#I think it can be a fine enough concept if executed correctly

[saucetail]

why is posting country people the new thing for commie bloggers

[rivenroad]

I’m not really into raiding any more, I just kinda want to level a bunch of characters and chill in any game that I play, but comparing the endgame systems in XIV and WoW is interesting regardless. I can’t comment on what any of the previous WoW expansions were like because obviously I didn’t play during any of them, but for Shadowlands... There are a lot of different systems for gearing up and so on, augmenting yourself beyond just plain gear upgrades. Covenants are a really cool idea, I like being able to gain additional skills and enhancements through conduits or even gear sets and trinkets. XIV is very stable and predictable by comparison. Gear is always very straightforward and there’s no real customisation of classes, in fact we’ve moved steadily further and further away from that as time goes by. I understand the reasoning for it, and I still find the game really fun regardless but it would be nice to see more variation.

On the other hand, I feel like WoW might actually be taking these things too far at the moment. There is so much to do when you hit level 60 to gear yourself for raids, which is fine on a single character, but I can tell that if I wanted to raid on multiple classes, keeping up with everything across multiple alts would be... way too much work. I commend the game for how alt-friendly it is overall but I think I’m more than satisfied to be way behind, just farm old content when I massively out-level it.

This is a point I’ve noticed across the game in general: it doesn’t feel like it respects your time. Sure, MMOs always have an endless amount of stuff to do but I can really feel in WoW the kind of game design that is made to keep you playing constantly, not just every day but for a long time in each session, because there are always things coming up to spend your time on. It’s very good at setting up a trap that you sink hours into. Sometimes, this is actually very fun and enjoyable, but it’s also very, very easy to get burned out on it. As I just mentioned this is a problem with all kinds of MMOs but... I always think of Yoshi-P saying that he would even encourage people to unsub and take a break between major patches and come back when there’s new stuff to do, rather than force people to keep playing constantly without a break, and I think the attitude to this is reflected in each game’s design. WoW seems to keep constantly trying to throw more and more stuff at you to do and as a result I tend to find it more tiring over a certain span of time than I would if I were playing XIV instead.

And often, it tends to result in there being a huge amount of Stuff going on that I don’t want to do because it’s so much effort for so little reward. A lot of the current end-game has potential but ultimately falls flat for me for this reason. The Maw is just not enjoyable in the slightest. I get that they wanted to push the feeling of it being a challenging environment but it’s just fucking dark and grim and I don’t get much satisfaction from it at all. It’s not a surprise that I enjoy the concept of Torghast because I love PotD and they are very similar, but I don’t really want to do it because it’s just so gloomy and dark and not even in a fun way like Revendreth. If they’d done something like, a tower with different floors based on the different zones of Shadowlands, as is the theme with most other stuff in the expansion, that would have been really cool, but the gameplay is not good enough for me to carry how monotonous it is in theme. I’m aware that BfA was extremely unpopular due to its endgame and made a lot of people quit for good, but funnily enough it’s actually one of my favourites because I enjoy the environments, the stories and the experience of simply being in the zones a lot. It really makes a difference.

I have been vicariously living through watching raiders stream, since a world first race happened to be going on at the moment, and I was really curious about it how it differs from XIV raiding. I gotta admit, even though I don’t really raid any more regardless, I don’t think I’d enjoy WoW raiding. WoW has some really cool dungeons and raids - I may not have seen much of the current ones, but I’ve gone through a lot of older ones from all the past expansions and there’s some really fun and impressive design. I can see exactly why it became so popular and why people hold particular expansions in high regard because of it. The more recent ones seem more linear, but even they still feel interesting and open and have a variety of mechanics in them that sets them apart from the now very rigid overall structure of XIV’s dungeons and raids. 

However, I enjoy the way XIV’s encounters work more, because it’s basically like learning a dance in a set sequence. It’s very satisfying and fun to learn and execute correctly. I’m also not keen on the ubiquitous use of add-ons for WoW’s raiding, which for both games is a complicated issue I don’t really want to delve into right here, but in short a soft requirement to modify the base game UI and have an add-on that tells you exactly what to do all the time is not my thing.

I also find the faster pace of WoW’s combat kind of overwhelming. Just a personal preference thing, I guess - it’s fun to execute when you know what you’re doing, for sure, and maybe if I was playing it as a 16-year-old or something which is the kind of age many people seem to have started playing the game at I would feel differently... or maybe if I wasn’t so used to XIV, I don’t know. But the pace of it is too much for me.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 22: Proposition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty-Two: Proposition

Note: This entire chapter feels like a shitpost, and I love it. Also, dear god have I been busy working on things for a physical release of the fic! You’ll hear more about that next week on Wednesday, but if you are interested in beta reading, I have left a form below. Doing it myself is tricky, and there is a free copy in it for you bound in your choice of type (hardback, paperback, hardback with a paper cover, etc) and you will receive credit because I’m not a monster XD. 

I think I want to do it as a charity thing, so suggest charities the proceeds should be donated to in the form below even if you’re not interested in being a beta reader! The size of the charity is irrelevant. They just have to be credible (IE not a nightmare like Autism Speaks or the Salvation Army, or PETA, not to get judgy or upset anyone. They just have a very bad rep.) Anyway, enough of that! Back to the story!

(-~-)

By all accounts, the initial plan had been simple enough. They were going to eat dinner and then see where the evening took them. The only issue was that not a single one of them had really thought the plan through. That was typical enough, all things considered, but none of them really considered the fact that accomplishing that goal might be a little bit harder than they had originally expected it to be. Namely because of one major problem.

While Sirrus’s intentions had been pure enough when he had offered to cook, and V’s had been equally so when he had agreed to allow him to do so, the execution of those plans had left much to be desired. Making plans without knowing the full extent of their impact seemed to be something that ran in the Sparda family, regardless of the context of the plan, and while this was a minor occurrence in a sea of what had otherwise been huge high stakes situations, that didn’t change the fact that it was literally impossible to cook without food. And if it wasn’t, no one present wanted to know how that was done.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that you might be a little short on… everything at the moment.” Sirrus said as politely as he could, clearly amused by the utter emptiness that he was presented with when he opened the cabinet door. “Am I getting my hopes up by assuming that you have something in the refrigerator, or are we just going to have to make a run to the store? I mean, we’re probably going to have to for what I had in mind, but still.”

V felt himself die a little inside at his companion’s polite yet ruthless assessment of his current living situation. Sirrus was entirely correct, it was too much to hope for. He hadn’t really been home much recently, if at all since he had acquired the place, and as such, grocery shopping had been very low on his list of priorities. It had been easier to just grab something and call it a day in the two days that he had actually been in the house so far. He only wished that he had thought of that before he’d offered to allow Sirrus to cook! He could have saved himself a lot of unneeded embarrassment.

Was this what it felt like to be Dante? Because if it was, that was a tragedy. The only upside to his current situation was that Lucia, Nico, and Nero were in the next room talking, so they were not able to experience his deep loathing and shame first hand, not to mention the verbal beatdown that he had just suffered at Sirrus’s hands. Or should he say vocal cords? Either way, the point still stood that he did indeed need to procure food because the only thing available to consume in the house was peeling wallpaper, dried-out paint, and dust. And knowing V’s luck, Shadow had probably already consumed those already when he wasn’t looking. That was absolutely something she would do.

“I would say the latter is the most true, given the options at hand. That is not to say that the second option is not correct, as it absolutely is… but that’s not the type of narrative I’d like to weave at this juncture.” V “But the thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest, so it is probably best that I simply accompany you to the store so I can see to it that my cabinets are not as bare as Dante’s office is dark.”

Sirrus nodded as he closed a stary cabinet door, turning to fully face the slightly frazzled young man. “That seems agreeable enough. Hopefully my matter of fact, no-nonsense way of stating the obvious wasn’t as abrasive as it seems now that I am able to look back on it. Hindsight is 2020, as they say.” He straightened out his long shirt, adjusting his shoulders as he allowed his head to pull from side to side. He was slightly uncomfortable as, for the first time, he stepped close enough to V to notice that they were largely the same size and stature. What an eye-opening realization. “I’m sarcastic, some would even sardonic, but I like to think I’m not unfeeling. I’ve yet to lose my grip on the reality of the world around me and start to view the rest of the world with a sort of cold dissonance like so many around me have. What do people call that now? Being edgy? Somehow I am under the impression that that might not be the proper use of that term.”

V brushed him off, taking a step to the side instead of taking a step back. He wasn’t intimidated by the tall redhead despite the fact that he was sure that he probably had ample reason to be. There was a certain mysterious quality to him that was carefully outlined with a certain measure of involuntary menace that he couldn’t quite place, and his prior comments didn’t help in that regard. There was just something… feral about him, some sort of wild strength that he knew that his guest could reach into if he wished to do so and bring to bear against those he considered deserving of it. It was something that he could just feel in the pit of his stomach, a sort of primordial sense of strength and power that reminded him of his own family, but it was notably different in a way that was hard to describe. Was it darker somehow? Was that the right way to put it? 

But that wondering was enough to keep him grounded in a situation like this. He seemed trustworthy, but he would still keep his guard up until he was absolutely sure, even if he wasn’t actively trying to do so. It was simply instinct, and going with his gut had kept him alive this long, so he was going to continue doing so. If it wasn’t broken, then he wasn’t going to fix it. “Think nothing of it. I take no offense to you stating the obvious. I don’t think that there has been food in this house in at least a decade.”

“Probably longer than that, if I remember correctly. This place has been empty for about fifteen years. After the will was read, Magnolia’s side of the family cleaned the place out as quickly as they could before they went their separate ways. Quite a lot of bad blood between them, from what I could tell. It was a shame how that all played out, but grief brings out the worst in people, especially when the root cause of that grief is so… unexpected.” The man with the long red hair peered out of the back door for a moment as though he were expecting something or perhaps had heard a commotion of some sort. He seemed to study the bushes against the back wall for a long moment before continuing. “As per your request… that is more than fine by me. I won’t, then. I shall pretend that we never mentioned the food in the first place.”

“You say that as though you were personally there to see it. You seem too young to have witnessed something of that nature, but you have first-hand knowledge of it from a viewpoint that would suggest that you were a neutral party witnessing it from within the inner circle of what was going on.” V was admittedly curious as to how Sirrus would explain something like that in a way that made sense. Or would it make sense at all? Who was to say. He would simply have to wait and find out. “I had assumed that we were quite close in age. But then again, everyone knows what they say about assuming things. I should have known better than to think that I know everything about someone that I barely know. My mistake.”

“Looks can be deceiving, as I’m sure you know first hand. Your family is quite literally living proof of that concept. I assure you however that I was present. I just seem younger than…” He stopped, catching himself as though he were about to say something that he didn’t mean to, waiving off both his near mistake and V’s apology casually. V was clever, something that he had pegged about him from the very first moment that they had made eye contact. It was something intrinsic in the way that he held himself, and every time that he had opened his mouth since then had only served to strengthen that notion. But now his keen intellect was becoming troublesome, not that it changed anything in the end either way. ”That quote from before about the harvest… William Blake, if I remember correctly? I’m quite fond of his works, especially the illustrations. Quite the brilliant man.” He stopped for a moment, seemingly considering something before looking over at the doorway. He then nodded quietly to himself before redirecting his attention towards V once more, finding his companion’s silence interesting. He seemed to be waiting for him to continue. “Personally, Mary Shelly is my all-time favorite. Frankenstein and all that. I have a more contemporary favorite as of late, but telling you that might say more about me than I mean for it to, so I’ll keep it to myself for now.

Now V had more questions than answers. Sirrus was a walking mystery, and the more that he spoke, the more V questioned his own perception and his impression of him changed. It was as fascinating as it was confounding, but he couldn’t say that he disliked it. There was just something captivating about not being able to read him, regardless of how hard he tried. A part of him wondered if anyone else in his family had this issue. He would ask them when presented with the chance to do so. Well then, back to what we were discussing before.”

“We were discussing something before? I can’t say that I remember anything. But I do recall you saying to “think nothing of it.” The playfully smug, all-knowing tone of voice that he spoke in was enough to make V shake his head and roll his eyes, but he resisted. It was a welcome juxtaposition to the conversation that they had just indulged in, and they were both somehow simultaneously relieved that they didn’t have to indulge in it any longer.

He couldn’t help but snicker somewhat at that response. Sirrus was endearingly hatstand, wasn’t he? Despite the unintentionally tense conversation that they had just indulged in, the white-haired summoner couldn’t help but be amused. It was complicated, and yet so very simple. “Let’s go to the store, Sirrus. I’ll tell the others that we will return shortly. You may accompany me if you’d like.”

Sirrus nodded politely, using both hands to signal to him that he was to walk first as he bowed lower than what was needed and stepped back out of his companion’s way. V scoffed in amusement but went along with his slightly antiquated gesture, admittedly entertained by it. Yes, this had to be what other people felt like when they met him for the first time. He understood why they looked at him like that now. Slowly but surely, it was all coming together.

(-~-)

From what they could tell, the store was mostly empty. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night, and it seemed that everyone who wanted to buy groceries had done so by then. While it was understandable that most people in the city wouldn’t want to start cooking this late, it was still a little bit surreal to see just how few people were willing to make a midnight dash to the supermarket to stock up on general goods and necessities. One could only imagine that recent events in the region had made people more than a little bit jumpy, but this was an entirely new level of silent unrest that made an already somewhat eerie environment that much more uncomfortable.

As the absentmindedly browsed the shelves in relative silence, V shifted in discomfort. He couldn’t shake the persistent feeling that something simply wasn’t right, and that he should go with his gut and leave this place before something happened. Although it was basically impossible to predict something like that, V was convinced that the persistent feeling of unrecognizable dread that he felt brewing in the very pit of his stomach was something more substantial than he was allowing himself to believe. And under the guise of trying not to seem silently panicked, he couldn’t help but feel a nameless terror overtake him. This feeling that he felt was familiar in the worst way possible. It reminded him of the train ride back in Lucia’s homeland, the strange subconscious sensation that he was no longer in the driver’s seat in regards to his own cognitive feedback. And the idea that his enemy might be trying to do something, anything at all, was not good. He needed to do something fast.

“I apologize if my being around you alone is subconsciously offputting. I get the impression that you are disturbed, and you probably aren’t sure what that is just yet. Let me assure you that it is in fact, me, and that I am not doing so intentionally.” Sirrus casually reached up and took a can down from a shelf, turning it over in his hands absentmindedly as he studied it to see if it was something that he could use. “But the disturbance that you feel is most certainly tangible. I recognized your specific gifts and aptitudes a while back. You have a heightened sensitivity to certain things. Very useful if utilized correctly.” 

He paused for a moment to look at V, seemingly waiting for him to respond in some way. As he realized that his companion wasn’t speaking, he sighed with bated breath, looking slowly from side to side as he checked to make sure that no one was around them. Not that he needed his eyes to do that. It was more for V’s benefit than his own, in any case. “To someone with a trained eye, abilities like that stick out like a sore thumb, especially when the person in possession of them doesn’t yet know how to control them. But that is not to say that you don’t have amazing potential if only someone were to educate you as to how to do deliberately what already comes to you so naturally.”

“Gifts? What are you…” V paused as he considered what he wanted to say next. Sirrus could see something about him that the rest of the people he knew couldn’t? That was alarming to him for reasons that he couldn’t quite place at the moment. Was he that obvious? What else had he been doing that he just hadn’t noticed was a dead giveaway in regards to his true nature? Could anyone else tell, or was that something specific to Sirrus?

“Your grandfather is the Dark Knight Sparda, yes? I couldn’t help but notice your surname. He was a good man. And he was very powerful. I see things in both you and your brother that I do not see in your older relatives.” He seemed to be speaking carefully as he headed to the center aisle in his search for… whatever it was that he was looking for to cook dinner with. He seemed to notice V’s quiet, well-concealed panic, but the atmosphere had changed notably in the air around them. There was a certain latent hostility to V’s demeanor that hadn’t been there before, and for the first time since he’d arrived in town to carry out his mission, he felt genuinely threatened by someone. While he had indeed encountered resistance, nothing so far had felt so pure, so dynamic in its ability to utterly destroy him, and he got the impression that neither V nor himself truly knew what the young man with the white hair was capable of at that moment. And as exhilarating as that might be under most circumstances, this was far from the case at this moment in time. 

It was time to start explaining himself.

“... Sometimes things skip a generation, carried in latent genes by your forebears. This may be one of those cases. That’s what makes me as powerful as I am in some regards. And it is why we have what I like to call Dry Generations; instances in which nothing particularly interesting happens.” The hostility level didn’t decrease much, and Sirrus took a mental note of that, preparing himself should the worst happen. And he hoped with every fiber of his being that it wouldn’t. Something told him that if he had to resort to that, Vergil wouldn’t appreciate him having to explain it after the fact, and the last thing he wanted to have to do was pry Yamato out of his own chest. Vergil had quite the throwing arm. And as fast as he was, he wasn’t sure he was quite that fast. “But when more interesting individuals are born, well, they are most certainly more… intriguing. You and Nero seem to fit that bill nicely.”

“Are you threatening me?” V asked point-blank, his posture slightly more straight than it had been a moment before. Perhaps without thinking it, V had shifted into a readied stance, unwilling to be taken off guard by any kind of sudden attack. Resorting to this kind of public display of power had to be against some code of ethics or something, but he wasn’t going to stand there and take something like that laying down if it came to it. He needed to make that clear, even if Magnolia probably wouldn’t appreciate him bringing Sirrus to her in the middle of the night filled with puncture wounds from Shadow and several broken bones from a trip off of a local roof, courtesy of Griffon. He just hoped that he wouldn’t need to do that. And although he was somewhat sure that he wouldn’t need to, that didn’t change the fact that he might still need to defend himself.

In a moment of self-awareness, Sirrus shook his head, stepping back slightly as he allowed his head to rest on the edge of the center bin that he stood next to. There was some kind of meat inside of it with a sale sign next to it, but that would only become relevant if they made it out of this encounter in one piece. What a fascinating reaction. I would have never thought that he was capable of actually being overtly aggressive considering his physical state and general disposition. He normally has such a mild mentality.” He thought to himself as he let his arms fall to his sides, wanting to demonstrate as clearly as possible that he was not trying to intimidate V or cause him any harm. One could only imagine what he had been through in his young life, and he wasn’t going to add to that pain and suffering if he could help it. 

Maybe it was simply the demon side of him showing itself a little in that moment as a natural defense mechanism? He knew that they were not entirely human, after all, and he had no idea how much demonic blood ran through his veins. It mattered very little if he was being truthful with himself. His pedigree alone ensured that he was powerful, And that was something he could deeply sympathize with on an extremely personal level. He too carried his own darkness locked away deep within himself, even if it was a different form of it. He couldn’t judge him for the one time he slipped up. Hell, he’d give him a hug if he wasn’t so sure it would get him stabbed through the gut with V’s cane.

“Oh, perish the thought. Not even slightly. I wouldn’t dare. Though I do admit that it probably seems that way.” He watched V relax slightly, at least physically, sliding back into the comfortable leaning position that he was accustomed to associating with him. It made him wonder what the young summoner had been through that had made him this way, or if perhaps it was a one-off fluke reaction to this exact situation. Maybe he could ask him another time when he calmed all the way down. It seemed that he had at least a little bit of his father in him after all. “Quite the opposite though. I am extending an invitation. I would like to help you with that. Now, were you thinking fin or fang in regards to protein for this meal? It seems we have simpler choices to make this time around. But something tells me it won’t always be that way. Darkness looms on the horizon, and I have the feeling that something sinister might be readying itself just out of view.”

V gave him an apprehensive look, unsure as to what to really say to that. This entire conversation had certainly changed his outlook on a few things, to say nothing of how it had nearly taken a turn for the worst. He needed ample time to think things through. He was used to being the logical, level-headed one in situations like this. Something about that conversation had severely taken him out of his element, But at least a few of his questions had been answered, even if more now lingered in the back of his mind. And more importantly, there hadn’t been a public display of supernatural violence that could have destroyed both of them and the building along with them. 

Sighing gently as if to physically rid himself of the toxic experience he had just suffered through, V looked at Sirrus, the both of them somehow knowing that the other regretted what had almost just happened even without saying it. It was best to leave things alone for now and just leave this store. Maybe the building itself was driving them both insane. “Fang.”

(-~-)

Gosh, writing this chapter makes me want to work on the story that I’ve been wanting to write for so long now. But not yet! I don’t pick projects up easily after I walk away from them, so for now, I will wait. There is still much to be done with this AU, but gosh writing Sirrus gets me in the mood for that. Let’s just say he doesn’t originate from this AU universe.

Here is the link to the form! It’s only 4 questions and should take about two minutes to answer. Thank you! You’re a big help to me. I want it to be clear that I’m not making anything from this fic, I just want to do something neat for charity and give you something cool in return.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1jD0AKYiX3EfLjt-M_Rk8CapJ0GdzVqB-9oDMhV3SG2A/edit?usp=sharing

Sorry for my rambling this week! I’m just excited, I guess! Also, a special thank you to the like 2 people on Tumblr that like my chapters every week. I like your energy =^~^=

[aka-efirg]

tainted marks

several days after chuuya got out of edgar's book, dazai breaks into his apartment

trigger: implied/referenced self-harm

ao3

Various objects were floating inside the apartment, a faint red glowing around them. With each whimper, the objects seemed to be more and more crushed, until some of them were totally squashed. And with each abrupt movement, the objects were moved around. But when the sound of a window opening could be heard, all the objects stilled briefly before everything – going from the spoon floating in the apartment to the chair in the bar 900 meters further away – trembled.

The tremor stopped only when Chuuya opened his eyes, waking up from what he was dreaming about. Though, he didn’t get the time to think about it because of the presence he could feel inside his apartment. Despite his mind still befuddled by sleep, he knew who it was. Since there was only one person crazy – or suicidal – enough to break into a Mafia executive’s apartment. So he blinked several times to hopefully get rid of the sleepiness. Dealing with Dazai while tired was just a disaster bound to happen.

He sighed and stood up, slightly wincing in discomfort. And grumbled internally because he was pretty sure Dazai now knew he was awake. Well then, best to go to confront the demon. He didn’t bother to make himself more presentable and just headed toward the living room. And as expected, Dazai was there, standing in the middle of the room and looking around at all the objects which were now lying on the floor. He turned his head when he sensed he wasn’t alone anymore.

