#becomes part of the Faceless Mass
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Yandere V + H: Aizawa Shouta and Hizashi Yamada
These two are the villains and you the henchman
A couple of villains perfectly prepared to take on the army of heroes
You’re probably one of many
Hundreds of henchmen under the villains are meant to be nameless and faceless
Just a pair of helping hands to whatever scheme these two seem to come across
“Sirs! I have something important to report!”
“WHAT!? What’s the matter?”
“Out with it! Tell us, then.”
“Mittens…she…”
“Our cat? Oh yeah, you took her to the vet, right? So what’s the matter?”
“She…”
“Go on! We can take it!”
“She’s…”
“...”
“She’s pregnant!”
“Eureka!!” “So, my suspicions were correct.”
“Congratulations! I’ve brought a cake to celebrate, the awesome news!”
"Wow that's awesome of you!" "Thank you, (Y/n)."
It's your focus on them as people that make them realize your worth
Unlike your coworkers who easily clock out the moment their hours are enough, you stay
Always asking if they’ve eaten, drunk enough water, or if they’ve been able to get to their laundry this week
First, its a key to their private home just to feed the cats
But then it's a meal plan of what they’ll want for dinner
Then the type of detergent for their clothes
And at this rate, they should will just start moving you into their guest bedroom
You’ve just become such an important part of their lives they can’t imagine their lives or their villainy without you:
Shota did a double take at the mass of eager minions he was prepared to lead. Not seeing a familiar face smiling and saluting among them. It would be unnerving if he didn’t remember that there were chores that he and Yamada assigned; it’d be safe to assume that’s where you there.
“Uhm babe, did you see (Y/n) on the cameras?”
“No, but I was going to. Did you?”
“Yeah…”
A look of worry and unease was on Yamada’s face, he pulled out his phone pulled up the feed of multiple cameras, and turned the screen to his significant other who had a bad feeling. The feed was clear, and a video of the cats and kittens walking around the house was sped up as the hours continued on. The speed-up footage seemed to slow as you stumbled into the room, wobbling haphazardly as the felines crowded around you as you prepared their food. He watched as you jerked and jumped to what seemed like sneezing. You eventually left but the thought of your state alone was upsetting.
“They’re…sick.”
“Yeah, but what’s worse they didn’t even say anything to me! What about you?”
“No.”
The couple grew silent, enveloped in an unnerved feeling as they looked at their beloved henchman through the screen. Shota was the first to look away, reaching for a device on his belt that held a blinking moving dot. He noted the time on his watch, humming to himself as he adjusted his cape.
“We’ve got time to catch our kitten, but we must be quick.”
__________________________________________
You felt despicable. More than your stuffy nose and rising temperature, you felt despicable with yourself. For getting yourself sick in the first place. How could you be the best henchman you could if your body wasn’t working correctly? It made you feel even worse.
You couldn’t properly serve the couple after they so lovingly offer for you to stay in their home. Granted they were awfully adamant about that going so far as to start moving your clothes and other things into the guest room in their house. But who were you to question their kindness when you were just a mere stepping stool to their villainous success?
Deep down you couldn’t help but let your insipid doubts creep in. Like why your heart beat so fast when you walked in to find the couple going through your fridge. Or when the couple send an uplifting photo of your ex being waterboarded. It shouldn’t strike fear into your heart that your employers were so involved. You were being ungrateful. That’s what got you sick. Your unwillingness to let them further involve themselves in your life is to blame for the weakness in your immune system. You’re not sick from stress…right?
“Here’s your medicine! Hope you get better hun!”
“Thanks, miss.”
Thanking the old woman as you retrieved your medication from over the counter. Trudging out the pharmacy you planned to begin the long trek back home. Completely unaware of a flashy hero stopping their route to slowly float next to you.
“Oh troubled citizen! May I be of assistance?”
The loud question grated your ears as you refused to focus on anything other than keeping awake.
“No. Go away.”
“But dear citizen I cannot for you seem to need help!”
You groaned at their insistence reminded of the enemy your employers were especially not fond of…infact—You finally looked with familiarized malice at the shining mass and recognizable hair at the hovering super-powered individual.
“You’re that one hero…aren’t you?”
“So you know of me? Good! Then you have the honor of being under my care!”
“We don’t think so.”
The monotone and distorted voice of The Eraser had you both looking up at the villains in shocked stupor. Both were fully decked out in their villain armor menacingly standing still in broad daylight. The Mic was uncharacteristically silent further upsetting your already flipping stomach. It didn’t seem that the hero felt any semblance of that though.
“You two? My it seems you have the most uncanny sense for where I am! Perhaps you’re stalking me?”
You could tell he was rolling his eyes under his visor but the villain still reached a gloved hand out to you.
“(Y/n) come with me, I’ll be taking you to our home, now.”
You didn’t know why your feet weren’t moving or why your hands shook as you reached out. Or why your heart was pumping so fast. Perhaps that was why you let the hero put an arm out in front of you as he lightly shoved you further behind his back.
“Do not hark their villainous temptations (MY/n)! They only wish to unsettle me with a hostage–”
His heroic declarations were interrupted by the sudden closeness of The Mic their speaker enhanced mouthpiece dangerously close to their exposed ear.
“Don’t you dare touch them!”
The hero cringed further keeping you behind him as he backed up. Holding the side of his head he swung it back and forth between the villains. With an unexpected battle cry he opened his palms towards the villains before frantically shaking it when he found no reaction.
“W-what is this?! Why can’t I–?”
“Did you forget who you were fighting? Idiot.”
“Wellll the idiot is realizing just how much of a moron he is maybe we’ll grant some mercy.”
“M-mercy?”
“Yup you give us our lovely (Y/n)! And we won’t immediately squash you to bits!”
“Immediately?”
“Do I hafta keep repeating myself? Just give us the kitten we’ll be up on and on our way! Okay?”
“That is until we return to beat you to a bloody pulp for so much as talking to them. See (Y/n) this is why you should just stay home, it just means more carnage for everyone else. Besides you’re so sick I bet you can’t even think straight, come home (Y/n).”
“Yeah precious how about we just go home…”
“You want watch us obliterate him would you?”
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere poly x reader#yandere bnha x reader#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere my hero academia#yandere aizawa x reader#yandere aizawa#yandere shouta aizawa#yandere aizawa shouta#yandere present mic x reader#yandere present mic#yandere erasermic#yandere eraserhead#yandere hizashi yamada#yandere hizashi x reader#yandere hizashi#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere villain#yandere villain + henchman#henchman reader#yandere villains x reader#yandere v + h#yandere v + h dynamic
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dance, dance
pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader
summary: miguel shows up wherever you go, so when you spot him at a club one night, you give him an ultimatum: "dance with me, or leave."
warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] stalking, obsessive protective behaviour, kissing, grinding, biting, the talons come out, small accidental injury, a little blood, mild angst.
word count: 2.4k
The music was loud, with a deep bass line that throbbed through your body, vibrating your heart inside your chest. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you relished in the feeling of letting go; the sensation of your body swaying to the beat as alcohol rushed through your veins.
The club was dark and crowded, a mass of bodies writhing against each other on the dancefloor. You weren’t sure where your friends were anymore, but you didn’t care. The darkness shrouded the people around you in shadows, and the faceless bodies created a barrier between you and the outside world. With your phone on silent, and your eyes closed, there was nothing except you and the music and a stranger’s hands on your waist, your arms, your neck. Your lips mumbled numbly along to the lyrics of a song, your head tilted up to the ceiling. It was euphoric after a long work week, and you had no plans to go home until the sun had risen.
Suddenly, the grip on your waist tightened, and then disappeared entirely. Not too concerned, you continued dancing, pressing yourself forward against the back of the women in front of you. She grinned back at you, grinding herself against your hips. You danced with her for a moment, enjoying the feeling of her body against yours, until you opened your eyes for a split second, and your body stilled. A pair of dark eyes stared into yours.
He was impossible to miss; the only person standing still in a sea of movement. Taller than anyone else you’d ever met, and broader too, with large muscular shoulders that you’d fantasised about looping your thighs over. You often wondered how he’d come to be so strong, so large. He was a geneticist for god’s sake; he worked in a lab, and yet it looked like he hauled concrete slabs for a living. A dark hooded sweatshirt covered his frame, and you frowned, wondering why the hell he was wearing that in a club.
Upon noticing you returning his stare, he began pushing through the throng of people towards you. Instinctively, you turned and pushed your way out of the crowd, toward the bar.
Resting your hands on the sticky counter, you ordered two shots, and tapped a finger against your thigh while you waited. Within seconds, you could feel his hot breath fanning across the back of your neck.
“Miguel,” you greeted, turning and tilting your chin upward to meet his gaze.
“Cariño,” his face was stony, staring down at you with his lips pressed tightly together. Your stomach twisted at the pet name.
“Why the long face?” you smirked up at him, trying to ignore the way your heart thrashed against your ribcage at his mere presence. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he stared, and you licked your lips absentmindedly.
Miguel ignored the question. “Are you having fun?”
“Having a blast,” you shouted to be heard over the music and he nodded, eyes flicking over your shoulder to watch the bartender place down the shots you’d ordered. You swiped them up quickly and pressed one into his hand, admiring the way his long fingers held the delicate glass. “What are you doing here? You’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.”
“I was in the area,” he eyed the clear liquid warily and adjusted the collar of his sweater. “Just keeping an eye on things.”
“On me?” you raised an eyebrow, tipping the shot back and grimacing as the icy liquid spilled down your throat. You licked your lips again, and his expression darkened, watching the way your tongue traced over your bottom lip.
“Perhaps,” he acknowledged vaguely, and you scowled.
You’d known Miguel O’Hara for the better part of a year. It hadn’t taken long for the pair of you to become friendly, and it had taken even less time for you to form a small crush on him. He was flirtatious, and handsome, and you weren’t a fucking robot. But what had taken you a little while to realise, was that Miguel was intense. As the months went on, you started to notice him popping up in odd places. At the grocery store, at a bar, outside your place of work… he would be there, lurking around a corner, watching. He'd been shy about it at first. Mumbling quiet excuses about coincidences, and how maybe you were following him.
In time, he'd become firmer. When you saw him he'd have bruises on his face; a split lip, a black eye. He would be colder, shorter, he wouldn't offer up excuses, or even act like he hadn't been following you. For the past two months, every time you saw him he would harp on about being there to make sure you were okay. About being around to make sure you were safe. Hard as you tried, you couldn’t figure him out. Never once had he made a move; he’d never tried to kiss you, never asked you out on a date like a normal guy. He gave you nothing, and yet he showed up, time and time again.
“You have to stop this,” you shook your head, pushing away from the bar top. “Stop following me around, stop showing up wherever I go. It’s too much, Miguel.”
Before you could even finish your sentence, he had slammed his shot back and stepped forward. Strong hands gripped the bar on either side of you, boxing you in. His thick chest pressed against yours, and you swallowed thickly, hating how much you loved the feeling of him being so close. It felt perverse; to be so intimated by him, yet feel so attracted to him. The truth was that it turned you on whenever you spotted him across the room, or on the other side of a darkened street. It was thrilling.
Up close, you caught a glimpse of something dark blue underneath his hoodie – it looked skin-tight, covering his chest all the way up to the base of his neck.
“Stop?” he laughed mirthlessly, and your eyes darted back to his face. His dark hair was slicked back, but a loose strand dangled dangerously over his forehead, and you longed to reach up and push it back. “Don’t play with me, cariño. I’m doing my best here.” His black eyes shone underneath the strobing lights, and your breathing hitched in your throat. “I let you go where you want, do what you want, I don’t ask for anything, except to keep you safe.”
“Keep me safe from what?” your eyebrows raised expectantly.
You chuckled at the way his eyebrows pinched together, and he leaned in closer, plump lips brushing your earlobe as he whispered, “You have no idea of the things I have done for you.” The smirk slid off your face and you cleared your throat, pressing your back tighter against the bar top.
“Just help me understand,” you mumbled feebly, hating the lack of assertion in your tone. You couldn’t convince yourself that you hated the game you two played, let alone convince him.
He said your name, so quietly that it was swallowed completely by the heavy sounds of the club around you. But seeing the word form on his lips made your insides churn. So rarely did he say your name. Always cariño or hermosa, pet names in his mother tongue that flew right over your head, but never your name.
“You know I can’t stop,” he said, louder this time. “And I don’t think you want me to.”
"Talk to me," you implored, resting a hand on his forearm. You squeezed it once, and his eyes trailed down to where you were connected.
"I can't."
Your dress felt too tight, sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Heat danced through your stomach, your thighs, and you pushed your legs together tightly, trying to fight off the ache that had appeared between them.
“Then dance with me,” is all you said, gripping his hand and leading him back onto the dancefloor.
