it been since he’s been allowed to go where he pleases, when he pleases, how he pleases? They could go anywhere. Excitedly, images of Waterdeep, Chult, Neverwinter, Avernus, even, pop into Astarion’s head. Orlando stifles a chuckle from beside him, beaming brightly at the vampire’s enthusiasm.

Wyll’s speech comes to a close. Duke Ravenguard instructs his son and his companions to rise from their seats so that the citizens might thank them one more time. The audience chamber is filled once again with raucous cheers. Looking around, Astarion sees the faces of his fellow adventurers. His friends . He sees the faces of his fellow Baldurian’s, jubilant and proud. Astarion feels simultaneously overwhelmingly full and painfully empty. Cheers ring in his ears and it's as if all of Baldur’s Gate is pouring itself into him. The world is ahead of him. Life is ahead of him. Freedom. But there is something terrifyingly vacuous about knowing he is free. With both everything and nothing to look forward to. Where do they go from here? Astarion’s veins fill with an icy cold at the thought of having to carve out a life for himself. 

Orlando gestures for Astarion to lean down, crashing her lips to his in a passionate kiss, thawing the anxious chill that had begun to numb his fingers. Astarion pulls her close, caught up in the exuberance of the moment, caught up in the reminder that he is not alone. Karlach, beside herself with excitement, tears in her amber eyes, pulls the little group into a massive, crushing hug. Warmth spreads through his body, fills his limbs with a tingling joy. Wyll squeezes Astarion’s free hand, presses soft kisses to his, Orlando’s, and Karlach’s cheeks. There is uncertainty, and that is the only thing Astarion can, funnily enough, be certain of. But in this moment, he is reminded that he will not be facing his uncertain future alone. 

“Our home,” Astarion repeats to Orlando after a little bit, having to shout over the roaring applause, “Our adventures.” 

“Our future,” she returns, stealing one more kiss before the adventurers are led out of the audience chamber, followed by shouts and cheers. People spill out into the streets, ready to spend the remainder of the night in carefree revelry. Astarion pauses at the threshold, the shining city of Baldur’s Gate ahead, his nearest and dearest companions at his side. 

Deep breath. Release. 

Wyrm’s Rock exhales, and Astarion is free.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I wanted to write a post-game story for my Tav, Orlando (a Sorlock), and Astarion. I've been a little bit all over the place with writing down her story (as in, I can't seem to write it down in any particular order). I have a couple things up on my Tumblr about her and I do plan to write a story that takes place during the events of the game. But for now, I had an itching to write some post game content, so here it is.

Some notes: this occurs post-game with Vampire Spawn Astarion, Orlando and crew managing to stabilize Karlach's heart (which I wish you could actually do in-game), and Wyll managing to rescue his father. Orlando was severed from her Warlock patron with the insertion of the tadpole, but has since reunited with her patron, M'aheth (the baby of another Great One patron called the Cosmic Sea). She comes from a family of Sorlocks that worshipped a cruel Fathomless patron, but Orlando managed to sever her ties with her family and the Fathomless. She and Gortash were trapped in the HOH together and were in an on again/off again relationship for many years. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I'd be happy to answer. More info to come. I mostly wanted this story to be about her and Astarion adjusting to living a life of freedom. Most of this story will be about Astarion, but I wanted to give a little context for some things mentioned in this chapter.

*Edit (02/09/24): Changed a line about Gortash’s death.

[theteachercommander]

THE TEACHER COMMANDER is fantasy interactive fiction story where you, the reader, decide the paths you take. play as a commander who has retired after the war between the auquetus empire and the kingdom of icouris came to an end six years ago. the current king of icouris sends a messenger after eight years and requests for you to come out of retirement. why ? because the new junior knight recruits are a rowdy bunch that only you, the greatest commander to live, can tame. of course, war waits for no one and its surely not going to wait for these kids to get their act together.

fantasy, action, adventure, and romance are a common theme throughout this story. along with the disturbing themes such as: death, body horror, war and the affect it has on mental health. violence, profanity and alcoholism. common tropes: found family, various romantic tropes that will be listed below.

no demo.

FEATURES

play as a gender customizable mc. male, female, non-binary. limited character customization. the mc will have a semi customizable personality. the mc will be locked in as a person of color.

eight main characters in total. four you can romance, four fall underneath the junior knight name, of which you will mentor and train.

the mc is locked in as using an aid to walk around! they've lived with a missing leg for eight years, and when they are not using a prothetic, they use crutches and/or a cane.

find yourself thrown into another war and determine how you feel about it.

keep your students alive or watch them die at the hands of your enemy.

CHARACTERS - to be updated.

The Spear ( 17, M, 6'2 )- bellis is known as a gentle giant. though you'll soon find that he stands between the line of gentle and chaotic good. whilst he is known for his great height, kind words, gentle smile, and caring actions. bellis is quite the instigator and won't stray from a potential fight. he has an affinity with earth magic and seems to take well to tasks that involve caring for horses and other farm animals. he has long, brown curly hair that is kept in a tight bun. his eyes are wide and doe-ish, and have a deep brown tint to them. his skin is a deep sienna color.

The Archer ( 19, NB, 5'7 ) - dewey is known for their quiet and hesitant nature. having been raised in a sheltered home as a single child, they haven't much experience with the world. they seem to cry easily and can't help but constantly mutter about missing their mom. despite this, they do best with ling distance fighting and seems to have a keen eye. because of their nature, they're great at walking around unnoticed. dewey has short wavy, platinum hair that falls just above their ears. they have wide dark green eyes and long eyelashes. their skin is a brown shade.

The Arsonist ( 12, M, 5'5 ) - lawless doesn't have a real name, raised along the streets of the kingdom, he's an orphan boy who loves the thrill of risking his life. he seems to not have a care in the world and only participates in activities that seem fun. he has a fire affinity and despite his young age, seems to have great control when it comes to this. growing up on the streets has taught him that family never really stays together. he has bright red hair that is woven into a thick, messy braid that stops mid back. his eyes are a bright amber that seems to glow in dark areas, and his cuspids are sharper than normal. his skin is a warm olive shade.

The Scholar ( F, 16, 5'11 ) - under the alias of "luc", lucile icouris enrolls in the junior knight program. she's always kept to the confinement of her room walls and is seeking a chance to see the world, not as a potential heir, but as someone who lives their life on the battlefield. lucile is a calm girl, never reacting first and takes well to following orders. her memory is strong and she never forgets a fact, something her parents and teachers grew to fear as they learned to never bring up sensitive topics in front of the young girl. she has a pleasant smile and is said to be a great company, though she tends to spend most her time reading or practicing. thanks to her fencing classes, she can hold her own in a sword fight but seems to take greatly to hand to hand combat. having taken down most, if not all her opponents to date. lucile has short brown hair with an undercut. her eyes are a striking light green, her skin is a pale olive shade. she has a cleft lip.

An Old Friend ( 40, M, 6'5, RO ) - ferrand, the definition of a loyal dog, has been your friend ever since you could talk. he's never made a promise that he couldn't keep. he's loud, abrasive and he's overly emotional. having gotten into way too many bar fights in his younger days. whenever he sees the ex-commander, his face breaks out into a stupid grin and he can't help be move around in place until said ex-commander reached his side. he wields a large, black broad sword and has a muscular appearance. friends to lovers, mutual pining. ferrand would follow the mc to the ends of the earth. himbo and his ex commander.

An Old Rival ( 40, NB, 5'11, RO ) - stephanus , whether in cold blood or warm, has always hated the ex-commander's guts and has always made it their mission to be better than them in any and every way. because of this many have described stephanus as someone who can seem like the type to easily get disgusted from afar. funny fact: they can hardly hold their alcohol but always instant on out drinking the ex commander in their younger days. they're easily flustered and easily angered. they're considered the best doctor in the kingdom. stephanus has blonde hair that stops at his shoulders, lightly tanned skin and brown eyes. rivals to lovers. mutual pinning ( painfully ). fools trying to one up one another.

A Flirty Mage ( 27, M/F, 5'8, RO ) - elmar/elisen is a talented mage, having moved up in the mage court rather quickly . they're rather flamboyant and can't help but to always seek the spotlight. they're laidback and lazy and always charm their way into the hearts of many. they wear a rather useless cloak and happen to be very touchy, always needing to have something or someone in their hands. e has strawberry blonde hair that they keep in a high ponytail, they're eyes are grey and their lips are always smirking. age gap. feelings of not being good enough for one another. unhealthy idolization.

The Unhinged ( 35, M, 6'0, RO ) - kylix was once an assassin sent from the enemy to kill the current king, when he was founded and held captive. the ex-commander had given him a second chance during the war and saved his life - leaving kylix to pledge his life to the commander. when the commander retired he fell into a depression and locked himself in his room for a few months. kylix has no voice of his own, and chooses to convey his words, emotions and thoughts through sign language, gestures and facial expressions. his gaze is intense and he always seems to always know where the ex-commander is at. outside of this, kylix has no life of his own, and has not had a life of his own since birth. he has pale skin and straight black hair pulled up into a short ponytail. his eyes are a dark gray and his intense gaze has been blessed with sharp, bushy eyebrows.

[silyabeeodess]

Do you have a list ranking characters with the highest IE to Lowest? Like Highest would include jakethedog | Extremely high would include dee dee, ice king | High would include Goo and jonny | high mid would include mac, billy, powerpuffgirls, Ed | Mid would include Ben, flapjack, numbah 3, terrance | low Mid would include Ace, coop, edd and eddy, mandark | low would include dexter, PB, finn, doc, numbah2 | extremely low would include rex, max, gwen, mandy, numbah1 | (PS thanks for prev replies)

Although I haven't done much of a ranking for IE, I have made a post for headcanons on IE levels here. To summarize, I'd say there are two big factors with IE that can affect how much an individual has. It doesn't usually keep to a stable level nor do people with traditionally creative outlets necessarily have high amounts of IE:

To elaborate on the first point, IE is always waxing and waning throughout a person's life. That's simply the nature of human beings, as we can't constantly run at full sprint. Factors such as age, experience, burnout/blocks, and physical and emotional health all play a role. This is one of the reasons why it can be difficult to study and/or master. A big example of this is how children are much more likely to creative imaginary friends than adults.

For an example of how difficult it can be to find patterns of high or low IE, let's focus on the matter of experience: A person closed-off from experiences is likely to have a low IE, but even a person with many experiences under their belt may also have a low IE if they're the type to copy rather than create. There's an example of the latter in one of the FHFIF comics, with a child who originally comes to Foster's to adopt an imaginary friend, but ends up creating one instead only after by combining the traits of Coco, Wilt, and Eduardo in his head for the type of friend he wanted. Even Wilt in one of FHFIF's first episodes would acknowledge this lack of creativity by pointing out a Mojo Jojo friend. It's not a lack of inspiration causing this, but rather an inability or lack of practice building off of said inspiration.

As for the second point, there are several ways people across various fields and hobbies can show off their creativity and in-turn high or low IE. They won't always be traditionally creative types as we often think of them--artists, writers, etc. A strategist needs to think outside of the box to outsmart their enemy. An inventor or businessman needs to be innovative. People like Dexter and DeeDee both have high IEs, they're just channeling that energy differently.

For others on your list, I agree that Goo, Jonny, Jake, Ice King would all have high IEs as well. However, I would also move Numbuh 3 to that list. She has a tendency to drift into her own flights of fancy, even on missions. She's noted to possibly be responsible for many of the KND acronyms--which aren't always easy to make, especially the longer they get--in The Grim Adventures of the KND crossover. I also imagine she's greatly imbued many of her stuffed animals with her IE because of how much she treats them as living beings.

Mac, Billy, Blossom, and Bubbles would likely be high-mid. However, as Buttercup tends to be more direct and simplistic in her thinking, not really strategizing, but just willing to power her way through everything she does and relying more on impulse, I'd say she's more in the mid-range. All three of the Edds would be high-mid though. Ed is almost always living in his imagination, but it also takes a lot of creativity to constantly come up with new ideas for their scams, as Eddy does, and bring them to life through inventions, as Edd does. Terrance can also be included in this list, however, I feel like his IE is also rapidly declining. He can still create imaginary friends, like Red or Pizza, but he's also pretty much a copycat. Pizza was brought to reality because Terrance was hungry and Red exists as a foil to Blue. His destructive nature wears on his IE too (more on this later).

Coop is kind of a step below this, as he's pretty accepting of new experiences and is shown to seek improvements through Megas' upgrades and personalization. His IE was also imbued into Megas, which allowed the creation of Megas nanos. However, what inhibits his IE is his laziness/lack of self-improvement. He likes working on cool machines as a hobby, but he was also known to constantly sit around playing games rather than really work toward building anything. In short, he has a lot of potential he doesn't use. I'll place Mandark here too, simply because I think placing him on more of a mid-tier is a bit much, but his obsessive rivalry with Dexter and destructive habits both hold him back. You can't grow personally when you're constantly worrying over or trying to one-up others. As such, the moment Mandark devoted much of his scientific goals to simply beating another person, he gave himself a major obstacle.

I think Numbuh Two, Flapjack, Rex, Ben, Numbuh One, and Max would be more mid/low-mid IE in that order from greatest to least. Numbuh Two is constantly inventing and striving to improve the KND arsenal, to an almost tireless degree, so he'd have to be at a decent level--probably even higher than what I'm giving him. Flapjack is still a young, easily impressionable kid with a strong sense of wonder. With Rex, how he controls his nanites by creating various machinery shows off his somewhat creative side and willingness to learn/adapt. Ben can come up with unorthodox, yet impressive strategies as a leader. Meanwhile, Numbuh One, while also very strategic and often more driven than Ben, can have a bad habit of getting trapped in his own head. I place Max on the low end of this mainly from his age. He can be clever, open, and experimental, but is also highly likely to have reached a point where he's pretty settled with his way of life. In his mind, he's also done so much that it's become a block all to itself.

Of the ones you mentioned, Ace, Mandy, PB, Finn, Doc, and Gwen would have the lowest levels for three separate reasons. For Gwen, she can't help it: It's mainly her Anodite side conflicting with her human one. (See more on why that is here.) I won't say it's impossible for her to use it altogether, but she'd struggle with how the two powers separate themselves, especially with being so used to her Anodite abilities already.

PB, Finn, and Doc, all have a mental block through their inability/unwillingness to use their imaginations and/or accept things like magic. Ironically enough, the denial of reality will make you less imaginative. Closing your mind to truth means closing it to learning, growth, and a willingness to see beyond what you think you know or even the simple fact that you just won't understand everything. Magic exists in FusionFall's world, but instead of accepting it for what it is, those like PB and Doc try to twist it to fit their worldviews, which obviously can backfire.

For Ace and Mandy, it's their destructive sides. Pretty basic: You can't hope to create if you focus on destruction. This can come from many types of flawed personalities. Instead of taking inspiration from the past or from old stories, there are those who think they're better than the people who built what came before them. Rather than look for ways to actually improve or do anything original, thanks to their hubris, they just end up ripping things apart. There are those who, rather than try to add to the world, only desire to take from it. Ace, fortunately, is on a better path along with the rest of the Gangreen Gang since they've formed a band and are now using that as a productive outlet, so their IE levels can rise over time. Mandy, however... she's pretty set with who she is. She has little to no wonder for the world. She sees little to no good in it and her plans for world domination set her on a bad path.

My idea for why Terrance--and others like him--doesn't have a low IE, despite how destructive he is, is because of how he grew up. Keep in mind, he and Mac are in the same boat as kids left home alone while their single mom works without giving them the proper care they need. (It's not entirely her fault, but when she has one child that's basically one more hole in the wall away from juvie and then she looks to her younger child and tells them to get rid of their one friend and protector from that nut... Yeah, I wouldn't say it's outrageous to call her a bad parent either.) Terrance has issues. He's undisciplined. He throws more tantrums than his "baby" brother. And yet... he's still basically a kid. He's only thirteen. He should be more mature for his age, but not enough for his mother to give him with both the freedom and responsibilities that she does leaving both of her sons alone day after day.

Moreover, consider what kind of friend Terrance made with Red. Again, he's Blue's foil. Imaginary friends are partly made not solely by the desires of their creator, but what their creator needs. While Mac needed Blue to be confident, outgoing, and brave where he was lacking, there's a good chance Red's empathetic and sensitive side is a reflection of what Terrance needs. He still has a strong imagination, but for the wrong reasons, and as such, it's eventually going to shatter if he can't develop it properly.

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

#34 of the detailed Oc ask meme for all your she ra kid Ocs.

34. What’s their room look like right now?

(Since these characters are shown throughout various ages, I’m not sure what you meant by “right now” in terms of the timeline. But I’ll go with their bedrooms as teenagers/young adults)

Baylea: Their room is very open, including having a floor to ceiling window that spans the whole length of that wall in order to allow them to get as much sunlight during part of the day as possible. The floor isn't so much dirty as much as a lot of it is actually made of dirt - being a plant person, getting nutrients from soil is just as, if not more, filling for Baylea than eating actual food. They have a few electronic things in their room, all of which are powered by either solar energy, compost, or a combination of the two. This includes a small charging area for their first robot, Henry. Their bed is less an actual bed, and more of a hammock of vines that they basically remake every night with their powers.

Cane: His room is probably the smallest bedroom in the whole castle, though that's by choice, reminding him of the room he had when his birth parents were still alive (albeit still a bit bigger, since his parents were pretty simple farmers and now he's living in a little castle). He's got some bookcases full of books about medicine, as well as some storage space where he can keep things like medicinal herbs and materials for making potions and other medicines. There's also a small garden growing on his windowsill, which he takes great pride in and tends to every day to help him relax.

Pearl: She has a pool in her room, that has a small "tube" built in so she can go into the ocean and back whenever she wants - or any sea life small enough to fit can do the same. There's not a ton of decorations in her room, though she does have some seashells she's collected over the years, as well as various treasures she's gathered on her adventures on display. Her bed in almost never made, because she's not going to make it herself (why bother making the bed if you're just going to mess it up when you sleep anyway?) and when the castle staff fixes it up, it doesn't take her long to ruffle it up again.

Michelle: It's not an absolute disaster, but there's things all over the floor, ranging from clothes (both hers and other people's) to trinkets she's gotten from Pearl throughout the years. Her bedding is all messed up, with probably at least a couple pillows knocked off to the side, or under the bed since she likes sleeping under the bed as often as she does on it. There's not a ton of extra furniture in her room; just a bed, dresser, and a wardrobe that's actually mostly empty, but Michelle likes to sleep in there when she's feeling particularly stressed, since the tight space comforts her. She also has some stuffed animals on her bed, some she's had from childhood, some gifts from people she's dated in the past.

