Just to throw my two cents on the Rat Grinder discourse: They weren't worth the Intrepid Heroes' time. We didn't get the full picture of what's going on with the Grinders until the last quarter of the season. Before that they were just this other clique that hate the main characters, so in-character why would the Bad Kids bother giving them so much attention when they've got so much of their own crap going on. Kristens quest to get Cassandra back and her presidential campaign, Gorgugs courseload, Riz's million and one plates that he's been spinning all season, Adaines financial problems, Figs curse and her doubts about what she wants to do with her life. Fabian's the only one who might have had the time, but he had to be Maximum Legend. There genuinely was no time or even an incentive on the IH's side to develop the Rat Grinders characters.

I still think it's fucked up that these teenagers got taken advantage of by adults they trusted, but we didn't learn any of that until we only had two roleplay episodes left. Too little too late to even try anything diplomatic even if they didn't spend all their time after the Last Stand in hiding.

And a thing about Ivy that no one is roasting her about and really should: An elven archer? Really? Wow, never seen that before.

Yeah totally. Like, from a meta level, I see where the players themselves could have been more curious about the Rat Grinders. There are obvious plot threads that could have been teased out there (though, in fairness to the cast, the adult manipulation aspect didn't become clear until way later in the season--the rivalry and foil aspects were more obvious). This final confrontation could look really different if they'd played that all the way out all season.

But in character? The Bad Kids really didn't have a good reason to waste time on the Rat Grinders. They came into this school year already burnt out from their Night Yorb quest and wanting a break. But they don't get that because they immediately are beset by problems they have to deal with--Kristen's god is on death's door from neglect and she's on the brink of expulsion, Riz is running himself ragged trying to boost his resume for college, Fig is having a whole ass existential crisis, Adaine is struggling with money issues she doesn't want to talk about, Gorgug is taking FOUR YEARS of school at the same time, and Fabian is multiclassing and dealing with his empty house/not having parental support (or Cathilda's support) for the first time. They are dealing with SO MUCH high stakes, personal stuff before the plot even kicks in. And, mechanics-wise, this is represented with the downtime system that means that any time they spend on the RG's is time they can't spend on something that matters more to them. IMO, not prioritizing your haters is actually pretty mature. Like, they weren't proactively using their free time to bully them or anything (except for arguably Fig). They were snippy with them when they crossed their paths and that was it. As opposed to the Rat Grinders who literally had to be told by Jace to stop antagonizing the Bad Kids (though they must have been pretty ineffectual at it because the Bad Kids hardly noticed, which I bet stung considering they were so obsessed).

And also, it's not like they didn't try at all with the Rat Grinders. Early Insight checks on Kipperlilly just got, "This is a polished steel orb of a personality" which doesn't sound very worth interacting with in a sympathetic way if at all and then the next big thing they learn is that she had hated Riz since Freshman Year and that she wants Riz and Kristen dead. And that's AFTER we saw her smile and kill her party cleric. In their position I'm not spending further time trying to empathize with this person, I have made my judgement and it's up to the Jawbones of the world to find if there's something in there to be rehabilitated.

And that's not the only case. Adaine straight up saved Ruben from disintegration during the Frosty Folk battle when she easily could have saved the spell slot, but that didn't soften him towards the Bad Kids any. Adaine also was really keen to Scry on the Rat Grinders to find out what was happening at their meetings. But, in scene at least, she was never able to do that so we never got a scene of them, huddled together, clearly unsure about the path they're on but not feeling like they can walk it back or say no to the authority figures in their lives. She didn't get anything humanizing that would cause her to rethink their position on them the way that she did with Aelwyn for instance. So why would they think they're anything but gleeful co-conspirators?

Hell, the one RG Adaine was even slightly curious about was Oisin and now we know that he was feigning interest in her which, man, can you imagine how much worse that would have felt if she'd actually taken the bait and pursued him beyond just thinking he was cute? Of course, it's possible that her interacting with him more along with some good charm rolls could have changed the narrative in some way but we can only go off of what we know to be true in canon and those facts are (1) He tried to get closer to Adaine while actively planning the downfall of her and her friends, (2) he (along with Ivy) was mean to Buddy behind his back while tricking him into a plan that would force him to go against his religious beliefs, and (3) he called his KVX related dragon ancestors to try to kill the Bad Kids and endanger the entire student body population. Three strikes, you're out. If I'm a Bad Kid I'm not super interested in whatever else is going on with him. And again, literally all of Adaine's friends (except Riz) gave her help to do an Insight check on him during their confrontation in the hallway so she was looking for something there worth engaging with, but she didn't get much.

Fig was fully doing CIA, MKUltra, Fantasy Geneva Convention violations on Ruben to try see if she could get information or flip him. I think she did it in an objectively insane way so I'm not entirely shocked that it didn't yield the exact results she was looking for. But she never found the smoking gun (or whatever the opposite of that is) in his head that would absolve him/show the Rat Grinders were being controlled and her messing with his dreams never flared his conscience enough to make him try to break free (as far as we know) which is what I assume she was going for. If I was Ruben looking for a way out but scared of the repercussions, I might go to Adaine who saved me from certain death earlier the same year and has helped saved the world 3 times with her party and their friends in high (and low) places. Maybe that's what Fig thought might happen but it didn't so from Fig's POV? Gave him a chance. Time to start blasting. And again, at that age, if I walked in to the first day of class and the first thing this random boy does is sneer at me and flaunt his musical success, I'm popping up on his Nemesis Alert at that moment. Doubly so after he tries to trick me and my friends into doing drugs so we get expelled. I'm surprised she tried at all with him.

Fabian absolutely tried to interact with Ivy--in large part for self interested reasons of course, but that doesn't change that he did it. And she came across as callous and unkind from the jump. Their final conversation before the latest episode is the one where she talks about wearing Mazey like a sweater and then says that Fabian missed his chance with her before stalking off. That's a pretty open and shut interaction. No way 17 year old me is like, "Hmm, but why is she acting so mean? Perhaps I should examine that more closely to further understand her." Nah, I've decided she sucks.

And Kristen has tried with Buddy literally up until the last moment. She rolled an Insight check on him right before the fight started and she got a 1. She got nothing from him.

Mary Ann is actually the only Rat Grinder who hasn't done anything to make a bad impression on the Bad Kids--the only thing she did was have a really good Bloodrush tryout. So no reason to hate her specifically (and, in fact, she is also the only Rat Grinder that at least half of them are positively obsessed with), but no reason to explore her further. And Kristen still tried giving her a stuffed animal and her response was that she already had that one and that she was going to give it away. What are they supposed to do with that?

Even when they tried, they didn't get information that was worth chasing when they were so busy and had to manage their free time. Gorgug didn't even slot in downtime to talk to his bio parents when they visited. Why would he spend any time on Mary Ann to figure out her deal? Maybe if they were given more explicit opportunities to interact with them in passing. If Mary Ann was shown at Bloodrush Games. If during class time Oisin tried to interact with Adaine. If Kristen ran into Buddy and Bucky talking. If any of their forays into talking to them or looking into them yielded anything actionable or that piqued their interest--they opened the door for Brennan to give them something more than once. But they never got anything that was worth investing more of their limited time into.

(And also, they didn't learn that Porter was involved until WAY into the last quarter of the episodes. Which absolutely could have changed things since, as far as they knew the RG's were working alone to raise this god which isn't crazy for them to think because Kristen literally did that last year and it was of her own free will. If they knew early that the RG's were smaller players in Porter's plot then maybe they would have been in more of a rescue mindset--especially since Fig has always mistrusted him--but that's not information they had and by the time they got it, the RG's were in deep hiding, like you said.)

And so, coming into the last few episodes, that's who the Rat Grinders are to the Bad Kids. A group of kids who they first heard about in the context of, "they famously hate you," even though they'd never interacted before. A group of kids who they already thought sucked even before they tried to kill the entire study body an hour ago. A group of kids who are trying to doom all of Elmville to eternal rage and who are willing and ready to kill them to do it.

With that context, yeah I think their actions are pretty understandable.

(Also, lmao. Yeah, I think calling Ivy basic would probably hurt her more than most things you could say to her.)

🌻Imperfections🌻

Draco malfoy x (f)Reader (Hufflepuff)

Summary: Perfection is what defined those who were above the rest- yet, she could not be part of the perfection that defined him. Defined his society and very presence- defined her own family but not her. She was the imperfection within his world of perfection, the bright sun in his cool, pale blue sky. For even if she was the warm sun, he was nothing more than the silver moon- both destined to live in the same sky but never together.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

AU: NO VOLDEMORT - Plus Cedric is vibing, I'm sorry he's too precious.

Warnings: None

Part- 3/?

Masterlist/ Previous /Next

Did he accept her for who she was? What did that even mean? What did he mean- no, what was he trying to imply? The series of questions raced across her mind, bouncing off one wall to the other as she stomped up to the astronomy tower, wanting to be alone with her insistent, horrid thoughts.

With a loud slam, she barged into what she expected to be a vacant room, only to lock eyes with cold crystals, swirling with unspoken emotion. Her first reaction was to throw something at him, preferably her bag, but she knew better than that- for the past month, he had been avoiding her, rendering her feelings void- feeling? What kind of feelings did she even have for him? Were they really even considered feelings, if they were just "close acquaintances"? Or perhaps her foolish little heart had led her to believe the time he had spent with her was not a way of entertaining his boredom- perhaps she was a form of jester in his eyes. Really? Did she really think the prince of Slytherin would be interested in her? Let alone want to befriend her? A soul so wretched and stained that her own family would pray for her disappearance, her own family denied her existence, her own mother telling her that she "can not love her".

This is why she stood there staring at him, wondering why he was even here, was he here for her or was this by chance- was fate once again, tugging at the strings of her heart, waiting for the remaining threads to rip apart? Swallowing her insecurities she cleared her throat, mustering up the courage to give him a small smile, "Hello, haven't seen you in a while." 

Her gesture was returned with a blank stare, only for her to frown and walk closer, stopping right in front of him, looking up at him with a pleading look, wanting him to say something, anything, even a sentence would do. This was no longer about how she felt, but whether Cedric was right or wrong. She believed that he was different, at least not like the rest of the people in her life, those who had cast her out, she had seen the different side of him, so she wasn't going to let him slip away without an explanation.

Truth be told he wasn't expecting her here tonight, he'd been coming to the tower on alternate days, knowing she wouldn't be there when he would, that's the extent he had gone to, just to avoid her. Why? because he was a coward, there was no way in hell he would look her dead in the eye and tell her he wanted nothing to do with her.

Sighing he looked away, choosing to move past her, only to freeze when her fingers wrapped around his cold wrist, head whipping in her direction, eyes burning with rage, how dare she touch him? How dare she make it harder for him, than it already was. A powerful, gruesome phrase that was about to slip off his tongue clung onto the tip of his tongue as his eyes met her glossy gaze, one that looked so soft and meek, compared to the death grip she had on his wrist.

"Please, am I that unbearable?" 

With a defeated sigh, he turned around, wrapping his hand around hers, slowly peeling off her fingers, "Don't make this harder for both of us. Y/N, if I could, I would've pushed you away the day I saw you."  

"But-"

"Shhh..." he let go of her hand to place a finger on her lips, "Please, I am begging you to stop." he whispered, looking into her eyes as they pierced through his soul. It was moments like these that forced his world to a halt, one so bitter-sweet that it made his fingers tingle and mind buzz as if he were hexed by her, forcing him to succumb to her. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the universe around them still as ever, If that were true, he would've given up on her at that very moment, but regretfully it was not, time never stopped for anyone and the universe never left anyone alone; not a noble heir like him nor a cursed, unwanted noble like her, they had their own baggage and he wasn't sure if he was willing to share, especially with her, he never wanted to be part of those who added to the weight on her shoulders- yet fate seemed to be against them both.

"Why?"

She broke the silence, taking a step forward, almost closing the gap between them, only for him to take one bag, reestablishing the distance. 

She stepped forward once more,

"I thought we could be friends?"

He took one back, they're words now synchronized with their movements, 

"You thought wrong."

"Is it because I'm a Hufflepuff?"

"No."

"Because I'm an outcast?"

"No."

"Because I hit Zabini?"

"No"

"Then?"

"Because-" His words came to an abrupt stop, his back touching the cold stone wall, eyebrows raised in surprise at her persistence. This was new. He wasn't used to her like this, so persistent, so determined to win, finding answers, like a child willing to touch fire just to feel it. Just like that, she was mere centimeters away from him, now in his personal space, a space not even his friends were invited into, yet, here they stood, eyes locked, breaths mingling, basking in each other's warmth. 

"Because?" a whisper slipped past her lips, eyes darting down to how inviting they looked. What would they taste like? What would she taste like? His fingers twitched in anticipation, waiting for his brain to let his guard down, to let loose, but Draco Malfoy never let his guard down, never let loose for anyone or anything- but was she just anyone?

He had noticed how during his period of "Avoiding the Pesky Puff" - as Zabini would call it- he had begun to notice her even more, registering the tiniest of details about her. From how her doe eyes would frantically scan the hall, in search of something or someone, probably him, only for her lips to form a small pout in defeat when she couldn't. He noticed how she would use that little diary of hers more than usual, making him wonder about how many things had been bothering her for so long- was he not a part of them? His eyes would often aimlessly spot her in the field as they waited for their turn, watching her play with her team, effortlessly keeping, or sometimes (more often than less) doing laps around the field, cursing up at her captain who'd usually ignored her. He wasn't sure if the others on his team noticed the newfound source of interest of their captain, but now and then he'd feel Zabini bump their shoulders, mumbling, "Mate, avoiding her doesn't mean drooling at the sight of her." This would often earn a low growl, followed by a "Sod off". Since he was no longer tutoring her, she would now be tutored by Diggory, much to his displeasure. Since their lesson had been cut short, thanks to Zabini, he had never heard her laugh like that, or hear her whine about wanting to end the session early or when she'd start a pointless conversation to waste time, perhaps they could've had meaningful conversations together- unlike the ones she'd usually have with Diggory.

"Cedriiiiiic"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you think a chocolate salad would be a good business idea?"

"I think you finishing this chapter would be an even better one."

"Yes, but if it's successful, then I wouldn't have to waste time on this."

"Yet, here you are."

