#// that was all HEAVILY based off of conversations that have actually occured within my friend group btw hehe //

[departed-premonitions]

help???

*As they keep walking and bickering back and forth about receding hairlines and then eventually the best gummy bear flavors, she.. seems to get distracted by something. Gradually, she comes to a stop, while the other three continue onwards without her. She stares into the woods, squinting her eyes as she tries to see something through the trees and approaching evening dark*

[griimhilde-a]

if you know, you know.

———       a response to those who refuse to move on.

EDIT: after some encouragement and realizing that, while i tried to be respectful and private about this situation, i was not given the same treatment, i’ve decided to be upfront and filterless. here is a link to my page of receipts that i did not provide in this post. 

i would like to point out that when i made the DNI, it was buried and sandwiched in my super long rules purposely so that it wasn’t explicitly visible and drawing attention. it was specifically put there for mutuals to understand my boundaries for the new blog, and as soon as i moved blogs, my guidelines underwent heavy reconstruction and the DNI section was removed overall ( i don’t like DNIs for myself ), as well as on this blog. all statements made in the DNI were what i felt to be true and based off of not only my experiences, but others’ as well, backed up with evidence i have saved that i didn’t feel the need to provide because it wasn’t meant to be a big deal, but i also felt i needed to explain why this person was on a DNI and that it wasn’t done out of malicious intent. again, if something sounds bad it is because “bad” things were done and i can’t control that.

reading the call-out had me ( and others ) confused on where it was i had bullied her, when i had her blocked since november, where it was i had manipulated her, and so forth. i’m always wanting to be a better person, so i was extremely confused on where i had done anything wrong. i also didn’t appreciate my new blog url being attached to it as it had nothing to do with it and i was trying to move forward, and it read very much like an attempt to blacklist. despite everything, i never wanted it to be a spectacle. the pinned, public call-out by this person doesn’t read to me as someone wanting to move on, but wanting to drag things further. this is not a call-out post, this is me defending myself. i will not name drop. if you know who this is about, i ask you just read this to understand the full story. 

this is going to be a long boi ( i really tried to keep it short but alkfjdklfksldf nope ). i would also like to apologize for any dryness here, but i am aiming to just state facts as they are. it feels    ----    ridiculous writing this all out because it’s something that could and should have been handled privately. but, here we go !!

everything on the DNI is true. i will not post or reveal the sources because one, they are not my stories to tell, and two, i am not going to give her the excuse to bother them. they deserve to be safe, and i am walking proof of what happens when you speak out against someone like her. if i have to bear that burden, then so be it. 

it stopped being about “just a url” a long time ago. it became more about how i was treated in that interaction, and how i was continued to be treated afterwards. not to mention the increasing tension within the rpc and having to second-guess whether or not i was truly wanted. it was about how it was affecting those around me, my time in a hobby i love, and my mental health. the amount of times a mutual has tagged me by accident when they meant to tag her is insane. it most definitely did not feel good !!! if that kept happening, it was a problem. i also had to shut off the anon feature because of the amount of anons i was receiving. some had good intentions, but others had resorted to hate. 

regarding the messages on discord --- i stand by them. i thought if you were friends with someone on discord and have previously talked over time, it was okay to message, otherwise what was the point of discord? i didn't realize it would make her uncomfortable to do so, and i’m more careful about how i approach people now !!! 

regarding the messages: there was no change in tone other than that i grew exhausted and extremely anxious ( shaking !!! palms sweaty !!! knees weak !!!! mom’s spaghetti !!! ) and wasn’t in the proper mindset to sound happy while i was being invalidated to my face. i have even apologized there if i came off as mean. i don’t “present myself” in a way. that’s just how i talk, i prefer communicating one-on-one and i try to alleviate tension that arises no matter what because these types of conversations aren’t always a walk in the park. i wanted things to be good and not stressful for all parties involved. i’m sorry my tone came off as insincere. after being in desc rpc for a year, i was a little surprised seeing a near-identical url so i think it was fair for me to message her about it. she made the decision use it, and i was allowed to react. it was said misspellings in urls made her anxious so i wanted to help and i was shot down and vilified, essentially told i made her feel unsafe and shouldn’t have messaged. if it wasn’t okay to claim i felt “unsafe” and “paranoid”, why was it okay for her to claim the same based on a choice she made herself, but not me to feel anxious about those choices? 

i have never told a blog to block her. i have never initiated conversation about her, nor have i spoken negatively about her as a person. ever. i have, in fact, even stated that i didn’t want anyone blocking and that it would be okay to interact. here’s one example after i was approached about her. i cannot control what other people do.

hardblocking her on my end was to avoid seeing her on dash as much as possible. 

i am allowed to softblock / unfollow people who interact with her after months of trying to be okay with it. what kickstarted this process was someone i thought was a close friend had dropped me and suddenly i realized i didn’t need to sacrifice my comfort for the sake of keeping a mutual. if they could do it, so could i. while i adore the descendants rpc, the rpc is not a family, we’re not obligated to interact IC or be mutuals with every single person in the rpc. it’s not causing a rift when we don’t interact on dash. i have even emphasized that i would love to stay in contact via discord and write there if possible !! why am i being vilified for trying to make my blog a safe space for me?

regarding the “vagues”: they were all responses. a mutual wrote the post, i reblogged it, my tags were in response to the post ( said mutual’s url wasn’t even blocked out so ... ). if it felt like a vague, i can’t control that. the meaning behind the url post was circulating on dash, i didn’t see any vaguing in it other than me recounting my process of choosing this url, which was true ( was i not allowed to participate?? ). the shrek meme was in response to a public dash event ( which i originally thought was a joke ) that had received copious amounts of criticism for. it wasn’t a vague and it was explicit on what it was referring to, it was meant to be silly dash commentary, nothing deep. 

this is in my rules but i have explicitly stated that my headcanons about my characters are not a vague if they differ from yours. the talk about hair styles was actually initiated in a conversation with my friends in private. it had absolutely nothing to do with her. if it sounded like a drag, i encourage everyone to look at how i’ve “dragged” many other things including the original outfits for descendants, evie thinking mermaid dresses are ugly, evie not liking wine, and so forth. my portrayal of evie =/= other portrayals of evie. while she may never do so-and-so, it doesn’t make it wrong for another portrayal to do it. ( why was my blog being kept tabs on and compared with, in the first place? that’s not duplicate friendly ).

regarding sex week: i've stated it was an inappropriate event because the descendants rpc had been heavily criticized for smutting and felt it wasn't the best response, nor was it the best way to promote sex positivity. it was insanely uncomfortable to witness, as someone in this rpc. it doesn’t matter if the people or the muses involved were adults, i would still call it inappropriate had it happened in any other rpc. it wasn’t a “block and move on” situation. i’m also allowed to defend myself because i didn’t want to be associated with something she posted. i didn’t want it tied to my url. i would like to clarify that when i said "embarrassing" in the responses under that anon, it was directed at the anon for misreading the url, nobody else. ostracizing occurred when the descendants rpc was being added to DNIs because of sex week / smutting, which was posted by this person ( if you post it, you start it. simple ). i had been blocked simply because i am a descendants blog and that had never happened before. 

i was also notified that people uninvolved with this have been namedropping me on dash in an attempt to have me “written off” ( their words, not mine ) because my rules stated that i was open to exploring evie’s sexuality. below is a screenshot of my rule regarding smut. i deleted the rules page from this blog when i moved so i snatched it from my other canon descendants blog that i reuse on all blogs. the second is my elaboration on sexual content in my new evie rules. the third is what’s on my google doc, a condensed version of my rules. there is a major difference between smutting and posting a public dash event dedicated to sex versus being open to explore sexuality as a topic. they are not the same. also, me not choosing to smut does not dictate my opinion on smut, so do not make assumptions about that either. if you want to move on, why are you still talking about me on dash, especially when unprompted? if you just want to move on, why are you upset that i’m not “written off”?

this person has vagued me multiple times ( which they conveniently did not show in the call-out ), this person has been shown to talk badly of me in private ( and now, publicly as well )    ----    all of which i have not done. i have screenshots sent by others to show for it, but do not feel it’s relevant to share because this is not about her. this is just about defending myself. 

i have spent three months apologizing for feeling things, apologizing for reacting, apologizing for things i should not have been apologizing for. i have spent so long accepting blame because i felt it would help. i’m done doing that. i know what i did and what i didn’t do. people know what i did and didn’t do.

all in all, i am confused on why a call-out was made when the content provides nothing other than catty remarks meant to air out personal drama. the messages exchanged only show how i tried to remedy things. the screenshots of my “vagues” were just responses, and most of which had nothing to do with this person. my initial silly dash commentary and later discomfort over a sexual dash event posted by this person is not a vague. 

if you ( referring to maker of the call-out and others who partook ) are upset about people not talking about me in regards to the “rest of the call-out”, maybe consider the fact that there was nothing about me in it that warranted a call-out in the first place. people saw that i did nothing wrong. the only thing of substance in the call-out was something the maker themselves did : the public, sexual dash event. people are allowed to identify that as a more prominent issue as opposed to how my messages or public posts could be perceived through basic, biased narrative manipulation.

me deciding to unfollow / softblock blogs that interact with this person =/= involving the descendants rpc or making it public. i am allowed to softblock whoever i want to cultivate my dash experience. most people i know have it in their rules that they are okay with people softblocking for their comfort and that it won’t be taken personally. you know what IS making it public and involving the entire descendants rpc? this person messaging a descendants server and name dropping me in the server, reducing the situation to just being about a “url” and publicly announcing it in the server. here are the facts to consider: her message was sent jan. 21. my DNI went up feb 2. 

so, regarding the call-out: there was no bullying, no manipulation, no harassment, no gaslighting, nothing from my end, and the call-out shows precisely that the claims are just that: claims. whatever was felt is valid, but feelings =/= gravity of the actual action itself - the most common thing pointed out in therapy: feelings are valid, but are they justified? call-outs should be reserved for people who cause actual harm, not because someone wants an excuse to blacklist. if i am a “bully” for unfollowing blogs for my own comfort, then i think the rpc really needs to reevaluate what these terms mean because the misuse is harmful. 

here are the things i did do: treated everyone i talked to with respect. approached things civilly. communicated. tried to accommodate for others. attempted to make a safe space for myself. did not involve the entire rpc by announcing it in a server. did not make a call-out post nor pin it. did not continue to name drop afterwards despite claiming to want to move on.

this entire situation is absurd and should have never been public, much less made a call-out for !! while this was meant to defend myself and state facts, i understand it may not change minds. a friend has told me that people will hate me because they want to hate me, no matter what. and i can’t do anything about that !! all i have to say is that holding hate in your heart never ends well. i hope everyone can find peace at some point.

so please, let me move on. let me write with my friends. let me unfollow / softblock people to keep my dash comfortable. let me take a break from descendants while also having the choice to return at anytime. please stop talking about me when i’m not even giving this another thought and haven’t since i moved blogs. please stop name dropping. stop keeping tabs on me, stop stalking my new blog. please leave me alone. i hold absolutely nothing against anyone i may have softblocked / unfollowed or am not currently interacting with on my new blog. my IMS / discord is always available, you will not be violating my safety by messaging me, everyone is welcome, but i also understand if you feel the need to separate yourself !!! as for those of you who have interacted with the call-out post, i wish you the best but i hope you understand why i do not want to interact with you by any means in the future. 

i’m hoping this post lays everything to rest, seeing as my first one did not. honestly, what are you trying to prove if you still have to post about this? it helps nobody. this back-and-forth is exhausting and unneeded. no more. let’s be better people, yeah?

i hope everyone takes care of themselves, i hope you all have a great day / night !!! thank you for reading this long boi !!

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober Thirty-One

On Halloween night, at a costume party on the edge of town, you find a Lost Boy to keep you company.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, vampire Mirio, drinking, mentions of smoking, blood, vampirism, deception, a little bit of mindfuckery and manipulation.

Notes: This is it, folks! Day thirty-one of Kinktober is here and with it, a very special little Halloween fic. Today’s prompt was “Dressed Up,” which I sort of did but also sorta didn’t.

This one is a little bit longer than my usual Kinktober fare, (~3.4k) but hopefully it’ll be worth the ride. It’s also, in the spirit of Halloween, a little on the darker side, so please do heed the warnings and don’t be afraid to skip this one if spooky stuff isn’t your thing.

This hmmmm didn’t show up in the tags when I posted it this aft (even though I couldn’ve sworn it did :C) soooo reuploading! gotta love tumblr

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s a bright, cold, clear Halloween night, and the parties are in full swing.

You’re at the only decent bar in town. Just like every other joint within a hundred-mile radius, tonight they’re throwing a costume party. Originally, you showed up with a friend, but she’s long gone now- drifted off with some punk sporting a chintzy werewolf costume. Ears covered in plastic fur, limp tail dangling from the back of his coat.

Whatever. At least she managed to find something fun to do.

You’re dressed like an angel, in a delicate white slip with feathered wings spreading from your back. In lieu of a real halo you’re wearing a dainty silver circlet. You’re sipping punch- pumpkin punch, says the chalkboard signs pinned up all over the bar- but to you, it tastes like vodka and orange-dyed sugar.

At least you can confirm it’s alcoholic.

You don’t recognize the song that’s thrumming through the rented, oversized party speakers, but it’s sort of catchy. You’re tapping your foot to the beat- or maybe you’re just jonesing- when there’s a lull in the surge of the crowd and you see him.

He’s a complete stranger to you- a rare commodity, in your isolated little town. He seems to tower above the other patrons, standing a head taller than most of the men on the dance floor. It’s humid and sticky inside the crowded party, but he’s wearing a leather jacket with the collar popped. His hair is a shock of mussed gold, and you almost miss the glint of a dangly earring in his right lobe.

He’s got something red smeared across one corner of his mouth. Fake blood, maybe? You’d like to find out.

His eyes are dark and deep. You know they are, because he’s staring intently at you, right across the party. Like he’s spotted you through the skulls of the crowd that separates you. Your gaze is drawn by his steady eyes. It feels like he’s not even blinking when you share a look.

