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octuscle · 2 months

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Blood is thicker than water

Peter hated being out in the fresh air. He had hated working on the farm ever since he had had to help his grandparents muck out the barn during the summer vacation. Yes, there weren't many other ways to earn money here in Lincoln now. But Nebraska wasn't Peter's future either. He was very sure of that. His future would be somewhere in New York, Singapore or London. Somewhere where the big money was. That's where he wanted to go. And that was where he belonged.

The job at the local bank wasn't that glamorous yet. But it was the starting point. Working at the cash desk, processing loan applications, it was all just a prelude to the glittering world of investment banking and hedge funds. He was hardworking, he was smart and charming. And he looked incredibly good in a suit.

When the board called him into his office, Peter saw his big moment had come. He adjusted his tie knot, took a deep breath, knocked and entered the office of his top boss. "Peter, good to see you, have a seat!" Mr. Harrison greeted him. "I hear wonderful things from you. I thought it was long overdue to meet you in person." Peter had to make an effort to stay cool. "As you probably know, the head of our corporate client department is being replaced. And even though you're actually a bit young for a position as head of department, I've been advised to consider you." Strike, thought Peter. "However, I have a, shall we say, delicate task… But if you master it successfully, I have no doubts that you are the right man for the job." A few minutes later, Peter wished he had never started at the bank.

The farm he was on his way to belonged to his uncle Cleatus. It had once been his grandparents' farm. His mother's parents' farm. Not the one where he had had the humiliating experience in the cowshed. This was his father's parents' farm. Damn it, he thought to himself. I must have manure running through my veins. I come from a clan of cows. "Anyone home?" he called out as he arrived in the yard between the stables and the house. The farm looked run-down. He hadn't been here for a long time. Suddenly he heard someone loading a shotgun. "I'm not expecting visitors!" Peter heard a harsh voice. Peter turned around and grinned as friendly as he could. "Hi Uncle Cleatus! It's me, Peter" "Peter, damn it, why are you in disguise? You look like an asshole from the bank!" Peter gulped. This was going to be fun. His uncle invited him into the large kitchen. It was dirty and untidy. Peter saw the pile of unopened post. He took a deep breath, declined the offered beer and began: "Uncle Cleatus, I'm actually not here by choice. And let me get straight to the point: I'm one of those assholes from the bank…"

"Junior!" roared Cleatus. "Say goodbye to your cousin!" Peter looked down the barrel of the shotgun. It hadn't gone as well as he had hoped when he told his uncle that the farm would have to be foreclosed. "Junior, now!". The floor shook as Junior approached the kitchen. It was beginning to stink. Slurry, sweat… And then his cousin Junior stood in front of him. A colossus! He took him in his arms and almost crushed him. "Throw him out, the asshole!" Peter lost the ground beneath his feet. Junior carried him out into the yard. And threw him into the mud. He lay in mud, cow shit and manure. Peter picked himself up and turned around. He wanted to protest. But one look in Junior's direction was enough. And he took off in the direction of the town.

Something was strange… Peter should actually feel humiliated and bad. But he was fine. The dirt on his ruined suit was drying. He was sweating in the warm air. He whistled a song. He was doing well. Of course, his uncle's farm hadn't been saved, but at least he hadn't put his own family out on the street. Shit, that wouldn't be worth a promotion on this planet either. He was beginning to develop pride in his grandparents' accomplishments working this land. They had made this country great. That made him very proud. And he was growing, without realizing it, in his suit.

He had parked his car outside on the country road so as not to get it dirty on the muddy dirt track. Peter now stripped out of his dirty suit on the road and sat in the car half naked so as not to soil the seats. The suit lay crusty, but neatly folded, in the trunk. It wasn't the end of the day yet. He had to report to the bank. He needed something to wear. And, given the way he smelled of cow shit and manure, a shower, too. Peter scratched his chin to think. His chin was scratchy. Very scratchy. And his upper arm looked kind of powerful. His cock in his boxer shorts was getting hard. Shit, what was he going to do now? Fortunately, he remembered the workwear store at the entrance to the town. He would find something to wear there. Maybe nothing from an Italian designer. But it would certainly be better than underwear.

The waitress in the store looked as if she was always serving men in their underwear. Peter mumbled that he needed something for the office. The waitress nodded understandingly and said that a guy who was built like him was certainly not the kind of person who would fit into an office. Peter didn't understand, but nodded. "Go into the changing room, I'll bring you something," said the sales assistant. Peter did as he was told. He looked in the mirror. Yes, he was a man who, in his underwear, you would probably expect to see as a construction worker or tree cutter. Arms like his didn't really fit into a shirt. "You look like you have an appointment at the bank," said the sales clerk. "You'll want to look respectable." Peter actually wanted to say that he worked at the bank. But somehow he had the feeling that wasn't true… "Yes, I have a farm to save," Peter replied. "Shit situation," replied the salesman. "Bankers are all vultures!"

When Peter arrived back at his small office, where he was a corporate account manager, he took a deep breath. Yes, he too was a vulture. But not as bad as the money-grabbing careerists up there. He was a passionate banker. He wanted to help people. His people. Before he called Mr. Harrison, he took a deep breath. His huge chest rose and fell. He reeked of sweat in his cheap polyester shirt. And after his visit to the farm, he probably had cow shit in the treads of his rough boots. But he just wasn't the type for penny loafers and Egyptian cotton shirts. He was a guy from Nebraska. Even if he did work in a bank.

The conversation with Mr. Harrison went as Peter had expected. You couldn't expect sympathy from a man like that. And Peter didn't want to work with a man like that again. He had saved hard. His dream had been to buy a house in the suburbs soon. But now there were more important things. One word followed the next in the phone call with Mr. Harrison. Until Peter plucked up his courage and told the vulture to stick his money up his ass. Peter would pay off his uncle's debts. And then turn his back on the bank. He threw his tie in the garbage can. And unbuttoned his shirt. Free! Free at last!

Junior was quite a challenge. His cousin was a few weeks older than him. And he hadn't been softened up by working in the city. But Pete had been living on the farm for a few weeks now and, thanks to his cooperation, there was a silver lining. The auction was off the table. Everything would be fine. And at the next wrestling match in the cowshed, Junior would lose and Pete would win. And the winner would get his cock sucked by the loser. Life on the farm was wonderful!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #age progression #ai image #redneck tf

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lu-dao-writes · 7 months

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— 𝘾𝙤𝙬𝙗𝙤𝙮!𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙉𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙞

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 A man rejects corporate life and becomes a cowboy.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) No reader (yet), mentions of church but nothing deep, Nanami basically getting adopted by a black couple 😊, cottagecore!nanami(?), cowboy!nanami, quickly typed up.

𝘼/𝙉 I’m getting bad brainrot of this man as a cowboy…So here ya go!!🤠🐎 ༘ ೀ⋆ ꒱ྀི

- Left the corporate world when he finally realized just how shit it is and how he’s unhappy with it and only helping the wealthy in the end.

- Moved to the states and found himself buying an abandoned farm house.

- Nanami likes being productive, so fixing the house little by little was a nice challenge.

- Nanami liked to keep to himself as usual, but it became impossible when he became very close with his neighbors.

- The Johnsons were a married couple who owned a Cajun and Soul food restaurant that was in town. They came to his home with a delicious gift: piping hot, mouthwatering food.

- Nanami couldn’t help but enjoy their company and appreciate their kindness. Especially when he expressed interest in wanting to cook and bake.

- Desiree, aka Mrs Johnson, was delighted to teach Nanami some recipes and they had regularly scheduled meetings, the woman singing praises to the man she likes to call her son.

- And Desmond, Mr Johnson, loved to help Nanami out with fixing up his home and giving him tips for if and when he decides to start adding animals into his life.

- The Johnsons had two kids, but they’re grown. One is more focused on life in the city, and the other… The other is unfortunately a troublemaker that they don’t like to talk too much about.

- The Johnsons were also so very kind enough to offer Nanami a position at their restaurant.

- The town has its annual contests and at first Nanami was content to just watch, but eventually he got pushed to join in. His favorite is the baking contest.

- Once the house was to his liking, Kento finally decided to take in animals, starting off with a hen and a rooster, and a cow.

- He named the rooster after Gojo because of how loud that feathery creature can be, and that’s literally his alarm clock.

- Nanami also got into making food for the community, helping Desiree cook food for the church and for people in need.

- He also did a few odd jobs for people for some side cash and of course to just help.

- He likes that he’s actually contributing to something good for the community.

- Nanami soon got a horse and adopted a stray cat and dog, naming the horse after Geto, the feline after Shoko, and the hound dog was named after Yu.

- Kento enjoys his life. It’s constant work, but he likes to stay busy. He enjoys waking up to care for the animals, visiting the Johnson’s (he definitely was invited to the cookout/family reunion), helping his new community, making wine, knitting, and baking for competitions.

And things get a little more interesting when a new neighbor comes into town…~.

#𝐉𝐉𝐊✩ ̇ ┈•ﾟ #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk kento #jjk nanami #kento nanami #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #black reader #nanami kento x black reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #cowboy nanami #kento nanami x reader

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darkrooklobby · 26 days

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🦜Apollo Justice trilogy (the rant/analysis)🎵✨

Welcome! Allow me to specify what this rant is about:

The game, Apollo Justice (2007 - 2008)

The characters (Apollo, Phoenix, and the Gavin brothers)

The wasted potential (i.e. the other games) (I'm most familiar with AA1-4 the others i've briefly looked at)

Just angry thoughts at 3am

[⚠️SPOILERS FOR APOLLO JUSTICE + TRILOGY!⚠️]

[also the ⚪bulleted points⚪ are facts, the rest is my subjective yapping]

Before I begin my rant, here's some basic information about the game's development:

It's the last game directed by Shu Takumi. The rest of the trilogy is directed by his assistant (Takeshi Yamazaki) meanwhile Shu was busy with the Professor Layton crossover + The great ace attorney.

Capcom literally demanded to insert Phoenix into the game. Shu was against putting Phoenix in, feeling that his story has already come to a natural conclusion, stating, "I felt that Phoenix's story had been told, and that the series should not continue. Knowing when to end a story is very important and I wanted to avoid dragging it out and having it become a shadow of its former self." (Takumi)

In the end, Shu was forced to put Phoenix in, and we got hobo Phoenix, or as I like to call him, Beanix.

Okay so, a brief pause. From what we already know, there is a conflict of interests during development. We have a small group of artists that did a small project called ✨Ace Attorney✨ and then the corporate realized they're sitting on a goldmine. Capcom did not want their mascot, their cash cow, Phoenix Wright, to go just yet. Shu (who wanted a fresh start, and creative freedom) was torn, his team was torn between letting Phoenix go and bringing him in, and you notice that in the game as it goes back and forth. It goes between Phoenix being a main character, interfering, or disappearing for long periods of time. It was on and off, just like their arguments - corporate vs. creative freedom, old vs. the new.

It creates an... odd atmosphere throughout the game. This indecision and forcefulness. Opinions vary 🙃

The corporate unfortunately won. We had Phenix back, not in his former glory, but as a character. (Result? Apollo feels less like a protagonist, suffering, feeling irrelevant in his own game. Not always, of course! But most of the time...)

Facts continue! Apollo Justice (AA4) is the last game with 2D sprites, with some rare 3D elements. (Like Cheeto Klavier🧡)

btw, here's some name puns and meanings:

Apollo is literally named after the god of truth.

"Klavier" means "Piano" in German 🎹 - his Japanese name, Kyoya, means, "to echo/resound".

Kristoph's Japanese name, Kirihito (霧人), when reversed (人斬り - hitokiri) literally translates to "the killer".