The heavy bass line vibrated through the ground, making your legs shake as you twisted through the mass of bodies, until the two of you were in the middle of the crowd again. You began to sway to the music, lifting your arms above your head and letting the rhythm decide how your body moved. Miguel watched you, frozen, hooded eyes trailing down your torso, your hips, over your bare legs. His posture was stiff, unsure. After a moment, you rolled your eyes and gripped his hands, wrapping them around your waist.
“If you’re here,” you said in his ear. “You have to dance.”
Chest to chest, you had nowhere to look except at his face. His lips were parted, heavy exhales falling from his mouth as he gazed down at you. “This isn’t what I’m here for.”
You huffed, shaking your head in annoyance. “Dance with me, or leave.”
Slowly, as if against his own will, his hips began to move in sync with yours. His broad palms splayed against your back, holding you tightly against him while you danced together. It was intoxicating, being so close to him, having his hands on you.
Your hands wandered across his stomach, despising the thick material of his sweater, and they glided upward, fingers toying with the neckline as you stared up at him. He watched you closely, and you smiled, tucking your finger underneath the material. The fabric of the dark blue material underneath confused you. It was soft, similar to cotton, but it was like a second skin. It hugged his body so tight, and you frowned, eager to get a closer look, until suddenly, Miguel was flipping you around so that your back was to his chest.
You gasped in surprise as his hands landed heavily on your stomach, forcefully holding you against his front. He grinded desperately against you, hips moving in sync to the beat. One of his hands moved up, and you flinched as it ghosted over your breast, before landing on your collarbones, strong fingers tickling the skin at the hollow of your throat. Sighing, you threw your head back to rest on his shoulder, pressing yourself against him tighter. The air smelt like sweat and smoke, and the flashing lights of the club painted the insides of your eyelids a bright orange colour.
A shudder wracked through your frame as you became acutely aware of how hard he was, pressing firmly into the small of your back. His harsh groan sounded in your ear as you rubbed your ass against him, and you grinned deliriously, heat tearing through your abdomen. Everything around you had become a vague blur, and all you could focus on was him. Strong thick arms enveloping you against his broad chest, a leg working its way between yours, his thick thigh rubbing against your core. You whimpered, and then you were spinning in his arms. Miguel panted heavily, his dark eyes almost glowing as he stared down at you.
As if he could sense what was about to happen, he began to speak, but you cut him off with your lips against his. At first he seemed unsure, hesitant, as your mouth softly brushed against his own. But when your tongue traced a line along his lower lip, you felt his resolve crack and crumble into dust.
He returned the kiss with a fervour you’d never experienced, fingertips digging into your hips as his lips dragged against yours. His mouth was warm and wet, and within seconds it turned aggressive. Miguel kissed you like he’d been living in the desert for years, and you were a glistening pool of water. He was desperate, sucking and biting at your lips, savouring the taste of you. Ragged exhales poured into each other’s mouths as your teeth clashed together, and he pulled you impossibly closer to him. one of his hands dropped down to grip your ass through your dress. You moaned into his mouth, rutting against where you could feel his cock straining in his pants.
Miguel tore his mouth from yours and trailed messy kisses down your cheek, to your neck. He sucked viciously against your raging pulse, loosing animalistic grunts against your skin. Every part of your body burned where he touched it. When his teeth scraped across the skin over your jugular you moaned breathlessly against him, closing your eyes tightly.
“Yes,” you breathed, your voice rough with desire. The word trailed off, disappearing into the pumping music.
His tongue licked a strip up your neck and he sucked your earlobe into his mouth.
“This isn't what I’m here for,” he grunted, repeating his words from earlier. In response, you reached behind you, allowing the palm of your hand to glide across the front of his pants, to the spot where you could feel him pulsating with desire for you. Miguel’s entire body bucked against you, rutting himself against your hand as obscenities spilled from his mouth into the shell of your ear.
His hands held your waist in a vice grip, fingertips pressing easily into the soft flesh there. And just as you made to turn around and face him again, something cut into you. You cried out at the sharp pain, mildly aware of his body going still behind you. Miguel’s hands ripped off your body like you’d burnt him, and you looked down, running a hand over the side of your dress.
A neat tear along the waistline had appeared, and you toyed with the frayed material, wincing as your fingertip prodded the tender flesh underneath it. You pulled your hand back and your eyes widened as you noticed the dark red blood that spotted your skin. For a moment, you tried to figure out what had caused it. Turning quickly, the breath rushed from your lungs. His fingers were long, with sharp pointed ends. A black thread of matieral from your dress was caught around one of them. In an instant, his hands were behind his back, hidden from your sight.
“What the fuck?“ you frowned, trying to rationalise what you thought you’d seen. His normally tan face had gone pale, eyes despondent and glued to your hand. “Miguel?”
“I have to go,” he choked out, moving backwards and colliding firmly with the person dancing behind him.
“No,” you frowned, trying to step closer to him again. Your hand pressed firmly against your hip, trying to stem the light blood flow that you could feel soaking the material of your dress. “Miguel, what the fu-“
“Just get away from me,” he snarled suddenly, eyes glowing an odd shade of red in the darkness of the room. You froze, mouth ajar. Your heart pounded in your chest, skin turning cold in the absence of his body heat.
“I don’t understand,” you tried again, but he shook his head, taking another step backward.
You watched his mouth move, swollen lips mouthing the words “I can’t,” before he spun on his heel and shoved his way towards the exit.
Still applying pressure to the cut on your side, you stared around the club, the buzz from the alcohol all but gone from your system, wondering what the fuck had just happened.
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fic#across the spiderverse#my writing
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I don't like Vaggie getting retconned into an angel
(This one is more of a personal opinion/complaint/vent. I'm just trying to analyze why exactly I dislike this plot change. Viewer discretion is adviced)
When the leaks first said that would happen, I chose to believe it was fake until the very last second. I remember even denying it in my mind when I started watching season 1, hoping that they haven't implemented such a change....
Because the sinner Vaggie premise had so many interesting possibilities - of making her a person, someone interesting on her own, when separated from Charlie
Her sex worker past (meaning the incoming bonding with Angel Dust over shared trauma), her life in El Salvador, her death age that was supposed to be very young (early 20s dead in 2014) contrasting the other hotel residents exept for Niffty (who's from 50s), an interesting dynamic with Charlie where a human sinner gets together with an ancient demon princess - we were promised all of that.
The fandom built plenty of fancontent on the "sinner Vaggie" basis and got used to it. Not many expected an angel Vaggie, and I remember a lot of people saying that would be too obvious and boring and that that wouldn't happen
And in reality, it turned out to be even worse, in my opinion. Now Vaggie is literally one of the faceless Barbie dolls mass produced by Adam. She's so unimportant in-universe, she got broken and thrown away when she was no longer in use. Very symbolic, don't you think?
Her boss, Adam, is objectively more interesting than she is now! By becoming his inferior, Vaggie lost her miniscule interesting features in favour of being outshined by a male character! The one who mistreated her too. So typical... never change since the pilot era
To add salt to the injury, we learned that Vaggie IS in fact, short for Vagina, and that this "charming" name was given her by Adam, the sexist murderous pig! And she kept that name, as if actually liking it! Great!
(Vaggie being short for Vagatha was still unpleasant because Vivzie's dumb humour was obvious through and through, but a lot less offensive than what we actually got)
(And wow thanks a lot for that Vagatha joke with Sir Pentious. Way to mock the viewers by accentuating what was lost)
Also, Vaggie has basically no backstory now - "she was a murderer, then BAM she's not a murderer anymore, and out of nowhere she became a love interest for the main character". And her sparing a child was honestly such a cheap attempt at pulling at the viewer's heartstrings... why did she spend so many years murdering everyone in her way (making her the most effective exorcist, according to Adam himself!) but suddenly decided not to kill a child sinner? Were there no other child sinners before that one? Besides, it's hell, girl! That child could have drove his peer to suicide or killed animals for all we know!
And we are seriously supposed to care about a character who was a boring basic warrior intended for mass murdering just a while ago? Sure, that cliche can actually work with the right portrayal, but not like this! (Personally, I really felt my interest to Vaggie drop when the angel plot twist was revealed, it was like a cold shower)
That leaves Vaggie no choices of showing any personality whatsoever other than clinging to Charlie and having every moment of her life revolve around being with the princess, loving her and helping her. No thoughts, hobbies, world views and goals of her own. Come on, that's so bland!
Vaggie basically just changed one owner to another - from Adam to Charlie, to completely dissolve in their needs and wants instead of devoting some time to her own (which she can't have because she was born as a slave - that is if exorcists are created by Adam)
I feel like I shouldn't complain. I want to believe that if angel Vaggie was given time and space to develop, I'd like her, but really no... the very idea of making her part of Heaven was still-born to begin with, given the nature of hazbin hotel. This cartoon shot itself in the foot with an awful pacing. In the light of that, making Vaggie a significant part of a plotline that had no time to shine was a choice to avoid
And angel Vaggie should have stayed an urban legend in the fandom instead of making it into the show. I feel sad that for me Vaggie was ruined as Hazbin Hotel's aspect I could have enjoyed
I hope she at least gets more interesting interactions with Charlie and other characters in season 2. The ones in season 1 were not so bad, even if they're not the ones I wanted. And I'm still going to love Vaggie out of habit even if she's not the same anymore. Maybe I'll come around and start loving her as an angel eventually 🤞
P.S. why did they change the delicate white colour of her dress and the light pink colour of her bow to bright red shirt and bow? If she's a angel, wouldn't it have made more sense for her to be wearing pallette that has a bit of white in it to make her stand out? Even in that regard a questionable decision was made, dear god...
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Mikage: Boy of the Black Rose
I've long struggled to write about Mikage, who I find to be an intriguing yet elusive character. or rather, his character is understandable--his motives and feelings are communicated clearly enough--but his narrative is one of the most inexplicable in RGU. thinking it over tonight, I put my finger on one aspect of the Black Rose arc which I previously didn't know how to approach: specifically, Mikage's relationship with the Boys of the Black Rose.
the boys act as a kind of collective character, a mass of faceless people who whisper in dark corners. since RGU is about social reality, it often uses extras to deliver exposition or set the mood. the Shadow Girls are meta characters, existing somewhat outside the narrative, but regular schoolgirls at Ohtori can serve a similar purpose. they might demonstrate that Touga and Saionji are considered the hottest boys in school, or gossip about Ruka and Shiori's recent breakup.
the Boys of the Black Rose are slightly different, maybe a little closer to the Shadow Girls. rather than acting as bit characters in the larger world of Ohtori campus, I believe their existence is contigent on Mikage. while this could be put in various ways, in the most straightforward terms, the writers created them to help reflect on Mikage's character.
only one Black Rose Boy is given a face: the first one Mikage (Nemuro) talks to. when Mikage asks not to be called "professor," since they are the same age, the boy replies:
obviously, RGU relies on making its main characters visually distinct from "normal people." Wakaba calls them "special" and resents them. Utena is popular for her specialness, well-liked; in contrast, Mikage is an outcast for his. for a person to be special or a genius, there must be others for them to stand in opposition to. Mikage is set apart from his peers by his pink hair, by his unique uniform, and by being a professor.
after Mikage is introduced to his new work, the boys begin to gossip about him, saying he knows nothing about what's really going on at Ohtori. towards the end of this conversation, there's a shot of Mikage, and then he actually replies from the future to the gossip they were spreading about him.
this is Mikage's eternal reality: his recollection of the past. even during the "present" of Utena's narrative, he is still walking through Nemuro Memorial Hall, which is why it's still standing, unburned. the Boys of the Black Rose that the audience sees are filtered through Mikage's memory; whether or not the boys really said these things about him is ambigous. it's possible, but the important fact is that Mikage believes they did.
this transpersonal mirroring keeps Mikage trapped, unchanging. he feels himself defined as unable to connect with others, so he keeps away from them. this becomes a self-perpetuating cycle, leaving Mikage a total outcast.
even outcasts, however, are members of society. the Boys of the Black Rose actually have more in common with Mikage than the average Ohtori student. they're all scientists working on the same project. they have much of his coldness, sense of superiority, and intellectualism. the main difference is that they're the in-group.
while Mikage believes himself to be emotionless, it's made clear that his social isolation hurts him. he doesn't want to be set apart, but he doesn't know how to break through the barrier between him and others. it's very easy to do a queer reading of the character, given the way this is conveyed to the audience.
Mikage's fixation on Tokiko and Mamiya is easier to undestand with all this in mind. the world he was living in, occupied by the Boys of the Black Rose, was a cold and alienated one. in contrast, Tokiko has genuine passion, caring for her brother deeply. Tokiko's tears move Mikage, allowing his own buried emotions to break through the surface. but she also reinforces his social isolation; he is equally as hurt by her as he is drawn to her.
this is part of why Mikage is so determined to "defeat" Tokiko; she offered him hope of connection, but he was never able to "win" her, as men so often try to do with women.
Mamiya is something else altogether; a boy, like Mikage and the Black Rose Boys, but altogether different. warm, friendly to Mikage, not intimidated by his intelligence or reputation, and insightful. in a show full of characters obsessed with holding on (to the past, to a person, to their self-image), Mamiya is the only one who can see the wisdom in letting go.
