#;; saw her for who she is and who always made her feel seen thus empowered

[lamiaviridis]

💚     ⸺     ​ @liecrafted 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬. ┆𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 - always accepting !

you have no idea what i'd do to keep you safe.

The plan of action in pursuing this particular He Who Remains Variant was simple: Amora would pose as a distraction, Loki surveyed the establishment for any of this particular Variant's henchmen and dispose of them and Mobius waited for him to cue an ambush of said Variant with an appropriate amount of Minutemen. Posing as an exotic dancer to gain the attention of a mob-affiliated millionaire was mere child's play for The Enchantress. And all was going swimmingly well, until the Variant called a few more of his men over to gawk at Amora.

Shifting a bit on his lap, she forced a smile and held out a hand in greeting, fighting back a gag when the opposing man bestowed a kiss upon the back of it. These men were armed with weaponry, though bullets barely phased Asgardian deities such as she and Loki, whom she couldn't help but take note of his ever-building envy as more men crowded around her. The multitude of hands on her bothered her more than she'd ever admit; she was used to men flaunting after her prowess and her beauty for eons, though not being touched by two at once. She merely played the part and waited until the Variant had his guard down so she could enchant him with a kiss Loki hopefully wouldn't see.

Though, that moment never came due to the onslaught of bodies hitting the brothel floors as the group of men, the Variant included, slumped over and Loki was the only one left standing, hurrying over to her and grabbing her arm. With a tug, she was off the Variant's lap and walking alongside Loki towards the exit of the establishment. She barely had time to process all of what had happened, though she yanked her arm from his grasp and demanded to know the absurdity of his actions. He claimed they were getting "too insistent" and could tell she'd been afraid. This, for some reason, angered her.

❛  Afraid ? The Enchantress holds no fear, especially not towards Midgardian fools such as these. I had the situation under control, and I was more than nearing my opportunity to strike my target. I am no weakling, Loki. I am more than capable of saving myself.  ❜

[punkpandapatrixk]

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☆°・. Hustlin’ a la Goddess .・°☆ | Punk Girl Culture

A while back on Pinterest I saw a really cool quote like this: ‘I hustle like a man because I was raised not to depend on one.’ I understood what it’s trying to say and where it’s coming from; and above all, it really is an empowering idea considering how many women in this world are totally loser-like because their willpower is weak HA But the thing about that quote is…

It got me reminiscing about how I used to be a terrible, terrible workaholic caused by a toxic childhood that had been the complete opposite of that. In my past reality, I hustled like a man exactly because I had been groomed to depend on one. KABOOM!

In a toxic household was a psychopath that worked devilishly hard at having little girls believe that a woman is inherently—by nature—dependent on men. That our survival is at the mercy of men’s charity. Thus a woman must seek to marry a rich man if she wishes to live a happy life. Mind you, this wasn’t a simple case of a shallow Boomer who had grown up in a different era; this really was a psychopath who delighted in creating false realities for little girls to grow up and become absolute losers, in the hope that they never would surpass—never would become better than her.

I was only seven when I began to give that narrative a fuckton of thought. I loathed the idea that a woman is this kind of a helpless creature only because she was born with a vagina; that a woman would never survive without a man’s protection or provision; that a woman’s highest priority in life is to be attractive enough (whatever that means) to seduce a rich man so he wants to marry her. I LOATHED IT. I fucking despised it. What an insult to Love!

At any rate, by age seven, I had come to notice the bullshit that was often spewed by that psychopath. I refused to accept that degrading idea so I began to think and behave differently. I thought to myself one afternoon in the shower:

‘So a marriage is only necessary because of the money, right? But that’s an old people thing. This is a different era—I will make my own money when I grow up. So then, that means I don’t need to get married. I won’t allow myself to become dependent on a man. I don’t want it.’

And so it was that I grew up to become a hustler more resilient than most men because I wanted to rebel against the grooming of the psychopath. It was like a weird coping mechanism or overcompensation or something—not sure which term is more correct LMAO I grew up wanting to be seen as tough and not needing a man’s gentlemanly assistance. I hated being helped by men like, what, you think I can’t help myself? I was always able to help myself.

The problem is… I became way too tough. Waaay too tough for one short girl. I had come to hold myself to impossible standards. I thought that if a man could manage to do this or that, I should be able to do and achieve just the same. My brain is very capable! What’s stopping me?!

The reality of the limits of my physiology (tiny!🤪) as well as my psychology as an autistic girl had not become clear to me at this point. But as the wheel of fortune would have it, at some point in Life my eyes were opened to the very idea of my girlhood and I woke up to the realisation that a woman shouldn’t have to work so hard in Life. DIVINE FEMININE, BEBEH!

One cold and rainy October evening I was lying on my bed, broke as fuck, single as a stick, hungrier and lonelier than a stray cat, feeling all defeated in Life I thought about all of this and repeated to myself quite amusingly miserably:

‘I’m a girl. I’m just a girl. And a really tiny one at that. I shouldn’t have to work so hard. I don’t wanna have to work so hard. I shouldn’t be made to work SO hard. I wanna be someone’s baby girl!’

And I cried and I cried about the fact that I had been so unkind to myself as a girl. That I had allowed society to convince me that it was okay to be so impatient with myself in the name of professionalism! And I cried and I cried because now I was realising I’m really such a soft lovely polite girl who had been forced to fight for I didn’t even know what for the longest time trying to just meet the expectations of a batshit crazy world full of terribly gaslighty psychopaths…

I cried for three days straight, no cap. My youth… My entire Life… For what… And where did that lead me? It’s given me nothing. NOTHING.

By the end of the third day, I made a resolve to treat myself more kindly, more gently because girls are meant to be held with tender care and Love♥︎For the first time in my Life I was able to wholeheartedly accept that I was a girl LMAO That sounds funny but I wasn’t struggling with gender dysphoria—no, I don’t think that ever was the case but… umm… though I always liked the fact that I was a girl, somehow, there was also a part of me that used to view myself as just-a-14-year-old-boy-who-likes-to-play-video-games. I couldn’t even comprehend why I had an appearance that would be considered attractive by men💩

At any rate, so it was that I had held myself captive to impossibly stupid standards of conducts because I wasn’t aware enough of my biology, physiology, as well as psychology as a Goddess! Thinking about it now, it’s so bizarre I lived like that and even managed to survive pushing myself so hard even on those motherfucking days of murderous cramps *wink wink* One time I shed tears feeling so sorry to my younger self because I wasn’t gentle or patient enough with her.

I think the feminine force is supposed to be the embodiment of love and comfort. I think being a girl means I am deserving of an effortless existence. Say what you want if you’re a feminazi, but I want to live enveloped in lightness and ease. I think a girl deserves to be taken care of unconditionally because she’s so complexly fragile and delicate. No, it’s not a weakness. A flower’s delicateness is not a failure. Nor is a butterfly’s fragility useless.

We, are creatures of beauty. And when I was awakened to that reality, I learnt that the first thing I needed to do was stop being an enemy to my fragile beauty. I resolved to hold my femininity in highest regard and not continue to hurt myself with unrealistic expectations based on the male standards of conduct. It had to start with myself because the brainwashed world outside of me was never going to give this to me.

‘I simply do not want to hustle like a man anymore. I don’t think it suits me at all. More important, I don’t think the way men hustle is the standard of a good character! I don’t think they know what they’re doing.’

I, am a feminine force, baby—I don’t chase; I attract. When I hustle, I’m gonna hustle a la Goddess because that’s what I AM. The feminine, the yin, the abstract, holds the magick of the creation of the Universe. Literally I can manifest all I need effortlessly by just breathing calmly and being pretty—in harmony with the melodies of the Cosmic Vibrations💗

Gosh, why didn’t I figure this out earlier?!

I think I’ve now made peace with the homme and femme within though. I think, I’ve pretty much stopped being angry about the ways I used to hustle like a man—posing numerous dangers to myself both physically and spiritually. Ecologically, bish, that wouldn’t have been sustainable in the grander scheme of things!

I still have alternating days I feel more like an homme and a femme every so often but I’ve got to say I like me best on the days I feel most indulgently girly👗On such days, I feel the world is so fine because I’m a woman👒I feel everything is just gonna fall into place eventually because my Goddess Magick is taking care of my Reality. All is well in Divine Timing, my baby girl🎀

And god forbid—I don’t need no man to give that to me either!😉

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

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[Breaking Conventions with Determined Softness]

your glamorous talent

empowering the soft girl

hustlin' a la Goddess

🍃🪨🍄🧚🏻‍♂️

[istanleyff7]

TOTP, Episode Aerith, Scenes 5-9

Final Fantasy VII Remake: Traces of Two Pasts Episode 2: Aerith Scenes 5 - 9

A Light Novel by Kazushige Nojima Translated by Stanley (@istanleyff7 on twitter)

Scene 5

"My mother immediately took out a syringe after sitting on the bench and injected herself. I was startled."

"That must have been rough..."

There was compassion in Tifa's eyes and voice.

According to her definition of a mother, Ifalna would be a "really good-natured person". However, she was different back then.

"Even though I knew she wasn't well, I only worried about myself."

"You were a child..."

"I know..."

Aerith fell silent. It cannot be helped since she was just a child. Thus, there were a number of regrets that she did not want to simply put away.

"Ah! My bad, my bad! Shall I continue?"

"Sure. Please."

"The medicine worked, and we walked on for hours in the Sector 4 Slums, taking a break at times. Then we saw an information board that said ‘Sector 5 Slums’."

Scene 6

"Mummy, it says this is the Sector 5 slums. The house is in Sector 3, isn't it?"

"Nope. This is fine."

"But the new house is in Sector 3, right?" 

"Aerith, let's hurry up a little. It's going to be nighttime."

"Where are we going? Where are we hurrying to?"

Without answering, Ifalna tightly grasped Aerith's hand and hastened her steps.

Many questions surfaced. Eventually, Ifalna started speaking silently.

"I've heard that there's a church in the Sector 5 Slums. In the past, people gathered here and prayed to God, but nobody comes here anymore. I've been thinking that we should hide here a little..."

"I've heard about God! Does he really exist?" Aerith was surprised.

"According to his believers, he does. I heard that when they pray, they get empowered."

"Pray...?"

"It's something like us Cetra speaking to the planet, although I don’t really understand it. But, since no one is coming to the church anymore, there probably aren't any believers. It's too bad for God, but it seems like it's great for our situation."

"We'll wait for Fuzz at the church?"

Ifalna stayed quiet for a while, then shook her head.

"We can't cause any more trouble than this."

"What about the new home?"

"We will not live there."

"Fuzz would be disappointed, wouldn't he?

"He probably will be."

"Are you okay with it, Mama?"

"As long as you're around, I'm okay."

Aerith thought that those were surprisingly comforting words. But that didn't mean that she didn't feel bad for Fuzz, nor had she gotten over the guilt of betraying him. However, after the thought that she didn't have to live seeing injections, medicine and backhand kisses, she felt a sense of relief.

"Let's go to the station first. I only know the way from there."

"Should we ask someone?"

"Nope. We don’t want anyone to know our whereabouts."

↞↠

There are times when there's not enough sunlight in the slums, as the plate was blocking them out. A giant lamp called the sun lamp makes up for that shortage. However, the light that was seen in the morning and afternoon was just like the actual sunlight. While she was amazed at her mother’s explanation, she also felt anxious. The evening was drawing near. She felt that something terrifying would happen if they didn't make it to church by sundown. A terrifying thing that she, too, couldn't imagine. 

"Aerith, that looks like the station."

Aerith looked over. A train was about to depart. Unlike the Sector 4 Slums Station, Sector 5's Slums Station seemed like a small station with only a platform. There were probably a few commuters departing from the trains, and there weren't many passers-by too. 

"Alright then, which way should we..."

Should we go? Those were the words she probably was going to say.

Without finishing her sentence, Ifalna sluggishly collapsed to the ground.

"Mummy?!"

Aerith's voice gathered the looks of her surroundings. However, nobody moved over to help.

Ifalna's breathing was heavy, and after touching her, Aerith realised she had a fever. A high fever.

"Mummy, where's your medicine?"

"I've... used them all..."

It was a desperate situation. What should Aerith do?

“Are you alright? Mummy?”

Ifalna said something from her painful breath. Aerith couldn’t hear it, so she brought her ears close to her lips. She only felt a hot sigh in her ears. What should she do? What should she do? Aerith's head became loaded with "What should I do". Her mother uttered something again, and Aerith heard that she's alright. But she was definitely not alright. However, what should she do? She wondered if anyone could help them, like how someone did at the Sector 4 Slums Station. Aerith lifted her head and looked for someone who seemed like they could help, but no one was paying attention to them. Would you please help us? Would you please look over here? These words come and go in Aerith's head. My mummy is sick. She has a fever. Please help us. Please, help us, please! However, she couldn't speak out.

"I'm sorry..." Ifalna muttered out. "We were... in the middle of an adventure..."

Please do not say such words.

"No!"

Her emotions overflowed in her voice.

“Are you sick?”

Looking back, there stood a man in faded and dirty clothes.

"Let's move her over there. She's blocking the way here."

Without waiting for a reply, he sprang into action. 

He inserted his hands under both sides of Ifalna, lying face up, and started to back away.

Ifalna was being pulled along and had her shoe fall off her foot. Aerith picked the shoe up and gave them chase. 

"Be more gentle!"

The man didn't change his expression and continued to pull her along. He sat her leaning against the station platform.

"Call a doctor."

"Where can we find one?"

"I don’t know, if it were me, I would shout out loud to find one."

The man turned back, and he really shouted out.

"Is there a doctor!"

However, there was no response.

"Well, all the best."

And just like that, the man went off without looking back.

"Oh, my goodness."

A well-dressed man and woman came over and looked at Ifalna scrutinisingly. 

"Are you doctors?"

"No, we're not."

"That person, is she your Mama?"

"Shouldn't we quickly call out for a doctor?"

"Don't you have any medicine?"

While listening to both of them, her mother's words came to mind. The truly good people are those that act on it and give help. The people here weren’t them.

"Mummy wait here. I'm calling a doctor over."

Aerith ran while looking as though she was being crushed by anxiety.

"Is there a doctor?"

She exclaimed in the direction of a lot of people.

"Is there a doctor?"

Looking back, she was a long way away from the station. She then heard the voices of men and women. It was a cheerful-like group who walked over. She decided to ask them, and if that didn't work, she would head back to the station. Aerith ran.

She was about to ask them was there a doctor. Then she saw a youth turning around and coming close to her.

"Hey, I've told you so!" the man continued walking back towards her. "And yet..."

Aerith hurriedly tried to avoid him but did not make it in time, the man's butt struck her face, and she fell over. The men and women gathered their gaze on Aerith.

"Go home and sleep, kid!" exclaimed the man who bumped into Aerith, and his friends burst out laughing.

She absentmindedly got up while hearing the laughter of the leaving group. She felt frustrated, sad, angry and miserable.

"Are you alright?"

Aerith looked back, and there was a woman who seemed to look over worriedly. The simple, tied up hair behind her head swayed. 

"I'm okay. Do you know a doctor?"

She noticed that she herself was crying and wiped away her own tears. 

"I live in the outskirts, so I don't know any doctors around here."

Aerith gave her thanks and started to walk away. Whenever she was asked whether she was alright, she only could reply that she was alright. She wondered how many times she asked her mother that.

"Mummy. I'm sorry..."

Aerith ran towards the station.

Upon returning, she saw that her mother's body was covered with a blanket. A "good person" must have appeared and covered her with it. However, seeing her mother's painful state, she felt as though her chest became crushed. Her fever was so hot, she couldn’t even keep touching her. 

"Mummy."

Even after she called out, Ifalna was still looking at the vast sky.

"Aerith. Are you here?"

"I'm here."

Ifalna's eyes searched for Aerith, and she grabbed her.

"This..." Ifalna pulled out a small pouch from her clothes and held it out.

"I got this from my dad, who got it from his mum, who also got it from her mum. It's not good for anything at all, but it has always been around, connecting us Cetra."

Aerith's chest became flaring hot.

"No. I don't want it."

If she takes it, it'll all be over. She had a strong hunch.

"Well... My life is ending soon. I'm returning to the Planet."

Ifalna's hand that was holding out the bag was trembling, and then it finally fell.

"Don't be sad. Even from here on out, I'll be by your side"

"Mummy."

"Are you alright?"

The voice came from above. She looked up towards the voice, and it was a woman, the same woman who called out to Aerith when she fell.

All of a sudden, Ifalna moved. She raised her upper body and grabbed the woman's arm.

"Take... Aerith... somewhere safe."

She said it with such a powerful voice that made Aerith wonder where she left that strength.

However, in the next moment, Ifalna's body became empty. Her spirit left her body, leaving her flesh and bones without its' host.

"Ah..." Aerith muttered without thinking.

Aerith repeated her mother's words in her head. Don't be sad. I'm returning to the Planet. I'll be by your side. Connecting us. She knew. Even though she knew, her chest still stung. Her tears were flowing down, and she let out her cry. Her body hurt and was also trembling. Someone was stroking her back.

Suddenly, the surroundings became busy. Aerith lifted her head and saw a train slipping into the platform with a roaring sound. 

"Let's leave here."

The woman said as she firmly pulled Aerith's hand, forcing her up her feet. Aerith quickly picked up the pouch.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

The woman pulled Aerith's arm as she hurriedly tried to leave the station. She remembered being pulled by Ifalna and crossing the railway tracks. She wondered where this hand would take her. 

Mummy, goodbye. 

From here on out, they'll probably still be together. That was probably right. However, Aerith would not be able to feel that body anymore. She was not allowed to feel that body anymore because the form of her mother's life was different. 

"Mummy!"

She turned back and yelled out to her mother, but the pull of her hand became stronger. She saw that the train stopped. When the door opened, Shinra troopers and men in white coats vigorously alighted. 

"Let's run."

When the woman saw that Aerith wasn't moving, she picked her up roughly and started running.

↞↠

When they eventually approached the centre of the slums, the woman finally lowered Aerith. 

"Are you able to walk?"

Aerith nodded in agreement.

"I'm sorry I couldn't properly let you say goodbye."

 Aerith shook her head. 

"I'm truly sorry that I had to leave your mother there and head off."

The woman had a sincerely apologetic look on her face. Aerith nodded again.

"You poor thing."

"My mother only just returned to the Planet, so I'm not sad."

"Ahh... It seems that there are people who do think of it that way. Even so, it's sad to be separated, isn't it?"

"Nope. It is because I can still meet her."

"I see. Well then, firstly, let's go to my house, shall we? When you're there, you can cry all you want."

Scene 7

"But I didn't cry at all."

After Aerith said that, Tifa gave her a dubious-like look.

"My house, you've been there before, right? The one in the Sector 5 Slums."

"Yup. I've been there."

"There were lots of flowers, weren't there?"

"Yup!"

"When I went there for the first time, I was also welcomed by the flowers. Really, I felt that. I felt the Planet, and I felt my mother. That's why I didn’t have to cry. What I left behind wasn't my mother. My mother was here."

Tifa tilted her neck and was puzzled.

"I've been saying weird things, haven't I?"

Aerith laughed.

"I think it's strange, but it isn't weird."

"Thank you. I thought that you'd say that. That's why I'm able to talk."

Tifa felt something at the back of her nose.

"Hey! Hey!" Aerith wanted to change the mood. "My house was huge, wasn't it? For a house in the slums."

"Yeah! More than just being splendid, I thought that it was a proper house. It doesn't look like a house in the Slums nor a house in Midgar."

"That's right. The house belonged to Elmyra's father-in-law. People said that her father-in-law was an influential man. How do I describe him... A Corneo who isn’t bad.”

"A Corneo who isn’t bad?" Tifa repeated herself.

"Ahhh, it's impossible. The impression is too bad."

"Yeah. Only Corneo's face comes to mind."

"I've failed. Think of a more gentlemanly face. Anyone besides Corneo would be fine."

"I'll try."

It seemed that Tifa was really trying. However, she slipped out a laugh.

"Hmmm?"

"I don't know many guys who are gentlemanly."

Scene 8

Aerith, who knows little about the landscape of the slums, also quickly realised that it was a unique and special place unlike any other. It was a land with lots of nature. Plants grew on the levelled three-dimensional terrain, and even flowers were blooming. It was a stunning scenery for Aerith, who only knew flowers in vases or potted plants.

They travelled through the garden and started walking down the wooden plank, which was laid out to make a path. Aerith then felt someone stroking her hands and legs. She didn’t feel uneasy and fearful. There was a gentle and calm feeling on her heart, or perhaps her head.

"Who are you?"

The wind was blowing and brushed Aerith's cheek. Her heart was filled with joy.

"Did you say something?" Elmyra Gainsborough, who had already introduced herself on the road, turned her head around.

"Nope."

"I see..." Elmyra started walking again.

"There’s lots of grass, aren't there? It's an old plot of land, and it was left like that. There are lots of flowers blooming too. It's still blooming now, but these kinds are just beginning to bloom."

Aerith thought of a garden with lots of flowers and was delighted. 

"I've been cutting and pulling them, but they are stubborn. It's hard because insects come too."

"I think it's good as it is."

"Well, but I'm giving up."

Elmyra's house was an old solid wooden building. They entered by opening an elaborately constructed double door with glass mounted on its' upper half.