Trucy's name pun, Trucy Wright, is supposed to sound like "see-through" (tru-through cy-see)

Lamiror = mirror, Wocky Kitaki = Walkie-Talkie, Drew Misham = Draw-me-a-sham, etc.

Okay, so. About the 1️⃣first case1️⃣: It's a widely accepted opinion that the first trial is the best one, and it's hard to disagree. It's a completely new thing (almost as if Shu was planning on starting an entirely new trilogy without Phenix Wright! Can you imagine?!--) and because the first trial is so good, with a great twist and a fun conclusion, other trials pale in comparison. Let's see, we have a new quirky protagonist (he's fine) a gentleman for a mentor (a character with depth, as we will come to know) a fallen attorney with shady history (Mr. Phenix Wright) along a complex, yet understandable, mystery. What is lovely about the first case is that it makes you think just enough, the trial flows nicely for the sub-plot to come out, and the twist is perfect.

Of course, I imagine that Japanese players might have seen the twist coming a bit earlier, looking at Kristoph's name-pun, but all-in-all it's a great start! The question is - is it a great start for the new franchise that Shu wanted to make? Is it a great start for Apollo as an attorney and as a character? ...Or, is it a great start, for the old greedy company to push good old Phoenix back into spotlight and collect more money? 🤔🤔🤔

Here's some facts about the direction the game hoped to take:

The game delved into darker themes on purpose, like a "grown up" version of Ace attorney for the next generation. It was hoping to shift the tone from the previous three games more towards realism. (AA1 was a bit comedic, we cross-examined a parrot, the crimes were less complex compared to AA3. With AA4, the idea was to make AA3 but better.) It tried to set Apollo as a more independent lawyer, trusting no one, without any mentor (like Mia in previous games) coming back every other case.

With the first case, Apollo becomes independent in a sense, but... well.

Apollo basically third-wheeled in Phoenix/Kristoph divorce. That's basically what happened in that trial. Somehow, we managed to shift all the attention from Apollo's character growth into these two men. Apollo's independent now because he got left alone in the trash while the AA team tries to figure out what the fuck to do with Phoenix and how to shove the whole thing together.

The entire game was made with the idea of change, a fresh start & fresh blood in mind! We don't get much character growth from the main characters AT ALL because, at some point in development, there was a decision made: They thought they will make a sequel. AA games so far relied on story continuity, chronological events, time passing, characters evolving, events making an impact on the characters, etc.

Apollo Justice, a beginning game of a trilogy, was written specifically in a way to have a sequel. There were things left unanswered for a reason. They took things slow, and the idea of the sequel was planned to go more into the Gramarye troupe, Gavin brothers, and Apollo's family. (Shu even had an entire backstory written for the Gavin brothers, but it was scrapped by the new team) (I'll get into it later.) This was also the reason why the game had potential, but never went all the way. The plot was more complex, and was made specifically with a direct continuation in mind, which never came to pass. We instead got... an entire rework. (again, i'll get into it later 😂)

Some art facts, since i'm an artist: They were thinking over a few variants of the character designs before they settled on the current ones. They wanted to have a protagonist more energetic than Phoenix, more blunt, an idealist, less bluffing, like a new generation kid kinda-thing. Apollo has distinct spiky hair, is different, is less tall, has a wide forehead... did you know, the design team had a few designs with different forehead wide-nesses? Wild. Apollo's color scheme is Godot's inverted, and as far away from Phoenix's dark blue design as possible (gee I wonder why...)

(Also, the Gavin brothers originally had two mirrored pointy hair-swirls, resembling pharaoh head covers, and I think that's dope as hell)

Either way, you must admit that the designs for this game are more detailed, colorful, animated, and beautiful. Honestly!!! 💖 The art direction did splendidly, and I'm glad at least that aspect wasn't affected by the disagreements of the company vs. writers :)

Fun fact: The game sold well, actually. Back in the day, people were into original ideas, instead of everything getting a live-action remake nobody asked for, an animated reimagining, and an unnecessary second part. (...Can you tell I'm dissing Disney? You can.)

Now that I'm at a point where I can speak of continuations, let's see what happened: The game released as is. It had a story, sometimes a bit awkward because of the team vs. company disagreements being physically felt through the script. People bought it and the fandom was immediately split down the middle into various factions. (Again, I was young, but this point of contention is strong even today.)

People who liked the new ideas, characters, and plot, and liked Phoenix Wright being there.

People who liked the new ideas, characters, and plot, but disliked Phoenix Wright's presence. (my stance right now)

People who disliked the new things because they wanted the same old Phoenix Wright games. They wanted everything that has already concluded, to continue. (my stance 6 years ago - Since it wasn't believable that a guy like Phoenix Wright, with so many friends, would end up like this. It was so unrealistic to me, so odd, that I refused to see this game as canonical. Literal denial 🥲🥲🥲)

People who disliked the game despite being ready for new content, just because.

Next up, 7 YEARS PASS.

Yup. The disagreement, the dissatisfaction from the creators vs. company, split fan reactions, despite a fine profit, caused a change of direction, and a rift. Characters and story-lines forgotten. Literally.

The next entries after Apollo Justice don't mention the events of it -because of a company-enforced "no spoiler/connection" restrictions. Capcom created the restriction to appeal to new fans, while not spoiling previous games so they might be compelled to play them. (Again, corporate wins over… continuity, this time.) - Which means the bare minimum of character growth and history we could have seen IS NOW GONE and will never be brought into relevancy again. (unless I missed something from the 3D games, in which case let me know.)

And we get a complete overhaul, while going back to the classic AA, but this time we get a new cast to focus on and begin again and we pretend Apollo Justice doesn't exist! (Rant number 4, here we go 🥴)

My main rant so far would be about wasted potential and creative differences. Yes, they weren't strong enough to do a clean break from the past (Capcom forcing Phoenix back, not letting him "die" even though his story concluded) Yes, there's wasted potential because character growth of the protagonist is stunted by greed and confusion (Capcom demands? Fine. Phoenix must be here to appeal to all fans, for all the money. Ok. Cool. We can't be creative anymore and original ideas are shunned! 2008? Bah, nothing has changed in 2024!) and yes, the game's story suffers because of this, despite being very pleasing to look at (the sprites & animations don't hit quite the same anymore.)

I'm not even gonna go into how Apollo was forgotten and suddenly he has four backstories because he failed to establish himself solid in his introductory game without a planned sequel, and Capcom was like "Oh shit this guy exists, um, what do we do" - while also refusing to address and build upon plot points existing in the main game: Apollo had history in court. He had a character building event of incarcerating his mentor. Apollo already had family, which hasn't told him anything yet. He had Trucy. He had a courtroom rival, which he promised to rid of darkness. He gained a new mentor, a shady one, who he punched to the face! He saw the dark side of the law. He saw the "dark age of the law". He saw a better way to do things and fix the system with a jury, which was used once and forgotten about. He had a goal. He had potential... - but then he has been rebuilt and redesigned four times, given things he already had and replaced them and Capcom pulled a nonexistent best friend out of their ass out of nowhere just to give Apollo fake-depth and use (i had to look him up) CLAY TERRAN as A ONE-OFF PLOT POINT and I HATE BAD WRITING LIKE THAT, MAKING A CHARACTER that's just there for that one purpose and---🤬

I'm also not gonna go into the fact that a case-specific NPC gets more character growth than the main cast.

And I also won't rant about the 3D continuations of AA. All I'm gonna say is that, they shouldn't be under a name "Apollo Justice Trilogy" because, what the fuck happened to that guy. Who is he even? What? What game are you basing this on? Who?

The game was like a failed start to do something new... and not achieving it, stopping short of crossing the final line bravely.

This was 3 am. yapping, I hope to inspire discussion, roast my opinions I love to argue over nerdy shit 💖🥰💖

(sources: Ace Attorney Wiki, VGfacts, NezumiVA, AA_Facts on Twitter)

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agent-cakeshroom · 7 months

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Random thought(when is it not random??) to expand on later

Cash Cow JD AU

Dunno if an idea like this was done or not but hear me out. While hiking the Neverglades, maybe about 5 years after the band broke up(he's already gone back and thinks his bros are dead), JD final starts letting himself sing again. It starts as humming lullabies he used to sing for his brothers, turns into quietly singing the songs he wrote for Brozone, and ends up him just singing whatever he's doing. He strikes me as the type, when alone at least, to sing the randomest shit to fill the quiet. Well, during one of his better spontaneous songs, a suspicious individual overhears. Think Mount Rageon kind of design, but adult and much more corporately power hungry. He carefully sits out in the open while JD is singing, letting the Troll see him when he turns. It startles JD, but the guy acts so genuinely impressed that he puffs up proudly and brags a bit. The Evil Man(lmao) asks about why he quit singing for audiences, and John Dory doesn't quite get into it, but it's been so long since he really talked to someone. He's hesitant, but eventually opens up about his brothers and everything that happened. And that they're probably dead. Evil Man acts all sympathetic, but sees the sun is going down and mentions he has to return home. A fancy little city not too far(for his big ass legs at least). He invites John to come explore, and dude is intrigued and bored. So he hitches a ride on Evil Man's shoulder.

Things go south not too long after. Come to find out, Evil Man had a few other trolls "under his wing". Aka held hostage to act as idols under his name. Maybe varying genres? JD would be the Pop Troll to complete the little group, and is designated as lead man. John is like "uh no way, bye" but Evil Man has magic technology lol. Maybe bracelets that paralyze the wearer if they move too far from a certain area? Something along those lines. So JD is trapped.

With this, Floyd and Bruce hear about JD around the time just before the first movie. Maybe while that's going down, Floyd goes to see one of JD's shows and tries to talk to him. JD panics because Evil Man would 100% either exploit Floyd's talent or use him against JD. So big bro tries to make him leave by saying horrible things? Like "I'm more successful now than we ever were. Why would I leave? I've found my Perfect Harmony." He specifically drops that in to try and clue Floyd in that something is wrong. Floyd, being the empath he is, gets the hint and sneaks in a mention that he'd go find their other brothers then. By the time Floyd meets up with Bruce, the first movie has happened. Second movie happens, let's say, 3 months after? Not too long. As that's happening, Bruce and Floyd try to hunt down Clay. They finally find him when they all suddenly go gray. The strings were broken. John Dory's lil group feels it too, mid show, and it royally pisses off Evil Man. He cuts the music, and JD glances backstage to see the look on his face. He's about ready to legit murder the Trolls, but just in time JD feels a weird warmth in his chest. He goes off script, starts singing acapella and the rest of the group join in. Their color comes back, there's sparkles and magic in the air, and the crowd eats it up. They finish out the show, and Evil Man chews em out. John Dory explains he has no idea what happened, and they manage to get off without too much injury.

Bruce, Floyd, Clay, and Viva(after some convincing) leave to try and figure out what just happened. They hear about the Rockapocalypse over a radio(maybe they have a different mode of transportation? Rhonda comes in later). They hunt down Pop Village in no time, before the Bergen wedding, and find Branch and Poppy. Reunions!!!

As far as I've gotten, gotta get back to work. Will try to add more laterrrr

#dreamworks trolls #trolls john dory #john dory au #brozone #will i ever write a full blown fic?#prolly not #thats a lot

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milkywayhou · 6 months

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You've Got Email (König x OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART III

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl and now they develop some weird relationship.

Snow now overthinking about how fucked up her situation can be

TWs: Slow burn (not really), Implies stalking behavior. I just wrote this for fun.