You glance away. But he’s still looking- you can feel the pull of his gaze like a magnet. You lift your syrupy punch to your lips as you drag your eyes to the opposite side of the room.

No dice. When you look across at him again, he’s still there. Still looking.

The crowd passes between you. And when you find that empty spot on the bar, heavy disappointment settles into your gut. That’s what you get for wanting a little excitement.

“Hey.”

The low, unfamiliar rumble of a voice directly behind you shocks the base of your spine. You whip around with the weight of your wings bobbing against their elastic shoulder straps.

He’s even taller than you realized up close. His eyes still have that dark edge to them, but he’s grinning now. That’s not an expression you might have imagined him capable of, given the solemn way he’d stared across the bar at you.

His teeth are immaculate. He seems entirely flawless. You’re pretty sure you could cut your fingers on the sharp corners of his jaw.

“Vampire,” you quip, homing in on the smudge beneath his lip. “Very original.”

It’s definitely supposed to be fake blood. The leather jacket and dangly earring might not be a dead giveaway to anybody else, but it’s working for you.

He slips one hand into the pocket of his jeans, shooting you a low chuckle and a quiet little smirk. He reaches for you- you flinch, wings giving a telltale twitch as your shoulders bob. He catches the edge of one synthetic feather between his fingers and gives it a little rub.

“Almost as original as you, angel,” he teases. You can’t bring yourself to roll your eyes.

There’s something about him that makes everything feel more sincere than usual. He’s got an easygoing, sunny disposition, but he’s intoxicating to look at. The closer you stand, the headier you feel.

You put your cup down on the bar behind you, having had more than your fair share of vodka-with-orange-Jello-crystals Halloween punch.

“So, angel,” the vampire sighs. Both hands are in his pockets now, forcing you to come to terms with the broadness of his chest. He’s built like a brick wall, but it’s all firm muscle underneath his tight t-shirt.

Your chest goes tight as he digs one palm out of his pocket, extending it to you.

“How ‘bout a dance?”

You can’t turn him down. You can’t say anything, since your voice has died somewhere in the cavity of your chest. All you can do is give a muted little nod and slide your fingers into his.

His palm is devastatingly smooth and brisk to the touch. It’s impossible to picture anything cool at all, stuck under the relentless lights of the bar and crowded among so many sweaty, polyester-clad partygoers.

When he pulls you onto the floor, his body trickles over yours like water.

He holds you so delicately, and yet pulls you so close. Lifts your hands between his palms-massive- and draws you in by the waist.

You’d dare to say he’s graceful, dancing to the uneven beat of The Time Warp and Thriller and a half-dozen other songs that are only catchy through the month of October. His leather jacket is supple and soft beneath your touch, and you’re happy to finger the sleeves, grip the lapels as you sway and swirl.

He doesn’t pull his eyes from you once. Again, you’re overcome by that strange sensation. Like he hasn’t blinked the whole time. You can’t quite bring yourself to be freaked out by it.

“So,” you gasp, breathless and sweating by the time the music dulls enough to warrant conversation. “It’s not every day you meet a guy who can dance like that. You gonna tell me where you picked up your tricks?”

He laughs. It’s a rich, full sound, but musical. Enchanting. You’re spellbound by everything about him.

He seems entirely too good to be true. You’re just waiting to find out how.

“Practice,” he gushes, slipping a hand under your chin. You’re smiling. You’re woozy. He’s drawing you in.

He kisses you, so soft and unassuming you’re surprised he didn’t ask your permission first. His lips are as cool as his hands are, fresh and soft like a smooth mountain lake.

You dive in.

You kiss him back as best you can, twining your arms around his neck and letting him drag you close. The longer he kisses you, the hazier you feel, but there’s a taste of something on his tongue that you can’t quite figure out, and you’re determined to find out what it is.

Your vampire tangles his fingers in your hair and wrenches your mouth to his. He kisses you harder, bruisingly so, sucking and biting at your lower lip and pulling away, garishly wiping the back of his palm across his mouth.

“Come home with me,” he croons. He could have asked anything of you. Your response would have been the same.

You turn a vacant, woozy stare to him with the sound of his voice swimming in your ears. Your eyelashes bat heavily. You smile.

“Okay.”

He takes you to find your jacket, thrown over a stool somewhere. You shrug out of your wings and tuck them tightly against your chest. When you do, he eyes you with a sideways little grin.

“Damn,” he teases. “I thought those were real.”

You duck out of the place with his arm slung around your shoulders like he knows you.

The cold outside does nothing to sober you, but full moon is so bright, the cars in the parking lot cast stark shadows across the gravel. So bright, the light of the stars is drowned by it.

He leads you to a shiny Harley, parked in the last spot next to the grass.

“Whoa.”

Your vampire turns, eyebrow cocked. You realize you said that out loud. You also realize that you’ve never actually been on a motorcycle before.

“That… that’s yours?” You ask dumbly. He smirks, and your stomach goes icy.

“Hop on.”

He produces a glossy black helmet from somewhere along the bike’s gunmetal chassis and passes it to you. You slip it down over your head. The thick padding pushes your circlet painfully against your forehead. You’re sure it won’t be a long ride, though.

He stoops, reaching for your throat. For an instant you flinch, but as his fingertips brush the underside of your chin, you realize what he’s doing. You flush with heat.

He buckles the strap securely beneath your chin, making sure it’s tightened properly. His flaxen lashes give a little flutter as he finds your eyes, and he gives the side of the helmet an affectionate little tap.

You swing one leg over the rear of the bike seat as he climbs on in front of you. The leather presses cold and firm between your bare thighs. You slide a hand self-consciously over your back, making sure your dress gets tucked underneath your pelvis.

All good.

“Hold on tight,” he prompts, kicking the bike off its stand and starting the engine with a noisy rumble. You fall forward against his solid back- stronger than you anticipated- and wrap your arms firmly around his waist.

Your heart beats low and warm against his back, so solid you’re sure he can hear it. He peels out of the parking lot and onto the empty highway, and you close your eyes, warm and dark in the safety of your massive helmet.

There’s something immensely thrilling about the way the wind whips past your legs and through your clothing. It occurs to you just how stupid you are, climbing onto the back of a motorcycle with a man whose name you don’t even know.

Holy shit. You don’t even know his name.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the Day ‘n Night Motel on the edge of the highway, you don’t think to ask.

“This doesn’t look like home,” you brush. You fumble to get the strap of your helmet undone and tug it straight off your head. Your halo comes with it, bouncing across the pavement and rolling to a stop at his feet.

“It’s home for now,” he replies as he stoops. He picks the silver circlet up in both hands and presents it to you like a crown. You take it, self-conscious but not quite unsettled. There’s something about him that doesn’t seem to let you get that far.

He takes you up to the second floor and unlocks a door somewhere along the middle, shouldering it inwards. You feel a strange sort of comfort as you step over the threshold. You glance behind you, like the rest of the world might have been swallowed up as soon as you followed him.

But it’s still there. It even stays when you nudge the door closed behind you.

The curtains are drawn tightly shut, but he leaves you to throw them open now, letting silvery moonlight spill through the dirty glass like mercury.

“Let me have you,” he rasps as he comes back to you. He’s shrugging out of his jacket- his arms are way bigger than you anticipated- and he’s pulling you tightly to him. “Let me have you, let me taste you, let me wreck you, angel.”

“Okay,” you gasp. The only word you seem to manage with him around.

He kisses you just like he did at the bar, tight and urgent and needy and bruising. He walks you toward the bed, laying you down in a stark, gentle contrast to the rough way he’s kissing you.

Your coat’s fallen open and he helps you out of it, letting the fabric spread beneath you like a cloak. He doesn’t waste time at all- kissing his way down the curve of your jaw and pushing his palms under the hem of your dress.

Your skin is chilled from the wind, but it warms quickly beneath his cold fingers. You part your legs and he snags the top of your panties, tugging them harshly down your thighs. He discards them quickly and comes back to you, burying his face into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh!”

His tongue is surprisingly cool as he swipes it along your slit, but he’s gentle and attentive with his mouth, and you tangle your fingers eagerly into his mussed hair. Your pinky brushes over the edge of his pointy little earring as it bobs against his neck, and you let your head fall back against the mattress so you can lose yourself in the pleasure he offers you.

He braces icy palms against your thighs- sending goosebumps racing up your legs- and keeps his head buried beneath your skirt as he eats you out furiously. His tongue swirls coolly around the nub of your clit, then flicks it deftly.

“Stop,” you gasp, toes curling tightly in the blankets. “Please, I-I’ll…” You trail off. You can’t hold out any longer. But he heeds your warning and draws back from your body, licking his lips garishly.

There’s a carnal glint in his navy gaze that sets your nerves alight as he crawls atop your body. At some point, he’s shed his clothes- you didn’t even see him strip- but he’s wearing only a pair of tight black undershorts, and his cock stands prominently against the front of them, hard and heavy across one thigh.

“Angel,” he rasps, bending over your torso. He nuzzles the crook of your neck, nosing at your pulse point as he nibbles your flesh. For the first time he seems to lose himself, blowing a deep huff over your chest and shivering hard as his hips rock forward into yours.

“Let me feel you. Let me fuck you.” He growls. Unbridled and feral.

You tug furiously at the hem of your dress.

“Take it off,” you insist. He wedges his palms beneath the flimsy fabric, tearing a new slit up the side of the skirt in his haste to get it off you. But you’re not paying attention. You’re consumed by him. Drowned by him. In this moment, he is all you’ve ever needed.

He strips out of his shorts and comes back to you bare, palming the base of his thick shaft. He settles between your thighs and draws a thumb up your slit. Your body sings. You gasp.

A dull chill settles over your body as he lines himself up.

He slides home in one easy stroke, composed all over again as you fall to pieces beneath him. As he starts to fuck you- smooth, steady, easy- he gives you nothing more than soft huffs of effort. He’s thick and stretches you well, but his body seems to flow in and out of yours like a river. His touch spreads cool relief through your gut.

“There you go, angel,” he rumbles into your ear. He braces a hand on your belly, rutting into you and letting the gentle slap of your flesh punctuate every thrust.

Beneath him, you’re a mess. The pleasure is more than you’re prepared to handle. With every push of his hips, you feel yourself falling deeper and harder. You don’t even know his name, but with him stroking your side so tenderly, it feels like you could love him.

Somewhere along the way, his rhythm shifts. He becomes wild and brutal and relentless, fucking you deep and hard. You relish in the way the bed creaks beneath you. You cling tightly to him, mewling and howling your overstimulated pleasure into the night. Your nails rake hard over his back as you hit your peak with sobs of tight ecstasy.

Your pussy clamps down hard around his cock and he fucks you through it, pushing you further and further until you come apart, a trembling mess in his arms.

With a feral roar he draws himself back from you suddenly, spilling sticky spurts of cum across your belly and over your chest.

Your eyelashes flutter open. He’s staring down at you, cupping your cheek with that same intense look from the bar. You blink, letting your brain swim back to life.

“Your fangs,” you gasp, noticing the sharp glints as they protrude from the underside of his lip. You chuckle. “You never took them off?”

You reach up, thumbing the edge of his jaw. They align seamlessly with the rest of his teeth. The fact that they didn’t pop out on their own is impressive, if a bit strange.

“They’re good,” you confess. “They look real.”

He purses his lips tightly shut and folds his body over yours. He finds the curve of your jaw and nuzzles it. Finds the bare thrum of your pulse point and tongues it. He grins. You feel the sharp point of them against your skin- strong, surprisingly so.

He snarls.

“They are.”

You’re blinded by pain before another thought can cross you. He sinks his fangs into the flesh of your neck and you scream, clinging and clawing at his back. But he’s strong, inhumanly so, and his grip is iron as he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. He’s patient, holding you fast.

There’s an ecstatic, heady sort of bliss bleeding about the edges of your suffering. You thrash and struggle, but eventually, you succumb to it. It’s sweet and distant and so, so, serene, and as he pulls his fangs from your neck and licks tenderly at the wound, it lingers.

“That’s it, angel,” he sooths. “That’s it. C’mere.”

He slides a hand under your back and lays you properly against the pillows. He smooths his palm over your forehead, tugging the sheets over your bare body. His face is doubled in your vision, but his lips and chin are stained garishly red. His fangs are even longer than before, but his dark gaze is peaceful.

“Sleep for me, angel,” he croons. He smooths your hair, and you’re too far gone not to listen.

When you come to, the room is empty. There’s a motel-issued glass sitting on the nightstand, filled with a thick liquid like raspberry compote.

It’s still dark out. The pain in your neck and shoulder is immense. You bolt upright, remembering all at once where you are. What you’ve seen.

It can’t have been. Your fingertips scrabble over your neck. The wounds are already starting to scar.

So it was.

You climb cautiously out of bed, grabbing your dress and hugging it tightly to his chest. The bathroom door is open and the lights are out, but you poke your head in anyway. He’s not there.

You tug the dress violently over your head. The fabric is split almost to your hip, but your jacket’ll cover it. With your shoes clutched tightly in your hand, you make for the door while you still can.

The filled glass stares from over your shoulder, halting your hand on the knob. You turn slowly toward it. Your limbs go cold.

You know what it is.

That doesn’t stop you from craving it.

You can smell it from here, sweet, rich, irresistible. You lick your dry lips and press your back hard against the door.

It’s not too late. You can leave. Right now. You can make it home, you can call somebody, you can get out.

You’re not going to.

In two strong steps, you cross the room. You grab the glass so quickly and so firmly that it cracks in your hand, but it does not shatter.

The blood of your vampire is just as sweet as you’d hoped. You take long, desperate gulps, draining the glass in an instant and swiping your palm across your stained mouth.

The door to the room sweeps open behind you. With the empty glass in your hand you whip around to face it, paralyzed and half-caught in desperate bliss.