Ari: For one, she has a bunch of plush toys on her bed, even as a teenager or young adult - so many, in fact, that they effectively replace her pillows, though she does have one. Her room is actually maybe a bit childish for how old she is, but it's what makes her happy. Her bed is fairly big and while not exactly plush, much softer than anything her moms had growing up in the Horde. The scorpion plush Scorpia gave her as a baby is placed on top of a bookshelf whenever she's not sleeping with it.

Nebula: Probably the most bare bones room out of anyone, in part because she doesn't even have an actual bed, just a sort of "recharging" station that she uses occasionally. She has a desk that usually houses whatever project she's working on, either by herself or with either her sibling when they visit or Entraptma. They do decorate the walls with what are basically small adhesive lights in various colors that they move around to make different designs. Her room is also fairly small in part because it doesn't need to have a lot of actual furniture in it. Plus Nebula is usually out of the room, spending time either in Plumeria with Perfuma, or with Entrapta in her lab. She mainly spends time in her room when she needs to recharge, which is only a night, and even then, only if she was particularly active that day.

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Beidou & Ningguang / Courting Darling.

Warnings: Stalking, implied blackmail, kidnapping, and gaslighting. Note: this is a bit of an amalgamation from different asks i’ve gotten, put into one thing bc i thirst for these six characters so hard .

Childe:

“What’s life without a little adventure? You can stand to miss work for a day or two, it’ll still be there waiting for you when we get back. People have even gone so far as to say I’m an absolute joy to be around. You want to know who said that? Sorry, that source is staying a secret.” 

Childe is an erratic whirlwind of highs and lows. You never know what to expect from him, and he likes it that way, always keeping you on your toes. He doesn’t bother with having his friendliness appear genuine. If you want to doubt his goodwill, then so be it, he won’t stop you. It just makes it all the more interesting to keep you around should you be wary of his presence. 

He doesn’t care for the traditional conventions surrounding romance. It isn’t his thing, and he’s used to being considered the odd one out of every crowd, so why stop now? Childe doesn’t tone down any aspects of his bloodthirsty personality in your presence. It’s difficult to tell how serious he’s being since most of it takes the form of jokes or other lighthearted jests. In his mind, the fact he’s even spending so much time with you should make it obvious he’s interested. Whether that’s good or not. 

You’re going to be dragged all over the place. Childe’s stamina is seemingly an infinite well, as he takes you from activity to activity. By the end of the day, you’ll be exhausted. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take no for an answer, weaseling his way into your schedule despite your protests. Childe is particularly fond of getting into situations where a fight is inevitable, purposefully taking you to areas with monsters to show off his combat prowess. 

“Did you get a look at that, [First]? Aha, I haven’t had this much fun in ages! You already want to head back? Hm, I don’t know, the night is still young. Stop dragging your feet or I might just have to carry you. Not that I’m complaining, should that be the outcome. It’s up to you. Oh! Now that’s the spirit! I’ll try not to be hurt by how fast you’re moving now.” 

Diluc: 

“Ah, [First], I take it you’re doing well. I couldn’t help but notice you eyeing this book at the market earlier. I’ve had a copy of it for ages, but with how busy things are, rarely do I have time to read. I’d be appreciative should you accept this and give it a better home.” 

Diluc is self-assured in many areas of his life, romance is not one of them. He knows how to carry himself in the company of businessmen, staying polite and vigilant, but this rigid method doesn’t work in his favor when it comes to wooing you. To soften the blow on his side, Diluc tells himself that it was never about a relationship anyway. That his main priority was and will always be to ensure your safety. He tells himself this, but... isn’t sure if he really believes it. 

He’s a perfect example of pining from afar. Subconsciously, he’ll drift towards areas you tend to linger around, hoping to spot you amidst the bustling crowds. Each time he tells himself that this’ll finally be the time he approaches you. The opportunity is set before him, waiting to be taken advantage of, but he rarely follows through with his desire. 

It frustrates Diluc to no end how easily others flock to you. He’ll stand there, still as a statue, eyes boring into whatever pest currently holds your attention. This would be the push to finally send him your way. It’s a surprise to you both when Mondstadt’s wine tycoon materializes by your side, politely asking to speak in private. Truth be told, he just can’t stand the thought of another person holding your attention that isn’t him. 

“I apologize for my abruptness back there. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about for some time, and well... would you consider having dinner with me tonight? I’d appreciate your company.” 

Kaeya:

“It’s a funny thing, really. How we keep bumping into one another like this. Ah... that suspicious expression, it wounds me deep, sweetheart. When did you start looking at me like that, I wonder?” 

There’s no doubting Kaeya’s interest in you, from the first time he sauntered over to you and started a conversation. The problem you have is deciding how genuine his advances are. While Kaeya might not be the textbook definition of a heart-wrenching playboy, you’re familiar enough with the many rumors surrounding him to be wary. It doesn’t help that he’ll point this out to you when guessing the source of your apprehension. 

His methods are, oddly enough, effective. Kaeya balances the various aspects of seduction with ease. He reveals just enough about himself to draw out your attention, before focusing the conversation back onto you. You’ll never get to stop and realize how little you know about the man sitting in front of you, he makes certain of that.

Kaeya might hide certain aspects of himself, but his dubious morality is never concealed. He has you entirely wrapped around his finger, words validating his actions falling from his lips with the utmost ease; he’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll start a conversation heated about something you’ve learned, only for it to end wondering why you were ever upset in the first place.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get all riled up over something like this. Don’t you trust me by now? When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? You need to take a look at the bigger picture. Hey, take a seat. I’ll sit here all night explaining to you if it’s necessary.” 

→[More underneath the cut].

Zhongli: 

“There must be something that I can assist you with. It may not look it, but I’m familiar with many fields of work, even obscure ones. Please allow me to lend a hand.” 

Zhongli, despite having been around for many centuries, is somewhat clueless in romantic pursuits. He’s aware of his fondness for you, but doesn’t know what to do with it. This leads him to becoming your shadow for some time. He focuses on what he knows best: observation and processing new information. Your every little movement will be analyzed and tuck into the back of his mind for later usage. 

Zhongli’s soft over the idea of you coming to rely on him for everything. He prides himself on his wealth of knowledge and work ethic, believing it a strong appeal, one that he puts on full display when you’re around. It’s not rare for you to overhear neighbors and friends speak highly about Zhongli. They’ll mention in passing how they were having difficulty with something, only for Zhongli to come around and help without asking for anything in return. 

This is exactly what he’s been hoping and waiting for. Zhongli has patience and sets himself up to be a desirable partner in your eyes, the efforts from his labor coming into fruition. Before you even speak to him for the first time, you’re likely to think highly of him, having heard all the ways he’s helped people close to you. Now that the stage is properly set, he’s ready to make his interest in you more evident. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, [First]. Oh? You can say the same for me? Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations. I had just been on my way to Yanshang Teahouse, would you care to join me? My treat, of course.” 

Beidou: 

“You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a voyage with my crew and I. I’ll set up a nice cabin just for you, how does that sound? Hm? Special treatment? Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, lass.”  

Beidou’s attention is overwhelming and oftentimes dangerous. Traditional social conventions are nothing but a waste of time for her, meaning that common courtesy is disregarded in favor of always speaking her mind. Which might not be so bad if she wasn’t so amorous. Even the most oblivious person couldn’t miss Beidou’s overt favor towards you.

This reverent display of affection is only exacerbated when she’s drunk, face flushed and an arm swung tightly around your shoulder. She doesn’t care who sees, who’s judging, or what gossip will be born from her actions. Beidou makes a point of showing everyone in the vicinity that even if you aren’t officially partners yet, a claim has been staked on you. 

Whether it be coercion or some other unsightly method, Beidou is intent on bringing you on her ship at least once. Or that’s how she initially phrased it to you. Imagine your surprise, that when you finally caved so she’d drop the subject, her crew was untying the ropes keeping the boat at port. 

“The fun’s just getting started, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t get all teary-eyed yet, sweetheart, I know you’ll come around. This’ll be a story sung by sailors for generations to come.”

Ningguang:

“If I’m being honest, not many are given the opportunity to speak to me outside of business-related ventures. I never thought I’d find it this... pleasant. I hope you’ll continue to entertain me as you do now.” 

Ningguang starts off her wooing in a subtle, almost coquettish manner. She is confident in her charm and brilliance. Not many have been gifted in the art of conversation to the same extent Ningguang has, her silver tongue paired with quick intellect making it difficult for you to escape. She’ll corner you verbally without you even noticing it. 

Ningguang finds amusement in how you stumble over your words, pure of heart and not chained down by special interests. Your forthright but considerate demeanor intoxicates her. She’s used to people cowering in her presence or trying too hard to pursue their goals. You might even earn a rare compliment or two, disguised as politeness, that doesn’t register for hours. 

She is a lady of fine taste. The sky’s the limit when it comes to her wealth, which is unrivaled throughout Tevyat, and you’ll be quick to notice this. Ningguang is most partial to sending you traditional Liyue adornments, believing the rich culture behind each piece suits your beauty. She’s also fond of the fact that when you wear her gifts, everyone in the vicinity will know it’s from her, due to its extraordinarily high cost. 

“Do you like my latest gift, little dove? It was made custom with you in mind, an unrivaled display of craftmanship, if I may add. Wear this and carry me with you... always.” 

[niqhtlord01]

Writing mistakes: Making a poor Villain

Many stories of adventure and danger often revolve around a hero or heroine being dragged into situations beyond their control and being forced to reach their full potential. Obstacles are put in their place with ever increasing difficulty for the protagonist to overcome and there is none more fascinating for readers than that of a villain.

A good villain can be as much of a driving force for a story as the main character can be, but when the villain ins lacking and inferior it can not only make any achievements the hero obtains feel hollow, or worse feel like there was never a challenge to begin with.

Today we are going to take a brief glimpse at what makes a poor villain and how it can harm the story they are a part of.

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

Subject: Hordak Series: Netflix She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

 Story Summary: Once a defective genetic clone serving under his dna donor, Horde Prime, he was cast out and sent to die on the frontlines of a war spanning the stars themselves. Instead of dying in combat though, he was transported to a strange world where technology was limited in advancements compared to magic which reigned supreme.

Using his knowledge of advanced machinery, the clone was able to build an empire of his own and took for himself the name “Hordak”. One by one he set out and began conquering kingdoms, even shattering an alliance of opposing kingdoms known as the “Princess Alliance” leaving his enemies scattered and isolated.

As he neared ever closer to victory against the remaining kingdoms one of his newly promoted force commanders defected to the princess aligned kingdoms after discovering an ancient artifact. The artifact gave the former force captain incredible strength and transformed them into the hero of legend known across the planet as “She-Ra”.

From there She-Ra rallied the various kingdoms into a second princess alliance and continued the struggle against Hordak’s empire with the goal of one day freeing the entire world from Hordak’s grasp. ------------------

On paper, Hordak sounds and looks like an impressive villain.

But where he falls short is that he does not act like a threat or challenge to the protagonist.

Point 1: He shows incompetence with managing his empire. When he is informed that one of his force captains, Adora (Aka She-Ra), has defected to the enemy side he does not take the threat seriously. He even becomes angered when efforts are being made to bring Adora back into the fold despite knowing she had been groomed to become one of his militaries next commanders. Any villain worth their salt would at the very least be concerned that a high ranking member of their organization just defected to the enemy and would no doubt be sharing vital information that they were privy to.

  Point 2:

He rewards failure instead of setting an example.

There are multiple instances of this throughout the series that make his actions look confusing to his end goals.

When Adora defected to the enemy side he rewarded Catra, the one who was sent to bring Adora back, by making her the new force captain. Why you may ask? Because she was close at hand.

When Catra then lead a massive invasion against the final kingdom openly opposed to Hordak and failed, he promoted her to become his new second in command after she gave a short speech about doing more for his empire than anyone else before.

Both instances were perfect for him to flex his power and remind those who served him why they should never fail, but instead he gave praise and promotions thus setting the example that failure will be tolerated.

 Point 3: He is easily defeated by his underling (on multiple occasions) rather than the protagonist.

His own underling, Catra, defeats him with hardly any effort at all and replaces him as the new leader of his empire. She keeps him around as a figure head, but reminds him every now and then that she can easily kill him whenever she wants.

If the main villain is built to be all powerful, intelligent, and the main threat for the protagonists journey forward; then only the protagonist should be capable of defeating them. If anyone else does so it diminishes their threat and the challenge they present until what was once a mountain to climb looks more like a speed bump.

An example of this in other stories is the relation between Agent Smith and Neo from the Matrix franchise.

Throughout the series many heroes go up against Agent Smith but are never able to defeat him. Even other agents are eventually sent after him when Smith went rogue but they too were easily defeated. This heightened the challenge presented to Neo and made defeating Agent Smith the final chapter of his story. His victory felt earned at the end and memorable as Smith had been repeatedly built up as an imposing foe.

 Point 4: Hordak and Adora/She-Ra never actually come to blows.

With Adora/She-Ra’s main goal of overthrowing Hordak’s empire, one would think that the eventual end to their stories would be a final duel as each represents the final obstacle in their way to completing their journey. Yet for some odd reason the two are never in a situation that would pit them against each other. Hordak never actually fights the protagonist during the entire length of the story and the extent of their interaction is limited to a few exchanged barbs.

This lack of confrontation and hostility is a result of his role as the main antagonist being almost immediately superseded by Catra despite her status as his underling for the first portion of the show. --------

 Overall Conclusion:

Hordak is a good example of looking the part of the villain, but acting the complete opposite.

His actions are contradictory to his goals, his abilities are hyped up but never shown, and his threat level only decreases further and further as the show progresses to the point he is a minor player in his own empire. There is justification that he was being built up as a stepping stone for the larger villain Horde Prime which does have some credit, but for nearly four seasons Hordak was portrayed as the big bad with his ultimate defeat becoming a minor footnote.  

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: Nirvana in Fire - A Primer

(Masterpost)

Warning: Mild spoilers for the first 5 or 6 episodes

I have injected all 54 episodes of Nirvana in Fire (The TOS/first series, not the TNG/second series) directly into my neck vein in the past week, having initially bounced off the first episode the three previous times I tried to watch it. I thought a primer might be useful for people who are undecided about watching it, or who are finding the first episode as confusing as I initially did.

This will be followed by Episode recap posts, although not (I hope) at the pace or word count of my Untamed recaps (which are ongoing!). (Edit: see masterpost for more)

I watched it on Viki but I think it’s on Youtube as well.

What is Nirvana in Fire and Why Should I Watch It?

Nirvana in Fire (aka Langya Bang) is about this guy, Mei Changsu. 

He goes by various names in the drama but we're just going to call him Mei Changsu for simplicity. He's looking for justice and he's very very clever. He's also sickly and obviously dying possibly doesn't have very long to live.  

He's secretly a member of the royal family, and all of his old friends think he's dead. He had a medical trauma that turned him into a different actor, so most of his friends can't recognize him. In order to get justice, he needs to shake some things up in the capital, so he goes there and starts manipulating people.

The Pugilist World

He's also, conveniently, the head of a Wuxia ("pugilist" in most subs) society that's like the CIA of the Warring States Period. This gives him a good supply of friendly minions.

His main people from the Pugilist side of things are: 

Sarcastic Kung Fu doctor. He's important in the first episode and then we don't see him for like 40 episodes and then he's important again.

Sullen/adorable Kung Fu adolescent, who is nearly unbeatable and is played by the kid from Tomb of the Sea & Fights Break Sphere. He is with Mei Changsu throughout the story as his bodyguard and reminder that MCS has a soft heart sidekick.

(more after the cut!)

The Court

Over on the court side of things, there's an emperor, who is a paranoid jerk, but also has some layers to his personality. He’s not a cartoonish villain.

Happily, the show doesn’t lean too hard into the whole “I dare not!” thing where nobody can talk normally to anybody in the court because they’re afraid of being executed. 

Chinese emperors got to choose the next emperor from among their offspring, rather than being constrained by primogeniture like European monarchies, so sibling rivalry basically reached its apotheosis in Chinese Imperial families. Among this emperor’s progeny are four princes who actually matter. 

1. Prince Qi was executed as a traitor, but wasn't a traitor, and Mei Changsu wants to clear his name, along with the names of all of his supposed followers who were also executed. 

2. The Crown Prince, who is in favor. He is dumb. He looks like this: 

3. The not-crown Prince, who is in favor and wants to become crown prince. He is smarter than the Crown Prince but not as smart as Mei Changsu. Nobody is as smart as Mei Changsu. He looks like this: 

4. Prince Jing also wants to clear Prince Qi's name and insists he was innocent, so he is out of favor.  Prince Jing is a fine upstanding moral heroic dude, who has a temper and can’t keep his mouth shut.   

Prince Jing looks like this.

So, we're rooting for prince Jing, obviously.

Mei Changsu is also rooting for Prince Jing because 

They were best friends back when Mei Changsu was a young, different-actor guy without a medical trauma 

He'll be a good ruler 

He, like Mei Changsu, wants to clear up this whole traitor situation 

He looks like this: 

The Friendships

In the current time, Prince Jing doesn't know who Mei Changsu is so he doesn't fully trust him, and talks smack about his values. At the same time he just *feels* an affinity for him and they look at each other like this.

Do they lock eyes like that for the entirety of every conversation? Yep, pretty much.  

Also Mei Changsu's old girlfriend is in the picture, and she's fucking awesome, which makes the shipping situation complicated when the Changsu x Prince Jing energy is so strong. 

This is how she gets onto a horse:

Here Mei Changsu is pretending that he is a dude she just met, rather than her long-lost fiance (who, reminder, had a medical trauma resulting in a totally different actor changed appearance). 

Gazing heatedly and with maximum intensity at a person is a good way to pretend you don’t know them. 

I think she’s fooled, don’t you?

She conveniently disappears for like 25 episodes in the middle of the show, which uncomplicates the shipping situation a bit, for a while, anyway.

She has a best friend who's the Wuxia version of a tough lady cop, speaking of shipping.

There are a pair of young friends who share one brain cell and hang out with Mei Changsu, and who develop in interesting ways as the story progresses.

Then there's the guard captain who is an old friend who DOES know who Mei Changsu is, who's super hot and...not the sharpest nail in the horseshoe.

Captain Handsome is the only guy who can beat the Kung Fu kid. 

The Plot

Mei Changsu wants to clear the names and restore the honor of a whole lot of dead people--an entire army full of them--and the best way to do that is to put his friend in a position of power. 

He assembles a bat-team and then starts playing an extremely complex game of political Weiqi, driving opponents into impossible situations and taking them off the board one by one, while they work to do the same thing to his forces. 

The emotional connection between Mei Changsu and Prince Jing is hugely important to the story, but they don't spend most of their time together - they're working in different spheres toward a single goal, touching base often but not sharing many lighthearted moments or spending a lot of time socializing.  

So if you're craving a best-friends adventure story or a (covert) BL romance story, this isn't it. But the emotional journeys of the two main dudes are incredibly deep, and each of those journeys gets ample screen time.  