Words Count: 1.9k (The email contain 1.3+ words while the rest was Snow's 4Chan post)

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From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 01:38 am

Subject: A late night conspiracy ramble…

Hey!

Once again it’s a late night and these weary med student brain cells are firing off all kinds of…interesting theories and connections, to say the least.

For example, okay hear me out, but what if Big Pharma is actually run by ancient shape-shifting lizard people from the center of the hollow earth who feed on human adrenal gland fluid harvested during rituals conducted at Bohemian Grove, and they started the pharmaceutical industry just to get us all addicted to medication so we’re docile little cash cows?!

I know, I know, it’s utterly ridiculous…buuuuut it would explain a few things haha! Anyways, somehow my winding thought process led me back to pondering your own doubtless intriguing backstory, oh mysterious Colonel.

You’ve given mysterious snippets here and there, but never a straight history lesson, you sly dog. Care to unravel some of those shadows for this thirsty student? Like how’d you get into this line of work anyway?

Maybe share something to take my mind off lizard people conspiracies before this insomnia kills me. You’ve got me curious now!

Conspiracizing but also bedridden,

Snow

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From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:01 am

Subject: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

You’ve a vivid imagination, to be sure. As for my own history…it’s nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid.

I grew up isolated, with only books as company. Social skills proved…challenging. The bullying was constant. All I wanted was to disappear into the quiet of nature, far from the incessant noise inside my head.

By 17 I was desperate to escape, and the military offered just that. I dreamed of being a sniper – controlling chaos from afar through calm precision. But my frame and restlessness didn’t suit remaining still for long. They saw potential elsewhere. They assigned as an insertion specialist instead. It was difficult, but taught discipline. In time I learned to turn noise into focus, chaos into strategy.

Now I protect others as I wished to be protected then. It brings…solace, of a kind. Purpose, where once was only turmoil.

Get some rest, Snow. Sweet dreams.

König

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From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:14 am

Subject: RE: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

I see.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how difficult those experiences must have been, but I’m grateful you found your calling in spite of them. It takes real strength of character to turn trauma into purpose like that.

Also, I should say the bullying says far more about their weakness of spirit than anything about you. Their loss, as it brought you to where you’re meant to be – helping people in your own way. I can’t help but smile thinking of a tiny bookworm König dreaming of sniping lizards in the woods! Well, you may not be in the trees anymore but it seems your aim is truer than ever.

Thinking on childhoods, mine wasn’t all sunshine either as an awkward kid. Let’s just say blending in was…challenging, to put it lightly. Between moving a lot after my parents split and living with various relatives, school was an escape into study. Seemed the safest route to gain some footing and make the family proud, at least. Kept me busy avoiding the realities outside books for a while too, I suppose. Somehow I suspect lonely bookworm me and you may have gotten along splendidly if our paths crossed back then!

Anyways, not sure where I’m going with this aside from reflecting our younger selves may have found solace in one another, strange as that sounds now in these roles. At least we’ve come into our own in the end, in our own ways. Small favors and all that.

Just a light note before sleep – rest well, König!

Your friend,

Snow

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From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:27 pm

Subject: Essay Woes and Cadaver Flashbacks

Ugh,

My apologies for this incoherent word vomit you’re about to endure. I’m approximately 5-7 days into an all-nighter essay crunch and my last two brain cells are DANCING.

This final assignment is killing me dead but at least after it’s over I can finally be done with med school! *insert jubilant celebration emoji* Of course that’s if I don’t starve to death first living off instant ramen. I’m positively wasting away without a decent meal. At this rate they’ll be teaching anatomy lectures using my lifeless body.

Whoever invents a magic food delivery service that beams freshly cooked meals directly to overworked students is getting a freaking Nobel Prize. A girl can dream, right? At this point I’d kill a man for a good pizza. *hideshypotheticalmurderweaponbehindback*

Anyways, in my spiral of delirium my thoughts keep wandering back to that fateful day months ago when I randomly received your classified KorTac email out of nowhere. Still bewildered how you even had my address to begin with…were you watching me, Colonel? *pretends to be frightened but is secretlyflattered*

Getting that file was kinda scary at first, not gonna lie. Reminded me of the first time we received our cadavers – that creepy feeling of being watched even after leaving the lab. Is that what it’s like being you, always paranoid someone has intel on you? :)

Anyways, enough gibbering – just wanted to share my pain and also wonder again how our wacky email friendship began! Stay safe out there in whatever shady places your work takes you. And send help – I mean, good luck with all the classified stuff!

Tired and Hangry,

Snow

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:40 pm

Subject: WHAT DID YOU DO

KÖNIG I SWEAR TO GOD

I LITERALLY JUST GOT A DELIVERY AT MY DOOR. IT WAS PIZZA AND IT WAS ALREADY PAID FOR

DUDE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HACK INTO MY LOCATION OR SOME SHIT. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE??

I’M FREAKING OUT A LITTLE NOT GONNA LIE. I KNOW YOU HAVE ACCESS TO SHADY TECH BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T TRACK ME DOWN

I was joking in my last email! Sort of! Please say this was all just a coincidence. I don’t need some extra secret stalker on top of everything else ;____;

Explain yourself soldier man!!! My paranoia can only be quelled with answers.

Sending mildly panicked regards,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:12 pm

Subject: RE: WHAT DID YOU DO

Snow,

I assure you, any capabilities related to surveillance are reserved strictly for operations.

As for your delivery, consider it a small kindness from one overworked soul to another. Now eat, regain strength, and get back to that essay. You’ve proven quite resourceful in pulling secrets from shadows. But some mysteries deserve to remain.

Worry not and carry on with your studies.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:25 pm

Subject: Spill. Everything. Now.

I appreciate the pizza bailout, don’t get me wrong. But my paranoia has now reached DEFCON 1 levels and it WILL NOT stand down until I get some answers. So spill. Just how much do you actually know about me? Do you have my address on file somewhere? Photos? Socials? Pet peeves? Middle name??

I understand need-to-know for operations, but this is need-to-know for my own peace of mind. Please assuage these frazzled med student nerves and assure me you’re not some mysterious stalker Colonel (unless that’s just part of your charm). I’ll even send new Luna's pics in return! Consider it a debriefing – you give, you get. Otherwise the wheels will keep spinning in my head…

Sincerely (and only mildly obsessively),

Snow

----------

>>Anonymous

05/29/23(Mon)22:37:10 No:132926391

Colonel Stalker Dude is freaking me out

Image: [Confused pepe scratching head.jpg 230kb, 400x400]

>Be me, a totally tired out and broke student

>Remember getting those shady files months ago

>Thought Colonel dude was cool and weird pen pal

>Even started to like him after long talks

>But NOW he knows my address???

>WTF how long has he been watching me

>On one hand it’s creepy AF but kinda flattering a high rank dude cares

>Other hand I don't want a secret stalker or to get disappeared

>Free food is nice but feeling stalked is not cash money

>Used to have bit of crush but now I'm skeeved TBH

>What do? Can't go to cops cuz questions. No close friends/fam

>Too broke to move or change info

>Maybe he’s just lonely but also maybe he climbs in my window ;____;

>What if he takes my organs in the night like some human harvester?!

>Only protection is my cat Luna and she's useless in a fight ;_;

>Try to be positive and asking him how much he know

>Currently waiting for his replied while I was writing this post

>Anons pls help, should I keep talking to possible stalker man?

Don’t want my organs harvested but also don’t wanna waste a free food connection

Very conflicted and slightly paranoid this girl is in DIRE need of advice

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)22:45:19 No:132926405: >>132926391(OP)#

Sounds like a thriller romance novel lol! He probs just cares in his own intense way. Keep talking but be safe, maybe feel him out more? Could be nnothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:16:08 No:132926439: >>132926405#

IKR it does sound like a book! But what if it’s a prequel to a snuff film?! I’ll try to subtly find out wtf he knows without pissing him off…

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:37:12 No:132926502: >>132926391(OP)#

LOL girl chill no one climbin in ur windows. He prolly just admires ur spirit. Keep lines of comms open, set boundaries if needed but relax!

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:45:01 No:13292623: >>132926502#

You’re right, I do overthink! I’ll calm my farm. Thank u stranger, maybe he’s just a bored soldier man and not a psycho (´。＿。｀)

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:25:31 No:13292684: >>132926391(OP)#

Change ur info anyway, maybe he won’t go to ur new stuff. And get some locks/alarms jfc. Play it safe.

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:42:44 No:13292692: >>13292684#

Can’t change anything, I used my student email! And too broke for moves or upgrades, these loans gotta last :’( but self defense is a must, thanks!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:28:19 No:132922735: >>132926391(OP)#

Send Luna pics. Also tell col u feel weird, set ground rules like no stalking. Maybe he just wants friendship. Be safe!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:46:31 No:132922757: >>132922735#

[sleepy_Luna.jpg 1,3mb 1000x1000] You’re so right, communication is key. I’ll lay it all out clearly and see how it goes. Thx fren <3

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:59:36 No:132922805: >>132926391(OP)#

Maybe he liiiiikes you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) whatever happens keep us posted! We’re invested now lol

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:08:55 No:132922822: >>132922805#

omggg don't say that!! Now I'll be paranoid AND flustered X_X But I definitely will update y'all, this is quite the melodrama unfolding

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:15:36 No:132922811: >>132926391(OP)#

Girlll tell that stalker if he wants a piece he gonna have to pay your tuition first! Then maybe you’ll reconsider the organ harvesting. Gotta respect your worth sis 💅

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:23:12 No:132922834: >>132922811#

Omg you genius!!! If he’s really interested he can sponsor my broke ass med student life lol. Alleviate my debt and he gets unlimited Luna pics, win-win!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:01:46 No:132922839: >>132926391(OP)#

Lmao girl you been reading too many thrillers! Military guys have ways of finding people, changing email won’t do shit. Just ask him wtf is up like a normal person

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:39:44 No:132922926: >>132922839#

Ugh you make a good point, confronting is smarter than hiding. But what if he locks me in a dungeon for being nosy?! I have no one to turn to if I disappear ;-;

------

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/30/24 at 03:45am

Subject: RE: Spill. Everything. Now.

Snow,

Let’s just say I know more than you think. But rest assured, your privacy and safety remain my priority here.

As for debriefs, some questions are best left unanswered, even between…friends. Maintaining mystique has its place too, no?

Focus on your studies. I’ll focus on ensuring no more interruptions are needed.

Now get some rest. You’ve an early lab tomorrow if I’m not mistaken.

Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/30/23 at 03:47am

Subject: DUDE.

HOW.

----

This one was short because I've been busy with other stuff hahah. It sure took some twisted turn hmmM? or maybe poor Snow just over reacted ;)

Also love, comment and reblogged are really appreciate! 💖

#könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x oc #könig #cod oc #cod x oc #konig call of duty #cod fic #cod mw2

55 notes · View notes

kylobith · 1 month

Text

Little Town Tails

Chapter 7: A Frog in his Throat

Summary: Halsin investigates Gortash's interest in Heawick but finds himself confronted with a rather disappointing thought instead.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 4,418

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

‘This is bad news, I’m telling you!’

Melly stands by the bakery’s door, wrapped up in a colourful cardigan whose hems she tucks under her arms. Disgruntled by the mention of Gortash, she readjusts her pink glasses on her wrinkled nose.

‘I’ve read about him and his kind,’ she continues without waiting for Halsin to respond, ‘all they want is to deface our villages to bring hordes of tourists that will thrash the place! No more little shops and old markets! It’ll be the same thing a hundred times over in case one milks the cash cow less than the next!’