Her day was filled with first time experiences since she left the Shinra Building. Above all, this experience of entering another person's house for the first time was like a lump of "first time"s striking down on her. The interior had an appearance in which plenty of natural wood was used. There were tables and chairs in the centre of the room. Unlike the rooms in the Shinra Building, the walls here had many windows. Furniture, tableware, pots, food, cleaning tools— it was like she could hear the breathing of the people living here. Aerith was distressed from the information overload and took a deep breath through her mouth.

"You're a strange child, aren't you?" 

Elmyra laughed. 

"I know it's sudden, but I thought about it along the way. I know I could bring you here, but what am I supposed to do after that? There was an orphanage on the way here, wasn't there? A lot of kids without parents live there. I thought about bringing you there, but there's a rumour that it's under the influence of Shinra Company. I thought about it after seeing what happened at the station. You probably hate the Shinra, don't you?"

Aerith nodded strongly many times.

"Well, we have to carefully think about what's going to happen from here on out," Elmyra let out a huge sigh. "But I'm not at a space to think about such complex matters now. Are you alright to go about this later and stay here for a while?"

Aerith nodded again and again.

"Well then, shall we go to the second floor?"

Elmyra, who seemed to be an impatient person, promptly climbed up the stairs to the second floor. Aerith hurriedly kept up and saw Elmyra waiting for her along the second-floor corridor. 

"In the meanwhile, I'll let you stay upstairs."

"Okay."

"This is a house with a fair number of guests. If there suddenly were a child, they would find it suspicious, wouldn't they? More than anything, I can't guarantee that they wouldn't tell Shinra about you. For the time being, except when I say it's okay, I'll have you stay upstairs."

"For the time being... How long will that be?"

Elmyra frowned and folded her arms. The smile disappeared from her eyes.

"Honestly, tell me. Is Shinra chasing your mother? Or are they chasing you too?"

She knew the meaning of her question. However, how should she reply? She was also probably being chased too. She was undoubtedly being chased because she is a descendant of the Cetra. 

"Ummm. Yes."

"It's alright if you say yes. However, if it comes to that, you'll be staying on the second floor until Shinra gives up finding you, okay?"

Aerith knew that Shinra would probably never give up searching for her. She'll probably live on the second floor her whole life.

"Don't look like that... It's human nature. You won't be here for an eternity."

"Um. Okay."

The doorbell rang downstairs. Elmyra frowned. Aerith felt nervous that it might be someone pursuing from Shinra.

"Wait here for a moment, quietly."

After quickly fixing up her hair and clothes, Elmyra went downstairs.

Aerith crouched down and hid her breath at that spot. After she thought she heard a sign of the door opening...

"Where did you go!"

The voice of a furious man burst through. Aerith lost her balance and quickly placed down her hand for support.

"That's none of your business!"

"You were the one who told me to come over in the evening, weren’t you? Oh? Do you treat people like this all the time?" 

"I said I'll probably be here in the evening. I didn't make any promises. You can't come here every day at any time for no reason."

'It will end after a signature and a blood seal. How many times must I say it?"

"It will be the same no matter how many times you say it. Understand? This is about the way society works, and the rules. Without Meguro's consent, I also won’t do anything. And even with my blood seal, he would think that I gave in to a threat. If you want to keep your job forever, you have to stay true to your own words, okay?"

"Shit!"

"Your teeth will fall off from such foul words. Well then, go home!"

"Shit! Shit!"

"If you want to stand on top of others, you'll repent for it. Well, back off!"

It was the sound of the door slammed shut. The man was mumbling in an angry voice. However, she did not understand its content.

Elmyra returned to the second floor and seemed exhausted.

"Ahhhhh..." She let out a deep sigh.

"That was Carlo Kinky. That man, he's a special one. Other guests are normally just decent and quiet."

↞↠

Aerith was assigned to the room of Gabriel Gainsborough, who built the house, and that was his room where he had recuperative medical treatment until two months prior. It was tidied up and smelled clean. She didn't feel any hints of death.

"I don't really think it has a good atmosphere, but I don't have any other rooms. Nope, I have one, but I'll have to clean it up."

Elmyra felt apologetic. However, Aerith didn't care about it. In fact, she even felt a welcoming-like feeling from the room.

That night, Ifalna appeared by her bedside.

"I'll be supporting Elmyra being fond of you, okay?"

Ifalna laughed, but that smile had some kind of tiredness in it. It was the same smile as when she was walking in the slums.

"How did you come here?"

"It’s not that I came here, but we're always together because we are connected."

Aerith felt her mother's hand on her forehead. And before long, she slept with peace in her mind.

Ifalna appeared the next night too.

"How was today? I wonder if you got along with Elmyra."

"Hmmm... I don't know. Elmyra made breakfast, brought it to me, and we ate together. At that time, she made bread for me for lunch. She went out after that and then came back around dinner time. But, she seemed tired. That's why we didn't talk much. I can't get along with her. What should I do?"

"It's alright. Elmyra is having it rough now. But, I think you can help her. "

"What should I do?"

"When she wants to cry, stay with her and cuddle close together. It's the same as when I was here."

"... Mom, was there a time when you wanted to cry?"

"I probably did a few times..."

Scene 9

"I'll explain this," Aerith changed her tone to an excuse-like manner.

Tifa seemed to be in an absorbed-like state.

"When I was a kid, I thought that it was a dream, and I thought I was just talking in a dream, but that's not it."

"Um.... What do you mean by that?"

"It's one of the powers of the Cetra. We can be one with the floating life of the Planet. Through this life, and though it seems there are various conditions, we're able to communicate with people whom we're separated from."

"That's amazing, isn't it?"

“Right? It gets more different than you think. But I can't do it anymore. I can feel something when I go to a deep place, but usually not at all."

"I see."

"Like happiness and sadness. But, I have been through a lot due to this power when I was a kid. Well, I must be a strange kid, aren’t I?"

↞↠

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[olivieblake]

As a writer or even just a consumer of media do you find people are less willing to accept “flaws” in characters and stories? I’m not talking like this character is a murderer he’s evil no one should like him type stuff, though as someone who started off writing dramione I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of that but just like when characters are ever short of perfect. Like when a strong female character is kinda insecure or a couple isn’t communicating well or has a heated fight everyone gets mad that it’s a toxic relationship or bad writing. I once read a review of a book where someone stopped reading it after two chapters cause it had bad therapy practices, ie. the character still had shit to work through and therapy isn’t magic therefore they weren’t always doing the healing right and it’s like? that’s the whole point!! it’s an arc the character is gonna grow! It’s also made clear early on that the therapist didn’t agree with the coping methods (overly controlling their life) so it wasn’t like they were trying to portray it as a good thing. I know you’ve mentioned people have ✨opinions✨ about your DFS Hermione for having flaws and staying flawed and her flaw is just that she kinda thinks she’s right a lot and maybe isn’t the most self aware nothing even serious lol. I’m not saying don’t be critical of media but it’s kinda overwhelming reading think piece after think piece about why this thing you enjoy is actually the literal worst™️. Like am I toxic for having some of the same flaws ? Am I a problematic creep for enjoy stories where everything isn’t always sunshine, I don’t want to have a train wreck of a relationship but sometimes reading about one can be kinda fun? Is that terrible?

there’s a lot here that I’d like to discuss and I’m thinking about how I’d like to do it (I’ll inevitably chat about it in a video because it’s interesting and complex but I think I may have too many topics for this monday)

let’s see I think I will start by saying: in general, critical discourse about media (books, tv, film, fanfic) is a good thing, but it has definitely gone awry from what I consider to be its origins. I think the whole point of viewing media critically and making observations about what we are portraying via fiction is crucial for amplifying/protecting marginalized stories and reducing harm—specifically, the harm that minorities and women face by being inundated with bigoted, prejudiced, hateful, or ignorant tropes, caricatures, or relationship dynamics. I definitely believe that we should consider what we consume and how we consume it, particularly when it comes to the marginalized voices who do not see themselves represented well or fairly in white male dominated media

that being said, I do think it has led to the expectation that fiction cannot have ANY problems, which is absurd and counterproductive. it’s also extremely reductive, particularly when it comes the Strong Female Character™ thing you mention, where a woman STILL only has value if she’s strong in the “correct” way. I mentioned in one of my other posts and also last week’s video that there’s some kind of disconnect between the VERY GOOD intentions of things like #ownvoices or the movement to empower female characters and the actual outcomes, which make it so that any flaws in a marginalized fictional character are magnified to represent the entire group. the very reasonable request to see ourselves in fiction has somehow become an exponentially convoluted demand to see ourselves a certain way in fiction, where any character who does not reflect our personal experience is bad and wrong. previously, the expectation was that white male stories were universal whereas everything else was only for that specific group, and now, ironically, everything that is created still has to fit that universal quality and please everyone, despite that not being the point. the problem is when you only have ONE movie about this topic or ONE book about this ethnicity, then of course it hasn’t done enough to exemplify an entire subject or culture. there has to be an entire body of work the way there is with white-dominated media, where no single film or book accurately represents the experience of being white

plus we have twitter which is a horrifying hellscape where you get rewarded by the algorithm for making loud, obnoxious points so add that to the list (yesterday I saw that one of the top 3 reviews on Beloved by toni morrison is a 1-star review written by a white man and I was just flabbergasted by the lack of self-awareness) 

but anyway that’s like, more of a macro look at what I think is going on but you’re right that people are not very forgiving of flawed characters. to some extent, I get it; the one thing we don’t want our characters to do is annoy us, and that’s fair. but I also think people have lost the sense that “oh, this thing isn’t for me” and thus can’t successfully identify the difference between critical failure and personal dislike

now. as for Divination for Skeptics. let me start by saying it’s not like I don’t understand why people find hermione in Divination for Skeptics annoying, because I get it. if you’re taking the story very seriously then sure, maybe you want her to change her behavior and it’s frustrating that she doesn’t. fair enough! to that I say it’s a comedy and if you don’t find it funny you’re perfectly welcome to dislike it, it’s not a big deal to me if I don’t make you laugh. however, I DO take issue with people who claim she’s too flawed or doesn’t grow, because they almost always do it in a very specific way: they say that she doesn’t show enough empathy, aka how dare she not read draco’s mind and simply alter her personality and behavior to suit his. it genuinely infuriates me that in my opinion, people who voice that particular “criticism” have seemingly internalized the belief that women should be emotionally perceptive; that for them, hermione’s “flaw” is that she does not take on the emotional labor that draco refuses to perform. (her actual flaw is that her survival technique/coping mechanism is a hyper-rationality that incorrectly assumes she has perfect information; i.e., that everything she knows is accurate, and therefore all of her decisions must be sound.) whereas draco knows this about her—knows and acknowledges it—and yet cannot bring himself to voice his feelings out of a fear-based desire to hedge his own emotional risk. who, then, is more flawed in the context of the story? 

I don’t really have a conclusion yet so I’m going to pause for now and we’ll revisit this; I think mainly it’s that the more media diversifies, the more people will struggle with the preconceptions they have and the presumption that everything they consume is for them, and therefore that they are the metric for whether something is “good.” I think good art, good media, will reflect the world as it exists, but it will still only be the world according to one tiny fraction, a sliver of the actual human experience. does bad representation mean bad art? when it harms people yes. but when it speaks to a deeper truth (the truth of “we are all given to vice and imperfection even if it is not this specific version”), no. but that requires quite a degree of sophistication and self-awareness to identify, hence the discomfort of continuous vitriol or bad takes

[ninjakasuga]

Sonsally Celebration Week, Year 3, Day Four!

Sonally Celebration Week, Year 3, Day Four!

Another day of Sonsally Week, unlike the last few entries, this is where I break linearity and go travel back to a prior period in the timeline. When the prompt of ‘Power’ was shown my mind of course went to the Super-Forms, the Deep Power Stones, and the like. Yet also my mind went back to some fanart from last year about a certain someone I would have loved to have seen share a Super Form with Sonic… Y’all can see where this is going.~

Forward: Timeline wise, this is 9-10yrs before Crossroads; the last battle of the war with Dr. Eggman. I admit I’m once again sprinkling tidbits from my still WIP Archie-Sonic-Verse that has yet to be published, but I think the easter eggs and hints of things yet to be seen will be fun for the reader.

Power:

“Sal, are you flipping insane?!” Cried Sonic as he stared Sally down at her suggestion. “You want to use the Deep Power Stones to amplify our Super Forms? What about all that ‘overload potential’ nonsense?!”

Standing beside Sonic, one eye on the half of the Deep Power Stone in her hand, the other on the approaching Egg Armada. A legion of robots, ships, and what other mechanical horrors Eggman had left to try and quash them all for good. With the world-wide alliances winning victory, after victory, Eggman grew desperate and now was throwing everything he had at them in a ‘If I can’t have it no one will!’ tantrum of a scorched world move. Basically it was done to the wire, and now they were as desperate as Eggman.

Her grip tightened on the stone, that madman would not have the last laugh. He wouldn’t end their world as he did the Mobius he came from! “It’s something I was thinking about for awhile, Sonic. We’ve seen what the stones can do just augmenting the individuals who bring the stones together. If we bring that kind of augmentation to the Super Forms? We have the Master Emerald already channeling to empower the Seven Chaos Emeralds, imagine channeling the Stones through it to the Emeralds and the Power Rings. All of you could not just have a greater power boost, but potentially the forms will last longer, long enough to wreck most if not all of the Egg Armada and put an end to this war for good!”

“It might work…” Murmured Tails, standing on the other side to Sally. “Channeling the Stones' power through the Master Emerald, which itself is a beacon and conduit for the Seven Servers…” He began to murmur as his brain went over the numbers and possible calculations. As the two-tailed fox finished his thoughts, he turned to the Guardian of Angel Island, wanting his thoughts. “The Master Emerald is your expertise Knuckles, you think it will work?”

The red-furred Guardian furrowed his brow as he contemplated this. “Maybe, I admit while my communion with Tikal or my Great Grandfather has given me greater insight to the mystical aspects of the Master Emerald, I’m still a novice truth be told.” He sighed, looking apologetic. “Sadly I know more of the scientific side of things given the Brotherhood’s data mostly focuses around that. Even my Father’s old notes are more historical musings than proven theory.” He sighed again, mentally cursing his forebears for yet another aspect of oversight the Brotherhood neglected during their long tenure of guarding Angel Island. Then again, save for the Lost Tribe, it would seem most of the old mystic arts were lost to the Echidna of today, what few were left. “Given we’ve found many connections to the old mystical artifacts of the world, there’s a good chance they’ll work together as Sally thinks.”

A low growl-like ‘hmm’ punctuated the air, before a stern voice interjected aloud. “Or it will overload the Emerald, destroy it, and fry all of us, or potentially create a super-bomb.” Shadow stated with arms crossed, and looking pensive. As all looked his way, he spoke on. “I’m not saying we ditch the idea, but it’s something to consider. I have a vow to protect this world to uphold, as well as too many I care about to let them die.” His thoughts dwelled on Rouge, Omega, and Hope especially. His other comrades within G.U.N. and the Thorndyke Labs. Even of those here, despite any past animosity, he wanted them and their loved ones to equally live. They all had family, and friends to protect. 

The last member of the group, his expression uneasy, yet a deep resolve in his eyes looked about his comrades, and then the horizon as their enemy continued to fly toward them. “We don’t really have a choice do we? This is the last chance, for all of you, as well as the Future I want to prevent from coming to pass.” Clenching his fists, Silver felt his powers hum through his being. It had been a long journey, and one not without many hurdles. From his bungling to interpret data from then Future, and its founding in the past, to dealing with the truths of his own ‘Master’ and the struggle of wondering if he was truly a pawn to bring about ‘his’ world versus a world for everyone to be happy. In the end he was wiser, more experienced and ever resolute to ensure the dark future never came to pass. All other obstacles save Eggman had been dealt with. This was the final hour. “So, save for Sonic we’re all in agreement?”

Hands on his hips, Sonic frowned deeply, looking rather indignant. “Hey, hey! I never said scrap the plan, I was just pointing out how before everyone kept yammering about doing something stupid with the Stones. Given either configuration usage done wrong could lead to KAB-BOOM! Jus’ pointing that out!” Eyeing everyone, his gaze rested on Sally, those deep blue pools that always sucked him in. Reaching for her hand, he wrapped his hand over hers, their wedding rings shining in the sun together. “You think this is our best bet, Sal? If you’re really onboard, so’m I.”

In truth, Sally did share the same concerns as Sonic and everyone else. She knew even using just the ‘boost’ augment which so far had been the safest, could lead to disaster as much as the other configuration which always ended destructively. Plus this would be the last time they could use them. As per Merlin Prower’s warning, the Deep Power Stones could be used a handful of times, and the mystic had given them warning they were on their last usage. This was due to a special magical limiter the Neo-Walkers put on the Stones, halving their ability so the Freedom Fighters and their allies could have an edge. However with the last use, the limiter was off, and so it was full power, and potentially the best opportunity for the worst case scenario. After this the Stones would vanish for another millennia until they were recharged and reappear randomly about the planet again.

Yet as Silver pointed out, what choice did they really have? Eggman was going all out; and thus, their hands were tied. “It’s the best shot we have. G.U.N.’s mechanized forces are exhausted and what isn’t in the repair bay is out fighting the forces encroaching their borders. None of the rest of the allied nations have any armies big enough to fight this horde. We can’t call for help from Blaze or any other friends from other dimensions because the Zone Cops sealed all dimension travel to Mobius Prime to prevent Eggman from escaping. This, this, is all we can do.” Her resolve sounded unshakable, despite her internal doubt, she had to sound resolute. Matching her gaze with Sonic, she managed a grin as she laced her fingers with his. “Let’s do-it-to-it, gang!”

Smiles formed about at the catch-phrase that was so infectious even Shadow was sucked in. One by one, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow and Silver joined in placing their hands over each other, forming a lock. “Let’s do-it-to-it! They all cried, before breaking to get into place. While Sally stood by the Master Emerald with Knuckles, the others began to loop around the Master Emerald, each linking their hands together. From Shadow to Silver, to Tails, to Sonic. Instead of holding Knuckles’ hand, Sonic placed his own on the Echidna’s shoulder. Knuckles did the same with Sally, while his free hand touched the Master Emerald. Sally held the Deep Power Stones in each hand, waiting for the right moment to place them together. Craning her head to Knuckles she nodded, and he nodded back, his gaze shifting to the large emerald his bloodline made their mission to protect along with Angel Island itself (well Echidna population for them, Knuckles was out to protect everyone).

“The servers are the Seven Chaos… Chaos is power, enriched by the heart… The controller exists to unify the chaos!” As he started the chant, he briefly saw a flash of Tikal within the Master Emerald, smiling at them all. This allowed Knuckles to smile, but he didn’t let this distract him. “We who are blessed by the Chaos, beseech to wield your power and wisdom, to save the planet and the innocent lives that dwell upon it. Let us be the Guardians of Mobius, of the Chaos, and the Light of Gaia!”

“We will gladly give our lives if you can let us protect all we love, please help us.” Murmured Sally, interjecting her own addition once Knuckles’ incantation chant was finished. Staring at the two halves of the stones, Sally placed them together, the halves flashed as they became one. An intense glow emanating from the black object that soon blinded them all. A bright, green glow from the Master Emerald broke through the white, with the gathered Power Rings (including Sonic’s Billionth Special Ring) all giving off a golden glow as the colors mingled together. A pillar of the mingled colors erupts from the Master Emerald’s resting place, shooting up, and up into space as the island is bathed in its warm glow.

Tails was the first to regain his sight, and once the relief they did not explode passed through him, a wide grin formed on his face as he felt it, the power of his Super Form. Not only that but he could ‘feel’ the power was increased. “Alright I think it worked!” He hollered, pumping his arms as he felt the power of Turbo Tails peak and flare briefly. “Hooo it’s been a long spell!”

Shadow merely made a ‘heh’ sound, yet smiled as he stared at his own glowing hands. “Yes, I can feel it, now those machines can feel Super Shadow’s fists and Chaos Spears.”

“This still blows me away with how powerful it makes me feel.” Murmured Silver as he marveled at his Super Silver transformation.

“Oh holy crap…” They heard Knuckles utter, followed by Sonic stammering “S-S-Sal?”. Everyone turned their heads and gasped in awe.

“Oh, my God…” Was all Sally could murmur. Her fur was a pink-orange tinge, and her hair a golden glow, flowing freely from the sheer power itself. “H-how? I thought only those with a tie to the Chaos Force could achieve super form?!”

“Maybe the powers that be felt you were worthy.” Knuckles mused, giving a nodding approval to this development. The light-pink glow of his Hyper Knuckles form, arcing with energy like everyone else. “In any case it looks like it worked.”

“I’m not a fan of the colors, they remind me of when I spent hours scrubbing chemicals out of my fur.” Muttered Sally, recalling the chemical splash that caused her fur and hair to change colors twice, before finally returning to her proper brown and auburn tones. She shuddered at the memory; she was lucky Rotor and Quack were able to make a fur-shampoo solution to cleanse the stuff from her fur, and luckier she wasn’t exposed long enough to cause any health issues.

Rubbing his chin, Sonic flashed a wide smile as he drew in his wife’s Super Form. “I dunno Sal, you rock the colors, and do’. It’s giving me ideas-.”

Tails held up one hand, and the other he put a finger to his mouth. Making a faux-gagging sound. “Sonic, I’m right here, don’t wanna hear that stuff!”

Snorting, Sonic rolled his eyes, “Hey, hey Li’Bro who said my mind was going to the gutter?”

