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bohemianrhvps · 3 years

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Mon amour, puisque tu m'aimes. - G.W.

Summary: George and Fred barely fight but when it happens they might not talk to each other’s for days. After a big fight, George stormed out of the shop and went to muggle London for a walk to calm his nerves. He found himself in one of those old vintage cafes and as he was sitting outside he spot a little flower shop across the street, playing some vintage french songs then he saw her and his heart started trembling.

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, fluff, modern!George and muggle!reader.

note: I love Edith Piaf and vintage songs with all my heart and lately I can’t stop to listen “Hymn à l’amour” by Edith Piaf. Physically the reader is based on me (hope that’s not a big deal). I had this idea because I think that George would definitely fall for a muggle, he finds them fascinating just like his father.

‘How dare he say something like that? How dare Fred tell me that my job is not enough and I need to focus more?’

George was furious, he and his brother Fred just had one of their biggest fight ever. He stormed of the shop that he and his brother owned leaving a furious Fred and a confused Ron behind him. He went straight to the Leaky Cauldron and entered muggle London crowded streets. It was early evening and almost everyone was going home after a long day at work.

He decided to calm down his nerves and take a walk around London’s little alleys. His mind was full of thoughts, he was thinking about the words he and his twin brother said to each other’s, angry words that it doesn’t matter that they were said impulsively they still hurt.

After a while he found himself in a little street, less crowded, one of those roads that seemed like those roads in small country villages. A little vintage cafes caught his eyes and he decided that he needed a coffee, even if he didn’t enjoyed his flavour. After ordering, paying and picked up his coffee, he went out to sit in one of those two-seater tables outside the cafes.

Vintage french musics draw his attention, making him stand up and look around trying to figure out where it came from. His eyes landed on this little flower shop on the street corner so he crossed the street and walk towards it. He was never a big fan of Herbology at Hogwarts or plants in general but he was fascinated by these plants, he also saw lemon trees and they were so yellow and so beautiful and their smell was magnificent and he wondered how could they be so beautiful, they were simple and common plants but they were the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Y/n was watering the tulips inside her little shop, humming that old french song that she put in her “oldies” playlist when she spotted this tall red haired man outside her shop, looking at her plants almost suspiciously and she wondered what he was thinking about.

“Did you know that talking to plants makes them grow better?” she calmly said leaning on the front door, still holding the watering can with both hands.

“Is that the secret to having such beautiful plants?” George said turning fully around.

When they met each other’s eyes they remained silent for a couple of minutes. She was mesmerised by his features, he was indeed handsome and his hair was a fiery shade of orange. On the other hand he was mesmerised by her looks, he found her particular, almost weird but she was absolutely dazzling. She had short brown hair, her haircut right under the ear, that perfectly framed her round face. She was wearing a white flannel shirt and a pair of beige flannel pants and the first buttons of her shirt were open. She was at least one foot lower than George, she wasn’t skinny, her waist was slightly narrower than her hips that widened, highlighting her fleshy thighs. And George, being the thighs man he is, had to refrain from staring too long. She was so simple yet so particular and captivating.

“So you like my plants, ay?” she said smiling and putting the watering can on the side.

“I’m not a big fan of flowers and plants but I have to admit that your plants look very tempting.”

‘You are very temping. No wait- George what the heck. Calm down your hormones, mate’ he mentally cursed himself for thinking such things about her.

“If my plants are tempting let me show you something then.” She laughed and went inside her shop, shouting a muffled “Come in” waiting for him to follow her. After having rummaged among the various plants she came back to George with a little succulent in her hands.

“This is a little Echeveria elegans, which is a succulent plant.” she smiled placing the plant on the counter.

George found himself entering the shop and looking around it, it was much smaller than his but it was lovely, full of colours and aromas. He looked at the plant she brought with her and raised his eyebrows, wondering why she took that plant.

“I want to give you this plant.” Her smile was so big that he sweared her skin was going to break. He panicked because he didn’t know how to pay that plant sure he had money with him but muggle money is different from Galleons. He opened his jacket to get his wallet but her hand stopped him.

“No, it’s a gift.” her hand was still on his forearm and he couldn’t help but smile at the contact.

“Forgive my rudeness for not introducing myself sooner but I’m (y/n).” her hand stretched out waiting for George to hold it.

“I’m George and it’s very nice meeting you.” he smiled softly at her, making her blush. She couldn’t help but think about how handsome and charming he was.

“You’re new around here, right? I’ve never seen your face before.” and what a beautiful face she may add.

“No actually I found myself in this street after a long walk and had a coffee in that lovely cafes I want to add that I think I’m going back because that coffe was amazing and I usually don’t drink or like coffe. Anyway I own a shop with my twin brother.” he was babbling but Oh Merlin she made him so nervous.

“Oh yeah? And where is this shop?” the way her brow frowned over in curiosity was adorable.

“Oh it’s across town actually, yeah” his initial enthusiasm had now disappeared.

George looked at his watch and realised that it was almost dinner time and tonight he was supposed to cook for him and Fred.

“I’m sorry but I really need to go now, I guess I’ll see you around then.” he said making his way out of the shop.

“I’ll wait for you to come back here again then.” she smiled at him. The sunset made the whole situation looking like one of those romantic muggle movies his parents made him watch.

He waved his hand at her and walked towards the Leaky Cauldron with the biggest smile on his face and this little plant on his huge hands, he felt like Neville back in Hogwarts.

*The next day*

“Good morning Dear (Y/n)”

“Good morning Margaret”

“Oh you’re wearing a dress and you’re in a good mood today. The usual, love?” (Y/n) simply laughed at the old and lovely woman that owned the cafe and nodded at her question.

“Can I ask you something?” she said sipping her hot cappuccino.

“Anything dear” Margaret smiled at her.

“Did a tall red-haired guy come in here yesterday?” she tried not to look very hopeful.

“How could I forget him? He had this fiery red hair, this purple suit and he was so tall. Is he your boyfriend?” same old nosey Margaret.

“What? No no” she blushed laughing nervously.

“Oh, okay then.” Margaret simply shrugged.

“If he comes again I offer everything he orders.” she smiled and hurried to open her flower shop.

“I don’t know why but she was capable of making me nervous. Me? George Fabian Weasley nervous in front of a girl? She’s beautiful though, very particular may I add. Anyway I’ll probably visit her again tod-“

“George who the fuck are you talking to?” Fred came out of his room hearing George talking to a plant?

“Oh Fred ehm nothing, I mean no one” he laughed nervously scratching his neck.

“Do you remember that we have lunch at the Burrow right? Ron and Hermione wants to tell us something.” Fred began to have breakfast as if nothing had happened.

“Alright but I have to go now” George rushed down the stairs, making his way to (Y/n)’s flower shop.

He stopped at the cafes and just as he was about to pay, Margaret stopped him.

“(Y/n) offers” she winked at him. His brows furred but he cracked a smile.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“George” he said before leaving the cafes and run towards her shop.

While he was sipping his coffe, he stayed outside waiting for her clients to leave but admiring her. She was radiant today, she was wearing a yellow long flower dress, with long sleeves balloon and she curled her hair a bit. ‘How cool, they seem shorter’ he thought.

“You know you didn’t have to, right?” he said raising his coffee as soon she was alone in the shop.

“I know, but I wanted to.” everything about her was simply adorable.

He looked around and he found these beautiful and aromatic lilies.

“Just her favourites.” he whispered to himself but (Y/n) heard that and she felt her heart clenched a bit and she didn’t know why.

“Can I have a few of these?” he turned her way.

She took the lilies and made a lovely bouquet, she didn’t want to be nosey but..

“Are these for your girlfriend?” she said tying the boquet with a pink ribbon.

“My girlfr- no no, these are for my mom.” he answered almost too quickly. “We have a family lunch, my brother and his wife want to tell us something. I’m wondering what it is.” again he was babbling and tell her things that she probably didn’t want to hear.

“Maybe she’s pregnant, I don’t know.” she answered giggling. He was going to pay but again she stopped him, shaking her head with a simple smile.

“Let me know if your mum liked them.” she waved her hand and again George found himself with the biggest smile of his face.

“Merlin’s beard George, they’re beautiful.” Molly was thrilled when she saw the lilies. “(Y/n)’s flawless flowers.. never saw it in Diagon Alley, is it a new shop?”

“Actually mom it’s a shop in muggle London, yeah.” he scratched the back of his neck, blushing a little.

“And tell me, what's she like? Big tits? Big ass?” Fred whispered pushing his shoulder a bit.

“Big tit- Fred what the hell?” he scolded at his twin brother.

“Boys behave we have an announcement!” Ron said clapping his hands drawing everybody’s attention on him and Hermione.

“I’m pregnant.” Hermione said with a big smile on her face.

“(Y/n), how did you know..” George whispered to himself while clapping his hands at the happy couple.

“Were you talking to me?” asked Fred smirking, acting like he didn’t heard George’s exact words.

It was Monday morning and it was also (Y/n)’s day off so she decided to walk around London and look for George’s shop, she wanted to surprise him. It took her almost the whole morning but she hadn’t seen his shop, he told her that outside his shop there were a huge statue that looked like him so it was impossible to miss. It was around noon and she decided to go visit her grandmother and her flower shop. The only thing was that her grandmother was a witch and her flower shop was in Diagon Alley so she made her way through the Leaky Cauldron and entered Diagon Alley. It has been a while since she was in the wizard world but she knew exactly how to act. Just around the corner she spotted an unfamiliar shop.

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

The moment she saw the statue she instantly froze. She recognised it and the shop was exactly like George described it. She decided to enter and look around.

The inside of the shop was simply beautiful, so full of colours and people and she was simply enchanted. She spotted a familiar tall ginger man and she made her way to him.

“George?” she tapped his shoulder.

“Wrong one, love. I’m Fred.” he said turning around to greet her. She smiled at him as she instantly recognised him as George’s twin brother.

“And you are?” he raised his eyebrows.

“(Y/n), I’m (Y/n).” she reached out to him.

“Oooh” Fred said with a cheeky grin. “(Y/n)’s flawless flowers, right?” he squeezed her hand.

“Oì, stop flirting with our costumers and come to h-“ he froze. He was panicking when he saw her. And now what? What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say?

“(Y/n) hi, w-what are you doing here?” his palms were sweating so hard he hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Your shop is literally magical.” she ignored his questions as she giggled looking around George’s shop. “My grandmother is a witch, she owns a flower shop here in Diagon Alley, so here I am.” she said raising her hands.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” he was really sorry because he really like her, he didn’t know if he liked her as a friend or more but he sure enjoyed her company.

“Oh it’s okay, I can imagine it’s not easy telling someone you’re a wizard” her laugh was lovely.

“So, can I have the honor of showing you around the store?” he asked her extending his arm which she gladly accepted.

“Y/n guess what... Hermione’s pregnant.” he said super excited.

“I told you!” she said jumping a little making George smile like a five years old.

George turned around to his brother who was looking at them smiling. Fred knew his brother and he knew that George fell for her, even before George himself knew that.

note: I’m thinking of making this a mini series, divide it into three maybe four parts (reader meeting the Weasleys and maybe add some smut lol). Let me know if you liked it and if you want me to continue it.

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut #harry potter imagine #hermione granger #hogwarts #ron weasley #draco malfoy #george and fred #fred weasley #fred and george #the weasleys #the weasleys twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #fanfiction

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artbyrivaille · 3 years

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Hair ☕

Okay, so at the outset, I would like to emphasize that English is not my mother tongue and I am still learning. But writing is my hobby and I decided that I will try my skills here too, in English, I invite you to write requests, I hope you will like it!

3,5k words!

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She was strong. She was a good soldier, commander, companion.

But she was also a beautiful woman with an amazing figure who was envied by many. Despite being quite short, because she was only five feet three, she had long slender legs. Overall, she was considered a beautiful woman. However, she had short hair.

Her hairstyle was practically identical to Levi's, but no one accused her of trying to look like him, as she was cutting her hair that way long before Ackerman joined the survey corps.

Oh, she and Levi. It was quite a sneaky topic, let alone the rumors around the body. They were often seen in each other's company, people interpreted it differently.

Some said it was just a friendship and a bond they established when Ackermann was part of her branch at the beginning of his career. And the others insinuated the supposed romance of the two. Well the versions were really different, but the truth was that y/n and good captain Levi were just two great friends. The woman was one of the few people who knew the man's past, and shared with him some facts about her. Because they both came from the Underground, however, and managed to get out of there on their own, and not with the help of scouts, as was the case with Levi.

At first they were not very sympathetic, quite the opposite. They had very similar characters, which theoretically should indicate that they will get along well, but that was only theoretically. In practice, they got on their nerves terribly.

But despite this aversion to a man, it was precisely this that helped him the most after the death of Farlan and Izabel. She provided him with comfort, help and warmth. Something no one else could give him. It was thanks to her that he recovered so quickly, and he was in the place where he was at the moment.