The M/F romance is also deeply important to the characters’ journeys but it’s not primarily about being together; it’s about working together toward a higher purpose. 

Is this a normal way to react when a woman you don’t really know brings you to visit the empty house of a condemned criminal you never met? Sure. Is it normal of her to randomly bring you to your own abandoned house when she just met you? Probably! 

Is it reasonable for a man to look this good in blue fur? No!

Fundamentally this is a plot-driven story, with really no filler -- story threads that seem unrelated all weave back into the main story, and stories about side characters tell us important information about the main characters. 

It’s a truly beautiful story about seeking justice and bringing peace to the souls of the dead--it’s not a revenge story, and Mei Changsu has a surprising amount of compassion for the people he opposes, even while he’s manipulating them into ruining their lives. 

It's. Freaking. Awesome.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Whole

Summary: After surviving years of torture at the hands of the Mad Titan Thanos, a broken, weary Loki returns home to find his childhood sweetheart has moved on with another man.

Word Count: 2,809

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: I swear I didn't plan this. I had a nice, fluffy, lovely, sweet little fic planned out for Valentine's Day. I outlined it, I started writing it ... and then I turned around and wrote this angst fest. I feel kind of guilty about it-- I swore I'd let up on the angst for a bit after Now, Forever, and Always, but I got inspired and decided to run with it. I promise the fluffy fic is coming, although I can't say when. Also, fun fact: when I wrote out the description for this fic, I stopped and said "that sounds too depressing" and started deleting it. And my sister, reading over my shoulder, said "no, keep it. It's accurate."

Anyways, hope you all have a lovely Valentine's Day, and thank you so much for reading.

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask :)

Read it on Ao3!

He found her in the gardens.

Runa was sitting on a bench across from the lake, the silver skirt of her dress trickling around her legs in the breeze. She cradled an infant in her arms as she chatted with the woman besides her.

Loki watched her, hidden away behind the tree line, the illusion of another face masking his own. He had heard about the baby. They had told him back on the Sanctuary, after they had dug through his memories and ripped her from his mind.

Poor princeling. Have you not heard? Runa Birkirdottir is married and with child. She cares not for you.

Loki hadn’t known whether to believe them. They had told him many things there—his home was gone, his mother was dead, his father was seeking his life in retribution. Once, he could’ve discerned what was truth and what was falsehood as easily as he breathed, his time with the Mad Titan had turned his instincts to syrup. He had found himself crumbling with the weight of their words, even as he fought to ignore them.

The Children of Thanos had lied about many things. But in this instance, it seemed they had spoken the truth.

The baby had started to cry, shrill little squalls that Loki could hear even from where he stood. Runa rocked it gently against her shoulder, murmuring under her breath. Soon the infant stilled, and the conversation continued.

Motherhood suited her, he realized. It was a strange realization. Never had he thought the devious girl he had met sneaking through the catacombs beneath the palace would melt into such a matronly role, but she glowed with the same fire that had always burned within her as she lulled her child to sleep.

He had always been entranced by that fire. From the moment they had run into each other, deep within the hidden passageways they both knew they weren’t allowed to explore, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her.

Loki had thought he had been alone down there—as far as he was aware, he had been the only one in all of Asgard who even knew of those concealed tunnels. When he turned the corner and nearly collided with a girl from his lessons, he couldn’t hold in his gasp of surprise.

Runa hadn’t even skipped a beat. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me” she hissed before scuttling down the corridor, hiking her skirt up above her knees. With a bewildered nod, Loki had found himself following her.

They had both come down there to hide, but her motive was much more impressive than his quiet desire for escape. He remembered how she had smirked as she showed him a sword with a gleaming handle, smothered in a leather sheath.

“My brother says girls aren’t strong enough to carry swords,” she whispered. “Apparently boys aren’t smart enough to guard them.”

Loki snickered despite himself. He knew of her brother—a tall, stiff thing who accompanied Thor and his friends on their various adventures. Loki couldn’t say he particularly cared for him.

“Does he know you took it?” he asked.

“Nope.” She was grinning ear to ear. “I’ll bet he’s tearing his bedroom apart looking for it like the bear he is. Father said he wouldn’t let him go to sparring practice for a month if anything happened to it.” Runa sighed, cradling the sheath like a doll. “I’m going to keep it hidden here forever—he’ll never find it.”

“Wait—I have a better idea,” Loki whispered excitedly. He had pulled this trick on Thor earlier, and it had worked like a charm. “What you should do is keep it here until he realizes he didn’t lose it, but that someone has actually taken it. Then, when he goes to tell your father it’s been stolen, put it back in his room, somewhere really obvious. He’ll look like a complete buffoon for not seeing it.”

Her eyes lit up. Even then, Loki thought there was something magical about the way she smiled.

His mother joked that the whole of Asgard braced itself the day Loki Odinson and Runa Birkirdottir became friends. Runa was already beginning to be known as headstrong and argumentative, the type of student who would interrupt a lesson to point out the instructor’s mistakes with a self-satisfied smirk, and Loki had long since been labeled as a problem by every adult who had ever interacted with him. The two of them together … it was a beautiful nightmare.

In their defense, most of the hijinks they got into were fairly benign. They stole things from their brother’s rooms and placed bets on how long it would take them to notice. They snuck into locked classrooms and switched out the textbooks with the pamphlets they found under Runa’s brother’s bed, the ones with the vulgar illustrations that she claimed would send her mother into shock if she knew they were there. One time, she got him to transform the figurines on the desk of their tedious government instructor into live cockroaches. The monotony of the classroom was shattered as the creatures scuttled every which way, students screaming, running, climbing on chairs or frantically attempting to squash them. Across the room and through the chaos, Loki caught Runa’s gaze, mirth bubbling in her shining eyes. He was quite certain he was grinning like a fool.

She never had his gift for magic, but she seemed to understand it better than some other seidr-wielders he had met. There were times as they grew where it seemed they almost shared one mind. She somehow always knew what he was struggling with and what steps to take to fix it. She knew how to help him focus when he was distracted. She could see through his illusions.

That used to frustrate him. Surely he had to be doing something wrong then, if it was so easy for her to brush them aside. He used to practice in his room for hours, honing his skills until he could create illusions realistic enough to fool his own mother, but when he’d walk by her in the hallway wearing another’s face, Runa would stop and laugh.

“I know it’s you, Loki!” she chortled, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forward. “Can’t fool me!” The image shattered at her touch.

Loki glared at her. “You are the most infuriating woman on this planet.”

“I know.” Runa grinned, hooking her arm in his as they continued on together. “That’s why you like me.”

She was as fierce as she was infuriating. Asgardian tradition barred women from practicing the art of war alongside their male counterparts, but Runa had not been deterred. When Loki first ran into her beneath the palace, she had already become quite handy with a sword—the result of hours of mimicking her brother’s fencing lessons alone in her apartment with a fire iron. She had been fascinated by Loki’s daggers.

“I wish I had something like these,” Runa mused, turning the blade in the light. After a moment’s thought, she held it to her hip. “I could hide them under my skirt, and no one would know the difference!” She began bunching up the fabric of her dress, as if to attempt such a thing at once, and Loki ripped his gaze away with burning cheeks.

She wasn’t the woman who felt Asgard’s status quo was lacking. Pressure for a more equal environment had been building throughout their youth, and by the time they had come of age Odin had succumbed to the demands and opened Einherjar training to the fairer sex. Runa had been the first to apply.

Loki remembered the first time he had seen her in her armor, her sword hanging in its ramshackle sheath at her waist, strolling up to the training grounds as if she was the instructor rather than another faceless student. He had been waiting in frustration for his brother to finish lacing up his boots so they could spar, but he lost his impatient scowl when she walked by. She exuded such … confidence in her stride, such carefree power, it was impossible to take his eyes off her. Loki hadn’t even noticed Thor standing besides him until he smacked him on the back.

“Close your mouth,” he said. “You’re drooling.”

They had their first kiss on those training grounds. It had been a summer night, the date of some grand feast Loki couldn’t quite remember. He hated feasts. They were all the same—loud and stuffy and obnoxious, the kind of noise that seeped into his bones and throttled him from within. When Runa sidled up to him with the offhand suggestion that they sneak out to the gardens, he had jumped at the idea.

They had ended up on the sparring grounds. Runa had almost immediately hitched up her skirts and challenged him to a fight. It had been somewhat facetious, and looking at her in her voluminous gown, scowling through her makeup, Loki couldn’t hold back his laughter.

She glowered. “You see something funny, Odinson?”

“Of course not,” he chuckled. Perhaps he had had a bit too much wine at the feast—he felt rather lightheaded. Still, the feeling seemed almost freeing. “I’m looking upon the fiercest warrior in all of Asgard!” he teased.

“And don’t you forget it!” Loki barely had time to react before she had tackled him to the ground with a ferocious battle cry. He fought back with a giddy giggle, wrestling for control as she tried to hold him down. It must have been quite a sight, the two of them rolling around in the dirt in their fancy dinner clothes. His mother would’ve had a fit if she could see them. In the end, Runa had him pinned, although in Loki’s defense he hadn’t truly been trying. Holding his wrists above his head, she leaned towards him until their noses were nearly touching.

“Well,” she whispered after several moments of silence had passed, the scent of wine sweet on her breath. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Loki let out a hoarse laugh. “Must I kiss you?” he asked. “Why can’t you kiss me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have to do everything around here.”

“If it’s such a chore for you, my lady, then I’m not certain—” Runa planted her lips on his before he could finish. All at once, he couldn’t remember what exactly he had been saying.

When she pulled away, they were both breathless, her eyes holding a million sparkling stars and a galaxy of questions.

“Still uncertain?” she breathed. Loki pulled his wrist loose from her grasp without much effort, reaching to cup her cheek with her hand.

“Never,” he whispered against her lips.

No one was surprised when they got engaged.

“Took you long enough,” Thor muttered, not even looking up from the sword he was polishing when Loki came to tell him the news. “It was about time the two of you stopped pretending to be subtle.” Even Odin’s attempts to persuade him into a more advantageous match were half-hearted.

Loki and Runa were meant for each other, and everyone knew it.

They were meant for each other.

Loki watched her from his hiding spot, cradling the child that should’ve been his. There was a numbness in his chest that he had become quite familiar with these past few years, the empty ache that took the place of pain once his body could take no more.

Why had he come back? What had he expected to find here? Runa waiting patiently for him at the edge of the sparring grounds, hands folded and unchanged since he last saw her?

He couldn’t remember the last thing he said to her. That had to be the worst part of all, because he knew it couldn’t have been good. Runa had accompanied them to Jotunheim that fateful day. She had been the only one to take note of his distress upon their return, a distress that went beyond Thor’s banishment. Loki remembered that she had asked after him, and that in his fright he had snapped at her. His memories were far less tangible after that. Clammy hands grasping eternal frost. His father choking under the weight of his own lies. Gungnir’s burden in his fist, his mother’s words ringing in his ears.

Runa sobbing his name.

And then there was nothing, nothing but the weightless fall, the swirling abyss that ripped him apart over and over again until it seemed that there could be nothing of him left, until the sound of his own screams was broken by a slithering voice thrust into his mind …

Hear me and rejoice!

Did they tell Runa what he was, he wondered, after they had given him up for dead? Did they tell her what kind of monster she had almost irrevocably tied herself to? Perhaps she had been relieved to have been spared such a fate. Loki knew he would have been.

He had clung to her memory on the Sanctuary, clung to the mischievous girl under the palace, the sparkling goddess under the stars, the breathtaking woman who had always been there besides him even when he felt no one else was. Until they found her and tore her from his head along with everything else he held dear.

Runa’s conversation with her friend seemed to be reaching its conclusion. As the other woman made to leave, Loki’s eyes went again to the child. He knew of the father, a minor noble of the court that neither he nor Runa had ever paid much mind. They had been married shortly after Loki’s fall. He imagined it had happened in a rush, with Runa’s family scrambling to save her from his disgrace. A part of him wanted to be angry, but he couldn’t muster the strength. Who could blame them?

She was alone now, alone with her baby. Loki knew he should be leaving as well. What good did it do for him to linger? Runa had moved on with her life. It was time he did so with his.

Even so, he found himself approaching her bench, cloaked in the illusion of a palace guard. He had to talk to her. Even if it wasn’t truly him she was talking to, he had to hear her voice.

The baby was fussing again and Runa was rocking it back and forth, murmuring nonsense in a singsong voice. She didn’t look up as he approached.

Still, he bowed before he could think the better of it. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Runa gave a nondescript nod. “Good afternoon.”

There was a silver dagger strapped to her hip. The realization brought all sorts of emotions frothing forth in his chest, but Loki swallowed them down.

The baby seemed to have calmed some. It gurgled, grabbing at its mother’s necklace. Runa only laughed as she tucked the chain beneath her dress.

Loki inhaled. “If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, you have a lovely child.”

“Thank you. I’m very proud of him.” She held the infant’s wrist up and mimed a wave. “Say hi, Loki!”

His voice caught in his throat. “Loki?” he choked. Runa nodded, eyes still on the child. It was a moment before he regained the ability to speak. “That’s a … controversial choice.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought my mother-in-law was going to murder me in my sleep.” She smiled, turning to him. “But I knew what I wanted, and I can be quite—”

It was then she finally met his eyes. Her mouth dropped open. Recognition bloomed across her face. For a moment, Loki panicked. Had the illusion failed? How? It was the simplest form of magic—

I know it’s you, Loki. Can’t fool me!

Of course.

There were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Loki’s own eyes burned as he sank to his knees before her, the illusion crashing down to pieces around him. She reached out to stroke his cheek with a hesitancy that suggested she didn’t quite believe he was real. Her fingers were warm—warm and tinged with the sweet sort of familiarity he only ever felt in dreams. He melted into her touch.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “Loki.”

Words bubbled to his lips: apologies, pleas, vows, none of which he had the strength to utter. This moment was temporary. They both had to know it. Their fates had diverged long ago. They had gone too far down their respective paths to double back. Nothing could change that now.

And yet, just for this moment, it was all right.

Just for this moment, he was whole again.

[chiseler]

Gnostic Boardwalk

Canonical stature is a fragile and contingent thing, which is why powerful institutions seek to shore up the various canons of art with rankings and plaudits. We’ll play along by asserting that one of our favorite “B” movies was originally screened by Henri Langlois at the Cinematheque française with Georges Franju in attendance. Night Tide (1961) was an unlikely contender for this particular honor—shot guerrilla style on an estimated $35,000 budget, and intended, by its distributors at least, for a wider, less demanding audience seeking mostly air-conditioned escapism.

With its hinky cast—nonfictional witch, Marjorie Cameron; erstwhile muse to surrealist filmmaker Jean Cocteau, the undersung Babette who usually appears en travesti; and lecherous, booze-addled, fresh-faced Hollywood castoff Dennis Hopper—Night Tide invades the drive-in. A tarot reading at the film’s heart gives Marjorie Eaton her time to shine, traipsing into nickel-and-dime divination from her former life as a painter of Navajo religious ceremonies. Linda Lawson might have issued from an etching by Odilon Redon, with her raven locks and spiritual eyes, our resident sideshow mermaid. Not surprisingly and despite such gentle segues, the film itself traveled a rocky road from festivals to paying venues.

Night Tide had spent three years languishing in the can when distributor Roger Corman smuggled the unlikely masterwork into public consciousness, another of his now legendary mitzvahs to art. And the sleazy-sounding double bills that resulted also unleashed an aberrant wonder: the movie’s compact leading man, a force previously held captive by the studio system—looking, here, like some homunculus refugee from the Fifties USA. Dennis Hopper, in his first starring role, would later recall that it represented his first “aesthetic impact” on film since his earlier appearances in more mainstream productions such as Rebel Without a Cause and Giant had denied him meaningful outlets for collaboration.

It’s the presence of its featured players—certainly not their star power—that lends the film its haunting and enduring legacy, and elevates the term “cult classic” to its rightful place in the pantheon of cinema. But we argue that Night Tide remains outside these exclusive parameters—upholding an elsewhere-ness that defies commercial, if not strictly canonical, logic. Curtis Harrington’s first feature film escapes taxonomy, typology or genre—gets away—fueling itself on acts of solidarity instead. If Hopper contributes his dreamy aura, then Corman rescues the seemingly doomed project by re-negotiating the terms of a defaulted loan to the film lab company that was preventing the film’s initial release. His generous risk birthed a movie monument that would add Harrington’s name to a growing collection of talent midwifed by the visionary schlockmeister responsible for nursing the auteurs of post-war American cinema. And here we enter a production history as gossamery as Night Tide itself.  

Unlike his counterparts entrenched within the studio system, Harrington was an artist – i.e. a Hollywood anachronism, with aristocratic graces and a viewfinder trained on the unseen. We see Harrington as Georges Méliès reborn with a queer eye, casting precisely the same showman’s metaphysics that spawned cinema onto nature. By the time moving pictures were invented, artists were moving away from a bloodless representational ethos and excavating more primordial sources for inspiration. The early stirrings of what surrealist impresario André Breton would later proclaim: “Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or it will not be at all.”

Harrington owned a pair of Judy Garland’s emerald slippers, and according to horror queen/cult icon Barbara Steele, also amassed an eclectic array of human specimens: “Marlene Dietrich, Gore Vidal, Russian alchemists, holistic healers from Normandy, witches from Wales, mimes from Paris, directors from everywhere, writers from everywhere and beautiful men from everywhere.” On a hastily constructed Malibu boardwalk, Hopper would be in his milieu among the eccentric denizens of California’s artistic underground—most notably, Harrington himself, a feral Victorian mountebank of a director who slept among mummified bats, practiced Satanic rites, and hosted elaborate and squalid dinner parties. One could almost picture the mostly television director in his twilight years as Roman Castavet of Rosemary’s Baby; a spellbinding raconteur with a carny’s flair for embellishment and enticement. Enthralled by the dark gnosticism of Edgar Allan Poe that had started when the aspiring 16-year-old auteur mounted a nine-minute long production of The Fall of the House of Usher (1942), Harrington would embark on a checkered film career that combined his occult passions with the quotidian demands of securing steady employment. Night Tide, a humble matinee feature whose esoteric underpinnings would spawn subsequent generations of admirers, united the competing forces of art and commerce that Harrington would struggle with throughout his career. Like Méliès, Harrington pointed his kinetic device towards the more preternatural aspects of early motion pictures to seek out the ‘divine spark’ that Gnostics attribute to transcendence, and the necessary element to achieve that immortal leap into the unknown. What hidden meanings and unspeakable acts Poe had seized upon in his writing were brought infernally to life with a mechanical sleight-of-hand. It was finally time for crepuscular light, beamed through silver salts to illuminate otherworldly and other-thinking subjects.