“Angel,” he purrs. He smooths a hand over his hair and kicks the door shut with a hollow thud. He grins wickedly at you, setting ice and cool, firm desire into the deepest reaches of your heart.

“I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

[writingwithcolor]

Including diversity where there may be little

Including diversity where there may be little: Black Radium Girls as example

post-scriptvm asked: [ask clipped for length]

I have an interest in the ‘Radium Girls’, groups of women who worked at studios in America from the late 1910s onwards painting radium onto clock faces, and later took their companies to court for the horrible impacts the radium had on their body. 

I want to make a musical, just for fun. I’ve decided to use a fictionalized version of events, with composite characters based on multiple different women, rather than one of the real-life groups and the actual women from them. It will be mostly set in New Jersey, in the roaring 20s. 

Neither of the two real-life groups I know of had any Black women in them, and I can’t see any Black women in any of the big group photos of the dial factories’ employees. But I know there’s a lot of Black history and culture in that time and place bc of the great migration and stuff, so I feel like if I’m not going to use the real life ladies, I should probably take the opportunity to also make some of them Black, bc making a whole cast of white ladies in the name of potentially wrong ‘historical accuracy’ seems like a bad thing.

My question is, should I? [ask clipped for length]

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were African American radium girls. Speculating People of Color/Women of Color’s involvement is far more realistic than portraying everyone as white. Go for it! 

Perhaps look into what other races were predominantly in the New Jersey area for inspiration, too.

Hidden History

This section features just a few examples of PoC in lesser known historical settings.

The histories of People of Color are highly and actively erased. Women of Color especially get their stories left to footnotes in the textbooks. You hear about certain amazing women again and again, but there’s so many others that don’t get their time of day.

Hidden Figures (book and movie) is a prime example of that erasure and lesser known history. To summarize: It’s “the powerful story of four African-American female mathematicians at NASA who helped achieve some of the greatest moments in our space program.”

Here’s another example:

Photo of female firefights on Pearl Harbor, 1941. Identities unknown

It would be nice to know more about these women, and i’ve seen inquiries from people requesting info from anyone who may know. This struggle to find details is a prime example of that erasure in itself.

Enemies in Love: A German POW, a Black Nurse, and an Unlikely Romance by Alexis Clark

The book pictured above is the true story of a Black nurse and German Prisoner of War who fall in love during World War II. They face many hardships (disowning from his family, racism, and shunning from towns) but stay together for their whole lives, marry, and have children (One of their sons highly informed the writing of the book!)

This book discusses the discrimination the Black soldiers and nurses faced. They struggled to even be allowed to serve their country, and were treated worse than POWs.

Video: The Unlikely Romance of a Black Nurse & German P.O.W. in WW II 

Research

Research “[RACE] + Firsts” and find many more examples of little unknown bits of history where they’ve been involved. 

First doesn’t mean it came without limitations, discrimination or hardships. But they happened, and many sooner than you’d think.

Explore beyond what you know about whitewashed history and learn the true stories of People of Color.

Making it “realistic”

People will question how “realistic” it is to feature a Black women in this position for the time period, unfortunately. It doesn’t hurt to provide an explanation until we get to a place where diversity isn’t interrogated when it shows up.

Giving her backstory. 

You can briefly explain the journey to the job, such as shortages due to a war. Take a look at those real world firsts for inspiration. 

Especially take a look at the specific region of the story. What firsts were there? Any government power influences? How did PoC break barriers to make the strides they did?

Use the web, but also go beyond. Seek books, historians, artwork. Search those “footnotes” for that one sentence mention. (That’s actually how the writer of Enemies in Love found their story. Just a quick sentence and a search for the story began. It helped that she was a journalist!)

Relationships with Peers: 

“I will cut off this right arm of mine before I will ever work or demand the ballot for the Negro and not the woman.” - Susan B. Anthony

White women weren’t, historically, welcoming to Black women. For example, white sufferists insisted Black women march in the back of the protests for, allegedly, both their rights.  You’ll need to decide how your Black woman is treated in this situation. 

You might face the following from peers, superiors, or others:

Hesitation to work or interact with her

Curiosity and intrigue (The “Other”

Unsure of how to approach or be friends with her  

Microaggressions

Blatant racism 

Your musical doesn’t seem like it is meant to focus too heavily on the hardships. It begs a mention, but just how much is up to you.

Call the Midwife, period racism example

Call the Midwife (BBC) is set in East End London, Late 1950s, early 1960s. The show features a Black midwife named Lucille Anderson. There’s a shortage on nurses so Caribbean nurses were being called in to support the growing population. 

Call the Midwife is from a midwife, Jennifer Worth’s, memoir, so it’s based on history.

Check out this short clip: Nurse Lucille Anderson - Call the Midwife 

Lucille on Call the Midwife (Take notes!)

The show handles racism and microaggressions very well. It’s not overdone.

Lucille is accepted by her peers and is especially close to one of the girls.

There’s an episode where she actively faces blame and discrimination during a case. It’s a major story line of the episode. 

She does face occasional micro-aggressions where she is othered, but it is not every single time she is on screen and not every episode. 

Her peers talk to her about her experiences and in the case where she had an aggressive family member to deal with, they tried to protect her by reassigning her from the family. Lucille asks to handle it her way and they respect her decision.

Lucille can mostly perform her job and have peace, and is treated kindly by patients.

She has a personality, a romantic life, family & friendships.

It’s about 90% allowing her to exist, 10% navigating racism/microaggressions. That’s a comfortable, realist balance for such a story and setting. 

If you want to check out how they handled these issues for yourself, the show is on Netflix as of this post (2020). She’s introduced in Season 7. (I highly recommend watching this show from the beginning. I cry like every episode, and the diversity of several ethnic backgrounds picks up a lot mid season!)

I’ll kick you three scenarios for your Black radium girl:

Peer Acceptance, Initial Hesitation 

awkward friendliness & initial hesitation, perhaps more fear of the unknown vs. hostility

Upon having interactions and talking to her, they become comfortable and accept her. It could take just one simple conversation. Perhaps they’re more used to listening to Black music or have Black staff who work for them, but haven’t had an equal one-on-one experience with WoC without a power dynamic or service involved. Now, with a Black fellow radium girl thrown in a similar situation as them, they could develop kinship.

This might not describe every one of the woman at all. Others might be just fine with her with no awkwardness.

Types of racism experienced: 

some micro-aggressions (likely ignorance from peers)

no major racism experienced

Most Peer Acceptance, Racism From Some Peers

Most peers have no problem with her, even if they have their initial awkwardness. 1-2 more aggressive racists who don’t want her there. 

Sometimes everyone else gets along, but there’s that 1 bully and their minion, and they feed off each other. If the BS isn’t tolerated by the other girls, it could shut them up to make peace or at least behave themselves. It’s likely someone like this would remain hatefully stubborn, but would grimace from the corner if outnumbered.

In the case you create a situation where someone is hostile to the Black girl but learns better: real apologies and efforts should be made if this occurs. It also doesn’t excuse their past behavior. Read our posts on redemption arcs for more info. We’re not fans, personally.

In an intense racial situation, it would be nice if the girls (with sense) protected and defended her instead of standing idly by. They’re strong enough to rise up against the agencies who poisoned them, so they can fight for their fellow radium sisters if one’s being targeted. 

Types of racism experienced: 

several micro-aggressions

maybe 1 major incident 

Peer Acceptance, Racism from Other People

Radium girl acceptance within, but experiences racism from others she interacts with on/off the job. 

The Call the Midwife example fits this one. Lucille’s peers are comfortable with her. It’s some of the ladies she care for and/or their families that may have negative things to say or show hesitance. 

I’ll repeat what I said above: it’d be nice if the girls protected and defended her and didn’t stand by idly. Solidarity is important for establishing kinship and trust when it comes to white - woc friendships. 

Types of racism experienced: 

could vary from some to several micro-aggressions 

maybe 1 major incident

Balancing race issues in the musical 

Give the intersections of your Black girl’s situation proper attention. You can achieve this without overdoing it or making her whole arc about facing racism.

Perhaps the Black radium girl(s) has a song to express major woes, like segregation and poor treatment, or experiencing dismay over even less of a fighting chance in this fight for their rights.

If anyone does know anything but radium girls of color, please share! 

–Mod Colette

[summahsunlight]

We Belong to the Stars, CH.16

Rating: Mature (18+ only) 

Word Count: 2702

Pairings: Poe/Evelyn (OC)

Characters: Poe Dameron, Leia Organa, BB-8, Kaleb Skywalker (OC), Evelyn Skywalker (OC), Karé Kun, Iolo Arana, Snap Wexley, Jessika Pava

Master List / Read on AO3

"Commander Dameron? Are you awake, sir?" 

Poe blinked open his eyes, sunlight rushing at him and immediately he slammed them shut.  He fumbled about the bunk, trying to recall where he had tossed his jacket the previous night. Evelyn draped over his body was making it difficult.  Finally, Poe managed to snag the jacket and find his com link in the pocket. "Yeah," he replied, groggily. "I'm awake. What's going on?"

Evelyn stirred as his com crackled, "Agent Dane is requesting you join him for a briefing," the officer replied, sounding anxious.  "It seems that another part of Agent Lothor's transmission has been located." 

Great. Poe thought as he told the officer he was on his way.  Slipping out from underneath Evelyn, Poe stumbled towards the fresher.  There was no way he was showing up at this briefing without showering; he had same clean clothes in the bag he'd brought to Nar Shadda.  He peeled off his dirty clothes, started the shower up, and then stepped underneath the warm spray of water, feeling it gently massaging away the aches and pains in his muscles.  As much as he would have loved to stay in the shower a bit longer, Poe knew that if he kept Dane waiting, it was only going to make the spy even more ornery. 

Washing his body and hair with whatever soap he could find in Evelyn's shower, Poe finished up quickly.  Now dressed in a fresh pair of black pants, white shirt, and his jacket, Poe stepped back into Evelyn's room.  She was still sleeping, still sprawled out on her stomach on the bed. An overwhelming feeling of affection washed over him as his eyes settled on her pretty face. 

CB-2 greeted him, alerting him that she had woken from her charging cycle.  Poe turned his attention to the shy little droid, patting her dome softly before he instructed that CB-2 let Evelyn sleep.  Fixing his jacket collar, Poe exited her room, peeking around corners to make sure that no one was around to see him.  

"Sorry, Commander," Connix said as he strode into central command. "I know General Organa didn't want you disturbed... but this couldn't wait."

"It's fine," Poe said with a wave of his hand. "Where's Dane?"

"Situation room with Major Ematt."

"Great. I wonder where Dane is sending me next to get shot at for him."

Connix smiled at him as he moved towards the situation room. Poe rapped on the door and immediately it slid open.  Stepping inside, he waited for the door to shut before he spoke. "You wanted to see me?"

Dane had been leaning on the table when Poe entered. Pulling himself up to his full height, his green eyes narrowed in on the pilot. "We traced another transmission; it's on the abandoned Imperial Base on Scarif."

Poe crossed his arms over his chest. He vividly remembered his father talking about that planet; it had some significance to the Rebellion.  Right now, he couldn't recall what that significance was, and he doubted that was going to help him retrieve that transmission. "An abandoned base? Shouldn't be that hard to retrieve it then."

"I would think you wouldn't be fooled so easily, Commander. Those abandoned Imperial bases are littered with booby traps." 

"Okay, well, since you obviously don't think I have the knowledge to handle booby traps, why don't you go to Scraif?"

"Because my assignment, Commander, is to trace the transmissions. It's your job to retrieve them." 

Major Ematt cleared his throat. "The base on Scarif, Poe is inaccessible.   It is too heavily damaged for you and your team to safely enter, there are several communication towers and posts that were not as damaged that we think your squadron can safely approach.  You should be able to retrieve the transmissions from one of those master switches. The planet was used as a test shot for the Death Star, not its full power, but enough to show the Alliance that they had the fire power to destroy us all and it has been used for anything since."

Poe glanced at the older man, a memory of his mother flooding to the forefront of his mind--a lot of good people lost their lives to get us those plans, Poe. Remember, victory doesn't come without great sacrifice.  He wished he could remember the story she had been telling him.  Setting his jaw, Poe nodded. "I understand, Major. When do you want Black Squadron to leave?"

Dane was the one who answered. "As soon as General Organa approves the operation."

"I guess I'll go brief my squadron," Poe said, looking towards Ematt to see if he was free to go. Ematt silently nodded, and Poe exited the situation room. 

Halfway to the hanger, Poe felt a hand grab his shoulder and he was suddenly slammed against the wall.  Dane was looming in front of him, glaring. "You know, you might not have to like me, but you damn well better start respecting me, Dameron," the spy growled. "You waltz into that room twenty minutes after I called you, smelling like a woman--Major Ematt and I are not stupid, we know where you were."

Poe shoved his hand away. He knew this had nothing to do with the briefing that had just occurred, it had everything to do with the fact that Poe smelled like Evelyn since he'd used her soap in the shower.  "You know what I think is really happening here, you can't stand it that she wants to be with me and not you.  This has nothing to do with rank or respect; it has everything to do with the fact that Evelyn is with me and not you. Oh, and by the way-- the last time I checked, you technically don't outrank me."

Dane's jaw twitched and rage pooled in his eyes. The look made Poe's blood run cold. This was a man who cared very little for the well being of others. "Oh, I'm not worried about her being with you; she'll be mine again, eventually," the spy said, tightly. "Evelyn will realize her mistake soon enough."

"Are you threatening her?" Poe countered. He clenched his fists, if this man so much as laid a finger on Evelyn...

"Do you feel threatened, Dameron?" Dane shot back, a wicked smile on his face. 

"You don't scare me, Dane. But I'm gonna warn ya, don't touch her."

"Or you'll..."

Poe contemplated his answer. Kick your ass, make sure you never set foot on D'Qar again, he thought, angrily, break your neck.  Breathing through his nose, Poe made sure to take a step back before he did something he might later regret. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Snap and Kaleb, and stepped back even further.  Clearly, Dane was looking for a fight. Not saying a word, just throwing a hard look at Dane as he joined his friends, Poe mumbled to Snap, "come on, we have another mission."