Chuuya was about to gently ask him what he was doing here when he spotted several dark stains on the other’s clothes. And considering who he was facing, it wasn’t hard to deduce what they were. So instead of yelling, he switched the lights on, taking pleasure in the barely noticeable but still present wince appearing on Dazai’s face. The light provided him the confirmation the stains were indeed blood. He scowled when he took the other’s general appearance before sighing. He really didn’t have the energy to deal with his ex-partner.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He couldn’t help but say aloud. Before Dazai could answer – which would have probably angered him –, he added. “Come on asshole.” And without waiting for the other to talk, he turned around, back to his room. He felt relief when he heard the brown following him. Which made him frown. Since when Dazai was obedient like that?

Once in the room, he looked back at Dazai who was still silent. A little too silent for it to be comfortable. A silent Dazai rarely suggested something good. And fuck, wasn’t he too tired and out of it to deal with that.

“Now, sit the fuck down and strip!”

He pointed at his bed before heading toward his closet to take out a box and going back to the bed. Fortunately, Dazai was already seated, his clothes removed. And now, Chuuya could clearly see the stains of blood, contrasting with the white bandages. Without saying anything, he climbed on the bed and placed himself behind the detective.

Carefully, he started undoing the bandages and winced at the too familiar gestures. When all the bandages were undone, with Dazai having say no word yet, he barely looked at all the faded marks on the back, preferring to focus on the newest addition.

The wound was still fresh and looked inflamed. Probably because the stupid asshole didn’t take care of it correctly. And also. “When was the last time you changed your bandages ? They’re dirty as fuck. You know what, don’t answer, I don’t care.” Which he knew Dazai knew it was a lie. He wouldn’t be changing them if he truly didn’t care. But luckily the brown didn’t call him out.

He took out a gauze from the box and soaked it with disinfectant before applying it on the wound, followed by medicated cream. Then he got off the bed and knelt down before Dazai. The wound there was in the same state as the one on his back. He repeated his actions.

Once this was taken care of, he focused on the arms. These wounds were so familiar he wanted to scream. The red lines were taunting him. Dancing with white faint lines. Without uttering a word, he stood up and went to the bathroom, dampening a cloth, and came back to the bedroom. He washed the blood, allowing him to access the extent of the damage. The cuts thankfully weren’t too deep and would heal quickly. He then started cleaning them as well.

Silence was beginning to be unnerved and Dazai hadn’t spoken yet. Not a word. Not a sound. Nothing. He had just obediently followed Chuuya’s orders. Almost like a dog. And if Chuuya was in the mood, he would have laughed at the irony. But right now, his mind was too far away and he was working on autopilot. Clean. Access. Disinfect. Bandage. Again for the other arm. And once finished, put new bandages. Wrap it tightly – but not too much – around the stomach. Then the chest. The shoulders. The chest again. And the neck.

He was now back on the bed, behind Dazai. And while he was tidying the stuff back into the box, he felt two lanky arms closing around him before being pressed against a familiar chest. He must have been more out than he thought because his first instinct wasn’t punching, but snuggling. When he realized what he was doing, he froze. Which didn’t seem to deter his ex-partner since he just tightened his grip. And fucking nuzzled his nose against his neck, just below his choker. Soon he felt legs resting around his hips, trapping him fully into Dazai’s grasp.

For several minutes, none of them moved. For a moment Chuuya almost forgot who they were now and was practically back when they were teenagers and they would spend the night, snuggled against each other. Or after a particularly difficult mission. Moments like those hadn’t been very commun but Chuuya would lie if he said he didn’t miss them.

He jolted from his thoughts when he felt a light kiss on his neck. And another on his jaw. Looked like Dazai was coming back from where he’d lost himself. Butterfly kisses kept appearing on his skin and he was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. But at the same time, he couldn’t move away. After the days passed in the book, without nothing to anchor him, he needed this contact. Dazai had always been able to ground him, just as much as he had been able to ground Dazai when the latter was spiraling down.

The more kisses there were, the more difficult he found it to breathe but the more human he started feeling again. And wasn’t this the most beautiful irony. No Longer Human washing over him, again and again, was what allowed him to reconnect with his human side. He vaguely wondered if Dazai was aware of it. He probably was. But then again, for all the genius he was, sometimes Dazai was unable to see what was right in front of him.

When it was starting to feel too much, he tried to extricate himself but Dazai tightened his members around him with enough strength it started hurting. Light kisses became more teethy. It was as if Dazai was trying to consume him. He was completely trapped. Bruising grasp. Biting kisses. And part of him was refusing to do anything to get away. He closed his eyes, an attempt to block what was happening. He could feel tears building behind his lids due to the excess of sensations, of emotions… of everything.

“Neh Chuuya, what were you dreaming about?”

Dazai’s voice was soft and barely audible, even with his mouth so close to his ear. Chuuya opened his eyes and tried to turn his head to look at the brown but his position made it impossible for him to do so. The kisses had stopped and he could feel Dazai’s breathing brushing against his sensitive skin. He was so focused on that he nearly forgot the question. Dazai’s first words since coming and it was no taunt or anything similar.

“Nothing.”

“Chibi shouldn’t lie, it would be no good for his height. And you obviously dreamed about something. You created a quake for one kilometer around. And if it was because you were angry, there would have been more damage. Plus there are lots of broken and crushed things in your living room – and probably in the other rooms –. I know things like that happen when you’re dreaming.”

“Stop talking.”

One kiss just above the choker. “I thought Chibi wanted me to talk.” Teeth on his lob and Chuuya just went limp in Dazai’s arms.

“Why are you here?” He asked tiredly. As much he had needed and wanted the contact, he wasn’t ready for dealing with his ex-partner. He didn’t even have the force to be properly angry.

“I asked first.”

“What are you ? A child?” He felt more than he saw Dazai opening his mouth. “One word about my height and say goodbye to your nose.” Faint laugh tickled against his skin, sending shivers across his body. “And I’ve answered.”

“Not really no.”

And the situation was so familiar it was uncomfortable. But at the same time, it was so familiar it was comfortable.

“You remember what my first memory is?” He had to wait several seconds before feeling a weak nod. “Nothing. No existence. No sensation. No emotion. Barely aware. It’s what I was dreaming about. Being nothing more than a concept, existing without existing. Do you know how terrifying it is to be reminded of something like that?”

“I can imagine.” And if that didn’t make it worse.

“So why did you do this to me?” He felt Dazai tense, his grip tighter around him. Probably hurting his arms by doing so. “You know I need my ability. You know how much my own power takes a toll on me. How I need my ability so I can bear it. And yet, your plan involved sending me in a world where there are no abilities.” It was getting harder and harder to breathe. And he couldn’t figure out if it was because of his own growing anxiety and the arms around him squeezing him more and more. Yet he couldn’t stop talking. “The two first days had been fine. But the more time I spent without my ability to anchor me, the more everything became numb. At a point I was so desperate to escape that I started just killing. I mean, it was fifty-fifty chance of the character being a killer. Which, you guessed, did not help at all. If I had passed one day more inside this fucking book, I would have been back to square one. Only existing to kill and destroy. Even now, I have to fight the fucking instinct to destroy everything around me.”

“Chuuya…”

“When I came out of the book, I was so close to do it. And I’m not sure it would have been deliberately. It was just… so overwhelming. Barely hanging on my humanity one moment, and the next, having all this power ready to strike if I let it. Is it something you can imagine?”

No answer. Typical. Trust Dazai to not say a word when it was the most inconvenient. “You know what? Forget about it. It’s not like you care anyway.” The only reaction he got was a sharp inhale. Once again, he went to extirpate himself but like the other times, something stopped him. This time it was a hand pressed against his stomach. Under his shirt. Anger engulfed him for one second before remembering one detail.

“Why are you wearing bandages?”

Fuck . That was probably the one thing he didn’t want Dazai to know about. But, of course, with everything that was happening, he had forgotten. Truly he hadn’t even thought it would have been an issue. Yet this was Dazai he was talking about. So naturally it did become an issue. He snapped. “None of your business.”

“Are you trying to copy me?”

“Why the fuck would I do that? Who in their right mind would want to look like a freaking mummy?”

“Yet Chuuya has bandages around his stomach – and probably his chest too –. So if not for the aesthetic, why?”

“Like I said, none of your business.”

The hand pressed harder. “You’re not hurt.”

“Just leave it alone, asshole!” He started thrashing around, attempting to get out. But his efforts seemed vain as the ex-mafioso only curled around him even more. He didn’t understand. Physically he was stronger than the brown.Who was also hurt. And Chuuya could hear the faint whimpers of pain each time his elbows connected with the other’s ribs. Yet Dazai managed to hold on. Even when he almost headbutted him in his nose. Twice.

Several minutes passed until Dazai seemed to get bored. His hand, previously put around the redhead’s torso, moved toward his neck before encircling it without hesitation and applying enough pressure for it to be quite uncomfortable but not enough to hurt. And just like that the anger that had taken over Chuuya for the last minutes disappeared. His arms went limp, resting on the other’s legs, and he slumped into Dazai’s chest, his head slightly backward exposing his throat.

Without removing his hand, Dazai brought the smaller’s head on his shoulder, his other hand still secured around the bandaged stomach. He waited a moment for Chuuya to calm down. Once he was sure he wouldn’t attack him, he released his grip on the neck and couldn’t resist hooking two fingers under the choker and pulling a little. His action earned him a light groan.

Chuckling he removed his fingers to instead grab the hem of the other’s pyjama top. He started to remove it, taking his time to let the redhead stop him if he wanted. Then he discarded the cloth next to him. Now he could plainly see the smaller’s back wrapped in white bandages. Seeing how Chuuya was tensed, he put his hands on his shoulders and started rubbing his thumbs. He could feel him stiffening a little more before the muscles began relaxing. He kept going until the redhead was almost pliant under his hands.

Slowly he reached the knot securing the bandages and loosened it. He halted his movements and started undoing the white stripes when he got no complaint. The gestures were methodical, without hesitation. Almost reassuring. As soon as he caught sight of bits of skin, he frowned. Maybe it was the lack of light or the tiredness but the skin looked darker than it should have been.

He barely managed to prevent making any noise in surprise and could only gape at the view in front of him. Bruise-like marks were marring his back and probably his chest as well. He could see lines tracing patterns on the fair skin. Familiar patterns. Maybe a little too much. He brought his hand closer and started tracing the motives with his forefinger, causing goosebumps spreading from the top to the bottom of the back.

When the astonishment wore down, he finally realized the marks had not disappeared the moment his skin had entered in contact with Chuuya’s skin when the latter had treated him. He wondered if Chuuya had noticed it but decided to keep it quiet for now. Even though he was sure practically it was the case. No matter what he could say, he knew the redhead wasn’t stupid. And Chuuya was probably the more accustomed to his ability.

“They’re fading.” The mumble brought him back to reality.

“What?”

“The marks. They were more vivid when I came out the book. They should disappear in two or three days. When I first noticed them, I didn't know what they were. I mean, I've never seen myself when I'm using Corruption. Then I remembered how you described it to me. So I promptly panicked. Until I realized I could think rationally. Which led to another kind of freak out. It must have taken a whole day before I managed to calm myself enough to… Well, at the end of the day, I had twenty-ish missed calls and as many as messages. The day after, I bandaged myself and went to work. Fortunately the marks didn’t spread on my arms and my face. So it was easy to hide. I don’t know if anyone suspect a thing. Maybe the boss and Ane-san, considering how they were staring at my chest. Probably how you’re currently doing so.”

And staring Dazai was. But how Chuuya could blame him for it. The only times Dazai had seen such marks were during the use of Corruption when he couldn’t really observe them with attention. Never did he imagine he could trace them with his fingertips. He spent several minutes just brushing the marred skin, as if hypnotized. Meanwhile, Chuuya wasn’t moving. That was not how he thought he would spend the night.

“They’re still there.” Chuuya turned his head slightly to shoot a look that Dazai could only interpret as insulting and annoyed. “They didn’t disappear when you touched me earlier.” When the look he received got even more unimpressed, he added. “It means it doesn’t come from your ability.”

The redhead huffed. “Yeah, I figured as much. I didn’t feel anything unordinary when I treated you. Which doesn’t reassure me at all.” And Dazai could only agree. It seemed it was making the mafioso rather anxious.

“Did something happen? In the book I mean.” It was only his reflexes that saved him from the punch thrown at his face. He grabbed the extended wrist before maneuver both of them into a lying position. Chuuya was now on his back, Dazai straddling him and his wrist still held. He glared at the brown while trying to free his hand. When he moved his second hand, it ended like the other. Now he was completely trapped under Dazai and his ability was still nullified.

“Oi shitty Dazai, let me go!”

“Sorry, I don’t really want to be punched tonight.”

“You do? So stop talking rubbish and get out of my apartment!”

“I’m serious Chibi.”

“So am I.” He struggled and tried hitting the brown with his feet but it made no different, the detective only budging a little before securing his legs on the top of the smaller ones. “Shitty mackerel, get the fuck off me! What do you even want, ha? You were bored so you decided to cut yourself and come bothering me? Playing with me? Do you have fun? Do you find it funny how you seem to always have the upperhand?”

The hands around his wrists were starting to hurt which he chose to ignore. His emotions were all around and he didn’t know if what he was feeling was anger or sadness or worry. Since the book, he hadn’t totally reconnect with his emotions yet. And Dazai had always had the habit to make a mess of his emotions. But now it was worst. He felt like crying and yelling at the same time. He wanted to punch his ex-partner as much as he wanted to hug him and never let him go.

“Is it what you think?” Hearing the tone with which it was said, Chuuya stilled and locked his eyes into Dazai’s ones and felt like the latter had punched him in the stomach. Empty eyes were bored into his and he felt like he was going to be wholly swallowed. All the anger dissipated, leaving him drained from the emotional roller coaster he was experiencing.

He could hear his heart beating loudly, the only sound in the room. The switch had been so abrupt he didn’t know what to think about it. He opened his mouth to say something but the words were replaced by a screech when teeth broke the skin of his shoulder. Blood was running down his shoulder to end on his bed. He felt a little annoyance at that but was too dumbstruck to react. But then Dazai started licking and sucking the bite, almost like an apology.

Before he could properly let Dazai know what he thought about that, the latter collapsed on the top of him, his face in the crook of his neck. He let out a deep sigh. Clearly yelling would be no use.

“You’re awfully clingy today?” The other only hummed in response. “O-kay. Could you please let go of my hands? It’s starting to get uncomfortable.” He glanced the hand holding his wrist. “For you as well. You’re hurt. Don’t worsen your wounds, idiot.”

Probably to annoy him, Dazai tightened his grip for a while before he eventually let go. Chuuya rubbed absent-mindedly his wrists above his head. Dazai was stronger than he appeared. As for the brown, he had brought his hands down and was now playing with his hair, occasionally scratching his scalp. And fuck if it wasn’t smoothing. Adding the grounding weight on his chest. And the reassuring sensation of nothingness.

He was almost lured towards sleep when he remembered the exact situation he was in. But it seemed neither of them wanting to make a move. And he prefered dealing with Dazai like this rather than his emotionless self. But unfortunately they couldn’t stay like that indefinitely. He brought one of his hands to the head nestled against him and slapped it more kindly than he wanted.

“Okay asshole, time to move!” When the other didn’t move and kept playing with his hair, he frowned. “Mackerel, get off me. We can’t stay like th–”

“Why not? I’m pretty comfortable here.” He interrupted the redhead while snuggling further into his neck, as if to prove a point.

“We’re both bare-chested. We’re gonna be cold and fall sick.”

“Chibi doesn’t get sick.”

“Maybe but you on the other hand can.”

“I have my bandages on. So not bare-chested.”

His nostrils flared in annoyance. “And you think it’s going to prevent you from getting cold.”

“It probably won’t. But Chuuya’s warm. So no problem.” He started rubbing his head, knowing perfectly the gesture could easily bring to sleep. “Now relax. You’re warm, I’m comfortable and I haven’t slept for two days.”

“Ha?! Don’t you dare to fall asleep! Especially on me!”

The hand left his hair and he was rather mortified when he felt disappointment at the action. He tucked his head to the side, as if to hide his embarrassment. His nose met brown hair and he felt his cheeks burning when he heard the faint chuckle. He then felt the blanket he had pushed aside earlier being put on them. Once it was in place, Dazai brought back his hand where it was. Dazai also slightly shifted to the side so he wasn’t completely on the smaller anymore. Chuuya, seeing protesting would lead nowhere, put his hand on the other back and started tracing motives and playing with the bandages, being careful not to undo them. And for the first time since the book, the lack of his ability didn’t seem like a burden.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Destiny of the Damned

Part 1- Roman Godfrey

Chapter 1- nosebleed

I never thought I'd miss traffic and noise. In California, something is always happening, and traffic is just a fact of life. When I had to move out to help my uncle, who lives outside of Hemlock Grove Pennsylvania to say it was a culture shock was an understatement. Everything closed early and I think they’d have to schedule a traffic jam or someone would need to get murdered on the main roads. After about a month, you figure out who everyone is. Small town life is bizarre. I went to eat at a local diner, and a police officer was eating there as well, looking out the window and makes a call. I’m in the next booth, so I can’t help but overhear him call someone that had just run the stop sign, and told them to come pick up their tocket at the station later. I always took the energy and anonymity giant metropolitan areas like Los Angeles or San Francisco for granted. It never even occured to me there were places where there were no malls, airports, freeways or parking fees. I’ve been here for a little over 2 months, and I am literally the only Mercedes Benz S-Class I’ve seen. In order to reach civilization and acceptable fashion retail, you had to go on a full on road trip. My uncle was the closest thing I had to a parent, so I was willing to tough it out for him. He had fallen down his concrete basement stairs, and fractured his neck a hands. He is very independant and stubborn and needed assistance until he healed from the multiple surgeries he’s had to endure, to get his hands working correctly again. His home is a famous work of art, more than a place to actually occupy, so strangers coming to stay there, and touch his stuff, damn near got him catching a charge. I just finished University and was an executive for my Uncles’ multi billion dollar corporation but realistically, we could take the rest of our lives off, and be fine. But we are both workaholic innovators that share the same miraculous quirk. We have autobiographical memories which means we don't forget anything. Want to know what the date, temperature, things I did, who I was with the first time I heard a particular song? I can tell you. It's a blessing and a curse. Everything is a trigger for memories for me and my Uncle. So although his desire for isolation and little contact is extreme, I get it. Having a brain that doesn't stop can be exhausting and stressful.

Books help, so when I turned the corner, and spotted a Barnes and Noble, I actually squealed in excitement. I pulled up and looked a little out of place, but i didnt care. My car was understated, low profile, over the top. With its clear panoramic sunroof,  technology, and ambiance lighting, id always kid with my uncle that i needed it for my mental health. Really, I was terribly spoiled,  yet I appreciated it and never tried to rub it anyone's face, but I understood a young woman exiting a very expensive car, in a small town, that lived in the strange house with her reclusive billionaire Uncle, wasn't going to have anyone baking me pies. I was a realist.

I was pleasantly surprised by the sheer size of this store. inside there was a shockingly large lego display and it reminded me of how much i used to love assembling complicated structures, while most girls played wth dolls. While most little girls wanted to play with dollies and imagine scenarios about their wedding day, I was trying to improve my laptops performance (catching a few on fire in my early years). The dynamics and emotionality of people never held any value really. It was what truly always puzzled me. Losing oneself in another person, or the entire concept of love, seemed so unlikely. Far too many factors involved, and why anyone compromises when they can just do as they please by themselves only makes sense in situations like with my Uncle. It was still inconvenient, so getting close to people has never been appealing, but the legos we're.

I walked over and spotted a gigantic Death Star set and clapped in delight. I thought I heard a low chuckle behind me, so I spun around to find the best looking man I'd ever seen, dressed in a very nice suit. He didnt waver or look away when i looked at him, and almost looked as though he were daring me to look away. Most people would find him intimidating, but nothing really made me nervous so he didnt phase me.

"What's funny?" I asked looking him dead in the eye.

"You." He smirked.

"Glad to oblige you" i said sarcastically as I did a half hearted bow, then standing straight with a smirk. Who did he think he was? Green eyed, puffy lipped punk. I didn't break eye contact which usually caused people to look away by now, but To my surprise he laughed and looked me up and down. Assessed me like i was livestock; sizing me up and trying to decide if he could break me.

"I'm Roman."

"I'm American." I replied.

"No my name is Roman." He laughed heartily. An amused twinkle in his eye.

I couldn't help but notice he really had the best smile, and I really have a thing for noses, and his was divine.  if you think about it, its the most important facial feature. A nose can make or break a face, and his cute little slightly upturned nose, with its perfect symmetry was for sure making his face. combine that with his gorgeous green eyes, long lashes, defined bone structure, alabaster skin and standing at least 6′3″ he must be one of the biggest pains in the asses, this side of the Mississippi! Most women would see him and be all in but having a gorgeous man that exudes sexuality and is very sure of himself is far more trouble then anyone could ever be worth.

Why pretty boy wanted to trade names, probably had nothing to do with me, and much more to do with boredom, or what he could get out of me. I usually don't pay much attention to anyone of the opposite sex, especially obvious pains in the ass like the man before me, but something about him, was preventing me from just turning around and blowing him off.

"Generally when I tell someone my name, they tell me their own." He said staring into my eyes with such an intensity that I reacted almost involuntarily.

I have a defect. If someone tries to tell me what to do or control me, I am not fucking having it. Authority has always been an issue, and this felt a lot like him trying to dominate me, and I felt almost sick. Like when you stand up too fast and get a bit woozy. I took that as a good time to turn my back on him and ignore him.

He walked in front of me, blocking my view of the legos and ducked down a bit to make eye contact. I couldnt hide the complete shock on my face at his behavior.  He's either crazy or incredibly confident. I raised my eyebrows as if to say "can i help you" and I know my face was absolutely unfriendly, yet he didn't appear to notice.

His face hardened "tell me. Your. Name." He said slowly and deliberately.

Now it was my turn to laugh. I looked at him to see the smile or just kiddding , but it never came... WOW. He was serious!!! I leaned my face a couple inches from his face and I said "Nope" making sure to loudly pop the p.

The look on his face was absolutely priceless, and had my laughing enough that several people were starting. just as I was about to walk away victorious, his nose began to bleed. I instantly was embarrassed for him and I couldnt just leave him here to bleed on the legos so I jumped into action.

"Oh shit, your nose is bleeding." i said lookinbg around for any type of tissue, when i noticed we were right next to the restrooms.

"What? Seriously? Can you get it?" he implored looking all frightened, dare I say fragile.

Without any hesitation, I wiped the blood from his face. "Come with me, we need tissue, bathroom is right here. Look up and hold your nose." I grabbed his hand and recieved a shock. static electricity stayed with me a lot and often scared people but he didnt even flinch. He laced his fingers in mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world and i led him to the bathroom.