Mikage at first is open to Mamiya's words, preparing to call off their quest for eternal life. but like every character who threatens the system in RGU, he is faced with Akio. in a prototype of the later "End of the World" sequences, Mikage comes across the kissing Tokiko and Akio. this proves to be too much for him; there are some things he can't afford to lose.
the scene has significance to Mikage far beyond disappointment in love. he wanted to create a family with Tokiko and Mamiya; marriage to Tokiko would tie them together "forever." if he could be by Tokiko's side as they lost Mamiya, then at least he wouldn't be alone after his death. but if he's only Tokiko's coworker, when their work is done, he's back to being a computer.
in desperation, Mikage plays into Akio's hands. under contract, he sacrifices the Boys of the Black Rose and burns down the hall that bears his name. when justifying himself to Tokiko, he claims that this act will allow them to attain eternity. in the events of the series, he's still at it: installing Mamiya as the Rose Bride will, after all, make him eternal, even though it's the very kind of eternity Mamiya wanted nothing to do with.
Mikage retreats into delusions on feeling the sting of Tokiko's rejection. though he is the one who betrayed her, he turns it around and feels betrayed himself. going even further, he casts Mamiya as the one who set the fire.
the Boys of the Black Rose are also used to emphasize his inability to face his own actions. throughout the arc, the boys are seen pushing coffins around. however, in episode 23, Mikage takes their place right before he is forced to face the truth about himself.
at the end of the arc, Miki claims that no one was hurt in the the fire, contradicting the previous story of Nemuro Memorial Hall. this possibly indicates that the murders are a figment of Mikage's imagination--the older Tokiko doesn't seem to react to him as if he's a murderer. more than anything, he seems guilty of self-denial and retreat from reality. Tokiko went on to accept Mamiya's death and even mourned for Mikage, while he ignored her in favor of his memories. the fact that he does not recognize her feelings is another aspect of his tragedy.
Mikage, through his fruitless revolution, loses the very things he always wanted. he attempts to throw away his past self, the cocoon of Nemuro hatching into the butterfly that is Mikage. with it, he burns away the boys who rejected him, who embodied the cold world he used to live in. he uses their sacrifice to enshrine Mamiya, idealizing him as the perfect companion. but as Ikuhara said, he was doomed to fail from the start:
Those who reject that place are, conversely, rejected by it as well. This is the nature of systems: the moment you reject them, you are forced to realize that they’re the very ground you’re standing on. Mikage noticed the trick behind the system, and he hurriedly attempted revisions. But the adult who’d created the system just said “Let’s not,” and unilaterally brought the curtain down.
the "trick within the system," is, I think, the fact that it's socially constructed. Mikage believed that on realizing this, he could simply remake the world as he wanted. he was allowed to do so for a time, when it was useful. when he ceased to be useful, he was dispatched with, because while he had operated within the system, he was not in control of it. and beneath his delusions, there was still a reality.
Mikage is the true Boy of the Black Rose: the true ghost, the true sacrifice, living in the desiccated world of a preserved flower. throughout the arc, he takes possession of Ohtori students who suffer from the same afflictions as him, and every time Utena defeats one of his duelists, another part of him is exorcised--another Black Rose Boy burned away. in the end, the only thing left of him is the ruin of Nemuro Memorial Hall, shown briefly in the final episode. he graduates at Ohtori, but only after losing absolutely everything. that seems to be the only way to step into adulthood: naked and shivering, like the day we are born.
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Death and Affection
Kas/Eddie Munson x Fem Reader
Series Master List
A/N: Oh dang, a part three? Chapter 3? What are my conventions around here for this? It’s literally whatever at this point. The story has some meat on its bones now. I’m excited.
18+ NSFW No Minors
“My parents are moving.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Last night.” You look at him over your shoulder. “I snuck into the backyard.”
“That was stupid.”
“I know.”
There’s no heat in his words because you could say the same to him and his weekly wanderings out to the Henderson abode. A watchful eye on his Uncle being shown hospitality and the opportunity to hear all about his nephews exploits through Dustin.
In fact it was him telling you this secret one morning while the sun crept across the sky that gave you the idea to check in. Nearly three months of living in ruins with Eddie and you’d managed to stay away, to give your parents time to mourn. Apparently that wasn’t an option while still living in Hawkins though and you’d caught the conversation through an open window while they spoke to an agent and filled out paperwork.
They were moving clear to Michigan, somewhere on a lake and with a check stamped by these faceless officials. They could move on in the quiet solitude of a pier off of an A frame and the buzzing woods around them.
“I don’t think they’re taking anything with them.” Both of you traipse through the bare underbrush on another hunt for a tear in the earth. Bellies full for the night off of a ten pointer that you’d joked your father would have raged over you bagging.
“Your parents?”
“Yeah, clean break. It’s what the agent said.” You shove your hands into your coat pockets, new clothes that you’d stolen out of abandoned homes for the two of you. The look on Eddie’s face had been priceless when you’d handed over a bundle and he said the thought had never crossed his mind. “I was thinking, which I already know what you’re gonna say, but maybe we could hide out there sometimes.”
“In a neighborhood.” He says, not speeding up to be level with you. You’ve become attuned to his moods now, that tether between you two an almost corporeal thing. You can feel his irritation at your suggestion but that means he can feel yours at the idea of a continued existence in the boathouse.
“We wouldn’t have to sleep under a tarp anymore.”
“I wouldn’t call it sleep.”
“If they leave my stuff we can sleep in my bed and if you’re that attached to it we can bring the tarp along.” You shoot him a placating grin and feel that new feeling slither down your back. It’s a small undercurrent that you’ve noticed recently and it feels like how you’d felt on first dates. A nervousness that dances along your shoulders and makes the hairs on your neck stand up. The connection goes both ways so it’s one of those ‘you know that he knows’ things. He stamps it down as soon as it surfaces most days but tonight it seems to linger with you like the scent of blood still stuck in your nose.
“What if the neighbors see us?”
“We’ll be careful.”
“I don’t like it.”
You stop abruptly and turn to face him. “Please Eddie.”
He’s grumbling on the back of his sigh and almost unwilling to meet your eyes. “When they leave we can go check it out.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not saying we can stay.” He’s trying to be stern but your smile throws him off a bit.
“I know.” A warmth between you, a peace offering he extends to keep you happy. The moment only last for a beat before he starts walking again.
“We still gotta cover this stretch, I saw one of those dogs the other night out here.”
Whatever sleep it is that you fall into during daybreak is fitful. Red cracked skies and a swirling black mass storm through your dreams and wake you with a jolt, Eddie already alert and watching. You tell him what you’ve seen like you always do and he files it away for later. It concerns him, especially when he falls into that other space. Any mentions of that towering hand makes those black eyes turn to slits, a hiss on the back of his tongue directed at you.
You’ve been lucky so far with no more incidents like that last time. No more feral feeding off of innocents in the woods and tearing at Eddie for blood. You can barely grasp onto the memory of it just the feelings of rage and his skin under your tongue, fresh human blood and how soft the ridge of his lip was.
Another night of fruitless search but Eddie swears he can feel the bats closer now. Says it feels like the earth is ready to shake apart further and unleash hell.
“If we find an opening, are we going in?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t try to comfort you even though you don’t think you really would need it. It’s more an empty feeling of acceptance. A new thing on top of the blood drinking that you need to do and that’s apparently walking through the earth into a blackened dimension full of monsters that haunt your twilights of sleep.
Another walk through the woods, this time with you trailing behind him silently. Lost in your own thoughts you don’t pay attention to that tug at the back of your brain that tells you he’s trying to say something without opening his mouth. Studiously staring at the ground and his feet, stepping where he steps, and paying no mind to him trying to will your attention upwards at the fence line.
What would a fall through the ground even feel like? You think about the vague idea you have about cave diving and try to imagine the way it must feel to have air rushing past you into an abyss of foreign fauna that’s-
“Would you listen to me?”
“What?” You snap your head up at his tone, both chastising and full of laughter.
“I’ve been trying to get you to look.”
Past him looms your darkened previous home, only partially covered in overgrown weeds in the backyard. The sliding door to the backyard has had a single thing thrown through it but everything else seems to be intact. You slide your gaze to Eddie who looks frankly a little too proud of himself but before you can even ask he’s walking again and climbing the fence quietly.
“Are you serious?” You ask when you drop soundlessly into the grass.
“It’s supposed to rain tonight. Thought we could have an intact roof over our heads.” He gives you a smile before pausing at the broken glass, head tilted to listen. It’s quiet except for the distant hum of generators and the occasional car that passes through. Eddie deems it safe with a nod and pulls the door open, motioning you in first.
You think it’s funny that they’ve left up curtains when everything is bare. The kitchen that you walk into is stripped of everything but the eyelet lace curtains your mother made. Through the doorway that leads into the living room you see that they left the couch your father always hated but definitely took the tv and the stereo system along with the recliners. Again the curtains hang still in the windows to give the illusion of some kind of life, however faded and haunted it may be. It almost makes you laugh while you step silently through the house, a pantomime of a ghost but not really.
You breathe in the stagnant air. You stand on the carpeting your father had installed last year. You look at the sun bleached corners of picture frames seared into the walls. You taste the melancholy of a family only partially disappeared from their home.
“You okay?” Eddie asks from the doorway, jacket folded over his arm while he looks at those same bleached and blank spaces.
“Surprisingly?” You turn to face him, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah. I’m sad for them.”
Eddie nods and you know he understands. Can feel it through the tether and knows what it means to watch family from afar move on. You inspect the front hall closet and find an old winter coat of yours. In the background you hear Eddie twist the tap on the sink and the sudden rushing of water.
“Did they leave that on?” You round the corner into the kitchen amazed that utilities exist here.
“Maybe they’re trying to sell it?” He shrugs.
“To who, your friend Henry?”
He laughs at that, his fingers hovering over the switch on the vent above the stove like he wants to try the lights. For a moment you think he might but he pulls his hand away and shakes his head at you. “Last thing we need is a kid thinking this place is haunted.”
“I mean, it kind of is, isn’t it?” A joke as you turn the corner to head up the stairs but Eddie just shoots you look. He doesn’t follow immediately, you can hear him moving around in the basement, so you check the bedrooms. Parent’s room also stripped of everything but the curtains, the en suite bathroom a stark powder blue even in the little bit of moonlight that streams in. The spare room that held your mother’s crafts is empty save for a desk and lastly your door. It’s closed against the night in the hallway that also bears scars of years of family pictures hung there. This wooden door with its scuff marks along the bottom from you kicking it open gives you pause though. The grief you feel for your parents grief is momentarily gone and replaced with your hesitance to see.
What did they take of you with them? Did they take you or did they take the facsimile of you? The pieces they approved of and nothing of the rest. The turning of the doorknob scrapes loudly in your ears, almost like you’re opening a tomb for the first time in a millennia. The door swings out of your grip slowly to bump into the wallpaper where it always has, the lock on the inside bumping directly center on the purple blooming flower wallpaper behind it.
The furniture remains. A bedroom set bought for you when you’d turned 16 and still thought you’d have your life together after high school. Pink accents on cream colored wood; a dresser, a floor length mirror, a nightstand and a four poster bed. A hamper that sits empty and your shoes still lined up next to it. Clothes in the dresser and bedding on the mattress but you are gone.
Pictures you’d taped to your mirror and pinned to a cork board have been plucked from their homes. Your old clarinet case gone along with the stack of books you’d had on your nightstand. The scrunchies you’d left stacked on one poster of your bed have been stolen and the stuffed leopard you’d had since infancy taken away with your trace. An empty room full of wood and cotton like someone might come home at any moment and flop on the bed. Kick their shoes at their hamper and take their hair down just to roll over and switch on their lamp.
The shudder in your chest coincides with Eddie’s appearance at the top of the stairs but maybe it isn’t a coincidence. He glides into your room and throws his jacket on your bed and wordlessly moves into your space to pull your forehead into his.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t think it’d matter.”
“I know.”
“It’s just stuff.”
“When Wayne went through everything in the trailer he only took the important things.” His voice drops to a hush like a secret between you two in your childhood room. “He only took the things that felt right.” He raises a hand to the back of your neck, a grounding touch that keeps you anchored not only to the present but to him. His skin is hot against yours with new blood running through you both and you have an inkling this might be where your rush of emotion is coming from.
“I’m just happy they saw me.” That’s what breaks the dam and the tears stream silently to drip off your cheeks. He brushes at them with his knuckles but doesn’t say anything. Stays still and keeps your head pressed to his to until your sniffles begin to lessen and your deep breaths steady you.
“Good news for the night.” He smiles at you. “There’s running water.”
“That is good news.”
“You can finally rinse the lake out of your hair.” His finger gets caught in a tangle as he runs in through your strands and your laughter breaks the sadness.
“You could too.”