Snap glared directly at Dane before following behind Poe, Kaleb bringing up the rear. "Where we heading this time, Commander? And are you okay? You looked like you about to strangle him... not that I would blame you."

Kaleb saw the tension in Poe's shoulders as he refused to answer Snap.  He felt the rage simmering off of his friend, and cautiously reached out to the Force, knowing that Poe hated it when his friends probed him like this.  "Dane threatened Evie, didn't he?"

"What?" Snap gasped.  He grabbed Poe's arm and stopped him.  "Is that true, Poe?"

"Yeah... it was thinly veiled, but it was still a threat," Poe ground out.

"He's just egging you on, Poe, to see if he can start a fight," Kaleb said with a shake of his head. "I don't think he'd actually hurt her."

"And what if he isn't just egging me on? I don't trust him."

"What's he going to gain from hurting her?"

Poe clenched his fists, pressing them against the sides of his legs. "Once General Organa approves it, we're heading to Scarif--find Jess, find Evie, and let them know," he ordered Snap, signaling that he was done with the previous conversation.

Snap glanced tentatively at Kaleb and then pushed his way past Poe to go find the rest of their squadron. "Very well, Commander. I'll tell them to stand by and prepare for our next mission. Hope this one goes more smoothly than the last two." 

Scarif, Abandoned Imperial Base

General Organa gave the green light to the mission within an hour of Dane requesting it.

Due to the nature of the mission, and the possibility that they were going to have to disarm ammunition, the General had assigned Paige Tico to the crew. Poe knew little about her, but Evelyn was friends with her, and trusted her--that was good enough for him. Paige admitted to him before they left D'Qar that she wasn't much of a combat pilot, but Poe was worried about running into any First Order patrols. The four x-wings and one a-wing entered the orbit of Scariff two hours after entering hyperspace.  "Welcome to the tropical paradise of Scarif," he said over the open channel to his squadron.  "Form up around me and follow me down."

Black Squadron fell into formation.  As they descended into the atmosphere the devastating destruction from the Death Star's blast came into view.  Poe felt his chest tightening, thinking about the Empire firing on their own people. The base lay in crumpled ruins, decaying hulls of ships lined the otherwise pristine beaches.  There had been a battle here, during the Galactic Civil War; Kes had often talked about the friends he'd lost, ground troops that had joined what could only be described as a suicide mission. 

Now, as the fighters flew along the ocean, salt spraying up behind them, it was as if they had traveled to a different place in time.  Poe noticed that the comms were silent, something that he wasn't used to from his team--they were always bantering--even they felt the heaviness of this place. Or it was the gravity of their mission--there were dozens of defunct communications towers and master switches that they were going to have to check and they were not going to be easy to get too. 

Looks like we'll be camping out for a few days, Poe thought as he directed his squadron to land on a flat, long stretch of beach. When Poe disembarked his fighter, BB-8 was complaining about the sand and the salt in the air; it wasn't the best environment for droids.  "I'll make sure you get a good gear scrub when we return to base," he promised the little droid.

"Stars, I thought D'Qar was humid," Jess said, beginning to peel off the top half of her flight fatigues.

"We can set up camp here," Poe instructed, doing the same as Jess and removing the top half of his fatigues.

"Camp?" Snap countered. "We're camping here?"

"You saw how many towers we're going to have to check on the way in," Paige said. "It's going to take us days."

"We have plenty of rations for five days," Evelyn pointed out, removing the camping equipment from her fighter. 

"Great. Rations," Snap said with a roll of his eyes.

"Come on, Snap," Poe teased, grinning, "it will be fun!"

Snap glared at him as the pilots began to set up their camp. After an hour of putting tents together and venturing into the jungle a little bit to find a clean water source to fill canteens, they were ready to start working on the communications towers. 

Poe thought it would go faster if they split up into teams. He sent Paige with Jess, Snap, and their droids.  Evelyn, BB-8 and CB-2 followed him in the opposite direction. After trekking through the dense jungle, being careful not to trip any mines that the Empire might have left behind, they arrived at the first tower. It was obvious that the elements and time had taken its toll on the massive metal structure. Working together, Poe and Evelyn removed the panel to access the inner works of the tower, only to find the wires so badly corroded that neither of them believed this tower was still capable of receiving a transmission.

Never the less, they hooked BB-8 up to the tower and began to work. Amazingly the little droid was able to download some information, but he reported that it wasn't from Agent Lothor--he had managed to retrieve some Imperial files that he believed they'd find quite interesting.

Evelyn glanced at Poe and took a deep breath. "You never know, maybe we'll find something in those files that will give us tips to defeating the First Order."

Poe smiled, softly.  "Before her death, your mother mentioned that the Emperor was more devious than anyone in the Rebel Alliance believed. She was certain he'd find a way for his Empire to be rebuilt, even if he were to be killed."

"She was never convinced that the Empire was completely eradicated from the galaxy."

"Well, apparently she was onto something."

BB-8 whistled that he was done, detached himself from the tower, and instructed the pilots where they had to go next.  He took off, rolling through the ferns, CB-2 behind him.  Poe and Evelyn gathered up their equipment and followed after their droids.  For the next two hours they followed the same procedure, find a tower, or communication station, open the panel, hook one of the droids up to it--and only retrieve ancient Imperial files. 

Poe was hot, frustrated, and tired when he pulled his commlink from his pocket.  "Hey, Snap.  Let's wrap up for today. Meet us back at camp."

Snap sounded just as hot, frustrated and tired when he answered. "Sure thing, Poe. Hope you had more luck than us." 

I wish we did, Poe mused, heavily.  He led the way back through the jungle, along the path they game because they knew it was clean of mines.  It was nearly dark by the time they made it back to the camp.  Paige, Jess, and Snap had started a fire.  Already the three were sitting around it, digging into rations packs, and draining their canteens.  As soon as Poe and Evelyn joined them, it became apparent that the pair had no luck getting the transmission from Lothor.

Jess handed Poe a ration pack. "You think Dane sent us here to just get us out of his hair for a few days?"

Poe shrugged his shoulders. "He must have had something in order for the General to approve the mission."

Paige took a bite of her dinner. "Those towers haven't been maintained in years. If I had to take a wager, I'd say it's been at least thirty."

"Sounds about right," Snap drawled. "After the battle that wiped out the base here, the Empire left this system."

"Why would Agent Lothor pick this place then if it's been abandoned for so long?" Evelyn questioned.

"Maybe he was hoping that the First Order wouldn't trace it here. Or if they did, they wouldn't bother, since it's so old."

"So far, he's right--there's been no sign of the First Order here at all."

"Let's hope it stays that way."

Poe finished his ration pack and tossed the empty tray into the fire.  Watching it get devoured by the flames, he glanced up at Evelyn.  The kyber pendant caught reflected the light from the flickering flames and he wanted to move across the site to wrap her into his arms--but he knew that he couldn't.  First, they were on a mission and it was best to keep their feelings for one another out of those.  Second, their squadron still had no idea they were officially back together.

Snap elbowed him, letting him know that he'd been staring at her. Paige and Jess laughed as color instantly rose to Evelyn's cheeks.  Poe quickly adverted his eyes and mumbled that he was going to turn in for the night.  Shifting, he headed back towards his tent, glancing once over his shoulder to meet Evelyn's gaze one last time before he slipped inside his tent.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Sex Contract - Chapter 18

Genre: friends to lovers au / friends with benefits / mature content / romance / angst

Characters: Shim Changmin x Kaia Ashton (OC)

A/N: Due to the overwhelming request I have followed your encouragement to bring back one of my older stories. This was back in a time where OCs were everything and writing one chapter in each main’s point of view was the trend. I hope that even though I have edited this drastically, that you can appreciate this story comes from my older style of writing. I definitely still read this often and find it enjoyable so I hope you will too.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 - FINAL

Chapter 18 – Kaia’s POV.

It was irrational and fully based on emotions but Kaia promptly decided she couldn’t stay anymore. She took one look around her and went straight for her luggage bag, hoisting it up onto the bed and started to messily pack her belongings into it. The tears soon came and her stomach was eating at itself with guilt. Kaia knew she couldn’t take it anymore; she couldn’t be here watching Changmin live the way he was, remaining oblivious to how she felt. Kaia knew she could tell him but the reality of that was harsh, it was impossible for Changmin to date her. Kaia’s only option was to get out of this contract and hope one day that their friendship would return.

For now though, she needed to escape. After finishing her packing, she tried to quietly depart the apartment, opting to carry the heavy luggage bag so its wheels didn’t sound across the wooden floors. Kaia made it to the front door, and after slipping her feet into her shoes, she opened it. Once out in the hallway, she briskly made her way out of the building, hoping no one had heard her departure. With a final look up at the complex, Kaia wiped away her tears and started dragging her luggage down the still bustling sidewalk. Her pace dwindled, and she eventually found a bench to sit down on. Kaia didn’t know what her next move was. If she went home now, she would be in trouble for not finishing her report of TVXQ’s trip to Japan. However, her front row journalism would be difficult to achieve considering she had decided to avoid Changmin. Lowering her head, she let out a defeated sigh. The contract had damaged so much and they had both been oblivious to the destruction in its path. All the little comments Yunho had been making clicked in her head, and Kaia wondered why the warning bells hadn’t gone off earlier. He had been able to see the outcome before anyone else.

Pulling out her phone, Kaia was slightly relieved that her departure hadn’t been detected after all. Dialling a familiar number, she listened to it ring a couple of times. The recipient cleared his throat before answering. Taking a shallow breath, Kaia played with the handle on my bag. “Jae, I have to leave Tokyo but I hope we can meet in Korea sometime.”

“Tell me where you are? Are you at the airport?!” He was suddenly alert and Kaia grimaced, wondering if it had of better to just text the Korean. Smiling, she knew that there would have been no way to escape Jaewon easily either way. “Kaia?!”

“I’m sitting on a bench on the sidewalk. But I could meet you at our Starbucks?” she answered after a bit and could hear that he was moving quickly around his room.

“I’ll be there, don’t leave until I am, okay?” The phone call clicked off and Kaia slowly got to her feet, heading to the coffee shop she now knew how to get to without little trouble. By the time she reached it, Kaia was surprised to see Jaewon already sitting inside the coffee shop, his dark eyes relaxing when he caught sight of her. She was slightly taken back by his reaction but smiled never the less. Making her way over to the table, she sat down and scooted her luggage bag as close as she could.

“Sorry for getting you up out of bed, I felt I should let you know that I’m heading back to Korea,” I explained and Jaewon nodded.

“When do you leave?”

“I just booked a flight whilst coming over here, it leaves at five-thirty AM.” Kaia sighed and gave a weak smile. Jaewon eyed her curiously.

“Did something happen with that musician you’re here with?”

She shook her head. “Not much, I just can’t hack this lifestyle. And to be honest I actually miss Seoul.”

“You’re running away.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “And you like the guy you came with, but he obviously hasn’t noticed you like that so you can’t handle living his lifestyle when he won’t live yours a little too.”

Kaia blinked, wondering how Jaewon had picked all that up without her even mentioning it. She let out a little laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as phony as it did to her own ears. Kaia pointed at Jaewon and wagged her index finger at him. “Have you been watching Korean dramas, Jae? This is the real world, I wouldn’t even dream of thinking I could get with Ch-- my friend.”

“Well, I’ll miss ya, its been fun having you tag along with promotions. You will keep in contact right? So many people say they will, but then never do.”

“Jaewon.” Kaia smiled warmly and nodded. “How could I forget my hero? Course I’ll keep in contact.”

“Email me your home address,” he instructed and she looked at him weirdly. He smirked and leaned over the table towards her. “So I can come stalk you.”

“You would,” Kaia replied with a chuckle and he laughed with her. She sighed a moment later. “Thanks for everything though Jae, I-”

He shook his index finger. “Don’t make the mood sad again, or I will worry and press you for all the details.”

“Alright, I promise. After this drink, I should make my way to the airport though.”

“Well, let’s make this drink last,” he said with another laugh and launched into conversation.

By the time Kaia reached the airport, the comfort of Jaewon’s company was slowly wearing off. She kept checking her watch for the time and not because she was worried about her flight. She had worked out that Changmin and Yunho would wake up half an hour before the boarding time and although she had estimated it nearly impossible for either of them to make it to the airport, Kaia was still paranoid that they would try and respond before she left for Korea.

Now, who’s the one thinking of Korean drama scenes? Kaia thought in attempts to calm down. She even let out a little laugh; the idea of Changmin coming after her did seem highly unlikely. But there was a tiny part of her, foolish to even think of it, that wanted him to realise her feelings and to chase after her.  Sighing heavily, Kaia knew that would never happen. Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t just Shim Changmin, but Choikang Changmin, one half of TVXQ. The idea became depressing as the time went by. Blinking back her tears, Kaia tried to focus on something to make the wait speed up. After sending a text to Keith and Sungra about returning home, she attempted to play a game on the device and failed to play it correctly. Eventually frustrated, Kaia shoved the phone in her pocket, folding her arms across her chest.

Looking up at the overhead screen, Kaia noticed the plane was open for boarding and got to her feet, heading for the boarding gate. The hostess bowed at her lightly and she handed over her ticket and passport. Kaia barely listened to what she had to say, her eyes looking around the terminal. It was busy, as expected of any airport, but within the sea of faces, she didn’t see any familiar ones. Kaia almost laughed out loud at her foolishness and took my passport back before heading through the doors. She didn’t stop walking until she was in the lounge, taking a heavy seat on a cushioned bench. Kaia regulated her breathing, trying to wrestle with the scolding her rational mind was giving. Just as she was calming down, Kai heard her phone go off, and she froze for a moment, before scrambling for the device in her pocket.

Unlocking it, she was instantly let down when she saw it was from Jaewon. Kicking herself again, Kaia opened the message and blinked several times. Her frazzled mind re-read the simple sentence several times before she took a really good look at it. 