Curtis Harrington

By the time Harrington had embarked on his feature film debut, a more muscular celluloid mythology based on America’s proven exceptionalism was in full force, taking on a brutalist monotone cast in keeping with the steely-eyed, square-jawed men at the helm of a nascent super-power, consigning its more feminine preoccupations to the dusty vaults where celluloid is devoured by its own nitrate. Harrington would resurrect the convulsive aspects of his chosen vocation and embed them deep within the monochrome canvas he’d been allotted for his first venture into feature filmmaking, and combine them with the more rational aspects of so-called realism. In the romantic re-telling of a familiar myth, Harrington was remaining true to gnostic roots and the distinctly poetic language used to express its cosmological features.  

In Night Tide, Harrington would map the metaphysical terrain that held up Usher’s cursed edifice as a blueprint for his own work that similarly explored the intertwined duality of the natural and the supernatural. The visible cracks that reveal a fatal structural weakness and a loss of sanity in both Roderick Usher and his doomed estate are evident in Night Tide’s conflicted heroine compelled to choose between her own foretold death underwater, or a worse fate for those who fall in love with her earthly human form.  

A young sailor (Dennis Hopper) strolling the boardwalks of Malibu while on shore leave offers the viewer an opening glimpse into the film’s metaphysical wormhole, and a not so subtle hint of the director’s queer eye, stalking his virginal prey in the viewfinder. A beachfront entertainment venue is, after all, where one would casually encounter soothsayers and murderers, sea witches and perverts, as the guileless Johnny does, seemingly oblivious to the surrealist elements of his surroundings as he makes his way on land.

Harrington’s carnival-themed underworld is both imaginatively and convincingly presented as a quaint slice of post-war America, effortlessly dovetailing with his intended drive-in audience’s expectations of grind house with a dash of glamor—not to mention his own avant-garde leanings, which remain firmly intact despite Night Tide’s outwardly conventional construction and narrative.  

Harrington is able to present this juxtaposition of kitsch Americana and the queer arcana of his occult fascinations. Indeed, Night Tide’s lamb-to-the-slaughter protagonist could have wandered off the set of Fireworks, Kenneth Anger’s 1947 homoerotic short film about a 17-year-old’s sadomasochistic fantasies involving gang rape by leathernecks.

Anger would later sum up his earliest existing film as “A dissatisfied dreamer awakes, goes out in the night seeking a ‘light’ and is drawn through the needle’s eye. A dream of a dream, he returns to bed less empty than before.” Harrington (a frequent collaborator of Anger in his youth) seems to have re-worked Fireworks, or at least its underlying queer aesthetic into a commercially viable feature film that explores his own life long occult fascinations.

Both Anger and his former protégé would view the invocation of evil as a necessary step towards the attainment of a higher level of consciousness. Harrington coaxed a more familiar story from the myths and archetypes that informed his unworldly views for a wider audience; a move that would be later interpreted by sundry cohorts as selling out. Still, Night Tide shares a thematic kinship with Anger’s more obtusely artistic output as acknowledged by the surviving occultist, who confirmed this unholy covenant at Harrington’s funeral by kissing his dead friend on the lips as he laid in his open coffin.  

The hokey innocence of Dennis Hopper as Johnny Drake in his tight, white sailor suit casts a homoerotic hue on the impulses that compel him to navigate a treacherous dreamscape to satisfy a carnal longing, just as Anger’s dissatisfied dreamer obeys the implicit commands of an unspeakable other to seek out forbidden pleasures.  

As he makes his way on land, the solitary, adventure-seeking Johnny will be lured into a waiting photo booth, his features slightly menacing behind its flimsy curtain, and brightly smiling a second later as the flash illuminates them. Johnny has entered a realm where intersecting worlds collide, delineating light from shadow, consciousness from unconsciousness. The young sailor’s maiden voyage into the uncharted waters of his subconscious is made evident in the contrasting interplay captured by the camera, where predator and prey overlap in darkness. Here, too, we get a prescient preview of the deranged psychopath Hopper would subsequently personify in later roles, most significantly as the oxygen deprived Frank of Blue Velvet—a man who seems to be drowning out of water. But here, Hopper convincingly (and touchingly) portrays a wide-eyed naïf, still unsteady on his sea legs as he negotiates dry land.  

As a variation of Anger’s lucid dreamer in Fireworks (and later Jeffrey of Blue Velvet) Johnny will have abandoned himself quite literally (as his departing shadow on a carnival pavilion suggests, before its host blithely follows) to his own suppressed sexual urges; a force that eventually compels him towards denouement.  

Moments later, inside the Blue Grotto where a flute-led jazz combo is in progress, Johnny spots a beautiful young woman (Linda Lawson) seated directly across from him.  Her restrained and almost involuntary physical response to the music mimic his own, offering the first indication of a gender ���other’ residing in Johnny; an entombed apparition cleaved from the sub-conscious and projected into his line of vision. Roderick and Madeline Usher loom large in Harrington’s screenplay and Usher’s trans themes lurk invisibly in the subtext. Harrington is arguably heir apparent to Poe’s vacated throne, pursuing similar clue-laden paths and exploring the dual nature of human and the primordial creature just beneath the surface poised to devour its host.  

The near literal strains of seductive Pan pipes buoyed by the ‘voodoo’ percussion sets the stage for Harrington’s reworking of the ancient legend of sea-based seductresses and the sailors they lure to their graves.  

Marjorie Cameron (or ‘Cameron’ as she is referred to in the opening credits) makes a startling entrance into The Blue Grotto as an elder of a lost tribe of mermaids seeking the return of an errant ‘mermaid’ to her rightful place in the sea. Cameron, a controversial fixture in L.A.’s bohemian circles and one-time Scarlet Women in the mold of Aleister Crowley’s profane muses, would later appear in Anger’s The Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome, and as the subject of Harrington’s short documentary The Wormwood Star (1956).  

The inclusion of a bonafide witch, along with a host of less apparent occult/avant-garde figures, is further evidence of Night Tide’s true aspirations and its filmmaker’s subversive intent to sneak an art-house film into the drive-in, and introduce its audiences to the heretical doctrine that had spawned a new generation of occult visionaries influenced by Edgar Allan Poe. Decades later, David Lynch would carry that proverbial torch, further illuminating the writhing, creature-infested realm underlying innocence.

Johnny approaches the young woman who rebuffs his attempts at conversation, seemingly entranced by the music, but allows him to sit, anyway. Soon they are startled by the presence of a striking middle-aged woman (‘Cameron’) who speaks to Johnny’s companion Mora in a strange tongue. Mora insists that she has never met the woman before, nor understands her, but makes a fearful dash from the club as Johnny follows her, eventually gaining her trust and an invitation the following day for breakfast.  

Mora lives in a garret atop the carousal pavilion at the boardwalk carnival where she works in one of the side show attractions as a “mermaid.” Arriving early for their arranged breakfast, her eager suitor strikes up a conversation with the man who runs the Merry-Go-Round with his granddaughter, Ellen (Luanna Anders). Their trepidation at the prospecting Johnny becoming intimately acquainted with their beautiful tenant is apparent to all except Johnny himself, who is even more oblivious to Ellen’s wholesome and less striking charms. Even her name evokes the flat earth, soul-crushing sensibilities of home and hearth. Ellen Sands is earthbound Virgo eclipsed by an ascendent Pisces. (Anders would have to subordinate her own sex appeal to play this mostly thankless “good girl” role.  She would be unrecognizable a few years later as a more brazenly erotic presence in Easy Rider, helping to define the Vietnam war counterculture era.)  

As Johnny ascends the narrow staircase leading to Mora’s sunlit, nautical-themed apartment, he almost collides with a punter making a visibly embarrassed retreat from the upper floor of the carousel pavilion.  Is Johnny unknowingly entering into a realm of vice and could Mora herself be a source of corruption? Her virtue is further called into question when she not so subtly asks Johnny if he has ever eaten sea urchin, comparing it to “pomegranate” lest her guest fails to register the innuendo that is as glaring as the raw kipper on his breakfast plate.  Johnny admits that he has never eaten the slippery delicacy but “would like to try.” Moments later, Mora’s hand in close-up is stroking the quivering neck of a seagull she has lured over with a freshly caught fish, sealing their carnal bond.  

Their subsequent courtship will be marred by an ongoing police investigation into the mysterious deaths of Mora’s former boyfriends, and her insistence that she is being pursued by a sea witch, seeking the errant mermaid’s return to her own dying tribe. Her mysterious stalker will make another unwelcome entrance after her first  appearance in the Blue Grotto—this time at an outdoor shindig where the free-spirited young woman reluctantly obliges the gathered locals who urge her to dance. The sight of ‘Cameron’ observing her in the distance causes the frenzied, seemingly spellbound dancer to collapse, setting off a chain of events that will force Johnny to further question her motives and his own sanity.  

Mora’s near death encounter through dance is an homage of sorts to another early Harrington collaborator and occult practitioner. Experimental filmmaker Maya Deren had authored several essays on the ecstatic religious elements of dance and possession, and later went on to document her experiences in Haiti taking part in ‘Voudon’ rituals that would be the basis of a book and a posthumously released documentary both titled Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. Note the Caribbean drummers whose ‘unnatural’ presence, in stark contrast to the more typical Malibu beach party celebrants, hint at the influence of black magic impelling the convulsive, near heart-stopping movements that eventually overtake her ‘exotic’ interpretive dance.    

The opening sequence of Divine Horsemen includes a woodblock mermaid figure superimposed over a ‘Voudon’ dancer. The significance of this particular motif was likely known to Harrington, a devotee of this early pioneer of experimental American cinema.  Deren herself appeared as a mermaid-like figure washed ashore in At Land (1947) who pursues a series of fragmented ‘selves’ across a wild, desolate coastline. Lawson with her untamed black hair and bare feet could be a body double of Deren’s elemental entity traversing unfamiliar physical terrain to find a way back to herself.

Mora’s insistence that she is being shadowed by a malevolent force directly connected to her mysterious birth on a Greek Island and curious upbringing as a sideshow attraction compel Johnny to investigate her paranoid claims, hoping to allay her fears with a logical explanation for them. The sea witch  (or now figment of his imagination) will guide the sleuthing sailor into a desolate, mostly Mexican neighborhood where her departing figure will strand him—right at the doorstep of the jovial former sea captain who employs Mora in his tent show as a captive, “living, breathing mermaid.”  

The British officer turned carnie barker is in a snoring stupor when Johnny first encounters him, snapping unconsciously into action to give a rote spiel on the wonders that await inside his tent. Muir balances Mudock’s feigned buffoonery with a slightly sinister edge. When Johnny arrives at his doorstep to find out more about the ongoing police investigation into her previous boyfriend’s deaths, the captain’s effusive hospitality takes on a decidedly darker tone when he guides his visitor to his liquor/curio cabinet where a severed hand in formaldehyde, “a little Arabian souvenir,” is cunningly placed where Johnny’s will see it. The spooky appendage serves as a reminder to Mora’s latest suitor of the punishments in store for a thief.

Captain Murdock’s Venice beach hacienda is yet another one of Night Tide’s deviant jolts: a fully fleshed out character in itself that speaks of its well-travelled tenant’s exotic and forbidden appetites. The dark, symbol-inscribed temple Johnny has entered at 777 Baabek Lane could be a brick-and-mortar portal into this mythic, mermaid-populated dimension that Johnny’s booze-soaked host thunderously defends as real.

Before falling into another involuntary slumber, Murdock will try to convince Johnny that while he and Mora merely stage a sideshow illusion, “Things happen in this world”—or, more to the point, Mora’s belief that she is a sea creature is grounded in fact.  

Murdock’s business card that Johnny handily has in his pocket while tailing his dramatically kohl-eyed mark is oddly inscribed with an address more likely to be an ancient Phoenician temple of human sacrifice (Baalbek) than a Venice Beach bungalow. A lingering camera close-up offers another tantalizing, occult-themed puzzle piece—or perhaps a deliberate Kabbalah inspired MacGuffin. The significance of numbers as the underlying components for uniting the nebulous and intangible contents of the mind with the more inert, gravity bound matter, existing outside it, as the ancient Hebrews believed, wouldn’t have been lost on Night Tide’s mystically-minded helmer.  Mora’s explicitly expressed disdain for Johnny’s view of the world as a rationally ordered, measurable entity that could be mathematically explained, reinforces Harrington’s world view, his love of Poe, and those French Symbolist artists who interpreted him.

In Odilon Redon’s Germination (1879), a wan, baleful, free-floating arabesque of heads of indeterminate gender suggests either a linear, ascending involution, or a terrifying descent from an unlit celestial void into a bottomless pit of an all-too-human, devolving identity. Redon’s disembodied heads gradually take on more human characteristics, culminating into a black-haloed portrait in profile. The cosmos of Redon’s etching is governed by an unexplained, inexplicable moral sentience, which absorbs the power of conventional light. Thus black is responsible for building its essential form, while glimmers of white, hovering above and below, prove ever elusive; registering as somehow elsewhere, beyond the otherwise tenebrous unity of the picture plane.

Night Tide has its own unsettling dimensions, of course, this black-and-white boardwalk where astral, egalitarian bums want to tip-toe; and, somehow, practically all of them do. Not a movie but an ever-becoming place, crammed into low-budget cosmogenesis unto eternity. We won’t discuss the ending here, since it hasn’t happened yet.

by The Lumière Sisters

[gretchensinister]

Little Souls and Careless Gods: An Exploration of Worldbuilding in Toy Story

Sid did nothing wrong.

Or, let me clarify. The things Sid did wrong were: taking his sister’s toys and modifying them without her permission. That’s it.

Hi, my name is gretchensinister and I have a lot of thoughts about the worldbuilding in Toy Story.

I should admit at this point that I haven’t seen Toy Story 4, only talked about it with someone who has, so if some of my questions are answered by that movie or if it torpedoes some of my speculations, that’s just—that’s just an imperfection of this essay.

I barely know where to begin, but, I started with Sid, so I’ll keep going with Sid. Sid is a kid. Sid is a jerk to his younger sister, but she’s freely yelling across the house tattling on him, so it doesn’t seem like she’s suffering irreparable damage from this. Other things Sid does: wins a squeaky toy for his dog in a claw machine game, blows up toys with fireworks, takes toys apart and joins them to other toys to make new toys. Burns a toy with a magnifying glass.

None of these things is an immoral action, for a person who, through all lived experience (until the toy attack) understands that toys are objects. It’s not bad to give your dog an object to chew on. It’s not bad (morally) to blow up an object with a firework. It’s not bad to take objects (that are yours) and make them into new, different objects. It’s not bad to burn an object with a magnifying glass. From the toys’ perspective, Sid is a sadistic mad scientist type, but from everything he could possibly know, his “torture” of Woody is messing around with an object! His object! That he got from a claw machine! The pretend torture as a choice of play is worth questioning, but it’s not so uncommon as a media trope that an average kid would never have seen anything like that in an action-adventure context. And it doesn’t predict how Sid will treat actual living beings!

(As an aside, I’m firmly of the belief that if you own an object, you should feel free to do whatever you want with it. Set it on fire, take it apart to see how it works, use it as raw materials in a craft project, etc. And yeah I would make exceptions to this rule for like, privately owned culturally significant art or scientifically significant artifacts…but if they’re that significant…they shouldn’t be privately owned.)

So yeah. Sid gets traumatized because he treats objects like objects, and the objects don’t like that. Because they’re actually alive and have now promised to constantly surveil him.

And let’s be clear: Andy doesn’t know toys are alive, either. He never does. He just has a different play style than Sid, and more of an interest in keeping his toys intact. Andy has no empathy with Woody and Buzz, because he is not aware that they are beings that he could empathize with.

All right. Beyond Sid, what I really want to talk about is the nature of a toy’s mind/soul in the Toy Story universe. I will call this the toy’s animus. Much like with the soul and mind of a human being, the animus raises several questions. How is the animus created? Where does the animus reside? Is the animus a tabula rasa, or does it possess innate knowledge? Where does this innate knowledge come from, if so? Is the animus mortal or immortal?

The Toy Story universe offers various pieces of evidence to answer these questions, and they are all extremely worrying if toys and humans are both morally significant beings, though humans do not know this about toys.

Is a toy mortal or immortal?

In the Toy Story movies it is clear that toys believe they can die. Sufficient destruction of the body would cause a toy’s death. Sid’s plan to blow up Buzz Lightyear with a firework threatens his life. In Toy Story 3, the toys in the trash incinerator clearly believe that burning/melting will kill them. But, short of catastrophic destruction of the body, toys are immortal. Jessie suffers, but does not die, from withdrawal of her owner’s love. Stinky Pete was never played with by a child, and he’s alive as any other toy. Additionally, human-mimicking toys are not killed even when damaged in ways that would kill a human, though this does affect their ability to communicate. In the tea party scene in Toy Story, the headless dolls wave when they are referred to. (This raises more questions—how does a headless doll experience the world? They can still hear, but how? Also, why doesn’t the headless teddy bear move? Perhaps they simply don’t want to get involved in whatever’s going on with Woody and Buzz.)

I think, according to what we see in the movies, the animus is divisible, and each part of the divided animus contains only a portion of the cognitive ability of the whole. Moreover, the animus is not centered in the head, but rather dispersed throughout the body. I would further argue that splitting the body/splitting the animus, is traumatic, even when reversible. Consider that Buzz’s mental breakdown coincides with the detachment of his arm.

What does this mean for Sid’s creations? Well, it would explain why they don’t talk. The baby-doll head with the spiderlike erector-set body (aside: is this a reference to The Thing (1982)?) really has no reason to be mute, if a toy simply must have a mouth to speak. Its form is unconventional, but, I would say, still “complete.” But if the head only carries an incomplete animus, and the erector set parts carry no animus of their own (an assumption which will be questioned later) then the whole toy would not have enough animus for verbal communication.

Janie the doll and the pterodactyl, with their switched heads, suffer significant disruption of their animi. Would their fractured animi eventually merge to form a new animus for each new body, with a different personality than Janie or pterodactyl? What part of the “Barbie” personality lingers in the animus of the toy crane with Barbie legs?

There is an exception to the concept of the fractured animus, however, and that is Mr. Potato Head. Mr. Potato Head exists in several parts to begin with, and mere separation does not fracture the animus. Curiously, though, some parts of Mr. Potato Head do not appear to contain any part of his animus, such as his plastic potato body. He retains all of his personality and ability to communicate when he has to put his features on a tortilla (?—don’t remember this part well) even though he is from an era of Mr. Potato Heads where his features are only meant to be put in the plastic potato body, not random foodstuffs. (Another question here: what would happen if an even amount of Mrs. Potato Head and Mr. Potato Head features were put on one plastic potato body? Do both animi retain coherence?) It is impossible not to wonder how far apart the features of Mr. Potato Head could be spread and the animus remain whole. At least as far apart as different buildings, as shown in Toy Story 3, but how much farther?