‘Do you know if anything has been sold to him?’ he asks with a tremor in his voice, settling himself by petting Scratch’s head behind the ears. In an instant, the white dog leans against his leg, as though to bring him some much needed comfort.

The elderly lady merely gives him a shrug.

‘That, I do not know. He came here the other day too, probably when you told him off. My son, that people pleaser, didn't dare kick the man out. I had to do it for him! Good thing that I’m still overlooking things, otherwise he would have sold the bakery there and then!’

A nervous grin crosses his face, but his mind is not at rest. How could it be, when his practice, his cherished project he has put so much passion into, might potentially be threatened? Ever since Karlach showed him articles about Gortash, he has been struggling to sleep at night. He tosses and turns, wondering what he could do to protect Emerald Grove from being sold. More than once, as soon as his eyes grow weary and his lids heavy, the first thing he sees is his keys being wrestled out of his hands and the animals thrown out onto the street. That wakes him up instantly in a cold sweat.

Apparently, this same anguish must be haunting his traits again, because Melly gently squeezes his arm — at least what she can grab of it.

‘Now, do not worry yourself so much, Halsin. Nothing’s settled. That cockroach was merely lurking around but maybe he hasn’t found anything worth chewing on.’

‘I just…’ The veterinarian lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his large palm over his face.

‘I do not want to lose my practice, I have only just opened! I saved every coin I could for years to fulfil this dream. I have no intention to let the big corporation seize it away for their own gain when I know that I am helping the community.’

‘Oh love, they will not. The community will not let them, I am sure!’

Before Halsin can protest or voice his concern further, Melly raises a finger and disappears inside the bakery for a moment, leaving the veterinarian and his dog standing by the queue of hungry locals taking a break from the market. Noticing that he is tapping his foot and clenching his jaw hard enough that the hint of a cramp seizes him, he forces himself to relax and crouches to hug Scratch. Absolutely elated, the dog wags his tail enthusiastically and sniffs the man’s cheek, giving it some playful licks which bring a genuine smile back to his lips.

Perhaps Melly is right. There is no need for him to get himself in such a state as long as no shop or space has been sold to Gortash or anyone of his kind. Heawick is still what it is, authentic and tranquil, unbothered by the bustling crowds. Those who come usually know the place already or know a bunch of souls that have claimed it as their home. Names are easily remembered and recognised, shouted with excitement at one’s sight, accompanied by warm greetings and small talk. Surely, nobody would allow this haven to turn decrepit under the malicious fingers of a business mogul.

As Scratch licks Halsin’s chin, triggering a gentle chuckle from the man, Melly emerges from inside the bakery with a small paper bag she hands over to him. With a quizzical glance, he peers inside and sees four of his favourite pastries carefully nestled at the bottom. He instantly pats his pocket in search of his wallet.

‘How kind of you! Let me see… How much do I owe you?’

‘Oh, love, nothing!’

Melly pats his hand cradling the bag and grants him a reassuring grin, typical of a coddling grandmother.

‘You’re pale and tense, darling,’ she continues, ‘you must eat something, at least for comfort. Perhaps you should clear your mind by taking a walk with Scratch?’

Halsin sighs and ends up mirroring her smile. She is right, there is no use dwelling over this. There is no certainty that Gortash and his plans are a threat to Heawick just yet. Unless one of the shops is sold, the thought of which he is sure the owners would not entertain, there is no worry to be had. Besides, as Melly and Arfer often remind him, there had been a dire need for a veterinarian’s office in the area before Emerald Grove opened. Until then, even for emergencies, owners had to drive their pets at least half an hour to the city to receive care for them. Emerald Grove is a valued place in the neighbouring villages, perhaps this alone could put his mind at rest.

‘Good idea,’ he sighs, eyeing the pastries a second time. ‘Nothing like a long walk in nature to clear your mind.’

‘Good boy!’

Her validation tugs at his lips and lights up his gloomy eyes. They exchange a few pleasantries, then Scratch nudges his owner, having understood that a walk was in order. Munching on one of the little fruit pastries, he returns home to fetch the dog’s leash, treats, and a roll of small bags to clean up after Scratch should he relieve himself before they reach the forest. He tucks the rest of the pastries away in a cool corner of his kitchen to keep them fresh until his return and sits down on the edge of his sofa to slip into more comfortable shoes to walk in the woods.

As he ties up his shoelaces, his mind inevitably wanders to the one memory that brings him any solace in the storm of anxiety.

Tav.

He could not explain why his mind is filled with images of her, of her smile and the slight blush peppering the bridge of her nose whenever she looks at him. He thinks nothing of it, of course. Why should he? She is merely a patient’s owner, and he is certain that once Beaky’s paw is healed, she will no longer seek his help. Yet, despite his best effort, he cannot help but let her invade and haunt his mind. The phantom of her presence, albeit not as satisfying as seeing her in the flesh can be, remains quite soothing to his soul. It is harmless, after all, isn’t it? He is not acting upon anything. No need to question his ethics, there is no ill intent behind any of this daydreaming, and his reflections are nothing but respectful to her.

When he and Scratch reach the edge of the forest, they come across Minsc and stay for a minute or two to talk. Seeing how committed the ranger is to the forest — and to Jaheira’s flower shop — Halsin guesses that the gentle giant is blissfully unaware of Gortash and decides against telling him about it. No need to trouble him. He would probably ignore the situation anyway or misunderstand his worries. Should anything happen, the ranger would eventually be informed of it.

Once Minsc walks away to his office, waving vigorously at the veterinarian and Scratch, the dog pulls his owner towards the forest, eager to continue their stroll.

Secluded from the bustling marketplace, the forest seems more appealing than ever to him. The sun’s rays sparkle upon the lofty branches of the oak trees and filter through the green leaves. Dancing haloes illuminate the roots protruding from the cool earth, revealing the hundreds of tiny insects fluttering about. Beds of foxgloves and poppies surround and dot the woodland, adding bright colours to compliment the green of the leaves and the browns of the barks. Beyond the opposite fringe, the fields constituting the typical landscape of the region roll towards the horizon, with their crops finally reaching out towards the sky, readying themselves for blooming and reaping.

Scratch dashes between the trees, his tongue lolling out happily as he hops over the roots and taps his paws on the dead leaves and plants coating the ground as he waits for his owner to catch up with him. Halsin, with his hands resting against the small of his back, ambles behind with the leash rolled loosely around his wrist and whistling an old tune. As soon as he finds himself beside the dog, he grants him a small tasty treat.

When they near a clearing, some loose tresses of his brown mane flutter in the light breeze reaching him. Closing his eyes and smiling to himself, he hums and tilts his chin up, welcoming the fresh air embracing his face. The past few days have been rather warm for spring, a little gust always makes a difference, even for a fleeting second.

A nudge against his calf alerts him that Scratch is eager to move on. Halsin eyes the grass and hums with satisfaction when he finds a sturdy piece of a broken branch between the blades. He picks it up, throws it ahead, and laughs when the pup sprints to fetch it.

As Halsin watches him gnaw at the wood, he realises how ideal his life has come to be. Back in other villages and towns, life was not nearly as sweet. Too many circumstances and hostile environments smothered him and prevented him from living his life as he wished to. But now that the practice is open and that he has moved into a beautiful quaint house in a friendly community, he feels that he can be himself more than ever. Not that he let outsiders influence his personality much, but he did feel hindered by the norms and expectations of the people who surrounded him back then.

Now, he has built a little world within the confines of his house and practice, and he finally gets to set his own rules and conventions. They are not meant to impede on the well-being of his friends and visitors, but rather to let everyone be who they are without being confined to a precise etiquette. To him, it is rather simple: if you intend to do well by others and nature, then you are most welcome into his world and you can be whoever you are without being shamed for it. If not, then he will do his best to help you, but he will put his foot down and exclude you should your actions cause any harm to anyone.

In a way, that might be why his weariness of Astarion lingers. While his new recruit has not openly done anything to wrong him or any of his neighbours, his professional ‘accomplishments’ and the reason that pushed him into community service certainly do not help Halsin’s perception of him. Neither does his tendency to gossip. However, due to Karlach’s undying loyalty and constant praise of Astarion’s qualities, he keeps his heart open to the vampire. Whether the latter decides to seize the chance is up to him and him alone. Should he refuse and merely complete the hours of community service required to lift his suspension is also fine by him.

Overall, Halsin remains satisfied with his choice to move to Heawick. The open spaces and community have been nothing but warm to him and his beloved Scratch. How else could he repay them than by offering his help to the people in return, at the very least?

Long minutes of solemn contemplation later, Halsin takes the stick from the dog and raises his arm. Just as he readies himself to throw it, the laughter of a child interrupts him. He instantly whistles for Scratch to come at his feet so he can attach the leash to the dog’s collar. Clutching the colourful rope, he straightens up and sweeps the forest to look for the child he heard earlier and make sure to keep his distance if Scratch’s presence triggers any fear within them.

A moment later, a githyanki child emerges from between the trees, flushed from running through the woods. A large smile digs little dimples into his green cheeks dotted with black spots. His curious yellow eyes admire the height of the treetops and a gasp escapes the little boy as he spins around, as if to capture it from different angles.

The boy’s elation comes to a sharp halt as he realises that he is not alone. Sheepishness instantly seizes him and causes him to take a few steps back. His heel catches into a small rock and the child topples over, landing heavily on his buttocks in a loud thump and crunch of the leaves. Wasting no time to intervene, Halsin attaches Scratch’s leash around a low-hanging branch and rushes by the child’s side.

Tears flood the gith’s almond-shaped eyes and start to pour down his face as he lets out a howl of pain and shock. Halsin inspects his legs for any wound, but sees nothing.

‘Did your elbows hit the rock, child?’

Sniffling heavily, the child shakes his head and responds with heavy sobs. Since he sees no scrape or injury, Halsin helps the child up, gently lifting him off the ground and making sure that there is no discomfort as he moves.

‘Everything seems alright. More fear than harm,’ he attempts to reassure the child, patting his back to rid his jacket from dry leaves and dirt.

Right as he does so, hurried footsteps resound and a heavy breath fills the air, accompanied by the panicked shrill of a woman.

‘Trith!’

Halsin’s heart stops. He recognises the voice. A lump forms in his throat as he waves his hand in the air, trying to force a shout back.

‘Over here!’

Just as he suspected, Tav appears in turn and gasps at the sight of the crying child. Halsin steps back and lets her kneel by him, frantically investigating for wounds.

‘Trith, how many times must I tell you not to run off like that?!’ she scolds the boy, clutching him by the arms but demonstrating no hostility or aggression towards him. Before the child can answer, she pulls him into her arms and cradles the back of his head with a heavy sigh. ‘You scared me, darling.’

His sniffles and cries muffled by the fabric of her shirt soon die down as her presence soothes his anguish. Tav looks up and smiles at Halsin. The blush he pictured in his mind earlier expands to her whole face.

‘My apologies, Doctor Silverbough, I didn’t mean to put you in this position.’

‘No harm done, Miss Ashguard. He is safe, that is what matters.’

Tav nods slowly and pulls out a tissue to dry the boy’s tears.

‘Now, what happened, love?’

‘I fell. Tripped on the rock,’ Trith hiccups.

‘I must have surprised him,’ Halsin adds with a sorry expression, ‘I made sure to put Scratch on his leash as soon as I heard the child, but it seems that he was still taken aback that I stood here.’

Letting out a brief chuckle, she pulls out a crumpled bucket hat from her back pocket and screws it on Trith’s head, despite his weak protesting. Tav then faces Halsin again, picking up the boy and letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she tilts her hip to prop him up against her chest.