“What if I like smelling like a midnight swim? Ever think of that?” Color sits high on his cheeks before he turns away from you and throws himself on your bed. “Oh my god this shit is comfortable.” He moans into the bedding and you laugh harder at him. You’ve been granted a peek behind that dense curtain a lot more recently. His humor is wholly him, his reactions full of grandeur and flourish, and not for the first or last time do you wish you could have known him outside of all of this.
“You like it?” You ask while pulling off dirty clothes. “It’s an old mattress.”
Eddie flips over and makes himself comfortable. Kicks off his shoes and folds his hands under his head, eyebrows raised up his forehead. “Oh so it’s got some miles on it. I get it.”
“Uh, not like that.” You’re left standing in underwear that you wish, and then suddenly realize, you could wash. You tell him as much and his face lights up while he furiously works at his jeans and toes his socks off.
“Throw it all in a pile, I’ll take it down after my shower.” You say over your shoulder and make your way across the hallway to the bathroom to find out what else was left. In the linen closet is all the undesirables, frayed sheets and thin towels pocked with holes, but it’s better than nothing. Funny enough there’s no curtain left for the tub but a dried out bar of ivory soap sits in the shower and you don’t know if you’ve seen anything half as beautiful. When you turn the knob the water spits from the shower head at a pitiful rate but you watch it fall like a natural wonder before you finally decide to get in. Tepid temperature that you can’t fix but the way it hits your scalp and runs down your back makes you moan from the ecstasy of it all.
You get lost in the rushing water and the smell of powdery soap that you lather through your hair against your better judgement.
Beggars can’t be choosers. Your mother says in the back of your mind while another strand pulls faintly in your haze. It’s that red rope that moors you to Eddie being reeled in with short tugs. He isn’t grasping for your attention or calling you to him, it almost feels like those moments of desire he tries to keep to himself but this feels unintentional.
You run your fingers through your hair to help squeeze out the soapy water and you can feel a third set of fingers running solid down the back of your neck. There’s nothing there but you can feel the drag of a thick finger along your spine between your shoulder blades and down until it hits your lower back. Gone like it wasn’t ever there until you feel it press into the soft part under your jaw, right against your juglar. Another drag of this invisible digit and another tug of that tether before you begin putting it all together. If you strain to listen through the running water and the closed doors you can hear Eddie moving around. A shuffle on top of your comforter followed by a shallow whisper, sounds of skin moving along skin and another invisible hand splays along the back of your thigh and runs up slow.
Does he know he can do this? In your confusion you stand still in the bare shower with the water beating over your shoulders. His imagined hand roves down to glide over the back of your knee and it coincides with a sharp breath from behind two doors.
There’s been a closeness since that first night in the alleyway. The way he’d held you to himself and fed you from himself had continued into the care he’d taken to make sure you slept soundly. Always shoulder to shoulder with his head tucked into you. Small glancing touches to direct you and a finger pressed to your lips to silence you when people got too close to the waters edge. As the bond formed underneath the care you’d panicked and worried he’d find your fondness for him; recoil from it. Instead you’d found his own feelings and those had since tripled after your little mistake in the woods.
A graze of a tongue tracing your lips pulls you from your daze and your fingertips light over the fading feeling. Ghostly touches in your hair and down your sternum leave you with a deep wanting. Are these the places his eyes linger or where he longs to touch?
Invisible fingers trail over your navel, light touch that skips the lower it goes. Hesitance where before there was defined curiosity, especially when you turn the water off suddenly. The bathroom is dark but you could still see your reflection if you’d just look up. Maybe you’d catch an after image of him standing behind you. Could he see you then? Clearer than the thoughts he races through? That tentative touch suddenly disappears just before they venture to the point of no return and like a snap you find your senses again.
With a towel wrapped tightly around your chest you open the door and grab the pile of laundry left on the landing. For a moment you linger and contemplate inching your bedroom door open but you’re still not sure if he even meant for you to know. All the way down to the basement where you walk and wait on cold concrete while the washer fills, only the dusty dregs of detergent left for you to get your clothes to a semblance of clean. When you tire of pacing you perch on the dryer until the buzzer sounds and you start your worrying all over again. The what ifs.
He’d said that night at the lake that he didn’t know the end of you or him. If there was a reversal or if you’d drop dead with all the other monsters. You chew on a nail while you fret three floors down in the earth, a fitting place for you now. Those dogs he’d found in the woods had been extraordinary with their petaled faces and chittering but you still worried. Would you become like them? Would that black shadow creep into your life and split your face, pulling your limbs to new lengths just to hunt better?
This time when the buzzer goes off you jump. It’s just the small arm full of clothes but you make the act of unloading the dryer last longer than it should. You begin picturing Eddie’s face split into a blossoming grin full of teeth but a heavy shudder runs through you, instead pivoting to picturing Eddie in your room. That gives you a shallow feeling in the pit of your stomach almost like hunger with those ghostly touches sitting along your skin like a sheen of sweat, raising goosebumps along your bared skin. Above you, two floors up, you can hear movement and finally you bring yourself back to the basement and out of your own head.
Alone time in your room like in the before when you’d get home from work and decompress on the edge of your bed. Freshly showered and changed into old, soft t-shirts and shorts with a similar pile next to you on the bed.
When you’d come up with the laundry Eddie had been in the bathroom with the shower running and you’d taken it as a moment to catch your breath. Slowly folding stiff clothes to sit on your dresser while you thought about him alone in here with the impressions of your former life.
The door opening makes you start, eyes snapping to him moving quietly into your former space in just a towel. You avert your gaze quick but you know he’s caught you with the warmth that pulses off the him in your head.
“Those for me?” He points at the pile next to you and you nod. “I haven’t had pajamas in…months. Well actually years, but that’s because I’m lazy.”
“You’re not lazy.”
“You didn’t know me before all this.” He laughs and snatches the shirt and before he has a chance to drop his towel you turn your back to him. “Oh what, I thought we were past this?” His smile bleeds through his tone. “Since the whole biting thing.”
You turn your chin to catch him in the furthest corner of your eye, a pale thigh covered quickly by his one pair of boxers. “You can still have privacy.”
“Yeah I don’t know how much of that we have.” He shrugs at you when you turn back to face him.
“Did you…” You speak before you fully form your thought. Maybe he had known what he was doing earlier and that sends you down a different path while Eddie waves his hand at you to continue.
“Did I what?”
“Earlier.” You stand and open your closet to dig around for the spare quilt and comforter that’s usually in there, using the task to hide your face. “When I was in the shower.”
Eddie stops fidgeting behind you. His breathing sounds shallower while you dig around the bottom of your closet and clear your throat to speak clearer.
“I’m not upset but I just wanted to know if…if you knew.”
“What happened in the shower?”
“I could feel your…touch.” You speak this into the stack of old blankets you clutch to your chest now, edging along to your bed to keep his eyes off of your face until absolutely necessary. “Like on my neck and-and my leg.” You drop the blankets before facing him again, hands tucked behind your back so he doesn’t see your own nervous habits. He looks through you with an unfocused gaze and a worried crease between his brows. You have that instinct to sooth, to reach a hand out for his forehead and take that notch away. Fingers twitch behind you while you fight the urge and Eddie refocuses on your face with a slow roll of his eyes. His mouth opens before he thinks better of it and clicks his tongue.
“Thought I had a better handle on that.”
“It’s okay.”
“You don’t have to reassure me.”
The swooping in your stomach assures you it isn’t just him you’re trying to placate. “I’m not.” A small step forward to put you closer to him. “Well I’m not just reassuring you.”
His knuckle brushes the underside of your jaw and you almost flinch from the contact, surprised by his boldness.
“I’m sorry for making this weirder.”
“Oh, outside of the blood sucking and the monsters?” You joke and he laughs and that hand still stays under your chin. “It’s okay Eddie.” Your own hand snakes up to grab his. “We’ve got a weird thing going anyways.”
“That’s one way to put it.” His eyes are soft when they dart across your features and you have the deep feeling of home suddenly in your chest.
“Do you want to go to bed?”
In another lifetime he might have made a joke and wiggled his eyebrows down at you while you giggled and slapped his chest for being stupid. It might have been a one off or maybe a few hook ups but it would have been for fun, him following you into your bed. Now though wings beat unendingly in the edges of your perception and all you want is a few hours of peace with your nightly companion.
Wordlessly he grabs for the blankets you unearthed and starts layering them, turning your bed into a fortress of cotton. He does his usual of getting you situated first, holding up the edge of the sheets to gesture you in, making sure you’re tucked up against the wall before he slots himself next to you. With the blankets tucked in around your bodies to ward off the oncoming sunrise he settles down and casts a glance at you, an invitation to move in closer. This morning it’s your head tucked into the crook of his neck, your lips on the sluggish pulse that ticks up when you press fully against him, your arm thrown over his middle while you quickly fall into sleep.
It’s fitful for only a few moments, or maybe a few hours, with that hand reaching for you. Even in your slumber you can feel Eddie under you, an anchor against this predator that searches for you. Every morning you hide in ruins from it but there’s almost a peacefulness that comes when it seems to grasp you finally.
An immersion into rushing cold water that makes you gasp and turns oddly quiet the deeper you go. Black and wet and unending in its pull.
He wakes slowly with a long stretch, relishing the feeling of lying down in a real bed for the first time in a long time. It smells like you when he rolls towards the wall in search of your shoulder, his nose pressed into the pillow for a deep inhale. He’s half aware of his surroundings but he’s sure his hand should have found you by now in the full size bed but he pats along the soft sheets until his knuckles hit wall. Finally peeling an eye open to gaze to his side and you’re gone. The sheets and comforter are still firmly over his head, the nest you two made before turning in still blocking the waning sunset, but your side is barely dented. He lifts a corner of the bedding to stare at the wall and gauge the light, deeming it tolerable enough to get up and look for you.
There’s no water running and he can definitely feel you near but there’s no feedback like normal, just the shape of you in his minds eye like you’d been stamped out around the edges. His feet hit the ground before he fully turns the sheets down in his hunt for you but he’s stalled on the edge of the bed when he sees you sitting in front of the window.
“Hey.” It comes out in an almost whisper, his hesitance to break the still of your evening. You don’t seem to hear him, unmoving in your desk chair, shoulders slumped forward and head tilted downward at the backyard.
“Is someone out there?” Eddie creeps forward slowly to stay as far out of view in case of intruders but he’s stopped when he notices your forearms draped over your lap.
“Can you get me back?”
There’s a chill that runs through him with the creak of your voice. It touches something deep in him, something with black beetle eyes and sharp talons. This voice is from the same place as that other thing that lives in him.
“What?”
“You’re looking for a way in.” Your head turns back towards him slightly and he can make out more of the black lines that mark up your arms on your neck. “I can help you.”
When Eddie had been dying on that foreign soil he’d had many things shown to him. Broken bodies and long shadows, a possessed child and raging man covered in the traces of that swirling black. The monster that dwelt inside him had hissed at those images and fled with Eddie, pulling him topside and eventually to you.
“I don’t want your help.” Him and his alter answer this creature that’s taken your voice and when it hears his disgust you turn to him, eyes black like they shouldn’t be. Veins close to the surface and deep hued where they run up and down your neck.
“You brought me here. You listened to me and you followed my aim and you found her.” Your teeth glint in the dimming light. “You want to find a way in just like I do.”
Eddie watches your fingers grip the seat of the chair, nails digging into the wood like it was dirt. Teeth clenched at him and a scowl directed at his still form.
“Get me back where I belong and I’ll leave her be.” You lean in towards him and he can smell you like you were here hours ago. Still just an outline in his mind and that tether seems to float into nothing now like it was trapped in black water. He panics with nothing of you to grab onto. For months now he’s had you as a constant, even when you were hungry and started to slip but this? This thing had never been present in you, just in your dreams. He thought it hung at the edges like it did in his but he’d been wrong. The creature inside coils in tight like it’s been struck, a hiss that Eddie can’t help but let out slowly as he watches you being puppeted by that towering hand.
Your voice scratches and catches like a swarm of insects and you lean in closer to make your point heard, eyes shining dully up at him. “Help me find Henry and I’ll let her go.”
#Eddie Munson#Eddie Munson Fic#Eddie Munson x Reader#Kas Eddie Munson Fic#Kas Eddie Munson x Reader#My Work#My Fic
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The Star Wars prequels are fascinating movies, especially when looking at them from the perspective of the story they tell. They are a commentary on contemporary American politics, and show the fragility of the idea of democracy. The Republic has been primed to collapse for a while even by the first movie, being incapable of stopping the Trade Federation from blockading Naboo. You see throughout the films everyone come to realize the position the Republic is in, and everyone comes to a different conclusion on what to do.
Palpatine notices first, and arranges its downfall to fulfill his ambitions. The Jedi notice it, but would rather keep to the Status Quo than make any meaningful change. As Mace Windu says, they're keepers of the peace, they don't get involved until absolutely necessary and indeed, too late. Anakin sees it and decides that the system is broken and needs a strong authority to rule over the masses. Padme tries to enact change through the system, an endeavor doomed to fail from the beginning. Dooku decides the system can only be changed by uprooting it entirely, leading to his fall to the dark side and authoritarianism.