At some point their relationship began to take a less formal path. More and more often they stayed at each other's offices, helped each other with Erwin's sentences, that is, documentation. They drank tea together, despite the fact that the brunette was a coffee advocate, she made an exception for Levi and almost completely gave it up. They had similar problems, especially those with sleep, may both of them suffer from insomnia, so when the entire corps was asleep, they sat in the two of them over documents, or simply spent their free time together.

Y/n did not even know the exact moment when she began to care in this other, more intimate way on the short captain. It came overnight. Of course, she was behaving the same as before, after all, she was not some horny teen, but a mature woman, but at the moment when she was going to the black-haired's office, or she just knew that he would see him, her body was flooded with heat. And maybe she wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for the fact that she had short hair.

She loved the short haircut, the long hair simply irritated her and disturbed the soldier's everyday life, but she was afraid that they might be an obstacle to any closer relationship with Ackerman.

***

She sat quietly in her office filling out paperwork for Erwin. She nervously tweaked her hair, which was longer than usual, because every time she tried to cut it, something was getting in the way and that was how it was already quite long.

The silence in the office was broken by the sudden opening of the door through which entered a black-haired man with pliers and a towel in his hand. He closed the door with a bang and set the items on the coffee table, then looked at the woman poring over reports and other documents.

"You have long hair." He said suddenly and walked closer to her chair, and when he was next to him, he entangled his hand in her dark strands. She breathed a breath and leaned against the back of the armchair, massaging her temples at the same time giving herself to the caress.

"I didn't have time to cut them off because of the last expedition, and with all the crap Erwin did, I have more work to do than ever. And Hanji keeps following me all the time and asks if I managed to convince Bushbread to do experiments on titans." She explained in frustration then exhaled her mouth with a whistle.

"Tch, fucking shitty glasses. Come on, rest a little, cut off your hair, and you will give me a haircut." He replied then pulled the woman's chair back and, grabbing her hand, led her to the bathroom. She was so tired of it all that she didn't care, and the presence of a cobalt-eyed woman was calming, so she didn't resist. "Get your hair wet." He gave the order, which she followed by putting her head in the shower and then she wet her hair with a stream of water. Ackermann handed her a towel, which she grabbed and dried her hair.

Let the two go back to the brunette's office, meanwhile she took off her jacket and threw it on the couch, which Ackermann only huffed, but said nothing. She sat down without a word on the low stool that the man had prepared at that time. He ran a hand through her hair a few times and began carefully trimming it.

"Can I ask you a question?" She finally gave up y/n, unable to withstand the silence in the room

"You ask them anyway, so why do you ask me for permission." The bored man replied by which l/n raised the corner of her mouth in a small smile.

"What do you think about women with short hair?" She asked, and black hair stopped breathing for a moment. What the hell was that about? Is this some kind of provocation?

"What am I supposed to think. They are no less feminine because they do not have long hair, their appearance does not define a person." He replied quite neutral, not realizing that he had just kindled a little ray of hope in his friend's heart. "And why do you ask?"

"Because I care about someone, and all in all, I wanted to know your opinion." Ah yes. His heart leapt into his throat, and his stomach seemed to have a 3D maneuvering device. Someone did she like? But who the hell. After all, the only men with whom she spent time was himself, Erwin, sometimes he encountered Moblit in the company of Hanji and Mike. Who could steal her heart enough to make her care about her hairstyle? Probably Erwin. That fucking perfect general.

Maybe Levi didn't have complexes as such, but he was always a little jealous of Smith. He had a perfect body, he was tall, intelligent, had a high position in the military, and he came from a non-poor family. He was nothing compared to the blonde, he had nothing to offer. And he would like so much to have her with him.

"I'm done." He muttered softly brushing single hairs from the woman's clothes. She got up from the stool and unintentionally combed her dark hair. She looked beautiful, but he wouldn't tell her that.

"Your turn." She said and took the pliers from his hand. This time it was he who sat on the stool. He involuntarily smiled under his breath and closed his eyes at the woman's gentle touch. He was literally like a docile kitten. Why couldn't she be his?

***

He had been avoiding her like plague for about two weeks. He was irritated by the lack of a black-haired woman around him, but he knew that if it was like before, he would take the blow even worse.

A blow that would never come.

Y/n really didn't know what she could do wrong. After all, everything was fine, and then overnight Ackerman began to avoid her. Maybe he just got bored?

At first she explained his ignorance with overwork, in the end everyone in the command had their heads off. But when one day in a row she saw him sitting quietly with Petra, she knew it was not it. By the way, seeing a redhead in his company, something broke in her. What did this teenager have that she did not have? Did their relationship really mean nothing to him? So many questions, so few answers.

And this way almost every evening she landed in Erwin's office with Hanji with a bottle of whiskey or vodka, depending on what Smith had in the bar. Erwin and Hange really couldn't comprehend the change in brunet's behavior, and the sight of a really hurt l/n was so pathetic as to be nasty.

And so the next evening the three gathered in Smith's office where they once again debated about the captain's behavior.

"I do not feel it completely, so change the attitude towards people overnight.

I know that our curly pedantic has its own rules, but without exaggeration." Hanji announced, finishing the rest of the whiskey from her glass.

"Maybe something made him do it?" Smith replied, then grabbed his chin.

"Tch, and this thing is called Petra Ral, really fascinating." Black-haired girl summed up pouring herself and Zoe whiskey.

Their conversations were so loud that they interested Ackerman who was just about to make himself a cup of tea. But when he heard three familiar voices, he stood at the door of Smith's office, listening to what was being said.

"Don't take it for granted." Erwin said and frowned by the high concentration of alcohol in his glass.

"So what could be the reason Levi is ignoring me then? Just like logic Erwin, there are two options, or he has something to me and he distorts what is unfortunately but impossible because he always treated me only as a friend. Or he just shoots with Petra, and that's what I believe more. "Did they talk about him? What romance with Petra? And y/n cared for him the way he wanted it, but he's just an idiot and he broke it? He held his breath for a moment and tried to enter the room, but stopped himself and continued to stand still.

"Like it or not, I have to agree with the above. Although I keep my fingers crossed for the first version." Squeaked at the end of the woman, which caused a loud sigh of disapproval from y/n.

"Shut up Hanji, I don't want to hope again for something that will never happen." She growled angry and hurt. She really cared about him. Not on any Erwin, Moblit or Mike, but on him. On a goddamn Underground thief with a hard character and misophobic aspirations. Damn it, don't let this be a dream.

He walked away from the door and headed for his office. He has even forgotten why he left it at all. He sat down at the desk and stared blankly at the sky until the very morning, trying to put everything in his head. He must try to fix what he broke.

***

Like a day like every other day. There was no expedition, no surprises, just an ordinary day in the recon. Well, maybe almost. Because Ackerman had been nervous and a little stressed since the morning. And it wasn't just because he wanted to talk to y/n seriously, but largely because he couldn't find her anywhere. As to spite that day, she sank underground, his only salvation could be Erwin. Which office was on his way to. The evening and dinner time was approaching, so he wanted to come to him before her, to look for the presence of a woman at the last meal, if necessary.

He entered the office without knocking, Smith merely looked up from the mountain of documents he had probably been studying since this morning, then turned him back to the sheets of paper.

"What you want Levi?" He asked breaking the silence prevailing in the room. He was pretty sure why this one had come to him, but preferred not to reveal all the cards at once.

"Where is y/n"? Erwin sighed and then put down his quill and straightened up in his chair. He was afraid of Levi's reaction, but what could he do if the milk had already spilled?

"She went on a mission. She should be back in two or three days at the most." He replied with a straight face in the middle being a bit irritated by the reaction of the black-haired man.

"What mission? And why the hell didn't I know anything about this." Ackerman asked, very angry with the news once again.

"Maybe because you've been avoiding her for a long time? Maybe because it's a secret mission, I'm not obligated to tell you everything, Levi. I respect you and treat you as a friend, so I will give you some friendly advice. Think about what you really want and don't screw it up. I don't think I need to tell you what I'll do to you if you hurt her, not to mention Hanji." A faint smile affected his lips at the end of his speech.

"It's none of your business anymore. Thank you for the information." He replied coolly and, not worried about the threat of his friend, left his office.

So he was supposed to wait? He hated waiting. Uncertainty burst him from the inside, these few days will probably be a real nightmare for him.

***

It was well past nine o'clock, so most of the Corps' soldiers were resting in their quarters. Only a few officers were still in the courtyard. And Levi was watching them from his office.

Week. She has been gone since fucking week.

And he was consumed not only by uncertainty, but also by fear. Because they didn't know anything, not even Erwin, who entrusted the woman with this mission. Through it all, the captain was irritated and angry from day to night. Everyone wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Even Petra must have found out about his bad mood when some two days after y/n's departure, she felt bad for the fact that she smiled at him instead of focusing on cleaning. The last time he was afraid was when he first left for exeption.

Suddenly, a horse ran into the courtyard, on the back of which was a scout, but he was clearly unconscious, barely clinging to his mount. At first, Ackerman did not move from his place, but when he heard the screams about the return of squad leader l/n and summoning the medics, he sprinted out of the office.

When he was already leaving, he saw only a brunette, which two cadets were carrying on a stretcher to the infirmary. There was blood everywhere, and the worst case scenario flashed through his mind. She might have died.

He knew that they would not let him into the infirmary anyway, and the cadets didn't know anything, the only option was once again Erwin. What a mission it was to make her come back like this.

He hurried to Smith's office and threw open the door. He did not care about the surprised face of Hanji, who was sitting on the blonde's couch, but he walked over to the man and grabbed him tightly by the collar of a white shirt.

"What was that mission? And why did you send her over there alone, don't you care that she's just fighting for her life?" He was screaming at the top of his throat, he didn't care what everyone thought of him right now, he didn't care about the consequences, he only cared that he could lose her before he actually possessed her.

"In Stohess there is a man who leads the gang. It interfered with various shipments and the like. They are also active in the Underground. The task was to diversify into their ranks, apparently she did not quite succeed." He replied with stoic calm which made the black-haired man even more angry.

"Have you been really fucked up? Such a mission is not a job for one person, it is for the rest. Such matters should be handled by the MP's, not us!" He shouted and pushed the blonde back so that he almost fell from his chair.

"Only that they interfered mainly with transports to our corps. Mostly those not entirely legal. You know very well that a large amount of drugs and medical equipment we have is not entirely legal, but it is needed. I wanted to send the two of you on this mission, because both of you know the Underground, but she did not agree to you taking part in this mission. Probably because you were not getting along at that point." The man explained succinctly, and Ackerman said nothing. It was his fault, his goddamn fault. If only he wasn't such an asshole, nothing bad would have happened.

Until now, a silent Hanji came up to the shorter man and put her hand on his shoulder, the latter turned towards her, close to crying. Holy shit what she did with him.

"You'll finish later, for now, go to her." She ordered, and he nodded and without a word headed for the infirmary.

***

"When will she wake up?" He asked one of the medics, who was just finishing treating single wounds on the body of an unconscious woman.

"She should wake up in the morning. But probably not for long, he has to rest a lot now. She lost a lot of blood, it is surprising that she was even going here alive." She replied and got up from the small stool, putting the remnants of bandages and other medicaments on a silver tray. "But take it easy, she will get out of this, squad leader l/n is a damn tough woman, not just character. She will lick it." She added after a moment with a slight smile on her face trying to cheer the man up.

"I know she's strong." He replied quietly, his head bowed and his hands folded.

"So just be patient. I think she survived because she had someone to return to." She laughed softly and just left the room, leaving the slightly confused captain with the unconscious woman.

He slowly walked over to her bed and sat down next to it on the wooden chair. He grabbed her chilled hand and pressed it to his lips, giving it a tender kiss. He had to wait.

And so the hours went by, and Levi spent them thinking about his feelings for the woman and simply gazing at her adoringly.

She was so beautiful, he loved everything about her. From a smile that could not be seen too often, ending with short hair. He was lazily combing them almost all the time, not being surprised how pleasant they are. He did not even notice that it was starting to dawn, and the soldiers of the corps were slowly waking up to start another day of service. He also did not notice that Erwin accompanied by Hanji arrived in the room in the meantime, but when they saw the man sitting next to the y/n, they only smiled at each other and left, leaving them alone, of course they gave each other high five for fruitful cooperation.

"Wake up now, because these feelings will blow me up soon." The words were coming out of his mouth involuntarily. His eyes were closed, he tried to focus, to be patient. "I overheard your, Hanji and Erwin conversation about me. I really was an idiot. I shouldn't be away from you, that's why you're here at all. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be lying here, I wouldn't have allowed it. I have plans to blame Erwin for letting you go on this mission alone. But you don't know how much I was bursting from the inside by the thought that you care about someone, and that someone is not me. I was so fucking jealous. Ugh, feelings are a pain in the ass. You don't even know what you're doing with me. I just love you, and I love everything about you." There was a silence in the room, and the man breathed a sigh of relief, finally blurted out into the crowd of thoughts.