Once inside, I grabbed some tissues and directed him to stand over the sink. I wet some paper towels and wiped away the blood and then took the dry tissues and pushed his head back and crammed little tissue torpedos in his perfect little nose. The whole time I could feel his intense gaze on me, but what else was he going to look at really?

"Gotta admit, this is new." He quipped, admiring my handy work in the mirror and laughing in dismay.

"What? Bloody nose or attention from ladies?"

"Um.... you're kind of rude, but then when there is an issue, you don't hesitate to help.  Then you're taking better care of my nose bleed than anyone. No one really takes charge with me.... and now I'm in a bathroom with a woman and we aren't fucking." He laughed again.

"Fucking. Classy. If I didn't know any better I'd swear you were the Godfrey asshole everyone keeps telling me about." Ever since I'd arrived at Hemlock grove, I'd heard Godfrey this and Godfrey that. Their name was on everything and I'd heard the son was like a 21 year old gorgeous nightmare, that was as kind, as he was humble. The few people id spoken to had told me to stay away from him. I found it odd, I didn't know his first name all of a sudden.

His face fell into a frown.

"I see that's the general consensus about that guy. Cheer up Charlie, your nose stopped bleeding most likely, let me just pull these out." i gently pulled the tissues from his nose and waited for blood but none came. "Boom mothafucka its on!" i laughed at my own ridiculousness before turning and washing my hands.

"You're weird” he stated matter of factly.

Roman stood there quietly thinking. I could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. His mood had completely changed at the mention of the Godfrey kid.Maybe his family had lost everything because of them too or the guy stole his girl, i felt a little guilty so i relented a tiny bit.

"Hey listen, Roman was it?" He nodded and bit his lip. oh he knows what hes doing. boy he was trouble "I'm sorry if the Godfrey's are a sore subject. I don't know anything about anybody here. I'm just helping out my crazy uncle that fell down his basement stairs and broke his hands and neck. I'm from the west coast and this dreary fucking place isn't exactly my cup of tea. I don't know why I'm rude before I'm polite but it's involuntary. My name is Letha, it's like Lisa with a lisp and now I've officially over shared." I could feel my face turning red. Why was He making me such an awkward mess? My God this WAS new.

suddenly he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me in stopping just an inch away from my face. "Who put you up to this?" He asked with such venom in his voice it made me flinch. "WHO!?!?!" He screamed in my face.

I tried to push him away but he wouldn't budge. My mind raced and I began to panic. No one has ever screamed in my face like this and I didn't like it and yet, the way his eyes searched mine and the tenseness in his body, and just sheer panic made me do something I hardly ever did. Maybe it was brought on by panic or survival instinct, but it was not my normal. Especially to a crazy stranger in the bathroom, but I had the overwhelming NEED to hug him. I fought past his hands trying to hold my shoulders in kind of a silly slap fight and grabbed him around the waist and buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled so good.This was outright crazy behavior for me, and i was confusing myself but if i tried to not think, it almost felt nice, for a few moments my mind was blank. A minute passed with me holding him as he calmed his breathing with his arms raised. Nothing was triggering me and I felt odd.

"Nobody sent me, you nut job! Hug me back, you need a hug. ”i squeezed even harder, nuzzling my face into his collar, his chin gently resting on my head.

His arms hesitantly closed around my back and then he crushed me into a deep embrace. He really did need a hug. "You ok now crazy?" I asked trying to pull back to look at his face but he held me fast. He started to shudder a bit and then I felt moisture hit my forehead. Ok it's gone too far, this is why I don't hug.

Was this crazy ass dude crying? Oh no, he was really crazy. Shit shit shit. Good job Letha, you're gonna get murdered in a bookstore bathroom, in shit hole Pennsylvania, on a Friday afternoon. Why did you hug this fucking guy? I was starting to breathe funny now!

Roman loosened his grip and looked deep in my eyes searching for something. What? Im unsure, but he must of found it, because he laughed and he seemed almost sweet, except tears were running down his face and a moment earlier he screamed in my face.

"Well Ms Letha, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'd love nothing more than to take you out this evening wherever you want to go. Before you refuse, I assure you I'm not crazy, it's just I had a cousin named Letha, which I'm sure you're aware is an unusual name, and I loved her very much and she passed and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It caught me off guard."

I had heard about that Letha. Everyone that found out my name, told me about Letha Godfrey, the Godfrey girl that was as kind as she was beautiful, but tragically got knocked up and lost her mind talking about angels being the father, and dating some weirdo outcast. when she went to give birth in the family skyscraper medical facility, she mysteriously died and so did her baby.

"You're the Godfrey kid." I practically whispered staring at him with wide eyes as I recalled what I'd said about him, TO him.

"Hardly a kid anymore I think." He smiled. He was so handsome, it was freaking me out. "What's your phone number? I have to run to the white tower, and then I'm all yours."

I knew better. He was too good looking and too rich and too everything but something told me he needed me. I know it sounds crazy but I believed in my heart and soul, this perfect beautiful fucking legend of a man needed me. I knew it wasn't logical, but I told him my number and turned to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my hand.

"Please answer." He pleaded pressing a kiss to my hand. He wasn't trying to make me do anything now. He was giving the power over to me and i was honestly taken aback a bit by the almost desperate look in his eyes. I knew in my heart, he genuinely needed me, but for what?

I can't explain the feeling I felt in that bathroom with this man, but when I say I felt a deeper connection to him than I'd ever felt in my 22 years on this earth, I mean it. It was thrilling, and scary, and strange. I smiled at him and nodded my head. As I made my way to my car, I tried to convince myself not to answer, but I knew that I would.

He didn't follow me out of the bathroom and I just made a bee line for my car. I had to go. I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear. The cashier glared at me with open animosity, before turning her attention to the restroom door, looking dreamily for Roman to appear. Boy oh boy did I know better than to get involved with this guy, but deep in my gut i knew. He needed me.

[future-critical-blog]

How Pacing Fucked Steven Universe

Note: this is anonymous because I know what will happen!

Steven Universe is without a doubt one of the best shows I've ever seen. It's certainly the best cartoon series I've ever watched. The first four series, and a large amount of the fifth, are truly wonderful.

So, I'm going to be entitled and complain about the last little bit that didn't work for me. I got all those hundreds of episodes, and I’m just going to take a moment to really honk about the stuff I don't like.

Because we live in an age where Nazis are back, feminists think trans woman are the biggest threat they face and the world is burning - at this point, a bit of a moan about Steven Universe/Future will get lost I think.

Bear in mind: this comes from a place of love. I care about Steven and the characters because they took me on an amazing journey that really had an emotional impact on me. Then they tripped me right at the end, and now they're fuck-twaddling around taking up space in my brain that should be used for thinking about how great the show is.

This is about how the inability to wrap Steven Universe properly sucks and undermines all the amazing work the creators put into it. Now, that work hasn't gone anywhere: I can, and will, re-watch the series to reminisce about it. About what could have happened. Nobody has taken that away from me.

But still, there's nothing worse than a story that buggers up the ending. Worse yet, that ending is still going in Steven Universe: Future.

So what's the problem? Let's start.

Pacing, pathos and atmosphere

Things used to be teased, hinted and slowly revealed. Steven Universe used to a slow-burn that really built things up with the even-hand of a masterful storyteller.  Remember that long shot at the end of 'On the Road', after the characters leave? We see just the empty, sinister kindergarten whilst a discordant note builds in the background before... bang, credits. It builds atmosphere and tension.

What happened to that? Slowly building a feeling, weaving a narrative, and taking us on an emotional journey? We got a very rushed pay-off to all this with Series 5. The crew thought the show wouldn't be renewed, so they made the executive decision to wrap it all up.

·       Everyone’s fixed now. Pearl, Garnet, Amethyst, Steven.

·       Diamonds are friendly now. Blue got sad, Yellow got angry and White got… put in her place by a comeback?

·       The bubbled gems/corrupted monsters are all fixed.

·       The Off-Colours and Lars just got home.  No further adventures, they just got home.

Bits got missed out. Things got rushed. Homeworld, the Diamonds and five series of build-up got dealt with in the space of 40 minutes. For comparison, just Series 1 alone was 8 hours long.

Yeah, the network created that situation. You're cancelled! They seemed to say. No you're not! HA! They continued.  But it still sucks, narratively, and the creators are now compounding that problem by trying to go back and add in the bits they missed.

Worse, there's no pacing now because there’s no more overall story.  No atmosphere. Fundamentally, post Change Your Mind, everything is done. The series was wrapped up.  All we have left now is some loose-ends and Steven being moody.

It came back mostly just to tie up random ends. But more of something isn't always good: Series 1-4 and about half of Series 5 are amazing. We shouldn't clap and applaud we get more just because it's more for its own sake, we should cheer things for being good in their own right.

I don't just want more meep morp, I want the morp to have something to say and to mean something. Victory laps and adding unnecessary lore is pointless: characters and emotion are what drive stories.

This isn't about 'filler' episodes as such, nor is it about breaks and hiatuses. It's about spreading the story arc (and the individual elements within that arc) correctly over the allotted time. A story that takes 700 pages to set up, only to be resolved in 3 pages feels badly unbalanced - I'm looking at you, Stephen King. And that's exactly the problem Steven Universe has. The set-up is incredible, and the payoff is badly disappointing. That's pacing.

Being the Underdog

This was covered nicely, if ironically in hindsight, with the episode ‘Historical Friction’.  The play about olde-time mayor William Dewey was utterly uninteresting until Pearl rewrote the play’s script to make him an underdog.  This is part of pacing. It's dull to watch a winner win constantly. The characters need to be in situations where they're facing actual threats, otherwise we're just watching a series of foregone conclusions unfold.

What would Lord of the Rings look like if the Hobbits just marched from The Shire to Orodruin, with no setbacks or problems, and then just lobbed the One Ring into the fire? What's the point of the story? It'd be like a grand-scale version of watching someone go out for groceries.  Nobody wants to watch that, not really: you can go to the supermarket and see it if you’re that interested!

This couples with suspension of disbelief. Usually, the good guys win. We know they're going to win. We need to be able to suspend our disbelief, and that's something that the pacing and storytelling need to enable. We need to be able to get caught in the story, even though we know everything will probably work out by the end.

When you get it just right, even the creators don’t know for sure everything will be alright.  Remember when Picard was assimilated by The Borg?  Even the writers weren’t 100% sure how it would play out, because Patrick Stewart was playing hardball with the studio at the time over his contract.  There was a chance this could have been the end of his character.

But Steven isn't an underdog anymore. He's a bossy, self-important grump with a martyr complex. He wins all the time, not least of all because of the pacing problems. By this point:

·       Steven has healing powers that can literally bring people back to life

·       He has all the powers of a Diamond

·       He has the backing of the three other diamonds

·       He now has an army of friends who will fight at his side

So where is the story to tell? Consider, in Steven Universe: The Movie, Greg's arm gets hurt by the injector. There's no danger, no worry. We know Steven has healing powers. So why bother showing it? It's about as relevant or interesting as watching Greg brush his hair.

There’s no danger.  There’s no suspension of disbelief because the hero is now so super-powered.

This is even worse when coupled with the uneven pacing: when something takes so long to be painstakingly set up, only to be knocked down in a heartbeat, then why get invested in it?  The 21st Century reboot of Doctor Who falls into this trap a lot: multipart episodes about a Dalek (or whatever) invasion… but luckily their Evil Machine has a ‘reverse’ switch that fixes everything. Dust hands, job done. All that build-up utterly squandered on an almost supernaturally fast resolution.

You Need a Story to Tell

The first five series have a definite story. It gets rushed, badly, come series 5 but there is still a story. That is done now: there's no grand, overarching tale now. We're very much into 'oh, what if...' territory.

What's the problem with that? Things get missed, because they don't need to fit into a cohesive whole. They just happen because they're cool.

Consider The Movie:

·       Spinel goes from a cuddly, professional buddy to a would-be mass-murderer

·       Spinel knows where to find a stupidly powerful injector

·       She knows how to work it

·       It is tuned to work to her 'trumpet' sound

·       It is shaped like her gemstone

·       She knows specifically where Earth is

·       She knows how to fly a massive injector, with no obvious engines, to Earth

·       This all happens in an afternoon

And the explanation we're given, after the event in a Q&A session? It's because Spinel and Pink Diamond were close. That is supposed to explain the entirety of those bullet points. It rankles me because it's not truthful. Those questions aren't answered by that, they're answered by 'because we thought it would be cool'. It's an unsatisfying explanation, but it's true and they’ve tried to handwave it into something else.

It's also what happens when you run out of proper story. Sure, you can still come up with little adventures but there's no big narrative anymore. There is no large picture for everything to fit into.

That’s dangerous territory. Not only does it lead to weird scenarios, but it also starts generating new lore at a maddening amount. The fans don't help this, it seems to me that some people purely watch Steven Universe to demand moar fusions, moar songs and moar lore.  Even when that’s all they get, it’s not enough.

It's like demanding more swimming pools in your home because you're bored with foundations.  Sooner or later the whole structure falls down because swimming pools can’t hold a house up.  Neither can lore hold a story up: stories are about characters.

Similarly, the concept of 'fusion' relies on characters otherwise it's nothing more than the character dumps we used to get in toy-driven franchises back in the 80s. Songs have to have an emotional resonance otherwise they're just empty pop.

Remember the X-Files? How they got into a rut just generating series after series with no pay-off, but lots more wrinkles to an already convoluted story? Then it got to the end and... you can't end it. It's too sprawling, too stupid and too contradictory. That's where lore without a story takes you. Lore has to serve a vision, not the other way around.

Filler

Not filler the way it's come to mean to SU fans. I like the 'boardie' episodes - they're full of interesting characters and ground Steven's world in something resembling ours. No, I mean filler in terms of stories that don't mean anything: the characters don't learn anything, the world isn't made any more interesting. Things just happen in a self-contained bubble with no payoff or consequence.

In itself, that's fine. Some episodes are like that. If that were the only aspect to 'filler' episodes in SU, then who cares? The problem is the pacing. After glacial teasing, hinting and laying down groundwork... things get wrapped up so fast it'll make your head spin.

·       The cluster? We talked it into staying bubbled.

·       The Diamonds? They're fine now.

·       Bismuth? Steven chatted to her.

·       Lapis? She's sort-of fine, but not really.

·       Spinel? Sent to live on a farm.

These are all things that took many, many lines of dialogue and building to create and were knocked down in the space of a couple of sentences.

This is where the 'filler' comes in. Instead of another story about Onion being weird, why not devote it to tying up the plot in a way that feels paced properly? Instead of answering questions about Watermelon Stevens, why not draw-out a little more the actual conclusion to a big story point?

Why do I think Onion and Watermelon Stevens should be singled out for Calvary? Simple: they have no explanation and don't matter. They don't matter to the day-to-day lives of the characters or the world. They serve no narrative purpose. They don't advance other characters' arcs. They don't ground the world they inhabit. They turn up, do 'stuff' in a little bubble and then go back into the toybox until the next Onion episode.

As a side note, I would lay a lot of money that Onion will never get any sort of pay-off. He doesn't age. He's deeply bizarre. He's apparently a wanted criminal. He's terrifying. And I don't think for an instant he will ever get a reason for being any of those things: he'll just carry on as a quirky in-joke and take up episode space because apparently that is a story-telling priority now.

Songs

Songs are sung when something is too important for the characters to just say it. The song needs an emotional resonance, to show what a character feels effectively. Contrast 'That Distant Shore' to 'Independent Together': one is about a deep longing and sadness for a home the character has never had. The other is a soft-rock ballad about how great stuff is when you can be your own self but also be with other people... or something.

See the resonance that the former has, and that the latter lacks? Whether you like Lapis or Steg, or the songs, is irrelevant to the story and the characters. One song has something to say, the other is there for the sake of giving fanservice. Independent Together isn't something so important to say that the characters feel they need to sing it.

This really kicks off around the middle of Series 5. Previously, songs were a special event. Now, they're commonplace. Even in Mr. Greg, a fully musical episode back in Series 3, the songs have so much emotion. Plus, Mr. Greg is an experiment: 11 minutes, mostly held together by 6 solid songs:

·       Don't Cost Nothing: how much Greg and Steven just love one another.

·       Empire City: how excited they are to go on a trip together

·       Mr. Greg: Pearl almost lets her guard down, then realises and shuts down.

·       It's Over Isn't It? : A heartbroken character sings for a life they never had.

·       Both of You: A child shows the two adults they have something special in common.

·       Don't Cost Nothing: reprised as a coda.

I won't pretend that all those songs have a huge emotional impact, but they do all serve part of the story arc. You can see it there: the status quo, the trigger, the choice, the quest, the showdown, the resolution and the new status quo. Couple that with the fact that at least 4 of those songs (counting Don't Cost Nothing and its reprise) do have a very real emotional punch, you've got a great episode.

All in 11 minutes.

That's the level of truly amazing, genius storytelling we're working with. Now contrast that to the 1hr 20m of Steven Universe The Movie:

·       The Tale of Steven: A prelude to a re-cap song

·       Once Upon a Time: a re-cap song

·       Let Us Adore You: The Diamonds are emotionally disturbed and co-dependent! How adorable!

·       Happily Ever After: The status quo. Also another bloody re-cap.

·       Other Friends: The trigger! Not huge emotional resonance, but up-beat and plot-relevant.

·       system/BOOT.PearlFinal(3): The quest.

·       Who We Are: NICE. This one has emotional impact and says something important.

·       Isn't It Love?: A Garnet re-cap. So at this point we're recapping what we re-capped when we recapped the re-cap. Lost yet?

·       No Matter What: Again, NICE. Emotional relevance and says something about Amethyst and Steven.

·       Disobedient: Kate Micucci hadn't been given anything to do yet?

·       Independent Together: Aimee Mann brought a friend! Can he have a job and some dollarydoos?

·       Drift Away: CHARACTER. PUNCH. PATHOS. It's here, folks. They can do it!

and so on.

See the pattern? For every one song that brings what we saw in Mr. Greg, there are at least four that are there just because. Because we thought it'd be cool. Because we needed more tunes to fill the runtime. Mr. Greg achieved more in 11 minutes than Steven Universe: The Movie achieved in over 80 minutes.

What's the reason? The Movie doesn't really have a story to tell. It's a victory lap. It's not bad: it's fine. Bits of it are simply excellent. But this is what happens when you stop having a big, cohesive narrative arc that you're trying to bring together.

Characters

Characters grow and evolve. Specifically, they have arcs. Just like the plot as a whole, and just like the subplots that compose it.  Generally, the stages are:

·       A status quo (Luke on Tattoine)

·       A trigger (his Aunt and Uncle die)

·       A critical choice (he leaves to become a Jedi)

·       A quest (the adventure)

·       A climax (the fight at the Death Star)

·       A turnaround (the Death Star is destroyed!)

·       A new status quo (the Rebels are ready to take on the next challenge)

SU gave most of its characters arcs broadly representative of this. The problem is, once those arcs were done the characters got put back in their boxes. They were 'fixed' and that was it. Amethyst's arc probably worked best: it spread over most of the first five series and felt like a real progression. Hence her fusion with Steven (Smokey Quartz) felt 'earnt'.

Pearl doesn't really grow or evolve much at all until Series 5. Ditto Garnet. Lapis is basically the same throughout the show: she broods, runs away and then comes back because of Steven's coaxing.

So, it’s back to my main drumbeat: its pacing is badly off. Some things take their good time and evolve naturally, others are wrapped up quickly and cast aside. Examples:

·       Peridot worked to become friends with the CG. She had a character arc that took half a series.

·       The Diamonds: it mostly turned on a sixpence in the 2nd half of Change Your Mind. Off-screen they then became annoying relatives, rather than murderous galactic tyrants.

Why does this matter? Well, most of the characters are now 'done'. Pearl is no longer co-dependent. Ruby and Sapphire know they're together (as Garnet) for love. Amethyst no longer hates herself. Peridot is a sweet (albeit socially clumsy) sidekick. Lapis is... well, the same as she's always been but seems happier with it now?

How do you tell more stories when your characters are already done? When the veg is cooked, you can't put it back on the hob because you've decided you want dinner prep to take longer.

SU keeps wrapping things up, believing they're 'done', then getting more time and needing to draw it out. This means either dawdling around with characters not going anywhere (which feels like either a smug victory lap or just something for its own sake) or actively unpicking their development.

Scrubs, in my view, is the poster child for the latter option: the show's cancelled, quick wrap up JD; Elliot; Dr. Cox; Carla; Turk etc! Oh no, we got another series! Undo the happily-ever-after so we can do more stuff!

That's why the pacing, particularly around characters and where they're going, matters.

Fusion

Fusion is the absolute biggest muddle of a metaphor. Is it friendship? Understanding? Sex? All? None? In any case, it used to be meaningful. Fusion meant something, even if that something would vary depending on the characters and the circumstance.

It took special effort to do: characters had to synchronise themselves through dance, to bring their thoughts together to fuse.

Now? It happens at the drop of a hat. No synching, no dancing. Fanwank it away any way you like: the characters are all 'fixed' now, they all trust each other, whatever. Fusion now doesn't mean anything because it takes no effort: pop here's Sunstone, pop here's Smokey, pop here's Opal. The fusions have just become like alter-egos that take no more effort than a quick-change in a phone booth.

And then there's Steg. Yeah, I get it: he represents the familial love between father and son. But why is he so built? Why does he look like some sort of sex-god? I'm a long way from a prude - it's just weird is all. A 16 year old boy + his middle aged father + the memory of the mother/wife shouldn't create a weird Adonis! But let me set that aside: the true problem with Steg is we had no build-up. Greg and Steven didn't talk about it, Steven just suggests fusing (through whispered dialogue we don't hear) and then it just happens.

Steg also isn't saved by being an interesting exploration of either Steven or Greg. He's fanservice. Fans wanted more fusions and more 'what if so-and-so fused!!' so they got it. He has 0 character. Just like Sunstone has no character beyond being an 'after school special'. Rainbow Quartz 2.0 has no character, aside from being chipper and cockney.

Contrast that to Smokey Quartz. Smokey is a delightful, self-deprecating scamp. She has a definite personality and stood up to a full interview with Sardonyx.  Smokey has enough of a character that it would be possible for her to act out-of-character.  What would out-of-character look like for Rainbow or Sunstone?  Provided it was cartoon-English and early 90s cartoon dialogue (respectively) it could be anything.

What happened? Fusions used to be characters, they used to have personalities that couldn't be written down on a postage stamp in luggage marker.

The answer is the story ran-out. The characters are all fixed now - so there's no emotional or narrative drive for their relationships. Hence the concept of fusion is now just serving fans who want to see 'what if' combinations of characters.

Too Many Endings

I’ve touched on this already, but here it is again.