"Because I like you", the words left him faster than his thoughts could rearrange themselves, eyes scanning her face for any kind of expression, though her face was void of any emotion, a dull silence settling in, his confession hanging in the air.

"But, you can't...right?" 

Her question caught him off guard, if the ground would swallow him whole right now, he would've let it, doing anything but answering the question that had come after his confession.

"I..."

"It's okay." She beamed up at him, a dry chuckle following after, "You aren't the first person who can't like me...my own mother can't love me, my father can't accept me for who I am- why would you be any different?" placing a hand on his chest, she sighed, he wasn't sure about her, but the moment he felt her palm on his heart, he felt his skin light up, heart slamming against the ribcage, wanting to settle on her palm, all snug. 

"It's amusing how people I know have hearts so warm and alive, yet, you all act like they're made of stone." Pulling her hand away she sighed, taking a step back , glancing away from him, mumbling to herself, "I really must be cursed."

"Y/N, wait-" reaching out to her, the tips of his fingers barely grazing her arm before grasping at nothing, his heart sinking at the sight of her dejected being.

Taking another step back, she shook her head, arms wrapping around herself, trying to compose herself before looking at him with a smile, one that pierced through his heart. "It's okay Draco, I'm used to it. That's why I just wanted to befriend you- but I guess I forgot where I actually belong."

Say something!?

He stood there, taking in her image, their little bubble slowly cracking- why? Why did he say that to her? Insulting her would've been much better than this alternate excuse of "It's not you it's me". And here she was again, smiling at him like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just plucked out her heart, like a budding sunflower in a field of weeds, only to rip it out and throw it into a sack of trash.

Before his short-circuited brain formed a sentence, he was once again left speechless when he heard her, as she stood by the door,

"I'm sorry for being such a burden, I'll make sure to set things the way they were before."

It was only when he heard the soft click of the door did his world came shattering down on him, Why did he feel this way this is what he had been trying to achieve for so long? Didn't he tell Zabini he was doing this to protect her? Then wasn't this noble of him? No, it wasn't for he had made it even worse for her, leading her on, pulling her to the edge then pushing her off, watching her fall into an abyss, being one of the many on the list of people who had abandoned her.

Running his fingers through his hair he let out a shaky breath, nodding to himself, This was it, it was finally over, he could move on and eventually so would she, after all....she had Diggory. Fixing his robes he walked over to the door only to stop at something small that caught his eye, something he probably dropped on the way out. Crouching down to grab it, he inspected the small diary, noticing how it was more filled than he had seen last time. Sighing, he put it in his pocket, with no plans of returning it to her, nor to this place anymore, though he had a feeling she wouldn't come here again either. 

..

As he settled down on his bed he felt the all too familiar despair settle around him, hand going to his pocket, taking out the small diary, flipping through the pages, noticing the blotches of dried water, the ridges of the paper denting, dried ink that had probably begun to seep through the pages with the water- tears perhaps. He shouldn't, this was personal, it was hers, hers to use, hers to burn, but all logic went out the window as his eyes fixated on a specific name, his name.

"Draco."

This was going to be a long night.

A/N: I hope you liked reading this, please show some love if you did. If you want to be part of my Draco fics taglist, feel free to dm me.

Tag list:

@spphrj

@jensfraise

@dramatic-long-coats

@m00nie-m00

@iellasgrave

@danywonderland

@whiterain1997

@writerwriteswriting

@hearmyharmony

@ruethemazerunner

@missstratford

TW: child abuse and neglect (flashbacks and mentions), blood

•••

Twig learned a myriad of lessons before the few weeks she spent looking for the pair of siblings.

For one, Opal’s friend, disguised as a Gligar when Twig first found her, is actually a Zorua. The second Twig entered the house, the child still nestled into her arms, Opal had rushed to them and pointed out an injury that neither Twig nor Ark could see. The second she saw Opal, Zorua must have felt safe, because the disguised dropped shortly afterwards.

Second, Zorua’s illusions can hide injuries and the blood that came with it. Twig saw the red on her arms before she knew the wound was there. Only Ark could fully see it, and he bristled and recoiled on sight, turning Opal away from the scene and telling Twig “we need to get her help she needs it now Twig-”

The third thing she had learned was that whenever you think you’ve learned the maximum amount of stitches someone can have, know that there could always be more.

Fourth, you can be in a similar position as the child you saved, but still can’t answer your daughter when she looks at you with terrified, distraught eyes and asks you why while trembling. You can learn that you can always find new limits to your rage and fear when you hold your daughter close and she asks if this is her fault. You can learn you can find the words, be as outwardly as comforting as you can, but the intensity of the inferno burning inside you doesn’t fade.

Fifth, Grovyle never did forgive himself for Crystal Cave despite what he tells others and himself. Ark had spoken to Celebi, who had come with Dusknoir and Grovyle to go on a mission to hunt the siblings down. They had all gone pale when they saw the child’s state. Twig repeatedly caught Grovyle looking at his own hands and looking back at Zorua, and she can see the nausea brewing inside him as his mouth tightens. Zorua is much younger than Kip was that day — only a few months behind Opal.

She’s younger than Opal.

Six, miracles actually do exist beyond time traveling shenanigans, because Zorua pulls through. She is covered in bandages, her body is skinny, she is lethargic and tired, but she has defied all the odds and she’s alive.

Seven, she learns there are even more levels to her rage when Zorua immediately looks around wildly and then begs Twig not to tell her siblings she was here and that they’ll be upset if she doesn’t come back soon.

Eight, Opal, Lucky, Manaphy, Spindle, and Bud are more emotionally intelligent than Twig gave them credit for. They introduced themselves slowly and separately without complaint. They go at Zorua’s pace. Gradually, Zorua gets more comfortable, and there are mornings where encouraging her to come out of hiding is less difficult.

Nine, Zorua’s name is Ruby, but she can’t speak of her siblings without trembling. Reassurances that those two won’t even get near her again only do so much.

The tenth and final lesson Twig learned was that there is a point where you’re so angry you can’t feel it anymore. In the months that Ruby was recovering, no one had heard a thing about anyone looking for her. Grovyle tells her that in the times he’s checked Boulders Quarry, no one came back in search for her. Dusknoir confirms this. The siblings are no where to be found, or at least, they are, but they have taken on a different appearance and still aren’t even making an attempt to look for Ruby.

It’s one week, then two, then three, and Dusknoir makes the comment that the siblings have somehow made themselves harder to track down than Grovyle did in the Dark Future and present. They know they’re looking for two Zoroarks — Opal had confirmed as much — but things are more tricky when said species can illusion themselves as other Pokémon. Dusknoir suggested spreading a rumor that a little Zorua had been found and wanted to find her siblings again, but said siblings didn’t seem to take the bait. There was no way that they were going to make Ruby help in the search, and Twig had murdered the offer that Opal gave to help hunt them down. It would be over her cold, dead, unfeeling body before Twig ever let any children near those monsters.

It’s towards the end of the week that Ruby and Opal wake Twig up in the middle of the night, both transformed into Charmanders and holding hands, that they finally get something to blow open the case.

“They wanted me to go to another town,” Ruby whispers, squeezing Opal’s hand. “They’re going to be mad I didn’t make it and stayed here. They’re going to be really, really mad when they come back. They’re going to come back and take me away- and I don’t- I don’t wanna-”

“Ruby,” Twig’s voice is soft and firm, “I promise, nobody here will ever let them take you. They’re never going to hurt you ever again.”

“But what if they break in?”

Twig almost frowns, but she immediately schools her face into something cool, “do they break into homes a lot?”

Ruby slowly nods her head, looking at the floor, “they’ll look for a while, and when they find me, they’ll watch to know when the best time to break in is. Then they’ll grab me, and-”

She chokes and trembles, her eyes start going far away, staring into an abyss no one else can see. They are only stopped by Opal’s gentle squeeze and Twig’s words.

“It’s okay, they won’t,” a soft smile follows. “Do you want to stay near me for the rest of the night?”

Both Opal and Ruby are curled up beside her in that next moment. Ark comes into view, holding more blankets and pillows. He approaches, gently tucking in the kids and then whispers to Twig.

“I relayed Ruby’s words to Celebi and she passed them along to Dusknoir. He said three days.”

Something sparks up inside her, she’s unsure what it is, but it keeps her up all night as she waits.

***

Three days, and Opal yells “Mother! Dad! I had a nightmare! Come here!” and then as soon as they arrive, she points to the window while never taking her eyes off them, “we need to get rid of that window, Monsters can get in!”

From the corner of her eye, Twig sees it. She sees the silhouette of someone move away just a second too slow for her to miss it.

“Stay with them so they’re safe,” are the only words she gives Ark before she turns on her heel and marches out the door. The Gardevoir and Gallade wave to her from their house, then turn back to speak to one another.

Twig knows that Gardevoir and Gallade would be asleep and staying indoors if they had awakened this late at night. Twig knows that Gardevoir and Gallade wouldn’t be whispering insults about Opal, promising to make her shut up for good if she gets in their way. Gardevoir wouldn’t whisper the words, “that brat is really going to get it once we get to her. I swear if she said anything I’m going to tear off all her fur.”

Twig marches up to them, grabs their arms, and yanks. Her grip is so harsh that “Gallade” squeaks and then joins “Gardevoir” in yelping when Twig pulls them. They stumble, almost tripping over themselves as the illusion finally gives way and reveals two Zoroarks. They look at her, and whatever irritation or defiance they had vanishes into dust as they gave into her eyes, illuminated by her brightly burning, purple flame on her tail.

Twig feels it. She feels the fury, pain, despair, and pure hatred that were building up over months, but had nowhere to go. The plan to have everyone surround the siblings and bring them to justice goes out the window, and Twig is positive that Ark is probably trying to make contact with Celebi so that there isn’t a double homicide. She doesn’t care.

“Six months,” she seethes. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for six fricking months — looking for six months. You hurt your sister, threatened to hurt my daughter, planned on hurting your sister again, tried breaking into my home — I’m going to tear you both apart.”

•••

Sorry it isn’t the best and I know Twig, Ark, Grovyle, and Dusknoir — actually, probably all of them — are probably ooc, but I hope it’s still a fun read!

Also, I chose Ruby for the name of the Zorua because I thought it fit at the time, but halfway through writing this I felt like it didn’t but I didn’t know what I would change it to. Feel free to rename this character — the fic is for you, so I feel like you should have most say in this. I also chose Zorua because I thought it would be cute if Opal had a friend who could also “transform” into different Pokémon.

It wasn’t at all too triggering— it was just so amazing that I was taking ages to finally gather my thoughts and react to it! It’s so poignant and impactful in all the most profound ways it could possibly be that I was absolutely flabbergasted by it all, and along with the gift of a new character I wanted to give it the thoroughly grateful response it deserves. I’ve reread it throughout the days since you sent it in and every time it left me floored by emotion. I’m sorry for not replying sooner— the writing is so impactful that I think I kind of forgot that the author might be worried about my silence indicating the subject matter upset me. I was too busy having stars in my eyes whenever I thought about it.

I want to make art of Ruby + a profile for her to go along with this, which is the main reason I’ve been taking a while to respond— but I want to reassure you that you did nothing wrong whatsoever, so I’ll give an art-free response now and make Ruby’s profile later!

The characters are all represented in such lovely ways, and the pacing and prose are both absolutely astounding. This was a phenomenal piece and it’s been keeping me company as I’ve come down with a bad cold— I’ve been feeling severely under the weather, and this fic has been a silver lining amidst that. Ruby is precious, and I’d kill for her… actually, hang on. Move over Twig, I want to get a few punches in.

Thank you so much for this fic! I’m sorry for the anxiety you must have felt in the time I didn’t respond— rest assured that this is something I adored the second I received it and will treasure forevermore :>

Bugs Bunny — Warmonger

His very name strikes fear into the hearts of the most hardened warrior. Crimson and gold tear through all in his path, unmatched in its strength, and unrelenting in its power and fury. Celestial Warrior, Warmonger, descends upon the battlefield.

Bugs Bunny was a household name that was revered amongst comedians in Acmeville, and beloved by many. And one wouldn’t be blamed for being awestruck by him—his easygoing trickster nature would draw one to him like bees, something his greatest rivals would begrudgingly admit. Get to know him personally, and he’s the best friend one could have. Draw his ire, and no force in nature will stop him from getting his revenge, however creative and absurd it may be.

Yes, Bugs Bunny was a household name. Keyword was.

The world’s most famous star was caught up in a freak explosion in Acmeville’s business district, of which his co-star, Daffy Duck, was the only survivor. Theories ran rampant and multiple searches were conducted, but all came back negative, and everyone in the world came to accept the worst as pure fact. The world mourned the death of Bugs Bunny while simultaneously blaming Daffy for the buck’s death, accusing him of foul play. And while justice is still being pursued, the world moved on as more chaotic incidents forced them to turn their attention elsewhere. Still, some of his most rabid fans believe that he was still alive, and that no mere explosion could kill him. They believe that he’s laying in low and pursuing the person who tried to kill him, as Bugs wasn’t one who would let an attempt on his life go unchallenged.

As Droop-a-Long Coyote would learn, those rabid fans had a few things right, and they got a few things wrong.

Bugs Bunny did, in fact, die that day—but the reasons for his death weren’t as cut and dry as people believed.

Bugs Bunny was, in fact, alive, having come back from death as a pure Celestial warrior. Revived by arcane arts that are beyond human comprehension, it resulted in one of the most powerful Celestials known to mankind, with an Imperium Crystal that craves blood. Though already feared for his creative methods of retaliation, his masterful use of one of the few complete relics in the world—Dáinsleif, which was sought by many—and his Astral Skill, Flare Stealer, makes him a menace. While Dáinsleif draws its power from the blood of the innocent, his Astral Skill gives him the ability to steal Imperium Mana directly from an Imperium Crystal, effectively draining their heart. This essentially makes him a vampire, for he needs the Imperium Crystals of the innocents to keep him alive.

And yes, he was pursuing the person who killed him…but his path to justice meant leaving a trail of blood in his wake, something that he never would have done in his earthly body.

Droop-a-Long Coyote would meet his childhood hero in the worst way possible, learning that the “Bugs Bunny” he grew up with now only existed in the past. The Bugs Bunny he grew up with never had a soulless look in his eyes. The Bugs Bunny he grew up with never wore such armor. The Bugs Bunny he grew up with never wielded a sword so magnificently terrifying it froze him in place. The Bugs Bunny he knew could give his adversaries a thrashing—but “thrashing” seemed too gentle of a word to describe what the buck did to Avenger I, to Titan, and even Reaper.