"Even my short hair?" Silence, a hoarse voice broke the silence in the room. The man immediately opened his eyes and straightened in his chair, a smile spread across his face at the sight of the woman's open eyes.

"Even short hair." He replied and once again ran his hand through it, and placed the other on her cheek.

"I heard everything, you idiot. Love you too." She said and smiled broadly as he reciprocated.

"I love you too." He replied and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

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floralovebot · 3 years

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what are ur thoughts... on helia's relationship with masculinity? his earlier wardrobe was softer colors and peasant blouses and his (beautiful, beautiful T^T) hair was kept long. obviously we know that shit slapped even if the show wont acknowledge it now. his look always made him super distinct from the rest of the guys, but i feel like that may have also been an alienizing factor? red fountain is a military school and i promise im not asking for your take on gender roles or toxic masculinity of the entire magic dimension or to write helia a planet and culture and backstory from scratch (unless? 👀, bc your takes are always fascinating), but do you think he was ever taken with that, or felt subject to other's opinions on that sort of thing? has he always been comfortable with his presentation, or did he have any clumsy teenage overcompensating? if the latter, would you say leaving red fountain helped him come to terms with that or reinvent himself to his tastes? or maybe had him overcorrecting in the opposite direction, to distance himself from the red fountain lifestyle as well as account for his two haircuts and more traditionally masculine style later on?

anon i'm in love with you.

I have so many thoughts about Helia's overall aesthetic (and some about his concept designs heheh) but I won't get into all of them since that would make this way too long. To be honest, within canon we don't know a lot about Helia's personal thoughts about Red Fountain or the culture surrounding it and other military/paramilitary establishments. While this does make it harder for people to give him a solid characterization, it actually makes a lot of sense considering how quiet he is in terms of his own thoughts on things. We have random tidbits and rumors from other characters but almost nothing from him.

When it comes to his looks in canon, honestly I don't think it would ever be an issue. While long hair on men is stigmatized in real life, in Winx Club it's not that big of a deal, in fact, it's pretty normal. We see multiple male characters with long hair and not typically considered masculine wardrobes. Saladin, Palladium, Avalon, Valtor, and even background Specialists are just a few examples. Longer hair on men is a normal thing throughout all of the planets and only seems to be weird on Earth (ie Sky and Helia cutting their hair to blend in). While I do have a lot of thoughts on Helia's hair, I really doubt it was ever an issue in canon. It's only an area of topic in the fandom due to a couple of things that don't factor into canon (such as men having long hair being stigmatized in real life or the rumors that Helia was originally a female character [with absolutely no proof of that besides his long hair and slightly more feminine looking face]).

I think when it comes to Helia feeling out of place, it would likely have more to do with his personal interests, aka art, and not necessarily wanting to be a Specialist. Contrary to fanon, Helia likes being a Specialist and we know he respects Saladin and Red Fountain as a whole. Him leaving was largely due to being more interested in art than the "family business" so to speak. It's shown multiple times in canon that Helia feels a lot of pressure from being related to Saladin and that his own actions and opinions affect both Saladin and the school (which says a lot about how the Magix Dimension feels about families and relations). His back and forth between being a Specialist and being an artist have to do with him not wanting to disappoint Saladin or affect his image in a negative way.

We do know that other Specialists and people outside of the school have opinions about him and what he does but we don't actually know how he feels about that or how he deals with it. It gets brought up quite a few times; random people who aren't close to him talking shit for no reason (Brandon in ep.8, Riven multiple times in the comics, other random specialists, etc), and yet, Helia's own feelings about the matter never get revealed. Again, I think this plays into how quiet he is about his own emotions, not wanting to start shit or get into a fight that could later damage Red Fountain's image.

In that way, you could say Helia deals with some amount of rejecting masculinity, but personally, I think his actions have more to do with feeling like he needs to have a "good" image because of his familial relations. Helia doesn't start conflict, he doesn't push things or engage in arguments, he's extremely conscious about how his actions affect Saladin and the school (he even uses this to his advantage in the Shaab Stone arc). We don't know the extent of how much people talk about him, behind his back or to his face, and we don't the extent of how much it affects him.

Personally, I think Helia is conscious enough to have dealt with toxic masculinity, specifically trying to get away with it, earlier in his life. While Red Fountain is a paramilitary school, it's shown explicitly that they don't tolerate that attitude and try to knock it out of any boy that enters (aka don't start dumb fights, don't insult your teammates, don't do dumb shit to prove your worth, etc). The only reason the main boys managed to stay in the school is that they're canonically the best students and Codatorta believed in them (also cause yknow,, they're the love interests).

While the Magix Dimension definitely has some degree of toxic masculinity, Helia in particular mostly battles with toxic perfectionism and family legacy. He's not consciously or subconsciously trying to be the ideal version of a man nor does he base his life or opinions of himself on that. Helia tries to be the perfect Specialist and the perfect grandson. He tries to be the perfect student in a school that's largely associated with the best soldiers in the universe and that's also run by his grandpa, while also dealing with his own actions and opinions affecting the image of said grandpa and school. So honestly, no, I don't think Helia particularly gets affected by masculinity, toxic or otherwise, and I don't think any of his actions in canon could be led by it. However, I do think he's in an awkward situation and tries too hard to live up to other people's (and his own) expectations of him and that some of those expectations can run into the "ideal" version of masculinity (such as Brandon saying "he doesn't like to get his hands dirty" as an insult).

While I do love the idea of Helia going through a little teenage rebellion and him going to art school being a result of that, in canon, it's partially implied that he really didn't change. Saladin sees him as the same person and the specialists recognize who he is. There is no "whomst the fuck are you" kind of moment with any of the characters. This is more implied by canon than directly shown but, I do think that Helia was one of those people who had to mature quickly as a kid. And that him leaving Red Fountain multiple times is mostly him trying to get away from those expectations. We see this theme with multiple characters so I don't think it's a wild conclusion.

When it comes to his haircuts and different aesthetics, I think that's mainly Rainbow mucking things up. His aesthetic change in S4 is so they can blend in, it's not him being himself. Even when their identities get revealed and everyone knows they aren't from Earth, they're still trying to fit in and live within that Earth culture. His changes in the later seasons are largely due to Nickelodeon not understanding the characters and just wanting a group of masculine soldier dudes.

Unpopular opinion but: I think a better way of showing how out of their element the specialists were in S4, would actually be to cut Helia's hair super short, not just the uneven shreds he got, and then have him grow it out through the season (maybe even magically like they did with Musa) to show that they're chill on Earth and people aren't scared of them. Is this an excuse for me to imagine him with a wolf cut? Yes.

#anon.. i have Absolutely written an entire planet backstory and culture for him from scratch #all helia stans do that its the one thing we're good at #alhdglajdhgljad #but anyway.. this got really long sorry aljhgdaljdg #while it is implied that helia isnt fond of people talking about him (who is?)#its also shown that he doesnt let it affect his life or his decisions #him running away from rf is him trying to run away from those familial expectations (and to chase his love of art of course)#wait actually scratch the very last bit imagine riven with a wolf cut #see i like thinking about tecna with a wolf cut too...#at this rate im gonna imagine all of them with a wolf cut...#wolf cuts are too sexy for sky im gatekeeping them from him #aldhgadhglja #answered #anonymous #winx helia #mine.metas #yes this is going in the meta tag 😌

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual.

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities.

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May.

He needed a haircut, she thought.

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her.

On a Thursday in May.

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly.

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree.

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally.

The muscle shifted.

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient.

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook.

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout.

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs.

An actual scorebook.

That he brought with him to Citi Field.

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird.

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison.

Nina bit her lip.

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up.

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed.

Some of which might have mystical and potentially.

Goddamn, Ben Stiller.

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle.

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body.

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him.

The muscle.

She heard his pencil drop, she swore.

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically.

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first.

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue.

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous.

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field.

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up.

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise.

And sat back down.

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible.

The amazing, even.

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint.

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist.

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually.

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache.

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades.

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began.

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation.

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams.

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey.

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm.

He was still keeping score.

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page.

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry.

It would be embarrassing.

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way.

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head.

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance.

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars.

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time.

Once she got the popcorn off her feet.

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward.

With his own brand of emotion.

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling.

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming.

Undeniably so.

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her.

He didn’t make the throw.

Not in time, at least.

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night.

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook.

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier.

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad.

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter.

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should.

Jesper was going to crack a rib.

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed.

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly.

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved.

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face.

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed.

Ah, damn.

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss.

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil.

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite.

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her.

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap.

He’d folded the piece of paper.

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him.

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth.

He watched.

Documented.

Kept track.

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again.

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket.

To hand to her.

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though.

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest.

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet.

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders.

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were.

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever.

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil.

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far.

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did.

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move.

On her part, specifically.

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even.

She grinned.

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall.

He didn’t look away.

She’d think that was important, later.

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower.

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her.

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling.

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded.

And climbed over the seat.

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain.

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t.

At least not at first.

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder.

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself.

They’d get there.

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway.

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra.

Sugar on top, if you will.

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines.

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least.

He smiled.

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too.

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic.

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her.

Huh.

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70.

She had sensitive skin.

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth.

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed.

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance.

He didn’t push her hand off his.

The coffee was going to go cold.

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing.

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen.

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile.

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission.

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his.

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened.

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued.

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket.

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page.

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was.

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them.

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors.

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that.

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form.

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act.

Once an inning, then.

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back.

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things.

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles.

He called them jimmies.

She made fun of him.

And then—

It was over.

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze.

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue.

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck.

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them.

That was nice.

He was nice.

She was—

A mess, at best.

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow.

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room.

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument.

There was champagne, so. That helped.

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches.

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes.

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered.

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number.

Neither could she, quite frankly.

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her.

From running into the section.

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set.

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason.

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out.

Matthias hadn’t been at the game.

To be a Mets fan, was to wait.

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it.

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting.

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey.

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently.

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks.

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say.

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe.

It smelled like salt when she did.

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him.

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status.

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer.

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably.

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand.

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added.

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured.

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died.

It was very dramatic.

Sweeping, even.

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club.

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle.

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness.

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like.

She wasn’t entirely opposed.

Their shoes nearly brushed.

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely.

She licked her lips.

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance.

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined.

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together.

Nina closed her eyes.

Better to remember, that way.

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice.

He was still there.

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time.

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe.

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that.

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first.

She kissed the bottom of his chin.

It was all she could reach.

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic.

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him.

Either or, really.

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend.

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be.

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone.

#matthias x nina #helnik #helnik fanfiction #nina zenik #matthias helvar #soc fanfic #insert shrug emoji here #every now and then i have these like...five hour bursts where i write all these words at once #this is the product of one of those

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ultranos · 3 years

Note

Do you read Azula as more masculine or feminine?

It’s funny, because I go back and forth on this. I feel like for Azula especially, with her drive for perfectionism as a defensive mechanism, how “perfect” gets defined culturally is actually incredibly important. And the thing is, in the rigid roles of Fire Nation nobility, how both her parents (and others to a lesser extent) define that are mutually incompatable.

We see it in how Mai’s parents want her to act. I don’t think it’s too much of an extrapolation to suspect Ursa would have had similar views for the first royal princess born in generations. Hence Azula’s adoption of makeup to make herself look older, to be seen as a Serious Adult rather than a child. (Possibly also why she is so very meticulous about her hair. Not only for the cultural reasons Zuko also has, but because long, well-kept hair is such a signifier of good feminine noble breeding.) (The makeup is fascinating because of what she doesn’t wear as well as what she does. I can’t imagine FN beauty standards were that much different from that of dynastic China and Edo Japan, and yet, Azula does not wear the refined makeup that Katara and Toph wear when they are being treated as high-born nobility in Ba Sing Se.)

At the same time, Ozai treats her almost like a second son, dressing her up in miniature armor and sending her out into the field like Azulon did Iroh. The impression I can’t shake is that she would have been Ozai’s perfect heir...had she been born male.

So she has both and yet, at the same time, she fits neither. (Even during “The Beach”, how much of her choices there are what she wants vs. what society expects from a teenage girl?) How comfortable is Azula in her own skin? Not very, I’d say. Given a choice of which of the two to bend towards, I tend to think she’d tend towards what is socially-coded as “masculine”, rather than more “feminine”.

(There’s a fic in the outline stage that I have that actually digs deep into this. During her unlearning-relearning process, she ends up...kinda genderqueer in it, because I think absent other pressures, Azula could end up just carving out her own place where she can exist, damn anyone else’s labels.