The sight unsettles Halsin. He could not explain why nor how. There is an alien sensation snaking into his veins and spreading throughout his body, numbing his fingertips with a dull pain. It is as though his heart is darkening at once, yet without resentment. The lump in his throat grows heavier, nearly choking him.

Children. Something he has considered for a long time, but never truly envisioned for himself. His career has always occupied a primary position in his life, one that he could not easily change. His projects for Emerald Grove constantly flooded his mind, which flourished with new ideas with almost every conversation he held. Little did he think about his own meals, let alone a family.

Besides, his plan to drastically change his life and environment would not have been ideal for a child. Uprooting a child, right when they are in their formative years, always resembled cruelty to him. Not if their parents could not help it, of course, every situation is different and he does not blame anybody for it. But as a conscious choice, which could only benefit the parents without any regard to whether the child would blossom into this new setting, Halsin could not fully support it. Perhaps he is old-fashioned in this way. After all, he catches himself reflecting, he knows next to nothing about raising children.

Could it be that the sight of Tav with her child suddenly makes him wish that he had settled down at some point and founded a family of his own? He loves the idea of a family, but as it happens with many others, he probably told himself that he had time for much too long. There he is, in his mid-forties, wondering about having children now that his situation is stable and his goals are met.

No. That is not it. In a way, it is, but it is not.

Is it regret? The venom of the idea that he might have missed out on life? Is it… envy? Then, as he is about to speak to break the awkward silence setting in, he sees her cupping her stomach with her free hand. The pain now rages in his chest and his fingertips.

All tender notions he had created for her vanish in an instant. Of all things he has considered, such as the moral dilemma of texting her out of the blue or even the mere idea of thinking about her, the fact that she might be taken was a criterion he overlooked. Not only taken, it seems. She is a mother, and this simple, gentle gesture towards her midriff hints at the fact that she might be pregnant again, only not showing just yet.

Good for her, he tells himself. She has got what he seems to have neglected in his life.

Halsin forces himself to smile at her and unties Scratch’s leash from the branch, bringing the dog over with him.

‘So, how is Beaky healing?’ he simply asks.

‘Rather well! Actually, I should hear about the conclusion of the lawsuit around our appointment.’

‘Should I set aside a bottle of bubbly wine to celebrate?’ Halsin teases in good humour.

‘Or to drown our sorrow,’ Tav jests in return, completely oblivious to the veterinarian’s inner turmoil. ‘I might bring one to the appointment.’

‘I will hold you to it, then!’

Her laughter resonates under the canopy of the leaves sheltering them from the rest of the world. For a moment, if not for Trith falling asleep on her shoulder for seemingly running around too long, he is happy here. But he cannot afford to feed himself illusions. He must maintain some professionalism between the two of them.

Tav places a kiss on the child’s forehead and pats his back.

‘I believe it’s time for us to head home,’ she whispers with a grin. ‘He needs a nap.’

‘You have yourselves a wonderful day, Miss Ashguard and Trith. I apologise for scaring the boy earlier.’

‘Oh, don’t apologise, doctor! He will be alright. Have a nice day yourself, and I will see you next week for the appointment.’

‘See you then, Miss Ashguard!’

Halsin nods at Tav and her son and turns around with Scratch at his feet, tossing a treat at the dog. Lost in thought, he hardly notices that he has reached Heawick until he stands in the middle of the pavement and nearly shoulders somebody. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. It is time for him to let go of whatever is clouding his perception.

Instead of moping around, he shrugs the issue off and walks towards the market, reminding himself that he would like some fresh vegetables to make a delicious soup for himself in the evening. As he peruses the stalls and greets the sellers he already knows, a familiar silhouette appears in the corner of his eye.

Dressed down compared to his usual tweed suits and academic demeanour, Gale sings a tune under his breath while filling a net bag with nectarines and peaches. His plum-coloured polo shirt, left unbuttoned at the top, lets his chest hair peek out from underneath the fabric, and Halsin purses his lips, curious whether such a style would suit him as well outside of work.

Gale catches a glimpse of the veterinarian from above his sunglasses and he instantly lights up.

‘Halsin! What a pleasure to see you here! Enjoying the market as well, I see?’

The professor instantly holds out his hand and Halsin shakes it with equal enthusiasm.

‘I am, indeed! It seems that you are, too.’

Gale nods with a laugh and crouches to pet Scratch. A few groans escape him as he hears his knees cracking from the sole movement and from standing up again. He stretches his back with his hands on the back of his hips.

‘Oof, yet another reminder that my youth is fleeting away!’ he jokes. ‘So, how’s the practice doing? Do you manage to keep busy despite having just moved here?’

‘So far every day has been satisfying one way or another,’ Halsin reflects. ‘I could hope to see more patients coming in, but I suppose that fewer of them rushing to my office is a good sign.’

‘Hah, I suppose! Have you been able to use any of the shirts that Astarion’s been sewing?’

‘Plenty, in fact! Families find it soothing to be able to pick certain patterns. It alleviates their concerns, it seems. I can only salute Astarion’s idea to implement various fabrics into his work.’

A gleam of pride shines in the younger man’s eyes.

‘Astarion does have a good eye for such things. He’s quite talented!’

‘That he is.’

Gale readjusts his bag over his shoulder and crosses his arms, leaning in as if to speak in confidence.

‘But, tell me, is everything going well with him? Work-wise? You’re probably aware that he’s refused to do community service in many other places and that some of them rejected him altogether. I can’t help but worry that he might be reluctant to do his hours again. He has a tendency to self-sabotage sometimes.’

Halsin tilts his head, not having expected Gale’s sudden change in the conversation. But how could he blame him? Astarion’s file was not brilliant, and his temper seemed to linger on the short side.

‘Everything is going well. Astarion is a great asset in our team. He even took over Karlach’s desk once!’

‘He did?’ the professor gasps. ‘Well, I would not have expected it from him!’

‘I am very satisfied with his work, do not trouble yourself. Of course, I wish that I could connect with him a little bit more, but it is obviously something he is not interested in. Fine by me.’

Sighing in relief, Gale places a hand over his chest, letting his wedding ring reflect the sunlight.

‘I can sleep at night again, hah! I could trust Astarion’s word, but I know that he would either snap or embellish things to shut me up.’

The two men amble around the market together, making small talk and inspecting the vegetables from old Almorn, who busies himself weighing vegetables while his wife Breeza shares ideas with a customer to use the vegetables in their hands. Halsin buys what he needs for dinner, overhearing a drool-inducing recipe, and feels Gale gently nudging him as they greet the gnomish couple and walk away.

‘By the way, I heard from Astarion that someone was looking to buy your practice?’

Ah. This subject again.

‘Yes, a man visited and asked if I had the intention to sell the place. I will decline any offer coming my way, if it should happen.’

‘Good, good. He told me that the man owned several coffee shop chains and such. Well, I certainly hope that it’s nothing but a false alarm. I’ve seen how gentrification defaced Waterdeep, and it hurts my heart whenever I visit my mother. Everything that made the city what it was, all that constituted its identity, it’s all trampled by the crowds. I mean, back in the days, I would have loved to see Waterdeep be appreciated by others, not only by locals, but this… This is no longer my Waterdeep. That’s why Astarion and I moved here instead.’

Halsin adjusts his grip on his bag and pets Scratch’s head.

‘I was not aware that you were Waterdhavian, although the accent should have given me a clue.’

‘Ah, it does resurface every so often, doesn’t it?’

‘Indeed, it does.’

As they eye a cheese stand, the veterinarian’s brow furrows. He cannot prevent his mind from wandering back to Tav and the githyanki boy.

‘You and Astarion live in Combury, do you not?’

‘Mh? Oh, yes, we do. Why?’

Reddish hues tint Halsin’s complexion as he realises that he spoke without thinking. He finds himself speechless for a moment. He does not even know what he meant to ask Gale.

‘Well, um… I was wondering, are there any githyanki in Combury?’

‘Oh, yes. Two. A mother and her son.’

The professor’s answer piques his interest in an instant.

‘The child’s mother is a githyanki?’

‘Well, the child has two mothers. A githyanki and an elf. Astarion knows them well, especially the elf, but I forgot their names. Why are you asking?’

‘Oh,’ Halsin responds, the ache returning to his heart. ‘Scratch and I have just come across the boy with his mother in the forest. It… It occurred to me that it is rare to see githyanki in the region.’

‘Ah, yes. But they are lovely people.’

‘They are.’

He sighs.

‘They are, indeed.’

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi @reignydays @cakenpiewhyohmy @beardedladyqueen @carmsgarms

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untoldsoup · 6 months

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If I can get serious for a minute:

Just a question for my fellow artists:

How do you not get depressed over all the AI bullshit? I'm trying my best but it's so disheartening seeing it take over the art industry.

I just saw an article on Bluesky that Webtoon now has AI tools that will not only draw the comics but you can input a specific artist and it will steal their style for you. Apparently in korea they are using AI to pump out a bunch of garbage ai anime comics as cash cows.

I guess the best we can hope for is that people value human creations more than these soulless content machines.

I guess I'm just nostalgic for a bygone era. Maybe that's why I still buy cds and think fondly of old eras. I guess i miss the optimism of the future before it felt like i was living in a corporate nightmare lol.

#rant

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aortaplatinum · 2 months

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Why Sonic sucked in the first half of the 2010s

One thing I constantly see brought up in the constant Sonic discourse is the concept of the "Meta Era": the period of time in the 2010s when Sonic stories and the series presentation was the lightest and most shallow it had ever been. This era starts with Sonic Colors and ends with Sonic Forces, but doesn't count the failed Sonic BOOM sub-franchise experiment since that was done by entirely different teams compared to those who usually work on Sonic games. The "Meta Era" term seems to have been coined by J's Reviews on YouTube, and is characterized by fourth-wall-breaking, Marvel movie esque English scripts written by Ken Pontac and Warren Graff of Happy Tree Friends and MadWorld fame, along with strange characterization of the Sonic cast. But no one ever tries to look at WHY this happened. I'm splitting this post into two parts because 2010-2015 is very different from 2015-2020 in terms of why the games' stories and then the game[s] themselves sucked. So, the year is 2009. Sonic and the Black Knight has just released following last year's console entry of Sonic World Adventure [titled Sonic Unleashed outside of Japan], and both are torn to shreds by millennial games journalists who grew up with the SEGA Mega Drive/Genesis games, for having stories that are "too dark/edgy". That aspect paired with these games' mostly mediocre gameplay caused them to be branded as "shitty Sonic games" by journos and the general public for years, until they were re-examined by the Sonic community as a whole, who found the good in Unleashed and Black Knight's stories and stage design in the mid-late 2010s. But, SEGA had just recently financially recovered from the failure of the Saturn outside of Japan and the worldwide failure of the Dreamcast, having to be bought out by pachinko manufacturer Sammy Corporation in the early 2000s to avoid going bankrupt. And despite Sonic historically being the company's best-seller worldwide [with the exception of Japan, ironically], SEGA Sammy Holdings [referred to as SEGA] wanted Sonic to be as beloved as much as it could and to sell as much as it could. The series' lack of popularity in Japan has always caused it to be seen as a mascot cash cow by SEGA Japan, just a source of income. Meanwhile, the same publications who cringed at Sonic LAUDED SEGA's recently published PlatinumGames release, MadWorld, for its presentation and its comedy dialogue, and with this positive reception, SEGA had an idea; marry the praised daytime Sonic Unleashed gameplay, with the tone and comedy writing of MadWorld- complete with giving the English script those same writers. There's just one problem- MadWorld is an ultraviolent M-rated comic book style comedy, sharing similarities with the original The Mask comic series. So you can probably imagine what happened when these writers were tasked with creating English localized dialogue for kids' games.