The problem with wrapping up a show is you put all the pieces away as well as you can, and implicitly make work for yourself if it is not the end. You've just set up a load of strawmen you need to kick over if you decide you've got more story to tell.

That's what happened here. Change Your Mind ended it. Except it didn't, so we went back and unpicked what we could. Even though everyone is basically fixed now and the characters have no real growth or underdog-fight. Then The Movie ended it. Except it didn't, so we went back and unpicked what we could. Even though everyone is still basically fixed.

Will Future be the end?  Probably not.

That's why Steven is now a moody little jackass with a hero complex - we needed some conflict to drive what little plot there is, which exists only as a vehicle for tying up loose plot threads (Jasper!) we left out because of how rushed the first ending was.

It's a bit like when you misspell something, then you go back over it with your biro. But now it looks unclear. So you go over it a few more times to make sure it's clear. But now it looks like someone took a biro and leaked half the ink onto the page. The very act of trying to tidy it has made it less clear.

A Special Note About Garnet

This isn't about pacing, but whilst I'm on the moan I'll leave this here.

I feel wicked for this. Garnet is a brilliant character. I love Estelle: she brings Garnet so well to life. Any LGBT representation in a cartoon is rare and amazing, and we need more. But Garnet also sucks.

Why?

She's a metaphor. She's a metaphor for being gay and together in love. She is a symbol of a same-sex relationship.  On a side-note: yes Gems don't have gender technically, but let’s not be wilful here: they have female-coded designs and the subtext is so obvious as to barely be subtext.

It's nearly 2020. We're now 20 years into the 21st Century. 2001 A Space Odyssey was set 20 years ago.  First contact between Zephram Cochrane and the Vulcans is now only 43 years away.  And we can still only talk about gay (or, God forbid, bi or transgender) characters in children’s' media through metaphor. I cannot emphasise enough how utterly shitty that is, and how glacial progress has been.

Now, that isn't SU's fault. However, what is SU fault is their clever (and I mean that genuinely) ploy to sneak a same-sex couple into the show means that we don't see them as a same-sex couple 95% of the time. They're hidden. Ruby and Sapphire's love and relationship literally lives under a disguise called Garnet.

And that sucks. It makes sense as a plan. It's great we have Garnet. Garnet is still amazing. But she also sucks, because she acts as invisibility for the lesbian couple she represents.  Yeah, that’s some tough mental gymnastics to work that cognitive dissonance but I managed it.

My God, I Get It: You're a Cat Person

This is also nothing to do with pacing, it's just a creator conceit that bugs me. I freely admit it's also piddly and petty.

So: I'm not a cat person. And no, it's not because I haven't met your adorable little Tiddles or whatever. I don't hate cats, it’s just that most of the cats I've ever met are simply ghastly little shits. Their owners, through some mental blind spot; ancient Egyptian curse or brain parasite have become convinced that these hairball-gobbing, furniture-shredding, wildlife-destroying little cunts are angels. Somehow they've convinced themselves everything they do is adorable.

No amount of murdered birds or small mammals change their minds.

I've met, officially, two nice cats in my life and I treasure their memories. The rest can go to hell.

Why does this matter to SU? Cat Steven. Lion. Peridot and Amethyst doing little kitty-mouths when they're being cute. My God, crew, you love cats. I got the memo.

Why does that work me up? Well, do you know what I'd like instead? If a tiny amount of that 'cats are brilliant!' energy went into a proper wrap for Pumpkin. Created by Jessie Zuke and obviously a puppy metaphor... what happened to her? The crew don't care, because they won't tell us. If they cared even a jot it would have a story around it. Instead, we got some half-arsed bullshit from Joe Johnston about 'pumpkins don't last forever' and... scene. That's it.

But Cat Steven, OMG, yes we have to make sure to include him. Whenever we're at the Beach House. Especially if Garnet is there. Because... lesbians all love cats? Or something? Just... CATS. MOAR CATS.

Couldn't you show a little more respect for a character, albeit a not particularly important one, rather than worrying about how much airtime the various cats all get?

In Conclusion

It bears restating, this is mostly ire directed at Series 5 onwards. The other series are all still there, and I can watch them to reminisce. I can still enjoy some truly wonderful episodes of just about the best cartoon I've ever seen. This show is incredible... but the endings kinda suck. And that's down, mostly, to pacing. And how it kinda fucked Steven Universe.

[aerialsquid]

Noodling Part V: Angry Man Shops for Flower Arrangements

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Chapter-specific Content Warning: Emotional/mental trauma related to academic pressure and teachers. Nothing severe, but this is a little more intense than the last chapter. ----------

"This time I really need you to stay behind. This girl has an Earthshaking Quirk, and if she decides to use it she could take out half the block."

"You think she'll turn hostile?"

"Always possible, if I confront her directly. Which is what I plan on doing." Aizawa privately hoped she did. It would give him an excuse to vent the tension that had been building in him over the last several days, and that his trip to Kuroda and Samejima's residence hadn't sated in the least.

This time, instead of hunting for her home address, Aizawa and Yagi had targeted Tsukuda Jiodo's place of employment - 'Scent of Lilies', a small store selling floral arrangements and pots across the street from one of the city parks. Picturesque, but hardly the kind of place that a destructively-Quirked hero would be satisfied with.

Through the shop windows, Aizawa could see Jiodo rearranging small pots on the shelves. She had a slight build with night-dark hair, longer now than it was when he'd last seen her sobbing in Nezu's office on the day his request for expulsion was approved. The store seemed to be deserted, too, and they'd shown up about half an hour before the shop closed for the day. A good time for a private talk that might turn ugly.

Aizawa remembered Jiodo as a quiet, eager to please girl with a fierce dedication to her studies. As a student, she'd been fine. Not the best ever, but fine. He'd seen her type before - great at academics, born with a powerful-seeming Quirk, and lucked into passing an entrance exam designed to favor those who could break the most large objects in a given time period. Unfortunately it took more than that to make a good hero, which was why Aizawa considered the entrance exam only as a first culling before he made his own judgments about who deserved to move ahead.

Jiodo, in his assessment, had not.

"Good afternoo--" As the bell over the door jingled merrily, Jiodo turned and made it halfway through a greeting before her higher functions realized who she was looking at. She froze up.

"Huh. Long time no see," said Aizawa, expression blank. "You were...Tsukuda, yeah? Something like that?" He shrugged in false apathy and moved past her into the store.

"Ai..Mr. Aiz…" Jiodo bobbed forward into a frantic, shivering bow, clutching a clipboard tight to her chest for security. It reminded Aizawa briefly of the way Yagi reacted to Gran Turino, on the single awkward occasion he'd been in the same room as the pair of them. This wasn't the panic of a trapped criminal, it was the panic of a traumatized student abruptly reliving her past trauma at the sight of his face.

Right now, Aizawa couldn't bring himself to care. He waited, stonefaced, while his former student scrambled for words.

"HowcanIhelpyoutodaysir," said Jiodo in a single breath during the downstroke of yet another bow.

Playing dumb, for now. Fine. He'd see if she could be baited out.

Aizawa pretended to consider the arrangements and little bowls, pacing the store agonizingly slowly while she watched him with wide-eyes.

"So this is where you wound up, Tsukuda?" he asked, watching her reflection in the sheen of a metal vase.

"Yes, sir," said Jiodo in the tiniest of voices.

"Huh. What school did you go to after UA?"

"No, sir. I, uh. I didn't." Her voice dropped to the lightest, frailest of whispers. "I didn't go anywhere," she muttered, head down.

Aizawa prodded at the bowed head of a peace lily blossom. "Nowhere? You were a good study. It was the one thing you were actually good at."

"I would...like to not talk about this, sir. What kind of flowers do you want?"

"Something big and brash. It's my anniversary. I'll know it when I find it."

"Oh...anniversary...these are for someone you're dating?" Aizawa didn't need to check to know she was giving him that 'Aizawa-sensei dates??' look of horror and confusion that he got every time someone referenced the concept of him having a romantic life.

"Something like that." She'd be unlikely to believe Aizawa Shouta would go shopping for flowers of his own accord, and he needed an excuse to browse.

Aizawa drew the silence out as she kept following him around the store, offering quiet terse answers to his bullshit questions about the prices of flowers and how fast each type were likely to die. He made sure that he never had his back fully to her, but also never fully looked her in the face the way he would someone who actually meant something to him. Occasionally he made a small 'tsk' noise with his tongue, as if finding disapproval with the blossoms, and every time he did it Jiodo trembled.

"So. Hero school to flower shop. Must have been a rough time."

"Mhm."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you're treating me this nicely. Maybe expelling you really was a good decision if you're this comfortable with it."

Come on. Break. Take out that grudge you've been nursing. You know I have you dead to rights--

"I actually hated UA." Jiodo's hand slapped over her mouth. She stared at Aizawa with wide, fraught eyes as if he would somehow double-expel her for it. He turned to fully face her and stared back with an even, calm gaze.

"Go on."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Aizawa," she whispered.

"No, no. I'm not your teacher anymore. Speak your mind." He gestured for her to continue, carefully watching the movement of her limbs. If he remembered the nuances of her Quirk correctly she'd need to be touching the earth with her bare hands to cause a quake, but with all the dirt in this shop there might be a way around it...

Jiodo swallowed hard. Her fingers were white where they held the clipboard tightly to her chest. "I hated every moment of it. I hated being there. I never felt like I fit, I never felt like I could rest. I hated you and I hated my classmates, even the nice ones," she said quietly, eyes downcast. "After you expelled me, I...it hurt, but it meant that all my worries about class ranking and achievement didn't matter anymore. I was free. Doomed, but free. I was...I went in the bathroom and I just started laughing, because it meant I didn't have to fight anymore. I could just give up. It felt so good to just stop chasing something I didn't even want in the first place."

She tensed up again, wary, and bit her lip. "I'm almost grateful you did it, now."

"You work in a flower shop and you could have been a hero, and you're grateful for it?" Aizawa put every drop of venom he could into his words. He folded his arms, subtly getting his fingers around the end of his capture weapon. "Are you sure you're not just trying to justify failure to yourself to make it less unpleasant?"

Come on. Come at me. You're cruel enough to blackmail me using Yagi's body as a weapon, you're cruel enough to try and attack me in person.

"I like the flower shop," Jiodo insisted, a notch louder. Her breath was hitching and her eyes were still on the floor, but her voice was growing stronger. "I have friends now, and we can go play video games or just hang out, and we're pooling in money to start a little garden together. I didn't have friends at UA. I hated having to fight and compete all the time even when I was good at it. The money's not great, but...but I'm happy here. And at UA, I was miserable. The only people who were happy about me being there were...were my parents. I had my whole life kinda planned out around becoming a pro hero, so I had to...just put myself back together again. From scratch. And it, y'know...it's getting easier. No, not easier, just better. I finally feel like I can breathe. And I"m sorry, I know it's not what anyone wanted for me and I know it's a waste, but at least I'm happy."

"And is that what matters to you now? Being happy?"

Jiodo looked up at him over the clipboard, only to find Aizawa was half-smiling, a single corner of his mouth turned up.

"I...yes. Yes, it does," she answered weakly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a failure."

"I don't just expel people for kicks, you know. If the business course passes a student who's not fit for the work, all we have is one more incompetent corporate executive in the world. If I pass a student who isn't right for hero work, I might as well be writing their death sentence. You weren't a bad student. You worked hard, and you had drive. Maybe you'd even have been a mediocre hero after all. But I couldn't take a chance on mediocre. Mediocre CEOs just lose money. Mediocre heroes die."

"I know. I'm sorry. The school put its faith in me and I let you all down."

"Bullshit." She flinched, and Aizawa moderated his tone a few degrees softer. "You weren't the disappointment. People who shoved you into the hero path from the moment you manifested your abilities are the ones who let us down. Not everything should be about climbing the ranks higher and higher until going any further would break you completely." He thought of the man waiting for him outside. All Might set out to be a symbol and it worked too well...he should have been a symbol of a terrible task that needed doing and ought not to ever be done again. Instead, and with as little of his consent as he'd given for the pornography, his path had become an aspiration.

"Huh." Jiodo let out a shaky huff. "Tell that to my parents. Anytime I wasn't pressing myself so hard I nearly lost my mind, they called me lazy. I think they took my expulsion even worse than I did--no, I know they did. All their hard work, down the drain. These days they barely talk to me."

"And is that so bad, not having them puppeting you around?"

"Well, no, but…"

"This goddamn system is broken, Tsukuda. it's been broken since before either of us were born. Don't be sorry for not becoming something you never wanted to be...I'm not sorry for keeping you from it either. A parent who'd prefer you rushing to your death instead of happy and working a retail job isn't worth of the title."

The spectre of Yagi, lurking in the back of his head like a long-limbed shoulder angel urged him to add, "But I'm sorry I made you suffer by denying it. I'm glad you've found what makes you happy."

Tears welled up in Jiodo's eyes.

-----------

Fifteen minutes after entering Scent of Lilies, Aizawa sent a subtle 'it's good keep waiting' text to Yagi as Jiodo poured her guts out to him. Yagi spent an agonizing twenty further minutes pacing back and forth in the park, trying to hide behind trees when people looked at him for too long, and thoroughly made himself seem like a creeper.

When the lights in the shop finally went out Jiodo and Aizawa exited together. Jiodo's eyes were red-ringed, but there was an exhausted smile of relief on her face. Yagi watched from the trees as the two exchanged a few final words, and then Jiodo gave Aizawa a tight hug that nearly crushed the air out of him. All the flowerpot-lifting had clearly given her good upper arm strength. She pressed something wrapped in cellophane into his hands, and then scampered off down the street, one hand upraised in a goodbye wave. Aizawa stood watching her for several seconds before slowly turning and heading into the park.

"Well?" Yagi asked, when Aizawa finally trailed back to him.

"She's not our blackmailer, but I know who is."

"Who?"

"Tsukuda Jidai. Her father. Similar enough name on the credit card statement to throw us off, plenty of motive, and one hell of an entitlement complex. I think I know how we can take him down a few notches, though."

Aizawa held out the package. Through the translucent wrapping at its base Yagi could see it was a pot of small purple flowers. The pot was in the shape of a plump yellow duck who'd clearly seen hard times, judging by the rough edges where a fall had broken off part of its wing. Damaged goods, impossible to sell, but still serving its purpose of protecting the tender blossoms embedded in its back.

"Also, happy anniversary. Here's a duck."

[mrtroy]

Not Getting Married

This is not the typical kind of post you see on social media. It’s probably the type of post that a lot of people don’t think should be shared in social media. But, I think it’s important to share.

--

Recently I was clearing out the old boarding passes from my phone. When I fly, I like to use the electronic boarding passes instead of the paper ones. I always seem to have a lot in my hands when I travel, and I figure it’s one less thing to carry if I have the boarding pass on my phone. It had been a while since I had deleted old passes, and the last time I flew I had to thumb through a lot of old ones to find my current one. So, I decided to delete a bunch of them.

Most of the old passes were from work trips I’ve taken in the last few years. A bunch to and from Albuquerque, a handful to and from Nashville, LAX, Salt Lake City, Dallas, Orlando, Detroit Boston, LaGuardia… I’m one of those ‘have computer, will travel’ kind of guys for work.

For personal travel, I had a handful for Phoenix, New Orleans, Dallas again, a few different ones in California and Florida. The Fort Lauderdale connection to Havana, Cuba made me smile thinking back on that amazing trip.

All in all, I probably deleted maybe 80 passes. Most of them had the familiar blue, red and yellow logo of Southwest Airlines up at the top. A handful of others on American, a few United, and one random one on SunCountry Airlines. Side note – At this point, I wouldn’t recommend flying SunCountry. It’s a newer, small regional carrier based in Minnesota. I was up there doing research at a plant in New Ulm, Minnesota. The town is great. The company I was working with was extremely welcoming. I stayed at the nicest Best Western Hotel maybe anywhere in the country… But I wouldn’t recommend SunCountry…

Double side note, if you want to learn more about New Ulm, Minnesota, Renee Zellweger starred in a 2009 movie called New in Town where she played an executive going into a plant in New Ulm to do some work. Y’all maybe can relate to Bridget Jones’ Diary where Renee became your spirit sister, but if I had to have a Renee Zellweger-connection movie, it’s definitely New in Town… Don’t judge…

Anyway, I made it through all of these boarding passes, and the last one at the bottom of the digital ‘pile’ was a white one with red lettering. Austrian Airlines. December 16th, 2015.

Ah yes, that one.

That trip had only been 40 hours long. O’Hare to Vienna. I took a backpack, two pairs of socks and underwear, and an engagement ring.

For the previous four months, I had been working on a secret plan to fly to Vienna, surprise my girlfriend with a romantic marriage proposal in a forest at the top of a hill that overlooked the city, and then fly home together for Christmas a day later.

It was all very storybook.

I worked with her friends to plan all the details. They setup this whole elaborate surprise, I showed up, looked like an absolute hero, popped the question, got the answer I was looking for, got an amazing collection of pictures in the process, and flew home a day later with a new fiancée in the airplane seat beside me.

Other than the day my brother got married, it was easily the best day of my life up to that point.

Many of my family and friends that will read this blog remember one of the pictures that was shared all over social media from the engagement. I’m on one knee in fading daylight, she’s under an umbrella in a misty rain; we were barely more than silhouettes against a wooded backdrop. Fairy tale stuff, for sure.

Except, the fairy tale didn’t play out the way fairy tales normally end.

We never got married. We never made it to the church. Or the reception hall. Or the honeymoon.

So far, there definitely hasn’t been a happily ever after, either.

These are not usually the stories you share on social media.  

--

I didn’t know it at the time, but I wasn’t ready to get married, yet. I thought I was. I wanted to be. But I wasn’t.

A friend asked me in text message the other day if I could pinpoint why I thought things went south with the engagement?

It was the type of simple, straightforward question that can be very hard to answer.

I thought about it, but never could quite articulate an answer in reply to the text.

Thinking about it more since then, I think the answer lies somewhere in between ignorance and immaturity.

Up until you get engaged and try to get married, the entire concept is just an idea. Depending on other experiences in your life with friends, family members or stories portrayed in the media, you may have an idea of what you think getting married will be like, but it’s one of those things that until you’re there, in the moment with your person, it’s hard to know what you’re going to face along the way.

--

I brainstorm and sell ideas for a living. After beginning to date and after I realized I cared enough about my girlfriend to consider spending the rest of my life with her, my imagination started to kick into gear. I started to plan the big elaborate engagement. I began to think about taking trips, raising kids, maybe living in another country… My mind has a flare for the dramatic, and everything about getting married lent itself quite well to my inclination for over-the-top dreaming.

Now, I fully advocate for over-the-top dreaming, but at least for me, I don’t think it was the right time to indulge in that kind of exercise. Not to say you can’t do it, but I did it at the expense of other very important preparations that – as it turned out – proved costly when I didn’t do them.

It’s easy to overvalue GETTING married rather than correctly valuing the steps you need to take to ensure you can STAY married. Wedding days can feel like finish lines with all the steps that go into planning one, but in reality, you wake up the next day and realize that you may have hit a very important checkpoint in your relationship, but in the grand scheme of the metaphorical race that a marriage relationship is, you’re a lot closer to the starting line than the finish line when you first tie the knot.

That last paragraph is pretty cliché. This next one is not.

Dating and a period of engagement is not about making plans. Dating and engagement is about learning how to honor your significant other.

Learning how to honor? What does that even mean?

First of all, it means getting to know them as well as you possibly can. Providing an environment where they are free to express and be themselves with the highest level of comfort, safety and freedom possible. It means respecting the process of sharing more of themselves with you. It means learning the ways they like to be treated, and practicing what treating them that way looks like on your end. It means learning how to reciprocate those behaviors between the two of you. It means learning how to let them speak up when you hurt them. It means learning how to apologize when you hurt them and the fine art of letting them know they hurt you without hurting them in retaliation.

Essentially, it means learning how to love them and helping them learn how to love you back.

After getting engaged, my fiancée and I tried to do this as a couple. We participated in a class that taught a lot of the principles I listed above. We read books, and that’s where the principle of ‘Learning to Honor’ came from.

Unfortunately, I didn’t learn. Or, maybe more accurately, throughout the process of trying to learn together, my fiancée and I weren’t able to effectively create an environment that resembled something that worked well for each of us.

She had things that were important to her that she communicated very clearly that she hoped I would be able to execute as the other participant in the relationship. And I didn’t execute them very well.

I had things that I hoped she would be able to bring for me, and for us, and we couldn’t figure out how to make that come together in harmony.

We worked at it. But more so than not, it didn’t work.

Many times, my mind was somewhere down the road, looking for the next big thing. I was great at being Mr. Flashy – the guy with the big ideas, the extravagant setups, and overly romantic gestures. But I wasn’t consistent. I wasn’t dependable. I didn’t do the things that we had talked about as being the most important things that my partner valued out of a partner.

And so, while I was able to plan a big international surprise engagement and dream up an engagement ring with an elaborate meaning behind it that could make many a woman’s heart flutter, none of that was actually the most valuable to my partner in the long run.

My advice to anyone who’s either engaged, or dating and thinking about getting engaged is as follows:

Don’t put the value in the plans you’re making for the short term. Yes, weddings are important, and they do require planning, but don’t just plan your wedding, work on learning how to honor your partner so that you can have a great life together – not just a great wedding together.

Embrace the idea that it’s okay to be boring.

People hear boring when it comes to relationships, and they turn their nose up in disgust. You think of boring when it comes to dating, and it’s a non-starter for a lot of people. Who would want to date or spend time with a boring person?

But boring doesn’t mean uninteresting. Boring doesn’t mean a lack of spontaneity. In this context, it means reliable. Consistent. Dependable. Day in and day out, doing the things that you said you were going to do.

Over time, these are the things that build trust It’s hard to envision wanting to be boring, but after a while, there is comfort in knowing that someone will be there for you, no matter what. To have the peace of mind that no matter the circumstance, that person is reliable and dependable and is going to react in a loving way, no matter what.

Man, I can’t wait until a woman can confidently say that about me.

--

Not getting married, as it has turned out, has been a huge blessing for me.

I thought I was ready for the commitment that comes along with marriage, but I wasn’t. Or, at least with the person I was engaged to, I wasn’t.

She was – and still is – a wonderful person, but collectively, we couldn’t figure out a way to honor each other in a way that worked for both of us.

Some people hear about, or see that you’re no longer engaged and they always offer their condolences and tell you how sorry they are. I understand the sentiment, but I’m not sorry. Sure, I wish that I would have handled things with more grace; I wish things wouldn’t have gone the way they did… I never intended for the things to happen that led to a broken engagement.

But, they did happen.