Jaewon: Kaia, I really like you. I hope we can meet up in Korea soon. Jae x

“What is up with today?” She murmured as realisation hit that Jaewon meant he liked her more than a friend. She couldn’t help but smile, imagining how awkward he would be feeling and fretting over getting a response. She realised at that she liked him too. Although Kaia was so wrapped up in her feelings for Changmin, rational thoughts started to occur. She enjoyed Jaewon’s company and found him attractive. He was available to give her more time of the day than Changmin ever would. And he didn’t want her for just sex. The idea of Jaewon’s confession became more appealing by the minute and she was soon grinning, wondering how she should respond. Kaia hesitated for a moment, knowing that things could get tricky for her if he found out about Changmin.

He’s unattainable. You could be with someone who wants you for more than physical needs. Kaia smiled as the thought firmly stamped out her doubts and texted Jaewon back, telling him she was looking forward to meeting with him again.

She boarded the plane with a new resolve to her needs.

“Where are the tears eh? Here I was expecting a friend who looked like a mess after the text I received telling me to come and pick you up four days ahead of schedule.”

“Thanks for the welcome home Keith,” Kaia mentioned as the man who had stepped forth to hug her pulled away. She gave him a strong look. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Fretting over you being in Japan, of course.”

“Hah.” Kaia glanced around her friend and blinked a couple of times, noticing for the first time that Sungra had accompanied him to pick her up. They shared a look before she lurched forward, Kaia’s arms soon clinging to Sungra’s petite frame. Kaia started to cry, a wave of nostalgia hitting her. She had missed Sungra more than she had realised.

“I’m sorry,” Sungra said as the tears slowed down and Kaia looked at her best friend and shook her head.

“No, that’s my line, I’m sorry I was such a shit friend. I should have told you, I was just-”

“Scared that I’d put you into a difficult position, I know.” Sungra smiled. “You were right not to you know, I probably would have asked you to let me meet them just once.”

“Can we still do that?” Keith asked with a grin and Kaia shoved him playfully. “No I’m serious; I’d love to say I met a God.”

“Shush you, let Kai relax first before we ask her for all the goss.”

Kaia groaned and started rolling her suitcase to the exit. “Do I really have to? It’s bad enough I have to face Minah and tell her that I’m unable to finish my job.”

“Minah already knows you’re back in Korea too.”

Kaia gasped and looked at Keith, clamping her eyes shut and stopping in her tracks. Sungra laughed heartily. “Kaia Ashton, you will forever be the most dramatic person I know.”

“I don’t want to get fired from two jobs!” Kaia wailed and then cringed as she felt both of her friends grab an arm each.

“First, we’re going to get some decent coffee. Secondly, you are going to tell us everything this time. No details are to be left out, understand?” Keith and Sungra were both looking at her sternly and Kaia sighed, nodding her head.

She just wondered how she was going to explain the mess she had left behind.

_________________

Part 19

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[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 11 - Under Your Spell

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 3180

Summary: The final ingredient needed for Rowena’s location spell leads to an angelically intimate reveal. Warning for a swear word and non-explicit sexually suggestive situation.

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Retracing his footsteps from the task of securing the door following a soggy return to the bunker and your subsequent sprint to your bedroom in search of a dry clothes, Castiel’s rain sodden boot leaves the last metal stair and lands on the floor with a slosh at almost the same instant Dean materializes in the hall door traveling the well-worn route from kitchen to library.

The hunter carries two condensation glazed amber bottles of beer, neither of which is intended for the angel.

Cas’ fingers pause in their anemic struggle to loosen the slippery blue knot of his silken tie. He eyes the alcohol; the thought passes fleeting that he could use a beer, or thousand. From the wind-mussed mat of dark brown locks slicked to his forehead down to the pruned-skin toes shoved into squishy socks, his demeanor drips defeat over the washed-out chance to kiss you and the continued existential battle waging within between his sentimental heart and reason-ruled mind regarding as to where, should your relationship develop further despite his ineptitude in processing and directing his developing emotion toward you, this newfound and deepening desire fits into his angelic existence and your otherworldly one.

Staring at his friend in the saturation of silence as though he’s also been caught in some seraphim subterfuge for having gone against Dean’s strongly worded decree that you not be allowed outside the controlled confines of bunker-dom, he thinks perhaps Dean should have warned, too, that you not be permitted to breach the boundaries of his heart; it’s precisely the sort of distraction none of them need right now – not that the angel necessarily abides by anything Dean dictates.

“Dean, you’re back.” Defaulting to the observable in the absence of anything more concrete to say about the maelstrom of confusion vexing his mind, the gravelly greyness of his tone emulates the storm roiling outside.

“How was your wa-” Dean’s gaze pops upward, widening upon perceiving the soaked state of the seraph. “-what the hell happened?”

Suit stuck to his skin, pallor oddly pale, a puddle gathers around Cas’ ankles as he tries to decide if and how to articulate to Dean the tale of a perfect afternoon punctuated by a near kiss preempted by an inner tempest of hesitation deluged by a literal tempest with an ending ultimately steeped in regret and the never-ending cycle of life’s uncertainty. It’s the sort of benign blow so consistent throughout the angel’s undertakings that it could be considered his trademark. Preferring to nurse his woes in private, dreading Dean will add insult to injury, he says nothing.

Waiting for an answer, and unlike the droplets of water sliding off the glass bottles to splash the concrete at his feet a darker shade of grey, the Winchester’s patience runs dry. “Cas, why are you wet?” he reiterates his question with specificity.

“It’s raining.” Cas shrugs his slouched trench coat-less shoulders as he mutters the specific, albeit overall vague in actual terms of why, reason for his dampness. He avoids looking directly at Dean.

“Ya think?” Dean gestures the neck of one of the bottles at the atypically disrobed angel. Astute to angelic body language, he doesn’t miss the glancing guilt. “Not to state the obvious, but isn’t this the exact scenario trench coats are made for? Where’s yours?”

Cas misreads the waved refreshment as an offer to take it. Slogging nearer, he reaches out to pluck the drink from Dean’s grip; twisting off the top, he downs the contents in a single long glug. Wiping wetted lips with a wetter sleeve, he professes, “I gave it to Y/N to dry off after she went swimming.” As the bunker houses no pool, which implies your swim occurred significantly out of bounds of Dean’s directive, his eyes dart sidelong to assess his friend’s reaction to the revelation of defiance.

There’s a rise of anger in the guise of vocal gruffness, but not toward the anticipated detail of your outing. Running his free hand through his hair in irritation, he huffs, “Don’t tell me she took a bath in my fishing hole.”

“Dude,” Sam interrupts. His cross-armed figure leans against the library threshold – parched, impatient, inquisitive, or all of the above. A smirk stretches his cheeks. “Why do you insist on calling it a fishing hole when you’ve never caught a single fish?” The arch of his brow wordlessly inquires as to the location of the beer his brother promised.

Grateful for an intermediary and the redirection, Cas contributes, “It would be a miracle if you did catch a fish considering there aren’t any inhabiting your so-called fishing hole.”

Surrounded and outnumbered, Dean’s lip curls in defense. Unapologetic for the angelically absconded beer, opening up the one remaining in his possession and laying claim to the rim with spit, he grumbles around a swig, “The art of fishing has nothing to do with whether you catch anything. I wouldn’t expect either of you to understand the complex nature of-”

“Here we go again.” Sighing, Sam uncrosses his arms and turns to wander into the library. “Heard it before, still not interested.”

Dean and Cas trail after him – the human casts the angel an appalled glare as his soles gurgle and squelch with every step.

Cas senses Dean’s aghast glower. Endeavoring to keep the conversation from detouring to you, he engages in the act of small talk. “Did you retrieve the rest of the ingredients?”

“Yeah, everything except an angel feather. Turns out they’re in scarce supply these days, but I figured you could-” He clasps Cas’ shoulder roughly and apes tugging a feather. “-you know.”

“Of course.” Cas suppresses the wince that threatens to contort his features with a mask of impassiveness. Yanking the rare intact plume from the scarred span of his wings is a bit like pulling a fingernail out by the cuticle; and yet, it’s nothing he doesn’t believe he deserves for his multitude of transgressions. In his heart, he judges this small sacrifice to be the least he can do for what he’s done. “Anything to help,” he adds, mostly to convince himself.

Dean’s grin is as genuine as Cas’ passivity is disingenuous. “Great, Rowena’s waiting-”

“On the wings, so to speak.” Rowena winks, simpers, and rises with a slow stretch from the leather lounge in the alcove. Yawning, she snaps shut a book she wasn’t actually reading and balances the slim volume on the arm of the chair. “Hello again, tweetie pie.”

Cas bobs his chin politely in acknowledgement. He notes mutely that the red-haired witch’s compulsive proclivity for using nicknames must be hereditary based on her son’s penchant for doing the same.

Her pout over the lack of a more rousing response to her flirtatious greeting morphs into one of contrived concern. Heavily mascaraed lashes fluttering, somehow intuiting the precise topic Cas wants to avoid, she extends her delicate dancer’s frame to full height on her heels to peer over their shoulders. “And where’s that poor disturbed child scuttled off to?”

All eyes alight on the angel for the answer.

Cas’ mouth presses into a pallid line under the burden of expectation for an explanation. “After we returned from the walk, she, uh, she wanted to warm up in the shower.”

“Oh?” Rowena’s crimson mouth quirks in avidity of amusement. Her gold-dusted eyes dart to Sam and Dean to ensure she holds their attention. “Because it looked to me like things were heating up nicely until someone stumbled over their cold feet.”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputters and chokes on a poorly timed sip of beer.

Sam smiles – the insinuation of budding romance explaining an abstract aloofness verging on daydreaming afflicting the seraph of late.

“You,” Dean states in disbelief, “and Y/N? Since when?”

“We’re not-” Sidestepping further elaboration, the self-inflicted torture of feather removal being preferable to Dean’s teasing, he veers for his quarters, muttering, “I’ll return with the feather.”

Target out of sight, Dean directs his interrogation at the witch. “Were you spying on them?”

She narrows her gaze. “It’s called scrying, and there’s little else to do for diversion in this dank dungeon of yours.”

“What else are you sticking your nose into?” Dean scoffs.

A soft smile of satisfaction slithers across her aspect. “Let’s just say the seraph’s not the only one with a stimulating secret or two around here. Do our dear young Samuel and haloed hero know about that nondescript box you keep hidden in your closet vent?” Pirouetting, she sinks again into the chair and recommences her non-perusal of the book.

Forehead furrowed mid-brow, Sam’s mouth shapes to utter an astonished ‘What box?’

Before he can speak, Dean holds up a palm. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing indeed,” Rowena titters, licks a finger, and flips the page.

Suit coat draped over his arm, tie slung undone around his neck, white dress shirt flapping agape as he pulls the ends of the damp garment from the tuck of his pants, Castiel peers up from unbuckling his belt as he enters his bedroom surprised to see you seated at the desk.

Freshly showered, snug in cozy pajamas, smelling sweetly of lavender soap, you sit with your eyes fixed not on the computer perched in your lap, but upon the strip of tanned and toned torso visible to you. The intricately beautiful black lettering of a tattoo peeks from beneath the fabric covering the left side of his stomach.

The angel halts in the doorway, spine stiffened under your scrutiny, belt half unlooped from his trousers and hanging in his hand as if he doesn’t know whether to come or go.

Realizing the impudence of your sustained stare, cheeks hot, you gawk with sudden interest at the laptop and punch at a few random keys. “Hey, uh, I was looking for you,” you murmur. “Thought I’d give this Netflix thing another go, but I can’t seem to find the second season of Firefly.”

“The space western?” Relaxing, letting the leather slip forgotten from his fingertips, Cas steps into the room. He slings his coat and tie across the corner of the dresser to dry and moves nearer your side to squint at the screen.

His increased proximity and decreased dress does very little to diminish the hotness flushing your skin. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Frowning at being the bearer of bad news, he reclines against the edge of the desk and shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that series was cancelled before the second season. I don’t suggest bringing the topic up with Dean, it’s an extremely touchy subject.”

“You’re kidding!” Sulking, you shut the screen, spin in the seat, and slide the computer back on the surface of the desk. You can’t help but steal another glimpse of the tattoo inked across his abs; this close, you recognize the strange symbols as Enochian warding – he’s an angel warded against other angels.

His blues narrow askance. “Why would I joke about that?”

“I guess you wouldn’t, I just thought-” Stumbling over your words, the significance of his tattoo – the possibilities of what occasioned the necessity of it – enthralls you. “Things really are different here, aren’t they? I may come from a world wrecked by an apocalypse, but at least we had six glorious seasons of Firefly.”

“I suppose, apocalypse aside, things have the potential to be quite different here. Hopefully some, too, for the better.”

Glancing upward, you meet his steady gaze. You perceive in the softened sapphire sheen of his eyes a glint of hope that he may be one of those positive differences.

“So-” You shift, nervously looking away to chew your lip; remembering your misreading of the kiss that wasn’t by the pond, you think perhaps your interpretation of this hope is only a mirror of yours and not a reflection of his own sentiment. “Dean’s back?”

“Yes.” He sighs subtly having lost your gentle regard and denies the desire to hook your chin with a finger to again lift up your disarming eyes to him.

You imagine – a pout creeping to downturn the creases of your mouth – you’ll be left alone in the bunker, again. The temper tamed until now climbs your throat. “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving soon to go searching for Gabriel?” Your tone scrapes the air and his ears more abrasively than intended.

He straightens at your harshness, hesitates, then moves toward the dresser. “We need one more ingredient to complete the spell. But then-”

“What is it?” You rise to your feet to follow him, trying not to appear too eager or desperate not to be abandoned. “Can I help?”

He rests his palms on the dresser and peers at you through the hazed glass of the rimless utilitarian rectangular looking glass mounted above it. “It’s not something you-”

“I can help, Cas.” You touch a hand lightly to his shoulder. “I feel so useless locked up in here. Please, let me help you with this.”