That became the least of his concerns as the being formerly known as Bugs Bunny turned upon him, arcane flames dancing across his shoulder to heal the hit that Droop-a-Long had, by dumb luck, inflicted on him. Emerald green eyes, once soulless, were now alive and gleaming with intense rage. If speaking alone could kill someone, he would’ve dropped the moment he heard the phrase that lent to his new name, the phrase that signaled a terrible end for the one who wronged him—

“Of course you realize, this means war.”

—

I LIVE AGAIN!

Now, don’t worry, I will do a proper profile for Warmonger when I get the chance. I just don’t have the time because I’m gonna head into work in a few, and the length of this profile is gonna be the same as the Second Styles for both Super Why and Princess Presto (in other words, a freakin’ essay), so I’ll have to put it off until this weekend!

But anyway—LOOK AT HIM. LOOK AT HOW BADASS HE IS. I was going for the “edgy anti villain” angle for Bugs, and it came out perfectly. I was trying to avoid doing black and red, but since Huck had black, lavender and purple and Ric has black, orange and amber/brown, I figured it’d make sense ^^ Plus the color scheme suits him really well!

Make no mistake, Bugs is one of the most broken characters in the cast—with a name like Warmonger, would you expect anything less?—and is able to wipe the floor with Huck, Yogi and Ricochet easily. But there’s a reason behind it, though, a reason that will be revealed in the upcoming profile!

I was half tempted to start numbering this like I did with the Einherjar Files and the Attero Dominatus Files, but I wanted to get Huck, Ricochet and Yogi done before I start in on this profile. And yes, I started out of order. BUT I DON’T CARE. Lol. XD

That’s all I’ll have to say for the time being, but I hope you love this piece as much as I loved working on it!

Big thanks to user @zero06iranosaurusrex for their awesome takes on Bugs, which inspired this!

With the release of Kevin Can F—k Himself on AMC, a genre-bending dark comedy drama that takes deliberate aim at the misogyny that sits at the heart of our most popular and enduring pieces of pop culture, it seems that perhaps the time has finally come to publicly reckon with the way we view wives—sitcom and otherwise—on the television shows we watch. Even the show’s name is a play on the CBS sitcom title Kevin Can Wait, whose narrative storytelling was so lazy that they killed off Kevin’s wife Donna between its first and second seasons because they were “literally just running out of ideas,” and then barely mentioned her death onscreen.

Kevin Can F—k Himself openly acknowledges that the advantages Kevin McRoberts receives—constant adulation, an almost preternatural ability to luck his way out of ridiculous situations, a devoted wife whose hard work and constant presence he simply accepts as his due—only exist because the rules of the show he stars in require it. In the gritty prestige drama half of the series, which presents his wife as a character with interiority and her own necessary point of view, Allison realizes that she deserves better than a life cheerfully accepting uncomfortable period jokes as her lot. And her rage feels like a revelation.

It’s worth noting that AMC has something of a history with unfairly-hated TV wives. While Breaking Bad is frequently hailed as one of the best television series ever produced, the series is also memorable for something far less laudable. On the one hand, its complicated tale of a cancer-stricken chemistry teacher turned vicious drug kingpin is a harrowing watch, as Walter White descends into the worst sort of darkness and drags viewers right along with him. Its scale was somehow both grand and immediate, a morality play that carefully tears apart its characters’ lives on the way to an ending that still stands as one of the few examples of a prestige drama really sticking its landing.

And yet, for all the areas in which it excelled, Breaking Bad was never a show that really knew what to do with its female characters, and Skyler White—Walt’s put-upon wife who spent multiple seasons living in ignorance of his illicit and illegal extracurricular activities before being forced to become a co-conspirator whether she wanted to be or not—often seemed to exist solely as an object for viewers to despise.

Given that Breaking Bad is a story full of generally vile, reprehensible people doing everything from committing petty theft to engaging in torture and murder, it’s never really made a ton of sense that Skyler somehow emerged as the series’ most hated character. Unfairly maligned by many viewers for what essentially boils down to harshing Walt’s buzz, Skyler was constantly labeled a nagging killjoy for simply having the nerve to dislike the fact that her husband repeatedly lied to her about the most basic facts of their lives.

Narratively speaking, Skyler is meant to serve as Breaking Bad’s moral compass, a figure whose presence tarnishes Walt’s ambitions by reminding him that, actually, cooking crystal meth is both bad and illegal. Her unique point of view as the woman who has known Walt at his most normal and average helps puncture the fantasy he creates of Heisenberg, the badass one who knocks. Instead, she reveals him as he is: a delusional, ultimately pathetic man whose good intentions became monstrous in the end.     

That she ultimately becomes complicit in Walt’s crimes is another layer of tragedy in a show that already has multiple layers of heartbreak, but even at her worst, Skyler’s primary goal—ensuring the safety of her children—is generally a selfless one. (Walt’s, on the other hand…) Perhaps Skyler is judged harshly because she is both a woman and a mother, roles we have been culturally conditioned to see as both necessarily good and moral, therefore we just expect her to both know and do better than her reprobate spouse. After all, men are allegedly more susceptible to temptation and are always easily more forgiven when they fall short of the people they’re supposed to be, right?

Despite the fact that he is a criminal several times over, Walt is never blamed for putting his wife in an untenable and impossible position. Instead, it is Skyler who is disparaged as a grating, shrewish ball and chain who somehow just keeps getting in her amoral husband’s way and preventing him from doing crimes exactly the way he wants to. And Breaking Bad sadly does precious little to push back against that perception; the show is deeply uninterested in Skyler’s point of view, and rarely allows her character any sort of depth or nuance that might help viewers better grasp the difficult choices she’s facing.

Unfortunately, Skyler is hardly the only prestige TV leading lady—or even the only woman on an AMC network drama!—who is judged and found wanting for the crime of not being deferential enough to the man she married. Betty Draper Francis over on Mad Men certainly seemed to attract more than her fair share of criticism for simply having the nerve to divorce a man who cheated on her all the time. (How very dare!) And AMC’s The Walking Dead isn’t just famous for its array of grotesque monsters: Just say the name Lori Grimes to any longtime fan and you’ll learn pretty quickly that sexist double standards did indeed survive the zombie apocalypse. These women, like them or not, deserved better then and now—and they deserve to be remembered as more than flashpoints for fan vitriol.

In Kevin Can F—k Himself, Allison is given what Skyler, Betty, and Lori all lacked—a storytelling framework that makes the audience complicit in their own response. The sitcom segments of Kevin try to gaslight viewers into thinking that the often abusive way Kevin and his world treat his wife is not only acceptable, but it’s also hilarious. Except it isn’t, not even a little bit, and the drama half of the show refuses to let the folks watching it look away from that fact. It encourages us not just to sympathize with Allison’s anger, but to share it, and to hold ourselves at least partially responsible for all the years we spent laughing at women like her.

Perhaps if there had only been a Walt Can F—k Himself, we might have gotten to see Skyler in the same light.

I'm not Greek, but I do practice Hellenic Polytheism as accurately as I possibly can to the archaic and classical periods. I completely agree with you that non-Greek people (mostly USians) are extremely disrespectful with the way they practice their "Hellenic Polytheism". I've seen people do things that blatantly go against the ancient socially accepted rules in the religion, like offering their very human blood to the gods or apparently having intercorse on their altar (yes, literally). Some temples and sacred spaces bared menstruating people because blood was spiritually polluting, why do you think it's okay to offer that????? I understand some cults had practices that involved sexuality and human blood, but that was under very specific circumstances, which these people aren't. Also doing Tarot with the gods is weird because it's definitely not a part of the religion????? Why not practice forms of divination that actually existed in ancient Greece????? It's impossible to practice the religion exactly as it was done 2000+ years ago, but that's not an excuse for refusing to educate yourself on at least the basics. It's just blatant disrespect to the gods and Greek people, ancient and modern. Sorry if this was long, I just have a lot of rage

Hello! No problem, rage to your heart's content, we are a salty blog here! My #xenoi doing bs tag has some of this stuff in

I confess I had no idea things were so bad! I knew about the tarot, crystal balls, semiprecious stones and the zodiac being involved - all in the most modern and western sense - that it weren't just additions but made the practice unrecogniseable from what it is. Now you opened my eyes to new horrific scenarios 😅 (εεε... ευχαριστώ anon? 😂)

Seeeriously.... human blood* and intercourse on the altar?? That's a more like a fetish! I mean any person can do whatever they want but they can't really believe they are in this particular religion while doing this! My goodness! 😰 And the worst thing is, if you ask an explanation for this - I bet - they'll be like "I felt this in my heart" or "the deity told me" or "I am a priest/-ess of X god and I know what I am doing" 😖

*Menses are considered different from human blood in terms of purity from what I know but still, the Greek gods are not known to seek human blood. There could be exceptions as you said but we both understand these people haven't really researched that much. Oooor perhaps they would specifically search about these cases so they can satisfy their fetish to offer blood or sex to any deity really. These types of people live their lives by aesthetic and edginess 😫

I am not in the helpol circles so I can't imagine what else you've seen but...have strength, anon!

Fray is just a little too on edge for everyone's good, and the Exarch accidentally sets them into attack dog mode.

(Cross-posting, but this chapter was written very very long ago.)

Ao3

[tw: choking]

Fray really was a creature of protective impulsive violence – their joining with that fragment of S'ria had created someone that melded their best and worst qualities. And now, Fray – that may as well remain their name – was a presence that S'ria could near tangibly feel now that he knew where to look, his heart beating faster as anger began to scorch away fear. That's usually how it felt. It was very rare, really only if someone made a truly wrong move around him, that S'ria was so suddenly gone. Which made it notable here – he remembered the Crystal Exarch praising his progress and then… nothing for several minutes in which something clearly had happened. 

 ----------

Fray had been paranoid and quick to anger ever since this had all begun – S'ria's friends damn near killed by error-prone summoning, the person responsible being the most secretive bastard they'd met all year, and Emet-Selch just… prowling about. Not to mention, most damningly... Eulmore. They don't even want to dislike the Crystal Exarch, but they can't make themself trust him either. It's unfortunate how nice he was, but the other shoe had been dangling for some time, and Fray was going to snap when it finally fell.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to hang behind with the Exarch while the other Scions left to go rest.

S'ria had been listening to him excitedly ramble on about their success with the Lightwarden in Il Mheg, commenting that he'd been terrified at the idea that he could've actually been drowned by the Fuath. S'ria cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"How do you know that part?"

"This", he gestured behind him, "acts as a viewfinder of sorts. While I hardly have the time to check in constantly –" (Lyna politely cleared her throat at that) "– I nonetheless cannot help myself from wanting to be sure of your continued survival."

Fray was already striding towards him by the end of the second sentence. In a matter of moments, they'd pinned the Exarch against the unforgiving crystalline wall, exerting enough force on his throat that he scrambled to keep his feet on the ground.

The claws of his flesh hand sprung out and dug into Fray's arm and it almost made them smile at the display of unadorned self-preservation, involuntary as it was. He may act like he wants for nothing of his own, but his body wants to live, enough to break through the hero worship and draw S'ria's blood. Good.

However, it was that selfsame hero worship that made them press closer with a snarl, ignoring the steel-on-steel sound of Lyna drawing her weapons.

"The room you gave S'ria."

The Exarch swallowed harshly under their hand, replying with a wheeze. "I don't…follow?"

"The room, have you been watching?"

"Wh-". Fray saw him grimace as it clicked. "No! No, I would… never…"

He sounded so sincere, but godsdamnit, they needed to actually look at this man to know if he was lying. Fray leaned in, looking at where his eyes would be if not for the darkness they can now see to be artificial, and pulled at the edges of the enchantment – just enough for them to catch a glimpse.

Well, he wasn't lying, right now, about this at least. (But certainly, the Exarch was a liar.)

Fray released him with a frustrated sigh and addressed him in an awkwardly formal tone. "I apologize. For the accusation." They failed to apologize for nearly strangling him.

And then, of course, S'ria was left with bleeding claw marks on his arm, Lyna fussing over the Exarch while looking towards him with actual rage, and no more than the vaguest idea of what had happened.

"Oh no, whatever I've just done, I'm – "

"No, it's quite alright." The Exarch's voice sounded rough. "If Fray existed in your future, I should've known they existed in your present."

S'ria froze. "I… what?"

"Some accounts, of the calamity and events leading up to…well," the Exarch inelegantly sidestepped the matter of S'ria's potential death, "they mentioned the increasing activity of… some protective spirit bound to your own soul, mayhap?"

Fray became known, in that future? What a bizarre thought. S'ria sighed in relief. However this version of the story came to be, it wasn't one where the Crystal Exarch thought him insane.

"Still, let me apologize to you. I'm sure whatever perceived threat was a misunderstanding."

The Exarch smiled, far too gently in the moment for S'ria's liking. "A misunderstanding, yes, but mayhap not an unwarranted one. Full glad am I to see Fray defend you, even if I was briefly inconvenienced by it."

S'ria felt completely off-balance with this conversation. Even if the Exarch only half knew the situation, it was still… more acknowledgment that was allowed to exist, nevertheless spoken about so plainly.

"The others dont…". S'ria swallowed. "They don't quite know this much."

"Then they shan't know it from me. Nor Lyna?"

The woman in question nodded cautiously. Her hostility towards S'ria had mellowed to something more like confusion with a hint of resentment. He half wanted to suggest she punch him in the face and get it out of her system. They'd both probably feel better about this if she did.

----------

A messy note left on the dresser: Exarch is G'raha Tia

S'ria: wh. What?? What????

For the AO3 Wrapped game, 5, 7, 8, 11, and 13!

Thank you friend! Here we are:

5. What fic surprised you with how much interaction it got this past year?

Hmm. Mostly I Felt You In My Bones where Vader discovers who Leia is before Luke. It was a short fic for me and I wildly enjoyed the premise of making Piett the guardian over a young Senator though he has no idea why. Initially of course. I was really glad to see the fandom enjoyed the take because while I will always love the OT and the story it told, I love Leia a great deal and wish we’d seen more of her as a Jedi. 

And of course, I’m an eternal sucker for Leia and Piett having a father-daughter relationship as well so that was featured and received well. 