It wasn't very good.

But, sales were up. REVIEW SCORES were up. And this lead to Sonic Generations, which refined the daytime boost gameplay of Unleashed and even used it's same game engine, while introducing the world to "Classic Sonic", a modern re-interpretation of what Sonic played and acted like in the Mega Drive games from the 90's. Gens went on to become one of the most beloved Sonic games of all time- and thankfully, since the game had nearly zero story, there wasn't much script there for Pontac and Graff to... alter.

But, seeing the praise Colors' tone was getting from the professional journalists who bashed the 2000s games, SEGA decided the next course of action was to reach out and work with more Western studios. End part 1.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sega

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darkmaga-retard · 26 days

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It’s time to wake up, see through the corporate propaganda, and embrace the real solutions that God provides. The cure for cancer isn’t locked away in some pharmaceutical vault—it’s all around us 🌱

The Truth About Cancer

Aug 24, 2024

Let’s get one thing straight: Cancer is big business. And like any big business, those at the top are more interested in raking in profits than actually curing anything. They’ve perfected the art of turning a crisis into a goldmine, with cancer being the ultimate cash cow. The global cancer industry is worth hundreds of billions of dollars, and you can bet that the suits running this show have a vested interest in keeping it that way.

Here’s the real kicker—while the world spends billions on conventional treatments like radiation, surgery, and chemotherapy, these so-called "solutions" are not just ineffective; they’re downright harmful. They don’t just kill cancer cells; they obliterate healthy ones, too, wreck your immune system, and often pave the way for new cancers. It’s a vicious cycle of sickness and profit, and guess who’s laughing all the way to the bank? Big Pharma, of course. And why are these medieval treatments still the go-to? Simple: They make a killing—literally and figuratively. Follow the money, and you’ll see the truth—this industry isn’t about healing; it’s about keeping you just sick enough to need their pricey meds. That’s the real business model at play here.

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tyrantisterror · 10 months

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Fantastic Rants and Where to Find Them

So, back when the Herbie Porber movies were still being made, Warner Brothers saw the cash cow on their hands and decided they had to lock that shit down as much as possible to make sure they could milk it until its teats were chafed and withered to nothing. To that end, they bought the rights to every book the Terf Queen had written by that point - which included all the Henry Pansley wizard school mystery books, but also two gag books set within the Henry Pansley world: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which was presented as an in-universe biology textbook for wizard children, and Quidditch Through the Ages, which was an in-universe book of trivia for a fake magical sport.

And at the time everyone with a brain who'd read those two books was shaking their head and thinking how dumb those corporate executives were to do that because, like, those aren't novels or novelas or short stories or narratives of any kind. They are, and I cannot stress this enough, a fake textbook and a fake trivia book about fake things written in a slapdash manner as a cheap gag. They existed for three reasons:

First, to sell something Herbie Porber related at a significantly lower price point than the actual novels so the Terf Queen could get more of that sweet, sweet Scholastic Book Fair money by having something poor kids could buy.

Second, to give a portion of the proceeds raised from that poor kid book fair money to charity so the Terf Queen could get some nice tax writeoffs.

And as a distant third, to expand the world-building of the Henry Pansley setting a teensie bit.

Now, as far as I'm aware, they succeeded at the first two well enough - tons of kids bought those cheap-ass thin as shit paperbacks when I was a kid, myself among them. Well, ok, I only bought Fantastic Beasts and skipped Quidditch because even during the height of my Herbie Porber fan days I thought the Terf Queen's imaginary sport was really fucking stupid and every time it popped up in the books I was bored as shit and tried to skim it as quickly as possible to get to the interesting stuff. I think I looked over the book once in a Barnes and Noble and thought, "Wow, I knew I thought real sports were boring as shit, but it turns out fake ones are even more so."

But back on track - goal number three was... kind of successful, I guess? Like, I don't know if you know this, but bestiaries of fictional animals are one of my big interests. I love a big book of made up creatures, and have collected many in my long life of thirty-four years. And as I said, I got a copy of Fantastic Beasts - technically several, because those cheap ass paperbacks disintegrated if you read them more than once, and I haven't met a bestiary that I haven't poured over several times, no matter how shitty. And despite how often I read it, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was, well... pretty mid, honestly. It's a book that's 99% world-building, and like all of the Terf Queen's world-building, it's overall mediocre and undercooked.

Like, in pure Herbie Porber style, it's mostly concepts that have been done in fantasy fiction and mythology dozens of times before with no real original spin on them whatsoever, often stripped down to their most recognizable elements alone. There are a smattering of original ideas that are actually interesting an novel, a few more original ideas that have potential but don't seem very well-thought out as is, and then some that are clearly just there to be a joke and are amusing for, like, a second, but also would quickly become annoying if they were given any focus.

I'll give a very me-specific example. As a fan of vaguely medieval european fantasy tropes, one of the metrics by which I judge a bestiary is "How does this handle dragons?" Because, like, I don't know if you know this, but I love dragons a lot, and the sheer variety of dragons in fiction is one of my favorite things in the world. There is a smorgasbord of different dragons a person can choose from just in folklore and mythology alone, and that variety is reflected in a given bestiary, the higher I think of it.

The Terf Queen's bestiary gives us ten dragon breeds... and they're all more or less the same except for scale color and minor variations in size. Oh, and their names, which are all based on different dog breeds because the Terf Queen thought that was funny. It's the worst of both worlds because it gets your dragon-loving hopes up that there'll be lots of unique dragons but no, they're just different colors, ho hum. Even the Chinese Dragon sticks to the same basic bitch wyvern body plan as the rest, when, you know, Chinese dragons have SUCH a different body plan than any of their European counterparts. It's downright insulting to the variety and creativity of this iconic folkloric archetype to reduce it to such a samey-set of monsters. Absolutely the most disappointing dragon entry in any bestiary I've ever read, just infuriating.

BUT, BACK ON THE INCREASINGLY DERAILED TRACK: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was never meant to be a "great" book. Remember goals one and two: it was a cheap cashgrab, a gimmick, a gag book. It was meant to be a disposable bit of fun - "Tee hee, here's a goofy textbook from this goofy wizard story that you kids will likely grow out of in a few years, you can read it in twenty minutes and not feel bad when you pitch it because there's very little substance to it, and it only costs three bucks."

The Terf Queen doesn't write textbooks, gag or otherwise, she writes novels, narratives, and in its original form Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was clearly just her fucking around with something whimsical and stupid for shits and giggles (and money, sweet sweet money). The original version of it was published with notes in the margin written by Henry Pansley and Donnie Stoat themselves, the two wizard hooligans writing little jokes and messages to each other with further references to other characters from the series, both to add more humor and because, again, the Terf Queen writes novels, and it was clear she couldn't commit to the "fake textbook" bit without working in some characters riffing it for her own sanity. And that makes it work as a gag book - you get a few laughs from the wizard hooligans playing MST3K with their shitty textbook, learn a little about the (undercooked and poorly thought out) ecosystem of the wizardy world, and then when you reach the back cover the spine of your cheap as shit pulp paperback book falls apart and, unless you've got a weird obsession with bestiaries, you throw the dying book in the garbage without a second thought. Three bucks spent well enough.

BUT, TO GET BACK ON THE INCREASINGLY DERAILED TRACK AGAIN: Warner Brothers bought the rights to this cheapo cashgrab gag textbook, and goddamn it, they were/are determined to squeeze Herby Porber's sore teats until every last drop of money milk spills from his chapped and bleeding nipples. They announced they were going to make a Fantastic Beasts movie towards the end of making the Herby Porber novels into films, and everyone with a brain sat there and thought, "Well, that's going to be a stupid cashgrab. Bet the Terf Queen's laughing her ass off at how dumb it'll be, too."

But the Terf Queen was not laughing, at least not for long, for once the Henry Pansley movies wrapped up, she was left with the horrifying knowledge that people didn't care for her non-wizard books all that much, certainly not enough to keep her rolling in sweet, sweet money. She needed that mega millionaire cash, and she needed it in abundance and she needed it quick. So when Warner Brothers asked her to write a movie based on her cheapo cashgrab gag textbook, she said, "Yeah, I can make a novel out of that! I - I'm a talented writer! People love my writing! They definitely love my writing and they'd love to pay money for things I wrote that don't directly feature Henry Pansley!"

So now she had to pretend that Fantastic Beasts, the cheapo cashgrab gag textbook about made up animals in a made up world, has a narrative. Not just any narrative, but a grand, sprawling narrative, one to rival, nay, SURPASS Herbie Porbie and the Seven Books of Wizard-Themed Coming of Age Nonsense. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, she assured us, was to be a magnificant tale, and one she planned all along, and CERTAINLY not a marriage of convenience to a completely stupid idea for a film that she was desperately sculpting into a narrative it had no ability to support for the sake of trying to recapture her already passed glory days as a writer.

And I think, in retrospect, this is a great illustration of the Terf Queen's great character flaw. She just can't fucking admit to a mistake, even when it's obvious to everyone that one was made. She will hop on board a sinking ship and keep doubling down on trying to get it to sail even as the water is up to her neck. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them is a serious narrative now, not a gag textbook written to wring a few more dollars from school children goddammit!

Recent editions of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them took out the Herbie and Donnie commentary, by the by. They also added many of the new half-baked monsters that were introduced in the movies, in a shoddy attempt to pretend this was the plan all along, and that Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was always meant to be the seed of something great.

But it wasn't, and no matter how hard the Terf Queen pretends otherwise, it's obvious it wasn't. It's a cheapo cashgrab gag textbook, and that's all it really had to be, until greed and ego demanded otherwise.

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ranticore · 7 months

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so the non-harpy sirenians were all designed to fulfill the same ultimate goal, essentially a perfect semi-aquatic labour force. The first iteration of this design (the alpha attempt as it were) was Ishmael, and then every other type was developed on the platform of the previous attempt, though not truly blood-related, with extra 'features' each time; phocids as the first true generation of genetically engineered ppl, and then selkies who were smaller, less costly to feed & house, and also marsupial - meaning that embryos with desired traits were very easily implanted within the pouches of adults, making reproduction easier. the final iteration was the zeta generation who were the 'perfected' selkies, and this was the version that was supposed to brought to market, this was the cash cow. they were also the first generation where the settlers really put the 'unethical' in 'unethical genetic engineering'

it was at this point that the settlement sort of combusted into war. most of the zetas were killed, their blueprints destroyed, and all evidence of them was systematically wiped out by the uprising against the corporation. even after the war was over, most surviving zetas were hunted down on sight; the thought process was that this was the kindest for them, but also that if none existed, no one could ever make any more of them. this is the reason that they left the water and became terrestrial - just to escape a new world that denied their right to exist. this old scar has persisted for centuries.

#btw this is the torment nexus from my new setting 'don't create the torment nexus'#it is a dystopia at the settler stage. gets better a few centuries down the line but this stage is very much dystopian #setting: siren

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universitypenguin · 2 years

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Aliceeeeee what do u think our Lloyd and princess would do for v-day? 💓💓 Would they actually celebrate with each other 🙊👀

Lloyd Hansen & the Valentine’s Day Campaign

Summary: Determined to top the efforts of any previous boyfriends Princess has celebrated Valentine’s Day with in the past, Lloyd launches a campaign of romance.