And when tough things happen, all you can really do is learn from the experiences you’ve had, and then… wait. Wait for another chance. Wait for another opportunity. Wait for another person that appreciates the things that make you, ‘you.’ And when you find someone like that, make the choice every day to love them the way they want to be loved as best you can.  

In the meantime, I’m trying to be as boring as possible. As in trying to be better at the little things that build trust over time. If that means to do that as a single person, great.

I’ve tried to get better at keeping up with laundry, keeping the house clean, making my bed more consistently, being on time for social engagements, etc. If I can do more of these things well, for myself as a single person, then I feel like I have a better chance doing the bigger things well the next time I’m in a long-term relationship.

And so, here I am, three years later, with a lot more frequent flyer miles under my belt and hopefully a few more boarding passes in my future. For two years or so, there were twinges of pain in the realization that one of the coolest things that ever happened in my life – flying to Europe for less than 48 hours to propose – ended without the fairy tale ending. But, it is something that happened. It’s a part of my story, and it’s something I can use to build my own bank of experiences to draw from in the future to hopefully not repeat the same mistakes over again.

And, I can share my stories with others.

If you’ve been down the road of a broken engagement, or are thinking about getting engaged, think about what it means to learn to honor a significant other. Pray for the opportunity to get to do that. Be intentional. Be confident. And be kind.

It’ll be worth it.

[ridleykemp]

Test

I was all sunshine and light yesterday, but…goodness. I wrote it before I learned of two tragedies, one personal and the other national. It’s been tough to maintain anything like a positive attitude. Even anger feels impotent and pointless and that’s one of my go-to moves when I get knocked down.*

Of course, Nicole ran me batch, made the bed up really nice, washed my robe, and set my two favorite stuffed animals on my pillow. Of all of her traits, empathy might well be the strongest (and the one that hurts her the most). Having this level of support, especially when I know she’s hurting too, is everything.

* Yes, it links to exactly what you think it does. They did write some other damn fine (and equally appropriate) songs.

Today I Learned: Art that was not created by a person cannot be copyrighted. That seems obvious, but it’s one of those things that gets more relevant as procedurally-generated art is more and more a “thing.” The case that created this distinction involved a selfie taken by a monkey. The fellow who had travelled to Indonesia and set up the camera claimed copyright on the photo. PETA sued and claimed the monkey owned the rights. The judge was having none of it and ruled that no copyright existed for the photo since only a human creator can own a copyright.

Now, that’s fascinating, but to me, it gets even better. If I’m understanding the ruling correctly, and I may not be, any work created by a non-human lives outside the realm of copyright regardless of the degree to which a human guided the process. The photo taken by the monkey (or created by an AI) cannot be copyrighted. Does that also mean that a work so created cannot violate copyright? If my AI generates an image resembling a famous work, does it live outside the framework of copyright law? Can anyone using the image be sued for copyright violation? Well, probably, but I still think it’s interesting.

Squarespace has added scrolling text functionality. Do not expect me to use it, but I do applaud the MySpaceification of this and any other platform. MySpace and LiveJournal were the most useful social networks I’ve encountered.

Is there a built-in expiration date for social networks, a point at which they cease to be viable? The phenomenon is new enough that we don’t have nearly enough data points to draw any valid conclusion, but that won’t stop me from idly speculating.

We’ve spent a lot of time gardening this spring because, honestly, who doesn’t need a good distraction these days. We have several small gardens around the house: A vegetable garden, a “corn”er garden (Nicole is growing corn because of course she is), a memorial garden for my kitty, and…a snail garden.

The idea behind the snail garden is that it is a raised space surrounded by climbing, vine-y flowers with lots of lettuces in the middle. This picture is from a week ago and oh is it ever out of date. It’s all green now except for the orange nasturtiums which are just starting to bloom.

There are a lot of lights because snails like lights, right? OK, perhaps they’re more for us than the snails, but I doubt they mind. There should be plenty of cover, climbing surfaces, and moisture all through the summer and it ought to be relatively easy to cover if it gets really cold this winter. It was, as are many things, Nicole’s brainchild and I love it in concept and execution.

I probably ought to be getting some rest now. Take care,

-RK

[kuuderekun]

A Sequel to Why I Like Prequels

https://jaredmithrandirolorin.blogspot.com/2018/10/a-sequel-to-why-i-like-prequels.html

Way back in April of 2015, when I optimistic about the prospect of Disney making Star Wars movies, I made a post called Why I Like Prequels. Where I explained that I like Prequels more then Sequels because Prequels don't have the option of doing the most shocking thing possible just for shock value. Now here we are in a post The Last Jedi world and I've looked back on that post and realized   A Star Wars Sequel has become a perfect embodiment of why I felt that way.  With the main praise it gets from it's fans being "it subverted expectations" and yet plenty of shown how that doesn't make something good.  I did two Blog posts about that. Subverting Expectations is not a substitute for actual creativity. When Subverting Expectations becomes totally Expected. But this YouTube video explains things better then I could. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiXk6mEM_tU How To Subvert Expectations Correctly (Last Jedi/Infinity War Analysis). I don't want to keep making posts about how much I dislike The Last Jedi, since I don't want to become what I hate, as someone who spent over a decade being frustrated by Prequel haters who just couldn't let it go.   But I do want to make clear why I don't fit into your little stereotypes about the kinds of people who hate The Last Jedi. Three years ago, in October of 2015, before The Force Awakens came out, I made a post called If Rey isn't a Jedi I will be let down. In fact I felt that if an Episode VII-IX Trilogy is ever made the new Jedi in training should be a Woman before the Disney buy out even happened.  I'm an Anime fan who mostly loves Anime about Female heroes, from Magical Girls to Girls With Guns.  I want a Gundam series when a teenage girl is put in the Amuro Ray role.  Nausicaa of The Valley of The Wind is my favorite Anime Movie because it does Rey's story arc better then either Abrams or Johnson have.  I've even decided to start calling Project A-Ko my favorite Superman movie.  Buffy The Vampire Slayer was my favorite TV show for a long time, now my favorite Western TV show is Pretty Little Liars.  I was also into Xena a long time ago. I'm the last person the Internet who' gonna dislike a movie because it put a Woman in a traditionally male Action Hero role.  If I only see two movies in 2019, one of them will be Battle Angel Alita. A few months ago at about the same time two people made videos about how people should stop complaining about Plot Holes so much.  And the basic premise of both I totally agree with.  But a number of details I disagree with, mainly their both defending the Holdo and Poe story-line. My problem with that part of the film is not that I think it's a Plot Hole.  I have such a negative view of the Military that I can totally buy a General or Admiral would be that stupid.  My issue with this story-line is it's moral. First of all, if you're actually going to defend Holdo.  I'm not saying she needed to tell Poe the plan, the issue is the refusal to assure him there was a plan.  If she's said, "we have a plan but there are security concerns so it's being kept on a need to know basis", they could have still done the rest of the story-line, with Poe being offended at not being trusted and maybe convincing himself shes lying about there being a plan.  That would make the narrative that this was about his male Ego much more plausible. My problem is the moral in the end was very pro Authoritarian since it comes down as saying Holdo was 100% right and Poe 100% wrong.  Am I saying I wanted it to take the exact opposite stance? No!  People keep saying that want this new Trilogy to be more nuanced, so how about they are both wrong?  You can still have your shocking moment where Leia shoots Poe, but then have also scold Holdo.  And it's still being Feminist since you'd have it be Leia to set everything right. Too many people on both sides think there is something Feminist about the decision to fully take Holdo's side.  But I know my take on all this would be the same if you switched their Genders, it's TheMarySue.com people who would be saying the opposite if the narrative condemned a female Pilot who just saved the fleet for daring question a male authority figure who blatantly disrespected her. The truth is, the film didn't care about the moral implications of any of this, they just thought it'd be fun to have a Mutiny within our Rebel alliance since that worked so often on the BSG remake.  My issue with this storyline's execution is that Male or Female I don't ever want Star Wars taking a Pro-Authoritarian stance. There is plenty I liked about this movie, I just showed how a few tweaks would make me more fine with the Holdo story-line.  The Score was great, the Cinematography was great, the acting was pretty good.  But the obsession with Subverting things for the sake it ruined all of that. I will certainly give this movie more credit then most Prequel Haters ever give those movies which I Love. And that leads us to the final straw-man, TLJ Haters are just blinded by Nostalgia.  And maybe I'd be more willing to concede this one since again I'm self aware of my risk of becoming what I hate in this regard. The problem is why was this reasoning to not like new SW movies never really brought up till TLJ?  What bugs me is this excuse for why people don't like TLJ being thrown around by people who hate on the Prequels like Patrick Williams?  Do you think SW fans weren't old enough to start getting like that yet in the Prequel era?  Well guess what my age right now is close to that a 77 SW fan in 99.  I am someone who's SW Nostalgia is for the Prequel not the OT. I'm someone who has a history of being fine with the new installments of things I'm Nostalgic for.  Batman and Pokemon are far more important to me then any SW films have ever been.  And I've defended Snyder's take on Batman as well Pokemon I Chose You.  And while some Pokemon and Batman material has pissed me off, none have done so in a way that lingers with me like The Last Jedi. I will watch Episode IX when it comes out, in theaters if I can.  I've invested too much of my life into the concept of Star Wars some day being a Trilogy of Trilogies to not be there when the Skywalker Saga ends.  But that will probably be the last time for a long time I see a Star Wars film theatrically unless some drastic change happens. I will try to keep this the last time I talk about SW on this blog till we start getting real news about Episode IX.  And even then I will try to just speculate on that up coming movie and not think about my dislike of TLJ.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Celestial (I)

Author: kpopfanfictrash, moodboard by @m00nk1ld (AN ACTUAL STAR. IT WORKS SO PERFECTLY)

Pairing: You / Hongbin / Taekwoon

Rating: PG-13 

Genre: Fantasy, Space Opera!AU / Royalty!AU

Word Count: 9,017

Description: In a distant galaxy stand six planets which together, form the Coalition. Furthest from the sun is Tenebris, a planet harboring 90% of the Coalition’s feared energy source. Tenebris is a brutal regime led by their shadowy leader, Hongbin. You are born to Exercitus, the warrior planet and serve as a spy in Taekwoon’s army. Your first mission is to pose as a translator to Tenebris, gathering information on Hongbin and his planet in order to return to Taekwoon. Once you arrive though, you find that neither planet nor ruler are what they seem.

The sun has not yet risen when you wake for the day.

The night is still cold, the air damp as you slip from your bed. Glancing behind you, there are two bodies still asleep under the covers. The sight offers a twinge of regret before you tie your robes tighter, walking into your bathroom. The alcove remains quiet, save for the sound of your own breathing and movement. It’s quiet here, squeezing paste from the tube to remove the scent of morning from breath. Nothing here to disturb you – nothing but your errant mind, thoughts and ideas you’ve long given up trying to silence.

Brushing harder, you attempt to scrub away all thoughts of last night. Lately, everything you do is unsatisfying; you’re uncertain when the life you lead ceased to be enough. Every solider on Exercitus knows their place – you are born, you are raised to understand strength, power, discipline. This is the Creed, the core of Exercitian society which is handed down by its Commander, Taekwoon. Taekwoon oversees the entire planet of Exercitus, serving as both head of the military and state – though here, these two are one and the same.

Exercitus, might of the solar system. The strength of the Coalition. The Coalition is the formal name for the solar system – six planets which orbit the sun, Rhea. Doctrine is the planet of learning and knowledge; Exercitus, the planet of military and discipline; Judicium, the planet of law and judgement; Pecunia, the planet of merchants and gold; Sollertia, the planet of art and creation; and Tenebris, the planet of shadow and power. All six form the Coalition, to which Exercitus belongs.

The other planets do not fight though, they exist solely to produce their specialties. You are the warrior breed, the one which leads in times of strife and battle. Other planets weigh in on certain aspects – like Doctrine, assisting in battle strategy, but largely, Exercitus remains on its own. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you wipe all traces of emotion clean from your face.

Looks aren’t something to care about, here. You’ve never considered yourself attractive, not in the common sense of the word. It’s more useful to be strong on Exercitus than pretty. Pretty fades, pretty ends when pretty is punched in the face – this is a lesson your mother taught you, so many years ago. It’s been a long time since you lived with your family, though this is not unusual for children of Exercitus. Children are taken from their homes on their sixth birthday – six, representing the six planets of the Coalition – and are placed into training, replacing their homes.

Most don’t remember their mothers or fathers, but you do. Exercitians aren’t exactly sentimental, but you remember your home with something close rto fondness. You were sung to sleep every night, which is outside the norm for your people. Your mother sang to you gently, in languages other than your own and you remember this still, in the back of your mind. You know this is uncommon, because the one time you mentioned it, the one time you spoke of this outside the your home – you were laughed at, mocked by your classmates until you punched their pretty faces and proved the lesson firsthand.

You haven’t talked about it since – not since your strength, your fists made that boy shut his mouth. At least that’s one thing about Exercitus. In the ranks of the military, there is little room for gender discrimination – it’s something unheard of, told only in tales from travelers to planets like Sollertia, Pecunia. Everyone on Exercitus is considered equal, everyone given opportunities according to size and weight. Nothing else matters when defending the ranks of the Coalition.

This leads to gender and sexuality being somewhat fluid. Right now there’s both man and woman in your bed, remnants of the night prior and you exhale, spitting hard at the sink. Rising your mouth, you try not to think about what comes next. It’s nice to fulfill your bodily desires but sometimes, you wish you enjoyed the person beside you when you woke up. This thought is a strange one – blasphemous, for most people your age.

There are no real families on Exercitus, not in the traditional sense of the word. Not like other planets, where children remain attached to their mothers and fathers like umbilical cords, never fully leaving or breaking that tie. No – on Exercitus, the Creed comes first. The Coalition comes first. Exercitians are tools, weapons and love only gets in the way. At age eighteen, you enter the Military after twelve years of training. You leave the Military only once, at age twenty-five – which is when you work half-time for six years and raise a family. Offspring are raised until handed over for training, and then their parents return to being instruments of war.

It’s a strange concept, wanting more. Exercitians don’t want more, Exercitians don’t need more because they’re the execution itself: the enforcers of planets, protectors of systems. You are the ones who keep everyone else safe, who allow growth to the colonies. It is other planets, innovating and changing and creating. Not Exercitians, not you. This thought grows bitter the longer you think about it, wiping the back of your mouth of one hand.

Twisting your hair into a bun, you tilt your chin up to look at yourself in the mirror. If you turn at the right angle, you could almost imagine yourself to be pretty. Shame creeps in at the thought, a sinking tendril of doubt snaking deep through your stomach. You are Exercitian, which means you are strong. Strong, is better than pretty. It is with this, you exit the room.

Your bedroom remains quiet, though you find you are no longer the only one awake. The woman – Lily, if you remember correctly – is already up, searching for her clothes on the other side of the bed. “Oh,” she starts, looking up in surprise. “You’re already awake.”

Arching a brow, you look towards your bed. “Would’ve been weird, if I’d just left my own quarters and slept in the hall.”

Lilly flushes, then nods. “Yes, true. Apologies, Centurion.”

Blinking at the name, you’re still not sure how to acknowledge the title. It feels strange, hearing the word directed your way and you end up simply nodding at the door. Lily turns to leave, pulling her shirt overhead – she leaves you alone, staring at the remaining man in your bed. You don’t remember his name, nor do you have any particular inclination to ask. He was fine, not as good with his tongue as Lilly, though his hips had more than acceptable rhythm in the places which counted. Deciding you don’t care to wake him up, you cross over to your closet. Pulling on the midnight-black clothing marking your rank, you stare at the silver stitching on the seams, the dark Insignia emblazoned over the front to proclaim your rank as Centurion.

The youngest Centurion in over four-score. Buttoning the final button and adjusting the material, you can’t help but feel disconnected to the title. It’s hard not to, since you don’t feel particularly authoritative. It was luck, all luck, which brought you the rank. Each time you’ve served in battle – three times, total – the act has been horrid. Fields filled with rank, foul odor of sweat and blood – screams which rip the air, filling the night with needless shattering of bones and of dreams. Each time you’ve gone has been nightmarish, and you’ve found little glory in those small pieces of hell.

The Coalition is at peace, but this doesn’t mean there aren’t occasional disturbances. Such events total two of your battles – the third though, the most recent, was one which occurred against a neighboring Galaxy. One threatening an outpost of the Coalition, promising to kill its inhabitants – until the Military flew in, your Legion and others, to protect the voices of those who couldn’t. It was in this battle, you earned your Insignia. It was a risky day, you were ill-prepared for it and a certain maneuver by your Cohort was received entirely wrong.

Your ranks were scattered, broken – while you retreated, you saw the Prime, lying dazed on the field. A Prime is the rank who commands a Legion – and in between a Prime and a soldier, what you were at the time, there are at least four different levels of command. You saved him anyways, dragging him back through no-man’s land to safety. As a reward for this bravery, you were given the rank of Centurion.

Fingers sliding over the heavy metal, you look down at the weight. It’s still strange, to hear yourself called Centurion. To know that you’re responsible for the lives of one hundred men and women. It’s strange still, to look at they who were once your peers, to have them look back in a mixed combination of fear and respect. You are the authority now, no longer the soldier.

In your bed, the man gently stirs and upon hearing this you leave, exiting quick into the hall. You straighten your clothes as you walk, knowing the man can see himself out when he wakes. This time of morning, Barracks is mostly deserted. Only a few early risers wander the halls, though most will wake within the hour. The life of a soldier on Exercitus is simple: wake, eat, train, eat, train, eat and sleep.

From a young age, you’re taught that everything around you is a weapon – even you, you are the most dangerous weapon of all. As a solider, you are utterly unpredictable. It’s this unpredictability which gives you the edge, which causes the Military to be powerful and enables the Coalition to thrive, for thousands and thousands of millennia.

Buckling your belt, you walk into the mess hall. Barracks is one of eight hundred Citadels on Exercitus. Citadels are cities, but only in the loosest form of the word. From the moment you’re born, citizens of Exercitus are raised together. You’re raised together, eat together, sleep together and live together. It creates this sort of hive mind, which becomes helpful in battle. It’s easier, to know the person beside you as well as yourself, it helps to know there are no surprises when you move to attack.

Add this to the list of reasons, why your newfound rank is strange. You’ve known the soldiers you lead since you were six, have known them since being brought from your mother’s home and taught to fight. To know you’re above them – this thought gives you pause, since though your rank is technically higher, there are still those who fail to respect your authority.

You know they don’t, though they won’t dare say so out loud. You know this by the hate in their eyes the bile to their words – you know that when they answer, “Yes,” they truly don’t mean it. When they wish you, “Fast sleep,” you know they hope you lie awake. And you do, on most nights. It’s hard to fall asleep, hard to succeed when the entire word roots for you to fail. Though you suppose this is fitting, since mostly you feel the same about the world.

Slamming your tray down to the table, you slowly lower yourself into a seat. It’s easier to eat alone, since words are distracting and take effort to compile. Not that any of your fellow Centurions could be called conversational, even on a good day. Most discussion in Barracks revolves around weapons, various training techniques, and whichever planet in the galaxy you might care to fight next. You have nothing to add to any of these subjects, so you eat your oatmeal in silence.

The main purpose of eating is stamina, so you chew harder and swallow a large gulp of your water. The only reason you’ve achieved so much, so fast, is due to hard work. You work twice as hard as everyone else, put in twice the amount of effort – it’s something your mother instilled in you, when you were a child. To work hard, keep your head down, and protect the Coalition.

“Hey.”

Glancing over, you spot an unfamiliar male. His face is unknown – though this is not unusual. Barracks alone, houses over eighty million people. An unfamiliar Centurion face, is just another drop in the bucket. You meet his gaze head-on, letting your stare rake his body. Tall, fair-skinned, a face you can’t help but want to punch. Most Exercitians don’t have a wide range of emotion, but the look on this guy’s face is clear condescendence. He thinks he’s better, without saying a word.

You continue to eat, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth.

He cocks his head, as though displeased by your silence. “Hey,” he repeats, down his rather-long nose, “I was talking to you, newbie.”

Continuing to chew, you don’t swallow before adding, “And?”

Between the two of you are a man and a woman – Centurions as well, but entirely silent. They’re listening though, you can tell from the movement of their eyes. The whites flicker back and forth, like ping-pong balls at your verbal sparring match.

Satisfied by their attention, your attacker leans back in his seat. “I heard you screwed up a sim yesterday,” he notes, nonchalant.

Your spoon freezes, halfway to your lips. Staring into the bowl, you force yourself to resume eating – then glance at the guy, and try not to blink. “That’s none of your business.” You arch a brow. “Given my score still probably beat your piss-poor time.”

The woman snorts, causing your attacker to color. “Fuck off, Marion,” he mutters. “And you,” he sneers, returning his gaze, “should be more careful. You’ve been lucky so far, that’s all.”

This, you take as your cue to leave. Refusing to engage any further, you push yourself to stand from your seat. Leaving the bowl half-empty, you let it stand as a statement: even with a half-eaten breakfast, even with half your normal sustenance, you will still trounce his lazy, bulbous ass. Hesitation enters your thoughts, hesitation you quickly brush aside. You will be better than him today, you will do better – because he isn’t wrong, technically. In your sim yesterday, you did mess up a bit.

Sim is short for simulation – it’s part of training of the Military, a detailed level of battle strategy. As the youngest level of authority within the Military, sims are a Centurion’s first introduction to leadership. Thus far you’ve been good – very good – at the games, but your naiveite yesterday cost you some lives. You made a heroic move in the sim, only to turn around and realize you’d lost half your fleet.

Thinking this, you scowl, though you don’t turn around. As the youngest Centurion in the Military, it’s still your duty to act with decorum. Centurion is a low rank, relatively speaking – since the planet of Exercitus is divided into eight hundred Citadels, each of which houses over eight million citizens. One Senator governs each Citadel and beneath each Senator, reports eighty Tribunes. Tribune, is a mostly ceremonial role – you’ve never actually dealt with them face to face since they exist at a high level, in strategy and leadership you never really see.

Centurion, is even further than that. Reporting to each Tribune are one hundred Legions. A Prime commands a Legion – and below each Prime, are ten Cohorts. Beneath each Cohort, report ten Centuries. You are the leader of this last unit, a Century – hence, the title Centurion. One hundred individual soldiers remain beneath your control.

Despite this puny level of leadership, it is still higher than the eight million soldiers, residing in Barracks. You are still a leader, meaning you’re determined to act like one. The sims are just games, designed to make you better – it would not be becoming, to fight in real life over one. There’s a lot of tension over sims already, since whichever Centurion wins their round – the win is then marked, as you move up the boards.