7. Share a line/snippet/paragraph that you were especially proud of from a work this year.

That is tough. I can think of several passages I’m happy with, but I think I’ll go with this one. It’s from Keep Your Enemies Closer—a fic centering on Obi-Wan and Piett forming an unexpected alliance to protect a young Luke Skywalker on Tatooine. It was another one I had a BLAST writing.

Palpatine would not have the son as he had taken the father.  Another blade snapped into existence, making both combatants whip their attention to it.  Luke held the lightsaber of the fallen Third Sister. He clearly didn’t know how to handle it except to keep it in front of himself.  But the Grand Inquisitor was not mocking this. Because even as they watched the boy doing his best to look brave, the red light of the blade was—-- —- changing. Holy Force. The kyber crystal was responding to Luke Skywalker. Untrained and ignorant as he was of the Force, the Force knew him. Perhaps aided by the desert and its ancient roots. For Luke was a child of Tatooine as his father and grandmother had been before him.  And slowly the red faded to a warm, desert sun yellow . At another time, Obi-Wan could be fascinated by this, but the Grand Inquisitor thrust out a hand toward Luke who stumbled, the blade wavering and dropping to make a steaming row of glass in the sand at his feet. Obi-Wan used the Force to haul back on the Grand Inquisitor and the Dark Sider tore his attention from Luke back to the Jedi. Up and down the shifting sand they raged, the blades twirling and searing the night. 

8. What’s your favorite work you posted this past year?

Ahh!! Anytime I’m asked about a favorite work I have the worst time because I like them all for different reasons!! 

But I think it needs to be Burn Away the Dross and Find the Silver. I decided to write a full on romance/slow burn/arranged marriage AU for Firmus and Sola. I LOVED allowing the two of them to try and make the best of a bad situation and, of course, slowly fall in love with each other. It was also a fic where I had Anakin and Padme’ happily married without tragedy, as well as Veers. 

11. Do you have playlists for any of your fics/wips?

While I listen to music when writing, it’s a giant hodgepodge of classical/movie soundtracks/video game soundtracks etc. I don’t create playlists for my fics in general. Occasionally, a song will strike me as perfect for a scene and I’ll mention that to my readers at the top of a chapter but that’s about it.

13. What fic are you most excited to post in the upcoming year?

Oho. Ohoho. So I have two fully outlined that have not seen the light of day yet. Without giving too much away—the one I’m stoked about centers around the search for a Jedi [though not the one you might be thinking] enemies working together to survive, and not one, but three surprising reveals for several characters. Grins.

Suit!Saeran/cmc Natasha Stakh;

A result of a vampire Suit brainrot I've been having for a while now.

(Used ref. by @BANSEXGA on Twitter)

"Are you... okay...?"

Saeran gritted his teeth, slamming the thick door shut behind him with a distinct thud, which made his assistant visibly twitch in her chair. Was she intending to do that or not, he did not know. What he did know was just how much it annoyed him to see that wary body language coming from her.

He hated seeing her cower at the sight of him like a stray puppy begging for his mercy, and, all at the same time, he absolutely despised it whenever she decided to act arrogantly by trying to tell him what he should be doing with his life. It felt like her mere existence was making his blood boil, and yet, she was still here, right by his side throughout almost every minute of his day, despite his numerous threats to get rid of her time and time again. Deep inside, he knew perfectly well, just how paradoxical this whole ordeal was. But like hell he'll admit it out loud in front of this airhead.

He growled menacingly, closing an already fairly small distance between them with only a few wide steps and making his sour mood crystal clear by forcefully slamming both of his hands onto the surface of the table, causing Natasha to shut her eyes tight at the loud noise mercilessly assaulting her eardrums. Good. He felt just a tiny bit better when she was no longer burning holes into him with those huge eyeballs of hers. But, then again, it was kind of annoying how she thought she could hide from him by acting so childishly. This trick has never worked for him in his lifetime, and it certainly will not work for her.

This airhead was making his head spin with thousands of contradictions, and it was only making him more and more irritated as minutes slowly passed him by.

"You should have learned by now to stop asking me these moronic questions, you stupid toy! Are you trying to piss me off on purpose or something!? Learn your place and do your job - that's all you need to be doing! Is that really so hard to keep in mind for you!?" His breath was coming out ragged, it felt as if every single cell in his body was blazing with rage, burning him alive from the inside out.

Well, perhaps, there was another reason for him feeling this miserable, but it was way easier to focus on the physical source of his discomfort that was trembling right in front of his nose.

Natasha grimaced, tentatively opening one of her eyes and looking up at his face that was hovering so close to hers, it felt almost claustrophobic. She had nowhere to run, and practically all of her senses were filled with his menacing presence. It seemed like she was trying desperately to pick out the safest way to respond, so as to not anger him any further. Though, whenever Saeran was this pissed off for whatever reason, he was like a ticking time bomb. It was practically impossible to escape the explosion that was going to occur sooner or later, regardless of her actions.

"T-there's blood on you. Of course I'm worried. I care about you." Her voice was muffled and timid as she quickly lowered her gaze to the ground. Truth is, it didn't matter, how she responded to his demands. He would get angry either way. All she could do was wait for the unavoidable impact that was coming up fast.

The peaceful buzzing of countless computers was suddenly harshly interrupted by a burst of deafening cackling, as Saeran threw his head back in a fit of laughter that sounded borderline hysterical in its nature. It sent shivers down her spine as she silently watched him spiraling out of control. This wasn't natural. His entire body was now trembling with anger, filled to the brim with overwhelming and confusing feelings that were making his head spin.

"For God's sake, you're such an idiot! You're worried about me? You're worried! Why that's the most ironic thing I've heard all year!"

Just as abruptly as his chilling fit of laughter has started, it was replaced by a crooked grimace of pure malice, seemingly in an instant. At least, that's what he wanted it to look like. Instead, Saeran looked like he was about to fall apart at any moment now. Natasha has never seen him this unhinged before. She was getting more and more concerned both for her own and Saeran's safety all the same. She wanted to calm him down somehow, to soothe his raging emotions that were obviously causing him so much inner distress, but she had no idea how she was supposed to do that when he was already on the edge of exploding.

This feeling of helplessness was making it hard to breathe for her.

She could only wince as Saeran's slender fingers quickly gripped her jaw with so much strength, that she could feel his short fingernails digging painfully into the skin of her cheeks. He wasn't actively trying to hurt her, though. At least, not yet. He merely forced her to look him straight in the eye, making it impossible for her to back away or hide her gaze. His voice dropped to a low hiss, pure venom filling his hushed words, even as he tried to imitate a fake sense delight with his tone. A strong feeling of danger seeped deep within her bones, making her shiver in her seat helplessly.

"Well, let me tell you one secret, princess. It's not my blood you're seeing. You wanna know why there's blood on me? Hmm? Answer me. Since you're oh so saint and caring, I'm sure you're just itching to hear it."

His grip on her only tightened, as her breath hitched in her throat in a weak attempt to not provide him with any strong reactions on her part. She may not know how to resolve this conflict, but she knew that, whenever she behaved way too emotional, it never ended pretty for them. Her best plan would be to remain as calm as possible and withstand this storm as best she could. Getting angry and retaliating, or giving up and begging for his mercy wouldn't do anything to help them both. So, she had to be strong. That's what she told herself as she swallowed the lump in her throat and found her voice again, however small it may be against Saeran's booming insults. "I... Even if it's not your blood, you must have gone through something really distressing to get it on you... right? You don't look okay at all... Did... something bad happen at the ceremony today...?"

He grit his teeth with so much force it felt like they were about to crumble into dust. No. This was not what he wanted to hear right now. Moreover, receiving such a ridiculous answer only irritated him further, if it was even possible at this point. He didn't know, what kind of response he desired to get from her exactly, but it was definitely not this.

She has no idea what she was talking about.

He won't put up with this.

Instead of coming up with a proper reply to her tentative assumption, he roughly released his hold on her cheeks with such sharpness in his movements, it almost looked like the physical touch has physically burned him or something. Pursing his lips into a thin tight line, he took a step back, sharply gesturing with his hand a new command he needed Natasha to fulfill.

"Stand up."

She blinked, looking up at him with an utterly dumbfounded expression plastered crystal clear onto her face. She almost reminded him of a confused child right now, which only made him clench his fists at his sides and curse internally in response to the unpleasant memories clouding his mind all over again. He hated it. Why is she always doing this to him? Was it on purpose? Was she knowingly trying to weaken him, only to jab a knife into his back the moment he'd lower his defenses around her?

Like hell.

"I said get up!"

He sounded way more desperate than angry at this point, and the thought almost scared him. He couldn't control his emotions in her presence and he couldn't control the way his body was acting just as much. It was genuinely unnerving, however, he stubbornly refused to admit his defeat and leave the room. That's what Ray always did whenever staying around her was too overwhelming for his bloodthirst. And he definitely wasn't Ray.

This time, Natasha listened, flinching at the volume of his already hoarse voice and silently complying with his command. She carefully got up from her seat and stood in front of him, clutching tightly onto the fabric of her skirt. She was nervous, he could tell. Why won't she just admit that she's scared of him?

That dirty liar.

His cold gaze narrowed as he took a few more steps back and folded both of his arms across his chest.

"Now, go stand next to that wall, or I'll make you do it myself. And I won't coddle you." He nodded briefly to his left, away from their shared working space. Judging by the increased nervousness flickering in her green eyes, Natasha was starting to guess on what was soon to come. Still, she hesitated only for a brief moment, before biting on her lower lip and walking over to the mentioned wall.

His gaze never left her form, not until her back was carefully lined up with the cold surface of the wall.

She wasn't saying much now. He must admit, he liked her a tiny bit better when her voice wasn't buzzing around inside of his ears. It always sounded way too soft and sweet for his liking. Especially whenever she decided to act 'worried' about his well-being of all people. Natasha was a convincing actor, that's for sure, and that's exactly what made him feel so angry in the first place. The truth was, a part of him, the tiniest part of him, has often longed to succumb to her tender promises, to cling to the warm comfort her embrace would surely provide. He despised these weak thoughts of his. The only person who should provide him the comfort he needs is his beloved Savior, no one else. His Saviour is the only person in the whole world who truly understands him and loves him unconditionally.

So, why is it that he's feeling so damn left behind by her lately? He shouldn't be needy for her love, that's what weak people like Ray do. And yet, after he got to meet Natasha, she started to plant new dangerous ideas into his head. Even right now, what he was planning on doing was something strictly prohibited to him, and he knew that perfectly.

He didn't even realize that he started walking towards her, suddenly finding himself standing right in front of her petite figure and cornering her by putting up an arm right next to her head. Though, it didn't seem like she was planning on escaping anyway. He leaned down to her level, his breath ghosting over the skin of her cheek as he spoke: "Are you afraid of me?"

The words hung heavy in the air around them, almost echoing off the cold walls aligning this tiny room. He was staring straight into her eyes, seeming scarily calm when compared to his earlier almost unhinged state of mind. Though, it wasn't odd for Saeran's mood to change drastically in a matter of mere minutes.

Natasha licked over her dried lips, musing over her words for a couple of moments before coming up with a reply.

"...No. I'm not."

His gaze narrowed as his nails scratched at the surface of the wall, making her cringe faintly at the unpleasant sound right next to her ear. If he was angry with her answer, he didn't show it openly this time around. Saeran merely let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head slightly and leaning over so that he could whisper his next words right into her ear: "You should be."

And with that, without giving her any time to react, he gripped her tightly by the shoulders, jerking her body forward till she was trapped flush against his chest. He could hear her let out a shallow gasp at the unexpected contact, clutching onto his suit so as to not fall over completely. This way, he could practically hear her heart drumming away into his temples, forcing him to grit his teeth and bear it.

Whatever he can deal with this just fine.

Making sure that she was right where he needed her to be, Saeran now grabbed onto her arm, gripping it tightly between his thin fingers and making his point clear: there was no point in trying to struggle. Whether she listened to his silent warning out of fear or some other train of thought, he didn't know, and he didn't care. It was easier when she was not trying to push him away, anyway.

Though, he had to push her back into his chest the moment she tried to look back onto his face. He didn't want to see her eyes right now.

"W-what are you going to do?" She muttered, sounding much more confused than scared, much to his annoyance. Is she out of her mind or something?

"Say, have you ever wondered why Ray was acting the way he did around you?"

Natasha fell silent for a few moments. He could imagine a puzzled look painting itself over her features, which made him snicker under his breath.

Such an idiot.

Weirdly enough, he didn't feel the need to lash out at her quite yet. Moreover, he found it quite amusing to watch her stumble over her own words in confusion.

"I... don't understand what you're getting at, Saeran."

He rolled his eyes at her. He just has to spill everything out the way it is for her, huh? How boring.

"What, are you trying to tell me he never rushed away from you seemingly out of nowhere, looking like he saw a ghost or something? Or avoided you like the plaque itself whenever you hurt yourself out of your own ridiculous clumsiness? Oh, I know, how about never actually eating anything in front of you? That's a hard one to crack, isn't it, my little detective?" He practically purred right into her ear, slowly brushing away her long hair from her shoulder and examining the exposed skin of her neck with his starved gaze. It looked like she was way too distracted by his strange words to even take notice of this odd touch, just slightly tightening her hold on his suit in response.

"W-what are you talking about-?" She stuttered.

His hot shaky breath ghosted over her smooth skin, making her jolt in surprise, and let out a tiny yelp, making him chuckle in amusement. She can be pretty cute at times, it's a shame that she mostly chooses to annoy him, rather than provide him with the entertainment he desires. She tried once more to turn her head to him, but this attempt was denied the same as the last one with just one tug on her arm that caused her to remain in place. He wasn't going to let her do whatever she wanted, after all.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. There's no point in playing the oblivious idiot in front of me, princess. I can feel your blood pumping inside of your veins, and it does not lie. Now, are you starting to guess on why there's blood on me, or should I just spell it out for you? Hmm... how about you never seeing me, or your precious prince-charming Ray out and about in the daylight? I believe that's the most obvious clue there is."

Natasha fell dead silent, freezing in place, and this time, Saeran felt kind of disappointed he couldn't see her face clearly. Still, this way, he's much more in control of himself, so he'll have to bear with it for the time being. He grabbed onto her hair with a tight grip, finding the biggest vein peeking out distinctly from under the soft cover of her skin with his eyes. He could feel his fangs practically itching to bury themselves into her flesh, as he imagined how her blood would taste on his tongue the moment he'll finally get to do it.