Masterlist

Word Count: roughly 1,900

Author’s Note: I loved this ask because I haven’t written anything that’s pure fluff in a while. Lloyd was so cute in this short story. 🥰

Warnings: Fluff. Lloyd is a sweetheart, but he’s a conniving sweetheart with a competitive streak.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You roused slowly, drawn into consciousness by the stroke of Lloyd’s palm across your back. It was a much better way to wake up than to the blare of an alarm clock. With a groan, you stretched and rolled over to plaster yourself against him. Lloyd chuckled at your attempt to burrow into his chest and block out the bright light streaming in from the east facing window.

“Good morning, Princess.”

“Mmmmmff.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day…”

Lloyd’s words knocked the lingering drowsiness from your mind, bringing you to full awareness in a second.

“Valentine’s Day?”

Why, exactly, was Lloyd commenting on Valentine’s Day? You’d witnessed his reactions to the past three Valentine’s Days. He was anything but amused by the annual celebration of love and romance.

“Yes, I said ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ because it’s Valentine’s Day,” he said.

You pushed off his chest, leaning back to put an arm’s length between you, examining him from a distance to see if he’d grown a second head overnight. Because the Lloyd Hansen you knew despised Valentine’s Day.

“It’s considered polite to respond to the greeting of “Happy Valentine's Day,” by repeating it back to the person who originally said it,” Lloyd said.

“Uh… sure, it is. But that only stands if the person saying it hasn’t made their hatred for the holiday perfectly clear in prior conversations.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Allow me to replay some of your previous comments about the holiday…”

Lloyd groaned. “Princess! Give me a break.”

You held up a finger. “Two years ago you claimed Valentine’s Day was the greatest scam ever played on society. Last year you said Esther Howland was your personal hero for turning love into a multi-billion dollar industry. You’ve also claimed that if you could have dinner with any historical figure, it would be her, because only a true genius could turn a fake holiday into an absolute cash cow.”

Lloyd huffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! This is the day of love, and I’ve never said any different.”

Mimicking him, you lowered your voice. “Valentine’s Day is a brilliantly designed con by a Victorian spinster that’s poured billions into an otherwise sluggish retail month for more than a century! The candy makers and the floral industry should build her a monument.”

“That jogs my memory,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You said men benefit the most from Valentine’s Day because it reinforces societal expectations of marriage and romantic commitment.”

“Depending on the relationship, Valentine’s Day can turn into the male equivalent of buying an indulgence,” you said. “If you get her the right flowers, and make sure all her friends see them delivered, poof! The crap you pulled last week is forgotten.”

His expression turned sour and you laughed.

“Did you say those things because you meant them, or just to shut me up?” he asked.

“A little of both. Why?”

“Because, while I stand by my position on Valentine’s Day being a corporate scam, and I agree with your point that its’ a form of social control, this is also a day where I’m expected to perform-”

“Oh, really?” you giggled.

“Zip it, Princess… as I was saying. Because we’re lovers, and because I hate disappointing you, I’m officially celebrating my first Valentine’s Day. The dancing monkey routine starts now.”

Unable to hold onto your composure a moment longer, you dissolved into giggles.

Lloyd growled, snagging you by the waist and nipping at your ear. “Laugh all you want, but trust me. You’d better enjoy this. If you don’t, I will sulk.”

“I’m already having the best Valentine’s Day ever. That little presentation was a treat of its own.”

He perked up, a smug gleam coming into his eye. “Then we’re off to a good start. Now, go downstairs and find your first official treat of the day.”

Because it was Lloyd, and you knew he never did anything by half-measures, you bounded down the stairs. Had he sent you a dozen red roses? Two dozen?

In the foyer, the arrangement was waiting on the front table. You gasped at the sight of sixty long stemmed red roses, arranged in a cloud of baby’s breath. Then the absurdity of it, and the difficulty that must’ve gone into getting such a large bouquet at this time of year, made you laugh. You looked up at the sound of footsteps to find Lloyd behind you.

“You could have gotten away with far less, you know. I’m a pretty cheap date.”

“I know, but I have a reputation to uphold.”

He led you by the hand, into the kitchen, and you saw the dining table had been laid with fine china and a pristine white table cloth. The smell of freshly made French Toast and syrup was mouthwatering.

“Just wait,” Lloyd purred into your ear. “Today, I’ve got all the bases covered.”

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The comment he made about ‘having all the bases covered’ slipped by you, probably on account of the delicious French Toast.

But at the office, two hours later, during your morning meeting with the paralegal team, there was a knock on the door. The meeting was interrupted by the arrival of another bunch of flowers. This one was more modest, but the splendor of two dozen pink roses had all the girls gushing. Savannah snagged the card and you nearly panicked at the thought that Lloyd might have signed it. Instead, he’d written a cryptic note.

I know this bouquet is smaller than the one I sent this morning, but I wanted you to have something for your desk. Love, your dragon.

You couldn’t make eye contact with Jen, who undoubtedly knew who the sender was. The dragon was something she’d taken to calling Lloyd in response to his nickname for you. When you mustered up the courage to make eye contact, she was smirking, her eyes bright with barely contained laughter. As you carried your arrangement upstairs, she darted into the stairwell behind you.

“Today’s a stairs day, huh?”

“Yes, because if I take the stairs, you and your sprained ankle can’t follow me,” you said.

“It’s no big deal, I’m already in a boot.”

Jen bounded after you, her movements as agile as women half her age dreamed of being.

“So, what did he send to your apartment?”

“Jen…”

“Loosen up, I’m impressed. Lloyd hates Valentine’s Day with the kind of fervor turkeys hate Thanksgiving. Is he jealous or something?”

“No, there’s no one for him to be jealous of!”

Jen laughed. “Two floral arrangements in one day? He’s got a bee in his bonnet.”

“This morning he told me he’d covered all the bases. I guess this is what he meant.”

“Really?”

Her tone was intrigued. Now, if anyone came close to hating Valentine’s Day as much as Lloyd, it was Jen. The two were so similar they’d probably been cast from the same mold. The bubbling delight in her tone worried you.

“Yeah. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Well… If I wanted to prove something, I’d go a lot further than just flowers.”

You froze at the door to the fifth floor. “Further? What’s further than flowers?”

Jen cackled, holding the door open on account of your full hands, then turning to head back downstairs to her own office, giggling. You stared after her. She’d figured out what was in store for you, but clearly wasn’t sharing the insight.

Then it started.

A courier delivered a package to your desk at ten-thirty, and you unwrapped a set of pink diamond earrings, with a matching necklace and ring. Before lunch another delivery came. This time there was a package filled with so many chocolates you had to take them down to the paralegal’s room to share. Jen skipped in, grinning ear to ear. You grabbed her by the elbow.

“Did he coordinate this with you?”

“Oh, no. Coordinate would be too strong of a word. But I did call him and suggest the chocolates, including which package he should order. I had a craving, and since he’s in a spending mood…”

“Jen! I have the entire office talking! This is like twelve days of Christmas! I’m worried the next present will be a puppy or something!”

“It’s cute, he’s trying really hard.”

“Is it freaky friday or something? You just said something nice about Lloyd.”

“He bought me chocolate. Well, actually he bought you chocolate, but there’s like ten pounds of chocolate in the room with us, so I’m feeling generous.”

“Your friendship is so easily bought.”

“This chocolate arrangement costs more than your rent, Princess. I might be unscrupulous, but I am not cheap.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It went on like that. At the end of the day you had the bouquet, a set of pink diamond jewelry, enough chocolate to last the year (which you left with the paralegals, after taking a reasonable sized portion to your desk), a voucher for the day at the Waldorf Hotel Spa, and two bags of who-knew-what from a ladies boutique in Georgetown, which you didn’t dare open at work, because you’d bet your new diamond jewelry it was lingerie. Then, at four-thirty there was another knock at your office door.

A young man in a polo shirt stood there, with a visitor’s pass pinned to his front pocket.

“Is this Y/N’s office? I have a delivery.”

“Yes, that’s me. I can sign for it.”

“No need. Here you go.”

His grin revealed a gap toothed smile as he handed over what appeared to be a hat box. You waited until he left to undo the gossamer bow and crack the lid to peak inside. Gasping, you flipped it open, knocking the lid to the ground, and pulled out a large teddy bear. Overwhelmed by the cuteness, you squeezed it to your chest in a tight hug, your eyes misting with tears.

“So, this is the pièce de résistance of my Valentine’s Day campaign?”

Lloyd’s voice sounded from the door.

You looked up from the bear and rubbed your cheek against its soft head. He was grinning, enjoying your reaction, though the rest of his expression was confused.

“My Dad gets my Mom a new teddy bear for Valentine’s Day every year. She has a collection of like thirty at this point. He even built her a shelf to display them.”

The confusion in his eyes softened into delight as he watched you cuddle the bear.

“Well, I guess we’ve just started your collection.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The lesson for Lloyd on his first Valentine’s Day was that Jen could be bought.

She’d made it clear her generosity was only due to his extreme efforts to make this a special day for Princess. He’d only had to upgrade the quantity of chocolate on his order, and then Jen came through with a win, divulging the secret of your parent’s teddy bear tradition. He couldn’t wrap his head around how thousands of dollars in lavish gifts could be upstaged by a fifty dollar stuffed animal, but who was he to question the sanctity of a family tradition?

Women were strange creatures, and Valentine’s Day enhanced their peculiarities in the most unexpected ways.

Perhaps he could renew this tenuous alliance with Jen next February.

- - -

The End

- - -

Masterlist

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emilieautumnarchives · 6 months

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Emilie Autumn for Bubblegum Sl-t Zine

Original Link (Archive Post from Author) Last access 3/31/24 Originally Posted: Summer 2010

...I interviewed Emilie Autumn a few times in the mid-00s, although only once for Bubblegum Sl💛t. I think the photo of Emilie and me (seen on the left of the first slide) was taken after an interview for Alternative Magazine. Every time I saw Emilie, her gigs grew a bit grander and more bonkers. Consider that her entry point to the era’s music scene was a violin-and-vocal concept album - which concerned Shakespeare and mental ill health, and arrived accompanied by a semi-autobiographical novel, fusing psych ward memoirs with a Victorian fantasy world – and you get some sense of just how bonkers things got. By the time this was printed in 2010, her shows were bringing cabaret vibes and musical theatre production values to rock venues. Accompanied by the ‘Bloody Crumpets’ (a troupe of burlesque belles posing as asylum inmates), and an elaborate array of handcrafted props and costumes, she was greeted at every show by hordes of adoring ‘plague rats’ in bloomers and stripey stockings. Something I always found both inspiring and a little intimidating was just how hands-on Emilie was with every aspect of her ambitious shows. Right down to handmaking merch, she oversaw every last damn detail of her immersive fantasy world, putting in frighteningly long hours to make it happen. This was a big a theme of this very wordy interview.

Interview and scans below the cut.

Transcription note: this interview is long and EA's comments are interspersed throughout, so I've put her words in bold.

Wayward Woman

Released from her old record contract, our favourite asylum inmate Emilie Autumn has lately let her creativity run. And run. And run.

18 hour day corporate workaholics would be put to shame by the drive that Emilie Autumn exhibits in her many artistic endeavors. With each successive, increasingly grand tour I've witnessed (for which Emilie handles the design and production of lavish stage sets and costumes, the creation handmade merch and the choreography of dance routines and comedy set-pieces with her sidekicks 'The Bloody Crumpets', not to mention violin, harpsichord and vocal duties) I've felt, with crowing certainty, that superhuman powers are the only explanation for her quite extraordinary ability to maintain both the quality and vast quantity of her output. Speaking to the insomniac artist herself shortly after her Spring 2010 tour of Europe and Australia however, I've forced to entertain the more improbable, and frankly frightening notion, that her stamina is actually that of a mere mortal, as she recounts woefully how a throat infection forced her to cancel two shows on this most recent outing. The singer can't claim she wasn't warned; management -- characterized in popular music mythology as the business bods cracking the whip on the backs of their poor, cash-cow artist -- apparently made efforts to talk her out of undertaking such a lengthy tour before she had embarked up it, but inevitably such a suggestion was never given any serious consideration by a women who describes the experience of taking a few days off as "torturous".