Creation of the animus and innate knowledge.

We are now about to embark on the specific topic that fills my thoughts now when I think about the Toy Story universe. I believe I will first fix myself a vodka cranberry (note: not just vodka and cranberry juice. To make it properly you must also add a splash each of orange juice and lime juice) and read a synopsis of Toy Story 4. Forky’s creation is a deep source of trouble here, and I must fortify myself to face it.

Where do I even begin? Okay. Bonnie, a kindergartner, creates Forky from items salvaged from the trash and names him. He comes to life after being named. According to the synopsis Forky then suffers an existential crisis because he believes he his trash and not a toy. So in this case, the animus appears to arrive after naming, and the animus is not a tabula rasa. The history of the materials appears to have some effect on the animus? (What this might mean for Rex or the plastic army men is especially concerning here.) It doesn’t make sense for Bonnie to think of Forky as trash, so this conviction has entered Forky’s animus from somewhere other than his creator. Also Bonnie has created sentient life without being aware of doing so, probably before being able to write a full sentence.

That’s troubling enough, because, to the eyes of adults or even older children, Forky is garbage. I project Forky’s lifespan of play to be that of months. And he won’t get passed onto other children. Depending on how Bonnie’s community disposes of trash, he may linger with an intact animus, at a landfill, for longer than Bonnie’s own life. It boggles the mind. (And invites hoarding in the empathetic.) However, despite all this, I would be cool with it if this was the only way toys became animate: being owned/named/played with by a child. That could be a complete worldbuilding conceit.

But that’s NOT how animi are generally formed in the Toy Story universe. Let’s back up to Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear has a personality and memories of his history as a space ranger right out of his box. And as we see in Toy Story 2, every Buzz Lightyear comes with that same initial personality. A commercial in Toy Story shows aisles upon aisles of Buzz Lightyears. Something has enabled the creation of thousands, if not millions, of identical animi. There is no direction this can go that isn’t kind of batshit.

Buzz Lightyear and the story that forms his memories were designed and created by adults. It was someone’s (and probably a team’s) job to design a toy that would be popular for a specific demographic, with (if I remember correctly) a cartoon that elaborates on the story and can basically serve as a long-running commercial for the toy. There were probably team meetings, and focus groups, and brand analysis to come up with the name “Buzz Lightyear.” And in such an endeavor, while I would like to imagine that there were some truly creative people involved who cared about the design and story, the people involved would not be the ones playing with the toys as toys want to be played with. And this is where every Buzz Lightyear animus comes from? But how? A manager or director approves the name and then…what? Is there a wellspring of animus that forms? Is it tied to the prototype? The factory workers in Taiwan don’t care about Buzz Lightyear the way Bonnie cares about Forky, and yet their actions in completing Buzz Lightyears call the animi to the plastic bodies. (And the animi are there, without a child’s touch. Stinky Pete was aware in his unopened box. Other toys opened a new Buzz Lightyear and got a living Buzz Lightyear.) And even leaving aside how the animi get into the Buzz Lightyears, the fact is that with millions of Buzz Lightyears out there, we have to conclude that the process that created his animus/animi is orders of magnitude more powerful than what Bonnie did to make Forky. Even assuming some personal care held by Buzz’s designers towards their design, it gets weird. The imaginations of adult toy designers are that much more powerful than a little girl creating and naming her own toy? NOT the way I would expect such a story-world to be set up, but the evidence is there.

And what if the designers of Buzz Lightyear weren’t particularly passionate? What if their boss just said “space is popular now, make me a space toy” and that’s the only reason why they did? That could very well be the case for a different type of toy in the series: the claw machine aliens. Those toys were not designed as a soulful passion project. I’m trying to write this to not be mean to designers who work in not-so-great places, but seriously. We have all seen generic toys in claw machine games before. They were not made to be immortally loved. (And yet! This is what the animus of a toy inherently desires!) Now, the claw machine aliens do seem to have much less backstory than Buzz Lightyear, and have personalities (or maybe just personality)/culture based on the nature of the claw machine. That makes sense, since they wouldn’t have been given a backstory with creation. The point is, though, that they still have animi. In the process of creating these cheap, cheap toys, by the dozens and hundreds and thousands, somehow their bodies were invested with full, identical animi. Adult, corporate creation somehow gives more life to toys than individual, child-led creation.

There are more questions to ask. If adults still have the power (and MASSIVELY MORE power) to invest toys with animi that they also possessed as children, then what can be invested with an animus? What are the limits of toy-ness in the Toy Story universe? Is it the name? I don’t think it’s the face, because there’s Woody merchandise in Toy Story 2 with Woody’s face on it that doesn’t talk. And I think that some faceless toys are shown to move independently/have an animus (possibly including things like LEGO—are the bricks a hivemind? Do the minifigs live inside sentient structures? Can they communicate with these structures? Also, if so, the erector set legs on Sid’s spider baby toy should have added to its total animus. But that’s not the corporate intent, so they’re still voiceless.). Christine (1983) could fit into this universe if the name is of primary importance (movie backstory for Christine, not book). But this would also mean that literally every boat and ship was sentient, but secretly so.*

If the name isn’t the important thing, is it the intent that the object be played with as a toy? In this case, that would mean that Bo Peep’s animus was not mass-produced, as she was originally part of a lamp if I remember correctly. Child-created animi would therefore be more common among non-toy objects than manufactured toys. I also want to bring The Brave Little Toaster (1987) up at this point. In this movie a group of appliances behave similarly to Toy Story toys in some ways, including being played with by their owner and then missing his attention to a high degree when he goes to college. However in this film all appliances and cars have animi, and I personally do not want my vacuum cleaner to feel any kind of way about me, or ever think I have played with it, because I hate vacuuming and would neglect it to death if feasible. (That being said…roombas in the Toy Story universe can hardly avoid being invested with animi, I imagine, no matter the details of the worldbuilding structure.) I bring this up, though, because Wikipedia notes that the original members of Pixar worked on The Brave Little Toaster. Toy Story was released in 1995 and was Pixar’s first feature length film. There is a connection, is what I am trying to say.

I think I have to go with: intent of the object to be a toy and/or being played with as a toy invests a toy with an animus. If it was the naming, then many, many public statues would be as alive as Woody and Buzz, and the people of Denver I’m sure have enough to worry about without Blucifer (Jiménez, 2008) galloping around. Bizarre to say that the least troubling option places mass production on a higher level of investing power than a child’s imagination. And I mean what I say about the mass produced animi being somehow more powerful than child-created animi.

Let’s go back to Sid’s creations. What is wrong with them? Why aren’t they able to communicate like Forky? Possibility 1: Sid just doesn’t have the creative power that Bonnie does. I don’t like this because, as I said at the beginning, Sid is not doing anything wrong by making these chimera toys. He’s treating objects as objects, and the difference between Sid’s chimera toys and Forky is that Forky’s component parts were not originally part of mass-produced toys. So, (from a worldbuilding/Watsonian perspective), I have to go with possibility 2, which goes like this: mass-produced toys are imbued with animi because they are toys. Sid’s chimera toys suffer from their animi being fractured when he alters them. But these fractured, mass-produced animi retain enough coherence and power that Sid, a child, cannot replace the fractured animus with whatever he imagines for his new creations. He’s an imaginative kid! But the corporate animus cannot be expelled. The factory animus is the underlying animus and cannot be removed once the toy is a toy. It can develop with memory and experience, but it will always be the toy making corporation that brought the spark of life, not the child that actually plays with the toy.

And this actually corresponds to Sid’s toys’ decision to rebel and help Woody and Buzz. Their animi are more loyal to the corporate intent that first created them. Sid made them into something new, presumably plays with them, and yet they are not Sid’s. They are meant to be read as broken and tortured (Sid has changed them from their factory-created wholeness), not as new beings. A factory-created, owned object, is meant to be held with the same level of care and maintenance of coherence as a living being in the Toy Story universe. What a child imagines about their own toys has less creative power than a distant designer who’s been told to come up with something appealing to put in a claw machine. Children only have animating power for their toys when they make them out of raw materials.

On the one hand, it’s tempting to say that of course the toys aren’t Sid’s, they’re their own people—isn’t that what having an animus means? But Woody, for example, find it very important that he’s Andy’s toy—a possession—“a child’s plaything.” Andy writes his name on him and this is very important to Woody, enough a part of his identity that when Andy’s name is painted over by the restorer in Toy Story 2 the scene reads as an erasure of something important to him, not as a restoration of his autonomy. Time and again we see that toys want to be owned by children.

This is another place where things get weird. First, I raise the question: What do toys need to keep animus and body together? Not much—only a certain baseline of bodily coherency. They don’t need to take in anything from their environment. More interesting, though, is that they don’t need anything from the children they bond to. Shelved, boxed, and forgotten toys suffer, but they don’t die from these states. No toy will ever find a toy’s corpse the way a human could find a human corpse—whole in every way except for the absence of the animating spirit.

So: toys as entities need little. The next question is then, what do toys want? Toys want to be owned and played with by a child (I say child and not children, because the communal state of the daycare in Toy Story 3 is clearly not desirable to the toys). Woody relishes his place as favorite and most played with toy at the beginning of Toy Story. In Toy Story 2 Jessie grieves when her child outgrows her. Stinky Pete was ignored by children for years, causing him to develop the abnormal belief that it would be better for the Woody’s Roundup toys to be preserved in a museum.

(At this point, I spot another thread to follow. It seems that for a toy, the most important relationship in their existence is meant to be toy + owner. In Toy Story Woody is very invested in making Buzz understand that Buzz is a toy and not a space ranger—Buzz is supposed to stay with Andy. In Toy Story 2 the consequences of not being owned by a child are grief and violence. But at the end Woody tells Buzz he’s not worried about Andy outgrowing him, since they’ll always have each other. Now, Toy Story 3 builds up Buzz/Jessie and in Toy Story 4 Bo Peep returns and Woody leaves Buzz and the other group of Andy’s toys for a life with her, but Woody also leaves the toy + owner life to be with Bo. Toys aren’t made to have an independent existence, yet this is how they end up, also acting as matchmakers to help lost toys find new owners and enter into new toy + owner relationships? THERE IS A WHOLE OTHER ESSAY HERE.)

To stay within just one rabbit hole here, however, I must focus on this: Toys want to be owned and played with by a child. They bond with child owners who do not deliberately alter their bodies (I add this because again, Sid’s toys do not appear to be bonded with him). But within this framework, there must be essential pain within a toy’s existence. Toys are immortal unless destroyed. Toys will experience actual play with a child for, let’s say, ten years, maximum, and that’s if the toy is given to the child when the child is very young and the toy is more classic/versatile than most. That’s way shorter than the best human friendships and familial relationships, and at least human beings can often reasonably hope to have lifespans that are of comparable lengths. Oh yeah, and among human beings people are usually AWARE of the relationship that’s taking place. So toys want to form deep bonds with their children and want to have these relationships last. But the relationships can’t last. I’ll gladly state that play, in some form, is necessary for humans to thrive throughout their lives, but the kind of play that the toys in Toy Story find ideal is a childhood phase of play that that most people naturally outgrow. And even if a human did engage in play ideal for toys throughout their entire life, toys are immortal unless destroyed. All toys will lose their owners, and usually after a pretty short handful of years.

The aftermath of the owner + toy relationship is always painful for the toy. What are the options? To remain owned, but not played with: perhaps the “best” option, but it still leaves the toy with only a memory of a full life. Is a shelf life really a life? This is what was facing Woody, I believe, if Andy had taken him with him to college. Another option: to be outgrown and forgotten. This is what happens to Jessie, and it is a deeply, deeply painful experience for her. She develops claustrophobia from being stored in a box. To be donated or sold at a garage sale: also a source of trauma and panic for the toys, but still better than the worst fate, to be thrown out. But toys that have been separated from their previous owners are so often grieving and/or bitter in the Toy Story series.

This is troubling, to say the least, but it also loops back to questions about the animus and memory. Toys are not tabula rasa. Buzz has a strong personality and memory set from his unboxing. Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head do not need to court each other. Tour Guide Barbie will act as a tour guide in the absence of children. But with time, and accumulation of true memories as a toy, the toys will develop their own personalities, even if the animus starting point can often remain a strong influence. In Toy Story 3, however, we learn that certain toys, such as Buzz Lightyear, can be returned to the original animus state through a factory reset. I hardly know what to do with this. It wasn’t a permanent reset; Buzz’s memories and the personality he’s developed do come back. (But now he also has access to a “Spanish mode” that is…sexier (can such a word apply?) to Jessie than his English mode. Also other toys can put him into his mode against his will. There are so many worms in this can. Sexualization of Latinx people, can a toy expect bodily autonomy from other toys, etc.?) But not every toy has a reset button. Woody doesn’t. Slinky Dog, Rex, Mr. Potato Head, etc. don’t. Does the threat of a reset only affect toys with bodily components that could be considered brain analogues, i.e., microchips? But the animus is not the “brain” and neither does the “brain” store memories/personality. I really, really don’t know what to do with this, except it seems once again to assert the ultimate strength of the adult/corporate-created animus.

The point is, toys can lose their memories, but when we see that in the movies, it leads the toy to go back to their earliest state.

Now: a mystery. In Toy Story, Woody has developed enough memory and personality that he is well aware of being a toy and is involved with the life of Andy’s room in ways that neither his sheriff role or Andy’s imagination reasonably encompasses. (Consider the “Plastic Corrosion Awareness Meeting.”) All right. This would be of no concern if Woody was a generic wild west doll, but he’s not. He was made to represent a character on the Woody’s Roundup TV show in the 1950s. He would have had an animus strongly imprinted with that backstory just like Buzz Lightyear had his strongly imprinted space ranger backstory. Well, then maybe this means that Woody just never lost his memory. That would be the best explanation. That’s why he has a personality mostly free from this imprinted backstory, having been Andy’s favorite toy for some time. But Woody has lost his memory. In Toy Story 2, Woody learns (learns!) that he’s a representation of a TV character. He meets Jessie and Bullseye and Stinky Pete without knowing who they are at all. Woody has somehow completely forgotten his origins. He experienced memory loss that brought him farther away from his animus starting point.

Okay, so there are multiple kinds of amnesia for toys; I was wrong in my earlier assertion that memory loss tends to the origin animus. But I want to keep poking at Woody’s memory issues because of something else that Woody’s timeline leads me to conclude: Andy is not Woody’s first owner, OR Woody was boxed up and forgotten for DECADES before Andy. Actually, he’s probably spent a significant amount of time in storage or on a shelf regardless of whether Andy is his first owner or not.

Toy Story was released in 1995. If the story is set in the present, then Andy is very close to my age. Now, Woody is “an old family toy” according to Toy Story 2, and Al, as a toy collector, was so thrilled and astonished to find a Woody at a garage sale that he stole him when he learned he wasn’t actually for sale. This leads me to the conclusion that Woody toys aren’t in continuous production. Woody was probably only manufactured during the height of Woody’s Roundup’s popularity, in the 1950s. So there’s two options for Woody’s ownership history. I’m also going to presume in both cases that Andy’s father was the parent that previously owned him, though there’s no reason why his mother couldn’t have been the owner.

So, option one: the young parents/young grandparents option. If Andy’s grandparents had his father when they were about twenty, and then Andy’s parents had Andy when they were about twenty, then Andy’s grandfather could have gotten Woody at ideal playing age and then later passed him down to Andy’s father and then Andy’s father would have passed him to Andy. I don’t think this is the case, though, because Woody still has his incredibly rare hat and a functional voice box. If Woody had been played with by a child at ideal playing age at the height of the popularity of his character’s show, I think it’s likely that he would have gotten played with so much (and taken to places so much) that he would have lost his hat and his voice box would have worn out. Woody didn’t start off life as a collectible, and play causes wear and tear on toys. And if Woody was originally the grandfather’s toy, then he would have gone through another round of play with Andy’s father. Woody’s condition is too good for that. Unless, that is, Andy’s whole family is made up of people who are unusually careful with their toys? That’s sort of an intriguing idea, since it means that Sid’s actions look even more horrifying by contrast, and generations of “ideal owners” for Woody obscure the bizarre nature of the life of a thinking, feeling toy. However, the Toy Story universe keeps raising questions in Toy Story 2-4 about what it means to be a toy, so there doesn’t seem to be a motivation in the series for such obscuring. This is despite the fact that Woody’s amnesia does obscure some things about the nature of a toy’s life, at least in the original Toy Story. (I know the Doylist perspective answers all this easily—this isn’t what the audience is meant to think about, Woody’s backstory as a toy from a 1950s TV show isn’t important in Toy Story, and in fact this backstory didn’t exist until Toy Story 2 was created.)

Regardless, I don’t think the young parents/young grandparents option is the right one. Instead, I choose option 2: the slightly older parents option. Woody’s Roundup is a TV show from the 1950s. It was popular enough to lead to a lot of merchandise, not just the dolls of the main characters. Brief research shows that in the 1950s television Westerns were incredibly popular, and there were Westerns made for kids and Westerns made for adults. The question I’m trying to get at here is trying to figure out how Andy’s grandparents would have known about a kid’s Western show. But, it’s really not that difficult. In this timeline I’m building now, Andy’s father would have been born in the 1950s, making him in his early-mid thirties when he became Andy’s father. Given this timeline, it’s overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s father has siblings, including older siblings, that might already watch Woody’s Roundup. Or, even if Andy’s father was the oldest child, it’s also overwhelmingly likely that Andy’s grandparents’ friends had plenty of kids of their own and probably talked among themselves about what kids liked. The significant thing in this timeline is that Woody would have been given to Andy’s father when Andy’s father was very young. Perhaps too young for a Woody doll, but perhaps also with the assumption that Andy’s father would grow into the doll. So Woody is unboxed and waits on a shelf for a couple years while Andy’s father grows a little. My theory is that Woody’s Roundup was no longer on television by the time Andy’s father was at the right age to start playing with a doll of Woody’s type. This would have two consequences. One: Andy’s father would have been unguided by the TV show in regard of how to play with Woody, meaning that Woody would have formed many memories unrelated to his original animus in this early stage of his life. Two: even though Woody was played with, he never was Andy’s father’s favorite toy, which is why he was able to be passed down to Andy in good condition (and still with his hat).

In this option 2, which I feel is more likely, Woody has probably spent at least 25 years on a shelf or in storage. So why is this important? I think it’s important because Woody doesn’t act like he’s been through the decades-in-storage experience, or the experience of having an owner outgrow him. He sympathizes with Jessie after learning her story, but he says nothing about having experienced anything like it himself. And as far as the movies are concerned, his worries about Andy outgrowing him are new worries. But they can’t be new! He’s already been outgrown at least once before! I mean, with Andy he’s a favorite toy, so that’s a unique owner + toy relationship status that he (probably) didn’t have before. Maybe that amplifies what he’s going through this time?