This...might also be the fic where Azula ends up with a ridiculous found family, including accidental-adopted transdad, and a haircut that’s somewhere between Sokka’s and P’li’s.

Zuko has so many near-heart attacks.)

#nos answers things #atla #feral genius storm-child #oh hell i'll admit this thing has a working title #and tag it #modulus verse #wingsfreedom

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Could you do #40 cancelled holiday party? Thank you!

40. i just found out that a friend of a friend of a friend isn’t hosting their annual holiday party this year, so now how am i going to have my annual run in with you?

from winter writing prompts here

happy xmas eve, if you celebrate it!

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

Newt doesn’t really have many friends, and certainly not enough to warrant a flood of party invitations come December, but for the past few years he’s been able to rely pretty consistently on at least one. Back when the band was still together, his drummer had a pretty cool girlfriend who would sometimes let them tag along as the entertainment for parties around town, and her brother (who was almost as cool as her) ended up liking the way they sounded so much he invited them back to his own parties a couple times. Then he dated Newt’s guitarist, and then he broke up with Newt’s guitarist, and then he dated Newt, and then he broke up with Newt, and it sort of fell apart from there (and so did the band), but the breakup was actually pretty amicable, and he’s never failed to extend the invitation to Newt for his annual holiday bash as a courtesy. And Newt’s never failed to make an appearance. What’s there not to like, you know? It’s free booze, free food, and the chance to not feel like a total loser loner for once. Plus…well. Another reason.

But this year isn’t looking too good for Newt.

“Sick?” Newt says. “What do you mean he’s sick?”

“I mean,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, irritably, “he’s sick. Caught the flu or something. I don’t know, Jackie just wanted me to call and tell you, she didn’t give me any details.”

“Couldn’t he have called me himself?” Newt says.

“No,” Newt’s ex-drummer says, “I told you, he has the flu, he’s totally out of it, man. Party’s off this year. Hey, did you get our Christmas card?”

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Newt sighs. He tacked it up on his fridge: the two women with their arms around each other, one pink-haired, one blue-haired, holding up their cat in the middle like it was their son or something. Clever. Quirky. Newt just makes a generic Tweet mid-December wishing everyone a happy holiday season and calls it a success—less effort. “Yeah, it was cute. It’s definitely cancelled? He can’t just, I don’t know, take some Advil or something and—”

“Newt,” she says.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” Newt says. “Tell Jackie to tell him to—get well soon? Soon enough for New Year’s, maybe? Because it would be great if—”

She hangs up on him. Newt probably deserved it.

He stalks Jackie’s brother’s Facebook for a bit after the phone call to make sure he’s not just lying about the flu to get out of inviting Newt to the holiday bash he’s definitely having. It becomes clear pretty quick it’s pretty legit—he’s made exactly one post in the last few days, and it’s a selfie of him looking absolutely horrid in his bed, advising everyone to not be like him and get their flu shots. Not lying, then. Damn it. There’s not even going to be anything for Newt to crash.

“Damn it,” Newt groans, and slams his laptop shut.

In all honesty, Newt’s not pissed about missing the party itself. He’s pissed about missing the party guests. How else is he going to have his annual spat at the snack table with his mortal enemy, Dr. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed Gottlieb?

Mortal enemy is too strong. Rival, maybe? Though certainly not a friendly one. He’s fond of Dr. Gottlieb, really, in some insane, backwards kinda way, like he’s a specimen Newt would love nothing more than to cram under a microscope and study up close. What makes him tick? What makes him scowl like that, yell at Newt—more or less a stranger—like that, attend the same party year after year like that only to stand in the darkest corner like a vampire and avoid every single other person? The first time they met was at the party three years ago, when Dr. Gottlieb loudly accused Newt of deliberately snagging the last cucumber finger sandwich because he somehow knew Dr. Gottlieb was eyeing it up, too, and only did it to annoy him, and it’s only gone downhill from there. Or maybe uphill. He fascinates Newt.

He’s also insanely attractive to Newt. Bitchy, British, Badly-Dressed, but, my God, what a set of cheekbones, what a set of eyes, what a big ‘ole mouth that Newt can only assume would be awesome for kissing. And only a few inches of height on Newt, too; he wouldn’t even need to stretch up that far to test out his hypothesis.

Since Newt has Facebook open, he does another search for Dr. Gottlieb—Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, technically, though he’s furious whenever Newt tries to call him anything other than his full title. If Newt was normal, he’d just shoot the guy a friend request or something. A simple message. He just stalks his page instead, which makes him feel the sting of the cancelled party even more keenly: Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t post, like, any pictures of himself, but the ones he’s been tagged in by his company and someone who appears to be his brother make it very clear very fast that he kinda just got even hotter over the year. He’s started wearing his oversized glasses on a librarian chain, and his haircut—which had always been a severe sort of undercut—has grown out up top to be adorably poofy. Tragic.

He shoots his ex-drummer a text later. Can you ask Jackie to ask about that Gottlieb guy that’s there every year? Like, what’s his deal?

The reply comes later, while Newt is reheating some leftover Chinese takeout for dinner. they’re friends w gottlieb’s younger bro. mostly invite him to be nice.

“Figures,” Newt mutters.

Well, if there won’t be a party at which to have their annual run-in, Newt is simply going to have to orchestrate a run-in himself. The first step is finding out where Gottlieb works.

Newt picks a miserable day to set his plan into action. A snowstorm swept through the city a few days prior, and before the sidewalks were even finished dethawing, a sleet storm followed and turned them into eighty-percent sheets of ice. And then more snow comes. Newt slips and slides all the way to the cafe across from Gottlieb’s humble little robotics research facility, cursing himself for not having invested in proper winter boots yet. Docs are practical and cool, but they could be warmer, and Newt’s are so old the treads are basically nonexistent. He orders himself the most expensive coffee on the menu as a reward for his troubles and claims a chair near the large shop window in front, underneath a hanging fern. He would simply wait and watch for Gottlieb to walk out. The man had to walk out eventually. Lunch break, or coffee break, or even just clocking out for the day. He had to.

“Would you like to see our sandwich menu, sir?” a waitress asks Newt. “We have a new—"

“Nah, no thanks,” Newt says. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window. “You don’t have to call me sir, by the way. It makes me feel old. Does a Dr. Gottlieb ever come here?”

The waitress snorts involuntarily; she flushes a second later. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that—yes, Dr. Gottlieb comes in a lot, and he’s kind of…”

“Awful?” Newt grins.

“Particular,” the waitress says. “He has us remake his coffee if it’s not perfect enough for him. And we have to write out the whole thing, Dr. Gottlieb, on his cup, every time. He tips really well, though, so we don’t really mind.”

“Has he come in today yet?” Newt says.

She opens her mouth as if to answer the question, but then furrows her eyebrows. “Why do you want to know, anyway? Are you guys friends?”

“Not really,” Newt says. Deciding it’s not worth the effort to explain the complex homoeroticism of his dynamic with Gottlieb, and to random waitress who probably doesn’t give a shit at that, he amends “I mean, yes. Good friends. I’ll see that sandwich menu, actually.”

Newt has a nice breakfast of avocado and egg on a bagel, and pretends to do work on his laptop for a few hours, but—to his disappointment—Dr. Gottlieb doesn’t come in for a coffee. Newt doesn’t catch sight of any familiar dark-haired, scowling men walking in or out of the institute, either. Gottlieb must have off today. Maybe it’s for the best, anyway; Newt’s not totally sure what he would’ve done if he ran into the guy on the street, or how he would have even explained why he’s there to Gottlieb if he did. He was just sort of operating under the assumption he’d figure it out in the heat of the moment. He calls it quits around three in the afternoon, not wanting to walk home in the dark after sunset. “Happy holidays,” he tells the baristas gloomily, and steps out into the snow with one last cardboard cup of coffee.

He mulls it all over in his head as he avoids ice patches and passersby on the way home. Should he ask for Dr. Gottlieb’s number? Is it weird to ask your ex, or even his sister, for the number of a guy you’re sorta-interested in? Newt supposes it’s weird to invite your ex to a holiday party in the first place, but he really wasn’t lying about it being amicable. Maybe he wouldn’t care. He could always just send that fucking Facebook friend request. Or he could just wait until next year. It’s just a year.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the patch of ice directly in front of his apartment until he’s already stepping on it, and his stomach flips in a way that lets Newt knows he’s just fucked up; his worn-out boot loses traction, his arms pinwheel, his coffee goes flying, and he lands—

In someone’s arms?

Well, even that’s not totally right. He lands mostly in someone’s arms, but he hears a little oof, an exclamation of surprise, and then they both topple over and into a snowbank. The coffee lands somewhere next to Newt’s head. “Bugger,” a familiar voice groans.

Newt sits up. Dr. Gottlieb is laying on his back next to him, wrapped in a green parka and about three scarves. To Newt’s relief, he doesn’t look angry. More embarrassed than anything else. “Apologies,” he says. “You were heavier than I’d anticipated. Or perhaps I was not as strong as I anticipated.”

“I appreciate it anyway, dude,” Newt says.

He gets to his feet, locates Gottlieb’s cane from where it’s somehow landed on the other side of the sidewalk, then tugs Gottlieb to his feet as well. Gottlieb makes a face as he rights himself. “You ought to watch yourself, and be more careful,” he says. “You could break your neck next time.”

“Worried about me?” Newt says. He dusts some snow off Gottlieb’s shoulders. “What are you doing outside my apartment, dude?”

“Er,” Gottlieb says.

He goes a strange shade of pink, and clears his throat. “I fancied…a walk. In the snow. Fresh air. And I just happened to be—er—” He clears his throat again. “I happened to discover you lived here, and my walk happened to take me by. I wasn’t looking for you, if that’s what you’re implying. Or waiting for you. I have better things to do with myself.”

“Really?” Newt says. “’Cause I was looking for you.”

“Oh,” Gottlieb says.

He really is cute right now, with his red-tipped ears, his dumb coat, his dumb scarves, the snow sticking to his back and his poofy hair. Sticking to his long eyelashes. It’s the first time Newt’s ever seen the guy not, like, at least mildly annoyed at him; it’s doing something funny to his heart. “Hey, you wanna come in for a coffee or something?” he says. “Mine kinda spilled, and I could go for another.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Gottlieb says.

Newt grins. “Come on, I know you want to. It’s cold as shit out and you’ve clearly been out here for a while. We can order a pizza or something, too.”

“Well,” Gottlieb says, and he ducks his head as he finally smiles back. It’s worth the wait, because my God, is it cute, all broad and crooked. Newt has the feeling not too many people get to witness it. “Perhaps for a bit. I was hoping to discuss your latest article with you, you know, and was very put out when I learned I wouldn’t be seeing you at the party this year.”

“Oh?” Newt says. He holds out his hand, and Gottlieb startles visibly a moment before taking it. Newt can feel how cold Gottlieb is even through his thick red mitten—he could use a little warming up. Newt can light a fire in the fireplace he rarely uses…maybe break out some wine…it’ll be nice and romantic… “Did you like it?”

“Not in the slightest,” Gottlieb says cheerily.

“Just what I was hoping,” Newt says. “After you, Doctor.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

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Strength in numbers

Accountancy is more likely to be mocked than celebrated (or condemned), but accountants, far more than poets, are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.

Though "bean counters" are employed by firms, they are notionally bound by a professional code of ethics every bit as serious as the Hippocratic Oath: "count things honestly." Without an accurate accounting of quantities, you can't make good decisions on quality.

Though accountancy concerns itself with counting things, it is inextricably bound up with the realm of ideas, and accounting conventions (how you account for things) are philosophical matters, not empirical ones.

It's no coincidence that Modern Monetary Theory owes more to accountancy than it does to economics. Economic accounts of the economy have an unfortunate tendency to proceed from first principles, creating models based on pure reason, without checking in on the actual world.

For example, neoclassical econ's "homo economicus," the rational value-maximizing actor who populated so many models; or economists' insistence on targeting inflation with interest rates; or treating national "debts" like they were household debts.

It's telling that the greatest economics revolution of my lifetime was "behavioral economics," which could also be called "checking to see whether real people act like we've assumed they acted."