We see everyone become more and more accepting of these extremes as well. Ideas and concepts that would once be scarcely entertained become frighteningly close to reality, such as the Jedi suggesting that they forcibly remove Palpatine from office and set up their own provisional government effectively. Of course this culminates in the establishment of The Empire, and as Padme says, democracy dies with thunderous applause.
The best part is that by the end of the second film, the Republic and Jedi have lost. The moment the Clones are accepted as the army of the Republic and the Jedi lead them, its over. An army of faceless drones, indoctrinated from birth, built solely to betray. The Clones only know loyalty to their nation and its commander, and will follow the will of said commander even if it goes against the ideals they are supposed to represent. Good soldiers follow orders after all.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the prequels is that they are terrible. These are not good films, the dialogue is atrocious, the quality of acting is all over the place, the pacing is strange, and the CGI is hideous. Revenge of the Sith comes close many times to being a good movie, but always just misses the mark. Somehow, these movies made a captivating story of a nation's and young man's slow fall to fascism, and managed to bury it under a mediocre romantic subplot and strange storytelling choices.
All that said, I love the prequels for what they try to say and what they could have been. These could have been generation defining films, easily surpassing the originals, but ended up a joke. They have a litany of problems (not even gonna touch on the... interesting accents) but under all that, there is an incredibly compelling story that is ever more relevant as time goes on.
#going off of what is presented in the movies here#so minimal references to the shows#mainly because of the clones#I hate the inhibitor chips and the concept behind them#it not only takes away the agency of the clones#but also gives them an out to say “it's not their fault guys”#maybe I'll write an overly long post about that sometime#star wars#star wars prequels#the prequels#revenge of the sith#attack of the clones#the phantom menace#text post
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Kuroe Character Analysis Rough Draft
A year ago, inspired by how much I really liked Kuroe’s depiction in the anime, I was inspired to make a character analysis for her in a similar vein to my ones on the other Madoka Magica characters. However, my life had grown a lot busier since then, and while I got a rough draft completed, I never got around to cleaning it up, editing it down, and making a satisfying throughline. Over a year has passed, and nothing’s changed, besides being wheeled off in an ambulance a few days ago. Life’s short, so I felt I might as well release what I did write up for you guys, and I hope you all enjoy it.
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Part of the reason Kuroe is so interesting to me, is that iconic line by Madoka, “If someone ever tells me it's a mistake to have hope, well, then, I'll just tell them they're wrong. And I'll keep telling them 'til they believe! No matter how many times it takes.”
To me, Kuroe is that “someone” who would tell Madoka it’s a mistake over and over again. She’s a Magical Girl who doesn’t belong on stage, thrust onto it anyway. She was a character who was meant to disappear after the first episode, absorbed into the faceless mass of Magius, only to be pulled into focus right at the end of season 1, forced to answer a call to adventure. This happens when Nemu has her search for Iroha despite Kuroe obviously not wanting to. Then later seen in how Iroha convinces Kuroe in episode 4 of season 2 to help her stop Touka and Nemu, how the camera gives us PoV shots from Kuroe’s perspective to show that Iroha is essentially having a conversation with herself; talking past Kuroe.
To Iroha, doing the “right thing” just comes as naturally as breathing, as she discusses with Kuroe when they get on the train in the same episode. However, Iroha’s willingness to do the “right thing” without hesitation only serves to make Kuroe feel worse about herself for not being up to snuff. Before she could blame it on her weakness, but when she met Kuro (other pink hood girl), she realized that even girls physically weaker than her had this quality she lacked.
When Kuroe tries to sacrifice herself in episode 5 & 6, she tries to emulate these strong people, to find meaningness through self sacrifice. However, she can’t, she just feels like a hypocrite. She can’t find meaning through friends and relationships, because she doesn’t feel she belongs with them, as we see in episode 8 of season 2. This is in stark contrast to the Magical Girl archetype, one who finds meaning through helping people and their relationships with others. Any benefit she got from being a Magical Girl through her wish is gone as well, she threw it away herself, so she can’t even say she’s fighting for her wish. Devoid of any intrinsic or extrinsic motivations, what reason is there left for Kuroe to be a Magical Girl? The answer is that Kuroe shouldn’t be a Magical Girl, yet she is forced to be.
And that’s what Iroha misunderstands. She assumes the issue is just Kuroe’s lack of strength, that she can become a great Magical Girl if she just takes a step forward and leans on friends, because that’s what Iroha did. We see Iroha talk of her friends completing the puzzle of who she is by giving her the missing pieces. However, when Iroha offers Kuroe such a piece, we see from its color that it’s a piece to complete Iroha’s puzzle; not Kuroe’s.
Through Kuroe, we finally see Iroha’s rather trite moral philosophy challenged, exposed, and shattered. Iroha was literally about to turn into a Witch/Doppel Witch before her friends called out to her, from the realization that just doing the “right thing” is an impossible choice for some people. That’s why she has such trouble believing that Touka and Nemu are the Magius, because they wouldn’t do the “wong thing”. That’s why Touka and Nemu feel they have to work through illicit means, because they can’t convince Iroha to consider doing the “wrong thing” for her own benefit. Through Kuroe’s death, Iroha finally understands that she actually doesn’t understand Kuroe, Touka, and Nemu. So instead of appealing to them to do the right thing, she appeals in a selfish manner, shouldn’t we enjoy the time we do have, make it precious?
Kuroe’s failure to live up to the role of Magical Girls also provides a rather interesting critique of Madoka’s salvation for Magical Girls. Because I think an eternity as a Magical Girl would be a living hell for Kuroe. She finds no joy in being a Magical Girls, it only reminds her of her weakness. Madoka’s salvation is for the “strong” Magical Girls, not the most physically endowed or combat blessed, but the ones who can stand by their ideals and find meaning in their existence as Magical Girls. Something even Sayaka is able to do at her own end.
It does nothing for “weak” Magical Girls like Kuroe, who find nothing in that well but their own prison. Who have been duped by Kyubey into accepting a raw deal, hung out to dry, with nothing to show for it, forced to conform to a role they do not desire. That’s why Kuroe turns into a Witch, willingly, she finds more freedom in that existence than continuing on in her forced role as a Magical Girl.
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TheLreads, Vigilantes ch 103, Replies Part 1
1) “So we got McBee McDown, you know what that means, time for some McBullshit! I know, this was supposed to be a return to the main series, but honestly, considering how close we are to ending Vigilantes I’m feeling really tempted to just keep pushing forward until it is finally destroyed.”- Such tenacity, not unlike a certain faceless antagonist, who also wants this fight go all the way to the bitter end.
2) “Shame that Phelps and the rest of the people have no idea, Soga probably knows since Knuckles must’ve told him what McBee could do. Or maybe not, considering how much of an ass Knuckles usually is.”- Turns out Phelps at least took precautions against Nomura’s movement capability with electro-shock handcuffs. Pity that Nomura can side-step that by just morphing his form out of the constraints of a human body into a bio-organic slime. No nerves to paralyse in that state.
3) “I hope you mean like, they give you an electric shock to stun you, and that this is not an implication that this is a quirk-suppressor handcuff, we’re over that dream already O'Clock Tulpa”- Ironically for a Quirk-user whose power mostly manifests as electric discharges around his body, electricity is also Nomura’s fatal weakness. Can’t move fast if you can’t move at all.
4) “But Midnight, if you’re gone, who will watch the watchman?
Also, I was wondering for a while, is your quirk even gonna work on him? Does McBee even has like lungs or something?”- Well, he used to, but likely not in his slime form, unless the bomber cells still carry oxygen to his brain, which is also how Midnight’s quirk can affect him still.
5) “What is it koichi? Do your crawlers ears heard something dangerous approaching? Like a small army of exploding nomus?”- Probably wondering how Pop’s doing, given how close they are to the hospital room and all the commotion- not to mention to flying bullets everywhere – still not over that Phelps A-OK’s a civilian using random fire on a hospital.
6) “Oh okay right, cutting off his hands is an option, he can regrow them later anyway, we know that. Don’t know why he simply didn’t blew them up, I think it’d be faster.”- He’s only got so many explosions in his body mass before it becomes inconvenient for his movement, detonating that much mass he can’t reclaim, so he needs to pick and choose when most effectively to blow up.
7) “McBee I warned you, you shouldn’t be laying down while liquefying your mortal coil, it’s too easy to end up choking on your own bits of flesh”- Not a problem is he doesn’t have lungs or a throat anymore. Only thing Nomura needs is a working brain to operate his freakshow of a body
8) “A what now Phelps?
I mean, sure, he needs oxygen to keep his quirk going or he’s gonna fry his own brain, but what the fuck is a deep breathing technique? You mean like, he breathed in a lot of oxygen? My if only someone gave him a quirk to deal with that.”- It’s a technique divers use when preparing to go underwater for an extended period of time, unsure when they’ll surface again. Basically, by exhaling rapidly just before your head goes under, you free up excess oxygen-deprived air molecules in your lungs and can suck a whole bunch of oxygen-rich molecules into your lungs instead with a final inhalation, allowing you to last underwater for longer.
9) “Now what in the fuck’s name- I don’t know why AfO gave you that quirk, but it is extremely convenient he did so. Wonder if this is a side effect of the regeneration quirk, or if it is the regeneration quirk in action, turning you into a mush so you can rebuild yourself”- More like the unstable bomber cells, being so malleable, basically allow him to shapeshift his features and form however much he wishes. At this point, the only part of him we can safely say is still human is his head, and even that might not last forever if he does something like letting the cells cannibalise his remaining parts for more power.
10) “Oh good thing that this… fucking bullshit… also regenerates your clothes, it would suck for you to have to be defeated with your McBee exposed like that”- Or like Nomura wasn’t wearing any clothes from the start except that long coat. In retrospect, it’s hard to tell how much of his casual attire and hero costume were clothing and how much was his actual body.
(Vigilantes ch 102)
11) “Unfortunately those ones can’t be taken down by aiming at the head. Trust me, we tried in the main series.”-Nomura however, can, and from what we see here, it’s just about the only weakness his body has left.
12) “Alright Thanos, keep acting like a prick like that and you’ll see what your fate is gonna be. Little spoiler, it’s gonna be exactly like that of Thanos.”- Koichi was listening, and immediately followed his advice.
13) “Yeah fine, go and try to use your infinity gauntlet on Phelps, a being protected by the immutable flow of fate, see how that’s gonna work out for you.”- Nomura mocked Phelps for being too slow, but ironically that in turn made him too slow to actually detonate him with Koichi’s faster reflexes in the area.
14) “OH HO HO LOOK AT THAT
I GUESS YOU FORGOT YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY SPEEDSTER HERE McBEE
TIME TO GET McOWNED”- Koichi’s so much faster and more decisive than Nomura, he even has time to set his shots to “stun” rather than the lethal attack- which I think is even faster than these softball shots to boot.
15) “REST ASSURED, KOICHI’S HERE TO ANNOY YOU UNTIL YOU FALL DEAD. THERE’S NO ESCAPING THE CRAWLER”- Koichi’s hidden tactic is revealed: Piss off Nomura until he self-combusts in anger!
@thelreads
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A commission for @anorptron of a moment of peace for their WoL Sage and his adoptive brother Artoirel <3
My ficlet commissions are open through kofi, and if you're interested in a longer piece, send me a message and we can talk!
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The very air in the Fortemps manor seemed heavy as Sage stumbled through the familiar halls. He'd cast aside his arms and armor already, but he could feel their phantom weight upon his shoulders, dragging at him like the weariness that dragged at his bones and ate at his mind. The lush red wallpaper seemed to run like blood before his bleary eyes, the oil portraits and passing servants blurring together into a faceless mass until they could have been any one of the endless victims of the war. Wars. Somehow it seemed there was always another.
These halls that ought to have been his home seemed almost foreign after all Sage had lived through in the past year. His feet wandered without his mind's direction, carrying him through the twisting maze that should not have seemed so labyrinthine. Somewhere in here, he would find respite. Somewhere in here lay the solace to soothe the storm of turmoil that itched under his scales and roiled through his heart. It had always lain here.
He found himself before the door to Artoirel's study without quite knowing how he'd arrived there. The rich mahogany rose before him, and behind it, exactly what he had sought: a safe place, quiet and calm, where he could let down his guard. A breath slipped from him, the faintest twinge of relief stirring beneath his breast. Here he could rest.
The door pushed open easily in his hand. Beyond it, the familiar comforts of home welcomed him. He stepped in gratefully, welcoming the scent of old books and spilled ink, so far from the burnt flesh and twisted metal that had become permanently lodged in his nose. A ghost of a smell, haunting him all the way home and exorcised only by the lingering traces of his adoptive family.