But there’s another aspect to Woody’s experiences that I want to touch on. All the other toys he would have known as Andy’s father’s toy are gone. There are no other “heirloom” toys in Andy’s room, or at least there is no evidence of this. All of Andy’s other toys seem to have been purchased just for Andy, and purchased new. There is no reference to garage sale trauma, previous owners, or anything like that. And as we’ve seen from other toys throughout the series, toys remember that kind of thing! But Woody doesn’t. His animus is one that shows years of experience building over his character backstory, but he never acts like he’s experienced being outgrown or losing all his toy friends.

Or at least he never says anything about such experiences.

I think it makes sense to read Woody’s amnesia as genuine. But I also think it would be reasonable to read his character as one that has undergone traumatic experiences and has responded by burying them so deep within his mind that he has no conscious access to them, even though they influence his current personality and life. (It’s impossible to know, but do toys in every household respond to birthdays and Christmas with such intense monitoring—with the desire for even the slightest early warning of replacement? Woody is the one who worries most about these celebrations, extremely anxious of his own status as favorite toy.) That the ending of Toy Story 4 removes him from the cycle of ownership and outgrowing can’t be ignored. Better to not have an owner than to experience losing an owner again, and again, and again?

But I do think there is one other possibility: Andy’s ownership of Woody caused him to lose all his memories of Andy’s father. A child may not be able to give a manufactured toy a new animus, but by possessing a toy in a play relationship (as opposed to a collector relationship) a child may be able to overwrite any memories of the toy’s previous owner. The process doesn’t happen instantaneously, as Andy’s toys don’t immediately forget him upon being transferred to Bonnie, but it would certainly explain why Woody makes no reference ever to a previous owner, even though he was most likely manufactured at least 35 years before coming into Andy’s possession. However, Jessie’s story argues against this. While she is happy among Andy’s toys, there’s nothing to show that she is forgetting her own past.

The possibility of a new child owner driving out all thoughts of the previous one is interesting, as it puts some degree of power over the toy’s animus back with the child. However, in the Toy Story universe, it’s clear that if this is the case, it’s not an instantaneous process. And if it’s not an instantaneous process, then it becomes overly complex. What memories would be driven out? For toys less adventurous than the main characters of the Toy Story movies, their whole lives are centered on their owners. They live in their child’s room/house. Anything that took place there would have to be forgotten to not bring up thoughts of the previous owner, including conversations with other toys that were friends of that first toy. At this point we approach a state of complete memory loss before the claim by a new owner. A gradual process would at least allow continuity of personality, since new memories under the new owner would be continually being made. But then, some new memories would have to fade, also. For wouldn’t a toy talk about their past while they could still remember it? And wouldn’t their new friends maybe bring up their past in conversation sometimes? They might even talk about the process of forgetting. That process would be noticed and known among toys. No, after thinking about it, I would say that there is no inherent forgetting process. Memories will mostly tend to stay, with whatever pain and joy they bring. And there will never be any transition process that is easy for the toy.

Woody’s amnesia remains his own, and remains his best defense against the trauma of being outgrown and shelved or stored for many years.

Toys have a strange and painful lot in life, semi-immortals being made to be silent companions to the briefest stage of a mortal lifespan. They live because they are made for children, but for most, in this world of mass production, children do not create them. Their animi are the spawn of creators who have no intent to create thinking, feeling beings. Escaping the stamp of such thoughtless creation means living long enough to know the deepest loss a toy can experience. Sometimes the only way to move forward from such loss is to forget. And yet, there is little will for most toys to move beyond this cycle. Toys overwhelmingly retain their roles as objects. I’d like to say that maybe this means that play is worth it, that temporary joy is worth it. But maybe it’s just the nature of being a toy. After all, if there’s any intent in their creation, there was the intent that they should be objects.

*I would never leave a dangling asterisk. My previous point was about ships and boats, but, if seagoing vehicles live because they are named, then there’s no reason why land vehicles would not do the same. It might be possible to argue that the Cars universe came about after some cataclysm wiped out humans and left only named vehicles behind.

Other avenues of investigation that were beyond the scope of this essay:

1) The situation between the Diamonds and every other gem in Steven Universe is highly analogous to the situation between humans and toys in the Toy Story universe, save for the crucial difference that the Diamonds have no excuse to not know that the other gems are complete feeling, thinking beings and to treat them as such. It was actually parallels I saw between Spinel + Pink Diamond and Jessie + her owner that got me thinking about aspects of the Toy Story universe in ways that I know are meant to be ignored. Also Pink Diamond bringing all those little pebble people to life just by crying on them. That’s a lot of responsibility coming from a solitary expression of emotion!

2) I’d be curious to know if a hugely popular series based on the agency of objects has had an effect on fan culture at all. Or it might at least be a way to examine actions taken on behalf of characters. Fictional characters, after all, don’t feel any kind of way about the situations and relationships people envision them in. They’re mental objects like toys are physical objects. In the real world is anyone going to argue that putting the faces of dolls or action figures together and making kissing noises is something to worry about? Is anything about putting a naked Barbie on top of a naked Ken a harmful act? In the real world I would say no. Also, with full awareness that this is a can of worms, what is the impact of such things in the Toy Story universe? Obviously this wouldn’t be addressed in any canon. But the Toy Story universe is supposed to be like reality with one big secret so there are kids that are definitely using their toys to play out love stories and stories including a vague understanding of sex. And another aspect to all this…if you’ve seen Booksmart, consider one of the characters’ uses of her childhood stuffed animal. I understand that this is not uncommon.

All right. I think I’m done now. And that I will probably go get another drink.

(I had a few baby dolls as a child that included their own toys as accessories. H—how would THAT work?)

[cursedchilddrarry]

An argument for Drarry

I felt that the Cursed Child plot was basically screaming Drarry all the way through. Taking into account my previous argument on why Harry and Ginny are heading for divorce, I headcanon that Harry and Draco are heading for a much closer relationship.

(The Melbourne actors both being hot af also helps) - and honestly, what straight men dress like this:

One of the most compelling arcs of the Cursed Child is the enemies to friends storyline of Draco and Harry. It practically feels like a fanfic. Having seen a few different interpretations of Cursed Child Draco now, I’ll definitely add that the chemistry of the actors can have a big impact on that, but that fact aside, how can the following things not be interpreted as shippy:

Draco starts calling him ‘Harry’ instead of ‘Potter’ (Harry also switches to ‘Draco’)

After dispersing the first ministry meeting with literal schoolboy-style teasing about Harry’s scar hurting, at the second one he joins Harry and the others on the podium together in solidarity

Instead of cowering to Harry like Minerva does, Draco goes straight to Harry, barges in and asks him why he would separate their sons when they are the best of friends (ie he doesn’t take any of Harry’s shit - he sees right through it) - note he is the ONLY ONE who is able to change Harry’s mind on this, and both Ginny and Minerva tried their hardest

Draco shares extremely personal information with Harry fairly easily - eg about how Astoria was unwell and it was a risk to try to conceive, and how he tried to protect his family from the eyes of the public, which all seems to be information he hasn’t shared with anyone else

They seem to keep falling into deep and meaningful conversations by accident. Harry asks him what he wanted to do as a career, Draco says Quidditch, but he wasn’t good enough

(The fact that Draco admits something like that so easily just shows how much development he’s gone through - he’s reined in his pride and he has a calm, practical maturity about him (while Harry is the opposite))

Draco admits he was always jealous of Harry’s strong friendships at school

Draco is the ONLY PERSON throughout this whole Harry-trauma fest to actually straight out ask him ‘are you okay’?

Draco joins the golden trio on this adventure, fighting alongside them (happily, even making jokes throughout)

He stands beside Harry as they watch his parents’ murders

Getting more into my interpretation here, but Draco handles Harry 300% better than everyone else. With Minerva, Harry starts shouting and threatening her, and she backs down and reluctantly does what he says; with Ginny, Harry is constantly anxious and she either tells him to get over it or escalates it, doing nothing for his state of mind; with Hermione, she tries to get him to do his job properly through both ordering him (as his boss) and attempting to gently manipulate him - neither work; but with Draco, they have a ridiculous duel that neither of them takes seriously, which clearly helps Harry blow off steam, and after that Harry’s one-to-one interactions with Draco are calm, meaningful, markedly non-shouty compared to with most other characters, and go into deep topics without anyone getting upset. Draco knows how to get to the bottom of Harry’s various layers, when to respond by making a joke, or teasing him to dispel his pride, or to to disarm him with honesty, and Harry doesn’t seem to need to pretend as much in front of Draco - Draco already gets it

In fact, the marked change in Harry’s demeanour when Draco is around strongly feels like Harry is just so struck by him.

In conclusion, Draco knows how to handle Harry in a way that no one else does.

(By the way, this is not to diminish Draco’s relationship with Astoria, which I think was genuinely loving and probably 95% of the reason why Draco has all this maturity and development)

My headcanon is that after the events of the Cursed Child, Harry and Draco stay in regular contact. Draco seems to have been added to the dream team now, both because his son is best friends with/dating Albus and also because he fought alongside them all and witnessed something extremely personal - there’s no question of whether he would be invited to the various Weasley events, eg birthdays, Christmas, big family dinners during holidays and smaller dinners during term. I think he would go and I think he would enjoy them, and not just for Scorpius’ benefit. 

I think he would spot the issues between Harry and Ginny before anyone else does, including Harry and Ginny themselves. And I think, when they separate, he would be a good friend to Harry, help him manage his emotions as he always does, and wouldn’t make any moves to be anything more until Harry was ready.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.19}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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Snape held up his own glass while quirking an eyebrow at her, then summoned the first bottle from one of the shelves. "We shall start easy. This is an ordinary dry wine."

Robin held out her glass for him to fill, then waited while he did the same with his. "Cheers then." She gave him a smile, clinking her glass to his before moving to take a sip. The taste was entirely different than what she had imagined, but very pleasant nonetheless. Fruity in a way, but not sweet, not at all like juice… but it didn't burn either. She took another sip, both because she quite enjoyed the taste and to differentiate between the many combined flavors.

"How do you like it?" He inquired after another moment, having finished his drink as well. There really hadn't been much in the glasses in the first place, but they were only testing things after all. For now.

"It tastes like classical literature, with a touch of night and the smell of rain." She smiled down at her empty glass, then up at Snape again. "I like it. A lot, actually."

"You certainly have a peculiar taste. I'm curious to see how this continues. A sweet wine next, perhaps?" Now it was him who didn't wait for an answer, and went to pour them the next sample. The smell of this wine was different from the previous one already, and when Robin took a sip, she pulled a face immediately.

"This just tastes like grape juice with a dash of headache." She mused down at her glass, contemplating if she even wanted to finish the rest of it. It wasn't horrible, alright, but just by far not as good as the previous one. With a small sigh, she gulped down the rest of it as well, then shuddered a little. Right… small sips.

Snape just snorted at her move, and finished his drink as well. "I have to admit, this isn't my choice of liquor either."

"Why do you own it then, if you don't like it?"

"It was a gift from Dumbledore. Or rather a bribe, considering that he expected me to do him a favour in return."

"Uuh, what did he want you to do?" Robin's eyes lit up in curiosity, and her grin spread over her entire face while Snape went to pour an amber liquid into their glasses next, after cleaning them out with a spell; probably the same they used for the cauldrons.

"You would like to know that, wouldn't you?" He asked in amusement, and Robin tried to glare at him but couldn't convey the hostility at all, especially not when she finally couldn't help laughing a few seconds later.

"You really are insufferable! And yes, I would like to know… I'm just not sure if begging or playing uninterested will do the trick for you."

"Neither, likely, but I will spare you the efforts of finding out for sure. He wanted me to deliver a letter to someone in Hogsmeade one night, without asking questions. I didn't ask, but I didn't forget either."

"Sounds reasonable. Especially with Dumbledore."

"It was a long time ago. Now, try the next one and tell me what it tastes like."

"Fine…" Robin sighed and took a careful sip of the amber liquid, then frowned to herself while she thought. After having another sip and effectively emptying the glass, she decided that she liked it, in a way. "It tastes very sweet… like honey and a little like caramel. But it's got something wine-like to it too. The sweet one, not the dry one."

"Close. It's mead, which is a type of honey wine."

"Close indeed!" She grinned, and slowly started to notice how her head grew a bit fuzzy. Like someone was slowly starting to put cotton in between all her nerves, which made it both easier and more difficult to think at once. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but she was still somewhat weary of it. "I like it, but not as an all-evening kind of thing. More like… a snack in between."

"You really do have a peculiar taste."

"Why?"

"Most women I have encountered prefer the sweeter types."

"I've never been one for overly sweet." She shrugged, toning her own grin down to an amused smile. "Gets dull way too quickly."

"I have to agree, I'm not too fond of it either." He replied easily, then summoned the next bottle with the tiniest smirk. "It seems we have a similar taste then. How fortunate for you."

"Indeed, it's fortunate for you. Now you get to share all those lovely drinks with me instead of downing them alone."

"I definitely should have thought better of that beforehand." He sighed dramatically, pouring another amber liquid that had a clearer colour however. "Now I have doomed myself into sharing my alcohol with you for the times to come."

"As if that wasn't the intention behind this entire experiment in the first place…" Robin raised an eyebrow at him with a knowing smirk, then took a tiny sip of the golden liquid in her glass. It tasted almost like the firewhisky! But… earthier in a way, with less of a hot fiery burn and more of a tickling sharpness. "I like this one a lot. It's like the firewhisky, but with more nature in it. What is it?"

"Scotch."

"Ah, so that's why it's so similar!" Her eyes lit up, and her smile did too. "A magical whisky and a muggle whisky. Interesting comparison."

"I thought you should have an object of direct reference, at least."

"I certainly do now. It's different, but also very similar, and I appreciate that."

"I'm afraid that was the last sample I could provide for now." He said, then leaned back with a curious expression. "How would you evaluate the experiment?"

"Well, I really liked the Scotch and the dry wine. The mead was good but not for now, and the sweet wine… oh well." She thought, frowning to herself a little, which seemed to amuse Snape for some reason. "But I think for tonight I will stick with the firewhisky. Not that I should have much more in the first place, my head is already swimming as it is, and I'm feeling way too warm."

"You keep surprising me… But we have an agreement, so firewhisky it is. A good choice, actually." He said, then got up from the sofa and returned the other bottles to their places on the shelves. When he sat back down, he handed Robin a small vial filled with a dark purple liquid, then opened on for himself as well. "Drink this. It should keep your head from swimming as well as prevent some of the other… less favourable effects of the alcohol."

Robin did as he said, uncorking the vial carefully before gulping it down with a grimace. Disgusting stuff… it tasted bitter and rotten and all kinds of unpleasant. Snape however drank his without even pulling a face. As she put the stopper back into the fragile glass, she could already feel the fog in her head decreasing to a pleasant but still noticeable haze, and when she handed the vial back to him she couldn't help but frown at whatever he had just given her. She'd never heard of a potion like this… there were similar ones, mainly antidotes and neutralizers for toxins, but then again, alcohol was a toxin in a way, wasn't it? For a moment she pondered over various possibilities to alter different antidotes to have this effect on her, but she couldn't determine the exact components of the purple potion she had been given.

"Watching you think is quite entertaining, you know…" Snape finally remarked and thereby brought Robin's attention back to the outside world. "But hearing your thoughts is still by far preferable."

"Sorry." She chuckled softly, brushing the strand of hair she had been twisting around her finger back behind her ear. "I was just thinking that I've never heard of a potion that prevents intoxication, or slows it down at least. Which is ironic, really, considering how useful of a remedy that is!"

"Well, most people drink to get drunk, which obviously eradicates the necessity for a potion like this. I came up with it years ago, when I still frequented a different kind of company that made it necessary to keep a clear head at all times."

"You invented this?!" Robin's eyebrows rose up high in an instant, and a ridiculously large wave of admiration crashed over her in accordance. She decided to forego any inquiry about the company he had mentioned, for she had a decent idea of it already and no wish to let any sadness come up tonight. So she made no efforts to dim down her awe at his talent for once, and allowed herself to simply marvel. "That's incredible! Honestly, if it's not a common thing in existence as of yet, then I can't imagine it to have been easy to come up with in the first place! And it does work quite perfectly. Wow…"

"Will you stop gushing now…" He grumbled in obvious discomfort at the amount of positive attention and admiration he was receiving, and made an attempt to keep his eyes everywhere but on Robin after he'd put the vials down on a side table. "It's just a potion, not a deathcure."

"It's an extremely useful potion! And I'm absolutely certain that you could come up with a deathcure too, if only you wanted to."

"Nonsense. I invent things to solve the problems at hand, not because of some noble cause."

"I have seen only very few of your inventions and creations… I wish you would show me more. Will you, at some point?"

"I doubt that you would like them much. The potions I come up with serve rudimentary purposes, and the spells are more often curses or healing charms than anything of the impressive kind you have created." He huffed, still avoiding her eyes by staring into the flames in the fireplace with a scowl. Robin couldn't understand how he saw so very little of what she saw in him. How he refused to believe any sincere words of admiration. She would make him believe it, if he wanted to or not.

"Look at me. Please…" She tried, calmly, requesting it more than demanding him to.

No reaction, he remained sitting sideways on the sofa with one leg tucked beneath him, facing Robin in the same way as before, but his eyes were glued to the flames. Orange sparks dancing in pools of black.

"Look at me, Severus!" Robin's tone was more insistent this time, but again it was the use of his name that finally drew his eyes back to hers. She gave him a soft smile, and the utmost sincerity possible to convey with a gaze at times like this. "Everything I have seen of what you have created was bloody amazing. There isn't a single person in the world whose work I admire more. Who I admire more in general. I think your talent is incredible, as are your inventions, and it's a tragedy that you don't let people see that more often. And since I don't lie, you know you have to believe me… You know that I mean every word of it."

He didn't reply, but his eyes stayed on hers for a calm moment of drawn out breaths and the quiet sound of music, until finally he shifted in his spot on the sofa to move closer to her. Not much, only so that his knee was touching hers, only so that he could reach out to her without leaning forward. And he did, he lifted his hand to her face in a painful slowness, in careful reluctance, and when the back of his fingers ghosted over her cheekbone so very lightly, Robin couldn't stop the faintest gasp from escaping her lips as they parted on their own account. Her heart stood still as did time and thought, but when it were his eyes that flickered down to her lips for less than a broken second now, all stillness broke down into an untamed frenzy of eclectic emotions, and she remembered how to breathe when her heartbeat burst back into action. But it was mere two seconds later when his hand dropped again, and the corners of his lips lifted in the tiniest smile.