If it seems weird that economists would spend generations operating on the incorrect assumption that people behave in a certain way without ever checking, consider that Aristotle assumed women had fewer teeth than men, - and never bothered to count.

https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/aristotles-error/

Accountants check, and what they find is…gnarly. In "An Accounting Model of the UK Exchequer," Andrew Berkeley, Richard Tye & Neil Wilson offer a mindbending account (heh) of where money comes from (hint: not taxes), and where it goes ("poof").

https://gimms.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/An-Accounting-Model-of-the-UK-Exchequer-Google-Docs.pdf

The authors did a two-part MMT Podcast interview describing the paper's findings, and it is the most extraordinary 2.5h audio you're likely to find: not just the realities of money, but the deliberate obfuscation thereof.

https://pileusmmt.libsyn.com/84-andrew-berkeley-richard-tye-neil-wilson-an-accounting-model-of-the-uk-exchequer-part-1

https://pileusmmt.libsyn.com/86-andrew-berkeley-richard-tye-neil-wilson-an-accounting-model-of-the-uk-exchequer-part-2

One thing the Exchequer paper reveals is that accountants bat for both teams: team clarity and team obscurity. As many finance scandals and finance dramas have reminded us, accounting can be turned to obscuring and dazzling rather than revelation.

After all, somewhere in HM Exchequer is a team of accountants who know *exactly* how money works - and know that it's nothing like the account produced by economists or politicians. They know it because they are in charge of it. They do money, all day long.

When accountants go rogue, things get bad. And thanks to neoclassical economics - and its emphasis on the "efficiency" of monopolies - we are living through a golden age of ghastly accounting fraud.

Just four companies - EY, KPMG, PWC and Deloitte - audit the books of 97% of the 350 largest UK companies; but they make far more selling these companies consulting services, and have made a habit of lying about those books in order to boost their consulting income.

Accountancy is meant to be a profession that understands that conflicts of interest are a moral hazard. But just as doctors convince themselves they won't get addicted to their own painkillers, accountants talk themselves into believing that conflicts won't corrupt them.

That's how the Big Four accounting companies came to sign off Carillion's fraudulent books. The company hid £7b worth of debts, took on management of vital government services up and down the country, then collapsed, leaving the nation stranded.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carillion#Financial_difficulties

For the Big Four, Carillion's collapse was a feature, not a bug. After all, the only accounting firms large enough to oversee its bankruptcy were...the Big Four, who billed millions for cleaning up the mess left behind by their own fraud.

Accounting fraud is a fascinating potential fracture line in economic reform. After all, fraudulent accountants may help *some* plutes get rich - like, say Bernie Madoff, or Donald Trump - but they often do so at the expense of *other* plutes.

Like Exxon, which lied to its investors for 11 years about the value of its shale-gas holdings, which it purchased at the peak of the fracking bubble and whose revenues and liabilities it has buried in its financial statements ever since.

https://www.desmogblog.com/2021/02/02/whistleblower-sec-complaint-alleges-exxon-fraud-overvalue-fracking-assets

The company is finally writing down $19.3b worth of those assets, but the true figure is more like $50b. And yes, Exxon's big investors include a lot of passive funds that invest pension savings, meaning this hurts Main Street as well as Wall Street.

But as ever, those pension-savers are the Lucky Duckies here, because - joke's on us - Americans have basically no pension savings, thanks to the wage stagnation and asset inflation that left almost all working Americans facing penury in old age.

Hey, at least they're not getting ripped off by Exxon! The real victims of this decade-long, multibillion-dollar fraud are the same people who got snookered into buying into shitty Trump casinos and luxury buildings: rich people.

By definition, rich people deal in quantities that exceed their ability to personally count so they are especially vulnerable to scam accounting. It's only when the frauds tank a company we all suffer, as jobs and businesses disappear, screwing workers and cities.

The absence of a neutral ref and scorekeeper is a really big deal in online business and policy circles. The ad-tech duopoly isn't merely content to price-gouge advertisers - they also lie about what those sky-high prices are paying for:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

But each member of the duopoly has a different scam. Google's frauds are complex, behind-the-scenes market manipulations, an abstruse, mathematical grift that leverages complexity and monopoly to fleece its customers.

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3500919

Facebook is much more straightforward. It just lies. Back in 2016, FB lied about how many people were watching videos, and encouraged hundreds of media company to beggar themselves to chase fraudulent video dollars:

https://www.wired.com/story/facebook-lawsuit-pivot-to-video-mistake/

Accounting fraud is in Facebook's DNA. After all, this is a company whose primary sales-pitch is, "We will count everything you do and then charge people to help them sell you stuff."

This proposition is intrinsically hard to evaluate. How can a customer know if their FB ad generated a sale, or whether it was an ad elsewhere, or random chance, or even that elusive beast, customer loyalty?

The main source for the belief in Facebook's efficacy is...Facebook. It's not a neutral party, and the accountants who sign off on its books have repeatedly shown themselves to be untrustworthy.

Here's the latest scandal: since 2018, FB's been defending a class-action suit brought by its customers who claim that FB lied about "potential reach" - that is, how many users would see their ads.

https://www.ft.com/content/c144b3e0-a502-440b-8565-53a4ce5470a5

And while FB strenuously denies that the inaccuracies in "potential reach" metrics were just normal, unpredictable variations in user behaviors, a whistleblowing FB product manager has produced emails in which they warn execs that they're committing fraud.

The execs who got these memos rejected them, telling the product manager that acting on them would have "significant revenue impact" - that is, "Our customers wouldn't buy our products if we were truthful about them."

The fraudulent reach figures begat fraudulent revenues, and those revenues were fraudulently reported to investors. Those investors will now take a haircut if FB loses in court.

Accounting fraud's pathology is bimodal: it abets the wage-theft and austerity that harms the poorest and most vulnerable - but also the reporting scams that harpoon finance's biggest whales.

It's a curious alliance of interests. For now, it seems like Big Tech is going to be antitrust and anti-corruption's harbinger, but I wouldn't count accountancy out - it's got exactly the right kinds of enemies to fire sustained political will.

#pluralistic

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void-tiger · 3 years

Text

It just isn’t practical to me for Shiro’s Scars to have come from the arena. Oh, he definitely has some, the majority being defensive, but they’re almost all superficial, and many of them already fading.

Because the Galra aren’t going to waste medical supplies treating gladiator, not even crowd favorites or careers, and certainly not the slaves and fodder. And despite Humans maxing out their endurance even if they’re not the fastest or strongest, bones and organ and skin are still very delicate things. They’re sturdy enough, but one bad fall or hit or wrenching motion is all it takes. Contusions and stress fractures can still be Very Bad if left untreated. And the galra would kill off a sick slave (or even another freeborn galra) rather than risk an epidemic.

“Victory or Death” —wipe out the weakness.

So Shiro’s fighting strategy is to quite literally DON’T GET HIT; Get Fast or Get Dead. Use his mind to outthink and use his “smaller” body and insanely high stamina (and stubborness) to out maneuver and outlast. Don’t be shy about killing blows or disabling strikes—it’s Them or You, and the Galra will either condemn them to a slow, agonizing death or put them down much more painfully than even you in arena conditions. (Also Jiro telling Keith to Just Let Go softly—he probably inherited that from Shiro. Shiro trying to comfort his opponant as he’s killing them, because Dying Isn’t An Option for Shiro, but he also knows that they both can’t survive, that the Galra will just kill the other slave, that the arena is lonely enough void of any scrap of kindness. But giving a swift or easing death? Making sure they won’t die ALONE? That he can do. Be the Angel of Death rather than be the Arena’s Champion.)

That doesn’t mean Shiro doesn’t rebel. He certainly does, and pays dearly for it. The only reason why he wasn’t struck down right then is because Sendak enjoys breaking his toys, and Shiro’s spirit is a delicious challenge he hasn’t seen in milennia. Sendak’s going to relish Champion.

That doesn’t mean Haggar and her Druids and Scientists and Androids won’t take Champion apart piece by piece to see how he’s made, how to put him back together again, see if Terrans are worth the effort to take as stock, see what sets Champion apart from the other two Terrans taken and every other known being she’s seen over her very long life. See what improvements she can make, ideas she can test. (Champion’s illness is also both a frustration but also a wonderful puzzle. She will FIX him. Make him BETTER. And he will be HERS and worship her for it.) Haggar is very deliberate in putting Champion back together again and sealing the wounds she left. But her methods still leave raised, angry-looking scars that are tender to the touch. (She’s careful not to damage nerves. Pain is a nuisance Champion will endure if he’s wise. But she made the mistake in causing a subject to lose feeling—he died soon after. Haggar never makes the same mistake twice.)

So when Shiro looks at himself, his back is a mottled mess of electric burnmarks left by his guards, he assumes. Viciously he doesn’t mind—GOOD. He fought back. They didn’t break him. He knows they didn’t...right? But. He gave them hell right back.

His remaining arm and hand and legs and feet are crisscrossed with faded slashes and sometimes dotted with double-Us left by teeth. Defensive marks. By color they were all presumably superficial. He fought, and he survived. They never got a good hit in. He’a both relieved and overwhelmed with horrible guilt—if he survived, that means they didn’t. He killed them. What kind of monster does that make him if he valued his own life over theirs? But what would’ve happened to his kids and Allura and Coran and the BlackLion if he didn’t? To the Universe? But. He still killed innocents. What right does he have to the Black Paladin mantle over Zarkon after that?

(His thighs and ass and pecks have much deeper bite wounds and claw marks. Shiro tries very, very hard not to think about them or to let anything touch these scars directly. Tries not to remember remember his instant recognition of Sendak, particularly his teeth and definitely his claws, both natural and artificial. How Sendak entering the Castle and hurting his friends and taunting him—don’tthinkdon’tthinknodon’tthinkabouthimtouchingyou—forces Shiro to lie awake or have a new set of nightmares. His guilt over that vicious relief when Sendak was finally gone and off the ship.)

Or the scar on his nose—Shiro hates how visible both it and the shock of white hair are (and how tender that part of his scalp is whenever he accidentally brushes it). He can’t hide it. Not unless he wants to keep his face covered for the rest of his life. He could dye his bangs back to black...if the Alteans even have hair dye. (Do they just change their haircolor like they do their height and skin when they’re bored??) But, other than being so visible and a testiment to the world about that year he can’t remember (probably for the best...right??) and his scalp being this constant itch and his face a raw, tender ache that pulls (and makes him have snuffled snores now. Snoring’s new...) they don’t exactly look bad.

Frosted bangs are a classic look. He’s never had them but he’d definitely been curious about it. (The GG’s just barely lax about haircuts, but still had a stick up their ass with dyed hair. And his faded undercut and bangs were already pretty expensive to have kept all the time.) And he can kinda pretend that his scar’s just the Voltron Symbol upside down—he doesn’t really put much stock in fate or destiny, but still. It’s a nicer thought than most. (His opinion sours slightly after seeing Shay suspended and muzzled. That contour. It’s the same one on his own face. At some point they muzzled him, but it either rubbed his skin raw, or didn’t fit him properly, or both.)

But the scars Shiro cannot avoid and definitely bother him—that mortician Y incision on his chest. It’s raw and it’s raised and it’s ragged. Someone cut into him, mucked about inside, sealed it up, used the same spot and did it all over again. It’s ugly and tender in a way none of his other scars are, and fills him with helpless rage when it catches (all the time) or he sees it (he tries So HARD not to look at it. He’d rather cover the bathroom mirror and use a hand one when he’s stuck shaving off his whiskers. He hated shaving before—it takes so damn long. He definitely hates it now, but traditional blades are slightly better than buzzing electric ones that close to his face and throat...if he doesn’t nick himself, anyway...) The raised lines that follow the contor inside his arms (well, what’s left of his right arm) and legs match in precision, but they’re not as angry looking, if slightly.

The reason Shiro learns why, though, is less than comforting. He could say that he’s Wolverine Now but. He didn’t consent to that. He didn’t consent to any of this, and they still violated him so thoroughly and invasively, anyway. And unlike his Arena Scars, the raw scars and callouses on his remaining wrist and ankles say that no matter how hard he tried to resist, they still got their way, anyway. They took him at his most helpless and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. And he wasn’t strong enough to keep things from progressing that far.

Before Kerberos, Shiro was already pretty modest. He didn’t like people staring at him or the snide remarks and other unwanted attention. He felt fairly comfortable in his own skin, but didn’t like either being jeered at for “not earning things” or dealing with people liking the way he looked but not really liking him (and okay so he’s tall and his eyes are unusual but...he just looks fairly average?? Trying to buy clothes is also awful—it’s always too tight or HUGE. How can awkward fits be attractive, anyway?)

After Kerberos. Well. He has a new set of reasons to not want the other paladins to see him even with just his shirt off. He doesn’t want to see his own scars, and he definitely doesn’t want to deal with anyone looking at him with pity or morbid fascination or revulsion (either because of his scars being so ugly looking...or worse, because of how he got them. For not being strong or smart enough to stop them, and instead became someone else’s pet to survive many times over. For getting them as “payment” for being unable to save his crew, and flying too damn well and landing them all in danger.)