Though Artoirel was absent, the whole room resonated with his presence. His books stood sentinel on their shelves, watching over Sage as they always had. Letters were folded neatly on the desk waiting for attention, Artoirel's favorite pen laid carefully to one side. The wine-dark sofa lounged nearby, quilted throw pillows with their golden tassels settled like stuffed animals over the cushions. Inviting Sage to lay his head down for once and rest.
So he did. On leaden feet, he shuffled towards the sofa. The plush fabric accepted his weight easily, the scent of Artoirel rising from its cushions to encompass him. The rounded pillow with the damaged embroidery made it into his hands and he clutched at it, curling into himself and holding it tight to his chest. His tail curled around his legs, the tip tucked beneath his chin like when he was little. He could almost imagine his brother's fingers in his hair, a soothing caress, like he was a child again and he'd had a nightmare. He prayed that when sleep claimed him, only sweet dreams would await him. And maybe when he woke up, this nightmare would be over.
Artoirel paused before the door to his study, hand reaching for a handle that wasn't where it should be. The door stood ajar, light filtering in through the crack to brighten the dim interior. Slow and quiet, he edged it open until he could see into the room, more curious than cautious.
His study looked just as he'd left it, but for the sleeping form of Sage curled up on his couch, tail tucked between his legs and his arms wrapped tight around a pillow. His face was lax in sleep, his lips parted around a quiet snore and his eyes drifting lazily behind their lids, lost to the land of dreams. He looked… peaceful. More peaceful than Artoirel had seen him in years.
The effects of the war were still clear - even in sleep they marked his body as clearly as any scar. He was still too skinny, pale skin stretched over lean muscle and sinew, the shadow of hunger hanging over him like a ghost. And there was still that tightness around his eyes that never quite seemed to leave anymore, even in sleep, like he was always waiting for the next tragedy to befall him. But here in this moment, far from the field of battle and curled around that pillow like it was a security blanket, there was an air of serenity to him. An air of peace.
Artoirel slipped through the door, shutting it gently behind him. Few needed the rest as much as Sage. If Artoirel could offer him a safe space to lay down his burdens, he was more than happy to provide. Steps soft on the carpet, he shifted over to stand before his brother. His hand stretched out almost on its own, the tips of his fingers brushing through his dusky hair.
The sharp rap of a knock on his door startled him and he flinched, his hand falling back to his side. His face twisted into a scowl. Who could possibly be here to disturb him? He turned back, careful not to wake the sleeping Au Ra as he stalked across the room and wrenched back open the door.
The sight that greeted him only made his frown deepen. The woman that awaited him was clearly not one of their staff, not with her blue livery and the Scion crest pinned to her collar. Her hand, still poised as if to knock again, fell away, and she rushed to speak, a breathless spiel Artoirel did not care to hear. "Milord, forgive my interruption but-"
Artoirel cut her off before she could explain herself. "Pray lower your voice," he hissed, and she started.
Her gaze slid past him to land on Sage, still asleep on the sofa, and this time when she spoke, her voice was softer, even if the message was no less infuriating. "There is a matter of some urgency that requires the attention of the Warrior of Light."
She'd barely gotten the words out when Artoirel cut her off again with a sharp shake of his head. His gaze was stern, unforgiving of the intrusion. "Whatever situation has arisen, I have no doubt that the Scions will have it well enough in hand without the Warrior of Light's assistance. Let him rest. Has he not earned that much, at least?"
She made to protest, but Artoirel didn't give her the chance, closing the door firmly in her face. The lock turned with a resolute click. An unmistakable message: the Warrior - no, Artoirel's brother - was not to be disturbed for so long as he rested in this study.
Casting one more fond glance at his sleeping form, Artoirel settled in at his desk to attend to his correspondence. Sage's quiet snoring drifted through his ears, a pleasant rhythm to compliment the scratching of his pen. Today, at least, the Warrior could rest. Artoirel would watch over him in his stead.
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do a gtn x idris analysis. can be about any aspect
my worldbuilding is nowhere near as impressive or fleshed out as tazmuir's but i kinda wanna focus on that comparison! i haven't talked/thought about worldbuilding in awhile so this is a pretty good opportunity.
the dynamics between the houses remind me a lot of idris's noble houses, even if the political situation is entirely different. idris's nobles have no need to compete with each other because they all serve one government which they are (mostly) all loyal to. arguably the same could be said of the nine houses in regards to the emperor, but the goal of lyctorhood is framed as inherently competitive within gtn, their shared servitude is virtually nixed. but shit between the idrisian noble houses gets nasty too! the characters i have developed the most often have bigger fish to fry (i.e. the revolution), but for the nobles who are not first and foremost concerned with artemis, they engage in a lot of petty aristocrat drama just because they have the time for it! most want to grab power wherever they can, and step on each others' toes all the time to get it. they duel (yay swords!), they make political plans to directly antagonize their enemies, and they are completely cut off from the rest of civilization at large for the most part. it's part of why the nobility are so fucked up; the culture is and has been for hundreds of years to distance themselves from reality and engage only in what are deemed noble pursuits (religion, ivory tower academia, sparring, study of their political domain). this is, in a way, comparable to the transformations seen in first house when the adepts seek out lyctorhood and abandon their humanity in the process.
but really, it's what makes idris comparable to the ninth house. it's hard to know where to start with this in particular, because the biggest thing i have to go off of is Vibes. but the morbid, isolated feel of the house of the ninth is exactly what it's like walking around halcyon's castle. like ninth house, idris is a sparsely populated country, although idris does take up considerable land mass. only certain parts of it are really conducive to life at all, so cities become dense with people while forests and tundras are left abandoned. much like the ninth house, idris has been a sinking ship for a long time. the halcyonic values which idrisians are raised with breed a lot of patriotism, but anyone who examines the country's resources and poor international status understands that they can only go on for so long like this, with each new ruler only prolonging the country's slow death. the nobles are also raised with far too much pride to address the structural issues within government and economy. they're raised with far too much pride to even organize proper relations with other countries. unlike the ninth house, idris is not separated by planet from its contemporaries. but honestly? it might as well be. most nobles aren't even permitted to leave the country. idrisians have so much contempt for other countries' heresy that they refuse to engage even when given the opportunity. which, as far as i can tell, is also a pretty stereotypical ninth trait (although i wouldn't say gideon or harrow particularly embody it).
i do enjoy the harrow-brinne similarities as well. i love the way gideon constantly describes harrow's expressions as twisted or pinched or anything similar-- it's very brinnelike to me, even though brinne isn't really facially expressive. harrow's adamance about the face paint is a safety precaution throughout gtn, and it reminds me of two brinne things, the first being her veil. brinne's veil is obviously first and foremost her method of covering her facial scar, but it also represents her attempts to bring herself closer to halcyonic values and halcyon itself. it's not a coincidence that her scarring goes hand in hand with the nde where she hallucinates herself in halcyon's image (i.e. faceless). although the vision terrifies and traumatizes her, she becomes fixated on piety immediately following. masking half her face is a way of re-attaining the godliness of her nde, as well as keeping herself safe from the people around her. and like the reverend daughter's face paint, it is a way of altering the way she is perceived. the veil creates a similar imperviousness to the face paint.
harrow and brinne's loneliness and selfishness are also deliciously similar. they both come from childhoods where they were simultaneously idolized and isolated and that sure did fuck up their priorities! harrow is kind of a more extreme version of brinne's traumas. just one-upping her everywhere. where brinne was supposed to be the most divine of other divine children, harrow was her house's only hope for divinity at all. where brinne was expected to be the paragon among so many other living children (and failed), harrow was expected to make up for all of the children who died for her (an impossible task). where brinne was hated by all of the nobles growing up, harrow had no one left to be hated by, save for gideon, who did a damn good job at letting her know. but despite the disparities, i think the effects which these things had on them are similar. brinne is a failure to represent her lineage and her people, and the irreversibility of her blood is what prevents her from justifying herself in the first place. harrow is a failure to be worth all of the souls that died for her, a curse placed on her alongside conception itself. it's all very original sin-y.
ok im tired now and i should go to sleep but if i ever have the time and energy to add onto this i will. there are so many juicy comparisons between gtn and idris. it makes my brain go all microwave noises
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Honestly with all those idols fawning over you, you could very much create a cult centered around you -- their darling
Despite the Shinkai cult having been ceased to nonexistent by Madara's hands, and Kanata himself abandoning his duties as a god to become human and exist alongside them; what would stop Kanata from picking up his duties as a god again and declare you as his god/goddess at his own cult?
Would Madara and Chiaki be mad at their darling for wasting their efforts of making Kanata more humane during their yumenosaki years? Or would they join the cult centered around their darling?
gn reader
tw yandere, discussion of cults, obsession
Would the characters form a cult for the player?
Hmmm I actually don´t think current Kanata would start his own cult again, even as a yandere. I think he´s pretty happy to be human because that gives him a chance to be with you! I think he might start to see you as a god though, maybe? So he might start treating you as someone "superior" to everyone else.
The main reason why I don´t think a cult would be started by the self-aware characters? This is kind of petty but most of them are too possessive and jealous for that, even if there are ones that treat you like a god and worship you. Being in a cult with everyone else means that they all worship you and offer themselves up for you and that would mean sharing you in a sense! They are the only ones that truly adore and love you as you deserve, the others aren´t worthy of even sending a glance your way!
They also want you for their very own, not to be shared with the others under any circumstances so I assume pretty much everyone would protest against joining a cult where your "love" needs to be shared with all of its members. They would much rather monopolize all of your time and have the others stay away. They don´t need to join a cult to build their own shrine of you!
I want to reference a different post I made some time ago where I talked about how the fans would act around the player. Please give it a read before continuing here!
Anyway, in that post I described that the fans would kind of be like dolls without their own thoughts. They aren´t established characters in the enstars games and are just faceless people that don´t have any real importance ( they´re even a game mechanic). So they probably wouldn´t be self-aware like the characters or even actual individuals with their own thoughts and feelings.
They´re part of the game and as such, the game itself twists everything to be as welcoming to you as it can. So it´s only natural that the fans that listen to the new lovesick lyrics of their favorite idols would soon grow to favor you as well! The game immediately erases such ugly feelings like jealousy and instead turns them into love for you!
So remember how I said the idols wouldn´t form a cult because they all want to have you to themselves? Well, that doesn´t really apply to faceless masses of people that are suddenly very interested in you, right?
I mean, they are artificial, they are told by the game itself to love you so it only makes sense that they would get obsessive, right? So maybe it isn´t too far off to say that the crazy fan club might one day turn into a cult where they can properly worship you.
They don´t care about having you for their own, they aren´t *actual* real people. They only exist to adore and serve you.
#yandere enstars x reader#yandere ensemble stars x reader#yandere enstars#yandere ensemble stars#ensemble stars#enstars#enstars x reader#ensemble stars x reader#ensemble stars self aware au#yandere self aware ensemble stars au#yandere self aware au#gn reader#yandere#cw yandere#cw obsession#cw cult mention#yandere x reader
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they hate to see a girlboss sovereign warrior queen doing an imperialism
ima's got it all: an endless army of faceless goons, a collection of rare and powerful slaves, non-stop sources of entertainment, the biggest ship, the most opulent and lavish sense of taste, she can dance and got hands too. she's the big slime. her bodies got siege warfare numbers man. not just a village. there is no dispute here. she is the biggest threat we've seen yet. and she hasn't said a damn thing.
she does what all of the real-life royalty have inevitably done in order to keep their positions and rule over their subjects. sacrificing lives, destroying and separating entire families, plundering and enslaving on a mass scale, is all part of the job. your enemies' lives are forfeit. the rules are simple: if you are of no use to the crown, you will die. resist the will of the crown, and you will die. if you're not a killer or conqueror, if you do not expand your territory, use every advantage you can acquire, manipulate your enemies and their weaknesses, you are not prepared to win a war. you will lose.
this is the kind of person who will succeed in combat, but risks everything else in pursuit of their domination, by definition. empires are lethal abominations that demand human sacrifice and warrant massive ecological destruction and disruption, all in service to the whims of exactly one person. kingdoms and military dictatorships are responsible for a scale of devastation that has never been witnessed before in human history, and has not been surpassed since. final boss shit. a true leviathan.
it makes for some compelling drama. i can't think of a better opposite for spear or fang. spear is pretty clever, and obviously capable of producing plenty of brutality on his lonely, but he's no martial artist either, as evidenced by ima, a military tactician, holding shit down and whooping his ass a good few times solo dolo. fang is a clever girl too, and also a tank, but she's clearly still not equipped to lead an army, much less fight one alone, or employ psychological warfare.
even kamau, despite his gargantuan build and resilience, will not sacrifice his love and empathy for another in order to win. he's fighting not to dominate, but to protect someone he cares about. spear, fang, and mira all know what that's like, and are all just as trapped. it's tragic -- but that's what war is like. in contrast, the queen has allegiance to no one but herself. her authority is indivisible, her rule, absolute. what weaknesses?
when people think of queens and royalty, they might think of all of the beauty and regalia, the treasure horde, various outfits and pomp -- but behind this dazzling spectacle, (which is just a distraction, really,) is the stench of death emanating from corpses piled high, trailing off miles into the horizon. yours will be next if you don't give up and become a willing thrall. if you've gotten intoxicated by the elegance and grandeur, it means you've already fallen into the trap...letting your guard down is a mistake you'll regret.