Knuckles shot Sonic an incredulous look. “And I quote, “I’m always horny for Sal.”, end quote.”

Both Sonic and Sally managed to blush through the color of their super forms. Each coughing, and averting their gazes from their friends for a time.

“How about we can the small talk, and focus on saving the world?” Shadow stated, breaking up the moment as he turned and pointed towards the approaching Armada. “I’m sure Eggman saw that light show and is going to get even more antsy to try and finish us off.”

Clearing her throat, Sally stepped forward from the Master Emerald, letting Shadow’s comment further help to put that momentary embarrassment behind them. FAR behind them hopefully! “Shadow’s right, we got the power, now let’s use it.”

Pounding his fists together, Sonic began to jog and jump in place to pump himself up. “Juice and jam time folks, let’s show ol’ Eggy he should’ve stayed on that satellite in his home dimension.”

“If not just shriveled up and died.” Growled Knuckles as he flexed his fists before slamming them together.

“For everyone here, and those yet to come, we must win.” Silver uttered as he began to float, flexing his psychokinetic powers in anticipation.

Spinning his twin-tails, Tails began to hover as well. “Sally, give the word, we’re ready!”

“Everyone, it’s been an honor… LET’S GO!!”

[heroes-fading]

Why Veronica Mars Won’t Have a Season 5

My introduction to Veronica Mars came in the midst of my father’s death. I watched episodes in hospital waiting rooms before it happened, and holed up in my room afterwards. I found a lot of comfort in the strength that the characters provided. The scene of Logan at his mother’s funeral - maniac and trying to find the humor in it - is exactly what I felt at my father’s. I, like Logan, made jokes and tried shrugging it off. I was certain that this was some sort of cosmic joke, and I was on the receiving end. Veronica’s personality shaped most of who I was in high school - my dad passed away two weeks before I started. Her snark, intelligence, and resilience inspired me so much then. I found a wonderful community with fans of the show, and to this day as a semi-adult I love and adore so many people I met through the show.

When the movie was announced, I was ecstatic. I remember rushing to a bathroom stall at my high school so I could eloquently keyboard-smash about it with my friends, donating to the Kickstarter, wearing my t-shirt, going to the theater with my friend to watch it and livestreaming it the night of its release with my online friends. In a sea of horrible feelings and helplessness, Veronica Mars helped me feel empowered and supported.

That’s partly why all of this stings so badly and feels so much like a betrayal.

Logan Echolls fits into a lot of tropes I’ve grown to hate as a self-identified feminist who has zero time for bad boys. Men who “atone for their sins” to get with a leading heroine are ones I often find boring - so often they’re executed poorly and their past mistakes would be absolutely unforgivable in a real context. Chuck Bass, Damon Salvatore, Spike, et. all are characters I’m tired of seeing in fiction. Logan Echolls organized a bum fight, took out Veronica’s headlights, burned down a community pool, made a series of racist comments to Weevil, and generally had moments of being the absolute worst. But for some weird reason, I have a massive soft spot for Logan and he’s become one of my favorite fictional characters.

Maybe it’s because we’ve seen him go through much, change so much over the course of the show. Maybe it’s because the show actually held him accountable (as well as Veronica) so the redemption didn’t feel cheap or unearned. Or maybe it’s because I’m just a weak heterosexual hypnotized by Jason Dohring’s abs and my feminism only goes so far as who I think is hot. I hope it’s not the last one, but I’m sure some would argue it is! The point is -- healthy, going-to-therapy Logan feels earned after the deaths of his parents, his abusive dad killing his girlfriend, numerous beatings, and too many near death experiences to count. Logan went from being an obligatory psychotic jackass to a fairly well-adjusted boyfriend in a way that made narrative sense.

His offscreen death right after getting married to the love of his life? Not so much.  

The thing that stings about Veronica Mars’ final episode is not just Logan’s death - it’s what it means for the show going forward, especially its titular character. What made Veronica lovable was not her toughness as Logan’s final voicemail details. As season 3 Logan reminds us, Veronica isn’t invincible and she isn’t always right. What made her such a compelling character was what was underneath that toughness, and the people around her that highlighted that warmth buried underneath layers of trauma. In other words, what made her a marshmallow. Burnt on the outside, but gooey on the inside, as Wallace describes her in the pilot.

When we meet Veronica in the pilot, she’s been through a litany of traumas: her best friend’s death, a breakup, sexual assault and drugging, social ostracization, her mother’s addiction and swift exit from her life, a swift drop in socioeconomic status, and routine humiliation at the hands of her peers. But in spite of all of that, she’s still the girl that cuts Wallace down from the flag because it’s the right thing to do. She’s still the girl that worries about her father, has sympathy for Logan after his mother’s death despite all of his cruelty, defends and comforts Meg Manning after she endures the same bullying Veronica did, cares (often, initially unwillingly) about the people whose cases she takes, and bakes cookies for her friend after his basketball game just because. Even as recently as the books, Veronica bakes a cake for her terrible, abandoning mother on her birthday in spite of her replacing her and Keith with another family. She looks after her half-brother Hunter, even if he’s a painful reminder of her mother’s foibles. Veronica isn’t nearly as tough as she pretends to be, and that’s a good thing. That’s what makes her interesting and stops her from being like every other cynical hardboiled detective trope.

The people around Veronica - who support her, evolve with her, and serve as contrasts to her - are what help make her story so compelling. People who can tell her when she’s wrong (Logan, Keith, Weevil, et. all), who remind her of her soft side (Keith, Wallace, Mac, Logan), who can stop her from turning into a noir stereotype and cement her as Veronica Mars. People aren’t tuning in just to see Veronica snark at random side characters. Her personal journey in moving past her trauma and her relationships with other characters are what really makes the character who she is. 

Her journey, from the pilot episode to the movie, is realizing that she can’t just shove down and run away from her trauma. Over the course of her show, we see her form bonds with people in spite of her attempts not to - Wallace, Mac, Logan, and a variety of others. They help her, support her, and challenge her in ways that only serve to make her story more interesting. In the movie, we see Veronica realize she can’t keep running and she doesn’t want a cushy life as a New York lawyer with a boyfriend who doesn’t understand why she cares so much about what happens in her hometown. Neptune, as corrupt and corroded as it is, is her hometown. 

That’s why it’s such a spectacular slap in the face for the end of season 4 to offer the exact opposite. Veronica loses her husband (after finally evolving from the Veronica in the pilot who swore she was never getting married because she was so cynical about relationships) immediately after marriage. She leaves behind Keith, Wallace, and everyone else to chase unknown cases with unknown people in unknown places. As Rob has said, he saw this as the only way for Veronica to continue to be interesting - roaming the world solo as if she’s Sherlock Holmes.

This is not character progression. This is not driving the plot forward. This is regressing to a character to a point even before the pilot episode - a hardened Veronica who pretends she doesn’t care, who uses her trauma as an armour, and keeps people away from her. It undermines the central message of the movie - that Neptune is her home and in spite of her problems, she’s willing to fight for it. By killing Logan, Rob wanted to kill Veronica’s ties to Neptune. This isn’t an evolution - it’s a devolution. 

Rob Thomas has offered this option before - a Veronica exit vehicle sans everyone else, including only Kristen Bell snarking at a camera - in the form of the last-ditch FBI pilot. It was not well received by fans nor networks, and unsurprisingly not picked up or seen anywhere other than a reposting on YouTube. I think if he sincerely expects any other result from a similar future attempt, he’s lying to himself. 

If Rob Thomas wanted the male character-centric P.I. noir he initially planned on writing rather than Veronica Mars, he should have written that rather than allowed it to take over the Veronica Mars universe. Writing a woman with the same elements of toxic masculinity as male characters (a complete disregard for their own feelings, ripping themselves away from personal connections, framing “toughness” as superior and emotional development as a waste of time) is not feminism - it’s just lazy. “Strong female characters” don’t have to be made strong by undergoing trauma after trauma and shutting down until they’re a shadow of their former selves. Their male counterparts aren’t expected to have to deal with rape, death, ostracization, and every other possible form of trauma  - women sure as hell shouldn’t. 

Furthermore, the way that Rob Thomas has framed his fanbase is shameful. Veronica Mars fans aren’t just deranged fangirls too obsessed with Jason Dohring’s abs to care about the health of the story. This isn’t “not what we wanted, but what we needed” - we’re not an audience too stupid to know what’s good for us. We’re an intelligent audience when we’re giving the showrunners money, but when we’re disagreeing with the writing choices we’re just too invested in romance to “get it”. Predictably, these fans (who make up most of Veronica Mars’ fanbase that the showrunners claim to adore so much) are women. For decades, women have been stereotyped as media-consumers that only care about romance and thus can’t care about depth as if the two are mutually exclusive. This stereotype is incredibly sexist, especially given what this fanbase in particular has done for this franchise, and the continued insistence that these fans just don’t know what’s good for them or the show is incredibly condescending and transparent.

This fanbase poured $6 million dollars into a Kickstarter for a money, maintained energy for a revival and actively lobbied streaming services and networks for a continuation, and kept the fandom twelve years after the finale episode of its original incarnation aired. As much as some may resent how fan energy encouraged writers to see Logan evolve, or Logan and Veronica to sort out their issues, or anything else - these were choices the writers made and stood by for years. A sudden U-Turn in storytelling to go from “the fans were right, this dynamic is wonderful and we’re going to base our advertising around it!” to “well, it was never supposed to be about that” is a kick to the teeth to a fanbase that (literally!) gave so much. 

It’s not as if this is the first time the fanbase has been disappointed by a writing decision. Speaking for myself, I was heavily disappointed by the way sexual assault was handled on the original incarnation of the show. Veronica’s rape was handled by at first not framing it as a sexual assault at all in “A Trip to the Dentist” - Duncan Kane (her ex-boyfriend/potential half-brother at some point in time) having sex with her while she was unconcious was framed as just “feelings and nature taking over” because he was under the influence. In season 3, the writers decided that framing women protesting sexual assault on campus as deranged feminists who sexually assault men by inserting them with Easter eggs was a good choice. That Easter egg part was played for laughs by the show, writers, and leading cast member. 

Even the inclusion of Dick Casablancas for laughs - whose GHB was intended for his girlfriend and ended up in Veronica’s cup - doesn’t feel right. Ryan Hansen’s charm explains a lot of it, but the show seems to place a lot more blame on Madison for Veronica’s rape despite the fact she narrowly escaped the same fate at Dick’s hands. I was disappointed then, and I’m still disappointed with it now - far away from any romantic concerns of the show.

And my biggest problem with the ending of season 4 isn’t just that Logan is dead. I’m incredibly crushed and disappointed to see all of that character development be met with an offscreen car-bomb, but it doesn’t bode well for Veronica’s characterization and ultimate arc either. I fell in love with Veronica’s character first, and I don’t even recognize her anymore.

If the movie was a thank you to the marshmallows (both the fans and Veronica’s inner softness), the ending of the show was a middle finger to both. If the lesson from the series and the film is that you fight for things because they’re worth it and not because they come easily (whether they be relationships or towns), then the lesson from the revival is that the best thing to do is leave and take your bags. So much of the narrative was set up around Veronica accepting who she was and where she’s from - and the revival’s Veronica has finally been traumatized so much she’s packing her bags and giving up. That’s not toughness. That’s not strength. That’s certainly not saving the show or the character. 

That’s selling a grim story because you think it’s edgy. That’s trying to be subversive and failing, too focused on shock value to care about the characters. There’s a reason shows like Game of Thrones, Dexter, and How I Met Your Mother got such backlash -- they just don’t make narrative sense and the endings are far from satisfying. Making the fans happy isn’t a mark of bad storytelling, especially when the survival of your franchise has been so contingent on it. Sometimes, they actually do know what they’re talking about! And if you want a season five, maybe don’t alienate your fans to a point they don’t recognize the show anymore. Rob mentioned, “...I will have made a really bad bet if, en masse, the fans turn on the show. That would certainly be a tough lesson to learn.” -- I think he accomplished that! 

I wish the Veronica Mars that got me through the toughest parts of my life was still around. But I’d rather say goodbye to her forever than be faced with a cheap imitation. 

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

Chapter 32

Harry felt notably down for the next few days. Tom noticed but didn't remark on it. They both knew why Harry was feeling the way he was feeling, and they didn't need to discuss it.

Now that exams were done, Hermione and Ginny had returned their focus full-swing to translating the last few passages of the Old Aldric book. It had taken a backseat to the mountain of homework that had lead into revision and then exams.

The day before the end of term feast, Hermione and Ginny gathered Harry up after breakfast and hid themselves away in an abandoned classroom as they pulled out the last of the translation and handed it to him.

With a mixture of anxious trepidation and excitement, Harry picked up the bound parchment notebook and began to read.

The Record of Tarsang the second, son of Morac.

G.t 14407

I have spent much time studying and recording the details for prosperity, of the greater magical creatures of this realm in preparation for our final departure. I wished to understand the actions that had been taken by this worlds Magic in its attempt to save it's Children and I think I can finally sum up my findings into something simple, to serve as my contribution to this text.

Goodness and understanding was needed in this world's greater magic users. Empathy, justice, and freedoms would help the half-creature Men thrive, and so those strong in the magics of Light were given the task of empowering these attributes. But Magic saw that those powerful in the Light would be more lenient towards the non-magical Men. They would fight for these non-magical beings 'rights', since they are the underdogs. They are weaker, and will forever be in need of someone to stand up for them and protect them, and it would be in the nature of the Light wizards to take up such a task.

It was foreseen that it would be the Light magical half-breeds who would risk true exposure of magic to the non-magical Men. They would believe that all humans had the right to magic, because it was the just and fair thing.

However, the fact remains that if non-magic Men gain the power to wield magic, then the End will befall this world and all will perish.

And so Dark magic was given power to keep the Light magic in check. To keep the Light from getting too powerful, and from exposing everyone, and thus, losing the magic for all.

It is in the Dark's nature to covet the power of magic and keep such a power to themselves. To seek it out in every form and to hoard it. The Dark would not want the power to spread to the non-magics because it understands that they are not worthy of the power, and them gaining such a power would be disastrous for all.

This world's End will come in one of two ways. The non-magical Men will steal magic, and use it to destroy all that exists, or the non-magical Men will destroy themselves with their own strange brand of magic, conjured from their too-fast-gained knowledge of sub-physical world and their 'science'. If the End is brought about by the non-magic sciences, the magical creatures of the world will have the chance to shield themselves from the fall-out and they will have the chance to survive. However if the end is brought about by the forces of magic, no one will be saved. All will die.

It is a tragic end, and one I hope this world will manage to escape. I wish them my best as my family and I make our final preparations for our departure. I am saddened that I will never know the fate of this world and it's inhabitants that I have grown so fond of.

Harry sat there staring at the page for several long minutes after he had finished reading it. It didn't really give him any new information. Basically a rehash of what he'd already figured out or at least guessed at.

Harry was broken from his pondering by the sound of Hermione sighing heavily and sinking down into a chair opposite him.

"I don't even know what to think about all this..." she said with a slightly dejected tone.

"It's not really anything new," Harry said shrugging. "Basically repeating what we'd already read earlier in the book."

"Yeah, I guess... it's still just difficult to take it all in. Do you really think it could be true?"

"Honestly?" Harry said, looking at the two girls, who were looking back at him expectantly. "Yes. I think it's true."

– –

The end of term feast was as spectacular as all of Hogwarts feasts always are and Harry collapsed into bed that night with an extremely full stomach. He had slipped down into the Chamber once that early morning just to make sure he didn't leave anything behind down there that he would want with him. He had hardly gone down there at all in months though, so there really wasn't anything he was in need of.

The next morning when Harry and his classmates made their way across the grounds to the front gates where the magical carriages were lined up to take them all down to Hogsmeade Harry came up short as he blinked owlishly at the skeletal horse-like creatures pulling them. He'd never been able to see the things pulling the carriages before, and for several moments he was completely confused.

It took him a minute to realize that no one else saw anything different at all. Then his brain turned back on and he finally recognized what the deathly looking creatures were.

"Thestrals..." he breathed under his breath as realization dawned on him. Once considered death omens because of their rather horrible appearance and the fact that they can only be seen by those who have witnessed death.

"Hmm?" Hermione had asked but he shook his head, dismissing it and pretending that nothing was up.

Of course he could see them now. He had killed someone in a rather brutal and horrible fashion. He was rather intimate with death now. He had caused it. But it made him wonder why he'd never seen them before. He had, after all witnessed his parents death, and if that couldn't count because he was too young, there still remained the fact that he'd witnessed Quirrell die... again, by his own hands. Hell, he had literally killed Quirrell with his own bare hands.

So why the bloody hell was he only able to see the thestrals now?

Harry shrugged it off. It didn't especially matter much. It was just one of those illogical things about magic that never really made much sense no matter how hard you tried to work it out in your head. Although, Tom would probably have a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.

Harry followed his friends onto the train, wishing he could just bypass this part and simply take his portkey to the manor house, but knowing he couldn't. Ginny hung out with them for a short while before heading off to meet up with some of her friends from her own year, leaving Harry alone in a compartment with Ron and Hermione.

"Oh hey, before I forget –" Harry started after the other two had been talking for some time about summer plans, "you two can send me owls to this address." Harry pulled out two pieces of parchment and handed one to each of them.

They both looked at him curiously before unfolding the notes and looking at what was written.

Hermione was the first to speak. "France?" she gasped.

Harry chuckled and shrugged. "Yup. Did you know that France has no restriction for underage magical use?"

"I – wait, it what?" Hermione asked, coming up short.

"Yeah, witches and wizards can use magic all they want in France – as long as it's not being done in front of muggles, of course – and they won't get punished or anything, even if they're not 17 yet."

"Wait," Ron started, "so you're running off to France so you can perform magic during your holidays? Do you even speak French?"

"No, and that's not why I'm going anyway. It's a coincidence really. It just so happens that the place I'm going to is in France and therefore I can perform magic this summer. Besides, that address isn't where I'm actually staying. It's a hired post box. A house elf will be retrieving my mail every few days and when I have outgoing mail, I give it to the elf and she'll bring it to a public post and sending it out with one of the owls there. Hedwig is just going to hang out with me all summer. She'll probably get a bit bored, not being able to deliver any letters, but the grounds are supposed to be pretty big so she'll have plenty of flying room."

"Wait, I don't get it... why are you going through all that?" Ron asked.

"The wards around the place I'm going to be staying doesn't allow owls to come in to deliver post."

"And... why?"

"To prevent anyone from using an owl to track me. No owls, no risk of tracking charms."

"Wow..." Hermione said, blinking in surprise. "Whoever you're staying with is willing to do all that just to make sure no one tracks you down with an owl?"

"They had those wards up already. I told you guys way back when I first mentioned all of this, that the place I'm going has some of the most powerful wards a private property can have."

"And you really can't tell us where you're going or who you're staying with?" Hermione asked, clearly looking worried.

"No can do. Merlin, chances are you two will both be getting visits from Dumbledore within the week as he starts desperately trying to track me down and haul me back to the Dursley's before the wards completely collapse there. If you don't know where I'm going, there's no way he can find out from you. It's just easier this way."

Hermione sighed and folded her arms over her chest but didn't persist in arguing. Ron just frowned.

"You can pass that address on to Ginny for me, right Ron?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, sure," Ron grumbled.

"What's up, Ron?"

Ron ducked his head, still scowling a bit and mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"It's just you've been spending a lot of time with my sister this year and now you're going to be writing with her over the summer too?" Ron finally said, raising his head.

Harry blinked at Ron and had to fight to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Ron, she's a friend. She can write to me if she wants to. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about me fancying your sister or something. She's got the wrong plumbing, and I'm already pretty attached to someone else."

Ron's face went red and he blanched a bit before looking away embarrassed. Suddenly understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes. "You what?"

"Huh?"

"What do you mean you're attached to someone?"

"Oh well... I'm sort of seeing someone."

"What? Since when? Who?"

"Er... for a while now. I mean, it started out as a friendly thing but sort of slowly morphed into something else. And as for who, I can't tell you who for the same reason that I can't tell you where I'm going this summer."

"It's one of the Beauxbatons boys!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly with a gasp. "The mystery boy you refused to tell me and Ginny about – it wasn't a boy from any of the houses, it was a boy from Beauxbatons!"

"Er... no, actually. But... well, nevermind. Like I said, I really can't give you any details that might lead you to where I'm staying, Hermione."

"Huh? Wait a minute, Hermione. You knew?" Ron exclaimed looking at Hermione and then back at Harry with hurt. "How come you never told me?"

"The only reason that Hermione and Ginny know anything about it is because they caught me sneaking in after having met up with him. If that hadn't of happened, even they wouldn't have any idea. I've kept this super secret because I don't want to risk his identity getting out."

"Wait, Harry!" Hermione yelled, suddenly. "No clues to where you're staying? I thought you said that his family didn't know he was, you know... But it sounds like you're going to go stay with him this summer. How..?"

"Oh his mum knows now. He told her. She's good with it, and with me being there. Don't worry, this is going to be fine. Still, we don't want to risk his name getting drug through the tabloids as Harry Potter's boyfriend so I'm still not willing to let it get out who he is."

"So you didn't trust me to keep it a secret?" Ron interjected in, still looking hurt.

"It's not that Ron, but we still have no idea how Rita Skeeter was spying on us, or if whatever method she used is still available to someone else. I just didn't want to risk anything. And then there's the whole Dumbledore questioning you two thing to try and figure out where I'm staying..."