The boards. A genius invention, or perhaps a terrible one. The boards are a ranking of every Centurion and depending on your number of wins, you move up or down in the ranks. Whenever a Cohort position opens, the Centurion ranked first, is the one to replace them.

Slowly, you turn your head at the board. The statistics remain unchanged, unmoved from last night. You sit in the same position, the same ranking you had yesterday: Y/N, 328,914/800,000. Turning around to face your attacker, you lean one hand on the table. “What was your name, again?” you murmur, soft as you can be.

The guy blinks, though doesn’t move. “Orion,” he responds, stiffer than before.

“Orion,” you nod, almost to yourself. Your gaze flicks back up, and you make a dramatic show of finding him near the bottom. “Orion: 677,751/800,000. Ouch,” you respond, turning away.

As you walk, he responds – and his words send a chill down your spine. “Get off your fucking high horse,” Orion drones. “The sims go easy on you, don’t they – even the machines, feel sorry for a whoreson.”

Freezing in place, you consider the options. You don’t have many, since Orion didn’t leave much. Any hesitancy to respond is viewed of as weakness – which is something you can’t afford, given the number of onlookers. Whoreson is an insult, one of the highest proportion. On Exercitus, the concept of gender and sexuality might be fluid but the idea of procreation and marriage, is surprisingly not. When you leave the Military at twenty-five, when you raise a child until the age of six, you are expected to marry – you are expected to form a familial unit.

Your mother did not do this. She and your father did not marry – and as such, Orion is calling her a whore.

Slowly, you turn around. “What did you say to me?” you ask, eerily calm.

Orion doesn’t heed your warning, doesn’t see the danger as he pushes himself to stand. “You heard me,” he repeats, smiling unpleasantly. “I said your mother fucked your father, but couldn’t get him to commit before he went and got his entire Legion unnamed.”

Suddenly, the walls of the room seem to blur. You’re barely thinking, when you launch yourself forward. Orion’s head snaps back, ricocheting sideways when your fist finds his jaw. Before he can react to this, you duck, spinning out of harm’s way to jab him straight in the stomach. Orion attempts to lunge, but by the time he’s turned, you’re already there. You make another strike to his throat, following this up with a knee to the groin – showing no mercy, when you grab him by the shoulders and knee him again.

Orion groans out loud, sinking to clutch at his nether regions – eyelids fluttering, while staring up at your form. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you smile – grimly.

“I don’t think you will fuck, for a bit,” you respond.

When you turn around, the room is silent. Blank eyes stare back at you, while a slow flush starts to stain your cheeks. The only thing you can do, is to move – you do so now, walking, though your body is numb, heart racing with adrenaline. Mentally, you check off your list – opponent disabled. No immediate danger from your surroundings.

A roar goes up from the crowd, deafening applause when you wince. It’s not unusual, for a fight to break out in the hall – what is unusual, is for it to be from Centurions. Citizens of your rank are expected to rise above it. You cannot lead soldiers, if you disagree amongst yourselves. Orion started the fight, you argue with yourself. He started this fight, though you were the one to end it.

Without quite meaning to, you smile. A gesture which disappears, when the doors to the hall bang open.

“Y/N!”

The sound of your name makes you stop, echoing off the stone of the walls. Everyone turns to stare as slowly, carefully, you look – your stomach sinking, when you spot the red and black Insignia marching towards you. A Prime – your Prime, to be exact. He walks until facing you, coming to a halt and surveying your body.

Two soldiers stand on either side. The male you don’t recognize, but the female – sucking in a breath, you recognize Lilly.  You can’t think about this for long though, as your gaze returns to Larsin. That’s your Prime – Larsin. A disagreeable man, who wouldn’t hesitate to whip you, if you called him by name. His hair is dark, eyes blue, with a jawline that could cut – you can hardly deny, your Prime is attractive. You’ve never heard about Larsin spending the night with anybody, though, nor would you expect this.

Snapping free from your thoughts, you form a salute. “Prime,” you greet. “Well slept.”

“Centurion,” he nods, a half-assed greeting. Realizing the silence around you, Larsin’s gaze flicks over the crowd. “As you were,” he calls, waiting until the hustle and bustle resumes. No one would dare disobey the command of a Prime, and Larsin only waits a moment before looking away. “You’re needed, Centurion. Upstairs.”

He turns on his heel to walk and on reflex you follow, gaze flicking up while you ponder his words. Upstairs, meaning the main part of the Citadel. Most life on Exercitus is spent belowground. This is where all the living, training, working quarters are: the only part of the Citadel built aboveground is the Chamber. The Chamber, a vaulted, hallowed space where everything of importance happens. Swearing-in ceremonies, holidays and celebrations – also punishments, when the offense is severe enough.

Swallowing, you try not to think about this. As Larsin exits out of the hall, banging open doors, you follow him dutifully. Perhaps it was the fight – perhaps you’re being punished for that. That would be an awfully fast turnaround, but you can’t think of anything else as you walk. You haven’t been to the surface in a while, haven’t had the need to.

Exercitus is not a pretty planet, not by anyone’s standards. Exercitus is a harsh, brutal landscape; perfect for training soldiers. The gravity of it is heavy, the air dense so when you fight on other planets it’s easier. Most of the structures are belowground, using the rock as a natural barrier against the elements. Only the topmost part of the Citadel sticks out above, made from the toughest elements in the Universe – able to withstand even the most punishing nature of Exercitus.

Larsin’s back remains rigid, climbing the stairs. You follow as well, forcing fear down in your throat. Such an emotion is shameful, and mustn’t be seen. It is your duty to remain brave, your job to be strong. You look instead at Lily, marching beside you. She doesn’t look your way, though she’s a head shorter than you, so maybe that’s part of it.

Lily is a light, delicate creatures – you must admit, that’s part of what drew you to her. Her vulnerability shocked you, especially on a planet like this. It’s almost strong, you think, to be so open in the face of the Creed. Vulnerabilities can be exploited though, and you wonder with a sinking feeling if that’s what’s happening. If Larsin has somehow used Lily, exploited her somehow.

The thought makes you twinge, though you push this away. That’s none of your concern, what goes on between them. Lifting your chin, you continue up the steps. The stairs are long, the noises of mess hall long since faded. All around you hums oxygen and machinery, the air temperature dropping while you climb.

The walls are plain, like most things in Barracks. Ornamentation is deemed unnecessary, and anything unnecessary is a distraction from the Creed. The hallway veers sharply left, and as the group of you turn the corner, Larsin holds up his hand.

“Halt,” he commands, looking at Lily. “As you were, soldiers. Return to the dining hall – commence with breakfast, and resume training.”

They both nod, turning without protest. You watch them go, disapproving of the situation. Larsin knows breakfast is nearly over, knows he’s just forced them to skip a meal. The two will go hungry during morning training, an asshole thing for Larsin to command. A braver person than the two of them, might have protested. Then again, you remind yourself, bravery is reckless – oftentimes, more trouble than it’s worth.

Motioning you to follow, Larsin continues. It takes five minutes and thirty-seven seconds to reach the end of the hall. You count each one internally, certain the timing is correct. It’s a skill you’ve taught yourself over the years, one you use when you’re nervous or bored. Reaching the end of the hall, Larsin opens both doors. He walks in first, barely giving time to prepare before you’re entering as well.

The room is familiar, though you cannot see it in full. You stare at the back of Larsin’s head – scared to look elsewhere, in case you cause offense. You don’t need to see the room, since you’ve seen it before. Above you is stone, below you is stone. Polished and smoothed, this extends until reaching the edge of the wall. The stone is not of Exercitus – no, it’s a special carted from Tenebris, made at the very end of the solar system.

Ten times denser than anything here, the only thing able to hold the weight of your atmosphere. The soldiers call it Atlas, though you’re uncertain if this is the name. The wall before you houses the window –this, too, is not made on Exercitus. Nor was this made anywhere in your solar system, no one in the Coalition having that skill or capability. The Chamber is the only room in Barracks with glass, the only room with a window, since it’s the most important room in the Citadel. The floor beneath you has seen its equal share of blood and tears – only some due to happiness.

Larsin comes to a stop, blocking your view. You don’t object to this, appreciating the extra time to clarify your thoughts. It’s been a long time since you entered this room alone – the time prior, was being sworn in as Centurion. The time before that, you barely remember. It was to accept your father’s ashes, a thing you were too young to fully understand.

Now you stare at Larsin’s back, emptying your mind of everything but your duty. Whatever you’ve done, you will accept your punishment with grace. You will accept it, and move on with your life. Such is the Creed of Exercitus, the life of a Centurion.

“Commander,” Larsin bows, sinking down on one knee. “I have brought you your Centurion, as requested.”

Head snapping up, the blood turns to ice in your veins. The scene seems to wave, while you reconsider the options. This is much, much worse than imagined. Over Prime Larsin’s head is the seat of the Senator – occupied, but not by Senator Glib. The Senator stands off to one side, hands twisted behind his back while surveying the room.

In his chair sits Taekwoon. Lee Taekwoon, the Commander of Exercitus – leader of the Military, and the highest voice of authority. Fighting to stay calm, you still your thoughts and meet his gaze. Taekwoon leans forward, gaze rising from your boots to your face. He rests his elbows upon his knees, tilting his head.

“She’s smaller than I thought she would be,” he comments – and you still. Lips tightening, you hold back your words. Taekwoon smiles in response, as though he knows your mind. “You have something you wish to say, Centurion?” he asks, blinking. “I can only imagine that’s why you’re still standing.”

Stomach dropping, you rapidly sink to your knees. Before you, Larsin’s back has stiffened – you can only imagine the beating you’ll receive, after leaving this room. If you ever leave this room, that is. It’s beginning to seem as though you may not. You can think of no other reason, why the Commander would be here. When your knees hit the floor, it jostles your frame – so much so, you wince at the sound.

Taekwoon merely laughs, voice floating over your head. “I did not mean to kneel now,” he corrects. “If you would not kneel upon my arrival – why pretend, after? It seems such formalities are behind us.”

When you lift your gaze, you find his expression has not changed. Taekwoon surveys you blandly, nothing but present in his eyes. Reaching out his hand, he gestures that you stand. “Rise,” he murmurs, waiting as you obey. “We have much to discuss.”

“With me?” you ask, unable to stop yourself. It’s pleasing, that you don’t stammer – most would, you imagine in this situation. Most would, speaking to the Commander of Exercitus: the most feared man in the Coalition, save one.

Taekwoon tilts his head. “You’re too far. Step around your Prime.”

You obey immediately, trying not to look at Larsin when you pass – the tips of his ears are red with anger, corners of his mouth held taut. Besides Larsin, the room is nearly empty. Only two others stand at the front, one the Senator and the other, your Tribune. You only recognize her due to the uniform; navy and gold threading, mixed with the Insignia. You’ve never seen her this close before, only from a distance, never having had a need. The Tribune stares as you walk, completely impassive. The picture of obedience, living embodiment of the Creed.

Behind Taekwoon stands the window and beyond, Exercitus. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the surface and your gaze lingers on it, now. The dual moons hang low in the sky, the starry night vast beyond that. Golden Doctrine is visible, hanging between you and Rhea, the sun.

If the glass extended further, you would see the other four planets behind you. They extend in a row, all the way out to Tenebris. As it is, you survey the landing pad of Barracks and see Taekwoon’s ship, resting in the middle – notable, from the Imperial Insignia stamped on its side. Beyond this though, nothing. Nothing but wispy sand tinged grey, with regret. Sand which crests into dunes, falls between the cracks of the ground.

Taekwoon clears his throat, returning your gaze. It’s uncertain which is worse – the nightmare outside, or the one within.

“I hear you’ve been fighting,” Taekwoon announces, quiet. “Fighting another Centurion. Such behavior,” he tuts, gentle, “is not ideal.”

It’s a struggle for you to remain still. “Not ideal,” you agree, facing forward. “But necessary, occasionally.”

The corner of Taekwoon’s mouth lifts. At his side, the Senator mutters – something which makes Taekwoon still, waving his hand. “Settle, Glib,” he exhales. “I made a statement, to which I expected a response. The Centurion has done nothing wrong.”

Still appearing sour though, the Senator nods. “If you decree it, Commander.”

Taekwoon’s gaze darkens. “I do. Centurion, I have a problem,” he muses, silken. “A very specific problem, requiring very specific aid. Speaking to my Senators, I bade them find me a specific individual: one with great talent, but unknown to other planets. One who might pass through their waters, unnoticed. Also,” he leans forward, finding your gaze, “I have need of a specific skill – one you just so happen to possess.”

Ignoring this, you blink lazily back. “Pass through, what waters?” You choose to focus on this – the rest will come later, surely.

Chuckling to himself, Taekwoon settles back in his seat. “Astute, aren’t you?” He arches a brow. “That’s good, it means you won’t be caught unawares. Unfortunately, though,” he sighs, as though put out. “Today’s display has placed me in a bit of a predicament. I need someone who keeps calm under pressure, not a hotheaded, jacked up Centurion throwing punches at each insult.”

Taekwoon’s voice hardens, becoming a sword by the end of his sentence. You can barely stand to meet his gaze, but you manage to do so. “I am not that kind of person,” you announce.  

“Oh?” Taekwoon seems unconvinced. “Pray tell, then – what was the fight about? What could have been said, to made you react in such a fashion?”

“He insulted my mother,” you respond, back stiffening.

“And?” Taekwoon sounds bored, as though it’s not enough.

“And,” you hesitate. “The unnamed Legion of my father.”

A low hiss escapes Larsin, surprising you. He doesn’t seem the sentimental type – which only goes to show, how serious the insult was. The Senator is also appalled, even Taekwoon’s gaze narrows. Only the Tribune does not move, though the corners of her eyes widen.

“I see.” Taekwoon’s fingers uncurl from the chair. “Then you should have punched him harder. Prime,” he barks, over your shoulder. “Find the man and remove his Insignia. He is demoted to soldier – desecration of fallen comrades, is not something which becomes a Centurion.”

“Right away, Commander.” Larsin rises, you hear him turn – the sounds of him exiting follow, and you focus on this rather than the memories at hand.

It’s impossible completely block them out though, not completely. An unnamed Legion is one stricken from the records of Exercitus. The name is removed, no longer able to be used by future Legions. It’s a gesture of respect, since an unnamed Legion is one where the entirety – all ten thousand of its soldiers – were killed in the same battle.

A harsh silence settles over the room, as Taekwoon sighs. The sound is softer, gentler. “I have a problem, Centurion,” he reminds you, returning your gaze to his. “One I need your help to solve.”

He pauses, as though waiting. Licking now-dry lips, you respond, “What kind of problem?”

“You seem young,” Taekwoon muses. “Perhaps too young to remember.”

“Try me,” you mutter, no longer caring about pretense. Making you speak about your father, his death is unforgiveable – no matter his rank. “You don’t appear much older than I am.”

Taekwoon smiles, only briefly. “Oh, you are bold,” he chuckles, gaze lifting over your shoulder. “You are also kind. Senator,” he drones, looking to where Senator Glib has taken a half-step forward – faltering, at the command in his voice. “It is fine. I don’t know if you remember, Centurion, before the lights went out?” Taekwoon says this as a question, while the Senator returns to his side.

Your gaze follows his motion. “I remember,” you respond, and you do.

When you were young, your mother use to sing to you with the lights on. There was a mobile hung above your bed, bright with lights which spun while she sang. Such a thing isn’t possible now, not the curfew. Curfew went into effect when you were nine, a forced lights-out at 20:00 – something which has lasted until present day. That isn’t all, though. You’ve heard rumors, unsubstantiated ones, that the planet of Exercitus is running low on power.

Taekwoon does not flinch at your expression. “The rumors are true,” he states, remaining calm. “We are indeed, running out of energy.”

At his side, the Senator shifts – startled, by Taekwoon’s honestly. Silence follows, in which you let this sink in. This fact isn’t a surprise to you, not really – what is confusing, is Taekwoon telling you this. It nothing to do with you, doesn’t affect you. This only affects you, in that it affects you all: affects your Legion, your Cohort, your Century.

“I noticed,” you respond, because he seems to be waiting for an answer. It would be rude, telling Taekwoon it was obvious – rude, to say they’ve done a poor job covering things up. Their meals are now smaller, the days shorter and sims weaker. It doesn’t take a genius, to figure this out.

Taekwoon’s eyes gleam, understanding. “I’ll be honest, Centurion – these are dangerous times, both for Exercitus and for the Coalition.”

Interest stirs within you, though you do your best to hide it. “Oh?”

He nods. “You know of Tenebris, yes?”

Swallowing the insult, you nod. Of course, you know Tenebris, the most feared planet in the solar system. Earlier, when you considered Taekwoon to be the most feared man in the galaxy, save one –Hongbin is that one, the stark ruler of Tenebris. He controls the planet, meaning he also controls ninety percent of the Coalition’s energy.

“I know about Tenebris,” you respond.

“But not much, I’d imagine,” Taekwoon allows, standing from his seat. “Tenebris is a mysterious planet, even to the scholars of Doctrine. It exists on the edge of our solar system ad little is known about it – save for their production and shipping, of the Coalition’s supply.”

“Yes,” you admit, tensing. “This is all I know about Tenebris.”

The Commander surveys you, only a second. “Lying doesn’t become you, Centurion.” When he sees you freeze, he waves a hand. “We shall talk about that later – right now, I face a problem. When I first assumed position of Commander, there existed a very strict status quo. Each planet would receive a firm ration of energy, decided by the Coalition at our bi-annual Summits. Over the past years,” Taekwoon pauses, then frowns, “the rations of Exercitus have decreased.”

“Decreased?” you repeat, dazed. You’re still thinking about his earlier words, the accusation of you lying – perhaps that is why Taekwoon called you, why he’s telling you all this.

He nods, stepping closer. “At our current rate of depletion, we’ll cease being able to sustain the current population within the year. Two, if we grant further energy cuts. Exercitus will fall, our Military will be weak, and the Coalition will be at dangerous risk for invasion.”

His words cut you, horrid and clear. “But – why?” you breathe, confused.

“I do not know,” Taekwoon responds, stiff. “I do know though, that I can’t let it happen. Exercitus must remain strong, just as the Coalition must remain strong.”

“But,” you hesitate, thinking this over. “Isn’t it the Coalition itself, deciding the shipments of energy?”

Something in Taekwoon’s jaw ticks. “True,” he nods, curt. “Though this doesn’t mean I receive the shipments I’m allotted, though.”

You nod, looking at the ground. Mind buzzing, you’re still trying to understand how all this pertains to you.  

“I the Commander of Exercitus,” Taekwoon speaks, softer. “I exist to uphold our solar system, but if it is a member of the Coalition plotting against us – what should I do then, Centurion?”

He waits for an answer – and answer from you and you stare, mind blank with the possibilities. It is something engrained in you from a young age, protecting the Coalition. To protect the system, but if the threat comes from within the Coalition – you hesitate. “I would ask why,” you state, meeting his gaze. “Why, would another planet of the Coalition want us weakened?”

“And?” Taekwoon replies, equally soft. “What logic would you find?”

The answer is there, waiting for you to see it. “We are the strongest planet,” you allow. “No one can stand against our Military, should we choose to invade. If we were eliminated though, there would be no one left to defend the Coalition. Its riches would fall, to whomever so desired it.”

“Exactly.” Taekwoon’s voice trembles. “The unfortunate part,” his gaze flicks over your shoulder, “is that this is still just a theory. I don’t know anything, for certain. I have only suspicions, and need confirmation to act. Which is where you –”

You inhale – sensing the attack a split-second before it happens. Whirling around, your eyes widen when you see Larsin’s fist, coming straight for your face. You duck, barely evading him and Larsin snarls – turning, though you’re already past him. You slam your elbow into his back, immediately following this up with a kick to the knee.

Larsin yells, noise harsh when the joint pops out of the socket. He turns again, roughly pushing the cap back in place – you don’t wait, punching him in the nose before he can see. Mercy is for the weak, and you refuse to let him win. Larsin’s head snaps back at the motion, blood pouring from his nose while you take a running start and tackle him to the ground.

The Prime buckles under your weight, growling when his back slams against the floor. He attempts to throw you off, so you backhand his face – slamming shards of broken nose back in his skull. You could leave him like this, could consider him defeated – but it is not in your training, nor is it your nature. Anyone can still be a threat and gritting your teeth, you grab hold of his head. Slamming his frame against the ground, you strike hard enough to daze. Larsin lets out a moan, attempting to prop himself up – only to shudder, collapsing back down on the ground.

Silence. Complete and utter silence, but for your panting. Chest rising and falling, you manage to stand from the ground. Your thoughts are hazy, dizzy with the adrenaline – only one thought remaining clear in your mind. You were set up – this was a test.

Taekwoon hasn’t moved, still watching you calmly. When he sees you look at him, betrayal in his eyes, he arches a brow. “When did you know?” he asks, voice carrying over the stillness.

Behind him, the others stand gaping. Both Senator and Tribune appear shocked – staring wide-eyed from Larsin to you, then back to Larsin. You are only a Centurion, yet you defeated a Prime.

“When Larsin left,” you spit out, glaring at Taekwoon. “There were no footsteps down the hall. You also kept moving, glancing over my shoulder twice. Once, when he did not leave. The second, when he re-entered the hall.”

Taekwoon begins to smile. “Correct,” he allows, inclining his head. “Most satisfactory, Centurion. Many would have assumed their environment safe, being in my presence. I have my decision,” Taekwoon declares, hands folded over his coat. “I have a job for you, Y/N.”

Blinking, you’re confused to hear him call you by name. This entire time, it’s been Centurion – it appears that now though, you are something more. Still, you don’t respond. Not yet, while you assess your surroundings. This is a way you are different, something to separate you from your peers. Exercitians are taught to respect authority – you were taught to listen; to obey, but only so far.

On Exercitus, no one ever tells that the enemy can be found within. You learned lesson firsthand, from the mistakes of your father. This was the reason his Legion was unnamed, this is the reason his ashes rest upon your mantle. There was a traitor in his Legion, one who led to the slaughter of battle.

When you meet Taekwoon’s gaze, you’re unsure how you feel right now. He tested you, rightfully so. If everything he said is true – you believe that it is – he needs someone to spy for him. A spy. The word leaves a sour taste in your mouth, one you do your best to swallow. A spy cannot be a follower, will not always have orders to obey. Taekwoon wanted to know if you could be observant, if you can get out of tight situations, should the occasion arise.

You understand this but still, you don’t like it. Taekwoon arches a brow. “Would you like to hear the job, Y/N?”

Exhaling once, you nod. It is not like you have a choice. “Tell me,” you request, voice flat. “Tell me what you need.”