Still, he held himself back for whatever reason, slowly starting to slightly tremble from the overwhelming need clouding over his senses. It was dangerous how quickly she caused him to feel like this, considering how he had his last 'meal' just a few hours ago. The sound of her muffled voice brought him back to reality.

"...That's not possible."

It was a hushed whisper, one he was able to make out only due to his heightened senses compared to a normal human being. He couldn't hide the wide smirk stretching his cheeks from ear to ear in pure triumph. "Oh, but it is, princess. And I think it's about time you learned what I truly am - what Ray truly is - before you start all that 'I care about you ' crap. It's too late to regret now, so don't even try to struggle, it's useless either way. Let's see how worried about me you'll be after I'm finished with you."

Before she could reply to these words, Saeran has bitten harshly into her skin, without any warning given to her in advance, making Natasha gasp sharply at the pain searing up in her neck. His grip on her was too strong to fight back, even if she'd try.

And yet, for whatever reason, she did not even do that. A small question crept its way into her thoughts as she stood there in pure shock and dismay swirling around in her head and pondering over what was real, and what was not, as her blood was being taken away from her in a form of mere food.

Did Saeran... Did he believe that he was undeserving of her care because of what he is...?

Worth reading…both men and women…

By Talya Eidelman

For all women.

I am woman. Don’t tell me who I am. I have known ever since the world was created. Don’t tell me what to feel or how to behave.

I am woman. Don’t try and teach me about the old ways that should have been dead a long time ago.

I am woman. Do you know anything about my body? It houses the world and it is the wisest thing on this planet.

I am woman. Don’t try and tell me that suffering is weak when the reason that you exist is because I suffered giving birth to you.

You are here because of my ability to suffer.

I am woman. Somedays I cannot eat or sleep as the power, wisdom and truth of the new world pours into me as my vision and mission becomes crystal clear. Then again this is a world where most people hardly eat and don’t even have beds on which to sleep.

I am woman.That means I can no longer be silent. It means my voice has arrived and like a raging fire and a thunder it will be heard across galaxies.

I am woman and I am tired and angry. Don’t go and confuse anger with weakness or malice or a lack of inner peace. My anger is rage and my rage has turned into power. I have lived lifetimes voiceless, suppressed and yet I was the one who always knew the truth. That may take a while to get over.

I am woman. I have lived many lives and each time the secrets of the world had to die with me. But not this life… This life I will apologise for nothing. This life I am here to be seen, heard and live out loud.

I am woman. Don’t tell me what to do. I have heard too many opinions from indoctrinated and suppressed voices. ‘You can’t change the world’ or ‘don’t take on others suffering, it doesn’t belong to you’. WHAT OTHER? ‘The other’ lives in me. Everyone belongs to me and every cell in me is every human out there.

Do you know who I am? I mean do you have any idea?

I am woman. Don’t teach me about God. Don’t preach to me about a God that exists outside of me. A God who punishes or expects anything. Don’t teach me about a God who loves conditionally and wants us to be good and obedient. Don’t teach me about your patriarchal God that has left the world in a state of desperate anxiety and confusion.

I am woman. That means I am a mystic. I am the dark force of the feminine. I am the manifestation of my womb. I am the crone, the wolf and the lioness. I am The Goddess.

I am woman. I know exactly how powerful I am and what I am here to do. Don’t come with your limitations and false beliefs, unless you have brought them forth to die in my fire. Don‘t teach me about humility out of fear that I may become too powerful and not domesticated enough.

I am woman. I am wherever the water is stagnant and where a change needs to be made. You will find me where there is pain and anguish and you will watch me cry and scream for the people.

I am woman. I am not looking to create comfort or peace. I look to destroy the old world and shake things up to the point where human beings come alive and this is a world of awakened, passionate, loving and powerful people. That is what creates peace on earth!

I am woman. I am so sexually powerful that you have become afraid of me and so you call me a whore and a tease and arrogant. I laugh at your labels and yet my heart aches for you.

Don’t you see that my power is the very thing that births yours? You have not really awakened unless you have awakened through a woman.

I am woman and the world has been waiting for me. Waiting in desperation for me to break my chains so that I may come and free you from yours.

I am woman. I answer to no one and nothing other than my instincts and to whatever feels natural. I do not fit into a mould and I live life my way. I break the rules of conformity and I do nothing in an ordinary or orderly fashion.

I am woman. Destruction is my way.

I am woman. My freedom is not dependent on your opinions of me or your limited understanding of who I am. I do not wait for permission to be myself or use my voice. I do not think before I speak as my wisdom rushes out of me like a tsunami of water dying to feed the dessert that is the world.

Don’t tell me I can’t do it. Because I will. Because I am.

I am woman. I am Power, Sexuality, Darkness, Depth, Heart, Warrior and Animal.

I am the New Voice.

I am The Revolution.

I am God.

DEAL WITH IT.

Day 20: Death

Will there be a day where this form does not have to think about the End? Too alike in all things, too different in constitution. So many decisions made for this poor Child. How pitiful the fates, but all the while intriguing still. To maintain such grace and work ethic in spite of sheer negligence. To hold duty too such higher orders. This form made him too well.

To think he toils alone, filling shoes not designed for him. Acting in stead of his sister. Trying to be that which is antithetical to his exact disposition. It digs deep. Deeper still than any of the other Children would give credit. Even his siblings give wide berth. Though hatred holds no purchase for the End. It cannot. The rest of the Children passed their curses onto the Precious Living, punishment, but nothing has been handed from the one most hurt by their actions. The End has only reached out with any attempts at kindness he can offer. To be rebuked every time. But persisting still.

What begins must end. It is how the cycle must go. This form realized that far too late. Had the order been reversed…. the status quo might have been much different. Perhaps this form was too ambitious in mixing what should have remained apart. But what is done cannot be undone. And persistence in the face of the impossible is the most valiant effort in existence. To think of the weight of the Souls left bonded to the spontaneous, to leave them to devices. Corruption, rampant. It had to be done. This form will not apologize. But not at these hands, no. Passing the blame, name, all the same onto a Child. Make no mistake, this form never forgets. It never forgets that the End’s domain includes death, yes. But also sunsets, moving forward, the intangible growth of the Soul. Death is needed for renewal. Beginnings cannot start without the old ending. Perhaps the miserable truth is that the End is most like the Precious Living themselves. So sad they cannot see the one offering a hand to hold as they walk back into eternity.

--

Poppies danced in the wind, flickering through the fields in their own, tired way. Bones did his best to pay them no mind, instead slipping under the moonless night and deeper into the valley with his feet barely above the ground. He had no need to alert anything that might take interest in him, instead maintaining the painful silence. Not even bugs or birds called, despite the flourishing amount of flowers. Perhaps they didn’t want to alert the watchful eye of death, or perhaps he had already taken them all. Bones didn’t know. But the simple truth remained: he needed to get to the shitty god’s dumbass temple. He’d been avoiding it as long as he could, but he could no more. The pain was too great. If this was a test.

At some point, his feet touched the ground, rustling softly in the grass. His magic could do no more here, for this was the land of a god. His god. The bastard that kept him trapped here. As many swears and curses he could imagine ran through his mind, things his mama would be horrified to hear. But he knew the God of the End could hear them. He knew he could feel them. Whatever pain that forced nauseous shivers in his skin would be sent upward. It was the least he could do for payment. For eternity.

Large boulders and crystals of hematite and obsidian were Bones’s only support as he crept along, using the warm stones as crutches to push himself forward, down and deeper into the darkness of the long abandoned shrine. Its cavernous mouth seemed to swallow him whole as he disappeared through the darkness, having to feel his way through blindly. The antechamber was coated in dust, sending even more jitters of rage and aggravation down his spine. Motes floated aimlessly, swirling in the heat of a single candle that lay on the central altar, lit but not melting. Its meager light cast odd shadows along the carvings on the walls, words and pictures that might have meant something in a different time. Bones finally collapsed, arms just barely doing enough to prevent him from falling to the floor by just gripping on the edge of the altar. “A’ight, Feathers.” He called out between coughs. “I’m here.. the fuck… do ya want?”

Some blood sputtered out of his mouth, dripping down the black stone. He closed his eyes tightly, desperately begging to be anywhere else. To be dead. He should be dead. He should’ve been dead when he killed himself. He knew he did the job right. He knew. The air changed behind him, light sparks of static sparked in the wool of his sweater with each haggard breath. A weighty presence manifested behind him.

“Need thou ask?” Adamsa Frisay’s emotionless voice lingered a bit too long in Bones’s ear. “Hardly the lips to speak. Still shouting.”

A few footsteps moved around him, the stones echoing around. Bones couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or disappointment. “Just… do what… ya wanted.”

The god lowered themselves before Bones, just on the other side of the altar, taking his chin into his hands. The sparks of warmth shot through Bones, forcing his eyes to open just enough to peek. The emerald eye of the god lurked behind their black and shadowy hair, barely visible in the candle light. Perhaps his own pain was being reflected back at him. “If only this form could.” Their lips parted barely, but despite the distance, the whisper of the god’s voice was right in his ear. “Mirtuvi, why does resistance constantly well in the remains of that body?”

Mirtuvi. That word he kept using for him. Bones hated it. He didn’t know what it meant, but it was always around him now. Buzzing in his head like bees that would never leave. “Maybe… one day… ya’ll get sick of me.”

“Unlikely.” The answer came too quickly. “Too much to do. Much left to repair.”

“Did ya ever… ask what I wanted?”

The god paused at that, standing slowly and passing his hand along the mage’s cheek, through his hair, finally releasing contact with a jerk. “Many, many times.” Adamsa Frisay folded his hands together, effortlessly lifting Bones into the air with a gentleness he didn’t anticipate. He couldn’t resist anymore, falling limply into the forces beyond comprehension. “This form wanted nothing less than to give the world. Perhaps one day, thine eyes might glimpse the truth. But for now…”

The world in front of Bones’s eyes faded out to black, and sleep took him by storm. A gift from the god. Stepping forward, Adamsa Frisay placed a hand over the mage’s chest, sinking fingers into flesh and pulling out the fractured remains of his most botched job. The poor bits of a soul. Pitiful. The small, purple fragments swirled above his hand, trying its best to resonate, to Sing, get back together. The pitch all wrong. It was no easier to gaze upon now than the first time he saw it. He still wondered exactly how this mortal managed to do this. He knew the actions, the environment, the mood. All the data there and collected, replayed, reanalyzed. But no sense was made. No, this was a fallacy. A human fluke. Willpower. He had seen it before. The weapon locked away so many eons ago was proof enough. But why so destructive? And why to the self?

“Mirtuvi, please accept apologies. If it was possible…” Adamsa moved the pieces, attempting once more to fix the puzzle. “Thine death would have been swift, painless. Suffering so… It is shameful. Unbecoming.”

His free hand raised up, reaching into himself, pulling out some dark swirling mass. A passive glance fell over his eye. “If it takes. So receive.”

He carefully guided the darkness over the faint, purple glow of the soul. Blackness congealing slightly, retaining a proper form. It would not last. But it was enough. The End guided the soul back into the body, setting it inside with a spark of electricity that ran across Bones’s body, jumping from wound to wound, healing all to perfection. Save for the wound at his throat. Even the god’s might couldn’t touch that one. “Willpower…” They muttered in their flat tone, finger dragging through the blood splattered across his altar. “Even so, sacrifices offered. So gifts are granted. Something about thine power, Mirtuvi, which this form cannot ignore.” He spoke despite knowing all too well that Bones would not hear or know of the conversation, but carried on regardless. “Thou art in possession of a glimpse against the shards of comprehension. From what? It defies logic. All understanding. Divinity has not offered any words, if one could even find them.”

They paced around their shrine, considering more than the world could reveal alone, slipping both in and out of reality, shadow, stone, and electricity as flocks of ravens gathered around the beams of the ceiling. The birds looked at each other, watching and waiting for their master’s command, should one need to be given. All at once, the god stopped, electricity discharging throughout the room, running up and out the front of the shrine. “Unless.” He closed his eye and shook his head. “Impossible. Truly.

Hands again grasped firmly under Bones body, carrying him as one might a child. “If nothing else, rest is deserved in peace. Thou shall be returned. But please…” a desperate plea, finally allowing emotion to leech into his voice. “stop doing this to thine self. Thou art worthy of kindness… despite what beliefs are held.”

It was futile, he wouldn’t hear. In a single step, both vanished into shadows at once, leaving the ravens to flee to the sky. Feathers floating through the air like scattered poppy petals in the wind.

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-tober2022 can be found here.)