The flesh of his vessel prickles pleasantly under the thrum of your fingertips. He wanted to say in the sordid scope of history encompassing the collusions between heaven and humanity, he cannot recall a single soul granted permission to harvest a plume from an angel’s wings, let alone see their corporeal shape beyond shadow. It’s a side of him he reasons you don’t need to be subjected to – a glimpse of his tarnished true form. Proof of his failures. He blinks heavily, focus falling to the sanded twist of a knot darkening the smooth finish of the dresser’s woodgrain – an imperfection, but a flaw that makes the piece of furniture all the more beautiful. Proof of survival. Perhaps, he thinks, there’s a chance you might view him this way. “It’s a feather we need.” The low bass whisper raises the hair on the back of your neck. “One of mine.”

You squeeze your fingers firmer into the muscular arch of his shoulder. “Seems simple enough.”

“Simple, yes, but I’ve never-” He shakes his head. “No mortal has seen any more than a shadow of my wings. Revealing them, it’s an . . . a very intimate act.”

“So, kind of like you seeing me naked.”

“Yes, kind of like that,” he agrees, adding, without processing the intimation of attraction to you in what he says, “only you’re lovely, and they’re . . . not what they used to be.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Flipping your hand, you brush the backs of your knuckles down the length of his arm to weave your fingers through the spaces between his where they splay on the dresser; constricting your grip, you urge him into the light with sincere reassurance like he urged you to step into the sun today after so long in the dark. You coil your fingers until no gaps remain and his eyes lock on yours in the mirror.

“Close your eyes,” he rasps the breathy command.

“Cas-”

He covers your interlaced hands with his unconstrained palm and, sliding them from the dresser, spins to face you. “Unless you wish to be permanently blinded when the dimension where they’re cloistered phases into this one, I suggest you shut your eyes now.”

Your eyelids squeeze tight. You inhale and hold a lungful of the charged air building between you. A blaze of light burns bright against your shuttered lashes. A rush of soothing warmth washes sun-like over your skin. The atmosphere quivers to life with the sound of feverish rustling. His fingers fidget – fitful – in your grasp, then break limply loose.

“We need an unspoiled feather to give the spell the best chance of success.” He utters coolly – his voice seems somehow distant to you. No, detached – surely a measure of protection against the judgement he awaits when your eyes open.

Your eyes remain clamped. You worry you were too bold asking this of him; or, too manipulative in likening the revelation of an angel’s wings to the exposure of your body – an unremarkable human form at that, with a structure battered and stitched together by scars, inside and out, he chivalrously called lovely. Lovely. Your heart flutters – the compliment races in a flurry from right atrium to ventricle, circulating hot to sear the held breath in your lungs, then speeding with renewed fervor left atrium to ventricle to oxygenate your limbs in a weakening tizzy of excitement.

“Y/N, it will be easier for both of us if you open your eyes now.”

Lashes lifting, looking upward, you exhale an enraptured gasp and stumble backward; he catches you by the waist.

Imposing jet black wings branch above you; their span curves, cramped, into the corners of the room. In sections, the feathers erupt sparse from scar-coarsened sinew, in others, the quills are frayed and blunted almost to bone, and yet the overall effect astonishes. “Unspoiled, right.” Reduced by awe to echoing, you repeat his instruction.

He dips his head once, chin to chest, and sinks to one knee.

Your attention roves the broad span and finds a prospective plume jutting out near the juncture of his shoulder blades. “And when I find one, how do I remove it?”

His fingers stay at your waist, twisting at the hem of the fabric there as if bracing himself. “You pull. Hard.”

“Won’t that hurt?” You isolate and clutch the bony base of the intact quill in your fist and flatten your palm to his bowed shoulders for leverage.

“Yes,” he hisses between his teeth at your tentative tug.

“Sorry. Sorry! Are you okay?” You flinch at the raw power behind the curtailed flap tensing the insulted appendage.

“You have to pull harder,” he growls. Burrowing his forehead into your stomach, he clutches at your sides to bolster his support.

Readjusting the angle of your grip, you waver. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“I’ll be fi-”

You wrench at the feather as hard as you’re able.

“Fuck.” The respired humid heat of his agonized expletive and succession of pained pants as he struggles not to completely collapse at your feet steams through the cotton barrier of your shirt to moisten the hollow of your navel housed beneath – the graze of his fingers sinking into soft flesh will surely leave bruises.

The angelically absurd exclamation of obscenity and the carnally redolent contact aches as a surge of ardor flourishing at the apex of your thighs. Catching his breath, he leans backward to gaze up at you with watery blues. The spellbinding scent of your unmistakable arousal floods his senses.

The hard-wrung feather floats from your fingers to the floor, fingers favoring instead to card through the angel’s still damp halo of chestnut locks. He doesn’t appear so formidable with his scaffold of scarred wings sprawled behind the shrunken figure of his vessel – doesn’t seem so unattainable sat suppliant on his knees before you, pinpoints of lamplight sparkling in the black pools of dilating pupils. Cupping his cheek in your palm, daubing at a stray tear tenderly with the pad of your thumb, you bend to ghost the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

Next: Ch. 12 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Road to Amarillo

[maswartz]

“

Last fall, a fellow disability activist and close friend of mine introduced me to Bernie Sanders.  From the moment I first heard his platform, I was hooked.  After living abroad several years in a country with socialized medicine and heavily subsidized education, I was thrilled an American politician was proposing these policies here.  Due to my own disabilities, the cost of healthcare has become exorbitant and becoming chronically ill forced me to leave my career in public service litigation to collect meager social security benefits.  So, Bernie’s message resonated strongly with my own personal experience of being in the 99%.

I was so moved by his message that I began volunteering for the campaign, be it through phonebanking, texting or simply bringing his message to everyone I knew.  I believed so strongly in the change he could effect that I even donated more money than I could otherwise afford to help his campaign succeed.  And I quickly became part of the Bernie or Bust movement, believing his campaign’s message that Clinton didn’t care about anyone other than her special interest donors.

____________________________________________________________

But I often struggled with his rhetoric on and lack of inclusion for people with disabilities in his stump speeches, acceptance speeches, debate performances, advertisements and campaign literature.  Despite discussing issues that affect our daily lives like healthcare, income inequality, social security and criminal justice, he almost never mentioned the disabled population, which makes up 20% of the American electorate.  He harped daily on how the Donald Trumps of the world try to divide us up based on our minority status but never even included disability as one of those dividing factors.

Meanwhile, I became more frustrated because Hillary Clinton was including us in every speech, ad campaign, debate performance and even intersectionality graphics of disabled people of color in her literature.  She issued press releases supporting the Disability Integration Act, which requires Obamacare plans to cover long-term care for people with disabilities, and talked about sub-minimum wage, a construct by which employers can legally pay the disabled less than minimum wage. Bernie either never did this or lagged behind, as if he was only doing it because Hillary was.  I sincerely felt as though Hillary was just paying lip service to us and that Bernie was simply uninformed.

So I began contacting the campaign as early as the fall to advise them on their disability outreach failures, as well as to communicate grave concerns the community was having with some on his policies. I tried every possible method of communication from emailing the campaign through the website and contacting them through social media, to direct emails and text messages to top political directors, including Jeff Weaver, BEGGING them to respond.  I also discovered that I was not the only disability activist experiencing this very frustration with the campaign.

_____________________________________________________________

After weeks of being ignored, the day after the New York elections, I sent one final message to the campaign saying that I was going to withdraw my support and advise the community to do the same if they didn’t care enough to even respond to our pleas for representation. Finally, his political director, Billy Gendell, a non-disabled male, responded by scheduling a phone call with me. I was finally hopeful once again, but what came next was personally devastating.  I began the conversation about the issues the community is having with his lack of rhetoric and lack of inclusion for people with disabilities, as I delineated in my emails.  I sincerely wanted to help the campaign improve.

However, he quickly interrupted me from giving them advice, despite knowing my credentials and insisted that I get to my policy questions.  But he asked that the answers remain “off-the-record” so that I could not share them with the community that was asking them.  His answers provided no new information or specific methods by which to initiate these broad ideas.  The only policy answer that wasn’t “off the record” was Bernie’s official statement on the opioid issue, sent to me via email. It said that chronic pain sufferers should seek yoga or guided meditation to ease our suffering.

I was shocked.  These recommendations are ones given to chronic pain sufferers by uneducated individuals with zero medical understanding of pain and the neurological system.  I immediately responded back to his email that he cannot expect an amputee with phantom pain to do yoga when in such dire pain that it causes his heart rate to soar and his blood pressure to plummet. I told him that it’s insulting to even insinuate such a thing. But, as, unfortunately, I expected, he never even replied, and I simply gave up trying to reach out.

____________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, none of his policies for people with disabilities changed, and he made little to no effort to include us in his speeches, other than to  occasionally discuss all disabled people in the context of social security, rather than his typical inclusion of only disabled veterans, as if only they matter because they became disabled at war.  (And I gave him credit on facebook for doing this once at the Washington square speech and emailed the campaign to thank them for it, which went unanswered) But he continued to fail to mention or depict us in any of his speeches or ads.

The feeling of devastating disappointment and betrayal sank in.  The thought of considering Clinton felt hypocritical of me.  I told myself, “How can I support someone who probably cares more about Wall Street than me?”  But I certainly couldn’t consider Donald Trump, who mocks disabled people and assumes we’re stupid enough to think that’s not what he was doing.  So, begrudgingly, I told a Hillary supporter with a disability that I was now considering supporting Hillary. He immediately introduced me via email to a blind Clinton staffer. Within literally minutes, she emailed me at 9 p.m. saying she would like to speak to me about the campaign. I was so encouraged by how quickly they responded, after the months I was ignored by Bernie.

She didn’t treat me like a nuisance like the Bernie campaign did but rather an asset.  She wanted to know my legal and advocacy opinion on disability policy.  She explained in detail how Hillary planned to initiate change for us with sophisticated, legal political strategy.  And, then she asked me to come on board and help the campaign best meet the needs of the disability community through, inter alia, writing for the campaign after they were able to officially vet my credentials.  (Which has not yet occurred, and I, in no way, am writing this on behalf of the campaign) I soon realized that the Clinton campaign didn’t just care about the disability community; they hired us and treated us like the intelligent people we are.

_____________________________________________________________

My conversation with the Clinton campaign regained my hopefulness but also made me incensed that Bernie is maliciously lying to democrats about Clinton’s uncaring regard for the 99%, while destroying the party from within.  Bernie is adamant that Hillary only cares about corporate interests and not the typical marginalized American.  But, in fact, the opposite is true.  If he cared about his supporters’ interests, his campaign would respond to these communities, listen to their issues and modify his platform accordingly.

His speeches never change for a reason. It isn’t because, as his supporters allege, he’s authentic and always on the right side of things. It’s because he doesn’t care to adapt, to research issues other than income inequality and the environment, follow up on his lofty ideas with solid policy initiatives or to make any compromises to achieve his goals. Rather, he just plays the blame game, pointing out everything that’s wrong with this country and proposing no specific plans to achieve his goals.  He prides himself on being so honest and trustworthy while lying to the electorate about his concern for our well being and Hillary’s lack thereof.  In reality, I see now that he doesn’t care about anyone’s well being but his own ability to rise to power.

What’s worse is that he is riling up his base to believe that the system is rigged, corrupt and rife with election fraud, based on theories grounded in conspiracy rather than fact. He’s excusing their violence and death threats on constituents’ frustration, rather than explicitly denouncing such vile behavior.  The superdelegates are voting for Hillary, and some are starting to shift support from Bernie to Hillary, which I suspect will continue to occur, because they are experienced policy makers who recognize that Bernie has proposed no actual comprehensive policies to achieve his goals.  They realize that, in the year he’s been running for President, he hasn’t created one single concrete plan. Superdelegates are in place to prevent dangerous politicians, like Trump, from achieving power when they don’t have the capabilities to effectively use that power and, thus, make things much worse in the end.

Coming to terms with these realizations was very difficult for me.  I literally grieved and cried when I discovered that I had been so maliciously misled by someone I believed to possess such a high moral compass.  I recognize that his supporters are frustrated and angry over income inequality, because I am too.  But I plea with his supporters to wake up to HIS fraud and ask yourselves why he answers every question on every topic, from ISIL to our broken public school systems, with concepts of income inequality.  It’s not because that issue is the root of all things wrong with our country but because he doesn’t care to research and be advised on any other issues, despite having the time and resources to do so.

Those of you who are Bernie or Bust, like I was, please, I beg of you, consider my personal experience.  Google me.  Find me on Facebook and Twitter.  See for yourselves that I was Bernie or Bust, that I’m not some Wall Street attorney rolling in money.  I am a disabled woman, struggling to make ends meet and to pay my medical bills.  But I now recognize that Clinton is the only candidate willing to make the effort to effect the change we need.  We cannot afford Trump or Bernie in the White House. They will only be given enough power to destroy what fragment of the American Dream we have left.

(For those who seem hell-bent on believing that my having lived in Israel somehow makes me biased: Bernie also lived there, I dislike the right-wing government there, and I continued my support for him after he criticized Israel in NY)

@barker_ariella

Ariella Barker, Esq.

Ariella has a BBA and JD from Emory University. For many years, she represented the City of NY and Mayor Michael Bloomberg in employment discrimination and labor law claims. She currently sits on the Council for Disability Rights for the Mayor’s Office of the City of Mooresville, NC and works as a disability advocate since being crowned Ms. Wheelchair NC 2014.

“

[nekodracones]

The castle-focused Atlas economy: How it’s contributing to Atlas stagnation by rewarding the wrong achievements

When Atlas first launched, it was presented as a high-octane conflict rich battle royale.  Seen here:

The reality is, of course, far less exciting.  While Atlas conflict still occurs in the form of an occasional raid or sniper jaunt and even the rare large-scale castle battle, the average team is unlikely to see any serious castle battles on 5ta castles, or conflicted castle turnovers within a typical month.  (Unless, of course, said castle was poorly manned and an obvious target.  Then you’re just asking for it.)