#takashi shirogane #shiro #bp shiro #champion #prekerb shiro #shiro’s gap year of hell #shiro’s scars #shiro meta #shiro headcanons #long post #the muzzle and back and metal skeleton are not mine #mckinely pointed out what Shiro’s back probably looks like #I know Boss has made a fic about Shiro having his skeleton switched out on him #and idk the artist but there’s fanart with shiro getting his scar from a muzzle (it makes more sense than an arena wound ever will)#the rest of Shiro’s Scars are my own HC based on his fighting style + things Haggar and Sendak both alluded to in s1 #(even before getting much more...explicit. Sendak especially)#(Shiro was already coded as such. And Sendak’s comments while torturing him (and making Pidge listen to it)#(but. then season FRIKKIN FIVE AND SIX. look I already had those HC and hated them. but now they’re def all but canon.)#THANKS I HATE IT #on the flip side #I do HC that part of what Fascinated Haggar so much with Champion (so much so as to make and mature HUNDREDS of clones)#is that she discovered that Shiro already had BlackPaladin Quintessence despite Zarkon being the first BP and still living #and...well. besides wanting to Upgrade Champion and his illness being a Puzzle #and MOAR Champions = MOAR Ideal Test Subjects&Shit #she prolly also took Shiro’s Quintessence (and the developing clones) to beef up Zarkon even further #(then nearly exhausted her BP Grade Quintessence Farm after Shiro&Black with Voltron knocked Zarkon into a coma #(...and it still nearly failed ‘cause...well. Jiro’s quintessence is So Damn Close to Shiro’s but. He’s still not the BP #(Jiro’s simply just Close Enough for Black to sense via a preLink and eventually fly with.#(he’s closer than the others save Allura if Black didn’t stubbornly want SHIRO back (and thought Keith could do it which didn’t happen rip)#(but he’s still not the BP and doesn’t quite have Shiro’s stamina (altho a witch in his brain? it’s impressive he can fly at all)

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sepublic · 4 years

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Understanding Willow!

Big surprise- ANOTHER great episode!

You know what, let me just try to process what happened, by going through the beginning and from there! Firstly, it’s funny that the show confirmed that Amity is only tolerating Boscha and Skara at this point (and I guess some of those other friends), and she’s making it pretty clear to them as well- At BEST, her expressions are neutral around them! Honestly, Boscha and Skara’s parents being friends with Mr. and Mrs. Blight makes sense, it’s messed up but not surprising that they’d use their kid to try to establish connections with OTHER families! I have to wonder what Boscha and Skara’s parents are like… We know Boscha’s mom is, well…

Also, I was wondering why Dana confirmed Skara’s name, and now we know- It’s because she’s slightly plot relevant in this episode! I love the details of the literal butterflies being converted into birthday invitations, that’s always neat… Apparently Skara is also considered ‘popular’, too? Anyhow, I also noticed that the one girl in the Healing Track with glasses, who was also at Amity’s Moonlight Conjuring, got the haircut we saw Matthieu Cousin draw her with! THAT was a neat little easter egg! We also see a young Bo with Boscha at some point, and this is super-pointless… But would their ship-name be BOscha? Boschabo? Bo squared?

Gus’ little B-plot was pretty funny, and I’m glad we’re getting more interactions between the cast now! I love the callback to Sense and Insensitivity, with Not-Dana/Tiny Nose being ‘missing’ ever since her deal with Piniet… I can only imagine what happened there! Honestly, there’s not much for the dude to squash into a cube, but you get the idea! Eda and King competing for Gus’ interview was also hilarious, and DANG IT KING, answer the question- WHEN were you born, I know a couple of people, myself included, who are VERY interested in this answer…! I suspected Hooty would be chosen and I was right, but also not surprised, when Gus quickly regretted his decision! But hey, at least Hooty is happy!

(Also, that Eda dance.)

Luz is such a dork as always, loudly declaring that she’ll stick her face into something random, and then just going NYOOM when Inner Willow chucks her in- I wouldn’t have her any other way, and I love that we have ANOTHER picture of her when she was younger! Season 1B just keeps giving… Although let’s be real, it’s an extension of Season 1, and THAT gave us this entire show and Luz to begin with!

Onto the meat of this episode! First off… WILLOW’S DADS ARE GAY! Honestly didn’t see that coming, but I love it and I wish we got to see more of them! I’m also interested to see which dad (assuming it’s not both) has a Magic Staff, and if it has a Palisman, but that’s another discussion for another day! I WANT MORE WILLOW AND HER LOVING PARENTS, dang it! Parents who put her in Abominations but also still mean well and have Christmas morning with her! I want to see Willow’s house and life at home, dang it! I want to MEET her parents properly, see them react to Luz!

YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! That’s just adorable… I love their little memories together, and the egg-pit gag was hilarious! It’s also super-minor but I adore that we got a cameo from the librarian during their past memories as well!

Inner Willow, though… At first I thought the flame-being was just, like, the incarnation of Amity’s spell. But then Eda mentioned the Inner Willow, and was like, OHHH… Oh boy. She was out for BLOOD, too! Angry Willow is pretty terrifying, but rightfully so- I’m glad the show didn’t shy over her anger and her genuine grievances with Amity! That had to have HURT, being on fire, but at the same time you can tell that Willow also genuinely wanted to burn her memories with Amity, too… Oof. How many years of pent-up rage and grief, manifesting, before spilling over at this final straw of being burnt? Amity is thematically associated with Fire, which burns plants, and her last name literally refers to a plant disease! You can tell just how BADLY Willow has been hurting on the inside, possibly even hating herself in the process, and I...!

You know, I doubt there’s any substantial connection between Willow and Belos beyond this, but I think it’s interesting to see that they BOTH have glowing green eyes- It’s interesting that such characters are shown (or at least implied) to be powerful, and now I can’t help but imagine Willow meeting Belos, and Willow going HAM for her friends… I wonder if the glowing eyes are a sign of being emotionally repressed, until it all just comes flowing outwards? Given how Belos values control, this may also apply to himself as well… Anyhow, I adore Willow’s friendship and love of Luz though, she has NOTHING against her and I love how even after almost losing her mind she still jokes with her! Willow’s got that scary side, but she’s also sweet and I love the show acknowledging how gangly Luz can be!

Amity! Looks like her dad got to have a voice, after all! Not much to her memories (Makes sense, we’re going into Willow’s here), but we clearly had insightful character moments! I have to wonder, did Amity know about how destroying the photos would destroy the mind as well? We don’t know if she’s in Photo Class and if she knows about the Memory Tweezers, so who knows? Either way that was NOT cool…

Honestly, I like that the show doesn’t shy away or forget what Amity did to Willow! I love Amity with all my heart, but I was definitely anxious to see how these two felt about one another- I had a feeling that Amity may not have totally gotten over her issues and still felt a little harsh towards Willow, which makes sense! She’s a flawed, messed-up character with her own problems. But speaking of problems…

DANG, her parents really made Amity get rid of her friend, on her own BIRTHDAY?! Jeez, at least wait until tomorrow at least… And not a big fan of them apparently deciding Amity’s guest list for her, it’s like they’re using their kid as a means to heighten their social status! Not that I’m shocked, I’ve already suspected this, but c’mon. I wonder how Emira and Edric felt about the whole thing with Amity breaking ties with Willow- Were they concerned for Mittens? Did they know about the parents threatening Willow, or to them did their little sister just suddenly become so cold and distant? I can only imagine how harsh Mr. and Mrs. Blight could be to them, but the twins seem a lot more independent and self-assured; It helps that they have each other!

ALSO, Amity is in the Owl House for the first time! She gets to see how weird the shenanigans are, and I love how she makes the choice to enter a wanted criminal’s home to fix what she did wrong! I really have to wonder what went on in her head, when she chose to burn that photo of her and Willow… SUPER MESSED UP, of course, and I love how Eda just unapologetically gives Amity flack for it! But at the same time, I wonder if that moment was Amity’s greatest regret… It’s unlikely, but perhaps there was the tiny hope in Amity’s heart that if Willow forgot (assuming that was the intention), maybe they could be friends again? Again, not likely- What is more likely though is Amity not wanting Luz to think badly of her and ‘lose’ THAT friendship, but I digress!

Poor Willow… I can only imagine how much PAIN she was in, both beforehand and when her Inner self was on fire! It was cute seeing her young and current Inner Selves interact, but at the same time it hurts because Willow is clearly someone who is used to being quiet and not noticed, and she just bottles up her rage and wrath inside until it manifests! I wonder… Could this be related to her glowing eyes? Could this apply to Belos? I dunno.

I appreciate the detail of Willow and Amity not exactly being willing to be friends again, I half-expected it and it makes sense! Amity clearly regrets what she did, it wasn’t her choice to begin with and she partly did it to protect Willow (Seriously, Mr. and Mrs. Blight were going to abuse their power to RUIN Willow’s education, what the heck?!) but she still let Boscha and Skara bully Willow. I’m glad she apologized for it, it shows a lot of growth on her part… It’d have been easy for Amity to blame her parents for what happened (and she wouldn’t even be WRONG, either) but she still owns up to not only her mistake of burning the memories, but just in general of being apathetic to Willow’s plight!

(Unrelated but I appreciate the Azura poster in her bedroom)

Overall- A fascinating episode, as expected! I did have issues with DisneyNOW constantly cutting the episode off with its Error symbol… And recently, every time the Error thing shows up and I click back in, instead of resuming the episode as always, the website is now forcing me to watch a few ads EVERY SINGLE TIME- I had to watch, like, seven times the ads I normally would have! Near the end it got pretty bad too, although I suspect this is because a lot of people are watching the episode! And I know it only became available at 2:08 AM or so (yeah I was EARLY and checked) but let’s be real here- We’re ALL pulling all-nighters for this show!

(I mean, I didn’t, I slept and woke up at the most convenient time without meaning to, but you get the idea.)

I didn’t touch on it as much earlier, but I love Luz’s whacky antics (or should I say shenanigans?) and how Willow and Amity are just… USED to it at this point! Willow totally expects Luz to try to repair her friendship with Amity, her kindness is just so well-known at this point and she’s so unconditionally well-meaning! Luz could’ve easily relegated the task of fixing Willow’s memories to Amity, who caused the problem- But her friend was at stake! And yeah she also wanted to experience Willow’s memories too, but still.

Honestly, with how much Luz is willing to do for both of these girls, it’s no wonder they love Luz so much! And with Enchanting Grom Fright up next… Even if there is no ‘declaration’, I can see their being the beginnings of a certain crush… for Amity, Luz is an anomaly who came out of nowhere but offers her unconditional love and support and has been changing her life for the better!

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house willow #the owl house amity #amity blight #the owl house luz #luz noceda

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snkpolls · 3 years

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SnK Episode 61 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 359 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

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RATE THE EPISODE 347 Responses

While this episode wasn’t as big of a hit as episode 60, overall most viewers still enjoyed the content and are looking forward to more next week!

amazing amazing! I'm so delighted with this season so far!

Im so beyond pumped i love everything

Dissapointing but acceptable.

I’m like angry I loved it so much.

I just wish we didn't have to wait a week

It was amazing. We all gotta apologize to MAPPA for ever doubting them.

It's a huge stepdown from episode 1. At times the animation was straight up painful to watch. My expectations were low and yet I'm still disappointed :/

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WAS YOUR FAVORITE SCENE/MOMENT? 349 Responses

Reiner-centric scenes were the highest on people’s radar, with 24.9% of respondents enjoying his reunion with the warrior cadets, and not far behind, 22.9% enjoyed Reiner bringing up the 104th at the dinner table. In third, with only 13.5%, was Pieck and Porco’s formal introduction to the audience.

Hearing Zeke greet his grandparents with such happiness warmed my heart. I do believe that he loves them.

They just had to add one last image of Ymir's broken face before she died, huh? :(

WE FORGOT TO ASK LAST WEEK D: WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING SCENES/MOMENTS FROM EPISODE 60 WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 348 Responses

Last week we forgot to include what your favorite scenes were. The scene from episode 60 that got the most favor was Reiner’s, “I’m sick and tired… of walls” with 33.6% of the vote. 16.7% most enjoyed Zeke’s titan transforming scream. 14.9% were hyped about Reiner and Porco wrecking Fort Slava.

MAPPA WENT ALL OUT WITH THE CINEMATOGRAPHY IN THIS EPISODE. WHAT DID YOU THINK OF THE CINEMATIC PANS AND ROTOSCOPE ANIMATION? 349 Responses

Overall, a total of 74.5% respondents have positive feelings about MAPPA’s use of rotoscope animation and camera panning. Some felt like it was akin to watching a movie, while others are just happy to have the dynamic movement. A smaller amount of respondents didn’t have feelings one way or another, and a minority (about 10.3%) really are not a fan of this type of animation style for the series.

It felt odd sometimes as they used it for long scenes (like Udo talking or Gabi telling the story to her family) but overall it was pretty great and I prefer it to WIT's stale animation during season 3

I liked the more dynamic movement during dialogue, but my roommate found it super awkward and off-model. So a fifty-fifty split in a sample size of two lol

It could have been animated better, but I like the extra dimension it gives to scenes

Enjoyed it a lot! However, there were a few scenes that felt a bit off, like some frames were missing. Specifically, when Udo was doing all those gestures while talking with the rest of the Warrior Candidates.