Kimbra Embraces Life's Many Reckonings Throughout history, the emotions of women were branded as a series of harsh, clinical words. Hysteria was most prevalent, serving as a diagnosis for sexually active, irritable and/or anxious women. When existing within society's margins, every move is pathologized. For Kimbra, an unraveling was brought on by the pandemic, when she exited her massive deal with Warner Records and heartbreak propelled her into a period of self-examination. The signs of life that emanated from New York streets in the dead of lockdown eventually morphed into a more cautious but nonetheless bright-eyed community of people looking to reconnect with art, their peers and the world around them. It was a period of reflection that the New Zealand-born artist desperately needed after a decade of standard industry fare.Kimbra's contribution to Gotye's 2011 smash hit "Somebody That I Used To Know" crystallized after she signed her Warner Records deal. While tinkering with songs she wrote throughout her teenage years and making new ones to eventually land on her debut album, Vows, she struck gold on the song. It was an unexpected hit that took the world by storm in the midst of the early '10s obsession with electro-pop, folksy stomp-clap anthems and bubbling Soundcloud rap. Instead of relishing in having one of the best-selling digital singles in history, it was on to the next thing. Kimbra's subsequent albums following Vows highlighted the conflict of artistic freedom and the pressure to follow up a hit with an even bigger one. Nonetheless, she took advantage of the wealth of resources to check off dream collaborations and experiment with new sounds, even if it didn't always spell a commercial hit.Related | Kimbra Gets Stuck on 'replay!' in Explosive New VideoReinvigorated by her independence and a close working relationship with Ryan Lott, best known as a member of Son Lyx, Kimbra channeled these emotions into her music – both visible and invisible. She wrote songs that never intended to see the light of day and wrestled with inner conflict. Inspired by near-universal experiences such as the strange urge to stare at your reflection a bit longer after a good cry, a split-second thought of violence while in the face of adversity and the primal urge to thrash and shriek, A Reckoning was born, putting sound to emotions without a proper name. Kimbra is free, her voice reaching soaring highs and sultry whispers over Lott's textured production. Punk, hip-hop, electronic and R&B tumble as she writhes around in a state of ecstasy. There's an almost orgasmic quality to Kimbra's work, capturing tragedy, sensuality and release in a multi-sensory overload. In her world, there's no such thing as the tragic female lead, irrationality, hysteria or subtlety. It reassures the ugly parts of humanity that are pathologized, mocked and dismissed through a uniquely feminine perspective. Read on for PAPER's conversation with Kimbra about A Reckoning, what it means to capture uncomfortable emotions and life's many taboos. What has changed between your last album and now that informed your headspace?I already had a lot of songs floating around by the end of the last album. I knew that I wanted to write a lot of new material, especially because I've gone through a lot during the pandemic, like the end of a relationship in 2020. So I was committed to sitting down at the piano every few days, my Wurlitzer at home, really trying to write some very heartfelt ballads. When songs like "save me" and "i don't want to fight" emerged, it became clear that I was going to be touching on some really big themes. One of them was the theme of conflict and anger. Where do these parts of us live and how do we find healthy ways to express them? How do I lean into the ugly stuff? I'm like, I don't want to look at my own rage and I'll probably have to if I'm going to evolve. When I had that theme in mind, I started collecting photographs of people about to break. I love those four seconds when you watch someone and they're deciding whether they're going to react or respond kindly. I wanted to capture that moment of reckoning with yourself, facing yourself and deciding how you're going to move clearly. That was the inspiration. So then out of that, I brought back songs like "gun" that I had written for Rihanna at a songwriting camp back in the day. She never picked it up so I brought that back. Then I wrote "replay!" and I was like, Wow, this is about a woman really reckoning with a lot of her difficult emotions and trying to break cycles. I'm really interested in loops. I've always been interested in looping cycles, circles, patterns. I think the way we evolve as humans is often to witness those loops, see the habits we have and then work to soften them and break them. That's kind of where it all came from. Then I picked my co-producer Ryan Lott from Son Lux. That was my person that was going to sonically present these characters. I had the vulnerable softness of a woman surrendering and then the fighter, the warrior, the aggression. So his role was to be like, How do I make characters out of this? How do I make synthesizers that sound like knives?One of my notes is about the textures on this record. The sounds are almost tangible. I want my songs to sound like my internal landscapes. I have these inner worlds. Some of them are calm and controlled, and then some of them are schizophrenic and claustrophobic and the way that I keep myself in check is to make music from that place. What does it sound like in my head today? Do you feel that making music to let these feelings out is healthy for you, or do you have other outlets?You gotta have other ones. If your life is only about music, it can become a bit single-minded. I try to do yoga and run and do things that are physical. I like to do watercolors and express myself, but the impulse to create is to bring clarity out of confusion. When I'm confused about what I'm feeling, it's a very scary place for me. I sit down and make a beat that sounds like my internal rhythm and sing a melody that sounds like the longing or the regret or the fear. If I make that melody, then I relax like, Ah, I made something invisible, visible. I made something that was abstract and scary into a tangible thing that can now help someone else and turn suffering into joy.How does that process work, to create something that intuitively feels like something invisible?It's an act of faith. You don't know what's going to come out and it might be shit, right? And you're scared of that! If I lean in, start tinkering and playing chords, I might strike on something that needs to come out. It's kind of like a dance with the subconscious. You're trusting that something in the subconscious is going to emerge. If you just stop trying to control it, you have to be out of it. You have to be like a child. And when you're playing, guessing, stepping into the dark, then you land and are like, "That sounds like how I feel." You see how that's fate? You're not controlling the process. You're leaning into something more divine and you're hunting and smelling around to see something.Going back to the fear of something sounding like shit, is that something you are still conscious of?Of course! That's the risk you take every time you try to create because you're immediately face-to-face with the inner critic who's going to sit there and go, that's not good enough, you should be making better music. You're gonna have to wrestle with the inner critic. It's faith that you'll create something that is meaningful even when you're scared because creatives are scared. There's an illusion that an artist just walks into a creative space and unfolds something beautiful. No, they're scared that it's not going to be good enough. For example, "save me" was a song that I wrote because my therapist told me to write something that no one would ever hear. So in that sense, it took away the inner critic. Now I decided to put it out, but initially, no one's gonna hear this so it doesn't matter if it's shit. I'm just gonna make it for me. A really great way to write something is if you take away the audience and the witness altogether. You might find that you want the witness later. But for the moment of creation, you're trying to get rid of that voice of where it's gonna go and just do it purely for the sake of expression, with no outcome with no life span. Just pure expression in the moment.It must be strange to make music without the intention of anyone else hearing it after spending so long doing the exact opposite, creating with the purpose of eventually releasing it and having an audience always in mind. Of course. It's been a lot easier on this record because it was just me and the co-producer the whole time. We didn't have any record labels assigned to the record. I parted ways with Warner Brothers so I didn't have people in the room saying, "Make the chorus bigger," or, "This isn't commercial enough." I just made the record I wanted to make. I made what I wanted to listen to. It is easier when you remove the industry voices because that adds a lot of pressure.You can really hear the difference between a squeaky-clean record and one with more freedom, although it may be my own bias. I'm guessing working so intimately with one other person definitely helped rein in some of the ideas.[Ryan Lott] oversaw a lot of the final ideas. Of course, I'm at the center of a lot of sound design and coming up with arrangements and stuff, but it was always me and him. Even though there are other people involved, it was always me and him aligning our vision for the ultimate sound, which I think creates cohesion to this record and a feeling of not too many cooks in the kitchen, which can make a record sound confused sometimes.It's also a shorter record! I think albums are getting longer and I kind of enjoy a journey from start to finish. It's very focused and takes you many places, but I lean toward a slightly conceptual idea. And I like the number 10! It provides such symmetry to an album. You get a middle point and then you get act two. Those were the 10 [songs] that told the story for me. Of course, there's plenty of others, but I just wanted to make a statement that didn't have filler or songs that were there to bulk it up. I wanted every song to be very much a side of the central theme. To be fair, I have a lot of work ready to go up to this. I've been piling it up for shorter releases rather than one long one.I love that you're talking about an almost universal taboo about female anger and the label of the "hysterial" woman. What was it like to embody those emotions? I would say they're all different sides to the experience of conflict, rage and anger that lives within us. It's confronting. It's almost difficult to live inside these songs because I'm having to get so intimate with the parts of myself that are difficult to look at. When I'm making whimsical fantasy music, I get to escape myself. For this record, I went into myself in a very direct way, so sometimes I have to take a breather. Even the music videos are exhausting. The work is exhausting, because it is. It's very raw in terms of the things that I feel within, but this is what I do as an artist. As I say to my audience, I'll go there so you can join me too and feel less afraid to go there. It always helps when you've got a hand, someone to lead you through the darkness or into the fun! There's a lot of fun on this record. There's a lot of playful sexuality and discovering your womanhood in these really cool, exciting ways. You can only do that when you go through the hard stuff and see what's really there. It's scary, but then it opens up all these other parts of yourself and you can let go of shame and regret. There's a whole multifaceted experience of being what I identify as, which is a woman. We're scared to look at all these different sides of ourselves. We put people in boxes and for me to break out of my box, I have to first take a good look at what's in there. That helps me expand. And like I said, there's a heaviness to the first half of the record and then it's a real freedom that emerges towards the end. Songs like "GLT" and "new habit" are about the other side of anger. And when you move through that stuff, you get to see all the beauty that is there too.Did you feel like you were going through this process of rediscovering yourself, your womanhood and sexuality when making this record?Yeah, for sure. I express myself in new ways. You know, I think part of looking at the emotion of anger is that it's tied to your life force. Your life force is also erotic and sensual and sexual, and so when you look at this emotion and its deeper root, you find all of these other expressions of vitality. They are all good things for our world. Protest is fueled by the same thing that makes us violent. I think I've grown into my own skin and my own body. I've wanted to embrace my physicality in new ways and incorporate dance and movement more into things. I'm contemplating motherhood now that I'm in my 30s, so there's also that strong female experience of realizing that you're wanting to think about being a creator, a mother. I think there's a real strength in seeing your body as a vessel for life. It takes time for everyone to feel comfortable expressing themselves on those different levels, and that's the journey of an artist! You're accessing yourself in different ways. Sometimes I do it through escapism, sometimes I do it in this really grounded, bodily way. This is why it takes four to five years to make a record because you live with yourself for a bit.It seems that even while you were at a major label, you were able to work on your own artistic timeline. Right. I tended to push back on that. I think there's always that pressure to deliver sooner, but I tended to be quite forthright about needing time and I'm glad that they were understanding of that. And often, I just want to wait until I actually have something to say that's worthwhile. There's a lot of music out there. There's a lot of female pop artists. What do I have to contribute here that is authentic to my experience, and is going to be helpful to other people?Are you nervous about bringing these songs on tour when they are even more vulnerable than usual?I'm mentally preparing. What gives me life is looking into the eyes of other people and seeing them reflect back the same emotions and feel the same things. It makes me feel safer to say these things out loud because there's other people in the room. It's like the beauty of an AA meeting. When people come together and all share their experiences, everyone goes, "Thank you for sharing. I understand that." It's a lot better than me sitting alone in my apartment going through it on my own. The community that comes from live performance is very healing for me because the music basically has a second life after you release it. I've lived with the songs and I've cried to the songs and I put them on my headphones and I've gone, "Fuck yeah, this is exactly what I want to say." But now they're yours. Now they're someone else's. I'm on to the next thing! It's like a service that you are giving. You're now allowing for the songs to unfold in the lives of others, and I look at that as my offering.On "gun," you open with the line, "I earned the right to talk this way." I think that was when the album really started come together for me and communicated that internal conflict of anger and femininity.I've spent a lot of my career and time in my life giving my power over to other people, so there's a reclamation of finding yourself again in this record. And sometimes you forget your sense of self in this industry. "gun" is really realizing that a lot of the words that people spoke over me which were meant to free and empower me were actually like a gun to the head. They're actually trapping me. Sometimes you think that you owe a lot to other people but at the end of the day, you're the one that turns up for yourself. You're the one that gets you through the hard times. I wrote those words for Rihanna, so I wrote it for a woman that I felt was stronger than me. I think there was that reclamation of like, Why can't I say that? I need my music to be my strongest self because sometimes I can't speak like that. I am shy, I get nervous, but in my music, I get to say those things like, "I earned the right to talk this way." Was there any emotion that felt particularly difficult to create?I think "la type," which is a song about my experience dating in LA and just some of the bullshit that comes with a city that's built on entertainment. That one was hard because I had so many different versions and approaches. It's a tongue-in-cheek song. It's obviously having a bit of a laugh. I love LA and I'm not bagging on it, but there's also a culture that I'm talking to that is very distorted and superficial, right? But it was hard to capture the nuance of that. I wanted some sparkle and that Hollywood feel, but I also wanted it to be sassy and feel like Betty Davis. It had to shine. That was the hardest one to finish. And the final icing on the cake was actually getting Questlove to play drums on the track! We cut that at Electric Lady. So he played on that song and it suddenly had just the right feeling of pocket and groove and throwback, because the thing is, I'm always nervous to do throwback sounds — I don't want it to sound derivative. For "la type," I had to make it feel modern but also had to throw back to stuff that I loved. It's hard when you have a Prince-inspired song to not go full Prince. That's why I lean into juxtaposition and duality because that's when you get something original. When you mix regret with sexual desire. When you mix guilt with pride. That's where originality comes in. I like to find the paradoxes in me.Have you written a lot for others?A little bit! I do get called in to write for other people. I think there's a cool thing that happens when you step outside of yourself and your own insecurities and you write it for someone else to sing. You're not overly attached to whether or not you mean it from the bottom of your heart. It's for them! You imagine a different character, like the version of Kimbra that walks into a room and says, "I earned the right to talk this way." What's that version of me that can say that? And then when I take on that character, I get better at living it out in the real world. It's like my practice. What does it feel like to speak like that in industry meetings when I speak to men who make me feel small? It has now been over a decade since "Somebody I Used To Know." Do you still feel bound to that song and wish for that not to be the main focus of your catalog?Probably. Luckily, I love the song and the world loves the song and it's a great song. So it's like, I'm proud to be associated with it. It's not a moment of my career where I'm like, Oh, that was embarrassing. That was an amazing moment. There's a little bit of a punk in me that says I'm gonna make something totally different. I just want to say I like to subvert expectations. That song gave me a lot of faith in pop music that you don't have to conform. It's a pretty weird pop song and it's not traditional. It made me dream big about what I could do as an artist, and if that's what people can connect with, it's just raw emotion not presented in the Top 40. It made me really ambitious as an artist, rather than shrinking and thinking that I have to play by all the rules. So have you always wanted to be a pop artist?Well, I like pop because you get given this format of verse one, chorus, verse two, chorus, bridge. But then within that, you can kind of do whatever. Look at artists like Prince and Michael Jackson. They made weird shit poppy because they put a hook on it and they performed it with theatrics and entertainment. I like the theatrical aspect of pop and the way that you can make it larger than life. I think that's cool! Pop has the potential to reach so many people. I like the challenge of making a pop song while integrating stuff that would not normally be pop, like listening to Brazilian music for a month and then sampling something Brazilian or taking a vocal technique from that style and making it palatable and understandable for people that might be intimidated by that kind of music.The pandemic must've allowed you to sit with some music that ended up really impacting your process.Yeah, we had to face ourselves. I was thinking a lot about how certain artists use danger in music to shock people and wake them up, like a Kanye West record. It just subverts. There's a Nina Simone sample and then a symphony! It reminds me of waking people up! I didn't want my contribution to just be flat. I wanted it to be really dynamic. So for A Reckoning, it's a fucking direct conversation record. Artists like, I think Rosalía came into the scene at a really exciting time. She had this slap-in-the-face attitude and I love the nature of power in that work.It's an exciting time for pop music. Think of Chloe x Halle! The R&B artists coming out of this time were just very different. You know, James Blake and other great songwriters were doing these weird sonic worlds that are so haunting. Stuff that's memorable while also trying some more simplicity at times. I can hide sometimes behind a lot of vocal effects and ethereal production and I wanted there to be a directness to this.You're a hip-hop fan, and with this record, it feels like you're really finding the confidence to approach that space more.The project I'm working on is going a lot more in that direction. I'm always making a lot of collaborative stuff and rap is one of the biggest influences on my sound world and rhythm. Rap has so much punk in it and so much rebellion and exciting rhythmic information — Kendrick is still probably the most influential artist for me as a songwriter because he can make his voice sound like so many different characters! It's so jazz to me. It's totally jazz, which is protest music, right? Jazz is nonconformity, so I think integrating rap more into the work featuring rappers I love feels very natural to me because I take so much inspiration from the rhythmic world of rap and hip-hop. And yet, there have been many collaborations that I've been working on that haven't felt quite right for this record, so I've continued to keep them aside for an eventual new release that will be very focused on some of these bangers with rappers and venture into just exploring that side of my influence. I grew up with so much '90s and '00s R&B and hip-hop and my work as an artist is keen on unfolding the little pockets of who I am because that's all I've got to work with. It's the raw material of my life and my influence. You're taking from the world around you, but I believe that you first have to go within to be able to make comments about the outer world. Each project is a way to search for something within. What do I want to say with this and what pocket have I not yet discovered inside of myself? What have I not looked at yet? Is there a specific moment on this record that you're attached to?"the way we were" is a song where the melodies have a really classic feeling about them, especially the chorus. I really like when I write melodies that feel like you've heard them before, but you've never heard them before. You know, that feeling where it's like the song has always existed. It almost reminds me of some of the '80s anthems that I love where the chorus just soars. I'm proud that I was able to achieve a moment that really reflects what it's like to miss someone and the longing for the way we were. It's great when you nail an emotion you're trying to convey.What dualities are in this record and what are these central characters?I think the two characters are chaos and energy or vitality. And then there's contemplation, reflection, peace, surrender. It's true of my life! I live in New York, but I also come from New Zealand. I come from this contemplative, peaceful land where there's only four million people. I go and I meditate and be quiet and sit with the trees. Then I come back here to improvisation, collective jazz punk, stimulation, anxiety. I have a lot of anxiety, but I'm always going back and forth between this very controlled calm state. Instead of trying to annihilate that, I'm gonna just try to accept that and make it my gift to the world. Do they work together? Yeah, because they live in me and they live in all of us. They do work together. We can't have one without the other. Also, the record is a woman trying to wrestle with something that is misunderstood, like rage. We've been told that it's mania. We've been told that when you're angry, you're having a breakdown instead of a breakthrough. That's reframing. It's looking at what is beautiful about the original emotion. There's something really powerful about vitality and people feeling the urgency to act. It's an important emotion, you can't shut that down. You've just got to find healthy outlets for it.What do you get from going back and forth between New York and home, especially emotionally and creatively?I think of it as an inhale. New York is an exhale. It's an output. But when I'm there, I try to be very present to my family and to the trees. I get a lot from being in a forest. It's really about input. It's really about quiet and just being around other people's lives. My life in New York is very self-focused. I spend a lot of time looking at myself, and when I go to New Zealand, it's a time to be focused on the people I love and go inward a little bit and realign with the self that isn't a musician.Do you feel like people can't separate the watercolor and yoga Kimbra from the performer Kimbra?There's always going to be that disconnect because of social media and the ways that people see you on the outside. They make assumptions about who you are and your day-to-day. You must be so glamorous and confident and extroverted. Not at all, but it's nice to keep that for yourself and have a world that looks very ordinary and just hang out with my dog and make food and just watch dumb reality TV and all those things. I really hang on to my community of friends who see me as just Kim. That's very grounding — to not have people consistently viewing you through the lens of your career.Photo courtesy of Spencer Ostrander https://www.papermag.com/kimbra-a-reckoning-2659314389.html