When asked for an assessment of the above excerpt in the context of our current reality, my friend Titan commented as such:

20:09 Cat I need you to describe this (the photo above) in the context of our current Atlas situation 20:09 Titanium it appears to be describing a much better game than the one we get to play.

Indeed.  But why is reality falling short of expectations such a problem?

...---...

Expectations vs. Reality

It wouldn’t be a problem if PG devs could admit that their Atlas reality falls short of their ideal Atlas and adapt their season ranking method to suit the current state of Atlas.

This is the scoring system for the Lotusbloom Atlas season. (here) A quick read shows that the leaderboard is based on the most valuable 20 castles.  In any competition, something has to be competed for.  This leaderboard reads like it was concocted in an ideal environment where castles are fought over, and the longer a team holds a castle or the number of castles a team conquers within a season are a valuable measure of their competence.   

This is fine...if castle ownership and conquering were actually based on any sane standard metric of performance and activity.

In real Atlas, they are not.  How so?

...---...

1. Basic Economics 101

I’ve spoken to a lot of people in my time playing this game.  A shocking majority of people didn’t even know you got team rewards for completing an Atlas season, beyond a few Cat-triggered realisations that that’s where they got so-and-so portrait from.

Why?  For said majority of the atlas-playing population, said rewards are marginal to the point of being unnoticeable, to the point that for most, there is no incentive to go past 3.6m glory and waste troops fighting for castles.

Here are the rewards for the Lotusbloom Atlas season.  Notice how rewards drop off dramatically after the 26th-50th bracket, arguably even after the 11th-25th bracket.  Don’t forget that such highly-ranked teams are likely to home players who probably won’t even notice such insubstantial rewards for completing a three-month long season.

When your competition rewards are irrelevant for 95%+ of your atlas population, they’re badly scaled and you probably shouldn’t be surprised when your competition ends up being irrelevant and ignored.

...---...

2. Shooting Yourself in The Foot to Kill a Fly

The following mechanic was intended to encourage conflict and incentivise getting one over your opponents via retaining castles all while conquering theirs, but in reality, this actually backfires.

Given how difficult and costly conquering castles actually is, it’s better to sequester yourself away on castles and maintain peace with your neighbours once you have the castles you want, to prevent getting attacked.  Conflict isn’t rewarded enough to risk a conquer; when infrastructure bonuses are far more significant than any benefits the paltry Atlas season prizes (for most teams) could provide.

Below rank 25, there’s also no reason for teams to make conquer attempts on rivals’ castles in order to reduce their victory point potential, as it is unlikely to put them into a new bracket on the leaderboard, to get more prizes.

All in all, this mechanic just reads like a cruel, ironic joke in the context of how Atlas really is.

...---...

3. We came, We saw, We (did not) conquer

Conquering castles is an extremely costly time and troop investment.  With the existence of mega alliances, any given team has a limited number of viable castles that could be conquer targets, and it’s perhaps more costly than PG might expect to conquer a single castle. To expand on this, as part of a mega alliance, teams within the same mega alliance are socially contracted to not target each others’ castles, even though they may be vulnerable, or strategically easy conquers.  This reduces attractive conquer targets for individual teams drastically.

On top of this, mega alliances tend to send lots of teams to defend castles from conquer; the better positioned the contested castle, the more teams are summoned.  This is a point that has been belaboured multiple times in multiple channels, so I won’t expound too much on it: hitting ten times and only having one hit land is not fun.   Castle conquers are not fun.

Furthermore, the work needed to conquer castles is not worth any advancement made in team prizes unless you’re on the brink of the next bracket, which is...again, a marginal increase in prizes.  Season ranking honestly only really matters to the people already at the top (within the top 25 ranks), and at that level you probably already got all the castles you wanted in previous seasons and decided that further advancement via conquer wasn’t worth it.  Don’t forget how a majority of the people ahead of you are from your very own alliance, and you can’t conquer from them.

Social factors aren’t fully PG’s fault, but it’s irresponsible for season design to not consider these factors’ effects on player behaviour.

...---...

4. One Atlas Season, Disguised as Many

Castle ownership isn’t reset between seasons, and the churn is so low that it makes no sense to pretend that we expect any changes to the castle ownership-based leaderboard in each season.

Before some of you pick up your pitchforks and run me through for blaspheming and suggesting seasonal Atlas resets (which is an entire different discussion that has seen a lot of sane discourse on both sides, and deserves a whole series of posts)- that’s not what I’m saying.

Without touching the issue of whether castles should be a resource that carries over between seasons, it makes little sense to me to award discrete seasonal rewards for achievements made in past seasons that carry over into new ones, with such a low loss rate that basically all most teams need to do is ‘don’t fuck up’.

If you’re not doing much beyond maintenance work between and during seasons, and possibly expending less effort on expanding and maintaining your territories as compared to smaller teams that actually see significant/insignificant changes to their real estate holdings within a season, should you really be rewarded prizes that are tens of times as valuable?

(Cue the pitchfork mob coming @ me to tell me how much they worked for whatever castles they have.  Sure.  That’s a whole other debate, and I’m not going down that hole yet.)

Point being, the static nature of a team’s castle holdings throughout different seasons make them a poor metric as an assessment of seasonal ‘team performance’, and trying to pass them off as a good ranking system for discrete seasons is a Bad Idea.

...---...

5. Easy Lies the Head that Wears the Crown

Last but not least, we must consider how alliance plays a big part in terms of the castles teams have the ability to hold.  Amongst the 25 teams on the castle ownership-based leaderboard, PaleHorseRider is the only longtime non-Dread Friendly team.  (EXITIUM/ theMovement is politically relatively new on the scene, and the ownership of castles involved with them are still shifting, so let’s not talk about them yet)

Before this season, all the teams that were on the top 25 leaderboard were Dread-friendly teams.  We can probably thank(?) theMovement for PHR’s move up the ranks.

By virtue of having a stronger alliance behind them, Dread Friendly teams are less likely to lose their castles as it is more risky for opposing teams to make conquer attempts on them.  Conversely, it is more attractive for their stronger alliance to go after attractive castles that teams with weaker alliances own. Certainly PG devs could argue that this is intended.  But to what extent does PG want heavily influential social factors to play into a team’s individual leaderboard ranking, which one could argue should mainly be a measure of a team’s individual competence, performance, and activity within a season?

Just as PG’s castle ownership-based season scoring system assumes the setting of PG’s ideal Atlas world, is that same ideal Atlas world as heavily influenced and bound down by politics as the reality of the game we actually play is?

...---...

6. Ships of Theseus

If one were to gradually repair a ship and replace every single component of it as time passed, would the ship with all parts replaced still be the same ship?  Similarly, if one were to replace members on a team as time wore on, would the team, with a majority of players replaced, still be the same team?

Castles, however, follow teams, not individual players.  Would a mostly-replaced team with a wealth of inherited castles truly deserve the seasonal rewards that said castles would grant them, when the goal of each season should arguably be to reward competence, high performance, and high activity in teams?

When you use a castle ownership-based seasonal ranking, how do you differentiate grandfathered advantage from true competence?

You don’t.

You choose a better metric to measure seasonal competence by.

...---...

Data Analysis: Elementary, my Dear Watson

Let’s take a look at the Atlas seasonal team rankings from past seasons.

It’s been the same since the first Atlas season, and these results could have been predicted long before the first season was even announced.  You may notice that this ranking also matches the current influence ranking.

I’ve made a point about how the castle ownership-based leaderboard seems like a single season arbitrarily divided and rewarded as many.  Arguably, the castle ownership-based leaderboard assumes that gaining and keeping castles = activity, so, as a general guideline, these top teams’ castle holdings should align with their all time troop kills, no?

In the format: Influence. TeamName [ ATK / ATK rank ] 1. DREADNOUGHT [ 2.21B / 1 ] 2. LethalDescent [ 1.96B / 2 ] 3. JAPANeeeeZE [ 1.02B / 19 ]

Clearly these are all top teams who have consistently performed well since the release of Atlas.  While I regrettably have no way to obtain the full season’s worth of data on these teams, let’s check out their monthly troop kills.

In the format: Influence. TeamName [ MTK / MTK rank ] 1. DREADNOUGHT [ 45.7M / 5 ] 2. LethalDescent [ 22.8M / 105 ] 3. JAPANeeeeZE [ 33.2M / 32 ]

This is unfortunately less valuable data than the last set.  As it’s the last month of the Atlas season, most players on top teams have finished their seasons and wound down their Atlas activity, having most likely finished it within the first month, specifically within the first two weeks of double glory.

(This is actually indicative of another problem within the Atlas season, this one about personal glory- there’s very little incentive to go past 3.6m glory; the atlas chest return on troops is paltry.  This is another factor that has discouraged conflict this season- it’s more worth it to save for the next season than make an attempt to change one’s team Atlas ranking by attempting to conquer castles for the reasons provided above.)

While the data comparison above doesn’t really prove anything beyond proof that atlas seasons are really a sham and it’s just all one season arbitrarily chopped up into three-month durations, the following data will hopefully demonstrate how the castle ownership-based season structure fails to reward high-performing high-activity teams for high seasonal activity.

In the format: Influence. TeamName [ MTK / MTK rank ] [ ATK / ATK rank ] 22. PaleHorseRider [ 40.0M / 14 ] [ 1.40B / 8 ] 27. RoyalRoad [ 31.4M / 39 ] [ 1.51B / 7 ] 30. ButWeAreBetter [ 39.7M / 15 ] [ 1.71B / 3 ] 46. ProjectGhost [ 33.3M / 31 ] [ 0.56B / 73 ] 71. ANGELSnDEM0NS [ 66.2M / 1 ] [ 1.25B / 10 ] 113. WarEnforcers [ 64.5M / 2 ] [ 1.05B / 18 ] 346. UnitedinHonor  [ 32.0M / 35 ] [ 0.46B / 110 ]

The first three entries are the three non-Dread teams with the highest power ranks in the game.  One may notice that while they’re well ranked and comparable to LD, Dread, and NeeeeZE both in terms of monthly and all times troops killed (they’re consistent!) their influence ranks are significantly lower than teams higher-ranked than them on the seasonal leaderboard that have killed fewer troops in both areas.  Is this truly fair?

As the largest team in Arachnid, ProjectGhost holds their own troop-kill wise and surpasses many teams on the seasonal leaderboard.  Their all time kills are lower; they seem to have come into their own niche more recently.  Nevertheless, their influence ranks are similarly noticeably poorer than lower-performing Dread Friendly teams.  On top of this, the juxtaposition of their ATK vs their MTK highlights how teams can adapt and change and increase their performance seasonally instead of simply maintaining the same standards throughout their Atlas careers.

ANGELSnDEM0NS and WarEnforcers make for an interesting comparative case study.  The former is a Sine Nomine team, arguably the crown jewel in the Dread Friendly empire of alliances.  The latter is a founding team of the Libertas alliance, a semi-independent anti-Dread alliance.  They beat out 70 and 110 higher-influence ranked teams respectively to rank as the top and runner-up in terms of troops killed this month so far.  In terms of all time kills, both are ranked higher than a majority of teams occupying the top 25 seasonal leaderboard.  Clearly both teams have been demonstrating consistent, long term high-performance atlas activity, and yet both of them are comparatively low on the seasonal leaderboards.  It’s also interesting to note the disparity in team influence, which can probably at least be partially attributed to their political allegiances.  I can’t definitively speak for why either team never chose to attempt to break into higher ranks, with their activity, but I suspect that their reasons are varied, can probably be derived from my previous points, and will likely culminate in the conclusion that the effort just isn’t worth it.

Finally, UnitedinHonor is personally a fascinating team to me.  At rank 346, if the seasonal leaderboard was an accurate judge of a team’s activity, one would expect their performance to be solidly middle-of-the-pack.  Instead, they come in at rank 35 on the monthly kills leaderboard and 110 on the all time kills leaderboard, which puts them ahead of certain teams on the seasonal leaderboard itself.  This is no small feat for a platinum team with a lower power rank.  Additionally, noting the lower comparative ATK, we can make an assumption that this team has come into its own more recently, which would easily explain why they don’t have as many castles- they likely haven’t been prominent for a long enough time to receive gifted castles, as many higher influence-ranked teams have.

Of course, all these specific analyses are pure conjecture.  I cannot pretend to understand fully every team’s situation, but I will suggest that these stats shed a light on the veracity of my points.  These teams’ individual situations and positions on the seasonal leaderboard can all at least be partially attributed to a few of the points I’ve made in this post.

If PG would be willing to consider using a better metric to measure team competence, performance, and activity next season, I’ll be a happy Cat.

[kitsunesbooks]

Re:Creators: My Favorite Anime of Spring 2017

As a writer who happens to dabble in the realms of philosophy, often do questions arise that entertain me for hours on end. I’ve sometimes found myself asking what it would be like to see my characters face to face. I’ve wondered what they would think of me, would we get along or would they all hate me for pitting them against such harsh environments and situations? It’s funny to think about things like this because I’m sure everyday people wonder what they would do if they met their god. It’s just that in this instance, I represent the god, as prideful and cocky as that sounds. Nevertheless, it’s been my belief for awhile now that an artist is the closest thing that humanity has come to becoming gods. Through art, and especially story telling, entire worlds can come into existence. This is the kind of subject material that Re: Creators tackles.

Re: Creators is for all intents and purposes, an isekai story. Isekai being that very prevalent anime trope/sub genre of story where the main character gets trapped in a fantasy world. However, to keep things somewhat fresh, the fantasy world comes into our world, or at least a version of our world. Within Re:Creators, characters from anime, manga, and videogames somehow make their way out into the real world and engage in kickass battles and debates on metaphysics. So if you know anything about me from the articles I’ve written, then you’ve figured out that I am 100% in on this show. The action and meat of the plot is great and all but it's all the metaphysics and mechanics of this universe that keep me thoroughly entertained. The conversations that occur between “creations” and “creators” are in depth and thought provoking. In a way, this anime is some bizarre form of wish fulfillment because I am actually getting theoretical answers to my questions.