#god save the queen#uploads#offscreendeathshots#queen#primal#genndy tartakovsky#genndy tartakovsky's primal#adult swim#animation#film blog#review#The Colossaeus#spear#fang#ima#kamau#sovereignty#dictatorship#leviathan#leopard#army#mira#egypt#imperialism#queen elizabeth#villains
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light lamp genie
Ok so wired thought but what if instead of an oil lamp, There are a group of genie that use actual light lamps. And their entire appearance is based around the lamp they inhabit. And instead of rubbing it like the traditional lamp you instead turn the bulb or flick the switch or a combo of both or just finding a way to light it in order to summon the genie within. One thing I think they would all have in common though is looking like they are made from light in one way or another but again the appearance of the genie (and potentially the personality) would depend totally on the lamp.
here are some ideas I have of potential different genies:
-a lava lamp genie that’s personality and style is very hippy mainly due to the fact that they were active a lot in the 60's and the culture of the time ended up rubbing off on them. Their appearance is very ethereal and lava like shifting between different forms. They have a soft glow that is very calming if not downright hypnotising at times and their movements would be very slow and floaty like the lava of their lamp. This goes without saying but they would also be blindingly colourful, sometimes sticking to one particular colour theme or mixing a bunch of different colours together like a luminous rainbow or better yet their colours reflecting their different emotions you know like the traditional happy-yellow, blue-sad- red angry etc.… also on a another note not being able to touch them or letting them touch you as lava lamps get extremely hot and can burn which I think would carry over to this genie. Going with that train of thought they become cool to the touch whenever their power levels become low/when they are exhausted.
-a stained-glass/tiffany lamp genie that is made out of pure colour and light and whenever they takes on a more solid appearance is when they start to look like fragmented glass, ever shifting ever changing to create a new pattern like a kaleidoscope.
-an ornate lamp genie taking the appearance of an aristocrat or Victorian/Elizabethan noble. their face covered by a tassel like veil obscuring their features and yet a soft pale light still shines through. They appear wearing a beautiful elaborate gown or elegant suit heavily layered and with each layer of fabric elaborately embroidered and covered in beads that shimmer and sparkle. tassels hang from every part of their frame and trail off into shimmering light. They speck soft, posh, regale, each word with carful purpose and with the sense of a time long since passed. Their hole vibe speaks of an older no nonsense relative or charming grandparent.
-nautical lamp genie that is always masked in shadows so your never able to see their full appearance quite clearly and whenever they appear everything seems to suddenly get darker. The only consistent light being a soft amber glow that seems to radiate from around them. it will often feel like stepping into old photograph whenever their around. They have an unplaceable ever shifting accent that uses a lot of sailor slang. With a personality that ebbs and flows like the sea itself. What little of their appearance that can be caught a glimpse of seems to shift just like their personality. Nothing is consistent one minute their sporting an eye patch and a hook for a hand the next the hook is gone and they are now dress in a yellow lighthouse keepers coat. Whenever their near you could swear you can hear the distant swell of the tide and the faint call of sea gulls when their around but whenever you strain to hear it more clearly the quieter it gets. They are able to summon their own phantom ship/submarine/nautical vessel that stays in a bottle that hangs around their waist whenever it's not in use. On another note lighthouse genie that is all.
-a desk lamp genie a faceless being. one of the masses; a face you might see once in passing and struggle to remember accurately after, if at all. it doesn't help that they are blindingly bright, to the point where you can't look at them for long periods. Their eyes in particular are especially blinding like literally they can blind you if you look at them for even a second which is why they always wear a pair of protective glasses so they don't accidently hurt anyone with their gaze. They appear wearing a sharp suite or business attire, their appearance is also based around the particular era of the lamp for example if the was lamp from the 1920's then their business look would be based on the fashion of that era. they know everything about everything and will critique/ give helpful observations on whatever you happen to be working on. No nonsenses, hardworking, fast talking, they are the voice of innovation and are obsessed with new projects or creative works. Defiantly the one to go to if you have a creative/inventive wish as they will go the extra mile to see it not only fulfilled but active its max potential. whenever they get existed, inspired or are being extremely productive they will shine bright. its best to exist the room when this happens or risk damage to your eyesight.
-kids/children's lamp they are soft motherly figure with a streak of childishness. a soft colourful light radiates from within their chest right where there heart would be and whenever they are happy, excited or laughing that glow spreads to their entire being until they are shining bright. they appear draped in robs composed in many different types of blankets patchwork, knitted, fleece you name it it's there. They are very soft to the touch and seem to radiate a comfortable warmth. However do not be fool for their skin is as hard as armour and their robs are near indestructible ready to face off against any threats that may come and protect those who need it. they have a small army of plushies helpers and sentient star beings ready to assist at a moment's notice and offer advice and council when needed.
-an animal/object lamp genie that takes on the form/aesthetic of the animal or thing that their lamp is based on as well as the personality traits. Most of the time they appear carrying either a scepter or and orb of light that they always seem to be messing around with. They can also glow mainly their patterns/markings which seem to shine the brightest as well as change colour depending on their mood or their astatic at the time, but it's not just their markings that glow on a more subtle level their fur, scales, skin, feathers always has a faint shine to it. With it being far more noticeable in lamp genies that don't have distinctive markings. They are able to summon shadow minions to do their bidding these minions often taken on the form of traditional Chinese shadow puppets or hand shadow puppets. While they are mostly uses to assist with certain tasks they are also called upon whenever the need for dramatic flair or mischief arises. Also if you're wondering yes object bases lamp genies can get incredibly weird with their overall look, in fact they take pleasure in how strange they can get.
(I think I ended up channelling my inner moth when I wrote this. any way enjoy)
#lamps#genies#exophilia#my writing#light lamp genies#random thoughts#monster lover#inner moth unleashed#monster concept#abstract#monster prompts
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It Won't Always Be Like This
Prompt: Not all promises are meant to be kept, not all forevers are meant, and he learned it the hard way. They shared a dream once, but not all dreams are meant to be fulfilled, no matter how hard you try.
General tags: multi chapter fic, hurt (maybe with or without comfort idk<3), nightmares, depression, idol au, ateez pre debu<3, yungi (platonic)
CHAPTER 1
Chapter tags: SLIGHT ed (forgot to eat), SLIGHT sh (digging nails in palm towards the end), lmk if i missed any pls!
Word count: 2.8k
It was so dark. Mingi was standing in the middle of nothingness and everything surrounding him was pitch black, with occasional faceless people bumping into him and making him stumble, almost fall on to the ground, scared of what could’ve happened if he did fall. All Mingi managed to do was stare down and take little steps forward, but the mass of people pushed him back and made all his efforts pointless. He was starting to feel a lump in his throat as he was getting more frustrated with it all. Why is it that no matter how hard he tried to push forward, more people swarmed in to push him back. He felt like screaming, but the moment he opened his mouth no noise was leaving his throat, instead the faceless beings next to him started letting out a painful, loud screech, which made Mingi cover his ears and squeeze his eyes shut as he fell to the ground, the ringing in his ears continuing, the very same ringing waking him up from his nightmare, instantly standing up from his bed and reaching for his phone. It was just another nightmare, unfortunately not the first one he woke up from tonight, however Yunho was the one to wake him up from this one.
He looked outside the window and it was sunny outside. The night has passed, so the chain of interrupted sleep can at last be broken. Mingi zones out watching the wind blow through the leaves in the trees as the phone that was in his hands stopped ringing only to start again a second later. Yunho again. Mingi instantly answers the call, trying to steady his breathing so that his friend doesn’t get worried. Yunho thinks Mingi’s nightmares were dying down.
“Did I wake you?” asks Yunho, obviously trying to contain his excitement, Mingi observed, while he was still somewhat zoned out, mindlessly watching the scenery outside his bedroom window. “No, did something happen?”
“Did you check your emails?” asks the older boy while smiling like crazy, looking at the screen of his laptop. Mingi rubs the sleep off his eyes with one hand while with the other hand he removes the phone from his ear and checks his emails, the sight making him gasp.
“From: [email protected]
Congratulations! After having seen your online audition that you sent two weeks ago, we would like to get to know you more and see what you can do in person!
Please prepare a rap or a song to sing and be aware that we will ask for you to perform a free style dance!
Let us know when you would be available for this. Have a good day, signed KQ Entertainment Recruitment Team.”
“No way.” is all Mingi manages to say. Becoming a trainee and debuting as an idol has been his and Yunho’s dream for the longest time, but now that it’s so close to his reach he’s terrified. What if he fucks it up, what if he touches this dream and it breaks under his finger tips.
“We are so close, Mingi. So close that I find it hard to believe. We just have to get past this step and we will be trainees. Isn’t that amazing?” says Yunho excitedly, pacing around the room, being so full of energy and feeling like he could burst at any second.
In a perfect world Mingi would be genuinely excited with him, and one part of him is still excited, but fear and anxiety are overwhelming him and have been overwhelming him so much more as time went by. When they were kids, they would talk so often about debuting together, it actually felt real and doable. But Yunho grew up to become this sociable and talented person, with an amazing and stable voice and incredible dancing skills and body control, not even to mention his breathtaking visuals, while Mingi felt like he didn’t bring anything new to the table. Sure, he was praised by some people for his rapping and dancing style, but what was the point if he didn’t believe it? There were so many other rappers in the industry, why would he be anything new and special?
But telling Yunho that he actually has given up was something that he couldn’t do. This was their shared dream, one of them giving up would mean that they both gave up, and breaking Yunho’s hope was something Mingi couldn’t do.
“I didn’t expect them to reach out after the first half…” Mingi whispered while still looking at the email. He was so conflicted. “Don’t say that. Of course you passed the first half, you have everything it takes to debut, Mingi-ya.” says Yunho and Mingi could already see him frowning at him. There was no point in arguing with Yunho, especially on this topic.
“Are you coming to today’s dance class?” asks Yunho. For the past year and a half the two of them have been going to all sorts of dance classes in attempts to get better. That’s also when Mingi was starting to lose confidence: noticing how everyone else around him was doing better so effortlessly, his best friend included. He really didn’t wanna go today, not after the nightmare he just had. “Yes, of course.” is all he managed to let out.
“Great! I will come pick you up so we can go together. Will be there in an hour.” and then he hangs up.
Mingi lays back in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Why are the nightmares more often and stronger than before? He has to be getting better. If not for his sake, for Yunho’s sake. He would get so worried and concerned hearing about Mingi’s nightmares and felt so useless as the thought of not being able to help him in any way, so much so that it made Mingi feel guilty for not being easy to help and deal with.
Mingi let out a deep sigh and got out of bed, making his way to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the dance class. Mingi felt like in a trance whenever he did all these common tasks, like he was in autopilot mode and momentarily left his body to work on its own while his mind would wander someplace else. As of late, it especially happens more often than not, but he tried to keep it in check while he was with Yunho. Yunho would notice if something was off, he always does. Yunho is too observant for Mingi to even try and hide anything from him.
And just like that, the hour passes by and Mingi is brought back to awareness by Yunho calling him. He doesn’t answer the phone, instead he just grabs his backpack with the change of clothes and water bottle and rushes outside, seeing Yunho from the window.
Once he gets outside he is pulled in a quick hug by Yunho and then they start making their way to the class.
It was a quiet walk. And that’s something Mingi really appreciated about Yunho, the fact that they didn’t have to force conversations. Their friendship was so much more deeper than words and they both understood that. However conversations were the only thing that kept Mingi awake and engaged in reality, and silence, especially when he got little to no sleep, such as today, only made him completely unaware of his surroundings, which was what he hated most to happen when near Yunho.
“Mingi-ya, are you listening?” is what brings Mingi back, Yunho’s hand resting on Mingi’s shoulder, both of them stopped walking. Yunho searches Mingi’s face with slight concern in his eyes and Mingi just shakes his head and puts on a reassuring smile. “Yes I’m sorry. I just didn’t sleep that much tonight. Sorry, what were you saying?” the boy asks, trying to pass by the reason why he didn’t pay attention to what his best friend was saying.
“Nightmares are back?” asks Yunho worried, squeezing his friend’s shoulder right after. ‘They never left to begin with.’ is what Mingi wanted to say but couldn’t. Saying that would have Mingi admit that he lied to Yunho Mingi just nodded defeated. “Then why did you agree to come to the dance class? You should’ve stood this one out and rested instead.” slightly scolds Yunho.
“No way I give you the opportunity to get too ahead of me! It’s fine, dancing will wake me up. Come on, we’ll be late.” and with that Mingi starts walking, being a few steps ahead of his friend.