I'll be the first to leave

Shorts inspired by emotions (1/4) - Anger

Warnings: Spoilers up to Shadowbringers, Blood and Gore

A’loq stares, frozen in disbelief at the gruesome sight of Wilred’s lifeless body, lying in the shallow waters of Urth’s Fount. The boy bleeds profusely into the surrounding red waters, blood running slow and thick from gashes covering his front. A closer look reveals the brutality of his death, flesh cut away by a blade revealing more and more unsightly gore beneath his cold skin.

The sight sickens him.

“Gutted like a hog,” Hoary says after he arrives with Coultenet, voice taut. Wilred was slaughtered and left to die a horribly lonely death like an animal. He died so young, taking all of his hopes and dreams of a better life and the liberation of Ala Mhigo with him. 

With the image of a mutilated corpse embedded in A’loq’s memory, he numbly listens to Riol with unnerving steadiness as the man finds reason within the madness of it all. In the halls of the Rising Stones, far from the other Scions and Crystal Braves, he catches Alianne mourning the loss with her heart on her sleeve. She holds onto him and weeps for what feels like bells. 

Moons later, in the aftermath of Ilberd’s treachery, Alianne grieves again in A’loq’s company, the old wound having been torn wide-open.

“They spared us,” she tells him through heaving breaths, “and they killed him.”

A’loq nods wordlessly, his throat tight. He still struggles to comprehend the loss just as much as her. Rationally, he knows that Ilberd saw use in keeping the Champions of Light for his schemes, but what of Wilred? Was having a soul not enough to justify his existence? He had friends too- people who loved him dearly, forced to bury a boy they were going to outlive. Did his killers assume that he wouldn’t be missed? There is no shortage of bitter thoughts that course through his mind.

Alianne’s tears run freely, flushed cheeks soaked wet as she cries into her hands. A’loq’s tears never fall. He wishes they would. Sorrow would be better than this encroaching rage. It makes his heart pulse uncontrollably, and for days on end, his fingers itch for an arrow to put through the throats of the ones responsible. Even as everyone adjusts to Wilred’s missing presence, A’loq carries the burden of remembering- another ballad for another name and face lost.

Time passes, and Ala Mhigo is free. A’loq returns to Little Ala Mhigo to share news of the nation’s newfound freedom. Gundobald returns Wilred’s prized blade to A’loq, and he and Bertliana travel to the liberated nation with the first group of refugees. She authors the passage home while he composes another melody and wonders if Wilred’s story is his to tell. Even as he performs at his monument to honor his memory, lyre in hand, he questions whether he’s doing his tale justice or if empty words are merely spewing from his own mouth.

Most nights A’loq remembers the ones he knew personally. His memories are often dyed blue, lost in the winter blue of his beloved knight’s eyes and hair. Other times all he sees is the ice blue of a heretic’s sweeping hair, the deep azure of a Champion of Light from another shard, the ocean shades beneath a thaumathurge’s little monocle, the cerulean roughed-up hair of an archon and fighter, a lost leader’s sapphires against her rose pink attire…

But tonight, all he can remember is Wilred’s rich auburn eyes, daring any foe to challenge his mettle. It is strange for his mind to linger on the face of a boy he never knew too well, but it isn’t strange for him to dwell on hate- on the rage that he felt years ago.

And in his darkest hours, when that hate reaches its peak, he’ll fantasize about the inconceivable- promising to himself and to a long-lost soul that if he could take all of the wretchedness of the world with him, he’d put a knife to his own throat in a heartbeat.

I can’t repeat the ask, but @crystalmemoria also asked for Misora to be answered in the ask meme, and I shall gratefully oblige. So, Misora it is!

(This might get long again uh-)

Oh, also, spoiler warning for games 1 and 2 and a lil’ bit of 3 (and also the anime)

Why I like them

Ok so to preface: Misora’s character differs so much between her game and anime appearances, so I’m gonna describe them separately. 

To start, most people played the game first, so game version. Game version Misora is pretty clearly a foil to Subaru’s character: a character whose personality amplifies opposing characteristics of another’s. In this case, Misora and Subaru have similar backgrounds (dead parent(s), no friends, generally miserable,) but their reactions to their trauma is reflective on each other’s. Subaru’s trauma serves as his motivation, whereas Misora’s serves as her downfall. She lets her rage get the best of her, because unlike Subaru, she’s got a clear target, a source of her problems, her manager Kaneda. Instead of being presented with the oppourtunity to protect, she’s first presented with the oppourtunity to get revenge, and she can’t help but take it. But! Misora grows from her first fight (and knock-down,) finally having someone who was willing to quite literally go to the bat for her. Misora was Subaru’s first Brother, but while we don’t know how many Brothers Misora had up to that point, that link was definitely an important one to her, shown later on in game 1 with her stepping up to fight in Subaru’s place while he couldn’t function. It’s what gave her the metaphorical wake-up-call to fight against her years of engrained cynicism, the same way that Subaru being forced into combat forced him to re-examine his world view. Once Misora was given a chance to have a friend, someone she knew wouldn’t use or abuse her the way her manager (and probably other people in her job) had, or leave her like her mother did in death, she effectively became a new person -- she rejected her fear, and accepted the ideal that this world was worth protecting. 

In Crystal’s previous submission about Subaru, I mentioned the expression “Noblesse Oblige”, or “Nobility Obliges”, the ideal that people with power and advantage should use it to help those who don’t. Effectively, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Misora leans into this ideal as well, once she begins to see individuals as precious, she begins to see the rest of the world as worth fighting for as well. She might be tough, but Misora ends up becoming another pillar of the team, another force to be reckoned with in the fight for Earth’s existence. While characters whose writing supports another is usually described as bad writing, in this instance it works very well -- Misora relies on Subaru to help her out of her darkest point, and in turn she helps him out by carrying on the fight when he couldn’t. The two are always there for each other. In real life, we rely on people around us all the time, and that’s not a bad thing! I wouldn’t be where I am without my friends, and Misora and Subaru are just the same, so are the Luna gang, so are everyone else. A core theme of Starforce’s story is the idea of not just the power of friendship, but the importance of friendship. Relying on others isn’t weakness, it’s pooling your strength, and multiplying it tenfold. Just like Subaru, Misora takes up the fight on the front lines, supported by the hopes and wishes of her friends, those who believe in her and support her, and that belief fuels her in turn.

Ok, as for the anime! Anime version Misora’s backstory is less detailed, so her home situation could be entirely different. She doesn’t seem to have suffered the extensive abuse she did in the game, especially given that anime version Kaneda is also more subdued. He’s a jerk, yes, but he’s not abusive. Misora here has much more of a backbone, so she likely hasn’t gone through as much trauma. We don’t know if her mother is alive or not, or if her father’s around, so it’s possible the major source of her trauma in the game is absent in the anime, and it would make sense for her personality here being much more optimistic and bold. Anime Misora is definitely cheerier and more optimistic, yes, but she’s also more carefree and transient. Harp had to trick Misora into cooperating here, since there just wasn’t anything Harp could prey on to coerce Misora into fighting as usual. However, Misora’s more upbeat nature serves as a sharp contrast to (anime) Subaru’s persistent negativity. Sadly, the anime doesn’t give the two much time to interact outside of combat until season 2 (so not much at all, given season 2′s length,) and she never gets to become part of the Luna gang (though she does meet Luna briefly while in Nanska in season 2.) 

Letting Misora be directly involved in combat was more interesting, since she meshes well with Subaru both personality-wise and in terms of combat styles. Both are highly agile and quick on their feet, and Misora’s sharp enough to read people’s movements, including her allies. Speaking of allies, her interactions with Cancer Bubble on season 2 were also golden, though we don’t really get to see Cancer fight much, sadly. We hear a lot more of her casual interactions with Harp, as well, which mirror the rather heated discussions that we see often between Subaru and Warrock. In general, anime version Misora is an amusing and endearing character who fills a different role (pun intended?) from her game incarnation.

Why I don’t

As for her game version, while Misora is supported by her friends, she also tends to have relatively little trust in them at times. She’s easily coerced into doing things if the threat of harm to her friends is presented. Game 2 shows this best (spoiler warning!), with her decision to straight up side with the enemy when Orihime’s crew threatens to continue to pursue and fight Subaru (and Warrock) until they had obtrived the OOPArt from him. Even though it was pretty obvious they were going to keep pursuing Subaru no matter what, as long as he had the OOPArt, Misora became so terrified of her very dear friend being maimed or even killed, that she went along with their demands. (Hell, Hollow tells her explicitely after the fact that Orihime’s agreement was to leave Subaru alone after they’d gotten the OOPArt, which negated Misora’s whole reason to agree, and triggers her to finally put her trust in Subaru to take down Orihime.) Misora’s so terrified of losing everything she’s gained, that she leaps at any way to keep it all safe, without stopping to make sure she’s not being manipulated. I guess that’s not a negative to her writing, character flaws are good, but it is mildly annoying.

As for anime version, Misora doesn’t get to become a part of the main protagonist group, or Luna gang as I’ve been calling it, the way she does in the game. As stated above, Misora only ever directly meets one of them in season 2, when she runs into Luna in Nanska while there investigating with Subaru. (Yes, she also indirectly meets then in the whole ninja shenanigans a few episodes before, but she leaves too early to truly get to know them, and never reveals her identity to anybody. Actually, even Subaru didn’t seem to recognize her, or Cancer, who was standing next to her, which is just dumb.) I feel that season 2 was on track to give her more screentime, but it, of course, got cut tragically short. 

In addition, the anime cutting Misora’s backstory isn’t necessarily bad, but I would have liked to see what her familial and living situation looked like in the show. All we ever see is Kaneda, so maybe he is her guardian as well, but I would’ve liked to have had a more concise answer.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

In the game, her confrontation of Subaru when the main invasion begins. Subaru was refusing to do anything beyond shut himself in his room (in response to a traumatic event that had recently occurred,) and when Misora comes by to coerce him stop sulking, stating that she was caring about him and trying to help because she was his Brother, he cut her Brotherband connection in frustration. She responds back that, even if he cut the electronic link, there was still a connection between the two, that some bonds couldn’t be severed so easily. I sadly don’t have a reference to the scene right now, so I can’t give her exact wording, but this scene was a sort-of gut punch for me at times.

As for the anime, there’s a number of good scenes with Misora, but my favourites would be either harp’s rematch fight in episode 12(?), where Misora wakes up halfway through in confusion and throws Harp for a loop, or her formal meeting of Subaru in civilian forms from episode... 50, I think?, and their following pre-combat discussion and sort-of pep-talk. 