"You had ink on your skin; three black speckles on your cheek and two just above your lips. I thought you might want them gone." He finally commented, almost too quickly, too easily to be quite as nonchalant as he made it seem, but Robin was too concerned with her own emotions to try to analyze his as well right then. Bloody hell… he should not be allowed to do this to her, not when she so desperately wanted him to do more. But at least the moment had yet again been too brief for her to make a fool out of herself; that perhaps was the best outcome of it, even if her heart wanted to object. Gods, she loved every second of his touch, no matter the reason, no matter the outcome.

"Oh." Was the most eloquent reply she could muster up the will to give, and as much as she wanted to refrain from showing any reaction, her eyes dropped down to the empty glass in her hands nonetheless. Ridiculous, really… what had she been expecting?!

"I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention."

"No!" Her eyes snapped back up to meet his gaze in an instant, and she couldn't help laughing at the irony of that situation. "You really didn't, don't worry. I don't think you could do anything at all that would make me uncomfortable, actually."

"In that case, you are welcome."

"Thanks." She chuckled, and her heart rate thankfully settled back for the normal drumming. Honestly, she couldn't care less about ink stains on her face and she was rather sure that he wasn't the type to be bothered by it either, but she decided to let the issue go for now. Pondering over it would only leave her hoping for something she had no right to hope for.

"Now, where were we…" He mused, then picked up the bottle of firewhisky and raised an eyebrow in question. Upon Robin's nod, he poured them a proper glass each, then set the bottle back down and finally clinked his glass to hers now. "Cheers. To the drink I no longer owe you."

"Cheers." She chuckled again, observing him while he took a sip at first, then she went to taste the already familiar burn as well. In an odd way, it smoothed out the raging fire in her heart, and at the same time it stoked it to no end. Great.

"Would you actually want to know more about the spells and potions I invented?" He asked after a short moment, leaning into the backrest with his right side so that he stayed facing Robin.

"Yes! Absolutely!" Again, her eyes lit up in honest curiosity at the prospect and she radiated an excitement that had him rolling his eyes with a stifled smile.

"It started early on in my time as a student here, actually. I believe I was in my second year and already rather familiar with a large number of curses unfortunately, when it dawned on me how they are composed in their very core. Reading used to be my preferred pastime even back then, and soon enough I had learned enough about spell creation to start my own attempts." The smile on his lips broadened ever so slightly, wavered for a moment, but then stayed. "The first few went horribly wrong, that is safe to say. It took me a while to find a path between chaos and control that was the right degree of both to function as one. From there on I created all kinds of spells, some more successful than others. Mostly curses and hexes though, for a while at least."

His words reminded Robin of the story about why he had started wearing all black, and she didn't want him to go down into that darkness of mind again. Not tonight. "Curses are also just spells that one has to handle with a bit more responsibility." She shrugged with a smile. "They're often more useful than most charms."

"Indeed." His smile turned into a smirk instead of fading, and Robin felt immensely pleased with herself as he went on. "When I was in my sixth year, I rewrote the entire potions textbook and experimented more in that field as well. The vast majority of my time as a student went into it, and some of the spells and potions I created back then I still use today."

"That's amazing." Robin smiled at him warmly, then however had to snicker at a stray thought. "I'm honestly not surprised though. That you would be smarter than the books given to you, I mean, and probably the only capable person around. It's ironic."

"Why?"

"Because you must've felt like I do all too often these days. Especially when I am slowly becoming a somewhat qualified professional, while the dunderheads around me try to use enlargement charms on their private parts."

Snape's eyebrows rose in an instant at her words, and he almost spluttered out his sip of whisky, which made Robin laugh in return. Probably because she had shown pretty much the same reaction when Jorien and Gideon had talked about it earlier that day.

"Please tell me you weren't a direct witness of this instance." He sighed dramatically, a tease more than anything, and now it was for Robin to almost spit out the sip she had just taken.

"God no! Obviously not!!!" She protested after the burning in her throat allowed her to, while the burning in her cheeks prevailed. But she still had to laugh at his expression no matter the topic. "It's just the prime gossip among the sixth years currently. Supposedly happened yesterday evening, Friday I mean, in that dark fifth floor hallway. You know, the one with the-..."

"I know. It was already a hotspot for hormonal idiots during my student days. You might have noticed how to this day we always have avoided that particular hallway during patrols… That is why."

Robin let out a snort; everyone had heard of that fifth floor hallway before, it wasn't much of a secret, but much of a myth. Then she continued with the story. "Well, rumour has it that Friday night a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor were caught trying to undo a failed 'engorgio' that obviously was causing immense pain for the guy who had tried to… well, use the spell for things it wasn't made for. The guy supposedly was sent to the hospital wing, and the girl landed straight in detention. I'll spare you the details I unfortunately had to hear during dinner… Jorien and Gideon made a show out of discussing it quite thoroughly."

"If that rumour should be true –which I do not even doubt at this point, knowing how idiotic the majority of students is– I sincerely pity you for having to be associated with such imbeciles."

"Thanks…" She huffed in amusement, and took another sip of her whisky. "They're a year below me, but what difference does it really make? I mean, even people in my year are so far away from me at this point that I feel out of place everywhere but with you."

"You might be the very first person to ever feel that way about my company. But I understand what you mean, I… feel the same about you, actually."

"I take that as a compliment." Robin grinned, and a wave of tingles ran down her back and arms, which she tried to cover up by speaking on. "Especially since your peers are quite alright on average, competent in some subject at least and usually with a certain level of sophistication, if one doesn't count Morgan in. Mine however consider a sloppy shag in a dark hallway the most romantic thing ever and don't know how to use second year charms appropriately."

Snape made a sound between a scoff and a snort, but couldn't help the smirk that tugged on his lips a second later. "If you say it like that, I am almost tempted to think better of my colleagues than I would want to."

"And I'm tempted to think worse of my peers than I should. Everyone is entitled to their own taste and choices of how they want to do things."

"That doesn't mean we can't judge them for it."

Robin's lips curled up into a smirk as well, and she finished her whisky with one more sip before holding her glass out to be refilled. "Precisely."

They each had another drink then, while chatting on about the latest gossip among both students and staff, and another as they discussed the events of the past day and their plans for the following one. By the time Robin had finished her third whisky, she was feeling too warm yet again, and the fuzziness was back in her head as well, but she didn't mind. It was a strange feeling rather than an unpleasant one, and it was making her drowsy more than anything else. On the other hand, it might also simply be the time of night that was making her more tired by the minute, causing her to curl deeper into the cushions of the sofa while her will to get up and leave shrunk by the second. It was past three in the morning… they usually would've called it a night by now. And yet here they were, still on the sofa, still talking. If their current state could even still be considered as 'talking' in the first place, with Robin more lying than sitting in her corner, eyes closed and a soft smile on her face while she listened to the surprisingly rhythmic flow of his voice. She didn't exactly know what he was saying, didn't hear the words as words but as a melody of the most alluring song that lasted way beyond the music they had run out of an hour ago. Honestly, she could just listen to him forever and would be perfectly happy.

"Robin…"

"Hmm…"

"You might want to set the glass down before you fall asleep entirely." He sounded tired as well, but undoubtedly humoured in a way that at last got through to Robin. Oh damnit…

"I should go…" She mumbled, brows creasing at the effort it took to speak at all. "Not sleep."

"And possibly run into Morgan in this tired state? I don't think so."

"Hmm…"

"Stay here." He said, an offer and a request more than an order. "If that would be acceptable for you."

The corners of her lips curled up ever so slightly in return, and every thought of leaving vanished into thin air in an instant. "Would love to." She sighed under her breath, relieved and content at once as she let herself sink deeper into the cushions and into sleep's sweet lure, upon which she received a quiet chuckle in return. The movement that followed she barely still registered, how the sofa rebounded at the loss of his weight, how the glass was taken from her hands and her wand removed from her hair. At the latter she merely sighed in appreciation, and a quiet goodnight was the last she heard before she was wrapped in darkness.

… … …

It was quiet sounds of agony, ragged huffs and laboured breaths that brought Robin back to her senses. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, and she blinked a few times until she could place where she was. The sofa, Snape's room… softly illuminated by dim moonlight that barely still fell through the windows and bathed the space in gentle brushes of silver. Serene almost, the deep shadows and cold whites…

The gentle haze of heat and sleep lifted off her mind in an instant when she heard another strangled sob, the rustling of fabrics, a sharp intake of breath. She sat up immediately; her head was spinning ever so slightly at the rash movement, but not enough to cause actual dizziness even as she scrambled to her feet. This had happened before… once, a year ago, when they had accidentally slept in the lab together. On her tiptoes, Robin moved from the sofa to the other end of the room, up the steps and towards the curled up figure on the bed, and her heart broke a little when she saw the tortured expression on his face. Did he have nightmares like this more often? Her heart broke even more upon the answer she didn't dare to give herself. It hadn't been like this in summer, the two nights spent on the couch in his home… What had been different back then? What had she done last year? She had been there, close to him, offered comfort through the lightest touch… And without a doubt she would do it again.

Without a second thought she walked right up to the edge of the bed, but froze in her movement when she looked down at him, so inexplicably vulnerable for once, in a moment both surreal and painfully clear. There was no doubt that he wouldn't want her to see him like this… but Robin also had no doubt that it changed absolutely nothing for her. She had known this side of him for a while now, and it was as much a part of who he was as were the scowls and the teasing. But that didn't mean she had to make it more difficult for him by drawing attention to the fact that he was at her mercy right now, without his choice.

So she merely reached out and gently curled her fingers around his, taking a hold of his hand slowly but firmly nonetheless. Seconds later his hand tightened around hers as well, the deep lines on his face disappeared and his breathing evened out as well. A tiny sigh in sheer relief escaped his lips at last, and Robin smiled instinctively. She would do anything to keep him happy… and holding his hand all night certainly wasn't the worst of that. With a silent sigh in return, she sat down on the ground while keeping their interlaced hands on the edge of the mattress. She knew that she would definitely fall asleep if she'd sat down on the bed instead… and she also knew that Snape likely wouldn't be too happy if he woke up to find her wrapped around him. On the ground, however, there at least was no way she could fall asleep and embarrass herself… And if she couldn't sleep, she might as well spend the time resting her mind in other terms. Thus she silently summoned her backpack, and with her free hand dug out one of her favourite non-academic books. A collection of short stories, nothing extraordinary, but some of which were written rather beautifully indeed, and at the very least, she had always found them calming. So she started reading, and like she was sharing calm and comfort with him through her touch, she now tried to share these stories as well. Not by any means of actual magic, really, but just… by feeling them. Perhaps it worked, perhaps it did not, but he slept calmly without another interruption all night, holding her hand tightly as she held his, and that was all that mattered.

It was only when the room started brightening at a surprising rapidity that Robin finally stopped reading and glanced at her surroundings once more. Her eyes were burning, her arm long gone numb from being held up the entire time, and she was cold and aching all over. But she was happy nonetheless, and even the realization that an impending sunrise meant an impending breakfast at this time of year couldn't take that from her. With tired eyes and an even more tired mind, she read the last few pages of the second to last story, then shut the book quietly and put it back into her backpack; she wouldn't get through another story without her eyes turning into sandpaper. Perhaps closing them for a minute would do her good… only until Snape woke up, which surely would be the case sooner rather than later. She would have to be alert enough to see the tutoring through after breakfast, ideally without yawning every two seconds like she did right now. Really, it was ridiculous how much rest her body needed… how jittery and shaky she got when she didn't sleep, how cold she was and how unfocused. That wouldn't do for tutoring, and the thought made her sigh. But with just five more minutes of closing her eyes at least, she surely could push through it somehow. This by far wasn't her first all-nighter after all. Thus without trying to find any more reasons why this could be a bad idea, she closed her eyes indeed and leaned her head against the side of the bed. Just five minutes of closing her eyes… but it wasn't even five seconds later when she was fast asleep.

… … …

Warmth, comfort, and the sound of rain pattering against the windows was what Robin woke up to this time around, but it wasn't what had woken her up. No, there wasn't a cause for her to come to for once, none but that she was actually feeling well rested and ready to rise for once. Still, the incredible comfort she found herself in made her bury her head deeper into the pillow and hug the covers tighter around herself as well. They were so soft… so warm, and everything smelled like home. Home… what did home smell like? She frowned to herself, eyes still closed, until it started to dawn on her that the scent of home was the scent of Snape. He was home to her. Finally she opened her eyes and already found her first suspicion confirmed; she was curled up in his bed, wrapped up tightly in the dark green sheets she had been admiring before. Her heart skipped a beat, then another for good measure, and a sudden rush of delight and excitement washed away the very last remainders of sleep. She sat up with a quiet groan, and immediately found that the wide space on the mattress around her was empty. Fortunately for many reasons, and unfortunately for others. Wait a second… she had fallen asleep on the floor, dead tired and shortly before sunrise. Now it was raining, and she was nice and toasty in bed. Wide awake. Bloody hell…

"Good morning." Snape's voice made her jump immediately, and she gripped the covers so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She hadn't even seen nor heard him coming up the two steps to where the bed was perched into the corner next to the window… but then again, she hadn't been paying much attention to the world beyond the bed in general before now.

Snape was dressed in his usual teaching robes as always, but he did look surprisingly well rested for once, which likely was a difference that was so subtle that it probably was only visible to Robin. With that same odd expression he had already worn in the lab last night, he then leaned against the far post of the bed with one shoulder and merely held her gaze for a moment while the rain continued its gentle drumming against the glass.

"Good mo-… uh… What time is it?" She asked when her heartbeat had calmed back down, while she made a vain attempt to smooth down the mess of waves and knots on her head.

"Almost twelve. Not long before I would have woken you up anyway." He answered, and noticing the immediate shock that was painted on Robin's face in return, he continued straight on. "You needn't be concerned about your appointments. I let your roommates know during breakfast that their tutoring would be moved to the afternoon, due to unforeseen circumstances that were holding you up."

"You did?" Robin's eyes widened, but at the same time the tension in her body disappeared, and her shoulders dropped down visibly as she let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you! But you really just should've woken me up when you got up… I didn't mean to fall asleep in the first place, nor to seize your space like this."

"First of all, you did not seize anything. I picked you up from the ground and put you onto the bed when I got up." He murmured, and Robin hugged her legs to her chest under the covers while waiting for him to continue. "I couldn't let you stay on the ground, or even the sofa… not when you obviously sacrificed your rest to ensure that I could have mine."

"Thank you." She offered him a small smile in return, and at the same time she was more certain than ever that staying awake to let him sleep had been the right decision. "I actually didn't even want you to find out that I had done that in the first place, but I guess it's kinda hard to deny now."

"Why wouldn't you want me to know?"

"Well…" She shrugged with a small sigh. "I guess I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Neither about the whole hand holding thing nor about the reasons why it was necessary."

"The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is the fact that I could sleep peacefully for the first time in ages, at the cost of your own rest and comfort."

"It's fine, really, I just wanted you to have a good night's sleep, which you obviously had, so all is as it should be." Robin gave him another encouraging smile, and it eased the frown on his face ever so slightly at least. "And since you were gracious enough to let me rest instead of waking me up, I certainly have gained more than I've lost; I haven't felt this good after waking up in longer than I care to remember. Your bed really is terribly comfortable, do you know that?"

Now his lips curled into an almost involuntary smile as well, but he averted his eyes nonetheless. "I am aware, yes."

"Gotta be a professor to enjoy such luxury, I guess…"

"Or befriend one who you can bribe to share."

His words as well as his tone made Robin laugh, and at the same time it set fire to her insides and electricity to her skin. Geez, he couldn't say things like that and expect her not to wonder what exactly he had meant by it. Nothing probably, as always, but she still couldn't quite suffocate the sparks of hope, the whispered 'maybe' in the shadowy parts of her mind. She shouldn't go there, no matter how tempting it was. Time for a change of topic.

"I hope I didn't keep you from anything by, uh… being here." She said, and finally convinced herself to flip the covers back, only to shiver immediately at the loss of warmth. Right… more windows meant more cold seeping in. "I just mean, usually you're not in your room during the day, are you?"

"Very true. Today however I chose to work here up until now, on the little I had to do. After lunch I will return to the office."

"Can I have your classroom? For my tutoring?" Robin asked with an innocent but very much hopeful smile, then stifled a yawn as she rose to her feet and stretched her limbs. Unsurprisingly, they didn't even ache anymore after a few hours in that cloud of a bed. Gods, if only she could wake up like this every day…

"Obviously."

With a content sigh, Robin moved to stand right in front of Snape, who in return stood straight once again and frowned at her questioning expression as she went to ask the next question that came to her mind. "Does my hair look alright? Preferably like I didn't just fall out of bed?"

"Don't make me lie to you." He replied in an undoubtedly humoured way, but he was trying to tone it down nonetheless, to hide it beneath a layer of calm neutrality, which however didn't work nearly as well as he probably would've liked.

Robin groaned under her breath and rolled her eyes to herself in return, then however decided to just go with it. "Fine… but if you don't want me to run through the castle looking like this, I'll have to seize your bathroom."

"You were the one concerned about your appearance; I am not. But feel free to seize whatever you please."

"Oh, you will regret saying that." She laughed as she skipped down the two steps, then halted at the door and turned around once more. "At the latest when I come back here ever so often and bribe you indeed. You'll definitely regret it then."

"I will…" He replied with a not smirk, just when she was about to close the door behind herself. And just when she barely was still able to hear, he added under his breath a quiet "...Never."

______________________________

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[liria10]

Favorite Benny books?

Ok so. Tumblr crashed as I was typing this on mobile. I am retyping it on desktop cause fuck this site, and I Have Opinions, and my friend I will let you hear them or so help me!

.... This got. Really. Really long. I am adding a read more to spare you guys from that.

Ok so! As a preface, I haven't read many VNAs with Benny in it, and of her solo books, I still have 2 of her Legion books to read.

I'm going to (re)start this with the VNAs!

Love and War: a very classic answer perhaps, but it is a really good introduction for Benny, even if the book has its flaws and can certainly show its age nowadays. Cornell absolutely nails her right off the bat, and from her very first page, Benny is just a character that keeps you interested. Not only does she work great as a counter to both Seven and Ace, but she also brings a breath of life to the whole range the way only a prose character can.

Plus, I think one of the greatest successes of that book lies in how Benny appears as a rounded and flawed person from the beginning. She’s not your ordinary girl dragged to a whirlwind of adventure and an universe of wonders, but an older, adult woman, with a good chunk of life experience and adventures already behind her, and while setting foot inside the TARDIS opens up a new and unexpected chapter in her life, it does also remain just that. A chapter. Benny had a life before the Doctor, and from that moment, while noone could have predicted it then, she would have one after him as well.

The Left-Handed Hummingbird: I just finished that one last week, so it’s obviously both fresh in my mind, and one I'm thinking highly of at the moment. Well I mean, it’s Orman! Or course I love it. She really is great at writing both intricate, large stories, and yet focusing on the personal, on the human side of things. And I find that this book does a great job at putting benny in the role of the grounding presence both for ace and the doctor, as well as exploring how time traveling as they do, and dealing with seven’s schemes can be frustrating for benny. That whole tardis team is a mess, and none of these people really… work well together, but it’s because they’re so dysfunctioning that they’re fascinating, and orman absolutely nails that.