Taekwoon’s eyes gleam, in the light of the moons. “I need intelligence,” he admits. “I need an individual to go to Tenebris, to infiltrate their society and determine what’s happening. I need to know why our resources are dwindling. I need,” he inhales, “to understand everything.”

“You want me to spy for you,” you summarize, lip curling with distaste. “Spying is not honorable, spying is not strong.”

Taekwoon turns, nearly laughing at your words. “Ah, reciting the Creed. Tell me, Y/N – what does the Creed mean to you? Strength,” he nods, “Power. Discipline – all markings of a good soldier. Not a great one, though,” he allows, coming to a stop before the window. “Do you ever wonder about the dichotomy, between our Creed and the medals?”

Remaining silent, you decide you have nothing to say. It’s true, you’ve often wondered. Your Creed mandates the following orders – but your medals recognize only the individual. They call out moments of bravery, ones the soldier disobeyed orders and ended up winning the war. It’s strange, to think about honoring such things when it is hammered into you from birth, to obey.

“The reason,” Taekwoon continues, hearing your hesitation, “is because ninety-nine percent of the time, the Creed is in your best interests. Most of the time, your leader will be correct, and the Creed gives the best chance of survival. This still leaves one percent, though.” Taekwoon pauses, surveying the horizon. “This is when we have need for the individual. This is when the Creed should be ignored.”

Staring at his profile, you find it oddly calming to hear this. “And,” you muse, breaking your silence, “this is one of those moments?”

Taekwoon turns, looking your way. “I believe that it is.”

“And I,” you pause, gathering strength. “I, am that one person?”

He nods, continuing to stare. “I hope that you are.”

It’s this word – hope, which convinces you. Looking at your hands, you find them speckled with blood from your fights. “What now?” you ask, closing them to fists.

Taekwoon smiles, somewhat. “Now,” he looks at the Senator. “You will be trained. You will learn the customs of Tenebris – ah! Now we talk about your skills. The ones to come in handy, the ones mentioned earlier.”

Your stomach sinks, as you start to understand. This is what you feared, when Taekwoon called you a liar – this is what you seem to fear, every day of your life. It’s beginning to make sense, why you were selected and not someone else.

“Whatever you’ve heard,” you interject his speech, eyes cold. “I don’t either birth, nor heritage, is relevant to this mission.”

“On the contrary,” Taekwoon states, bored. “Tell me, Y/N – do you still fluent Tenibi? I assume it was your father, who taught you. Most parents seek to educate their children, in the ways of their culture.”

You struggle to remain silent, while your lips tighten into a line.

Taekwoon chuckles, seeing your expression. “Come now, let’s not play games. Your father was unusual, was he not? An ambassador of Tenebris who fell in love with your mother. Unable to marry, due to our laws – but still, they had you.” Taekwoon arches a brow. The laws of Exercitus state only citizens, can marry one another. “Your father joined the Military to gain citizenship – unfortunately dying, before that day could arrive. Tragic,” he breathes, the word soft.

“Tragic,” you repeat, hands unclenching. The story is familiar – of course it is, since it’s yours. “How is this relevant?”

Taekwoon does not move, holding your gaze. “Ni appen adul ba.” I know you can understand me.

Lifting your chin, you exhale. “Ni ami dual.” I understand you.

Pausing again, Taekwoon allows these words to speak for themselves. “So, you see – you are valuable, Y/N. Not just for your military prowess, but because you speak the language. Your role will be that of a translator – a request Hongbin sent, one week ago.”

“One week?” Somewhat shocked by this, you stare. “You said I would be trained – how long do you anticipate, before I’ll be sent to Tenebris?”

Taekwoon adjusts his coat. “It took a long time to find you, a person suitable for the task. For Hongbin’s purposes, I will simply make the search longer. Someone speaking the language of both planets is, as I said, unusual.”

You nod, dazed. “I understand.”

“Good.” Taekwoon meets your gaze. “Then – as Commander of Exercitus, as head of the Military of the Coalition, protector of the solar system, I ask for your help. I ask you to serve your people, by accepting this mission and all it entails.”

“I accept,” you say softly, the weight of his words settling.

This will be dangerous. Tenebris is a dangerous place, even to you – there are few who step foot on the planet, even fewer who leave. Your father never spoke of it, not that you can remember. To travel to Tenebris, conceal your identity, gather information and return, unscathed – the chances are low, you realize this. But still, you must try.

Straightening your spine, you place a hand over your heart. “I accept the dangers and will serve, as requested.”

“Then it is done,” Taekwoon agrees, solemn. He looks sideways – to where the Senator and Tribune still stand. “Tribune, it will be your duty to train her. Twenty-eight Doctrine days, is the agreed-upon number with Hongbin.”

The woman nods, turning. You stare at Taekwoon, because Doctrine days are shorter than Exercitian – your planet spins slower, compared to the rest. This cuts even further, into your time to prepare. Taekwoon walks, jacket swishing around him – though he pauses at the door, looking over his shoulder. “Y/N,” he states, waiting as you turn. “Thank you.”

He disappears, Senator Glib close behind. You’re left standing with the Tribune and Larsin, who still lies hurt on the floor. “Call a medic,” the Tribune instructs, at the soldier who enters. “Tell them to come take care of Prime Larsin.”

Once this is underway, she turns in your direction – eyeing you warily, as though unsure what to say.

“Let us begin,” she states, and you do.

The flight to Tenebris is eleven hours, forty-two minutes and thirty-three seconds. You’ve been counting down since liftoff, though you’re not certain if your internal clock lines up anymore. Interplanetary travel affects things, messes with time itself. One year on Exercitus is not like on Tenebris – age is different there, as are the people.

It’s something you’ll have to get used to. Turning from the window, you survey the hold. The next scheduled flight to Tenebris was not for months, so you ended up hitching a ride from a passing cargo ship. It is not made for comfort, strictly utilitarian with a mostly empty hold, aside from your seats. Across from you sits a Cohort – not yours – who in all honestly, you’re not certain how got signed up for the job.

He sits tight, eyes scrunched while fingernails dig into his armrests. One minute in, he gasped, “Motion sickness,” and remained locked in that position since. At least he’s silent, not puking all over your new clothing.

New clothing, which marks you as Ambassador. Your fingers trail the bronzed buttons, forming a line down the center of your chest. One lesson drilled into you, over and over, is that first impressions are important. Appearances are as well, more so than on Exercitus. It’s strange to think about, and already you’re nervous.

There’s so much that could go wrong, in the coming months. You have until the Summit to solve this – six months, in Exercitian time. You have until the Summit, but so much could go wrong before then. You could slip, could cause offense – Hongbin might take one look, and know you’re a liar.

Tightening your jaw, you look at the stars. Fourteen minutes, eleven seconds until landing. It would have been calming, to take Taekwoon with you – his presence is intimidating, but at least then you’d feel less like an imposter. When you asked him to come, he said no. It would seem too suspicious, for him to fly across the solar system at the mere introduction of a translator. No, you must go alone – and thinking this, your fingers curl around your armrest.

You are not used to this kind of subterfuge. On the battlefield, in sims – sure, you’re used to feinting, to baiting and switching. Alone though, it feels different. Locking both knees together, you push away these thoughts. This is all for the good of Exercitus, for the good of the Coalition. You are the hero here, not the villain.

Leaning against the headrest, you continue your countdown. One minute, until Tenebris peeks through the clouds. Opening both eyes, you see you’re right – and leaning forward, you see flashes of rock dot the mist. They reach up like fingers, breaking into the fog but by the time you crane your head to look, they’re already gone. It’s too difficult to see, and you fall back in your seat. Counting down the final moments, until the bottom of the ship touches tarmac.

Without the roaring engine, there’s a ringing to your ears – one you ignore, unbuckling your seat belt. Pushing yourself up, you turn to your Cohort, relieved to find him a less sickly green than before. Brushing lint from your jacket, you square your shoulders – you let the Cohort lead, following close behind.

The ramp is already lower – you see it ahead, natural light filtered in from the end of the ship. The two of you walk in this direction, your heart beating wildly. While you move, you school your expression to neutrality. Hiding your emotions, and remembering your cause.

You’re not sure what you expected, stepping out of the craft. The light you saw, the natural sunlight – it’s not. Your gaze flicks overhead, recognizing holo-screens. It’s set to a forest, sunlight dappling the branches while you step down on the tarmac.

The ship is silent, perched on its thrusters – you see this for only a moment, gaze drawn to the people before you. Your Cohort walks steadily, leading the way for you to follow. You do slow slowly, examining the Tenebrians. The first thing to strike you, is how differently they’re dressed. At home, everyone around you dressed mostly the same. Exercitian Uniform denotes rank, social status – nothing more. Clothing here on Tenebris also seems to note social status, though not in the same way.

Expensive fabrics like silk, velvet – things you’ve only read about – they all shimmer and drape around bodies of varying sizes. It fascinates you, so much that you don’t notice the man standing in the middle of the row. Not until you’re standing before him, until your Cohort bows at the waist. Remembering the slight, you made meeting Taekwoon, you quickly follow suit. Bowing with a twist of the hand, waiting until the man clears his throat in introduction.

“There’s no need to bow,” he muses, when you look up. “Welcome to Tenebris – I am Hongbin.”

[ Celestial Master List]

Author’s Note: Hi. Thank you for reading! I know there aren’t as many readers for VIXX (tragic) but I hope you enjoy this universe, since it’s already one of my favorites to write. Thank you again!

© kpopfanfictrash, 2018. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[sapphics]

Do all of them!

what was the last horror movie you watched?

house of 1000 corpses. i watch it way too much.

what is the scariest horror movie you've seen?

oh god, i don't even know. it takes a lot to scare me. i watched a nightmare on elm street when i was a kid and that had me scared to go to sleep. it doesn't scare me anymore, but it did so i'm just going to say that one.

can you handle blood & gore?

yes.

what's your favorite decade of horror?

early 2000's.

list your top five horror films

saw 3

house of 1000 corpses (i'm just gonna throw the whole firefly trilogy in here since they're all so good)

the houses october built

american mary

the conjuring

what is your favorite genre of horror? (paranormal, slasher, etc.)

slasher and paranormal.

do you have a favorite horror movie?

saw 3!!!!

what is your favorite horror franchise?

saw or the firefly trilogy.

do you have any pet peeves for horror?

i hate when movies rely on jump scares. i feel like that means you don't have a strong plot.

are there any horror movies/franchises you find overrated?

i guess the purge movies? they could have done so much more with them. the concept is good, but it was poorly executed.

what is your favorite horror franchise?

this was asked, but saw.

what do you think is the best halloween film?

like the halloween franchise? or just a movie for halloween? i'm gonna just do both since my answer is the same. i'm going to get a lot of shit for this, but i LOVED rob zombie's versions.

do you have a favorite horror director?

rob zombie easily.

do you have a favorite horror actor/actress?

shawnee smith is my favorite, but sheri moon zombie is a close second.

is jaws a horror movie?

sure. there are a lot of people scared of sharks that probably couldn't go in the ocean after seeing that.

do you remember your first horror movie?

i want to say valentine?

do you own any horror merchandise?

i have tons.

what are your thoughts on halloween (the holiday)?

my favorite.

what's the most graphic horror movie you've ever seen?

either a serbian film or martyrs. both were brutal.

are there any 'bad' horror movies that hold a special place in your heart?

the paranormal activity movies. they were fun.

name the top five WORST horror films that you've sat through

movies i just didn't like:

terrifier - i don't understand why it's so high up on everyone's lists. i didn't find it scary and actually thought it was quite boring.

the collector - the plot just wasn't strong enough to carry the movie.

the purge - i explained in another question.

cannibal holocaust - it's not necessarily a horrible movie, but real animals are killed on screen and i hate that.

antichrist - pretentious.

what is your opinion on horror-comedies? (scary movie, a haunted house, etc.)

they're fine. i don't actually watch them, but they don't bother me.

do you have any controversial horror opinions?

YES! my main one being that you do not need to watch a serbian film to prove anything. it's a truly fucked up film and i hate that people feel pressured into watching it. i sat through it because i thought i needed to see it to be a real horror fan and i can see why it's controversial and why i was warned to not watch it. i can handle blood, but the storyline is the messed up part.

what is your opinion on remakes of classic horror films?

most suck, but there are a few gems. not many, though.

do you think gore lessens the quality of a horror film?

not if it's done correctly. don't just put gore in your movie for the sake of gore. like i think hostel did it right, but the collector got it wrong.

thank you, amber! :)

[ohstardust]

It Feels Like Time's On Our Side

REQUEST: from @lowdenglynnstyles​ i was hoping you could write something about the reader being a young detective, a job that i would like to have, dating jack?? x A/N: I can’t believe I promised this to you back in September when I was sat at Birmingham New Street station before uni started up and when I still had time/a life. I’m sorry it took me so long my angel, but I hope this is okay for you. And this definitely would not have been written if it wasn’t for @wardley10 who wrote about 85% of the plot for me (a long time ago), all I did was write the fic. I can’t thank you enough for that babe <3 I hope there aren’t too many inaccuracies with this. Title: Years & Years by Olly Murs My Jack playlist can be found on Spotify (x)

Jack’s hands were sweating by the time he checked his watch for the seventh time in as many minutes. It was four thirty-seven in the afternoon, twenty-three minutes until the press conference would air live on television and the Scot was not only unbearably nervous on behalf of his girlfriend for chairing said conference, but he was overcome with sickness that he would potentially miss it despite his reassurance that he would watch it. He’d specifically picked this train to be home on time, after being away from her for four weeks on a small shoot, all he wanted was to surprise her today and to be there when she came home. To be her stress reliever and tell her how proud he was of her, not be a tinny voice at the end of a phone or be a pixelated version of himself on a small screen. But as luck would have it, just as the train had pulled out of the second station on the journey, an announcement was made to inform passengers that part of a tree had very inconveniently caused an obstruction on the track his train was headed down. If Jack wasn’t so anxious, and a little pissed off, he’d have laughed at his lack of luck upon noticing his mobile internet was also down and he’d be unable to catch the conference live on his phone.

There was no way he’d let her down without a fight. Simply put, Y/N was Jack's soulmate. The person he loved most and who loved him as deeply in return. The person who had a heart full of compassion, a deep sense of justice to do the right thing. The person who felt a sense of hatred at the evil in the world and couldn’t fathom why the simplest concept of everyone just loving one another seemed to be such an impossibility. Jack had fallen in love with this compassionate side to his partner. Her dedication and sense of duty to society went some way to explain why she was one of the youngest detective inspectors in the Met Police history. Jack had never felt such elation or pride as he did when she had been awarded that position and title. Everything she’d worked so hard for, in just a few short years, had paid off and he couldn’t believe they were both striving in their careers before they’d even reached thirty. Perhaps in that instance fate had been on their side. He’d tell her a dozen more times this evening how proud he was of her, if he ever got off this damn train that is. As Jack watched the countryside whir past his eyes, dazzling blue skies fusing with a blur of freshly cut grass on the sunlit summer afternoon, his phone notified him of an incoming text message and he snatched it off the seat beside him. Y/N. Y/N: Jack, I’m so nervous I think I’m going to be sick. Y/N: I can’t believe this is being aired on telly. Y/N: I know you’re probably busy finishing off up North, but if you get chance can you please watch? It’d calm me knowing you were watching even if I can’t see you. Y/N: Sounds silly I know but you know me xxx Jack: Sweetheart, you’ll be wonderful. Just stay in your zone, concentrate on your lines and you’ll be fine. You know this case inside out, no one is in a better position to do this than you. I love you hen, of course I’ll be watching xxx As the train slowed to a stop at his station, Jack jumped out of his seat and hastily collected his belongings off the seat beside him. He pulled his suitcase from the rack before speeding off the train and onto the platform. Another glance at his watch told him it was four fifty-nine. The blonde wasn’t overly sure what his plan was from here on out, he was winging it but he hoped for a working TV screen or at least some decent internet signal. He wasn’t selective at this point, anything would suffice as long as he caught the broadcast. Trusty old fate seemed to have cast a light on Jack for a brief, fond moment as he glanced into the waiting room he’d stopped himself in front of. The blaring lights of the television played a mindless game show that, at any other point he’d likely have sat on the sofa and heatedly competed against himself during, however he didn’t have the time nor the inclination to pay it any attention. He shuffled through the door with his belongings and fumbled around for buttons on the back of the screen, hoping against all odds that he’d be able to navigate it to the correct channel, desperate for BBC News to be available. As the image sprung to life, he pounded on the volume buttons to make it a few notches louder and his face twisted into a beaming smile as he caught sight of his girl. Oh how he’d missed her. Y/N looked divinely smart and professional behind the overwhelmingly large desk beside her colleagues, as cameras flashed and she calmly divided her attention between the press and her statement papers. He relished how composed she appeared despite her mini meltdown via text message mere minutes earlier. She had remained thoroughly professional throughout the entire case, only divulging the odd detail she knew she could spare to her partner, and Jack knew better than to try and wangle some more out of her. It was admirable. But now the details were becoming public and he looked forward to hearing her enthusiastically talk about the ins and outs of the case and how her and her team were able to capture, and arrest, a gang of jewel thieves operating in Islington over the past few months. “- six men have been arrested and charged on the account of eight robberies in the Farringdon area between January and June of this year. We believe the men to committed previous thefts due to the professionalism executed throughout the past six months, however myself and our specialist team were able to garner DNA matches as a result of minor traces the offenders began to leave upon their three previous crime scenes.” Jack’s breath was caught in his chest and he was on edge as he immersed himself in her words. “- we have successfully recovered some of the stolen items and these have rightfully been reunited with their owners. On behalf of the Metropolitan Police, I would like to thank the public for their assistance with this case and their ongoing support.” He watched her gather her papers before her and her colleagues stood from their positions and the broadcast ended. His eyes remained glued to the television screen for a few moments more in admiration, he was so incredibly proud of her. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She grinned, swigging her beer with one hand and her other grasping Jack’s tightly for fear of letting him go again. “Me too, missed you.” He wrapped an arm around his girlfriend’s waist and pulled her closer to his chest, her body situated between his legs on the loveseat in a moderately filled beer garden. The sun was fading into the early evening air and the strings of fairy lights were twinkling. “I missed you too, the flat feels even emptier when you’ve not been round for a while.” Y/N let her head rest back against Jack’s chest and his lips nipped at her shoulder. “You should just move into mine, less empty with all of our stuff there.” Y/N stopped tracing her fingers along his arm for a minute or so, sat still not quite sure if she’d heard him correctly, or misunderstood his meaning. “Was that too much?” Jack internally panicked. It’s not that he’d just blurted it out of nowhere, well he had but he’d been thinking of asking her for some time, it seemed natural. But he hadn’t wanted to ask her that way, he didn’t want it to be a solution to a mere problem, he wanted to be honest about how much he wanted to live with her, share a bathroom, a bed, a life. To see her in their kitchen when he cooked her breakfast, or putting away their groceries, or lying on their sofa watching a film and not having to worry about her leaving early to get a good night’s sleep in her own bed before work. Her head shifted and caught her lip between her teeth as she looked up at him, “Were you serious?” He licked his lips nervously before smiling down at her, “Yeah, if you want to I mean. I don’t want to pressure you or anything, I just thought –“ Y/N cut him off as her lips met his and she grinned oh so widely, palm pressed to his cheek as she nodded, “that’s a yes, an enormous yes.” “Today has gone from absolutely dire to ‘I’m so proud I’m going to explode’ to ‘I’m the happiest man alive’.” Y/N rolled her eyes with a fond smile, “You’re terribly lame, Jack.” “Looks like you’re gonna be stuck with me a quite a while now, hen.” Her arms looped his neck and her forehead pressed against his, “Mmm, guess it’s worth it.” Instead of replying, Jack kissed Y/N in celebration or pride, love and everything in between.