Favorite season/movie

For the games, game 1 remains my favourite, though I will admit that game 3 so far (no, I still haven’t finished it, I’m lazy-) has had a lot of screentime for Misora, which is fantastic.

As for the anime, Tribes still gave Misora more justice than season 1, despite its shorter length. Her interactions with not just Subaru, but also Amachi and Utagai, made her feel more solidly a part of the cast than before. 

Favorite line

Sadly, I can’t remember any specific line of Misora’s at the moment, but whenever I replay game 1 again (which isn’t gonna be long from now, as usual,) I’ll make a post about whatever I can find.

Favorite outfit

Her main stage outfit, with the lapel jacket and the mini top hat! I kinda wanna wear it myself, ehe~

The yukata(?) outfit she has briefly in season 2 is also really cute!

OTP

Shockingly, I don’t really ship Misora at all. She just doesn’t feel to me like the type who cares about relationships, y’know?

Brotp

Misora/Harp is amusing, of course Misora/Subaru, but one we don’t get to see much of is Misora/Luna, which is a damn travesty. In the game, they hit it off immediately, and in the anime it’d be so funny to imagine them actually formally meeting. 

Head Canon

In the game at least, let me point out: Luna plays the piano, and is considered a prodigy at it. Could you imagine if Misora recruited Luna to perform a two-man show? I want.

Also, like I mentioned in the previous post about Subaru, I imagine that Misora would’ve developed some impressive scars from combat, though maybe less than Subaru given her general ranged fighting style. She tries to insist on doing her makeup herself, in order to avoid drawing suspicion about said scars, and when that’s inevitably rejected, she recruits on of her regular band members to help her instead of whatever makeup person was on-site. That band member remains the only one to find out, at least until she has a wound treated by Akane late in season 1, where some of the scarring becomes visible to Akane (who’s confused and concerned,) and Subaru helping nearby (who’s more relieved to see that he’s not alone.)

Unpopular opinion

There are unpopular opinions about Misora?

A wish

I want to see her character set-up in season 2 to come to fruition! 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

If she bites the dust I’m storming Capcom myself.

5 words to best describe them

Cheery, PINK!, melancholic, optimistic, friendly.

My nickname for them

“The First Hibiki”, in reference to me routinely referring to Magia Record’s Hibiki Meguru as “The Other Hibiki.”

❛ ☆ — SLEEP / i.

while kratos does not require any forms of rest due to various reasons his cruxis crystal (primary), power received from the summon spirits and origin. even before obtaining the power of god many millennia ago, kratos was never the best at taking rest. much of his younger adolescence was spent taking care of a frail mother and a father whom held animosity towards his own son for being born, as, having birth to him had caused her state to get worse. even with being of a highborn, aristocratic, status the illness that mrs. aurion suffered from had no cue within the means of modern technology.

even so, many events occurred in his life that led to his chronic insomnia ( cruxis crystal only having served to stopping the effects of prolonged sleep deprivation ): it began when kratos was fifteen, with the passing of his mother. when his father, in drunken grief-stricken rage spoke onto him: ‘a monster who could’ve never been born’ these words began as the catalyst to the anguish kratos would carry inside him for the rest of his life. the man viewed and knew it as truth ( the cause of your own mother’s death ): kratos, whom, has always held his emotions tight and closed off, had yet another reason to avoid slumber: the one place emotions ( grief, rage, regret, and sadness ): couldn’t be kept under control was in his subconscious led dreams nightmares.

soon all hours of kratos’ mind would be filled with the haunting of his father’s language and his mother’s tragedy. that, had he never been born perhaps ms. aurion could’ve gotten better. however, something mr. aurion never told kratos was that mrs. aurion’s illness had been labeled terminal, long before kratos was born. his mother’s logic had been that even if she was destined to die, she wanted to leave behind all the love that she held for the world in living flesh. though, this didn’t make the truth easier for mr. aurion to swallow and thus, taking his bitterness and hate out on his own child. a child, who greatly took after his mother in not just appearance but personality as well.

over the next few years into his young adulthood, in a night of drunken rage his father had admitted into mrs. aurion’s having been something that had afflicted her since she was born, but, it was too late. the damage to kratos’ psyche was already done and kratos, not wanting his mind to be more worn from his father’s words, lived in a constant state of being awake. on some days, it was a miracle if kratos got two hours or so of sleep, but usually he survived on naps that alwaystook him by surprise but never lasted more than half an hour at most. 

due to the constant unrest from a severe lack of rest it was hard on his mental, causing him to be agitated easily and quick tempered. constant nightmares replying in his sleeping state that fueled the lies he had been told and told himself which only made him fall into a more depressed state. however, after joining the royal knights during the great kharlan war, the stress of battle had aided in granting a few more hours of slumber before awoken by night terrors—this would later be fixed by befriending yuan, mithos, and martel. as well as meeting—and falling in love—with anna irving.

whereas his companions composing the kharlan trio could use healing artes to temporarily provide relief from hellish dreams, anna aided in his soul in ways that only a human that still held faith in the goodness of the world could. it was a kind of help that not only but his mind, but also his soul at ease. being with anna allowed kratos to willingly wish to sleep and the first in thousands of years that he got decent sleep ( sometimes restless and other times dreadful ): but compared to his youth, time spent as a knight during the war, or the horrors deprived from a millennia of sacrificial genocide—the rest kratos got was wondrous.

his desire and willingness to sleep next to his beloved was even more enhanced by the way anna’s existence was soothing just to be in the presence of. kratos would feel most calm and start to doze off when anna would tell so many different types of stories of her life growing up, while tracing along his scars or world-worn skin to calm kratos’ sleeping form and the giving of soft kisses. 

his sleeping form, was always as the big spoon, cradling her in his arms. when he dozed, it was spent leaned up against a tree head slightly tilted back and his hair covering his eyes. it was as if, when he finally managed to sleep again: kratos slept like the dead. from him, you would find no movements or breath out of place. though, by extension he could catch every movement, mutter, or disturbance in anna. for as much as she brought comfort to him, as did he onto her. 

this was even more amplified when lloyd was born ( kratos handled everything involving lloyd at night, except feedings, but even then as a being who did not need rest he took advantage to allow his wife blissful slumber ): it was the first time in life that kratos would be awake during hours when the rest of humanity slept but did not feel any anguish towards it—he felt happiness. he soaked up every moment with his newborn and did not at all mind his fussiness nor only being able to sleep by physical contact. but, as the saying goes: like father, like son.

however, all good things must reach an end as for when when anna and lloyd ( or so he originally assumed ): had…passed away. it ruined kratos to the breaking point far beyond any of the previous atrocities that afflicted him and because of this tragedy, he has not once slept since: it was as if his ability died on that day. this is another reason of why he wanted to die so badly. his body may be physically young but his mind is very old and tired and broken. as they say, sleep is the cousin of death and combined with everything else he had brought onto the world and its people death seemed to be the only way to give him death and a release from an eternal struggle from not sleeping that was long overdue.

Friday the 13th (Amber's Version)

I wrote this for fun so sorry you've been warned

In the small town of Crystal Lake, a sense of foreboding hung in the air on that fateful Friday the 13th. The town had a dark history, haunted by an unspeakable tragedy that​ had occurred nine years earlier.

Young Jason Voorhees, a boy with a paralyzing fear of water, had met his untimely demise when he accidentally fell into the lake while his camp counselors were distracted. The incident had shaken the town to its core, but no one felt the pain more deeply than Jason's mother, Pamela Voorhees. They never found his body and some had assumed Pamela herself was responsible for his disappearance so no charges were ever brought against anyone, the boy seemed to​ have simply disappeared. People still sometimes claimed to hear his screams echoing throughout the campgrounds.

Consumed by grief and driven to madness, Pamela gave birth to a baby girl named Jessica 9 years later on the anniversary of Jason's death. Distorted by her sorrow and twisted desire to recreate the events that led to her son's demise, she attempted to drown Jessica in the very same lake where he had met his end.

Just as Pamela was about to carry out her horrific plan, she was stopped in her tracks. The authorities intervened, recognizing the danger and darkness that consumed her. Pamela was promptly committed to a psychiatric institution, leaving Jessica to be adopted and raised by another family in Crystal Lake going by the name Erin.

Years passed, and Erin grew up unaware of her true identity or the horrors that had once plagued her family. She lived a seemingly normal life, oblivious to the dark legacy that haunted her family. Crystal Lake, however, remained a town gripped by fear and superstition, especially when Friday the 13th rolled around.

But fate has a way of revealing its secrets, even to those who try to bury them deep within. On a particularly fateful Friday the 13th, as the town held its breath, a masked figure emerged from the shadows, donning a menacing hockey mask. The town's worst fears were realized as a brutal killing spree began, with the mysterious assailant leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake. ​

Erin, unaware of her connection to this madness, found herself drawn into the chaos. Strange occurrences and unexplained phenomena began to plague her life, casting a shadow of doubt and unease over her once peaceful existence. As the body count rose, whispers of her true lineage began to circulate among the townsfolk.

Driven by a growing sense of unease, she delved into her past, uncovering the truth about her birth and the twisted legacy of her family. Her heart sank as she realized the dark connection she shared with the masked killer terrorizing Crystal Lake. Jason, her half-brother, had risen from the dead, somehow resurrected from the grave and driven by a thirst for vengeance for the drowning he had suffered years ago that knew no bounds.

With newfound knowledge and a mixture of fear and determination, she prepared herself for the ultimate confrontation. She knew that her survival and the safety of those she loved depended on facing Jason head-on, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of her family history.

In a heart-stopping battle, Erin and Jason clashed, their struggle echoing the turmoil that had plagued their family for years. The sound of their desperate fight reverberated through the trees surrounding Crystal Lake, a battle between good and evil, driven by a legacy of tragedy.

She fought with every ounce of strength she possessed, her will to survive fueled by love and a yearning for a future free from the shackles of her family's curse. Jason, relentless and unyielding, seemed unstoppable, his rage and thirst for vengeance driving him forward.

But she refused to succumb to the darkness that had haunted her bloodline and found a reserve of courage buried deep within her. She summoned it, delivering a final, devastating blow to his neck that sent Jason's body crashing to the ground. As his head rolled to her feet, the woods fell silent, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air. She stood over him, his mask cracked revealing part of his face rotting from the years of decay, almost zombie-like. But she had seen horror movies and she knew better, even decapitation wasn't always a sure thing you always have to check. His one exposed eye was dilated and bloodshot but he was still and lifeless. The battle had taken its toll, leaving her battered but victorious.

However, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the lake, a sense of unease crept back into her heart. She had seen the depths of his undying resilience before, and doubts lingered. Could she truly have defeated him, or was this just another temporary victory in an eternal cycle of darkness? In the movies, they always come back, but this wasn't a movie, this was her life.

Ten years had passed, and she had built a new life under her adopted name. She had married and started a family of her own, but the memory of Crystal Lake's horrors remained etched in her mind. Haunted by nightmares of that night. Sometimes stirring awake in a panic with that putrid smell of death catching her breath sometimes even seeing the hockey mask in the dark it took everything in her not to scream. But she knew that as long as his remains lingered beneath the waters, the threat of his return would always loom.

Driven by a sense of responsibility to protect her loved ones and break the curse once and for all, she had made a decision that would alter the course of her life. She returned to Crystal Lake alone, the place where her nightmares had begun, ready to face the darkness that had haunted her family for so long.

With a determined resolve, she plunged into the depths of the lake, the water enveloping her body as she swam towards the murky depths. The cold embrace of the water seemed to echo the chilling grip of her past, but she pressed on, driven by a singular purpose.

As she swam deeper, the world around her faded into darkness, almost in a dream-like stance and her heart pounded in her chest. The silence of the underwater realm was broken only by the sound of her own breath, growing louder in her ears.

Finally, she reached the bottom of the lake, where the remnants of Jason's watery grave lay undisturbed. Amidst the silt and debris, she found his skeletal remains, a haunting reminder of the evil that had once existed.

Gathering the bones in her hands, she hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the past and the burden of her lineage. But she knew that this was her chance to sever the ties that bound her family to darkness.

With a mixture of sorrow, anger, and determination, Erin emerged from the depths of the lake, clutching Jason's bones tightly. As she reached the surface, gasping for breath, she felt a surge of power and purpose coursing through her veins.

As she lay there delirious cold and trembling she heard footsteps approaching and then she heard his breathing she gathered all of her strength to stand as he raised his machete high ready to strike her down but instead she ran to the dock tossing the bones into a rowboat and lit a lighter she had left on the dock, making a makeshift pyre, ready to consume the remains of Jason Voorhees once and for all, the crackling flames casting an eerie glow upon her face. As the fire consumed the skeletal remains, she watched in silence, never looking back to see if he had followed her, knowing that this was her final act, her last chance to break free from the shackles of her family's curse. If this failed she knew he would always return for her so she would martyr herself and end it once and for all either way.

But instead, the flames danced and flickered, consuming the remnants of Jason's existence until all that remained were ashes scattered in the wind. A sense of relief and closure washed over Erin as she witnessed the destruction of her tormentor's remains. It was done. The cycle of violence and horror had reached its end.

Years later, Crystal Lake had transformed into a place of peace and tranquility. Now embracing her true identity as Jessica once more, Erin had become a beacon of hope for the community. She had shared her story, using it as a cautionary tale to educate others about the dangers of succumbing to darkness and the power of breaking free from the chains of one's past.

As her children played by the shores of the now serene lake, she watched over them with a mixture of love and gratitude. Her family had come full circle, having overcome the horrors that had plagued their bloodline for generations. The darkness had been defeated, but the memory of it would always be a part of their family's legacy. She had ensured that his reign of terror would never again taint their lives. She had faced her demons, and those of her family, ensuring that her children and their children would never have to bear the burden of the Voorhees curse.

And so, with the sun setting over Crystal Lake, casting a warm glow upon the water, she took a moment to reflect. She knew that the evil that had once lurked beneath the surface was gone, but she would never forget the sacrifices made and lives lost.

With a final glance at the lake, she turned away, leaving behind the horrors of her past. The legacy of Jason Voorhees had been buried deep within the waters, and Crystal Lake could finally find peace, knowing that its darkest days were behind it.