“Did you think about what to prepare for the next step of the audition?” Yunho asks once he is caught up with Mingi, lightly bumping his shoulder to his friend’s, an excited smile plastered on his lips. Right, the audition. “Not yet. It still hasn’t hit me that I passed the first stage. I had no doubts about you though. What am I even supposed to do now? Call them? Email them to set a date for the second stage? Did they decide the date on their own and they will just let me know? How is it-” Mingi rambles with questions that are clouding his mind, but Yunho is quick to shush him before he loses his mind with all these questions.
“Let’s take them one at a time. I have a few options as for my audition, but I will need your help to pick one. And what I did was just email them to ask when the audition will take place and they replied shortly that they will call at some point this week and discuss it over the phone. And of course you passed the first stage, what are you talking about? You will even pass the second. Don’t forget the promise we made to each other, hm? You’re not one that breaks promises now, are you Mingi?” says Yunho while trying to somewhat ease Mingi’s mind, seeming to have worked a bit. Yunho then puts an arm around his friend’s shoulders and pulls him closer to him, to some extent to cheer his friend up but to also reassure him that he will also be there for him and he can safely lean on him when needed.
The rest of the walk was silent, which was nice and comforting. Yunho at times would hum the songs he was thinking to audition with, providing the walk with some background music, which also made Mingi stay aware of his surroundings, suppressing his yawns whenever he felt like one was approaching. The two take the last left and then have in sight the dance studio.
“You sure you don’t wanna sit this class out?” asks Yunho once more while stretching with the whole class, looking concerned and Mingi’s tired eyes. “Why are you trying to shoo me away? You're afraid I will steal your title of main dancer?” teases Mingi with a challenging smile on his lips, which also makes Yunho loosen up. Surely Mingi is okay and Yunho is worried for nothing.
“I am actually. Give your all and I will give my all. First to pass out, buys dinner.” says Yunho confidently, now standing up and stretching his hand out towards Mingi, waiting for his friend to shake it and make this bet official. “Get your money ready.” and with that Mingi shakes Yunho’s hand, a big smile on his lips. Maybe he can debut after all, maybe he is worthy.
Mingi was so excited and overfilled with hope of debuting with his friend that he didn't notice straight away that he was getting lightheaded. He didn't mind the way his breathing got heavier and how his vision got blurry. He didn't mind the way he was unable to move his limbs consciously, he felt like a marionette while following the instructor's indications on the moves, and he certainly didn't mind when he closed his eyes and his body hit the cold wooden floor of the dance class. He did in fact pass out. Last thing he heard before falling into unconsciousness was Yunho screaming his name while trying to soften his fall. Because the truth is that Yunho was keeping his eyes on Mingi the entire time, in a way maybe expecting this to happen. He does know Mingi best, at times it seems that Yunho knows Mingi more than Mingi knows himself.
Mingi was once again dreaming, but this time he was alone in what seemed to be a waiting room, it felt extremely eerie. He was sitting on a chair and around him there were a bunch of closed doors. He got up and tried to open them, but none of them budged. The silence was becoming deafening, each step he took becoming more and more loud, banging on every door and pushing himself on it, hoping it would maybe at least break, but no luck.
Mingi was starting to get more frustrated by the second, his forehead was now stuck on the door, banging with his fists on the dark brown wood, but with every other bang he would grow more tired, his breathing heavy and throat sore from all the yelling, his face red and some tears staining his cheeks. Suddenly the door opens and he takes a step back, straightening his back, the person in front of him startling and confusing him. He was more scared by each second that passed. The person in front of him was still him, but slightly deformed. “When will you give up, Song Mingi?” is what the figure repeats, while still standing in place. Mingi takes a step back trying to put more distance between him and his clone, but with each step he takes back, the figure takes another forward, imitating Mingi's mannerism, but never actually touching him. Mingi shuts his eyes closed, wishing to disappear from this moment, hoping that maybe not seeing the figure would help him escape.
“You should wake up now.” whispers the figure and when Mingi opens his eyes seconds later he sees the ceiling of the dance studio. Awake again. The figure’s voice kept echoing in Mingi’s head again and again, until the voice distanced and became an echo and then a whisper until it fully vanished from Mingi’s mind, making it seem as if it never happened.
Mingi turns his head to the side, confused and slightly scared of maybe seeing the figure again, but he sees Yunho instead. Mingi squeezes his fist, digging his nails into his palm, a habit he picked up during the time he had nightmares very often, the pain he would feel was what made the difference for him between reality and dream. His palms were rough from the amount of times he managed to break skin, having faint half moons on his palms. He was awake now. He loosens the grip, putting his hand palm down on his thigh. Yunho hears the movement and turns around, now facing Mingi. Mingi saw as some of Yunho' worry from his eyes melted away, some of it turning into some sort of annoyance.
“What happened?” Mingi asks as he puts his weight on his elbows as he tries to stand but fails due to his head spinning. Of course he knew he passed out, but playing dumb is the only thing he can do now. Maybe he won’t be scolded that much.
“Take a wild guess. When I said the first to pass out I didn't mean it literally. Did you even eat anything today?” Yunho said irritatedly, his voice ever so slightly raised. Ok maybe Mingi won’t escape the scolding.
Yunho examines Mingi’s face carefully this time, slight panic still visible in his features, Mingi’s body visibly tense, Yunho catching on that his friend had another nightmare in his brief state of unconsciousness which makes Yunho uneasy as well, guilt of not being able to help him the way Mingi needs it overfilling Yunho. Yunho’s features gradually soften.
Mingi tries to act as calm as he could, trying to make it look as if he is all better now. He straightens his back and rests it on the wall behind him, quickly noticing that they are still in the dance class, now empty. “The instructor was worried and said we can stay here until you recover.” answers Yunho quickly when he sees the slight confusion on Mingi's face. He then hands Mingi his water bottle and he takes it gratefully.
Mingi sighs defeated. “I didn't but it wasn't my intention. The nightmare I had took everything out of me and it left me feeling numb. It simply slipped my mind.” Mingi wasn’t exactly lying. Whenever he enters autopilot mode he doesn’t need anything, it’s as if he’s self sustained, and it doesn’t hit him until someone reminds him or if something happens.
Yunho just looks at Mingi's face, with his frustration and concern filled eyes and just sighs, now sitting up straight and stretching his hand towards Mingi to help him get up. “Fine. Then let's go fix that. Come on, let's go eat.” is what he says and starts walking, Mingi a few steps behind.
A/N: And here's the first chapter! I was kinda scared of posting this fic but it's fine. I'm usually a bit scared of multichapter fics but it's fine, we power through! Again pls do let me know if I missed anything that should be tagged!
Until next time! (hopefully I don' drop this..)
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It's hard to take people who claim "Wanda wasn't held accountable and mad to face punishment consequences for Westview" seriously when other heroes' bad deeds eclipse Wanda's insofar as reprehensibleness.
Clint especially because the motive for his becoming a mass murderer is "grief", much like Wanda's motive for creating the Hex was. And because Clint's actions are arguably worse than Wanda's because at least no one died in Westview.
So, I guess editors where right back in the 80s. Good thing Jean died at the end of Dark Pheonix, so we never had to dredge through this conversation over and over.
It is so annoying when people say that not only does Wanda never has face a consequence but when characters who never get called out they make excuses. Who cares she "was cog in the machine" Valkyrie still hurt people. Both on Sakaar and being a part of Asgard's imperialism. Blaming the system and not the people who make it is a way worse form of avoiding reasonability. No one ever questions or judges Valkyrie ever and she gets to be King of new Asgard for some reason.
Clint faces no legal consequences for what he did. No one ever thinks less of him for it. He burns the ronin costume and moves on. Just puts the serial killer thing behind him and has Christmas dinner with his family like what he did no longer matter. Reminder that's not something Frank Castle can ever do. He is a criminal and in the comics he is not really liked or trusted by the other heroes. Even if Frank stop being the Punisher he doesn't get to burn the skull shirt and move on.
Losing everything she had yet again and having to be alone walking through the town with everyone hating her is the consequence. There is no excuses for Wanda. She screwed up and the fact it that the victims matter and they don't forgive her. That is so much more than most other characters ever get where their victims might as well be faceless mannequins. The truth is we don't see the consequences of what happened in Westveiw. We never see how public reacts, how the larger government or any of the other heroes react. By the time MoM comes around Wanda goes from some who felt bad when she accidently hurt people to actively endangering people trying to kill a child.
Don't worry no moral quandary of had to handle certain people and situation. The woman with mental health issues is just evil and her killing herself is for the best of everyone. Hope you're happy
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OF COURSE THE VIDEO STARTED BUFFERING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BEAUTIFUL SAKUGA! Ugh!
Anyways, let’s break it down…
So the very first image is of this creepy eye on fire opening and staring into our souls.
This eye reminded me of something, so I went back and checked, and I’m like 87% sure this eye is supposed to be the eye on the portal door that brought Luz to the boiling Isles. tHe one she destroyed with a fire glyph. Hence, why it’s now on fire.
This opening actually has a lot of parallels to the first one that I will continue to talk about.
In a rapid series of shots we see our main characters. We see Luz conjuring several light orbs, we see Eda pop in from a portal swinging her staff, and then King popping out from behind her back. We see Willow controlling a mass of vines, we see Gus manifesting two copies of himself and we see Amity summoning some of that abomination goop.
Some interesting details:
•Luz is wearing the cape Eda made for her in Season 1. She is also summoning a bunch of light orbs very quickly, showing how proficient she has become with her glyphs.
•Eda’s eye is grey and that gemstone thing on her chest is dark because of the curse.
•King is King.
•Willow, Gus & Amity are wearing their regular clothes and not their school uniforms. In Season 1’s opening, they wore their uniforms.
Another very obvious parallel to Season 1’s opening, we have three characters displayed in a similar way to how Willow, Gus & Amity were displayed in that. Right out of the gate, the first thing I notice is that these three are/were close to Emperor Belos.
On the left we have Lilith, looking a lot more evil than she did at the end of Season 1. In the previous season she was introduced as an antagonist who stood on the wrong side, but did so for what could be considered good reasons; she wanted to heal her sister’s curse. Of course, matters were complicated when it turned out that Lilith was the one who cursed Eda in the first place. At the end of Season 1, she abandoned Emperor Belos cause to save her sister and lifted part of Eda’s curse, weakening herself in the process.
Then we have the guy in the middle, whom Emperor Belos dispatched to keep an eye on The Owl House crew. I know nothing of this person. I have not been spoiled at all regarding this person in any way. I don’t even know their name. As such, we’re gonna need one of my Very Funny nicknames. Let’s see… a shiny, almost Golden mask… they’re sent to Guard the Owl House… A-ha, got it! I’ll call you… The Brass Watchman!
Also, The Brass Watchman’s staff looks a lot like Belos’ staff, hinting at a deep connection between the two of them. Perhaps The Brass Watchman is an apprentice of the Emperor?
Finally, to the right, we have Kikimora. She(?) appears to be Belos’ right hand (wait, is that why her hair looks like a hand??) working very close with the enigmatic tyrant. She even has authority over Lilith, who is the head of the Emperor’s Coven.
On the flip side (heh), we get to see another aspect to these characters.
Lilith now looks defeated and remorseful, like she is begging for mercy or forgiveness from her sister. She has a grey streak in her hair from absorbing part of Eda’s curse. She is dressed in old, patched-up clothes, showing just how far she has fallen. Her power, her status, even her magic is now gone.
The Brass Watchman is sneaking a peek out from behind the mask, possibly hinting that this person is more than just another faceless goon of the empire.
Finally, we have Kikimora and uh… are you doing alright Kiki? You seem a bit… upset. She looks absolutely mad here, indicating that beneath the calm and collected surface she displayed in Season 1, there lies a crazy streak to Kiki.
Oh, and I didnät notice until I took this screenshot, but that looks like the heads of the nine big Covens at the top there. In order from left to right we have the Abomination Coven, the Potion Coven, the Illusion Coven, the Construction Coven, the Plant Coven, the Magical Beasts Coven, the Music Coven, the Healing Coven and the Divination Coven.
(oh, oh, I also noticed there are little suns above Lilith, Brass Watchman & Kikimora’s heads. Wasn’t there some sun imagery with Belos in Season 1? On a mural or something?)
Speaking of the man, here he is! The Big Bad Belos! The Titan’s chosen prophet, the Emperor of the Boiling Isles and wrecker of your shit!
In Season 1’s Opening, the images of Willow, Gus & Amity were burned away and replaced with King standing on a pile of stuffed animals. In Season 2, Emperor Belos sweeps in and poses dramatically in front of his castles before a massive lightning bolt blinds us. The point goes to the Emperor.
Next comes an almost exact recreation of the last part of Season 1’s opening, except even more beautiful somehow? I’m not sure how to describe it, but the colors in this new version feel so much warmer, deeper, and more alive to me. It’s gorgeous.
One little thing I appreciate is how the night sky looks in the new version. It’s so beautiful.
Overall, this new opening was fantastic, and absolutely beautifully animated. The song remained unchanged (I think), but the visuals blew me away. So good. Big Kudos to the animation team.
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