[batterymonster2021]

The single biggest reason why start-ups succeed | Bill Gross

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/the-single-biggest-reason-why-start-ups-succeed-bill-gross-8/

The single biggest reason why start-ups succeed | Bill Gross

I’m particularly excited to share with you some findings that relatively shock me about what makes organizations succeed essentially the most, what causes surely matter probably the most for startup success. I feel that the startup group is likely one of the finest varieties to make the sector a better situation. Should you take a group of humans with the proper fairness incentives and arrange them in a startup, you could release human knowledge in a technique under no circumstances before viable.You get them to obtain fantastic things. But if the startup institution is so satisfactory, why achieve this many fail? That is what I wanted to discover. I wanted to find out what surely matters most for startup success. And that i wanted to try to be systematic about it, avoid a few of my instincts and possibly misperceptions i have from so many firms I’ve visible through the years. I desired to know this in view that i have been starting companies due to the fact that I was 12 years old after I bought sweet on the bus discontinue in junior excessive tuition, to excessive school, when I made solar power contraptions, to university, after I made loudspeakers.And when I graduated from college, I started program organizations. And 20 years in the past, I started Idealab, and within the final twenty years, we started greater than one hundred organizations, many successes, and lots of large screw ups. We realized rather a lot from those failures. So i attempted to seem throughout what explanations accounted probably the most for manufacturer success and failure. So I checked out these five. First, the inspiration. I used to consider that the thought was once the whole thing. I named my company Idealab for how so much I worship the "aha!" moment while you first provide you with the concept. But then over time, I came to suppose that might be the team, the execution, adaptability, that mattered much more than the idea. I not ever notion i might be quoting boxer Mike Tyson on the TED stage, but he once said, "each person has a plan, unless they get punched within the face." (Laughter) and that i consider that is so true about trade as well. So much about a group’s execution is its capability to adapt to getting punched in the face by means of the patron. The patron is the true truth.And that’s why I came to suppose that the group maybe was once the primary factor. Then I began watching on the industry mannequin. Does the manufacturer have an awfully clear course producing patron revenues? That started rising to the highest in my excited about possibly what mattered most for achievement. Then I seemed at the funding. Often corporations got severe quantities of funding. Maybe that is the essential factor? And then of path, the timing.Is the inspiration method too early and the arena’s not equipped for it? Is it early, as in, you’re upfront and you must the sector? Is it simply correct? Or is it too late, and there may be already too many rivals? So i attempted to look very carefully at these five factors across many companies. And that i looked throughout all a hundred Idealab companies, and 100 non-Idealab organizations to take a look at and come up with something scientific about it. So first, on these Idealab organizations, the top 5 businesses — Citysearch, CarsDirect, GoTo, NetZero, Tickets.Com — these all grew to be billion-buck successes. And the 5 organizations on the backside — Z.Com, Insider Pages, MyLife, laptop manufacturing unit, Peoplelink — all of us had excessive hopes for, but did not be successful.So i tried to rank across all of those attributes how I felt those corporations scored on every of these dimensions. After which for non-Idealab corporations, I looked at wild successes, like Airbnb and Instagram and Uber and Youtube and LinkedIn. And a few screw ups: Webvan, Kozmo, Pets.Com Flooz and Friendster. The bottom corporations had severe funding, they even had business items in some cases, but they failed to succeed. I attempted to look at what reasons genuinely accounted essentially the most for achievement and failure across all of those companies, and the results quite surprised me. The quantity one thing used to be timing. Timing accounted for 42 percent of the difference between success and failure. Group and execution came in 2nd, and the thought, the differentiability of the thought, the individuality of the idea, that really got here in third. Now, this isn’t definitely definitive, it can be to not say that the proposal is not primary, nevertheless it very much surprised me that the notion wasn’t the important thing. Many times it mattered more when it used to be sincerely timed.The last two, business model and funding, made sense to me without a doubt. I think industry model is sensible to be that low when you consider that you could begin out and not using a business mannequin and add one later in case your consumers are disturbing what you are developing. And funding, I consider as well, if you are underfunded in the beginning however you are gaining traction, notably in present day age, it can be very, very effortless to get excessive funding. So now let me provide you with some special examples about each and every of those. So take a wild success like Airbnb that every person is aware of about. Good, that corporation used to be famously handed on with the aid of many shrewd investors considering persons suggestion, "no person’s going to employ out an area of their house to a stranger." Of path, persons proved that fallacious. However one of the most causes it succeeded, apart from a excellent industry model, a excellent proposal, nice execution, is the timing. That corporation came out right throughout the peak of the recession when individuals relatively needed more money, and that maybe helped men and women overcome their objection to renting out their possess dwelling to a stranger.Identical thing with Uber. Uber came out, terrific corporation, fantastic trade model, high-quality execution, too. However the timing was so superb for his or her need to get drivers into the procedure. Drivers have been looking for extra money; it was once very, very fundamental. A few of our early successes, Citysearch, came out when individuals wanted web sites. GoTo.Com, which we introduced truely at TED in 1998, used to be when businesses have been watching for price-robust methods to get traffic. We concept the proposal used to be so first-class, however truly, the timing was once in general might be extra most important. And then a few of our screw ups. We started a enterprise known as Z.Com, it used to be a web based leisure organization. We had been so occupied with it — we raised enough money, we had a first-class industry model, we even signed extremely best Hollywood talent to join the corporation. However broadband penetration was once too low in 1999-2000. It used to be too hard to observe video content material online, you had to put codecs to your browser and do all these items, and the company eventually went out of trade in 2003.Simply two years later, when the codec quandary used to be solved by Adobe Flash and when broadband penetration crossed 50 percentage in america, YouTube was perfectly timed. Best inspiration, however fantastic timing. Correctly, YouTube failed to actually have a industry model when it first started. It wasn’t even distinctive that that will work out. However that was fantastically, beautifully timed. So what i might say, in abstract, is execution most likely issues a lot. The proposal issues rather a lot. However timing might matter even more. And the exceptional solution to quite check timing is to quite seem at whether or not patrons are relatively able for what you have got to offer them.And to be quite, particularly sincere about it, no longer be in denial about any results that you just see, considering that when you’ve got some thing you like, you wish to have to push it ahead, however you have to be very, very sincere about that factor on timing. As I stated prior, I suppose startups can exchange the world and make the world a better place. I’m hoping a few of these insights can perhaps aid you have a quite greater success ratio, and consequently make some thing fine come to the sector that do not need occurred or else.Thanks very much, you’ve gotten been a best audience. (Applause) .

[astargatelover]

Who should have been the protagonist of Neill Blomkamp's "Elysium"

(SPOILERS AHEAD! But it'll be easiest to understand when you've seen the movie, anyway.)

Elysium, released in 2013, is the second film of director and screenwriter Neill Blomkamp. It is set in a future where the wealthy live on a space station orbiting Earth (the eponymous Elysium), and the rest of humanity lives on the polluted and heavily overpopulated planet itself.

The movie was a success at the box office, bringing in more than double the amount of its original $115 million budget, and it won a Leo Award for best visual effects.

However, in comparison to Blomkamp's first film, District 9 (which I haven't yet seen, shame on me), it was a letdown. District 9 received praise from critics, was nominated for 4 Academy Awards and achieved a rating of 90% on Rotten Tomatoes, with an average score of 7.8/10.

In contrast to that, Elysium achieved 67% with an average score of 6.5/10. Its critics consensus says this: "After the heady sci-fi thrills of District 9, Elysium is a bit of a comedown for director Neill Blomkamp, but on its own terms, it delivers just often enough to satisfy."

It was also nominated for a Golden Schmoes Award in the category "Best Sci-Fi Movie of the Year and Biggest Disappointment of the Year". Blomkamp himself has said that he feels he "fucked it up", and that he'd "almost want to go back and do it correctly", since things like special effects, costume and set design were executed very well, but the script wasn't all there.

I agree with that statement, so here's a possible change that I think would make Elysium perhaps not perfect, but definitely a much better movie:

As you can see by the title of this essay it involves replacing the main character. To understand why I think that would improve the movie you have to know what is wrong with the current protagonist: Max da Costa, played by Matt Damon. Now, don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Matt Damon and consider him a great actor, so he's not the problem. Not personally, anyway.

I evaluated Max using what I call "the Tumblr criteria", because Tumblr brought them to my attention. We are, after all, known for fightning for social justice. (Even if we're also known for being overzealous, bordering on ridiculous, in this endeavor... meh.)

The criteria are as follows: cisgender, heterosexual, white, able-bodied, male. ("White" meaning white by US standards, i.e. "caucasian white". I looked it up, it's a tad complicated.)

As you all probably know the vast majority of protagonists of popular movies are all of these things, and it's a problem because of the huge lack of diversity. Lately we have been getting a few heroes which aren't male or white, which is great, but way not enough yet. A blockbuster with a lead that is not cis- and/or heterosexual and able-bodied, especially if the movie isn't centered around those things? No way. So people who aren't at least four of the five above listed criteria have a hard time finding a hero to identify with; not to mention that seeing the ever same traits in main characters becomes boring after a while, especially after the ~122 years Hollywood has existed.

Max, as you can guess, fits all of the criteria.

Now, he gets radiation poisoning about 20 minutes into the movie, so you could argue that he's not technically healthy for the majority of it, but it hardly has any adverse effects on him. He takes a few pills and he's mostly fine. His condition actually leads to him being fitted with an exo-skeleton and becoming a cyborg, so he's left more able than before. The emotional implications that should result from having a dying hero aren't explored to their full extent. Max's condition only serves as a plot device, an incentive for him to want to go to Elysium, but nothing more.

Max's heterosexuality is shown in the movie by him having something like a forced romance with Frey, a childhood friend of his. I call it forced because, and perhaps it's the fact that I'm gay, I just can't feel that chemistry between them. Granted, the movie doesn't explicitly make it a romance - neither of the characters outright say that they love each other and they don't kiss or perform other acts that are generally regarded as declarations of love - but it is heavily implied.

As soon as Max and Frey meet again as adults (in Frey's workplace, a hospital) he asks her out to dinner. When she declines at first he wants to know if he has to break his other arm as well to get her attention, because he would. (Which is NOT romantic like most narratives would have us believe, it's abusive, even if he meant it in jest.) They finally settle for a coffee. Later Max tells her that he gave up being a criminal for her. Considering all that I think it's pretty safe to say he is supposed to be in love with her.

Another thing that irks me about this is that Frey and Max met in an orphanage when they were about 10. We know that Frey left at some point to seek better opportunities. In the movie they're in their mid-thirties and recognize each other just by their looks, so they very likely spent a few years knowing each other when they were younger. I think it'd have been really nice (and less subliminally creepy) if their relationship had been depicted as that of estranged siblings trying to reconnect. You don't see that story that often, and at least to me it'd feel more emotional than a love story that still kind of seems to come out of nowhere.

To get back to the criteria: The worst thing about Max is the fact that he is white. For a movie this heavy on the symbolism it is a major mistake.

First off, Max's whiteness doesn't even make sense in-universe. Most people we see on Earth are hispanic.

Is it me or does Max stand out in this?

The majority of white people we see lives on Elysium. The only other notable white character there is on Earth is the foreman at the factory where Max works. And with his name - Max da Costa - our protagonist should, if not fully hispanic, be mixed-race, which Matt Damon decidedly is not; and I doubt that the film makers couldn't find a good mixed-race actor for the role, or at least someone who looks the part.

When you look at Max's ethnicity from an out-of-universe standpoint the problem becomes even worse. All the villains in the movie - Defense Secretary Delacourt, Agent Kruger and his cronies, and John Carlyle - are white, which makes perfect sense considering the "rich vs. poor" angle it takes, since in real life poverty rates are way lower among white people than they are among non-white people. However, having the movie's protagonist also be white makes this analogy fall apart.

What makes Max's whiteness even worse is that it makes the movie just drip with white savior syndrome. This syndrome is, at its core, a trope where a white person (usually a man) plays a leading role in saving a group of non-white people from their plight. It's quite an old concept that's connected to one of the justifications for colonialism, namely that the natives of the colonized areas were worth less than white people and needed them to "lead them to civilization". When it appears in fiction it, among other things, perpetuates the notion that non-white people can't save themselves, that they need a white person to do that, which makes it inherently racist.

Changing any of the above mentioned five criteria, especially the ethnicity, about the main character would already improve the movie. However, my suggestion doesn't just involve letting the protagonist be played by a different actor, but actually changing the focus of the movie to an entirely different character: Spider.

Spider is a people smuggler that Max goes to for help in getting to Elysium, and I think his story would be more interesting to see than that of Max, who is a more conventional cinematic hero. The movie raises more questions about Spider (starting with why he’s called that) than it does about Max, as I'll go into in more detail later. (And just to make it clear: I don't think a movie has to clear up every single mystery there is about a character to be good. What are headcanons for?)                                                                                                  

Matt Damon's wikipedia page describes his role in Elysium as a "former car-thief-turned-factory-worker". I mean... yeah. That's exciting. Elysium's own wiki page describes Spider as "something between an opportunistic entrepreneur and a modern day Robin Hood". Now that's a guy I wanna see a movie about!

Another argument in Spider's favor is that he only fits two of the five criteria: He's a cis male, because his actor is, and I don't necessarily think he'd have to be changed. Certainly not because of a lack of talent. Spider is played by Wagner Moura, who, outside of his home country of Brazil, is probably best known for his portrayal of Pablo Escobar  on Netflix's Narcos, for which he received a Golden Globe nomination.

If you want to see his abilities for yourself, you can watch this

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WA4oayRbfRo                                     

scene from the movie and this

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e4zxaHT-GJU 

interview, in which Wagner also mentions something I'm going to talk about later. (And yes, that IS the same guy.)

Here are the ways in which Spider doesn't necessarily fit the other three criteria:

First off, his sexuality is not mentioned or alluded to in the movie at all. If it was remade he could easily be written to be gay or bi- or pan- or asexual or any other sexuality there is. Or the remake could take the same approach the original movie already did: Decide that Spider's love life is not important to the story and leave it out completely, which would also make for a nice change, honestly.

Then, as I've said before, Wagner Moura is Brazilian, which likely means that Spider is, too, since Wagner kept his Portuguese accent when playing him. So he's not technically by US standards white. The accent also means that Spider must have grown up speaking Portuguese, so either he is an immigrant from Brazil or his parents were, which begs the question: How and why did he or his family end up in LA?

Third, Spider has a brace on his right leg and walks with a cane and a limp. What caused this, whether it was an injury or a disease, is not specified, and I don't think it needs to be. Everyone can draw their own conclusions (and I've had a lot of fun drawing mine. Never has research about knee injuries been so exciting). I think that issue is part of what's keeping him from physically taking part in heists himself. At one point in the movie he tells Max that there's a job he needs done and complains that none of the people working for him "had the balls". I think he might have just done it himself if it wasn't for that problem with his leg; I wouldn't put it past him.

That limp also illustrates something about Spider which gives him a lot of depth (Wagner also explains it in that interview I linked to): Spider's whole business is sending people to Elysium so they can get medical care, but he never once tries to go there himself. He's very proud that he's not part of that system, and he's probably proud of his limp, too, precisely because it shows that. This makes his disability important to the story without it being the focal point.

Casting Spider as the hero also makes sense from a story-telling perspective, because Secretary Delacourt is the movie's main villain. Max has very little to do with her, whereas she and Spider are diametrically opposed enemies: In their very first scenes they're fighting each other; he's trying to get Earth citizens into Elysium while she's doing her best to keep them out, which includes killing over half of them. That they don't personally know each other, nor ever meet, only makes this aspect of the story more powerful to me.

The biggest question the movie leaves unanswered about Spider (even though it is alluded to; Max mentions it directly) is why he does what he does at all. He's certainly not in it for the money. THIS:

is his expression when he gets THAT message about three shuttles that tried to reach Elysium. That's not a happy expression. That's not even an indifferent expression! I think we can safely presume that getting smuggled to Elysium is a "pay in advance" affair, so if Spider did only do it for the money, why should he care if they actually make it there or not? Maybe the shuttle pilots were friends of his, but if he was close enough to them to mourn them would he really have them risk their lives for the cash only?

Yet he keeps trying to send people up there, even though the success rates are anything but great, extrapolating from what we see in the movie (and I actually did the math on this): The two shuttles that get shot down result in 46 casualties, so there were about 23 people on each shuttle. The people on the shuttle that reaches Elysium end up as 34 arrests and another 13 casualties. This means their shuttle was much more crowded than the other two, since it was carrying 47 people. Only one person managed to get healed before being arrested.

In summary: The chances of actually making it to Elysium in a big group of people are about fifty fifty, and the chances of getting healed are considerably slimmer than that, namely about 1 in 93.

When Max first asks him for a ticket to Elysium Spider basically tells him to piss off and insinuates that he tells most people who ask him for one the same thing, so he's probably not doing it out of the pure goodness of his heart, either, especially considering the odds. He only offers Max a job when he's assured that he's dying. My theory is that he sticks to that approach when smuggling people to Elysium, too, and that's why he asks for such a hefty sum of money: Dying people are more desperate, and desperate people are more likely to find a way to bring up the money.

When Max brings him the data with which he can change Elysium's programming, Spider's immediate reaction is "We can save everyone". He's not the typical gangster boss you'd see in his position in a movie, and with this outlook he's way more of a hero than Max, who's really only in this to save his own ass. Spider's the actual leader of the revolution, and it'd make sense to make the movie about him.

This is one of Spider's tattoos. I think it illustrates his goal very well, and that he had it done emphasizes its importance to him once again. 60:22 probably refers to a bible verse from the Book of Isaiah. There are multiple possible translations, and your interpretation depends on which one you pick, so I didn’t put one here, but I do encourage you to look it up; there’s a link in the sources down below.

There's another issue that comes up when Max takes the data to Spider that I'd like to know more about: Spider finds out exactly what the data is, i.e. a reboot program for Elysium, by looking at the raw code for under five seconds. I'm no expert on the subject, but I think you'd have to be really good at coding to pull something like that off. So then my question is: Where did Spider learn that, and why?

The last thing that I find very interesting about Spider happens in one of the final scenes of the movie: When Spider realizes that taking the reboot data out of Max's brain will kill him, he tells him. (Well, he would have if Max hadn't known already.) And that is a moment that reveals a lot about Spider's character. He's probably waited for a chance like this for a very long time, and if he doesn't use it he won't get another one any time soon. He could just press the button and be done with it, yet he doesn't. He tells Max what will happen and he lets him say goodbye to Frey via radio even though the enemy is literally right at the door.

And I also think if Max had said that he doesn't want to die, Spider wouldn't have killed him. He'd have argued, yes, but not outright killed him. If he would why would he bring it up in the first place? (And if he had, in fact, done it after all, he wouldn't have just coldly shrugged it off.)

All in all I believe Spider would have been a better choice for Elysium's protagonist because he's more varied, more interesting and more likeable than Max.

I'm aware Neill Blomkamp might not have gotten the funding for this project if he hadn't gone for a white male lead, because that's unfortunately how Hollywood works, and then we wouldn't have a movie at all. 

I really like Elysium. I've seen it about 16 times since I first watched it almost a year ago. But maybe that is because I'm good at seeing movies (and TV shows) for what they could have been instead of for what they are. I wouldn't discourage anyone from watching Elysium, especially because I'm looking for people to discuss it with and the fandom is woefully small. It has its flaws, some might even say many flaws, but if you can keep that in mind while also looking past it there's a really great story to be found there, provided you're willing to do a little digging.

I have many more headcanons about this movie (mostly, but not only, about Spider) that I didn't touch on here, so if you're interested in those: Hit me up. I'd really appreciate it.

Let me end this "little" essay with a guess as to what Spider's name might mean. I have no clue if it's what Neill or whoever named him had in mind when they did, but it fits and I think it's pretty neat:

What are spiders known for?

Their webs.

Sources:

My DVD of Elysium https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elysium_(film) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/District_9 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hispanic_and_Latino_Americans https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latino https://www.quora.com/Are-Brazilians-considered-white-or-Latinos https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Film_industry#Hollywood http://kff.org/other/state-indicator/poverty-rate-by-raceethnicity/?currentTimeframe=0 http://www.prb.org/wpds/2014/ (Graph: Child Poverty) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Percent_poverty_world_map.png https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_savior_narrative_in_film https://bitchmedia.org/post/a-future-without-me-matt-damon-is-the-great-white-hope-in-elysium-race-feminist-movie-review https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matt_Damon http://elysiumfilm.wikia.com/wiki/Spider http://lrmonline.com/news/2013/04/stills-elysium http://biblehub.com/isaiah/60-22.htm http://rosettedelacroix.com/?p=392

[golfiyauniversity00]

The Secret to Improving Your Golf Scores - Three Basic Elements

When I was working to improve and became a single-digit handicap golfer, I reached a point where it was difficult to find things to work on to continue to lower my handicap. I found the best way to do that was by hitting the most important shot in golf, well. And that's the next shot that I am hitting. Improvement beyond a certain point becomes an issue of working on three fairly basic elements; (1)    continually revisiting and fine tuning the fundamentals (2)    setting objectives for your play (3)    tracking your results to provide insights as to what you need to practice.

How important is it to focus on the fundamentals? My father and I attended a practice round at the U. S. Open in 1992 and I must say I was absolutely shocked to look down the line of pro golfers and see one of them hitting teed up 7 irons in the middle of a practice station setup, with irons placed on the ground aligned on his intended ball fight and parallel to his toe line. His dad was watching him hit and he appeared to be absolutely striping the ball, but they were teed 7 irons for goodness sake! He stood out like a sore thumb among the other pros. He was working on some fundamentals and he did not care about what he looked like or what people thought of his efforts. If you correctly guessed that the golfer was Tom Kite, then you know the rest of the story, as he went on to win the U.S. Open that year at Pebble Beach.

The Fundamentals. If the pros must work and fine tune and constantly double check their fundamentals, then I would submit that it is likely the only thing the average golfer should be focusing on (the average golfer being that 15 handicap who does not improve from year to year). I recommend Ben Hogan's Five Lessons, The Modern Fundamentals of Golf as the place to start, to revisit, to check and to return to as you practice. While there are other good golf books, much like Johnny Miller, I consider it the golfer's bible. When you hit balls on the range or before you play a round, your objective should be to focus on getting the fundamentals correct and to find out how you are striking it that day. Then, as Sam Snead often said, "dance with the one what brung you." If you are fading or slicing the ball or drawing or hooking it on the range, allow for that shot tendency until it works out of your swing in favor of your normal shot. If you consistently fade the ball, then allow for it and aim appropriately. They say you should never aim where a straight shot will hurt you, but "they" have likely never hit a shot that sliced 50 or 60 yards. If you do, then allow for it.

Setting Objectives. The objectives you set for your play should increasingly focus on the elements, the achievement of which will improve your scores. The basic elements are hitting the ball in the fairway and hitting greens in regulation or in a sufficient number of strokes so that you have two putts to par the hole. Even most pros average under70% in each of these categories, but they are compromising accuracy for distance or position in most cases. Besides, their short games are so good that they are able to get the ball up and down routinely. The worse the golfer or the higher the handicap, the more the focus should be on getting the ball in the fairway. Most times you will find the opposite tendency, that is, the higher handicap is thinking about distance or just attempting to hit the ball, rather than picking out a good target and setting an objective of hitting the ball to that target in the fairway. In fact, this is a good test to put yourself through. At some point during your next round, step away from the ball and check the following (1) what is your target? (2) what is the path, trajectory or ball flight you planned to get there (3) what is your starting aim point? If you find that you did not have objectives along these lines, it should not be a surprise to you that you are failing to achieve the objective (that you have not set). It may be that you discover through this drill that you need to work on your pre-shot routine! It is much easier to play from the fairway and you can make a marked improvement in your game by keeping the ball in play. A great side benefit to keeping the ball close to the fairway (all things being equal) is that it helps you avoid making big numbers that tend to ruin your golf score. Similarly, hitting greens in regulation is a product of getting the ball in position to reach the green and taking enough club to hit the ball the distance to get there. A golfer looking to improve should be striving to get more than 10 fairways and 10 greens in regulation each round.

Tracking Results and Practice. I like to hit golf balls and I am continually amazed at the correlation I see between lousy swings and bad practice habits. I will be about 70 balls into a 125 ball bucket and have yet to touch a wood, but all around me golfers are banging woods, grunting and sweating to pound the ball out of sight. Good golfers spend the bulk of their time or at least equal amounts of their practice time on the short game. The way to improve your scores is to make two shots out of three by getting the ball up and down. Tracking your results will give you insight into what you need to practice. For example, good golfers average 30 putts a round or less and you should do better than that if you are doing worse than them in greens in regulation. The more greens you miss, the less putts you should have if you want to score well. If you missed every green in regulation and two putted every one of them the best you could shoot is 18 over par! If you are not hitting greens in regulation, the odds are you are not playing good positional golf by hitting the ball in the fairway. But it may be that your average approach to the green is less than a comfortable distance. That can be practiced on the range. I like to work a 5 and a 6 iron with a knockdown swing to hit the ball 175-180 yards or so, depending on the wind, as a distance that is right at the threshold of a tough shot for me (based on the results of my play). You should have a similar distance or sweet spot defining your comfort level, below which you are comfortable and above which represents a caution light. Your results will tell you which elements to work on and if it turns out to be all of them (e.g., fairways, greens, putting, short game) then you can plan your practice accordingly by prioritizing your efforts. In previous articles I covered some of these elements and also addressed the concept of playing golf more strategically, as well as providing a methodology to track your play. When all is said and done, improving your golf [https://golfuniversityau.com/] is about consistently executing the fundamentals and keeping big numbers off your scorecard.