Ron didn't look entirely appeased, but he did at least let it drop. Conversation turned to Hermione's plans for her holiday with her parents and she was startled to realize that while she and her family would be in Italy, she would be legally allowed to use magic. She'd had no idea and found the idea thrilling.

Draco did not pay Harry his normal Hogwart's Express visit, but Harry wasn't the least bit surprised by that. He doubted that Draco would know how to act around Harry right now, anyway.

Finally the train pulled up at King's Cross station and the three of them collected their luggage and exited into the platform. Harry shrunk his trunk using it's automatic shrinking feature, since he technically wasn't supposed to be able to use his own magic away from Hogwarts without getting caught, and then he grabbed Hedwig's cage. The Grangers were waiting there and found Hermione right away. Harry bid her farewell, and wished her a good holiday. By that time, Molly Weasley had appeared and had started gathering up her brood of gingers.

"I'll see you September first Ron!" Harry called out as he began to slip away.

"Oh, wait, Harry dear!" Molly Weasley called out and Harry groaned internally before turning around and giving her an innocent but confused smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Are your relatives here?" she said looking around the crowd curiously.

"I'm meeting them further away from Platform 9 ¾. They don't feel too comfortable this close to so many of 'my lot'. You know how they are."

"Well if you'd just wait a few minutes we can walk out with you."

"No, that won't be necessary Mrs. Weasley. Besides, Uncle Vernon will get upset if I keep him waiting."

Molly Weasley looked torn as she looked back and forth from the twins and Ginny, and Harry.

"I've really got to get going. Thanks for the offer though," Harry called out as he resumed walking away towards the archway that would lead into muggle King's Cross. "See you in the fall Ginny! Ron! Bye Gred and Forge!"

"Bye Harry!"

"See ya later!"

"Have a nice holiday!"

"And thanks again, Harry! We really owe you one!" one of the twins called out as Harry grinned back at them over his shoulder and finally disappeared through the arch. Harry had given the twins his winnings the morning after the impromptu awards ceremony and from what he understood, they had already started to owl order loads of different ingredients and things. If nothing else, the twins would be good for a laugh.

Harry quickly made his way through the crowds of muggles before seeing an 'Employees Only' door, propped open slightly by a broom. Harry slipped his cypress wand down his sleeve and into his hand and discreetly cast a 'notice-me-not' charm on himself as he slipped in through the door. Once he was positive that there was no one around to witness anything, he made sure he had a firm grip on Hedwig's cage, turned on the spot, and apparated away.

He reappeared with a soft crack! in the entry hall of Riddle Manor. He grinned and heaved a big sigh of relief. It was summer holiday. He was free. It had really worked.

"Shall I be taking master's luggage up to his room?" a squeaky voice sounded from behind him, making Harry spin around in surprise. Standing there was Mixey, looking up at him with those huge tennis ball-sized eyes and big flappy bat ears. Harry grinned down at her.

"I can do it myself. I've already got my trunk shrunk down in my pocket."

"Then gives it to Mixey and I's be taking it up to master's room," she insisted with a nod of her head.

Harry grinned in mild amusement down at her and shrugged. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the matchbox sized trunk and handed it over to her, followed by Hedwig's cage. She graciously took them, bowed low, and disappeared with a soft pop.

Harry chuckled quietly, but it turned into a relieved sigh as he felt the familiar magical presence behind him.

"You're not wearing your ring," Tom said.

"Gah! I knew I forgot something," Harry said, smacking himself on the forehead and reaching into his pocket where he had stored his glamor ring. He slipped it onto his left-hand index finger as he was turning around and smiled up at the handsome man that had come to mean such an immensely different thing to him during the last few months.

Tom was looking down on him with an amused smirk as Harry shrugged sheepishly.

"How was your train ride?"

"Long and annoying," Harry said rolling his eyes. "I can't even tell you how many times I wished I could have just used the portkey or apparated straight here instead of having to bother with the damn train."

Tom chuckled and took a few steps forward. Harry felt his skin tingle with anticipation as the other man drew closer and instinctively gravitated towards him. Within the blink of an eye, Tom had gathered Harry up in his arms, one hand behind his neck and tangling long slender fingers into the long, shaggy fringe at the base of Harry's neck, and the other in the small of Harry's back. Harry's arms came up and wrapped around Tom's neck, his fingers lacing together where they met.

"All mine for two whole months," Tom breathed as he pulled Harry's face mere inches from his own.

"I'm yours forever, if you want me," Harry breathed back; the words escaping his lips before he even registered them in his mind.

"Of course, I want you, pet. But that's not what I meant," Tom said pulling back and smirking down at Harry with mild amusement.

"It's still true. I'm yours," Harry said, looking up into Tom's deep red eyes with such an intensity that it almost gave the elder wizard pause. They shared a long, lingering look before Tom bent down and gently brushed his lips against Harry's.

§Mine.Tom hissed, causing a powerful shudder to course through Harry and a wide grin to spread across his lips..

§Yours,§ Harry hissed back.

Tom pulled back completely and took a step away.

"Come, Pet. We shouldn't linger in such a public place. It isn't likely, but my followers have free reign to come and go in this part of the manor and I would rather not be seen by them while in this form."

Harry blinked at the sudden shift and realized that Tom was still, well, Tom. Harry smiled softly, realizing that the man had stayed in his natural form to greet him, even at the risk of being seen that way by someone else in what he considered his 'weaker' form.

Harry nodded his head, smiling softly up at Tom, the other smirked back and headed up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Tom paused and turned to look at Harry over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Welcome home."

– End –

[yang-did-everything-right]

Episode Eleven

I’m a bit late on this but I didn’t sleep amazingly so it had to wait, still really that title is all we really need right? No one who watches RWBY right now, not even the antis, not even they can say this was a bad episode. Because if you strip out the shipping, it was still an amazing episode. It had a new medley for the mecha fight with parts from every character’s theme, unified themes and it was a very technically sound portion. But that’s not what you’re here for, lets be honest. I know what you’re here for, so lets get right to it.

Adam vs Blake, was poetry in motion. It was a story being told before our eyes. It was a snapshot that was once black and white, but given color and life before our eyes. We knew and assumed many things about how a fight between Adam and Blake might go were she not paralyzed by fear and this was pretty much it. She was scared, to be sure. but Adam felt the need to verbalize it because she dared to resist against the death she so plainly deserved in his eyes. A good half of the fight was her running away, because she certainly did not want to be there. If she could get away from him instead of fight him, she’d prefer that. However he denied her that option and so she fought and boy did she.  Her finesse, clever counter attacks and sharp use of her semblance allowed her to keep up with Adam for a time. She even managed to get his sword away from him which was amazing. However, Adam trained her and is still able to get into her head even now. More importantly however, he is physically stronger than her and allowing him to grapple her again is what sealed her fate in their fight. Had she been able to keep him from his sword the battle might well have gone in her favor. Still for being the underdog in their fight she had a resounding showing and I for one am extremely proud of Blake. However the fight that came next, made it clear that he was drastically holding back against her, likely due to the fact that he knew her and her combat style so well that he could afford to. Though when she took his blade away, that stopped. It was only afterwards that he started using his semblance and broke one half of gambol shroud. Though it was what followed that led to what is up to now, the best fight in this volume if not the series. Yang vs Adam. She came in with a Yang and Bumblebee was sacrificed to give Bumbleby life. Adam also took the full brunt of that motorcycle to the aura and there was no indication he blocked any of it, so it was easily the single biggest hit he’s taken so far and surely played into the later fight. Some people have wondered how Yang could be so apparently fearless during her fight when she plainly still suffered from ptsd in a big way. It might not be immediately obvious to people without/lacking understanding of ptsd, but as someone that suffers it I am in a unique position to elaborate. The thing about ptsd is, while you will always have it, it is not always ‘on’ and it can be completely overridden by a greater mental stimuli. For Yang, her emotional trauma was first and foremost, the loss of Blake and secondly, the loss of her arm. This can be seen in how she is able to easily joke about her arm and condition, with her father and later with her team and JNR. However she cannot do the same when it comes to Blake. Every single time Blake was brought up prior to them meeting again, it was met with anger, sadness and depression. This was absolutely intentional, as Blake is wound up tight within the mental condition of ptsd for Yang. So, Yang was presented with an absolute reason to be fearless. The Absolute Loss of Blake.Blake’s death would be an inconsolable weight on Yang, something I am very sure she would be unable to recover from. Moreso if it happened due to her own inaction, thus the exact opposite happened and her action revved into overdrive. Adding to this however, comes all the way from volume 4. The song Armed and Ready. Songs in this series are intrinsically tied to characters and the very theme of the show, music and art and colors were once outlawed in the world of remnant and an entire war was fought to bring those things back into the light. Whole generations of people named after colors and music and art as a form of rebellion. This is not an accident. Yang has been pumping herself up for this fight for three whole volumes, anyone who has similar experiences can verify that more than anything else, it is a battle of the mind.  So that takes us to the fight itself and it was insane. Adam shows the audience immediately that his showing in v5 was a fluke from being outsmarted, outplotted and goaded into action by his victim. He did not just want to finish Yang, he wanted to humiliate her, dominate her and break her. That, is what he wanted to do. Key word, Wanted. He threw the book at Yang. His attack echos were particularly interesting, where his semblance was used to create ‘echos’ of his attacks that followed up with his attacks briefly. He also used a number of shockwaves, blast waves, blade beams and the like but it was effective at only one thing, knocking Yang away. Because once she got into his guard? She absolutely pummeled him the likes of which I’d never expected. But lets take this piece by piece, when Adam began fighting Yang he rushed her aggressively and seemingly put her on the defensive. But this was not him putting her on the defensive, this was Yang doing her homework on the spot. We need to remember something, Yang has -never- seen Adam fight before. Never. Her only experience with Adam, was losing an arm to a single slash too fast to even follow. So the only thing she knew was, “If I can see him, I have a chance.” The most important part of any duel, is if both opponents even have the means of challenging eachother. If not, then it isn’t a duel, it is a one sided slaughter. The first test then, was seeing if she could follow his attacks at all. Spoiler alert: boy could she. She used his heavy opening aggression as a way to feel out his speed and strength, she discovered pretty early that she was stronger than him. She also learned that his energy blasts multiplied his strength enough to send her skidding backwards. Most importantly however, she learned that she was no longer too slow to keep up with him and in fact, reacted faster than he did. She evaded his actual attacks and blocked his echos and energy, he did not land a single attack on her that was not blocked. This is extremely important.  Once the opening salvo was done, she turned on the offense and Adam absolutely had no answer for it. She pounded him really hard and you could hear the sounds of pain from him, if you pause the video at choice parts to boot, you can see his face twisted in anguish. She hurt him. She forced him into the defensive which is a problem for her. Why? Because his core style isn’t an offensive one as most seem to believe. His core style is defend and counter, that is what his semblance is built around. Defending enough to build a meter and unleash brutal counters. Yang’s brutal offensive forced him to return to his basics, blocking as many of her attacks as he could with his sword, so that he could attempt to speed blitz and blast wave her to death. However this was also blocked which put her in position for Blake to give her a quick lesson on his semblance which changed everything. The parallel of her having to feel the pain of the damage she took verses him being able to get away with feeling nothing was extremely powerful, as it outlined a sociopath compared to one who self sacrifices. Once Yang understood, Adam failed to block her attacks with her sword again for a fair portion because she no longer went for his sword as a strike target, she even used the very move she used in v3 to come at him, just to juke and school him in a beautiful combo. However this was when Adam actually used his sword to block an incoming strike rather than making his sword a target, because he couldn’t get away with that anymore. The resulting blast and very heavy fighting left Yang tired even though she had not really taken any damage.  Importantly however, Adam was also left panting and looking weary. He certainly had not expected the blond that he’d one shot a year ago to be giving him a genuine run for his money, yet here we are. More than that though, he also saw the look that Yang and Blake were giving eachother and it was a stark reminder of that moment in v3. That moment when he considered Yang someone worth killing to torment Blake, someone that Blake loved. At that moment, it was a bit more likely that he considered them close friends rather than intimate. But even love between dear friends can be powerful, just look at how devastated Yang was after the fact. They certainly had not been dating then, they certainly had not confessed any feelings then. At that point in their lives, they were just very very good friends. Yet now Adam saw more, Adam saw something in their eyes that enraged him to the point where he empowered himself for an attack so powerful that Blake cried out Yang’s name in such fear like we’ve never seen in this show before. Truly, it was a bad ass looking attack. It was mighty, powerful and awe inspiring. Notably however, Yang blocked it with her mechanical arm and this is important. She did not use her real arm and aura to block it, she did not spend aura to block this attack likely because she couldn’t have. I fully believe that this attack was a kill move, it would have cut through her aura and dealt a truly terrible wound. The fact that it was able to so deeply scar her mechanical arm, something that up to now had not even taken a scratch? Something that Ironwood had personally developed for her? Something that was cutting edge the year it was made? Instead, she tanked that attack like it was nothing and gave Adam a look that left no room for misinterpretation. She was done. Yet despite that, she still gave him a chance. “Leave US alone.” Not just Yang, not just Blake. He was both of their nightmare, but now he was not an invincible dream. Now he could bleed, now he could hurt and now he was standing in front of her. Her high tension however began leading to her shakes, shakes that stemmed from the fight, memories, the ptsd struggling to break through and his taunting when he noticed it certainly didn’t help.

However, Blake was there. Yang was not alone either, just like Blake had not been. Blake learned from the shed, Yang learned from the waterways. Stronger Together. “We’re Protecting Eachother.” They held hands in what might well be the most iconic moment of the series, right in front of Adam. The man struggling so hard to break and kill them. The stage is set, the audience is ready. The final act of this play will commence soon and soon we will see the passing of a great villain, who absolutely deserves everything that is coming to him. Remember his short, remember it well.  Phew, my longest post yet. I hope you folks enjoy it. If you have any asks, questions, comments or critiques, please feel free to send them my way. 

[baneismydragon]

10 or 11 with Marichat? Your number 15 Drabble nearly killed me this morning (in the best way!) I love your stories!! ♥️♥️

And here is number 10 Marichat! Special thanks to @yunyin for helping me brainstorm the idea! Enjoy ^_^

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Chat Noir ran through the halls of the Louvre, Nino and Alya hot on his heels, and an unconscious Marinette cradled in his arms.

He could hear the sound of screams and frantic footsteps in the distance where the latest akuma, the Fairy Godmother, was wreaking havoc.

It wasn’t one of the more creative akumas in his opinion. An aspiring author whose manuscript had been rejected for being ‘too cliche.’ So now the disappointed and recently empowered woman was running around Paris turning everyone into fairytale characters.

To give credit where it was due, Chat was fairly certain that the writer in question had done a fair amount of research. He hadn’t even recognized many of the transformations he had seen thus far.

Unfortunately, while the akumas powers herself were limited to transforming others, she had been been fairly liberal about creating not only heroes, but matching villains as well. So Chat Noir had already found himself dodging angry witches, Enraged trolls, and one fire breathing dragon, (that he rather hoped was Fang for consistency).

It hadn’t helped that her ambush had quickly brought her to the highly populated museum.

Chat had done what he could to help keep things at bay, but while he was able to get many others to safety, he was vastly outnumbered, and so far there had been no sign of Ladybug.

“We should be safe in here, for a minute” he said, ducking into the Apollo gallery and closing the heavy doors behind them.

“Is she ok?” Alya asked, her voice filled with worry as Chat laid Marinette down on one of the long benches.

“I don’t know,” Chat admitted, “it all happened so fast, I just saw her get hit, and…” he swallowed heavily.

“Marinette? Marinette!” Alya cried kneeling beside her and shaking the unmoving girl.

“She won’t wake up Alya,” Nino said, his voice low and resigned.

“What? Are you saying she-”

“She’s asleep.”

Both Alya and Chat stared at Nino.

“Fairytale characters, remember? She’s Sleeping Beauty.”

“How can you be sure?” Chat asked.

“Check out the bottom of the dress,” he said pointing.

They looked, and sure enough along the bottom several inches of the pink and white gown was an elaborately embroidered trim of Roses, thorns, and spinning wheels.

Chat let out a relieved sigh. At least she was alright, in a manner of speaking.

“We need to find Adrien!” Alya shouted, jumping to her feet and heading for the door. Thankfully Nino caught her and held her back.

“Alya-”

“Let me go! We need to find him right now!”

“I am sure Adrien is fine,” Chat said rising as well, “I bet he just ran-”

“No!” Alya interrupted, “You don’t understand, we have to find him right now!”

“Alya-”

“He has to come save her!”

“What are you talking about?” Chat asked, his gut clenching as Alya’s cry reverberated through the room.

Alya looked at him, her eyes filled with worry and tears. “He has to come wake her up! I can’t bear to see her like this I just…” her words trailed off into choked tears and she crumpled into her boyfriend’s arms.

“It’s ok Alya,” Nino said soothingly, stroking her hair, “she’s going to be ok. We all are.”

“What did she…” Chat began nervously meeting Nino’s eyes. “When she said Adrien can wake her up was she talking about…”

Nino nodded. Sparing Chat an apologetic grimace as he continued to sooth Alya.

“So, Marinette and… and Adrien?” Chat stuttered, hoping his face wasn’t visibly flushed.

Nino nodded again. “She’s completely in love with him. It’s actually really cute.”

“And, um, what about Adrien?” Chat asked, feeling somewhat guilty for asking in the first place but too stunned by this new information not to.

Nino rolled his eyes fondly. “Honestly? I’m not sure. He’s completely oblivious about the whole thing, and when it comes to his feelings… Well, he’s pretty tight lipped about it, even to me. But he definitely pays more attention to her than other girls, and I know he likes someone, so I always kind of hoped.”

“You see?” Alya said, having recovered enough to rejoin the conversation. “We need to find him.”

“It’s still not safe to go out there,” Chat said automatically, his brain still swirling with everything they had said. “And everything will be fine once Ladybug shows up regardless.”

“Yes, but-”

“Why don’t we try calling him?” Nino said calmly, “see if we can even find out where he is and if he is safe. If we can contact him we can try to work out a plan. If not there is no point in running around when we don’t even know where to start looking.” “Okay,” Alya nodded, accepting the compromise. She pulled out her phone. “Ugh, no signal. Come on, let’s try by the windows.

She hurried over towards the other side of the long hall, Nino rushing after her.

Chat knew it wouldn’t do any good.

He knelt back down beside Marinette, his eyes locked on her unmoving lips.

She was in love with him.

With him!

How had he never noticed?

And how was he supposed to feel about this?

She looked beautiful, lying still in the shimmering golden light of the the gallery. He hair was loose for once, held in place with a sparkling silver tiara. The magnificent gauzy gown complimented her complexion and somehow made her seem even more poised and delicate. She truly looked like a princess.

And she was in love with him.

The sound of Alya and Nino at the other end of the room faded into nothing as he continued to gaze at her.

He didn’t even realize he was leaning in closer to her until he was hovering directly above her.

Could it be true? Was she really in love with him?

Did he want her to be?

She wasn’t Ladybug.

But she was Marinette.

Marinette who was kind, and clever, and talented, and so many other things.

Marinette who apparently loved him. Loved him in a way that Ladybug didn’t.

Marinette was just a friend. 

But Ladybug only wanted to be a friend. He had already accepted that, had resigned himself to the reality of the situation and accepted her feelings on the subject.

His eyes caught again on her lips, soft and pink. Shimmering with some sort of gloss.

Could she really be in love with him?

Could he really save her?

He closed the distance between them. Capturing her lips in the softest of butterfly kisses.

She gasped, and Chat flung himself backwards, scrambling away from her as he attempted to process what had just happened.

He had kissed Marinette. He had kissed her and she had woken up.

He had broken her out of a fairytale curse with a kiss.

“Where… what happened? Is everyone ok?” Marinette asked, sitting up and looking around bewildered.”

“Marinette!” Alya shouted, her and Nino rushing back over. “Marinette you’re alright!”

“What’s going on? Why am I dressed… the akuma!” Marinette leapt to her feet looking around wildly.

“It’s ok, we’re safe,” Alya assured her, “You got hit, but Chat Noir got us to safety.”

“Chat?” Marinette searched the room until her eyes locked onto his.

“You guys will be safe here,” he choked. “I need to get back out to the akuma. I’m sure Ladybug will be on the scene by now so just hold tight and it will all be over soon.”

He pulled open the door and rushed out before any of them could say a word.

Maybe they would be too distracted to wonder how Marinette had woken up. Maybe they would assume that Ladybug had somehow done something to weaken the spell.

But even as he ran towards the sound of distant screams, he knew that even if that was true, he would know better.

He had saved Marinette from a cursed sleep with true love’s kiss, and his world would never be the same again.  

[noirandchocolate]

Wanted to talk just a little about Gamzee as a Bard of Rage in the Epilogues.

First off, here’s the canon explanation of Rage from the Extended Zodiac website:

Those bound to the aspect of Rage are bringers of chaos. They posses great contempt for lies or false ideas, including the stability that false ideas can impart. To them, the true is far more important than the good; they would tear down a system just to destabilize it if, by their reckoning, it is built on faulty premises. Often the Rage-bound prefer anarchy to any of the alternate forms of civilization, which they believe to be riddled with lies and foolishness and obedient masses. They are bringers of confusion and doubt, and they can be frustratingly difficult to convince otherwise when they have attached themselves to an idea. If they sound dangerous, they are. The Rage-bound tend to be most volatile and unpredictable of the aspects. At their best they are original, revolutionary, and fearless. At their worst they are cruel, uncompromising, and vicious.