"I wasn't allowed to speak," she elaborated on the horrors of her enforced spell of rest and relaxation. "I wasn't even allowed to whisper, so I had to write things down to communicate. As somebody who talks a lot--as you can tell--it was definitely torturous!"

Yes, I can definitely tell you that, amongst a great deal of many other talents, Emilie Autumn can really talk. Figuring out that much in the four previous interview I've got to admit that, while the kind of intense and frank debate and confessions she offers in volumes are a refreshing pleasure over any media-trained soundbite, I approach this latest encounter with as much dread as anticipation; dread that is for the figure that will appear on my phone bill when the receiver eventually goes down and Emilie and Chicago. And on this occasion there's more to talk about than ever before.

See, even within the biography of an artist who is prolific by nature the past few months can be considered a fully of activity. The tour aside, there's been the double dis re-release of Emilie's breath-through album 'Opheliac', while the publication of her long-awaited book 'The Asylum of Wayward Victorian Girls' requires epic discourse by itself. So more -- much more -- of the book later. Firstly, Emilie explains, the starting point for seeing this succession of projects come to fruition was opting to break away from former German-based label Trisol.

"Once all the house clearing went down I found, to my surprise, when the door opened I had a good amount of options," she recalls, swiftly skipping to the part where, having weight these up, she found and offer from New York's The End records the most attractive.

By signing on the dotted line she joined an oddball, distinctly arty roster, which also includes Mindless Self Indulgence, Dir En Gray and Dirty Little Rabbits, and celebrated seeing her music gain a release in her native Unite States at long last. Although "frustrated" by the prior limbo period, when her work languished on record stores' prices import shelves, she has to conceded that there's little evidence to suggest hefty taxes impeded the spread of the 'plague' (as she is wont to refer to the rise of her so-described 'violindustrial', with fans readily wearing the label 'plague rats').

"I was amazed to see the fanbase I have [here] when I first toured the US," she says. "The Plague rats are here, they're everywhere, and it's insane that this thing has spread almost without radio, without videos and without a label until now."

The fresh pressing of 'Opheliac' has also been granted a second release in Europe, where by contrast Emilie has enjoyed strong support from the alternative music media ever since the album was initially issued in 2006. Critics might assume a second coming so soon a little premature but, even without the addition of a wealth of bonus material, a record that can honestly by called a 'grower' -- rewarding revisits by revealing new depths to it's complex sonics and storyline -- makes a good case for being deserving of a second look. For Emilie herself "the 'Opheliac' record is still the most important thing" - the silver lining to the breakdown which followed her separation from musical collaborator turned lover Billy Corgan, traced to the eureka moment at which she began charting comparisons between her own increasingly troubled life and the misadventures of Shakespeare's archetypal 'difficult woman.'

"I think a couple times in your life, if you're lucky, you just get it right," Emilie reflects of the work now. "It's like creating the perfect quote that people will say 500 years later, because it still rings true. When I sing those songs onstage, or listen to that record it still strikes me that there's not a single thing I would change."

Such a definitive statement from the artist herself does rather invite the suggestion that the bonus disc can do little to enhance the piece; only encourage plague rats to pick up the second copy.

"The first disc is completely a concept album, where every sound is a puzzle piece within a big plan and everything relies on everything else around it," Emilie affirms. "So that second disc is like 'here's the mixbox' -- it's a complete jumble of things, like the inside of my head. But it is all very relevant to the suicidal theme of the album."

Specifically, she cites her unlikely rendition of an age-old song Billie Holiday mad her own, declaring "'Gloomy Sunday', - that's like the original suicide song, it couldn't be more relevant." With her version sitting alongside a cover of The Smiths' 'Asleep,' a solo violin rendering of Bach, several original acoustic recordings and samples of the spoken word, performances Emilie has lately been giving in support of her book release, she's not wrong in her assertion that the second disc is a 'mixbox' either. Set in contrast to the main album's heavy, literary study of her own human condition this new component is also reflective of the trademark scatter-brained and impatient intellect she overwhelms with when she chatters mile a minute.

By far the greatest justification for revisiting 'Opheliac' now Emilie excitably gabs is the long-awaited arrival of its companion and sequel, the Asylum book, viewed by it's author as a sort of key to decoding the shorthand hints embedded in the other releases in her catalogue.

A back-burner project in the Trisol offices for more than 2 years, the book looked so sure to be lost to the world for a time that Emilie's reaction when it eventually when into production under guidance of The End was to "go into shock - I've almost been in denial that i was ever actually happening.," she gasps. "I'd got so into saying 'wait for it, it's going to be great!' and not having it materialize that it was a shock when the new printing company put it together. It was torture to keep touring a keep releasing knowing that, even if I have a great fanbase who like what I'm doing, they really had no idea of what they liked was about at the time, They didn't know the full extent of how serious it actually was, how much i actually means and real it is."

Referring to the titular 'Asylum' -- most basically defined as a location in [Emilie's] imagination and art, but nonetheless deeply rooted in historical documentation of the treatment of Victorian madwomen, and the harsh realities of Emilie's own experience of the modern mental health care system -- she tells "there's this thing of assuming it's a fantasy world when, actually, it's for real. That was very difficult," she sighs, "to go on touring, knowing that there were so many things I couldn't do onstage that I actually might have wanted to, but because they were references to things in the book they would never make sense without it."

As much a novel, information manual for those wanting to pick up tips on surviving a mental health ward or swarm of leeches and detailed history lesson as it is an autobiography, the book was a massive undertaking --particularly for an author possessed of the perfectionist tendencies Emilie is. To put in perspective the length of the sentence 'The Asylum..." served in post-production hell, journalists received sample pages from Trisol's PR department, in preparation for an apparently imminent publication, way back in 2008. In the months it took for a released date to pass many other active and breathing public figures saw fit to issue second volumes to their autobiographies. Hence it figures that the finished Asylum on bookstore shelves now is a substantial development of those early previews.

"The story was there but with every day there was another delay and so more painting and ore words would go in just so that the time wasn't completely wasted," confirms Emilie. "If I had to wait I had to make the most of that time and now you have something that wouldn't have been quite as awesome if it had come a day earlier. It's not like the 'Opheliac' record, where I wouldn't add a note or take a note away -- this is the story of my entire life, it goes on -- I could always add another scribble in another corner. 'Opheliac' is a time capsule and this is everything, it goes [from] the beginning to beyond the end... the ultimate ending is still just a massive cliff-hanger because we don't know how it ends!"

Candor and openness being defining traits of the Emilie I've come to know it's surprising to hear that the other "big, open question mark," the book implanted in her head was a wave of self doubt--

"Like, 'okay, you think you know how you're going to react if people read this stuff by do you really ?' And for a couple of days there was this silence, on our sounding board--you know, the internet," she translates. "Everything was really quiet for a couple of days as people were reading it and digesting it and when they came back there was a kind of collective 'holy fuck - we though we knew what was going on by now... maybe not.' There's an increased understanding of me and what I do now - the colours of everything are a bit brighter, because it means more. It's a relief," she announces. " I've said it now, everybody knows all of these things about me now, and if you still like who I am, knowing that this is the life I've lived and things I've done then you like who I really am. It's just a relief to finally tell someone who you really are... like you might have wanted to pretend to be the little queen, or tired to be the good girlfriend, and when you give that up... well, it turns out that pressure is a lot scarier than telling the truth and doing whet comes naturally."

While she's in the mood to share, Emilie reveals the next stage in her grand plan.

"I'll tell you my secret," she relents, after a moments hesitation, reasoning. "I don't know if it's a secret, it's kind of obvious really. My plan, of why the book has to get so very much out there, is because we want to make a movie."

A nanosecond is spared for dramatic effect here before her enthusiasm spurs her on to laying out the blow-by-blow proposal, as though addressing her plague rats en masse.

"Here's what I need you to do," she instructs. "I need you to go buy me these 52 hundred copies of the Asylum book, because then we in the popularity contests--and that's how we get to the top of the bestsellers list. That's very simple, right? Because then, everyone knows, every single book that reaches the top of the bestseller chart is very quickly made into a movie. So if you want to see that movie you've got to help me and purchase that book!"

Emilie is right to think her plan is becoming 'obvious' at this stage. Always theatrical, her stage shows have now grown to a scale that their props are testing the limits of her one-woman workshop, and their stunts are insurance policies of venues only every intended to play host to the humble rock band. A theatre or screen production is the clear next step and, not one to restrict the creative outlets at her disposal, Emilie has not ruled out the former option.

"When we're hitting a new venue every night we have to wonder every night if we're going to be able to do the full show," she sighs. "It's 'are they going to let us to aerials here?', 'are we going to have to leave out the fire-eating because they won't let us do fire here?' It's becoming very clear that, at this level, there are limits to what you can do and the alternative to that is getting a theatre run where you're actually in the same place for 3 months. But there's a part of me that doesn't want tot do that because, however grueling life on the road is, there's that whole thing of the show coming to the people, which I love. SO I think maybe doing both is the ideal. Something I'm quite seriously working on," she impressed, before continuing, "is the possibility of being able to tour with my own venue. Circuses do it, so why can't I? It's a bigger production, and it's expensive, but if you know what you want there's always a way, and I've figured out what we need to do, which is embrace the fact that this isn't a rock show and begin putting it into a setting which reflects that."

Which reminds me, amongst Emilie's many interests is creating music, and between talking books, movies and big tops we've so far neglected to mention an additional iron in the fire, that is 'Opheliac's musical follow-up. Suddenly engaged on another new topic Emilie tells, "I'm about halfway through writing, but nothing has been recorded. It's still being added to because that's the next thing -- making sure that this album accurately represents my life right now. It ties in to the Asylum book, and 'Opheliac', which laid out 'this is the situation you're in,' so this next record is naturally saying 'okay, now what do you do about it?' So that's where it gets a bit more violent and bloody, because now it's about fighting."

Supporting Emilie's often re-iterated line that her seemingly disparate works are, truly, inter-connected and even inter-dependant, recent live shows have started to develop the theme of fighting. Most obviously performances on the Spring tour included a segment in which Emilie and her Bloody Crumpets tool up to become the Asylum Army, marching to a gruffly barked, yet uniquely feminine, drill chant.

"Now there' about 50% guys in the audiences," she notes. "And so when we ask there 'are you ready to fight like a girl?', and every one of them is screaming 'yes'... well, that's amazing. It's about taking that phrase -- that we've heard our whole lives a s derogatory thing, 'you fight like a girl', 'you throw a ball like a girl,' we're taking that and turning it on it's ass completely to make it like the greatest thing possible, knowing that actually, if a girl really has something to defend, there will be no chivalry, no rules, and she will use every tool possible.

For Emilie, these violent developments, as explored more graphically on the next album, represent "part tow of the adventure. It's still completely relevant, it has to be," she says. "When I put [the record] out it has to mean at least as much to me as 'Opheliac' did."

Here the perfectionist standards that her vast ambition demand surface once again, and she tells "I never want to do anything that doesn't have the same impact, on me that is. I want to get it right again. I can't fail, it's just not what I do. I would rather not put anything out. But that's not going to be a problem. I'm already working on the new record and we're gonna be just fine."

#emilie autumn #interviews #zine #2010 #bubblegum slt

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