The beauty of Re:Creators is how it takes characters who, for all intents and purposes, fit into strict archetypes and then slowly bends them to conform to our world’s rules. While using archetypes as a basis for character development is nothing new to storytelling, Re:Creators more or less bends the archetypes themselves through the small tidbits of character development shown throughout the series. One of the best characters in the entire show thus far is Magical Slayer Mamika. Mamika is a magical girl from what essentially is knock off Sailor Moon. As an added bonus, her design is heavily reminiscent of Madoka from Madoka Magica, which sort of helps to further cement her development and almost poke fun at a certain trope. Mamika basically tears apart the idea that injecting some “realism” into a magical girl story is in someway nuanced. While Madoka gets credit for making it work, it has opened the floodgates for a ton of really bad, edgy magical girl stories that are honestly hot garbage. Mamika however is more based in actual reality as opposed to realism. The first instance we see of Mamika is her fight with another “creation,” Selesia. Mamika recklessly goes all out and unleashes some devastating magic on her opponent with complete disregard to her surroundings. If this were any other character in any other show, she would be written off as just an asshole or a generic “sadist” character. However, when Mamika realizes that rules of our world conflict with her own, it shocks her. She came from a children’s magical girl show. Basically a Saturday morning cartoon. There isn’t any blood in her world and morality is all black and white for the most part. It is a simplistic world with little thought put into it and Mamika’s first interaction in our world is incredibly evident of that.

That first battle Mamika experiences is what sets her character arc into motion and has pretty much made her one of the best characters in the series thus far. Her eventual turnaround was very well paced and written and I hope we get to see just as much inventive and clever writing for all of our cast members. Mamika goes through a rampant sequence of development during the more recent episodes. We see that she still clings to her sense of morals but also shows that she is even willing to go against her own friends when they are doing something wrong. Mamika wants nothing more than peace, which makes sense given her source material. However, instead of Mamika’s judgement being simple minded as it would be in any magical girl show, or the plot focusing on how depressing her situation is, we see her learn and adapt. Her sense of justice doesn’t waver and instead adapts to the morals of our own world as she fights to protect both sides. All she wants is for the fighting to stop and for no one to be killed, and when she finally makes up her mind on what side to take, her actions have that much more weight behind them. Being the type of character she is, she shows everyone kindness, even the villains of this story, especially given they don’t match the archetypes of villains in a typical kid’s show. To Mamika, the villains of Re:Creators aren’t villains at all, they are just people who want to do bad things with good intentions. I could go on and on about Mamika’s character arc, but you are more than likely better off checking out the video Mother’s Basement put out on Re:Creators. Geoff does a, MUCH, better job at analyzing these characters than I do. Nevertheless, Mamika gives you just a taste of the kind of meta story Re:Creators is and honestly it is a hot contender for anime of the season if it hits the right notes.

One thing I can talk about that hasn’t been mentioned before is yet another intriguing character. With our Military Uniform Princess taking the role of main villain it was hard to think that the show would introduce an even greater threat, but it did. Magane Chikujoin is a villain character from a series in Re:Creators world called Yoru Mado Kiroku. Judging by how she acts and behaves as well as her abilities I pegged her as coming from a straight up horror series or maybe even a battle seinen with darker and more mature themes than your typical shonen series. She has a very clever ability that protects her almost indefinitely and she is a complete liar, so much so that she get’s a kick out of it. Lying is her weapon and she uses it to devastating effect. Magane is honestly a terrifying character due to her incredible ability as well as her contrasting schoool girl attitude. She is definitely much more of a villain than the Military Uniform Princess and there some big reasons why. Her knack for telling lies has gotten her involved with every major character in the series. She has a variety of strings she can pull, and while we saw her latest machination get foiled by the heroes’ raw determination and will, it is clear that Magane is willing to say ANYTHING to get what she wants. Compared to Mamika who has undergone a dramatic shift in her archetype, Magane’s archetype has only grown more rotten. She now finds herself in a world where she can do anything she wants without having her fellow characters get in the way. Bringing her to the real world was essentially the equivalent of unchaining a feral beast. Magane is shaping up to be the series’ true villain and it shows. The events of the latest episode proved her to be much more powerful than we anticipated, and with her acknowledgement of zero restraints she becomes that much more dangerous. Magane isn’t just a simple sadistic villain, she is a self-aware villain. She is aware of the existence of her world and ours. Not only that, but the way she behaves makes the viewer think that she might be aware of the world outside the screen, because Re: Creators is still an anime. It doesn’t exist in our world outside of that medium, yet there are several moments where Magane is talking directly to the camera and it seems more like she is talking to us, the viewer. There is one scene in Episode 9 that really hammers this home where she begins talking to herself, yet she is staring straight at us. Not only that, but the things she says are inquisitive and it’s almost like she is trying to convince us, the viewers, that she told the truth, when in reality she bent it. It is that one thing that adds so much more gravity to a character like this and it is incredibly intense.

I could probably talk about this show forever, but I want to leave some of these characters as a surprise for those of you who intend to give the series a shot. This is an anime that is clearly aimed at artists. Whether you draw, animate, or just write, this series was made to be watched by you. The questions and conversations posed by Re:Creators can easily be applied to your own work, and through that it provides perspective. It makes us question the content we create. It makes us wonder just exactly how our characters would truly feel in the situations we put them in. It also makes us question the level of detail we give our worlds. There are so many minor and major details across this series that resonate with me immensely. Because of that, it has become one of favorites of this season, if not this entire year. If you are an artist, I urge you to watch this show. You will not be disappointed, and I’m sure you’ll come away from it with a renewed view on your work. Hope you enjoyed the article.

[bestnewsmag-blog]

New Post has been published on Bestnewsmag

New Post has been published on https://bestnewsmag.com/trump-100-days-that-shook-the-world-and-the-activists-fighting-back/

Trump: 100 days that shook the world – and the activists fighting back

Naomi Wolf, creator, political journalist and co-founder of DailyClout: ‘Trump didn’t try this. You did this. Your own state of being inactive brought us exactly right here’ The first 100 days of President Donald Trump: how have my lifestyles changed? First of all, there was the mourning length. Now not for me, but for my fellow citizens. I used to be just mad. And that I wasn’t even maddest at the Trump voters. I understood that the critical warfare lines now aren’t left versus proper, but the 1% neoliberal globalizers making off with all of the loot and disemboweling the middle elegance. So when I noticed the campaign, I knew that in the US, simply as within the Uk, a candidate who stated anything at all about humans forgotten in the neoliberal race might have a solid threat. Donald Trump’s first 100 days as president – day by day updates

Study greater No – I was mad at my personal leftwing tribe. All of January, people on the left would confront me with dazed, grief-stricken expressions, as though they’d simply emerged from a multi-vehicle pileup on a foggy highway. “How should this have occurred? What will we do?” I couldn’t even bear to take part in the one’s conversations. Eventually, I began explaining my rage to my closest buddies.

I was screaming approximately the opportunity of this very moment for eight years, on account that I published a chunk in the Father or mother titled “Fascist America in 10 Smooth Steps” and wrote an e-book based totally on it, called The End of us (2007). Underneath George Bush Jr, the left has been very receptive to the e-book’s message approximately how democracies are undermined via the conventional methods of might be authoritarians.

however, as soon as Obama turned into elected – “one of ours” – I had to spend the next eight years yelling like a haunted Cassandra, to a room the left had abandoned. I had yelled myself hoarse for eight years Underneath Obama about what it might imply for us to take a seat still whilst Obama dispatched drones in to take out US residents in extrajudicial killings; what it’d imply for us to sit nevertheless at the same time as he exceeded the 2012 Countrywide Defence Authorisation Act that permits any president to keep citizens forever without charge or trial; what it’d imply for us to sit down still even as he allowed NSA surveillance, allowed Guantánamo to live open and allowed hyped terrorism tales to hijack the charter and turn the USA into what Finally even Robert F Kennedy Jr become calling a National safety surveillance kingdom.

For eight years, Beneath Obama, my audiences were libertarian cowboys and crimson-kingdom truckers; contributors of the military and police forces, who were appalled by what they had been witnessing; and even conservatives, involved about our legacy of freedom. My usual audience, the buyers at Whole Foods and drivers of hybrid cars, the educated left, my people, sat smugly at home even as the very pillars of American democracy had been being systematically chipped away. They had been watching Downton Abbey and tending their heirloom tomato patches on weekends within the Hudson Valley, because everything changed into Adequate; yeah, he can also Ok drone moves, but they couldn’t be that terrible, on account that he become certainly one of “ours” – a handsome, eloquent African-American, a former network organiser – within the Oval Office. Seduced by way of the picture of a fascinating black man on Air Pressure One who talked about “alternate” – a white female in a pantsuit (although enormously paid by way of Goldman Sachs) talking about “that highest, toughest glass ceiling” – the left slumbered whilst US democracy changed into undone brick by means of brick through brick.

  Donald Trump’s world  Muslim Ban Is Each Irrational and Unsuitable fighting 

  Donald Trump did the unthinkable as he sat in the president’s chair. What became the concept of as mere rhetoric for the election has grown to become out to be a truth? Something that can’t be pushed aside. In one of his first acts, the president signed an executive order barring Muslims from 7 countries from journeying to the united states. It is a bewildering order and seems like an try and please his constituency. One is at a loss to recognize the purpose at the back of it. I have supported Trump all alongside however this government order defies sanity.

Many Individuals are glad as they’re not conscious that this ban in actual terms is incomprehensible. There is a lot of competition as properly. Donald says the ban on tour and access to the use is to store the yank people from the ravages of radical Islamists. Alas, analyzing between the strains shows this order is just a sop to his electorate. Not one of the 7 countries named has had any connection with any terror activity within the United states of America. That is the harsh fact. Any other factor to mull over is that the nationals of nations that had been involved in terror hobby against America like Saudi Arabia and Egypt do not discern inside the ban.

The Ban

There’s global outrage at the tour ban. Russia and China are the only 2 international locations who’ve no longer commented on it. The Muslim allies of us preventing shoulder to shoulder against the ISIS like in Iraq must be thinking how they may be singled out. Lots of Iraqi soldiers are preventing the ISIS and including them and leaving out international locations which have a hyperlink to nationals who dedicated terror acts towards the united states need to be bewildering to them. Why did Donald for all the macho photograph he wants to task not include those countries?

Business hobbies

The sad component is that Donald has a large Enterprise hobby in these international locations like Saudi Arabia and UAE and as he has Enterprise interests he has disregarded these nations. Saudi Arabia is an enigma as it’s far and best friend of America and perhaps Donald did no longer want to touch it as it would have ruffled the feathers and with all of the oil coming in from there he idea it higher to leave out the foremost sponsor of Islamic fundamentalism. How may want to Donald have omitted it? Are Enterprise pursuits extra essential than justice and fair play. I study unfortunately that an Iraq veteran who misplaced Both legs fighting with America army towards the ISIS turned into now not allowed inside the America for rehabilitation and restoration. What can be sadder than this?

Ultimate phrase

Donald’s govt order is simply a strive to show his supporters that he method Enterprise. He has forgotten There may be palpable anger in opposition to America in the Muslim international and only for this motives has made it risky for Individuals to travel to many elements of the globe. Donald must keep in mind that men who ride the tiger have the threat of being eaten by the beast. Who knows Donald may be gobbled by means of his very own movements. Loads will depend on the resilience of the American state.

  The arena’s Most Lovely Bridges

They’ll be small or They will be large, They’ll be timber or concrete- but bridges are something that can be located nearly everywhere in the global. However, this text specializes in the bridges that make our heads flip round. These bridges are architectural miracles that in reality have the potential to take our breaths away. So without similar ado, we bring to you a listing of bridges around The world that are simply the aspect you need to go to. (Also, here is a pro tour tip for you – make certain you look at British Airlines while you e-book your flights)

1. Brooklyn Bridge, Big apple: Featured heavily in many films inclusive of the famed Batman Trilogy, this bridge is a cable suspended bridge that paves the manner out of new York. It’s far thus far, one of the oldest and Maximum complex bridges of recent York. The towers giving stability to this bridge are in reality fabricated from granite, limestone, and cement. The Maximum outstanding thing is this bridge turned into constructed in 1833 and is still surviving until today.

2. Golden Gate Bridge: This Bridge, Also placed in United states of America of The united states, links the metropolis of San Francisco with Marin County and is a well-diagnosed symbol of California and even the complete of The USA. This bridge is also included inside the current day wonders of The world. Earlier than the bridge become built, the simplest manner to travel among the two edges became using a ship. This bridge became built in a time span of four years. This bridge has Additionally been featured in many films around the world.

3. Tower Bridge, London: This Bridge is likewise an icon and global consultant of the region in which it changed into made – London. This bridge took 8 years to construct and became constructed between 1886 and 1894. This bridge has two towers which were linked by way of two walkways and consist of sections which can be suspended on both sides of the tower. These sections than in turn stretch in the direction of the banks of the Thames. On the time of its construction, this bridge becomes the largest and Most sophisticated bridge in the world.

four. Sydney Harbor Bridge: This Bridge turned into opened for public use in 1932. This mixed with the Opera homes of Sydney are a first-rate cultural symbol for Australia throughout The world. This bridge is known to host the fine New Year Celebrations in Australia. This bridge holds the report for The sector’s largest metallic bridge. However, it isn’t considered to be the longest. It took 8 years to build this bridge with exertions of 1400 men.

Now which you recognize the satisfactory bridges that you have to visit, it’s time to % your baggage and takes a ride to these exquisite places. Additionally, ensure that on every occasion you are buying tickets, you inspect British Airlines to get the best in terms of tour and airfare.

Small and large bridges exist around The arena. We bring to you a list of the first-class which you should clearly visit. Take hold of a price ticket from British Airways and fly to peer These extraordinary bridges nowadays!!