I also remember a really good fan-theory post where the Rage/Hope aspect pair was discussed as being about narrowing or broadening choices and possibilities.  The idea was that when someone is hopeful, they can feel like the sky is the limit, that there is endless potential and myriad options for them, while when someone is full of rage they may feel like they have few options or only one choice in a situation--usually a harmful or negative one made in anger.

Then there’s the Bard class, which is paired with Prince as a “destruction/destroyer” class.  Bard is the passive side, while Prince is active.  Passive classes are more about inviting or inspiring things to happen, so we could say that a Bard of Rage is about “inviting/inspiring destruction through rage” or “inviting/inspiring the destruction of rage.”

So here’s a few things I noticed about Gamzee and his role as a Bard of Rage in the Candy side of the Epilogues.  (Note that Gamzee is not really a God Tier despite his outfit--but god imagine if he was, holy shit.)  First of all, after reading both sides I realized that Dirk violently noped out of Candy very shortly after Gamzee was de-fridged.  There are plenty of reasons why Dirk did what he did that will not be discussed here, but in a meta sense it’s possible that there was only a need for one destroyer per Epilogue.  There’s also the fact that both Dirk and Gamzee are “parts of Lord English”: half of Gamzee, and the Autoresponder/Lil Hal/ARquiusprite copy of Dirk, ended up fusing with Caliborn to form LE.  Maybe there was only need for one “sort of part of LE” per Epilogue?  ANYWAY I’m getting off track.

Next, while Dirk actively and very tenaciously influenced events in Meat, Gamzee just sort of existed disgustingly in people’s presence and nudged things certain ways, maybe without even actively having a plan to turn things to chaotic shit (although also maybe with a plan, who knows, the clown is in many ways inscrutable).  Aside from proclaiming the gospel of MoThErFuCkInG rEdEmPtIoN, his influences on the story pretty much just came from him acting like his ridiculous and gross self around everyone.  A Bard versus a Prince, right???

But he did have some pretty big influences nonetheless, and they were pretty Rage-y come to think about it.  For one thing, he insinuated himself into Jane and Jake’s lives pretty damn hard, and was instrumental in ruining any relationship they may have had to the point where Jake was basically abused and the two’s child...well, also abused (also don’t want to go deeply into this, I’m not here to analyze Jane and Jake too hard, I’m doing Gamzee today)!  Without Gamzee around, perhaps Jane would’ve been an overbearing wife or a cold mother, but with Gamzee, holy fuck.  Inviting destruction through Jane’s rage, don’t you think?  Inspiring “confusion and doubt” in people like Jake and Lil Tavros, right?

Keeping on that track with Jane, her political actions in Candy are so much worse than in Meat, and I don’t think that’s only because things progressed through so many more years in Candy (although granted that’s just my speculation).  Gamzee knew how to push her buttons by calling her a xenophobe and declaring she’d be “canceled” over certain remarks about troll reproduction.  Which, if you take the view of Rage being an aspect of narrowing choices...really could be said to be a subtle forcing of Jane’s hand.  If she hadn’t been so pissed off, maybe she could’ve seen more clearly and not thought the only choices on the issue were all-or-nothing and that “do nothing” was such an untenable position that it wasn’t really a choice at all.  I really don’t think it’s a mistake that a Rage player, canonically a chaos-bringer, was instrumental in Jane’s descent into being “Trump-Hitler.”  Although again, it could be argued it would’ve happened anyway, maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad or maybe at some point she would’ve realized what she was doing was evil rather than just “practical” or however she justified it.  Things were peaceful on Earth C, and maybe politics could’ve stayed more or less stabilized.  But definitely not with a Bard of Rage hanging around such a key player.

Keeping on with the narrowing of choices concept, in Candy we saw a lot of characters doing things “because they just thought they should,” even if those things weren’t all in themselves wholly negative and even if some people were later just as happy with their choices.  Right after Gamzee showed up, Roxy just kind of decided then and there that they “should be” with John, and then went through a lengthy period of just kind of doing that and feeling unable to stand up for themself or their own desires, choices, identity, etc.  In contrast, in Meat they felt empowered to explore their gender, for example.  Even though in Candy they much later say they’re happy as a woman with she/her pronouns and  enjoyed being pregnant and a mom and all that (so it’s possible that in the Meat timeline they also might’ve come to that conclusion in time--or not!) the fact that in the timeline where Gamzee existed they felt more pushed into not even considering other options is interesting.  There’s also the Dave/Jade/Karkat mess, and how in Candy Dave felt a lot more pushed into just going along and being with Jade exclusively despite honestly really wanting to be with Karkat.  There’s some other examples too but this post is getting really long.  Again, while obviously not everything is All About Gamzee, or actively his fault (I don’t think he really had anything much to do with any of these people other than declaring his redemption to them), his passive existence in this timeline...hm!

Finally (or finally all I can think of right now) there’s the fact that Gamzee seemed able to extinguish a lot of people’s rage or disgust toward him simply by proclaiming the “truth” of redemption.  Now, we all know that someone just saying sorry and suddenly “being redeemed” is a load of shit and a lame fandom trope used to woobify villains (hell plenty of people did and probably still do this with Gamzee himself--his “apology” speech contained a LOT of stuff very common in the earlier fandom when his shittiness was a little less...obvious and enduring).  Rage players are, according to the above quoted description, supposed to be all about eradicating lies and falsehoods, so what’s going on here?  Well, Gamzee is full of shit!  Maybe he honestly believes he is redeemed and others should try to be redeemed in the same bullshit way--so his proclamations of this as an ultimate, religious Truth make sense.  Or maybe he knows it’s a lie but is just being the manipulative, destructive clown his Class points to: a destroyer.  What better way to insinuate himself into society than by forming some kind of redemption cult, preaching about something he knows is a lie but a useful one?  Ultimately a destructive one, because it destroys chances for real redemption while letting people’s destructive tendencies go by unquestioned because “you can always just say sorry and be redeemed.”  And in doing so he makes many people just sort of accept his gross, unseemly behavior and stop being mad at him.  People believe this nonsense.  Gamzee effectively destroys the rage they might’ve otherwise felt toward him by acting pathetic and contrite when it’s convenient for him, and thus makes himself more able to not only stay alive, but thrive and invite all the destruction mentioned above.

Ultimately it doesn’t work on a few people.  Karkat, Gamzee’s former moirail, sees right through it all.  Jane is an exception to not showing rage to Gamzee because he’s using her in a different way as discussed before: tl;dr baiting her into hating him in a sexy way is part of his chaos-bringing ways.  He tries the same thing with (Vriska) and succeeds for a few minutes but then she just straight up murders him.  Which makes sense, because Vriska.  Why would any Vriska allow herself to be manipul8ted for long?  As a Light player, of course she could see through his bullshit (Light is a knowledge-based aspect) and would want him gone.  She’s a Thief of Light, for goodness’ sake, of course she’d steal his “luck” in being able to influence so many people and  stay alive despite being so contemptible, and his “relevance” in inspiring so much of the Candy storyline.  She’s Vriska, she thinks she should be the only star of the show!

Anyway I’m NOT DOING VRISKA TODAY I was supposed to just be doing Gamzee, and that’s what I have to say about Gamzee, the Bard of Rage, on this particular day!

[kaylewiswrites]

Drunk WIP Week Day 3 - The Forgotten Grave Society

For those of you who haven’t heard me yelling about this for the past three days, I’m shrugging off the burden of trying to look like I know what I’m doing, and introducing my WIPs the way I do when I’m drunk and excited. 

If you like assholes, superpowers, camping, and people who almost get along, check out Day 1. 

If you like slow burn lesbian romances, political intrigue, ragtag groups who come to love each other, and deserts, try Day 2. 

If you like empowered middle school girls who start to see dead people, then congrats, you are, temporally, in the right place. 

The Forgotten Grave Society

Premise:

Today is easy. The world building is like, nothing. 

TFGS takes place in a small town in a small state, where life on the seaside brings in tourists, and also, sometimes, ghosts, apparently. (I am really liking excessive commas today, aren’t I?) The story begins in the small town on the mid-Atlantic on the first full day of summer vacation, in a graveyard that is commonly overlooked. 

Characters:

Marcy: Here’s a girl who looks average, not tall or short, tan or pale, large or small, and has not one single physical feature that makes her stand out. Bank robbery is Marcy’s backup career, since so many people overlook her. But her personality makes up for the middle ground that she exudes: All or nothing. 

She’s either trashing her room, or organizing everything by color. She cooks gourmet meals or rips cold rotisserie chicken straight from the fridge with her hand. To her coaches annoyance, she’s unable to figure out jogging. You can’t just sprint and walk, he tells her. But she doesn’t really get it. 

Marcy spends a lot of time in her own head, and it’s very, very easy for her to miss where the conversations around her are going, while she takes a side path down another road, and by the time she brings up something she founds there, everyone else is miles away. She got laughed at a lot because of this, and now rarely talks with all of her track friends. 

Talents include: running, jumping, getting A’s the three times a year she studies, cooking, and being brutally honest without meaning to be brutal. 

Ava: Ava was born the cutest child you had ever seen. Perfect brown ringlets in her hair, cherubic round face and rosy cheeks, innocent freckles underneath her big round eyes, everyone just adored Ava from the moment they saw her. And then she opened her mouth. 

Ava hates having high expectations held over her head, so she’s learned how to dash them as soon as possible. On the first day of first grade, the teacher called on Ava to introduce herself first, (since she would obviously become the teachers favorite, by the look of her). Ava stood up on her chair and gave a loud, scientific description of how babies were made. She’s been a class clown ever since. 

Known talents are: Causing a scene, making fart noises, disrupting the class. She hides the real ones: sculpting and casting, non-fiction reading, getting under Marcy’s skin (ok, maybe she doesn’t hide that last one)

Ronnie: Everyone knows Veronica is going to become some big engineer or bio-chemist or astrophysicist. Her grandmother was the first black professor at the Marine Biology Department that’s housed in their small town,  so she knows she’s got big shoes to fill. 

But the truth is, Ronnie doesn’t know what she wants to do. She hates that question. You know what she likes? Reading. She likes reading her text books and science theory books, and she likes reading cheesy romances, too. She likes conducting complicated experiments, sure, but she gets just as much pleasure out of the simple steps of her skin-care routine. She relishes in routine and anything she breaks down into small rituals she can. Making a sandwich. Programming a robot. All straightforward if do it one step at a time. 

Talents include: almost anything STEM related, designing inventions, choosing cute outfits, memorizing song lyrics, and coming up with really cool club names.

Plot

Its the first day of summer, and three very different girls from different classrooms and different friend groups somehow find themselves in the same graveyard. 

While there, they realize that a lot of these graves are like, really, really old. People aren’t putting flowers out for them like they do for the new ones. The girls decide to remember those graves for them, and thus the club is born. 

They spend the whole summer hanging out in a graveyard, cleaning stones and making bouquets of definitely-not-stolen-from-people’s-yards flowers. But when it’s time to go back to school, they feel themselves being torn apart by clubs, friends, and work. When they meet in the graveyard again to try to figure out what to do about this, they see a ghost. 

Of course ghost-seeing powers would kick in in September and not June, they think, but discovering the supernatural is real IS a good motivator for spending more time with each other. The Forgotten Grave Society decides to be both about sitting around graves eating snacks on warm summer mornings AND solving ghost problems so they can move onto the next life/afterlife/whatever you believe in (this book takes no assumptions into what happens after the ghosts leave). 

A short snippet is under the cut if you’d like to read! I’m always open to questions, comments, and critiques, so don’t be afraid to give your thoughts. I’m tagging @aomory for this post. If anyone would like to be tagged in more Forgotten Grave Society stuff, let me know! The WIP page is here. 

"Do you think they know?" Ava asks after two weeks of remembering. It's early July, hot and hazy, and humid enough at 9 in the morning that all three are planning on battling tourists to take a dip in the ocean later in the day. They remembered a woman that day, Elizabeth Holson, who died in 1931, and now they're eating lunch in front of her grave. The three girls sit with identical bags of salt and vinegar chips (on sale) and fruit cups filled with syrup. “What’s we’re doing, I mean.”

"You're asking if we believe in life after death," Ronnie responds.

"Well, I guess it's implied," Ava shrugs.

"No." Marcy shoves some chips in her mouth.

"Well, that’s decisive," Ava snorts.

"It seems like a natural, human response to death for me," Marcy states. "Think about it. You see someone die, you realize that one day you will too, and you panic. The idea of nonexistence terrifies people. So they say, no, when you die you go to somewhere better, where you're always young and your whole family is there, or all your stuff is there, or you come back to earth as something else. It's either that or admit that you and everything you know is temporary and unimportant to the world as a whole."

"That's logical, I guess," Ronnie admits. "But I like the idea that something comes next."

"Exactly my point."

"We learn about heaven in Sunday School. I'm going to go ahead and believe in that. It sounds the best."

"In science we learn that matter can't be created or destroyed, only changed. Maybe that happens when we die."

"What do you mean?" Marcy asks. "When, like, a flower dies, it's just gone right? It'll break down into nothing." She gestured at the dead flowers still sitting in front of their first grave. What remains of them are shriveled and dark.

"You're right about it breaking down, but not into nothing. It's releasing carbon dioxide into the air, bugs and larvae and fungi are eating it and turning it into energy the same way we do with food, releasing it as waste, which continues to break down further. All the different parts that made it a living flower are separating back into nature. Remember the Periodic Table? Everything in the universe is made up of those elements, and nothing can ever be added or subtracted."

"So a human body does the same thing. If it's not cremated, it breaks down into it's elements," Ava follows. "What does that have to do with an afterlife?"

"You're body breaks down, but your body isn't the thing that goes to heaven, right?"

"No, it's your soul."

"Exactly. So if nothing can be removed or added from the equation, I think we might be reincarnated."

Ava chews on the tiny plastic spoon that came with her fruit cup. "You're assuming that a soul is made of matter."

"Everything else is."

"But then wouldn't we be able to see it? Feel it?"

"The air around us has mass, but we can't see it, and can usually barely feel it."

"Wouldn't it have to be made of some of your elements?" Marcy asks. "Someone would probably have noticed it by now."

"There could be different molecular constructions that we don't have the technology to detect, a new isotope we haven't thought to look for-" She realizes she’s lost them. "Science is growing every day. Sometimes impossible things are just things that haven't been explained yet."

"You've been thinking about this for a while?" Marcy asks.

"No. Not until Ava just asked."

"This is what we get, making friends with the smart girl," Ava laughs. "So. What's your theory's answer to my question? Do you think these people know what we're doing?"

Ronnie thinks for a moment. "I doubt it. That would imply that they are somehow omniscient about anything that is connected to their past lives. Do you guys have any memories of your old graves?"

"That's a weird thought," Ava shudders. "And no."

Marcy shakes her head.

"Which means that people, or most people, disconnect from their old life when they start a new one. Or it means that my theory is wrong," she chuckles.

"So if you two don't think they know, why are you doing this?"

"I don't think it matters if they know or not," Ronnie says.

"It's like when you do someone a favor,” Marcy says before chugging the syrup from her fruit cup. “If it's important that you take credit for it, then you're not doing it for them. You're doing it for you."  

"Wow. Such kind words from the girl that split open Hannah Bover's lip over a boundary dispute."

"Her foot crossed the line, that shot shouldn't have counted-"

"So you elbowed her in the face?"

"I like doing it," Ronnie cuts in, knowing how long Ava could keep Marcy on this track. "It's peaceful, and it makes me happy. Do we need a reason?"

"Maybe we're subconsciously afraid of being forgotten, so we're trying to remember everyone else. I know I want people to say my name after I'm gone. Everyone deserves to continue existing,” Marcy says with a shrug.

"So Ronnie comes for herself. Marcy comes for them."

"Who do you come for?"

Ava wraps her arms around her legs, as if she were cold. "Neither of your theories allow for ghosts."

She avoids their eyes, and looks very un-Ava-like all of a sudden.

"Do you come for ghosts?" Ronnie asks in the most neutral voice she can manage.

"No," she says defensively. "I mean, I-I didn't. I like doing this, and- just- wouldn't it be cool? If they were watching us, from the shadows, appreciating it?"

Ava becomes more and more nervous as the silence stretches on. Finally, Marcy smiles.

"You're assuming that they're all nice."

[hirakdesherrani]

Few thoughts on the so-called on past week’s IB track:

(A sort of disclaimer) In a country where the top court acquitted the accused because a/c to the judges, the ‘victim did not struggle enough’ and ‘raise an alarm’ (Mathura rape case, 1979), speaking up about sexual harassment is nearly impossible. Representing this issue in popular fiction is thus, a huge challenge. What a survivor is going through, what are the repercussions/consequences of speaking up, etc is too difficult to portray in fiction. 

One recent film which revolved somewhat around this issue was Pink. I really liked that film, ‘cos as a Delhite, that movie, at least in some parts, was quite relatable. The movie starts out with 3 girls emerging out of a horrific scenario one night, and deciding to forget about that night. The fact that these were three independent, strong-willed, ‘urban’ girls who chose to suppress the incident, instead of reporting it; made it believable.  Because the question is: who is going to believe them? The immediate reaction of girls was that we’ve escaped, so lets try to put the night behind us. Its only when the perpetrators do not let the girls forget, and actually threaten/intimidate them to apologize for protecting themselves, that the girls are forced to take action. 

Coming back to subject here, portraying this issue with sensitivity is not something one can expect from Indian daily soaps. Upar se if its Ishqbaaaz to toh aur sone pe suhaga. I mean, Gul begum thinks that by making her heroines wear jeans she is presenting a ‘modern’ and ‘progressive’ female lead on television, so suffice to say that this woman has the least credibility in Tellywood to portray an issue as sensitive as MeToo. But madam ko shauk chadhta toh kya kar sakte hai. 

Bringing it back to the plane of IB, I don’t get it that why do the CVs choose Gauri as the poster girl for their so-called “empowering” tracks? Be it the 2rs version of English Vinglish, and now this. 

The problem is that Gauri is an unreal character. I dunno what Gauri was supposed to be, but a/c to me Shrenu and Atif had significant leeway/freedom to portray Gauri the way they wanted to. Because everyone watching DBO was aware that they are watching the ‘Gauri Kumari Ssarma’ show. DBO is probs the only Gul show, where the OTP or the AYM male lead is not the highlight of the show. Gauri was the ‘hero’ of the show, and I’m consciously using the term ‘hero’ here because she got to do everything that the ‘heroes’ in Tellywood do. Gauri had almost become like this Batman-sort of character who is a fighter, she makes mistakes, falls down, but always gets up and defeats the villains at the end.  It was almost as if Gauri was not allowed to accept defeat or fail. 

To then make this Gauri, the subject of such “empowering” tracks, the CVs have to significantly change her character sketch and introduce artificial insecurities or other traits which do not set in well with her original character sketch. 

Despite my misgivings, I gave in and watched a few parts of this track, because my friends really praised it. I didn’t mind the Tuesday and Wednesday bits where Gauri is assaulted. The direction was off though, and it looked like some bits were cut because they overlapped weirdly. If Atif or LM had been directing the scene, it would’ve probably looked better, but then it would have been too scary for me to watch. 

My issue started with the Thursday episode (or whatever I saw of it). The fact that Gauri decided to keep quiet about the incident was not OOC, because DBO starts on the point that the whole village chooses to believe Kali Thakur instead of Gauri who they’ve seen grow up in front of their eyes. Omkara, the objective outsider in this plot, also chooses to believe the worst of Gauri. No one listened to or believed Gauri that time, and can well explain why she would think that no one will ever believe her. 

What annoyed me a lot, was that Gauri decides to let the perpetrator go scot free. Because this undos all the development in Bareilly track 2. [A short break here, I’ve seen a lot of fans comment that Kali Thakur did not actually molest Gauri unlike the superstar, and I feel people totally missed the danger KT presented. KT wanted to make Gauri his sex slave for life (and for his brothers too). I’m not comparing KT and the superstar, but it irks me that people really underestimate KT’s villainy]. Anyways, so by the end of Bareilly track 2 Gauri is not scared of KT anymore. Yes, she wants to escape him, but this time its a do or die situation for her. Because Gauri understood that as long as KT’s alive she (and her mother) would always be in danger, she cannot run from him forever. Which is why Gauri stabs him to death. IMO I think Gauri fully intended to close KT’s chapter there, because she looked like an avenging angel in that scene, it was not the fear she present in the first Bareilly track. 

For that Gauri, to now let the superstar go unpunished is out of character. Gauri would not speak up about the incident but she would let the matter rest. DBO Gauri would find some way to expose the creep for what he is, and in this case, take help from Anika and Bhavya, because it would be too much for her to face him so soon after the incident. 

For the sake of the track, the CVs had to significantly alter Gauri’s character sketch (like they did in the English track) to ‘fit’ the popular perception of a survivor of sexual harassment as portrayed in television and movies. Here I feel, Shrenu had to make a performance choice. There are moments were the real Gauri slips in the scenes for example a particular teeth gnashing and eyebrow frown expression which is peculiar Gauri expression, I really can’t explain it properly but there it is, and one sees that when Gauri traps the superstar in a carpet and escapes. 