It felt dynamic to the point of looking unnatural - some gestures and expressions just moved wrong

i'm split, in some scenes it was great (like reiner waking up), but in the dialogue scenes the constant movement seemed kinda unnatural and distracting

It was amazing but at the same time I'd didn't look fluid enough, especially at Udo's mouvements which made the character look kind of...video game-ish in constant moving.

I thought it looked great the rotoscoping,the movements all looked amazing

The animation during Urdu’s scene is so cool! I was caught of guard at first though lol. It’s so realistic!

NOW THAT WE’VE GOTTEN TO HEAR A LITTLE MORE OF THE NEW OST TRACKS, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE SOUNDTRACK SO FAR THIS SEASON? 344 Responses

So far, reception to the newer music is overall positive. 31.1% are really enjoying the music and think the songs are being used immaculately, and 40.4% really feel that the song choice compliments the scenes they’ve been used in. 13.1% think the songs are good, but miss having that sole Sawano feel to them. 10.8% just feel the music is “ok” and 2.6% aren’t a fan of the new OST tracks so far.

I mean it sounds good, but we haven't gotten to important moments that require a memorable track, so we'll see!

First episode slapped because it really complemented the scene but it's more... generic. I didn't like how it was used in this episode, there wasn't enough of it and again, generic. I miss Sawano's unreal scores.

the animation absolutely blew me away, and i love the intense music that played during Reiners monologue

The music is fine.

I've heard both new and old songs from the previous seasons. Still too soon to make an opinion as we need to hear more.

I am deaf, I can't hear no damn soundtracks

That music guys when they came back to Liberio and reuniting with they parents, made me tear up but also because the scouts never had the chance to go back home with victory in the arms of their family, I wish I could have seen EMA like this.. It kinda felt unfair X) but I was happy for them nevertheless.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE CLOSEUP OF ZEKE’S MOUTH? 346 Responses

Our first of probably too many crack questions in this poll, 32.7% thought the closeup of Zeke lighting his cigarette was cool looking. 21.4% are concerned about Zeke’s lung health. 19.1% are probably annoyed with us and simply don’t care (lol). 13.3% wouldn’t mind smooching Zeke, and 11% were just plain grossed out.

Does smoke even affect a titan shifter? Surely his lungs just heal themselves

ASMR for the eyes, right there. Aww yiss

It was awesome! Zeke is shown as relaxed person with a big drop of mystery.

Smoking Bad but he is gonna die in a year anyway

Suuuuuuucc

It might've just been an artistic choice to include it in there, but i gotta say I'm oddly fascinated and idk why

I don’t remember it lol

I didn't even notice.

Zeke looks hotter than he has ever looked

WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ABOUT ELDIAN ASSES? 341 Responses

Most of the responses seemed to feel rather positively about Eldian asses, with almost 40% seeking out Zeke’s ass wiping technique. About 17% simply stated their appreciation for them, while almost 13% are just thirsty. In contrast, a little over 17% seemed confused to the question’s inclusion and about 10% were confused outright.

MAPPA WHERE IS PIECK'S ASS

More into Eldian thighs, really

I bet Levi’s is nice

If only Eren had one

zeke has the energy of a straight man who doesn't wash his ass

Only Shadis' ass

GIVE IT TO ME 😏😏

They are like normal, human asses. Do not turn them into some magical, special snowflakes, just because they belong to Eldians.

Seek help

Enough

DO YOU WANT REINER TO GIVE YOU A HEAD PAT? 343 Responses

A definitive majority, almost 59 percent, openly expressed enthusiasm for the prospect of a head pat from Reiner. However, a near 30% fraction of responders didn’t seem too happy about this recent chain of less than serious questions. We’re sorry about that. 😅. The rest either didn’t seem interested in said prospect or noted they wouldn’t care either way.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE DECISION FROM MAPPA TO CONDENSE REINER’S FLASHBACK INTO (PRESUMABLY) A SINGLE EPISODE? 346 Responses

It would appear that the majority of those who took our poll express cautious optimism at the prospect of seeing all (or the vast majority) of Reiner’s backstory being adapted into a single episode, with a near 47% supporting the move, thinking it could make the narrative “more coherent”. Almost 20% argue it would work better pacing wise. On the flipside, just over 17% state that they would rather have a more accurate adaptation to the manga. 11.6% simply say they have no opinion. There were also more than a few write-ins.

I do wish everything could be animated to full detail, but pacing and structure will benefit here

They've done a good job so far, so I'll reserve judgement until I actually watch it.

It will be difficult as they're chapters with loads of dialogue, but they can pull it off if unnecessary stuff gets cut out or changed in some type of way (like watching Marcel's death for the sixth time, them breaking through the wall or even Jean and Eren fighting)

If they get the pacing right, then the rearrangement will be for the better.

Reiner flashbacks + Reiner suicide attempt + Falco meeting "Kruger" (more than 2,5 chapters) in a single episode? HELL NO! WTF MAPPA!

Worried and cautiously optimistic.

At least it looks like they're going to stick to just one episode for the RBA flashback. It was mostly just filler anyway, so there was never any need to stretch it out and waste precious time getting back to the Paradis side of the story

I doubt that that's exactly how it is, but if so, then I don't think that that's a wise idea

It’s gonna be rushed as hell

Reiner flashback is very long and there is tons of dialogue, so I dont know how its going fit in only one episode, but if they can make it work then its fine for me

WHICH CHARACTER DESIGN DID YOU LIKE BEST IN COMPARISON TO THE MANGA? 346 Responses

This question gave us a somewhat evenly split pie chart, but Porco nonetheless managed to gain the bigger piece with just over 55%. Surely due to that bomber jacket and haircut. Nearly 45% picked Pieck (gottem) instead. Must have been the somewhat inconsistent nose.

WHO’S SEIYUU DID YOU LIKE BEST? 335 Responses

On the flip side, 68.4% seemed to prefer Pieck’s soft voice. Porco with his (how the hell does Porco sound like… how can you describe his voice) managed to win the hearts of 31.6% of responses.

Pieck voice wtf? I imagined Pieck with a more Hanji-ish voice, not this sweet and high pitched.

DID MAPPA DO PIECK’S NOSE JUSTICE? 345 Responses

The debacle over Pieck’s POWERFUL nose gave us quite a colorful pie chart. Almost 39% of responses noted that Mappa was on point with Pieck’s nose for most of the episode. Afterwards, 26.7% stated that they thought that Mappa got it right only in some points of the episode. On the flip side, another 26.7% thought that Mappa was generally quite on point throughout the entire episode. A small minority (7.8%) thought that Mappa simply did a poor job.

The animation is good, and while I don't want to complain, I have a small problem with the drawings themselves. I feel like they lack precision (like Pieck's nose, idk if that's clear).

I'm grateful for Pieck's nose. I always respected Isayama for drawing imperfect characters, because this way he has made them to look more realistic. Even though Pieck has so-called imperfect nose, she is still absolutely gorgeous. Her imperfections are part of what makes her beautiful and unique.

PORCO’S HAIR - WERE YOU TEAM RED HAIR OR BLOND HAIR? AND ARE YOU HAPPY WITH HIS ANIME COLOR SCHEME? 345 Responses

A far less controversial debacle concerned Porco’s hair scheme. The folks supporting a Blond color scheme were universally content with his hair color (all 57.4% of team Blond). On the flip side, an almost universal approval was also present from team Redhead (13.6% of those supported his blond hair color). 27.5% of the responses seemed to care not about this issue at all, however.

NOW THAT WE KNOW PORCO BETTER IN THE MANGA, DO YOU THINK HE WOULD HAVE *ACTUALLY* DONE A BETTER JOB THAN REINER IF HE HAD INHERITED THE ARMOR AND WENT TO PARADIS? 348 Responses

Porco inheriting the Armored Titan is a rather interesting what-if scenario. Perhaps of the most interesting as a whole, so it’s no surprise to see a rather divided opinion of those who took our poll. A little over 36% believe that Porco doing a better job than Reiner on Paradis is a definite possibility. Just over 24% believe it’s not likely Porco would have done better than Reiner. On the flip side, 21.6% think that is is likely Porco *would* have a more successful conduct on the island. 9.2% believe that Porco’s success is a given and in opposition to that, 8.9% think that Porco’s success would have been basically impossible.

HOW ABOUT IF PIECK HAD GONE TO PARADIS WITH THE WARRIORS? 346 Responses

Much less division here, however. 70.5% of responders believe that Pieck’s possible trip to Paradis (in the initial attack) would have not have resulted in a given “mission success” for the Warriors, although she would have been a rather useful ally. Nearly a quarter, on the other hand, think that Pieck’s inclusion would have ended the story right then and there. The rather small minority of the other responders think that Pieck would not have been useful had she participated in the mission.

GABI HAS ALWAYS BEEN A CONTROVERSIAL CHARACTER. HAS MAPPA BRINGING HER TO LIFE CHANGED YOUR FEELINGS TOWARD HER? 342 Responses

64.6% of respondents overall have positive feelings toward Gabi as of right now, with 39.5% having already been enjoying her character throughout the manga. 25.1% now view her more positively with her being brought to life. 20.2% don’t really care about Gabi either way, and 11.7% feel very negatively toward Gabi, without the anime swaying their opinions.

Gabi still sucks

Sakura ayane as gabi is probably the best thing to happen to me all year

WITH SUCH A DIALOGUE-HEAVY ARC, CUTS WERE INEVITABLE. WHICH CUTS WERE YOU DISAPPOINTED IN, AND WHICH CUTS CAN YOU LIVE WITH?

Overwhelmingly, the scenes that were most missed by manga readers were “Pieck walking on all fours/scaring Porco”, “Zeke mentioning the Ackerman Clan”, “Reiner’s smirk when his family talks about ‘Island Devils’”, and “The imagery of Eren and Armin wrecking ships”. Smaller character details, such as Reiner mentioning how he acted like Marcel on Paradis, Gabi wishing to understand Reiner’s feelings, Falco pointing out how Reiner almost had the Armor taken from him, were also very missed by manga readers, although just less so.

General Calvi talking about Zeke’s loyalty, Gabi getting praise from her parents when they reunite, and Magath trashing the Marleyan navy, were moments that many respondents didn’t feel strongly about one way or another, or felt that these were details that weren’t really needed anyway.

Cutting the scene where Falcon talks about why Reiner kept the AT was really bad. Also the table scene could have been better. Some imagery when Reiner was describing the 104th and his smirk.

The cuts the anime has done made the spectators less informed about some story background stuff. This is in order to direct attention to the marley's eldians planning how to overcome the world's disparagement towards the power of the titans.

I'm sad they cut the gate guards. They humanize the marleyans a bit. Hope they add their scenes next episode and do them justice.

I hope we will get the Gabi/Reiner talk about understanding each other through PATHS when she eats him next episode

Gimme crawling best giiiirl

MAPPA cut Pieck's ass so this episode wouldn't be so ass centered with Zeke's ass wiping technique. This is my theory lol

Great episode but U was so looking forward to the Reiner scene talking about Paradis “devils”. In the mange it was a powerful scene really adding to the duality of Reiner and the pain he has, and the animation did not do it justice. Plus some parts of his speech were probably hard to understand for a non mange reader without the flashback. (Like which one is referring to Jean for example). I really wish it had been better delivered

IS THERE ANY CHANCE WE’LL SEE SOME OF THESE CUTS ANIMATED IN A LATER EPISODE? 342 Responses

them into different scenes. Overall, the majority answered a big, fat, “maybe.” 15.8% are confident that what’s done has been done, and 12.6% are more optimistic that MAPPA will find a way.

Overall I was a bit disappointed. I feel like the amount of material cut from every conversation included really added up overall and gave it a very rushed feel to me. I really hope they add it all in later.

ON THE FLIP-SIDE, WHICH ADDITIONS/CHANGES DID YOU LIKE/DISLIKE?

The changes and additions that MAPPA made were overall viewed very favorably, with the scene of Porco and Pieck interacting with the warrior cadets being the most liked addition. This is followed closely by the overall character movement during dialogue scenes, the small detail about Pieck’s father being unwell, and Gabi shouting “Watashi!” on the train.

I loved the additional details made it very emotional

IT WAS A GREAT TIME TO BE GALLIPIECK TRASH

Sneakier Eren's a nice addition too

Porco my boiii I'm so happy he's here 💖💖💖💖 if mappa is adding some extra scenes then gimme more of gallirei 👀

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 338 Responses

Unsurprisingly, 42% of respondents are hyped about Kenny’s brief return and Annie’s unlikely encounter with him in the Underground. 22.2% are eager to get that sweet Reiner angst as he is rejected by his Marleyan father. 17.8% are looking forward to Reiner’s training days.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

great! it was inevitable they would cut stuff but it hasn't changed any major plot point or thing i would want to see desperately

It was just really great to see the scenes animated, it adds another level of depth and understanding to the story I believe.