Theater of War: A very different type of book, it is honestly a fun romp, and it has Benny being an actual archeologist, down to dealing with the academia side of things. And it’s the little things, but I love it when Benny books remember that about her tbh? Also, it has some nice theater theming, and well, as an introduction for brax, it certainly works well! It’s one of those VNAs that I think is just fun. A well crafted story with good takes on the characters, that’s always enjoyable to me!

Return of the Living Dad: Orman again?? What a surprise! But frankly, I love how this book is all about Benny and her daddy issues, be it with the Doctor or well, her actual dad. Between that, her budding marriage with Jason, and finding out so many old wounds reopened, I just. Really love how raw Benny can be under Orman’s pen? How underneath it all, she still has that side of the scared orphan that lost both parents to a war she was far, far too young to ever comprehend, and how that just left her rebelling against the world in general, and resenting deep down her parents for that abandon. I mean, it’s neat character stuff, but it can very easily be written as dull & cliche shitte you know? And Orman really… always get down to the heart of it all, and boi does it make for some great reading.

The Dying Days: It’s a very fun book, and well, technically works as the first round for Benny as the lead woman after all! It’s a joy all throughout, triumphant where it needs to be, and managing to both celebrate the Doctor and what he brought to the VNAs, as well as setting up the stage for Benny to go on to her own range. It’s basically one last run of the old team, and well. I do love Benny & Eight, and yes I am blaming Parkin for it. Also, big brained take to have Eight give her Wolsey because I love that cat and Benny deserves a cute kitty in her life. We all do.

Ok!! Now on to the NA, and my personal favorite era!

Dragon’s Wrath: It’s a fun one!! I do really like the story being centered again on archeology first and foremost, and it’s a good romp that has some really good take on Benny. Especially the trial scenes, I love how those one get down to Benny as someone who despite everything, loves history, and cares very very deeply about the artifacts she uncovers. Also, it introduces brax as a mainstay of the dellah era, and does so in a rather nice way. Overall, a very enjoyable book!

Beyond the Sun: Benny & students stranded on a planet with mystery to uncover, that’s already a fun premise, and then throw in all the various queer themes present, especially with Emile, and the whole scene of them all in drag performing on top of a bus, and it’s just a rather good book. Plus, I love how it mirrors the whole VNA Doctor mantra, except with a very Benny twist. Sometimes cruel, sometimes cowardly, but trying her damndest to do good. And well, that’s just Benny isn’t it? I always harp on about the very heart of Benny being her humanity, and if there’s something that book highlights, it’s that.

Deadfall: Jason takes center stage in this one, and well, I do really love Jason. It’s overall a fun book with some nice lore ideas, and I love how it works Cwej in the whole Dellah setting. Also, at least it’s a story with Jason in the lead that doesn’t end in utter tragedy, and that’s always nice!

Tempest: Ok so. That book isn’t great. The story’s cliche, the characters aren’t the best, and the plot itself? Forgettable, it’s another in the list of “sort of base under siege story in the dellah era” which you’d think wouldn’t be super common and yet! So… why am I listing it here? Cause the concept of the planet!! The idea of a world of storms and disaster, run through via a blind train as the only means of transport? The fantastic animal life described in it??? That book left an impression of me, and that’s not something I can say of all of the others.

The Medusa Effect: … Justin Richard writes a good Benny. Like, legit. I love how that one really works with the setting & history of Dellah, and gives further information on the planet’s involvement with the Dalek war. Plus, it also got some really, really nice aesthetics. I am soft for good aesthetics ok? Benny, dancing with a skeleton on the deck of an old spaceship made to look like a cruise liner in an hallucination/dream sequence type of thing? Sign me right up!

Beige Planet Mars: That one is a blast. I remember just, absolutely loving it when I read it tbh. Between the overall description of Mars, the further Lore Implication of the Mars invasion & all that, as well as it basically being one last round of more… Normal dellah books before everything goes to hell? It’s one i’d highly recommend if you want to have a good time.

Tears of the Oracle: Probably my favorite of that whole range? (apart from dead romance, which I am not counting as a benny book) I love just, how much overall… feelings isn’t quite the words i’m looking for, but i can’t think of a better way to put it… there is throughout the book? It was thought to be the end of the NA as it was written and well, that shows. I love how it weaves the whole mystery of “what happened to that legendary archaeologists?” with the whole side of what’s basically some of the only survivors from dellah going on one last round of discovery. The status quo of the range was destroyed quite a few books before that one, but imo, it’s there that they take the time to stop for a bit, and just. Deals with what that means in actuality. And ngl, I love the entire sequence of Benny & Brax walking through the wreckage of what used to be their home, it’s a scene that works really, really well.

And well, it does a great job at setting up the future as well after all! Yes, there’s still 3 books after it, but when you look at where Big Finish picked up… they went for what Tears of the Oracle was setting up. It really makes the transition flows well between those two, unlike my rambling for a full paragraph before going to “here’s the BF books I like”

The Doomsday Manuscript: A very good start for the range! Not only does it set up the whole collection, but it also introduces the Fifth Axis as a major threat, and does so in a wonderfully well paced book that keeps you hooked throughout. I like how it also sets up Jason’s loss as something Benny is still suffering over, as well as how she hasn’t lost hope in finding him again. Plus frankly, it’s also a really good story.

The Glass Prison: You’d think that for a book where Benny spends the majority of it in prison and not very active due to being near the end of her pregnancy, not much would happen, but the way Jacqueline Rayner builds up an atmosphere of unease, mistrust and a genuine disturbing ambiance throughout the book is just, fantastic.

Genius Loci: This book. This book!!! Ben Aaronovitch writes an absolutely powerful story of Benny as a young woman, lost and finding herself faced with far more responsibility than she ever thought possible. The way he writes the whole mystery, while also making Benny as a 20yo not only believable, but quite distinct from Benny as the adult we’ve all come to know and love is just. So good. My main grip with this book is how abruptly it ends, and how we’ll never get the sequel. I want to read Terra Incognita and more of Benny slowly finding herself damn it!

Dead Men Diaries: Just like Doomsday Manuscript, does a great job at establishing the collection as well as the recurring cast. I really enjoy most of the stories in it, and I think BF started out so strong on those books srsly!

A Life in Pieces: I love it so much. It’s pure brax at his most manipulative, and for such petty reasons. I really like how it both deals with the aftermath of the Fifth Axis occupation, as well as the repercussions Brax’s schemes have for the people living on the collection. Also, it’s just 3 very good novellas in a row that build up to something more, and I always like seeing that.

Nobody’s Children: That book has the best Draconian story in the entirety of doctor who and related. Like, yeah just that. It’s also nice to see the fallout of the Mim/Draconian war. It’s one I didn’t expect a lot out of, and frankly, I ended up really loving it.

The Vampire Curse: The middle novella is one I absolutely hated, but the other two are really good, and mixing benny and vampires is just, very fun. Also!! Predating the Predator is in it, and it is a really good take on vampires in a science fiction setting that also has some nice creep factor as well, and manages to be both a good vampire story, and a good sci fi story, which isn’t always an easy balance to find.

Life During Wartime: It’s a surprisingly hard hitting anthology about living under a fascist regime, and the compromises you have to make, the personal sacrifices and small rebellions. Honestly, there’s a lot I love about it, but certainly one of my favorite moment, is when Benny, having to dine with one of the officers, miss jones & jason, sees that the officer is nearly on to her hiding peter away, and that split second moment of “if I have to, I am willing to kill everyone in this room to protect my son” before he just laughs it off, it’s a lot of tiny moments that build up to a really well done ambiance tbh.

Something Changed: While it did the terrible, terrible sin of introducing Doggles to the world, I really love the concept of every chapter after the first being a different split universe, and how they’re all spiraling more & more out of control. It’s got some really good stories in between too, though they can also be rather hit & miss. An aspect I love about it too is how impactful Wolsey’s death ends up being.

Present Danger: That one is fun, I love how it’s basically everyone vs the deindum, a situation slipping more and more out of control, mixed with some neat stuff one the deindum’s whole temporal deal. It’s again a bit hit & miss, but it’s still a blast, and as the last anthology of the collection era, it does send it all off with a bang.

Welp. Far, far too many words later, and here we are!!! I love Benny a lot ngl, and I genuinely think that prose is the medium best suited for her. I have been rather disappointed with the more modern books, I find them far more bland than what I personally expect from Benny but ah well. Can’t always get everything.

And while it’s neither a book, nor even an official story in any mean, the fanfic “Sepelio” that’s an Hannibal au set in the Dellah era is great, and the benny story I have been enjoying the most lately. I would be remiss not to at least mention it!

[sage-nebula]

the pokemon company be like *thinly-veiled misogyny*

To be honest, the sexism isn’t even really thinly-veiled if you think about it. Like off the top of my head:

— Professor Juniper was our first female professor, and it took until Gen V to get her. But whereas all the other professors got to stand on their own without needing anyone else, Professor Juniper had to have her father come in to provide answers to various plot occurrences that she didn’t know. IIRC, she also inherited her practice from him, which was also something that the male professors before and after didn’t have to contend with. It’s a miracle that this was averted with Professors Magnolia and Sonia in Gen VIII, both of whom are women.

— Speaking of female professors being screwed over, in Gen VII we’re introduced to Professor Burnet, whose practice specifically focuses on ultra wormholes and disturbances in space-time (which makes sense since she was previously working on the Dream Radar). Given how much of the plot concerns ultra wormholes, you would think that she would be the main professor of the story, or at least play a big part. But you’re wrong! Instead she’s only in one mandatory scene, and then is basically never heard from again. Meanwhile, Kukui shows up all the goddamn time even though his goal (to create a League) is literally meaningless in the scope of the overall plot. (And even that could have been cool if it had delved into the socio-political ramifications of what overthrowing Alola’s current system of government for another one would mean, but now is not the time to get into the failings of Gen VII’s plot. I’ve gone through that enough times.)

— Back to Gen V for a second, we’re also given two rivals in the first of the Unova games: Bianca and Cheren. While Cheren, the male rival, is taken seriously and has it talked up over and over how great of a battler he is, Bianca has her Munna stolen from her halfway through the story and spends the rest of the game talking down on herself and ultimately deciding that her father was right and she really is not cut out to be a Pokémon Trainer. Keep in mind that Bianca was the first mandatory female rival in the games, because while May could be a rival in Gen III if you played as Brendan, if you chose to play as her, both rivals (Brendan and Wally) were male. So on that note, our rivals so far look like:

Gen I: Blue Oak (male)

Gen II: Silver (male)

Gen III: Wally (male), optional May (female), optional Brendan (male)

Gen IV: Barry (male) 

Gen V: Cheren (male), Bianca (female), Hugh (male)

Gen VI: Shauna (female), Tierno (male), Trevor (male), optional Serena (female), optional Calem (male)

Gen VII: Hau (male), Gladion (male)

Gen: Hop (male), Bede (male), Marnie (female)

So, let’s see. We only have two mandatory female rivals (Bianca and Marnie), as well as two optional female rivals (May and Serena). Meanwhile, we have twelve mandatory male rivals, as well as two optional male rivals (Brendan and Calem). To cap this off, while the mandatory male rivals (outside of the useless Kalos ones) are always treated as strong, competent battlers who have important roles in the story, our two mandatory female rivals, well . . .

Bianca: See above

Marnie: Gets battled a whole grand total of two times and has basically zero impact on the plot despite the fact that her brother is the only Gym Leader who didn’t give into Rose’s vision for how Galar should operate and use Dynamax evolution

And even when it comes to the optional ones, since Brendan is treated as the default MC by TPCi, that means May is the one who gives up training to go be a professor like her dad. (Which is the exact thing they basically did to Bianca in Gen V, except she studies under Juniper instead.) Serena at least keeps battling if she’s the rival, but jeez.

So to say there’s definite gender inequality where the rivals are concerned is a bit of an understatement.

— Moving away from the rivals, let’s talk about villains! We didn’t get a female villain until Gen VII with Lusamine, and even then she wasn’t allowed to stay a villain because I guess Game Freak doesn’t want to accept the fact that women can be evil, too. Moreover, all of Lusamine’s achievements come from the men in her life, and all of her motivations revolve around her husband. To spell it out:

- She inherited the Aether Foundation from her grandfather / father, without having founded it herself like we’re at first led to believe.

- Her husband Mohn was the one who discovered how the ultra wormholes work, not her. IIRC, he was also the primary researcher behind Type: Null’s creation.

- The reason why she does what she does is because she’s looking for her missing husband Mohn, with an added dash of “women just go crazy (and abuse their children) without their husbands!!1!!!” thrown in for flavor. 

Compare this to Giovanni, Maxie, Archie, Cyrus, Ghetsis, Colress, Lysandre, and now Chairman Rose, all of whom formed their own organizations (Giovanni inheriting his from his mother is anime only and does not pertain to the games at all) and had their own goals and desires, versus relying on someone else for those goals and desires. And as if Lusamine not being allowed to form her own organization and have her own goals for her own sake wasn’t bad enough, they then had to go and make it even worse in USUM by turning her into a damsel in distress in the Rainbow Rocket plot, depicting her as not only less capable as the male villains, but also less capable than her male subordinate. Gag me.

— On that note, Oleana is sorely underappreciated by basically everyone except the Twilight Wings writers considering she’s the only reason anything Rose did got done, yet got none of the credit for herself. Damn shame.

— Stepping away from the games for a moment, Generations was a hot mess in terms of sexism. First of all, they only ever used the male MCs, pretending that the female ones didn’t exist at all, even in cases where the female MCs are vastly more popular (e.g. May, Dawn, Hilda). Second, most of the episodes focused on male characters from the series, and the ones that didn’t were either there so they could disrespect the best character in the series by not giving her the episode she deserved (Zinnia), or were told from the point of view of a male character despite that it was supposed to be a female character’s story (Emma). And lastly, there was whatever the fuck that mess with Cheryl was. It was animated in a way that made it look like an anime not suitable for anyone under the age of eighteen. Like honestly, what the hell.

— Leaf has been consistently and constantly disrespected all over the franchise. Despite there allegedly being four trainers who left from Pallet Town (counting Ash) in the anime, Leaf has never been seen or mentioned even once throughout the two decades that anime has been running. They had an opportunity to show her in at least a cameo form in the 20th anniversary movie, but they chose not to do that either, adding yet another disappointment from that movie to the list. She had no appearances in Origins, no appearances in Generations, they didn’t do what they should have done in HGSS by making her the rival atop Mt Silver if you chose to play as Lyra, she wasn’t a skin for Pokémon Trainer in Super Smash Bros. until Ultimate, I’m pretty sure they never made an Amiibo for her either, they replaced her with her Special counterpart in LGPE and her characterization absolutely bonkers to boot, and back to Masters, SS Leaf doesn’t have the Main Character designation for the theme skills that SS Red has, and is also routinely left out of any story bits that feature Red or Blue. It’s a miracle she was even included in the Battling Legends event or whatever it was. As far as TPCi seems to be considered, Kanto only has one main character and that’s Red.

— Oh and speaking of Iris, they gave her the Gym Leader theme designation instead of the Champion designation, instead choosing to act like Alder is Unova’s only Champion when he, no offense, didn’t really fucking do anything in Gen V. :’) We hate to see it.

— In the current run of the anime, the two boys (Ash and Gou) have gotten to go around and have adventures for ~50 episodes while the girl (Koharu) has had to stay home and go to school. You can argue, “She wanted that!” all you want, but you have to remember that she only wants what the writers tell her to want, and the writers said the boys get to have adventures while the girls stay home. She finally has an Eevee and will presumably go on adventures now, but we’ll have to wait and see. And don’t get me wrong, I like Journeys and I love Gou as a character, but it is absolutely a Choice to not have a female lead present in the adventures at all and it’s one that the writers deliberately made for whatever reason.

— On that note, let’s look at Ash’s female companions, shall we? 

Misty: A Gym Leader who has a vague goal (water pokémon master) and is largely out of focus during her run as a primary companion. She had no rivals or in-series (as in, concrete ones she could accomplish before leaving the main cast) goals of her own.

May: A coordinator. Does have rivals and has a story, which is nice, but battling isn’t her focus.

Dawn: Another coordinator. Even more focus than May (she was written as a deuteragonist), but also not primarily focused on battling.

Iris: A battler (her Gym Leader / Champion Status is written out) who actually does get decent focus and a cool arc surrounding her connection to dragons. 

Serena: A performer, which is a girls-only career path that doesn’t have battling in it at all, unlike contests. Does have a goal, but much of her character is written around her crush for Ash and at the end of the series she says that he is her goal.

Lillie, Lana, Mallow: Honestly I didn’t watch enough of SM to have an opinion on how these three were handled outside of hating how Lusamine didn’t get to be a villain in the anime either.

Koharu: See above, she’s only just now getting to be involved with things.

Now, don’t get me wrong: There’s nothing wrong with being a coordinator (and we do see male coordinators too, such as Drew and Harley), and I think that both May and Dawn are wonderful characters. But it does make me feel some kind of way that the female characters were often given the “girly” sidequest while the male main character got to go for the Gym badges, especially since AG and DP went on for a good chunk of years. None of the ladies so far have been treated as badly as Serena was (that performer stuff is just nasty, I’m not sorry), but again, it’s a deliberate choice and something to think about, especially since I feel the only reason they didn’t go that route with Iris is because of her Gym Leader / Champion status in the games. 

I could probably think of more examples of the casual sexism in the series if I thought about it, but this is just from the top of my head. As you can see, there is a lot. All of this being said, and I’m putting major emphasis on this since I don’t want anyone to get it twisted—

I love Pokémon with my entire heart, flaws and all. It has been my hyperfixation for 22 years and that is not going to change any time soon. So DO NOT even dare suggest that I hate Pokémon, or shouldn’t play it, or anything like that. I will be playing Pokémon on my deathbed and nothing and no one will stop me.

But that being said, I criticize because I care. Because I wish it would do better. Pokémon is for everyone. It’s for boys, girls, nonbinary folks, and people all over the gender spectrum. But the treatment of its female characters and the abundance of favoritism shown toward the male characters leaves a lot to be desired (though at least girls are at the table, whereas trans folk are relegated to background NPCs and nonbinary folk are nowhere to be seen :/). I think Pokémon can get better—Magnolia and Sonia felt like a proper apology for how Juniper in particular was shafted, not to mention Burnet—but it’s got a long way to go.

(And also, yes, you’ve understood this right. Twilight Wings is the only anime series to not fuck up at all when it comes to sexism. You go, Twilight Wings. Four for you, Twilight Wings.)

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!