Also, there was this particular dialogue which a lot of people had interpreted as “victim blaming herself” but I don’t think it was that. Victim blaming would have been if Gauri had said that its her fault that she is the fan of such a person or she was foolish to ask for a selfie. But what Gauri said that she should have been smart enough to smell him out, because, obviously Gauri being more intelligent than most should be the first one to smell a rat. 

If I analyze the track ignoring this character issue, there are still some false notes. No doubt Shrenu acted well (when does she not?) but the entire track seemed hollow. We have all the “checklist scenes”: the villain pulls the dori, tears the sleeve, the survivor screaming in half-darkness, trying to wash off the incident under the shower, sitting in darkness in the ‘typical’ pose depicted in posters, etc, but it was a conscious attempt to ape such tracks from movies than to come up with something original. The one shot that i did like was Gauri’s handprints on the painting of the woman, when she was struggling. That was symbolism done right, and it was organic. 

What really ruined the track for me was the whole sting operation bit. The idea behind MeToo is to have the victims speak up and find support in each other. If they had to go with the sting operation bit, then why not have Gauri devise a plan to expose the devil like she exposed Buamaa? The CVs altered her character sketch for the sake of the track only to have Shivika do what Gauri would herself have done in DBO. 

The only reason for the sting operation bit was to take close up camera shots of Surbhi. Surbhi is a stunning woman offscreen but I hate it when writers almost abuse the actor’s physical charm just because the actor possesses it. For example, how the makers of Jodha Akbar showed Akbar practicing sword fighting half-naked on the terrace of the palace, only because Hrithik Roshan has amazing abs. Like it was sooooo unbelievable that Akbar, the Mughal Emperor, would be training like this in the open unprotected, that too shirtless. This smacks of lack of integrity in the writers. 

After that the whole track lost meaning. And then we have the obligatory ‘everyone praising Shivika’ and Shivaay giving a lecture at the end, effectively murdering the entire set up for the track, which was precarious in the first place. So, this ‘track’ might have checked a lot of boxes, but at the end of the day it just came across as tokenism, for me.  

[didanawisgi]

Prayers aren’t doing anything. We need gun control laws. We need our government to take action... Or do we?

Ok, so since this is a blog, that means I have to write original stuff from time to time, otherwise it can’t rightly be called a blog, can it? I have many kinds of friends, and I make it a point to be friends with different people, especially ones with different opinions. Here, a family friend of my fiancee posted on her facebook this statement:  “Prayers aren’t doing anything. We need gun control laws. We need our government to take action.” She is very pro gun control and insists that action be taken, however, we politely entered into a discussion about it and I tried to explain why I am against “gun control”.  

I said:  “ I think the most important thing is identifying violent and unstable people early, but the state of our mental healthcare workforce is lacking. The culture and resources dedicated to this needs to shift. I think the political left should focus their efforts there and come up with the most humane ideas. As for gun control in general I am against and will continue to carry concealed. Most of the gun control ideas are either already on the books or knee-jerk and not well thought out. Also the second amendment precludes most of it anyway. I like for things to be practical and effective, so it’s just my opinion that we need to shift focus on how to empower physicians and law enforcement and the judiciary with laws while at the same time allocating more funds to mental health safety nets and research. “

She replied:  It’s hard for me, because I think no matter what we do considering the mental health community (which could take decades) won’t stop mass shootings. When someone has a conceal carry on during a mass shooting, I feel like it just makes it more dangerous because they don’t always know where to shoot, can hurt more innocent people, and could be considered the shooter. What about the mass shooting in Australia? The 1996 Port Arthur massacre resulted in legislation that saw a dramatic decline in gun crimes. It made a huge difference. Was sandy hook (and everything since) not enough to change our legislation? This pattern will continue as long as the NRA has politicians in its pocket.

I then said:  I understand where you are coming from; my perspective is different. Some of the best data and research currently available has put the onus on gun control proponents (for instance check out the Harvard Law study I posted below, that is fairly comprehensive and has good/logical points backed by statistical evidence). Most concealed carry holders have decent training and must demonstrate proficiency and accuracy by law. Also, they are trained/lectured in precisely which instances your gun can be pulled, under protection of the law. The NRA is not really the issue, but the millions of citizens that will not give up any Constitutional right apropos 2nd Amd. that hold their feet to the fire. If the NRA were dismantled entirely today, another would arise in a few months and eventually become just as prominent. I also plan on becoming an NRA member in the future, or whatever gun rights lobby group that will protect my right of self defense, particularly with the rise of white nationalist groups. The first thing the KKK and Jim Crow/government law did was to take away guns from black citizens. If you listen to Malcom X or even MLK (who owned firearms in his home for self defense), the logic and reasons seem fairly sound and self-evident, at least to me. Also, the 2nd amendment and the Federalist papers particularly Madison, make a compelling argument for it as well. Let me know if you want the link, it is a very interesting read. I still contend that the mental health in this country is terrible, even with my first hand knowledge, I still can't believe some of what I've seen. But yes, I understand where you are coming from. There will be no path forward with no improvement if we can't find some common ground on where to take action, as it seems stalemate currently.

She said she would like to read my sources...

Here is the article I cited in its entirety from Harvard Law Review journal: http://www.law.harvard.edu/.../Vol30_No2...

These are some of the more interesting/salient parts in terms of debate: 

INTRODUCTION International evidence and comparisons have long been offered as proof of the mantra that more guns mean more deaths and that fewer guns, therefore, mean fewer deaths.1 Unfortunately, such discussions are all too often been afflicted by misconceptions and factual error and focus on comparisons that are unrepresentative. It may be useful to begin with a few examples. There is a com‐ pound assertion that (a) guns are uniquely available in the United States compared with other modern developed nations, which is why (b) the United States has by far the highest murder rate. Though these assertions have been endlessly repeated, statement (b) is, in fact, false and statement (a) is substantially so. Since at least 1965, the false assertion that the United States has the industrialized world’s highest murder rate has been an artifact of politically motivated Soviet minimization designed to hide the true homicide rates.2 Since well before that date, the Soviet Union possessed extremely stringent gun controls3 that were effectuated by a police state apparatus providing stringent enforcement.4 So successful was that regime that few Russian civilians now have firearms and very few murders involve them.5 Yet, manifest suc‐ cess in keeping its people disarmed did not prevent the Soviet Union from having far and away the highest murder rate in the developed world.6 In the 1960s and early 1970s, the gun‐less So‐ viet Union’s murder rates paralleled or generally exceeded those of gun‐ridden America. While American rates stabilized and then steeply declined, however, Russian murder increased so drasti‐ cally that by the early 1990s the Russian rate was three times higher than that of the United States. Between 1998‐2004 (the lat‐ est figure available for Russia), Russian murder rates were nearly four times higher than American rates. Similar murder rates also characterize the Ukraine, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and various other now‐independent European nations of the former U.S.S.R.7 Thus, in the United States and the former Soviet Union transition‐ ing into current‐day Russia, “homicide results suggest that where guns are scarce other weapons are substituted in killings.”8 While American gun ownership is quite high, Table 1 shows many other developed nations (e.g., Norway, Finland, Germany, France, Denmark) with high rates of gun ownership. These countries, however, have murder rates as low or lower than many devel‐ oped nations in which gun ownership is much rarer. For example, Luxembourg, where handguns are totally banned and ownership of any kind of gun is minimal, had a murder rate nine times higher than Germany in 2002. The same pattern appears when comparisons of violence to gun ownership are made within nations. Indeed, “data on fire‐ arms ownership by constabulary area in England,” like data from the United States, show “a negative correlation,”10 that is, “where firearms are most dense violent crime rates are lowest, and where guns are least dense violent crime rates are high‐ est.”11 A second misconception about the relationship between fire‐ arms and violence attributes Europe’s generally low homicide rates to stringent gun control. That attribution cannot be accu‐ rate since murder in Europe was at an all‐time low before the gun controls were introduced.13 For instance, virtually the only English gun control during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was the practice that police patrolled without guns. During this period gun control prevailed far less in England or Europe than in certain American states which nevertheless had—and continue to have—murder rates that were and are comparatively very high.14 In this connection, two recent studies are pertinent. In 2004, the U.S. National Academy of Sciences released its evaluation from a review of 253 journal articles, 99 books, 43 government publications, and some original empirical research. It failed to identify any gun control that had reduced violent crime, sui‐ cide, or gun accidents.15 The same conclusion was reached in 2003 by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control’s review of then‐ extant studies.16 Stringent gun controls were not adopted in England and Western Europe until after World War I. Consistent with the outcomes of the recent American studies just mentioned, these strict controls did not stem the general trend of ever‐growing violent crime throughout the post‐WWII industrialized world including the United States and Russia. Professor Malcolm’s study of English gun law and violent crime summarizes that nation’s nineteenth and twentieth century experience as fol‐ lows: The peacefulness England used to enjoy was not the result of strict gun laws. When it had no firearms restrictions [nine‐ teenth and early twentieth century] England had little violent crime, while the present extraordinarily stringent gun controls have not stopped the increase in violence or even the increase in armed violence.17 Armed crime, never a problem in England, has now become one. Handguns are banned but the Kingdom has millions of illegal firearms. Criminals have no trouble finding them and exhibit a new willingness to use them. In the decade after 1957, the use of guns in serious crime increased a hundredfold.18 In the late 1990s, England moved from stringent controls to a complete ban of all handguns and many types of long guns. Hundreds of thousands of guns were confiscated from those owners law‐abiding enough to turn them in to authorities. Without suggesting this caused violence, the ban’s ineffectiveness was such that by the year 2000 violent crime had so increased that England and Wales had Europe’s highest violent crime rate, far surpassing even the United States.19 Today, English news media headline violence in terms redolent of the doleful, melodramatic language that for so long characterized American news reports.20 One aspect of England’s recent experience deserves note, given how often and favorably advo‐ cates have compared English gun policy to its American coun‐ terpart over the past 35 years.21 A generally unstated issue in this notoriously emotional debate was the effect of the Warren Court and later restrictions on police powers on American gun policy. Critics of these decisions pointed to soaring American crime rates and argued simplistically that such decisions caused, or at least hampered, police in suppressing crime. But to some supporters of these judicial decisions, the example of England argued that the solution to crime was to restrict guns, not civil liberties. To gun control advocates, England, the cradle of our liberties, was a nation made so peaceful by strict gun control that its police did not even need to carry guns. The United States, it was argued, could attain such a desirable situation by radically reducing gun ownership, preferably by banning and confiscating handguns. The results discussed earlier contradict those expectations. On the one hand, despite constant and substantially increasing gun ownership, the United States saw progressive and dramatic reductions in criminal violence in the 1990s. On the other hand, the same time period in the United Kingdom saw a constant and dramatic increase in violent crime to which England’s response was ever‐more drastic gun control including, eventually, banning and confiscating all handguns and many types of long guns.22 Nevertheless, criminal violence rampantly increased so that by 2000 England surpassed the United States to become one of the developed world’s most violence‐ridden nations……

Here is part of their Conclusion: This Article has reviewed a significant amount of evidence from a wide variety of international sources. Each individual portion of evidence is subject to cavil—at the very least the general objection that the persuasiveness of social scientific evidence cannot remotely approach the persuasiveness of conclusions in the physical sciences. Nevertheless, the burden of proof rests on the proponents of the more guns equal more death and fewer guns equal less death mantra, especially since they argue public policy ought to be based on that mantra.149 To bear that burden would at the very least require showing that a large number of nations with more guns have more death and that nations that have imposed stringent gun controls have achieved substantial reductions in criminal violence (or suicide). But those correlations are not observed when a large number of nations are compared across the world. Source: Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy http://www.law.harvard.edu/.../Vol30_No2...

I then said, Federalist 10 and 46 represent in my opinion, the chief parts/reasoning of why the second amendment is important.

Here is part of Madison's argument in Federalist 10: "From this view of the subject it may be concluded that a pure democracy… can admit of no cure for the mischiefs of faction. A common passion or interest will, in almost every case, be felt by a majority of the whole; a communication and concert result from the form of government itself; and there is nothing to check the inducements to sacrifice the weaker party or an obnoxious individual. Hence it is that such democracies have ever been spectacles of turbulence and contention; have ever been found incompatible with personal security or the rights of property; and have in general been as short in their lives as they have been violent in their deaths. Theoretic politicians, who have patronized this species of government, have erroneously supposed that by reducing mankind to a perfect equality in their political rights, they would, at the same time, be perfectly equalized and assimilated in their possessions, their opinions, and their passions. A republic, by which I mean a government in which the scheme of representation takes place, opens a different prospect, and promises the cure for which we are seeking. Let us examine the points in which it varies from pure democracy, and we shall comprehend both the nature of the cure and the efficacy which it must derive from the Union." James Madison, Federalist No. 10

So here he argues why a Republic is better then a Democracy, and the idea of the "mischiefs of faction" and how at any given time the majority will in one way or another coerce the minority. Democracy, counter-intuitively then, is the great civilization killer, and easily undermines individual freedom, hence the "tyranny of the majority".

In Federalist 46, he examines the differences and pros and cons of having a Standing army (Military controlled by government) vs armed citizenry: In Federalist No. 46, Madison calculates that the new government could support a standing army but "To these would be opposed a militia amounting to near half a million of citizens with arms in their hands, officered by men chosen from among themselves, fighting for their common liberties, and united and conducted by governments possessing their affections and confidence. It may well be doubted, whether a militia thus circumstanced could ever be conquered by such a proportion of regular troops… . Besides the advantage of being armed, which the Americans possess over the people of almost every other nation, the existence of subordinate governments, to which the people are attached, and by which the militia officers are appointed, forms a barrier against the enterprises of ambition, more insurmountable than any which a simple government of any form can admit of. Notwithstanding the military establishments in the several kingdoms of Europe, which are carried as far as the public resources will bear, the governments are afraid to trust the people with arms."

Here I think we find the seeds of the Second Amendment, and the relationship to standing army (Government controlled) vs an armed citizenry, which if need be (unlikely going to happen, but still) acts as a kind of fail safe to preserve the Republic (atall costs). Democracies do not need a first or second amendment, however a Republic does. (In my opinion). In a Democracy, the vast majority would be fine with gun control, likely not seeing any "modern" need for an armed citizenry, and would just vote on it and it would be so. But the problem is that this is precisely how nations die, and join the eternal cycle of failed states.

I could go on in a further attempt to explain my logic/reasoning as to why I think the second amendment is necessary to preserve the Union (forever), and to preserve the Republic (specifically). But I think I have said enough to at least get my reasoning in a way that does not make me seem like a radical. I think if you really consider it, you will see where I am coming from.

Also, here is an article from one of my favorite philosophers of today, Sam Harris, whom you may be familiar with. He writes with clarity and sound logic. Here is a piece he did on gun control (if you are interested): https://www.samharris.org/blog/item/the-riddle-of-the-gun

Here are some follow up questions in a pod cast: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0DYpaLgWIo

Here is some more material on the "dilemmas of democracy" https://www.city-journal.org/.../james-madison-and...

Here's a brief discussion of Federalist 46 https://armsandthelaw.com/arc.../2005/04/federalist_no_4.php

Here is something I wrote that you may be interested in and partly explains why I am "republican" along with what I mentioned about Democracy and the "micheifs of faction": What follows is something I wrote for a facebook “civil politcal debate” as a favor to a fellow freemason in Canada, where I attempted to get at the essential reason why I think we have so much political upheaval, and how to get back to our Constitutional way of life by examining Hamilton’s Federalist No. 17 and the implications therein. “First, I would like to thank Bro. Charles for inviting me to comment in a civil discussion of politics, a subject I usually do not attempt to discuss on Facebook due to the inherent limitations of the medium itself. The format and back-and-forth nature of posts only seems to foster hurried and usually less well thought out arguments “in the heat of the post”. I have come to realize you do not persuade others by quipy remarks or tones that, in your own certitude, just come off as condescension regardless of how well thought out or how right you may be (or think you are). I shall attempt to render my opinion on the first part of your questions Charles, and that is, is the phenomenon like Trump and Brexit a ‘Great Rebellion’? The short answer is in the affirmative, and here is why. Two words: Power, and Sovereignty; but perhaps not in the way you may be thinking. What I mean by power is, where does the actual political power come from in this day and age? From the People presumably, but the fear, justified or not, is that both nations, a Constitutional Republic and a Parliamentary Democracy are no longer responsive to the Will of the People. The Spectre of Oppression rises as the perception of true freedom wanes. People feel more and more disconnected, disaffected, disenfranchised, and trod upon by undue regulation. In many instances, it affects them personally, financially, and has significant influence on their means. And yet, what recourse do they have? Voting ad nauseam with little to show for it? It feels as if no one represents you completely, largely due to entrenched political platform with little maneuverability, dominated by crony kow-towers suffering from Group Think. With each election cycle, we the Peoples of both Nations, feel like our Power, or Self-Evident Liberty to govern ourselves, is slipping away. Alexander Hamilton, in Federalist no. 17, has this to say about the advantage of maintaining matters related to Law and Justice at the Local level: “There is one transcendent advantage belonging to the province of the State governments, which alone suffices to place the matter in a clear and satisfactory light… I mean the ordinary administration of criminal and civil justice. This, of all others, is the most powerful, most universal, and most attractive source of popular obedience and attachment. It is this, which, being the immediate and visible guardian of life and property; having its benefits and its terrors in constant activity before the public eye; regulating all those personal interests, and familiar concerns, to which the sensibility of individuals is more immediately awake; contributes, more than any other circumstance, to impress upon the minds of the people affection, esteem, and reverence towards the government.” Hamilton is essentially saying that Liberty is best maintained locally, in terms of civil and criminal law, and that when done so, is more responsive to the People, and they in turn, are more cooperative and filial with the Government (imagine that! Lol). So, therefore, this is the crux of my point, and where my assumptions rest as to the nature of the problem. Trump and Brexit (and Bernie I would argue) are manifestations of the People’s hope to regain some of the “Power” they intuitively sense they have lost, but few will cite the raison d'être as I have. Naturally then, my solution rests in returning the ‘ordinary administration of criminal and civil justice’ or “Power to the People” in the form of greater reliance on Local and State Governance, and considerably less Federal encroachment in these arenas, which would serve to assuage the Fears, real and imagined, of the Populace, and bring back a more responsive government for the people, by the people. Now that I have clarified (hopefully) what I mean by “Power,” let us move onto Sovereignty, which is defined as ‘the authority of a State to govern itself’. This part is easy, for I see sovereignty as a natural extension of the principle of power, or rather, as an (Fractal-like) iteration of the self-evident Right of Liberty, or to govern ourselves. One of the chief complaints I heard/read from supporters of Brexit was that being in the EU degraded British Sovereignty. Well what does this mean really? It means that the very ‘power’ Trump supporters (and other supporters) want back, a greater ability to self-govern, are the very same thing the Brexit voters want; more freedom, particularly in regards to civil law and the regulations they feel like they have no say or voice in. Their say in the ‘ordinary administration of civil and criminal justice’ is eluding the voters of both nations. Taking back one’s sovereignty is just another way of saying I want more say in civil and criminal law from a governmental perspective. So, this is why I would have to answer the first part of your question in the affirmative; it is a ‘thing’ whose cause rests in the voters declining ability to have a voice in civil, tax, property, etc. law that is imposed on them by politicians orders of magnitude removed from them.”

Anyway, I wanted to share this with my followers, food for thought. I highly recommend reading and listening to Sam Harris philosophical approach to the Riddle of the Gun.  Take care followers and have a Blessed day.

REGIII32

p.s. feel free to debate and argue (followers), I enjoy hearing your thought processes and seeing your evidence.

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19 I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28 I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37 I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46 I Chapter 47

I apologize greatly for the time it took me, several personal things, a hurricane, no electricity, no signal, classes starting…it’s not been easy…but as always just be patient and I hope the contents can be worth the wait. Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

                                                  Chapter 48

His castle had no magnificence. There were no murals, no paintings, no sculptures, no flourishing of flowers, symbols, or even stories. It was only but dark stone, cold, decaying, perhaps an occasional carving one of his men would create, a rug, a tapestry with symbols of himself, of his old kingdom in the heavens, to grant a little color, a little finesse even in his imprisonment. His men would sometimes bring him golden and gilded cups, plates, utensils, tables and even beds that they stole from the kingdoms from time to time, and he would use them as if they were rightfully his, placed and in care only proper for the items of a king…a god.

 He never let anyone disrespect that, never let any forget, despite how the whole world did.

 To remind he dined on salmon niçoise, saag paneer, squid with capers, apple charlotte, mango and passion fruits with elegancy in the hold of his forks and knives, slow in his bites, tasting well every piece, every flavor, a smile in celebration to himself, to this delicacy only he enjoyed from in the castle, in silence, in calm, all this feast to replenish as he pleased.

 He was careful with this specific dark silk robe, engraved in gold like splendorous stardust, loose, excellent comfort for him to lean back, letting himself moan at the taste and exalt.

 Servants knew, they trained, they practiced to take their steps in just the mellow their king wanted, as this current one did, tippy toing in the best hurry she could, a slight tremble in her hands that she tried to control by covering them in her long sleeves, even numbering her breaths to not disturb a trace of the regal air he had made in the last minutes.

 “Your majesty…” she introduced, in just the right intonation that she knew would not awry with the organized balance of peace and silence.

 “Angela, my darling, speak,” he smiled and flew in his position of rest.