Loved anime-onlies missing Eren completely. Some even thought it was him but then noticed the leg and thought against it

I think it was very well done. Just need a little getting used to with MAPPA on the reins now. I think MAPPA added some scenes to show how those Eldians over there are still just human after all and they have their own problems to deal with. 8/10 episode.

I feel like they took a lot of emotion way from reiner. made him seemed stoic and determined to go to the island even though in the make he looked scared about having to return.

I thought the rotoscoping was really well done! I’m happy with the pacing, the fact that the episode felt like it went by fast is good considering it was dialogue based.

Incredible. The direction, the cinematic quality, we are feasting. MAPPA is elevating the story beyond anything I could have imagined! I'm beyond hyped for the rest!! But where is asshole Marley guards/Hobo!Eren's appearance as a favorite moment?!

Incredible, it adapts the source material very well while adding some touches that make it unique in it's own way. As a manga reader, I'm really glad that they're doing this because it feels like a completly different experience from reading it and makes me excited on what changes or directing choices they're going to make during the course of the season, great job so far MAPPA!

Such an amazing episode. Made 20mins feel like 5. MAPPA is doing fantastic. The characters have never felt more alive and the animation style is something I never knew I wanted until now.

I can't believe they didn't cast Mads Mikkelsen to voice Mads Mikkelsen

The episode was good but the dinner scene didn't do justice to the manga. It didn't have the same feeling to it. I saw a lot of anime onlys thinking Reiner was just trying to talk shit about the 104th. I feel like the flashbacks during that part in the manga gave it a nostalgic feeling that helped convey what he truly felt about his time on the island. His facial expressions were not quite there either. Specially sad because it was the moment I was expecting the most this episode and because it's a big part of Reiner's character, maybe next episode can kind of fix this.

I haven't seen the anime only poll results, but given personal conversations with them I imagine quite a few could care less about the Warriors and are looking forward to the 104th showing up to stir shit up. Boy are those folks in for a treat :)

I knew I'd feel more attached to all of them once they got animated. I didn't expect getting real thirsty for Lainah.

I was so happy with how much detail MAPPA put into the background scenery. Also, I think that an underrated moment during this episode was the Marlian douchebag triggering the Eldian soldier’s PTSD. You could really feel their terror, and THEY KEPT THE HOBO EREN PART IM SO HAPPY!

Its consistently very pretty and well animated which is great of course, but I worry the team won’t be able to maintain this quality for some of the meatier scenes in the later episodes. The fast pace of the episode (compared to the manga) as well as the many cuts make it a bit harder for scenes to stick, I wish there was a bit more breathing room at times. This also makes the fancy animation and frequent rotoscoping cuts feel less impactful for me—with every scene being cut down to its core ingredients, and every scene having at least one cut with more motion and energy than we’re used to, I can’t help but feel it all kind of mashes together without sticking out as much, leaving less of an impact. (I feel really really weird actually complaining about good camerawork/animation, what the hell lol) Also hobo <3

Plenty of questions about ass but no questions about the full ED? Or how we thought the episode did at hiding Eren in plain sight?

rip Reiner's chocolate abs :'(

The episode wasn't as interesting as the first one. I was yawning from time to time. Yet, I think that Mappa did a great job, because it's hard to animate full of dialogues chapters. I was disappointed of the fact that flashbacks from Paradis have been cut. I hoped to see Sasha, Connie, Ymir and Marco while Reiner was speaking about them. Without the flashbacks we just got the dry speech and this way hard to say what Reiner is really thinking about people he met on Paradis. We - as manga readers - already are aware of his feelings, but anime onlies may not know and see Reiner as cold hearted person. I'm not complaining over animations or the OST tracks because no studio is perfect and some small mistakes here and there won't destroy my fun. I just sit and enjoy the episode.

Very good, with the exception of the dinner scene, in which the director missed the mark completely with the tone.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 328 Responses

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letterboxd · 3 years

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The Other Bill and Ted.

As No Man of God hits theaters and VOD following its Tribeca premiere in June, director Amber Sealey talks to Dominic Corry about her Ted Bundy two-hander and answers our Life in Film questions.

Amber Sealey has been very acknowledging of the fact that her new film is one of many to center around the horrific crimes of serial rapist and murderer Ted Bundy. As she outlined in her Tribeca Q&A with Letterboxd, one way she intended No Man of God to stick out from the pack was through the use of consciously silent background characters who represent Bundy’s voiceless victims.

The structure and source of the film also help distinguish it from other Ted Bundy movies: No Man of God is based on the recordings of FBI agent Bill Hagmaier (played in the film by Elijah Wood), who was tasked with interviewing an incarcerated Bundy in the years leading up to his execution, in order to help determine whether or not he was criminally insane, which could’ve helped to remove Bundy from death row.

With many of Bundy’s victims never officially attributed to the killer, Hagmaier also sought to draw confessions, and something resembling remorse, out of Bundy, to help bring closure to those victims’ families. As detailed in the film, much of which was taken directly from transcripts of the interviews, Bundy and Hagmaier’s relationship was complicated, and the intimacy that develops between them informs No Man of God in often uncomfortable ways.

Luke Kirby and Elijah Wood in a scene from ‘No Man of God’.

Wood (also a producer on the film) and Luke Kirby turn in career-high work as Hagmaier and Bundy, respectively, while Sealey textures the film with some of the most emotive stock-footage montage sequences this side of The Parallax View. Among positive reactions to the film, Claira Curtis, in a four-star review, writes: “Perhaps one of the most successful elements lies in Amber Sealey’s uncentering of the ‘genius’ moniker that has followed Bundy through his years of infamy.” On the pairing of Wood and Kirby in the leading roles, Connor Ashdown-Ford notes that “the chemistry between them both is so authentic it’s darn right unsettling”.

Unsettling is right. Late in the film, Sealey depicts a real-life TV interview that took place between Bundy and evangelical preacher/author/psychologist James Dobson (played by stalwart character actor Christian Clemonson), who uses Bundy to forward his anti-pornography agenda. Throughout this scene, the camera lingers on a young female member of the TV crew (played by an uncredited Hannah Jessup) as she silently reacts to being in Bundy’s presence. Emblematic of Sealey’s aforementioned philosophy in constructing the film, it’s a moment that appears to be having an impact on audiences, as detailed in Nolan Barth’s review: “She might have one of my favorite performances of this year? She shows us fascination, guilt, disgust and fear in like only 30 seconds of screen time. Give her an Oscar. Please.”

In an awkward incident that represents a perhaps unanticipated effect of there being so many contemporaneous movies with the same subject matter, director Joe Berlinger (Metallica: Some Kind of Monster, the Paradise Lost trilogy), who recently directed both the Zac Efron-starring scripted Ted Bundy biopic Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile and the documentary Conversations with a Killer: The Ted Bundy Tapes, sent an email to Sealey ahead of No Man of God’s Tribeca premiere about remarks she had made while discussing how her film differentiated itself from the existing Ted Bundy movies. He felt she had accused him of glorifying Bundy. After Sealey took the exchange public, she explained to Variety that she had never singled out Berlinger’s films in any of her remarks.

In a conversation with Letterboxd, Sealey delves into her approach to No Man of God, and talks about some of her filmic inspirations.

‘No Man of God’ director Amber Sealey.

There is really effective and creepy use of stock-footage montages in this film. Sometimes you see that sort of thing at the beginning of a film, but it’s interesting that you keep going back to them after using them in the opening credits. What was the thinking in using those montages and how did you select the footage? Amber Sealey: The thinking for those was a couple things: One, we don’t leave the prison, and I wanted [the audience] to know a little bit what’s going on outside, in terms of the cultural zeitgeist, like what’s the tone of the time? What movies are popular? What books are popular? What are people wearing? I wanted to have there be a kind of cultural touchstone outside of the prison, but at the same time I wanted it to represent potentially a little bit of what was going on inside Bill’s mind. So the story of the montages as they go on, it gets a little bit more fucked up, for lack of a better word, for Bill, inside of his head.

We were originally going to shoot the crowd scenes [of protesters outside the prison] and recreate them and then because of Covid restrictions, we couldn’t do that anymore. So then I knew we were going to be using archival footage for the crowd, and I didn’t want the archival crowd footage to suddenly jump out as being so different from the rest of our film. We’re shooting on an ARRI camera, [so it’s] not going to look like a Hi-8 from the 1980s. I needed to incorporate this look, this ’80s grainy look into the rest of the movie so that it feels like it’s part and parcel of the film, part of the storytelling.

We got [the footage] in different ways. I have an old friend that I’ve known since I was like, two, he lived next door to me, and my cousin, they both had video cameras in the ’80s and would film everything. So some of that footage is old family footage of their family or friends. There’s a couple shots in there of my neighbors when I was growing up. Then some of it, we did a lot of research on [stock-imagery services] Getty and Pond5, just finding archival footage that we could use that really told the story that we wanted to tell with the montages. It was a lengthy process finding all of that footage for sure.

What was Bill Hagmaier’s involvement in the film? Bill is an executive producer on the film, so he was very involved. The transcripts of those conversations between Bill and Ted, we got from Bill. Bill gave us so much great stuff to work with—the newer FBI files that he was allowed to share with us and the recordings, and when the script was originally written it was written based off of those recordings, and the writer originally spoke to Bill and then when I came on board, I talked to him and then I changed the script, even more from conversations I had with him. He was just a resource.

Almost every [character] you see on screen, those are real people, and he hooked us up with a lot of those real people. I spoke with the prison guards and the wardens and all of that. Then he was just a resource in terms of like, I would ask him, “what color were your shoes?” “Did you carry this kind of briefcase or that kind of briefcase?” Because it was important to me that all that production-design stuff was really authentic. I liked to know, like, “what were your haircuts like then, Bill?” So he was available to talk about the emotional side of things, and then the real just humdrum kind of things. He’s just a lovely guy, he’s really supportive of me and of the film and he just wanted to be accessible as much as he could and he was. He’s a very humble, generous person.

Aleksa Palladino plays civil-rights attorney Carolyn Lieberman to Luke Kirby’s Ted Bundy.

What films did you watch, or cite as reference points in preparation for No Man of God? Literally hundreds and hundreds of movies. When I’m looking for my creative look, I just watched so many films, and a lot of old films. I’d have to go back and look at my look book to tell you all of them but I pull images from the weirdest places. But once I get past figuring out the creative look of the film, I don’t then like to watch the movies a lot because I try to really make it its own thing and I worry too much that I’ll be copycatting other artists and I want to try [to] avoid that.

What’s your favorite true-crime movie? Oh god, what was the one about the guy who like, went to the bathroom and confessed, accidentally? He forgot his mic was on? Do you remember that one?

The Jinx? Yeah. Even though it’s a documentary, I’m going to go with that.

What’s your favorite big-screen serial-killer performance? It has to be Luke Kirby. Luke Kirby as Bundy.

What was the first horror film you saw? My dad had me watch Cat People when I was nine. Does that count?

The Val Lewton one? The ’80s one.

Oh, the Paul Schrader one? Yes! The Paul Schrader one.

Nastassja Kinski in Paul Schrader’s ‘Cat People’ (1982).

When you were nine years old? Yeah. I also watched Blue Velvet when I was nine. Oh wow, thank you Dad.

What’s the most disturbing film you’ve ever seen? Most disturbing, hmm… Kids.

What film made you want to become a filmmaker? It was Michael Winterbottom’s Nine Songs. My first film was a reaction to that movie. I’m a huge Winterbottom fan. That’s a great movie, but also it advertises itself as being a real relationship and real sex and I watched it and I was like, well that’s not like any… it was like two models, you know? Their sex scenes were like a perfume ad and I was like, well that’s not what real sex looks like for real people. I made my first feature after that.

What’s your go-to comfort movie? Oh, so many, let’s think. The Proposal. I love Trainwreck. I really like rom-coms, like if I’m sick or something, I’ll watch rom-coms. Roman Holiday, stuff like that.

What’s a classic that you couldn’t get into or that you think is overrated? Umm. Star Wars. I’m trying to think, there’s something else that I just don’t like… everyone loves that singing movie. What’s that singing movie that when Moonlight won the Oscar, it got announced?

La La Land. Yeah. I was not into that.

What filmmaker living or dead do you envy/admire the most? Yorgos Lanthimos. Or Phoebe Waller-Bridge.

If you were forced to remake a classic movie, what would you remake? Grease.

Who would be in the cast of your Grease remake? Oh I don't even know but it would be much darker. It would still be a musical and still be funny, but much darker.

I would like to see that movie. I would too.