 “Rodion’s group has returned,”

 “Splendid, let them in, let them in,” he was glad and accepting, with a welcoming grin, excitement in the sitting he took as the group entered at the servant’s signal, the three damaged, marked, burned, ruined armors showing the rust and force of whatever past mission they have been sent on. Their king smiled on uncaring to these blemishes, uniting his hands and leaning his posture towards them like a curious child awaiting a story.

 “Tell me, how did it go?” The smile he showed was wide and true, but it didn’t stir any confidence, the men feared and looked among each other as they readied to say the words they had prepared. Their main leader, who stood frontal, took a sigh to make himself grow strong, spear at his side standing just as linear as he determined to keep while he told the news.

 “There were more soldiers than we had expected,” he started with. “Rightfully armored, strong magic, countless of men and women that our little numbers could not stand against,”

 “I gave you thirty men,” the king reminded, beginning a strain as he rubbed his fingers on his temple, not a very good sign to the three.

 “We were going against sixty,”

 “Jokers, sixty jokers guarding something that surely holds no interest to the current King and Queen of Hearts. They shouldn’t have been this prepared with a sudden entering like this.” His voice began to alter and anger.

 “May I remind that the prince and the arising queen are currently on the journey, the kingdoms know our numbers increased outside of the field with its weakened state and are doing all the necessary precautions, even jokers.”

 It was still not sufficient enough to their king, who groaned and tightened his grip on the chair.

 “You should have been a stronger match compared to them,” he determined through gritted teeth.

 “Your majesty, you didn’t give us the right men or sufficient amount, perhaps if you-” all interrupted in a choke, a dark enchantment piercing, a burning and eating spreading at the shot of his stomach. He cracked and darkened like the very stones of this castle, falling to ashes and pieces on the floor, eyes lolled and color disappearing until his presence completely ceased in a snap of their king’s hand, a horror to the other two who watched, who could only stand and accept like they had seen it happen before.

 They gazed upward to see their king hold true darkness in his eyes, maddened and stilled, uncaring to the events, he simply rubbed his hands on his robe as if all had just been an annoying spot to rid.

 “You all know what I feel against such insolence…about raised voices out of line…and you know well how I repay,” he warned yet again, baring his rule and power to them, a force he knew made them shake, swallow and sweat.

 “Off with you, make Fergus the new command of your group, have him meet with me in the throne room, we shall discuss his new position,” he decreed, ushering them away with a simple be gone of his hand, leaning to get his glass of wine as his hunger died and was replaced with a new urgency.

 Angela then entered to face him in the usual position, doing well to ignore the shattered corpse on the ground beside her.

 “Clean that up,” he pointed uncaringly to the body, standing once he had emptied his glass, “and take this back to the kitchen, the cooks and servants may share.”

 She bowed in acceptance, trying not to lick her lips in expectation as she watched him pick up and make his way out the halls and into the new line of preparations. All servants that saw him would instantly stop in an altering, bow and carry on with harshened speeds on their earlier duties while their king remained with his eyes forward, angered and sharpened until he reached the height of his room to change.

  Beautiful stitches, belts, even vested symbols upon a large thick robe, soft to his skin, long to trail behind him as if empowering the very ground he walked upon.

 Yes, he thought himself a handsome beauty like this, walking with all that elegance and regency to the throne room, but to the servants he wore his tyranny and lash, ready any moment to invoke death and suffering in the raise of his palm and fingers.

 The opening of the large doors was enough of a silencer to bring whatever murmurs of the room into nothing, for all the men to straighten in force ready for any kind of disposition that would lead them off to war. Their king made his way across in his ever preferred sways, the men not giving a movement or breath out of place until their king found his sitting in the dark carved chair, placing himself in the ruling he belonged and was prepared to invoke at the moment.

 “Furgus,” he called, and thus this man came frontal, with a readied robe, slight armor, a proud staff of energizing dark magic in his tight hold, to use whenever he so wanted to fulfill the needs of his superior.  

 “Rodion disappointed me, I placed him out of the way and now grant you this position based on your other feats and missions. You have done sufficient, I don’t expect to see failure and thus can immediately set you forward on the same task.” There was a hidden growl even in the respectful way he spoke, how easily his words came out like a practiced taunt, which made many more men incline themselves.

 “Rodya!” He called to another man this time, making his side by his other companion, in the same bow to the floor, cutlass at his side as the source and force of his power.

 “Since Vinicio failed me in the Washington attack, he and his squadron had been dealt with accordingly. It leaves me with fewer men outside the field in the Spade Kingdom and in need of replacing his factions. You will then take his place, watch, plan rightfully this time. Don’t disappoint me, or else you know how grave the consequences can be,” he growled with his ever proud dignity on the sit of his chair, with rest and confidence, yet an intent that made all trembled as they accepted to the force of this command.

 “Are you perhaps requesting another attack on the city?”

 “Only what you can do, but I’m warning you that I expect some sort of outcome. As of now the new spheres of validity must have already been placed, but we can still try our usual exits.” He stood, walking forward, silk of robes falling and trailing, extending his hands in order.

 “I don’t expect it to be an easy task from now on, but perhaps that hadn’t been the case if we had captured them as I wanted,” he aggravated that reminder, blaming gazes to all of them, all at fault.

 “But our plans continue on as usual, I shall organize a meeting soon, going further into detail about further suggestions-” a slash, at speeds flying centimeters away from the perfection he had of his pale skin, the slickness of his black hair and his groomed beard. The weapon landed in a harsh stab against the center of the throne, its shaking creating an echo that silenced the room into a new sudden kind of fear. It had been a dagger, not of their darkened kind, but in clear silver, white, and of course…red, with familiar Heart symbols that left no room for the king to doubt.

 The crowd instantly hurried trying to find the direction it had come from, a swarm already preparing their weapons and strategies to rain upon the traitor or the invader.

 The King quickly found it, up on a darkened tunnel before him, old, an entrance that long ago he had forgotten and didn’t bother to question or fix. He saw the hand that fell, the oh so familiar blue eyes from long ago that glared into his darkened ones, bright enough to practically glow in the hidden spot he had taken, but it didn’t hold its meaning long enough when the king had clearly spotted him, with a grin that was welcoming despite the uncomfortable laughter. The long vibration was enough to halt the rooms’ searching and arming, questioning and scared as they tried to find a reason for it just after that kind of dagger threatened to aim directly at their king.

 “Ludwig, Ludwig, Ludwig, here I thought you wouldn’t ever grace me with your visit, what pleasantries and honor,” he provoked loudly, only as he should because of their far distance, but also because of the constant empowering he wanted to do, especially before the prince of Hearts, the arising king of Hearts.

 Ludwig only continued his glare, still not daring to move away from the shield of the shadow, wanting to instill enough killing in only his eyesight. It did nothing to faze Khaos, who only placed his arms in front of himself, smiling away in no bothers and intimidation, confident even in such a bareness, such a meet. Ludwig bared his sword, not wanting to move forward without its companionship. Finally some semblance of light revealed him completely, in those annoying whites that reminded Khaos of his sister, no mercy or care in his eyes about the decease he had caused himself.

 It was then that all eyes in the room noticed him, with gasps, prepares, and starting release of their magic ready to inflict on the single enemy that came alone with no kind of shield showing protection. Ludwig was uncaring to the sudden attention, the wavering menace that was ready to kill in each and every direction, the only shining light in a sea of darkness, with only but a handful of weapons that all thought couldn’t stand enough, but Ludwig was determined to make it last all that it needed.

 He took a leap to the floor below, surrounded, but all knowing well to not attack yet as King Khaos had not commanded and they didn’t see him as much as a threat.

 How mistaken they had been.

 While their king was distracted enough in the continuing connection of their eyes transmitting hatred and vengeance, Ludwig turned and stabbed his sword right through one man’s chest, a last scream erupting before they all began tumbling forward with their own different forces. Clang of swords, of fists, punches, kicks, growls, shouts. A dance of killing and disorder as Ludwig faced each one with either a slash of coated dark blood, a sting of bright fire, or the very force of his body, throws of his side and head, a growing pile of bodies surrounding him. With every hit, every cut, every bruise he himself received, the temptation for his body to join in the mess of deceased somehow seemed more relieving and liberating, but a perseverance continued him forward in his attacks and throws, many more falling under his strength. Khaos? He did nothing as he watched on with incredible interest, like this was all some show that amused him well. He had to admit, Ludwig shone just as tall, strong and skillful as Soren had once been. A Beilschmidt indeed, with all the pride of the name and fitting for the position of a king. That thought was enough of a sickening, of a detest, it provoked annoyance to the mess going around, of the game, clattering and disorder.  

 “Enough!” He shouted, with the spur of a shadow spreading all across the room as quick as lightning. It was a blow enough to have all his men immediately stop, dizzying and disorientated, while keeping a tight hold around Ludwig, all his movements stopped as a dark shadow wrapped around him, constraining him to pain and groans, trying what he could to escape.

 All could let themselves to breathe, to let their weapons fall, cuts ooze and for others to help each with their wounds how they could, while Ludwig was brought forward until he was right before Khaos, in all the clarity and flesh that left nothing to doubt. He was tall and robust as himself, with strong jaw and features that could convey elegance and beauty, with darkness in his eyes, his hair, beard and clothes, but skin pale enough to compare to the snow that fell outside. Right now, he seemed so plain and human compared to the images Ludwig had made from the tales and what he later studied. All that power, darkness, evil… in such a normal daily form that made one forget and doubt. Ludwig had to remind himself that this was just a guise, a curse given to him by the Aces during the original creation, then strengthened by Augusta after his defeat in the war of the blackened decades. As he examined in the constrain of his shadowed bounds, Khaos came close enough as for Ludwig to feel his breath upon his skin, eyes cutting and analyzing like he was but a mere subject to an experiment.

 “How wonderful, perfect, couldn’t have asked or created anything better,” he smiled, sickening and awful, Ludwig wanted to bite off his chuckle in all the savageness of skin and blood that he deserved.  

  “Oh please, stop looking this angry, you were the one who wanted to pay me a visit. Perhaps if you hadn’t been so violent I could have prepared a banquet, something nice that would have made you proud to join me.” he tried to coax.

 “I don’t intend to be in any part of your plans,” Ludwig barked, flinching forward, gripping his hands as if it could make him believe he could go ahead and choke him. Khaos only rolled his eyes, taking sitting once again in his throne, in his usual comfort even with the situation.

 “What a child, should have expected as much after the reports I was receiving.”

 Instant question was in Ludwig’s eyes no matter how he tried to advert it, but nothing could truly hide from Khaos’s judgment.

 “You really think I wouldn’t have spies and messengers in your city telling me every rumor and story? Boy, I’ve been keeping an eye on you from the moment your arising queen was born. I practically know you like your own grandfather,” he was confident.

 “Don’t you dare compare yourself to family, you are nothing to me, nothing,” he spat in a harsh growl.

 “Ah, but in a way, we are,” he smiled, only intensifying the harshness in Ludwig’s eyes and the sharp of his teeth.

 “I haven’t forgotten what I gave long ago to your ancestor, about what’s been boiling through your lineage ready to release with you,” he reminded happily, enjoying the different kind of ways Ludwig’s angering marked his expression uglier.

 “Think about it boy, that kind of power, control, everything you could ever want, everything you despise out of your path, I can even let you reign with me in the new world, a sort of Jack, or a general, surely with a more splendorous throne than anything the Hearts kingdom could give you,” he tried to convince, sure about his persuasion, but to Ludwig it was all insult, in which he wanted to pay in a fight and a killing.

 “I’d rather you killed me right now!” He threatened, he lashed and moved, hoping for a freeing, a chance to fight before that kind of killing reached him. He was not going to be defeated like this, in a clutch, without a battle, so easily in the hold that Khaos wanted.

 “Oh no, no, no, absolutely not, kill my own work like that after thousands of years, unacceptable.”

 And for the first time Ludwig’s eyes widened in worry, in question and nervousness that left him cornered. Khaos had smirked…but it quickly turned into a groan as Ludwig continued to quiver in his confines, still wanting escape, blood, killing. No matter, now he could persevere knowing that Khaos wouldn’t dare kill him wanting his use.

 “Don’t overcomplicate things, you’re stuck here until the next alignment and the more accepting you become, the better, I don’t need you disobeying me.” Like scolding a small child, a feeling that Ludwig intensely hated and it just made his resolve stronger, his wish for escape, a kind of ripping going through the shadowed rope. Khaos had to intensify it before Ludwig could reach an outing.

 “I will disobey, I won’t stop until I’ve seen your skull smashed to pieces!” He shouted, jumping, nearing, two men having to rush and add to the hold, Ludwig trying what he could to shake them off, but the force on him was potent enough, more so when a third had to join.

 Angela had then arrived, especially after she heard the word that quickly spread through the castle, not showing any kind of interest to the new face, but only obedience to Khaos as she stood beside him, fearful and trembling as always.

 “How rude, how brash, certainly no behavior for a king.” Khaos laid with outmost calm, even checking his nails as his men dealt with constraining the invader, who kept on fighting, trying to land some kind of blow on any of them to make this easier and manageable. Not a care Khaos gave as his men suffered any blows or bruises. It was whatever it took to get Ludwig to halt, to accept to his quick defeat.

 “Your majesty, what should we do with him?” Angela questioned, intimidated by the invader’s snarls and piercing savage eyes.

 That moment Ludwig landed a kick on one of the men’s groin, having him fall and even loose breathe just as another came, just as Ludwig managed a blow against one’s head with his own. Khaos laughed, raising his hand yet again, creating a shadow to tie around his mouth, ceasing any kind of movements of his head and neck, only to angry mumbles wanting to bite it off, his eyes rising to Khaos with his still vengeful spirit.

 “Accept him as one of our own, of course.”

 Ludwig detested, detested, detested, the fire in the burn of his eyes growing.

 “But in the meantime, while he reflects and comes to turn to his destiny, he shall be kept in the cellars, our coldest one, that will serve him enough. I’ll keep an eye on him…see if I can…” he began to watch his hands, concocting and brewing ideas that alighted his eyes with excitement. All the possibilities, all the new he could add, and with a whole year before it, a whole year to make him quiver and test the limits of his resistance. Ah yes, a cold and weakened body, to ruins, nothing once what was truly inside him would be released for the new alignment.

 “…rile him up, test a little of what that wretched Romulus left behind for him,” he smirked and decided, waving his hand away as a command to get him moving. Four men had to come to add to the restrain, while Ludwig kept fighting, kept testing those restrains as men continued what they could to barricade him.

 As the room scurried, as all the men began to move, staring to Ludwig’s retreating form, whispers of worry and plan arose. Some wanted to follow and help, others wanted to remain in the room to continue hearing their leader speak of new commands and tasks. Khaos just settled, ignorant of all and just wanting some rest for his thoughts to proceed and plot, wonderful ideas that could get Ludwig to break. Once again it was interrupted by another slam, other steps, an angry kind of intimidating aura that began to reign all across the room…and all so familiar and beautiful one that made Khaos momentarily sway.

 “Now what,” he complained, rolling his eyes, having to awake from his thoughts.

 All the earlier mess stopped in an instant. Between the crowds a single shinning figure made his way between, bravely, with head held high and more intimidating with the addition of a St. Mark walking just as regally beside him. Khaos did not want to think who it was, none of them wanted to, but a new kind of trembling went through all as they began to recognize well the kind of presence that reigned, the powerful steps, strong grip of hands and stature that made one fearful to approach, all moving aside to grant this figure all the necessary space, none daring to disturb, to go against, some even refused to look. Khaos decided to take one last calming breath before he would settle his eyes on this new welcoming, giving a moment of last flight in his mind, a closing, a fall of his head until it could balance itself to look forward, for his eyes to open and meet.

 It was a boy, dressed in very similar whites to Ludwig, but the intensity of his red eyes, of the marks that covered his body, even the intense growl that formed in his mouth didn’t seem to go with the sweetness he had expected from the reports about no other than Feliciano Vargas.

 No, the magic that arose, the intensity, the power…the familiarity.

 This was not Feliciano Vargas, no, but his beloved, his creation, his past wife, all the same radiance and wonder even with intent to kill.

 “Augusta! How long and what luck for me to receive two such important guests in the span of minutes, is there a celebration that I missed? Don’t you worry, I can have my servants whip us a feast in no time,” he dared smile and continue his challenging eyes, arms extended in welcome even as the figure continued to remain in the same harshness he had entered in, bearing so much fire that even Khaos let his hand fall under them, seeming to wonder what could be the problem.

 He was pretending, she knew, hiding and uncaring as always.

 “And here I thought a thousand more years could have changed something about you, but you’re still as ignorant as the days of beginning.” It was rather odd for such a womanly voice to be heard from the figure of a young man, having to go along with the expressions and movements of this past woman, goddess, Ace, like a puppet, a vessel as it should be. Like it was her own body, taking immediate owning of it, she wrapped her arms on her chest, scolding and wanting, one of command that already asked.

 It really was like she was before him once again. It added that Feliciano looked remarkably like her, making it hard for differences to be pointed out.

 “Aw, it’s nice to know that you held some ounce of belief for me,” he brought a hand forward to his chest touched.

 “I believe chances should be granted to all, but you test my belief in that.” No doubt, no backing down, no fear in those eyes, even as Khaos stood trying to intimidate her with his stature, all the men around her with sharp weapons, the very dark dome and pillars that held this castle of evil ruin.  She learned to see it as nothing, confidence shining more with her as the lion beside her took a sitting, showing honor and respect despite the cruelty of this king.

 “It’s like no time has passed. You’re still the same child,” he laughed, beginning his steps down wanting to truly be frontal before her.

 “You out of all dare tell me this? Reason it is enough to burn this vessel of yours to make it as unseemly as you truly are,” she threatened, with ready spite to attack in every movement of his lips.

 Khaos dared come closer, he dared stand right before her, their heat close, sickening and maddening to her, but as a testing she remained as she was, hatred still shinning deep in those eyes. He extended a hand and yet she didn’t budge, the only movement in the room was that of Ludwig’s from afar, who witnessed everything with worry and unsettlement. The men who kept a hold of him had stop to stare at this confrontation between their king and his early first creation, at a distance where Ludwig could see everything, trying harder to release himself, more when he saw Khaos give that deploring closeness to Feliciano. To worsen his fear, he saw as Khaos lay a caressing hand on Feliciano’s cheek, a sick smile that made Ludwig want to punch it out more, intensifying his force in trying to release himself from these grasps.

 “This new vessel you take is quite interesting,” Khaos let himself compliment as Augusta grimaced, as Feliciano trembled inside in deep fear, yet still, yet letting.

 Khaos brought himself closer, for their faces to only lay centimeters by each other, breaths close, more fear igniting in Feliciano below.

 “Even as a man you’re as desirable and beautiful. Yes, I don’t mind it, I like this form very much,” he licked his lips, his closeness beginning for more, riling more Ludwig in his distance, back to his kicking and punching for a release.

 “I can want it,” he grinned, closer and closer, pass barriers neither did Feliciano and Augusta accept.

 There was a sudden burning grip on his arm, lightening in a red glow that buried them in a haze, the intense of her hold showing her anger, her defense and backing of him, of no acceptance to any of the sick thoughts he let himself concoct.

 “I don’t recall granting you permission for this, I don’t recall ever wanting you and I assure you Feliciano has no similar wants,” she scolded, pushing him away, all watching one of those rare moments that Khaos let himself trip, panic and even move back as he shook his arm trying to relieve himself from the heat, the pain, letting his mind begin a healing in the area.

 Augusta, in the guise of Feliciano, stood yet as unaffected, no kind of reaction to the small hurt she caused on the powerful man.

 “How did you get in? Why are you here?” He was losing his patience, growls beginning and anger slowly replacing whatever lust was there earlier.

 “I created this field, I can grant myself whatever entrance and exit I want, it’s as simple as creating enough of an opening,” she explained easily.

 Khaos sent glances to some of his men, who nodded and began marching away, surely to grant themselves an escape for his mission. Augusta could have added that she closed up her entrance just for this to not happen, but she refused to give the energy, they could disappoint and later kill themselves as they tried to escape the new potency of the field which now had newer Ace magic. She only rolled her eyes and settled on him again, wanting to continue his questions.

 “As for my visit, I come reclaiming something back before you taint it more in your horrible magic,” she assured and demanded.

 “What is it that you’re asking?”

 “That you return to my grandson his beloved, his king, I will not let him remain here, I will not let you place a finger on him and intensify to the worst of your own,” she growled, she practically shouted as she wanted to make her decree sure, for once enough to have Ludwig suddenly stopping, a widened that showed through the rest of his body.

 “Oh, you mean Ludwig over there,” Khaos pointed to him as if he was a useless item.

 “Yes, at once, and we’ll be leaving instantly.”

 The crowds awaited for Khaos’s answer, which he postponed to worsen the agitation, even the menace that grew from Feliciano’s body.

 “I cannot do that,” he assured, instantly fuelling the fires of Augusta’s anger.

 “Why?” Her tone harshened, with a monstrous growl that made some of the men quiver in fear, parting more from her side, for they felt the heat strong, ready to burn them.

 “He came here on his own free will, it’s only what he wanted and I am going to give him. With him here earlier than I had expected means that I can strengthen him to what I want, make him a more powerful pawn. I can’t let go of that, now that it’s already here with a year anticipation.”

 It caused Ludwig to fight on more on his side. He still desired to hurt him good, he still wanted to punch him bad.

 “And I will not permit it!” Augusta determined, taking steps closer to him, with points and harshened steps that threatened to break the stone under her.

 “I want him to leave with me right now,” she shadowed, she continued to demand with fury and Khaos was not letting himself fall under it, turn weak, indifference in his eyes, checking his nails, even his wrist, admiring the dark jeweled bracelet he wore.

 “I still won’t, my dear.”

 That did it.

 She forced in a slam Feliciano’s foot to the ground, creating a shaking throughout the whole building, rocks falling, crashes of pillars resounding across the halls, creating worsened shouts and for the men to scurry in fear. Fire began to alight around the room, brightening, burning, some even fell to its clutches, filling the room in shouts and the smell of melting flesh. The jets continued to grow, some fires reaching as high as the dome above them, not a part hidden from her red, nobody saved from sweating, from the light of intensity that had many covering their eyes. Yet Khaos sat as nonchalant, not in the lease disturb, only continuing his angry glares with Augusta, the occurrences around them doing nothing to interrupt them.

 “You cannot defeat me right now and I have more than enough power and men to stop you if you dare to escape,” he reminded with a growl, with anger slowly releasing.

 “But I can make you pain.” She brought Feliciano’s hand forward, piercing right through his chest with the same fires, the same burning and for once did Khaos let himself squirm, to fall out of breath, shout, trying to release himself by scratching tightly to Feliciano’s arm, but even still Augusta continued her hurt, the scratching and destroying of the insides of this vessel, of one of his priced robes, weakening enough for his efforts to do nothing.

 Despite the cringing, his trying for a release, the words Augusta wanted to hear refused to leave his mouth, he still managed a glare, even through the sweating, the greeted teeth, even the blood and burn that oozed down his body, tainting Feliciano’s arm.

 “Nothing,” he managed to growl out, “all this will do is just ruin the vessel and weaken your own. You’re only wasting your magic. Our true battle will take place in the next alignment, not inside the field, the very force would not permit our magic to extend to those of killing, because if not, believe me so I would have ridden of all of you easily.” He spat confidently, tiring yet maintaining his fortitude, his resolve, one Augusta was starting to see clear much to her disappointment…it meant she had to go along with other plans, admitting to the right of some of his words.

 The fires dispersed, she let Feliciano release the hands from the bloodied hole she created, letting Khaos finally breathe what he could as his vessel began its own healing. Feliciano’s hand was now dirtied, Augusta examining it before she cleaned it off in an easy control, as clean without the proof of the small moment of violence she had just created.

 “Very well then,” she accepted, walking away, many for a moment thinking that she would just leave, right out through the entrance she had so easily taken. Then again…would she be willing to leave behind Ludwig with Khaos?

 Instead of the exit, she came forward to the group that still held on to Ludwig, frightened of her to the point that they let go of the prince, confident that the shadow restraint Khaos placed would be enough. With a single pointing of her power he was released, able to move, to breathe properly, to stare to the figure of his beloved as astounded, knowing that at the moment it was Augusta he should respect. To show this he bowed, the lowest he could, practically hiding his face. Augusta would not permit it, setting Feliciano’s hands on his shoulders to raise him. She sent him a respectful gleam and a smile, an assurance of friends.

 “I shall remain here as well then,” she decided, earning a collective gasp from all in the room, even Ludwig, who instantly was ready to refuse if Augusta hadn’t raised a finger silencing him. Even Khaos’s expression was that of surprise, staring on and wondering if he had really heard her acceptance to stay, to drag in Feliciano as well.

 “You wouldn’t dare,” Khaos challenged.

 “All I’ve ever done is dare you, so yes, I shall remain, unless you let us leave,” she assured, hoping it could test him some more, but Khaos only glared, resting on his throne in acceptance, even if angered.

 “All right, it will bound to make things interesting until the alignment. Welcome then my dear,” he smiled sinisterly, surely ideas that Augusta had to calm Feliciano about in her mind, assuring him with ideas and ways for him to stand brave for their second plan.

 “I’m doing this as a way to watch over Ludwig, to make sure you do nothing to him,” she glared on, brushing some dust of Ludwig’s pristine white suit, if still some parts ruined with cuts and blood stains because of his earlier fight with Khaos’s men.

 Khaos chuckled, all a joke to him, a show. “I believe it’s better. I can watch over you and Feliciano as well, and hey, perhaps Ludwig can rid of you quicker here,” Khaos delighted at the thought, smiling splendidly with expectation.

 Augusta decided to ignore and roll her eyes, focusing once again on Ludwig…or was she? There was a deepening in her eyes, a loving intent, her hands caressing way too intimately his face, finding, searching, a hopeful smile that Ludwig couldn’t help grinning back to. He had to remind himself that he held that spirit of Romulus that she so desired and hoped was still out there, and to know he was inside him, her own grandson’s beloved, her dear friend Soren’s own great grandson. It was a wonderful meeting that left her glowing, with greetings to a past and with hope for an amazing future. Then she took notice of Ludwig as he was, away from the meanings he held in his soul. He was as handsome as Soren had been at his age, strong, kindness in his eyes…even fear with the occurrences going on around them, yet brave, determined, obsolete and forward. Soren’s lineage created an amazing king, a perfect companion for his own Feliciano, with just the heart to be a Queen.

 “Are you going to stay like this?” Keron wondered to many things, one being her commanding of Feliciano’s body and the very scene before him that disgusted, bringing annoyance to his expression.

 “No…but don’t you dare think I won’t be watching, don’t you dare try a thing against Ludwig or Feliciano, or you will suffer more of my fury. Even if I can��t kill you I will try anything that will make you cringe as you just did, and trust me Keron, I can find new ways.”

 Khaos had to try really hard to hide his shiver.

 “That’s my last warning and offer, head to them and we will later see how our next facing will go.” She gave him one final glare before she turned completely to Ludwig.

 “So be it,” he nodded, but yet other plans settled in his mind.

 Augusta extended her hands and gave one last dear caress to Ludwig’s jaw, one last look and longing before she brought Feliciano’s body closer, to lay in the comfort of his shoulder, enough for a sweetness many simply thought of as an exaggerated display, but Augusta used it as a disguise.

 “Do not worry, I have given Feliciano a plan, he shall explain everything later in private,” were her last words before she began her leave, her return to Feliciano’s inner soul, giving him his reign back, his weakness, his haze, dizziness, quickly stumbling in Ludwig’s hold. Feliciano groaned, his head panging deeply, trying to regain order, movement, even a proper stand as his surroundings continued to spin. Ludwig held to him immediately, his grip strong, arms around him, raising his head to him as a sort of comfort.

 “Ludwig…Ludwig!” Feliciano exclaimed in sudden glowing joy, jumping and wrapping his arms around him in the same love, in the same lost of each other, giving them a small moment of peace, of relief, of coming back to each other, Feliciano truly as he was.

 Surprisingly none of the men around them did anything to stop this, confused, questioning, hoping for some kind of command by Khaos, but for now he stared on to this with continuing annoyance, rolling his eyes, then wanting to be immediate in his next orders.

 “Take Ludwig to one of the furnished prisoner rooms,” he suddenly commanded, force in his voice like a snap, enough for the men to fall back into action.

 “What?” Feliciano questioned as he gave a moment to turn away, just the distraction for the man to take as a holding, pulling the lovers away, instant disagreement in their shouts, in their kicks and pushes.

 “You gave your word not to do anything to us,” Feliciano managed to shout, just as Ludwig was once again tied in shadows, double on his chest and hips, around his mouth, neck and now even hands. It drove Feliciano to act more, to try his own punch and kicks despite his weakness, his missing throws and how it hurt him when he did collide with another body.

 “Oh how cute, you do have bite, interesting.” Khaos smirked, with his ever elegance coming closer. He didn’t put any binding on Feliciano, his men took easy control of his body, his magic too weak, the very binding of the field, enough for both the intruders to fall into silence, to listen to the king.

 “I said Ludwig would be taken to a prisoner room, much more decent than the cellar I had in mind. He can rest and be comfortable, much to my disappointment. Now as for you my dear.” He brought himself closer to the arising Queen, his brown eyes with his own shake, fear, growing tears, truly his emotion, his terror. To worsen it, Khaos brought a hand to take his chin, turning it as he pleased to admired the lovely form of this new coming queen’s face, very similar to how Augusta’s had been, with the rose of her cheeks, her luscious lips and the soft curls. He had to make use of it, a sicken smile on his lips again, many alarms going through Feliciano’s entire being.

 “Take his highness to the Queen’s room, only fitting, let him be attended well, I shall invite him to dinner tomorrow.” He expected, delighted, a smile that any host could hold, but it didn’t fit with the fact that it was Khaos, that this was the dark castle inside the field, both the only Hearts, no moment giving calm to Feliciano to think that Khaos could be kind and forgiven now.

 “Take them away,” he commanded lastly before he turned away to other halls, to other matters, the swoon of his robes like an erase to keep them behind, uncaring to the continued fights the two made as they were beginning to be moved away.

 “Ludwig! Ludwig!” Feliciano managed to constantly call out to him, trying to find escape, hoping the reach of his hand could do something to bring him close once again.

 Before he knew it, doors were shut in his face and he was taken elsewhere.

[matthewjonesresearch]

Steve Rosenfield's "What I Be" Project

The “What I Be Project” is a social experiment turned into, what is now, a global movement about honesty and empowerment. In today’s society, we are often told to look or act a certain way. If we differ from these “standards,” we are often judged, ridiculed, bullied and sometimes even killed over them. Steve Rosenfield started this project in hopes to open up the lines of communication, and to help everyone accept diversity with an open mind & heart and empower those who feel they suffer for something they may see as a flaw.

"About 12 years ago, I was working as a network administrator at a big computer company in Boston, MA. I was a very opinionated and materialistic person with a huge ego and I thought being successful meant having a 9 to 5 and making a ton of money. I never shared my feelings or insecurities because I was scared of how I would look to others. I never opened up and that created a lack in my relationships where people were scared to open up to me because they saw me as “blunt”. I eventually started to realize how unhappy I truly was so I started reading and journaling and further understanding that, in order to be happy, I needed to be more open and honest with people. I needed to be more compassionate which, in turn, made people feel safe around me because I was open to them. I quit my 9 to 5 in 2002 and started traveling all over the world until eventually planting my feet in California February of 2006. With a new mindset and fresh start, I quickly began making secure bonds and establishing strong connections with new friends. I tried to have no judgements towards the people I was meeting and saw no “flaws” because I had made myself aware of the fact that we all struggle, we all have our ‘flaws,’ and we all have our insecurities. I saw everyone as normal people on this road together called life.Although being able to photograph people and make a living off it was so amazing, I wanted to do something with my passion that had more meaning. Something that would touch peoples souls.

While, for years, I tried to formulate a plan, the project physically started in 2010 when I was talking with a friend of mine about an idea on sharing peoples insecurities without literally showing them and how I could possibly turn it into an empowering photography project. I decided that night that I wanted to photograph my friend with her insecurity written somewhere on her face or hands as a way to boldly displaying her greatest insecurity on her skin and fearlessly stare into the lens for a powerful headshot. I wrote “thunder thighs” on Amanda’s hand, alongside the photograph she came up with the statement, “I am not my body image.” And thus, the “What I Be” project was made.

Many ask where the name “What I Be” came from. The project was pulled from non other than my friend Michael Franti. I was always inspired by the lyrics of Franti and his depth and meaning behind each song. He is the epitome of a powerful musician, activist, and poet. Michael’s song, “What I Be” is basically all about being who you are and being the best you that you can be. I loved the song and decided that the meaning behind the song was completely fitting for what my project is all about and this is where the name of my project came from.

Since it’s inception, there’s been a great response to the stories of every individual. Each person that takes part in the What I Be project is extremely courageous. The What I Be experience is cathartic and universally empowering, and each portrait is immortalized for the entire world to see. Participants range from high school students, Ivy League masses, and to some well known names in the entertainment industry such as The Chainsmokers, Amanda Palmer, Jay Pharoah, Jackie Cruz, Michael Franti, Andrew Keegan, Seane Corn, Kathryn Budig, Garrett Dutton, Paula Van Oppen, Chad Stokes, Trevor Hall, Crystal Bowersox, Eric Rachmany and more.

Subjects are putting their insecurities out in the open, and exposing a side of themselves that nobody has seen before. By stating “I am not my_____,” they are claiming that they do in fact struggle with these issues, but it does not define who they are as a person. They are not denying their insecurity, they are owning it. It is not aimed for people to say “You’re not fat,” or “You don’t have love handles.” It is to spread awareness on what people go through due to society’s paved roads. These are serious issues that some of us can live with, but most battle on a day to day basis.

I encourage every viewer to look at each image and put yourself in the individuals shoes. By allowing yourself to feel what they feel, you might realize something you’ve never noticed before. If you don’t understand someone’s message, stay tuned. To eliminate any confusion, each participant will be writing a 500 word or less statement explaining how their insecurity has affected their life.

Some of the faces you may recognize, some you may not. Take the time to connect with each one. You may see yourself within one of the photos." - Steve Rosenfield.

[chickadee333]

Impossible Love Masterlist

Without further ado, here is my finalized Masterlist for my novel Impossible Love. At over 85,000 words, you guys are serious readers to put up with this!

(Update: You can also find my fic on AO3 at this link. It’s easier to read there.)

As always, my intention is to write a good, well thought-out story with some sexy, smutty stuff thrown in, and I hope you enjoy it! I like to create some angst-y situations and just have things build up from there. A little sexual tension is fun, right?!? Just another fair warning: This novel contains adult content. Most of my chapters have extremely graphic depictions of sex and violence and, on one occasion, both of them together. But this is ultimately a love story, so I definitely hope you stick around for the ending.

Impossible Love: A Novel by Chickadee333 (aka D):

Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Chapter 2: A Troubled Past

Chapter 3: An Unspoken Lust

Chapter 4: A Forbidden Desire

Chapter 5: A Heartbreaking Discovery

Chapter 6: A Manipulated Promise

Chapter 7: A Welcome Freedom

Chapter 8: A Certain Homecoming

Chapter 9: An Uncertain Decision

Chapter 10: A Hostile Takeover

Chapter 11: An Indelible Mark

Chapter 12: A Time Together

Chapter 13: An Agonizing Choice

Chapter 14: A Forced Confession

Chapter 15: A Tormented Mind

Chapter 16: A Yearning Heart

Chapter 17: An Unspeakable Betrayal

Chapter 18: A New Normal

Chapter 19: A Terrifying Strength

Chapter 20: A Contrived Existence

Chapter 21: A Tragic Revelation

Chapter 22: An Imminent Return

Chapter 23: A Forever Future

(They really sound like romance novel titles, don’t they? I kinda did that on purpose since this is truly a love story...)

If you are interested in reading about my motivation and inspiration, please see my Author’s Note below!

I just wanted to give you a little background about my writing and my inspiration. Actually, my inspiration is all of you incredible people. If there were a Tumblrs Anonymous meeting, I’d be the one raising my hand saying, “Hi everyone, I’m a long-time lurker, first-time poster...” My fangirl head just explodes reading all of the crazy, sexy shit you post. And then the art that is on here! You guys are so fucking talented. My stuff is rubbish in comparison and I only hope that someday I can produce amazing art like all of you do. It is truly an inspiration. In fact, seeing the art on here is what prompted me to purchase my Wacom tablet in February. I eventually plan to have at least one drawing composed for each chapter, though that will take some time.

When I was a teenager, I voraciously read comic books (mostly X-Men) and fell in love with that world of characters and their struggles. I learned to draw by teaching myself forms, figures, shapes, and shadows as I saw them in the comics. I had always wanted to write and draw for comics, but that was a pipe dream and I instead went to college and grad school for something far, far different (science). So, this is my chance to fulfill my fantasy of writing and drawing as I always wanted. You have no idea (or maybe you do, actually) how satisfying it is to finally get this stuff out of my head and into print. When I was a teenager, my angst-ridden, sex-starved mind always wished that the comic books could have been a little X-rated—replete with sexy artwork, too. But it never happened and never would happen in mainstream comics, which is why I finally felt the need to let all of these words pour out along with the artwork to accompany them. It was almost like I was waiting for something like Suicide Squad to come by so I could latch onto it and create my ancillary, alternate universe.

I first saw Suicide Squad at the end of December and I was struck by the fact that there was so much opportunity to create a really interesting story that could never be shown in a PG13 movie (too sexy, too smutty). I spent the first three weeks of January letting the movie marinate in my mind while thinking about the characters and making up little fantasies in my head. Then I saw a note that I had left for myself one year earlier encouraging me to “write more”—which was especially jarring considering that I wasn’t writing at all. So, I decided that I would take the opportunity and start writing down my fantasies. It started with Chapter 1 and how I had wished Joker had broken out of prison in the movie. Instead of torturing Harleen, he would succumb to his pent-up desires and have sex with her. I thought it would end there but it just took off. I wrote 30,000 words in literally two weeks, and I’m continuing to write and ride this out as long as I can sustain it. I have my entire story fleshed out and outlined and I expect to have a total of 14 or possibly 15 chapters when it is concluded. Update: A little over 10 weeks later and I have finished 23(!!!) chapters at 85,000+ words, thus concluding my novel. I’m a little sad that it’s over and I definitely don’t want to stop writing, but I think I’ll focus on my drawings for now. But who knows... I have set up my story for a potentially interesting prequel (Joker’s backstory), so maybe I will eventually work on that... 2nd Update: I will be writing a sequel, not a prequel, and I expect it to be the same length (a long-ass novel, LOL).

I will admit that I am not an expert on the Joker and Harley. I have seen the Suicide Squad movie, but I have not read the novelized version of it and I do not plan to. I know the names of some characters (like Frost) from having seen them float around, but I have been making up my own characters to fit my own story. In fact, other than Joker, Harleen, and Frost, most of my characters are original to a degree. When I write, I like to envision my characters played by an actor/actress so I can describe them better and I will eventually share with you my “cast of characters” for this novel (I actually have it posted already in the end notes on my AO3 page). I also have a running soundtrack in my head as if the story were a movie, and I’ll share that with you all as well (also found at that link).

As for Joker and Harley, I know some basics about them from the movies, some comics, the animated series from the 90s, and things that I’m seeing you guys post here on Tumblr. However, I have never been happy with how the comics/tv shows/movies have portrayed characters like the Joker. It always feels like these kinds of characters are too often portrayed as two-dimensional as their image is on the page. Where is the range of emotion? Where is the depth? I love a crazy, insane character, but they are not compelling to me when there is only crazy and nothing else. Why are they crazy? What is their back story? What drives them? What are their motives? What made them who they are? Is there any piece of humanity within them that can be salvaged? That was one thing that I think they got right with Suicide Squad—Leto’s Joker was portrayed as not only an insane, trigger happy loose cannon, but also suffering emotionally in Harley’s absence. I like kick-ass characters that show vulnerability. It is fucking sexy. I think it is important to add those extra layers of personality in order to make the character feel more real.

As for my portrayal of Joker, I intended to show his emotional and vulnerable side. You know he has one. He is still a flesh and blood person, after all. And he was a real person before becoming the “idea” of the Joker. In my world, he had a normal family life as a child (until his family died in an accident), he went to school, he got some degrees, he used his genius brain to start a business, he had a fiancée and a baby on the way. But shit happened and he is now the way he is. He has anger management issues. He is violent. He is fucked up. And he accepts that. Having said that, however, I was never a fan of Harley Quinn obsequiously fawning over the Joker no matter what abuse he put her through. I do not condone domestic violence and it makes me feel pity for her when I think of her returning to her abuser. In stories where she is portrayed that way, I just want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her that she deserves better than that! I know I would not stay with my abuser—no matter how great the sex was. In real life, I work in a social services field where I have managed cases in which my clients have suffered for too long at the hands of their abusive spouse or partner. That is a fucking difficult thing to be confronted with. It is not sexy; it is heartbreaking. And I find that these real life experiences inform the way that I write. For that reason, I am writing my Harleen as a strong, empowered, independent woman. My Joker, while still the insane, trigger happy loose cannon, is written to show facets of vulnerability and emotion. I think that makes him more attractive to know that he is more than just “crazy” and abusive. I like to show that he has desires, dreams, and urges. I think that kind of depth and dimension can sometimes be missing from the comic books—not always, but sometimes.

I do want to say that there are some brilliant fanfics out there that follow comic book canon with the abusive Joker and the submissive Harley. They really hold true to the characters, and that is an incredible feat within itself—to take a character, to know their personality, and to write a story that is true to how they would act. It’s very impressive. I might finish reading with a feeling of “God damn, Harley, you gotta stop letting Joker walk all over you!” And, to me, that means that the writer was successful because they elicited a true emotion within me—whether it is pity or anger or happiness or angst. So, this is not a put-down for those who do write true to the characters. I have mad respect for you. It’s not my bag, baby, but I will read it and enjoy it and I will walk away having felt something and that is the most important thing. Art in any form should make you feel. It should make you react. It should shock your sensibilities. It should inspire. It should make you think. And that is what I hope my art—both my writing and my drawings—do for all of you.

Sorry to have blathered on for so long, but thank you for reading if you made it this far! Your likes, comments, reblogs, and messages bring a huge smile to my face when I see them. It’s like opening a present when I check my Tumblr activity and see that someone has reached out to me. And please feel free to reach out to me with any comments or questions about anything!!!

So, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I’m so glad that you enjoy my crazy fantasies as much as I like writing and drawing them!

XOXO,

D