#Wish my artistic capabilities went beyond characters standing around.

[clownbutch]

would love to make a story some day

[rpgmgames]

April’s Featured Game: Nobody's Home

DEVELOPER(S): oates ENGINE: RPG Maker MV GENRE: Survival Horror SUMMARY: After a night of extreme drinking and partying, you wake up in stranger's bed to discover... Nobody's Home.

Buy the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *oates: Hi, this is oates! I'm a pixel artist and game developer, I've started making games with rpgmaker in 2016 with VX Ace and now currently using MV for recent projects. Previous projects I've worked on were the FNaF-inspired Souls-like One Night at the Steeze, my first rpgmaker game and it's prequel, the FNaF-inspired roguelike No Delivery. Other games I've worked on include the fangames Day Dreaming Derpy, made in VX Ace and Spike's Day Off, made in MV and the latest in a series of previous fangames previously developed on Adobe Flash.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *oates: Nobody's Home is largely based on my experiments to find and apply horrific elements in modern situations or phenomena. The scenario being explored here in Nobody's Home is the aftermath of some crazy party. Sound design is especially important when crafting a horror scenario, so I often look to music to draw inspiration. Much of the atmosphere and house design was inspired by music and imagery associated with '70s yacht rock (a sub-genre of soft rock). Another important note is a lot of the general mood and 'weirdness' was inspired by a band I listen a lot to, Dance Gavin Dance, specifically their "deathstar" album. However they have a tendency in all their albums to switch genres mid-song, often going from their post-hardcore sound to funk, pop, and even rap; aside from that, some of the subject matter covered can range from disturbing to unpleasant to nonsensical, but combined with the amazing music, it creates an experience that pulls the listener in all different directions. It got to the point that I was naming events in the game after some their tracks so I had to be careful not to inadvertently make a fangame haha But there are some easter eggs in Nobody's Home that were intentionally left in, and I'm fairly certain players have identified it already.

How long did you work on your project? *oates: I used much of the same framework left over from my previous project No Delivery for this development cycle, so the hassle for setting up asset pipelines was very much mitigated. I started in earnest, making assets back in January this year so it took roughly 2+ months to finish development for this project.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *oates: Aside from the previous music inspirations, I was really intrigued with the way Resident Evil 7's Beginning Hour demo was able to pick up where Konami's cancelled PT left off in terms of survival horror games to look forward to back in 2017. Prior to later updates, the initial demo really only included a few set pieces, basic item interaction, and almost no puzzles from the full game. It was largely able to pull off scaring players from almost atmosphere alone (if you exclude the Jack Baker and ghost encounters). It was later in the full game that it was able to show off it's metroidvania-esque design to its fullest. After my previous project, I wanted to step away from roguelike design for a bit and focus a little more on an exploration-based experience, so I took a few notes from the way RE7 and RE2: Remake handled map design and progression.

Did you come across any challenges during development? How did you overcome or work around them? *oates: I was coming off a severe cold last year and it took most of January for me to recover, so it was a little hard to start full-on development immediately like I normally would on top of other career matters. And looking at events today, it's even more imperative that developers practice healthy habits during development.

Did any aspects of your project change over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *oates: I've had the idea for Nobody's Home as a concept for a while, but filling in those gaps with actual gameplay between centerpieces was a big variable. I went back and forth between the turn-based item combat from the previous project to cutting out combat entirely. While I didn't implement it, I also brainstormed a few concepts for overworld action and combat ala Zelda, but it seemed too complex given the time frame I set for myself. Eventually I settled on a middle ground between full combat and separate encounters, with "enemies" acting as essentially a toll gate. The rest of the game followed suit with various tolls and "mouse traps" for the player to trigger at their own behest. This wasn't necessarily the design I had in mind at first, but it helped to concisely fill a relatively small location with specifically "deadly" content.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *oates: I largely work solo for both development and art, but I do regularly work with a few musicians for an original soundtrack. I first started working with other composers for the fangame Day Dreaming Derpy, where after the initial demo was released, I received emails from a few musicians volunteering to contribute some tracks for the game. In all, the original soundtrack contained 9 tracks in total, with 3 tracks from each composer; each of them doing an amazing job and, in my opinion brought the project back then to a higher degree of quality. This was how I met some of the composers I still work with today and they all have some really great work! TheNGVirus @NGVirusNG1 Kaminakat @thekaminakat dRedder @HornyGremlin

What is the best part of developing a game? *oates: It's a toss up between the initial brainstorming/research and the first run-through when you have your desired maps linked together. For the brainstorming, it's pretty fun to learn about subject matter you want to do justice to as well as stretching your creative muscles for the first time in service to a certain concept. However this obviously wears off when you devote too much time to a particular concept, but it's still enjoyable nevertheless. For making that run-through, it doesn't necessarily mean to have all the events implemented, but to experience your game the way players will experience it for the first time does give a sense of completion/cohesion to what you, as a developer, are trying to accomplish. It essentially puts what you're working on into a different perspective for you.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *oates: I do keep an eye out for what other rpgmaker projects are doing, and to see what others can do with the engine helps get the creative juices flowing; it's also fun to try to mentally reverse engineer how certain mechanics or effects were made. And it's always great to see fellow devs showcase what's possible with the engine.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *oates: Nobody's Home has a relatively small cast of characters, whom you do interact with but never see, this is largely to done to create a sense of "un-relatability", but if I had to pick a character, it'd be "car guy", the guy you find stuck in the car. They have a good line, " ...there'd be a good reason for this, but there isn't..." Story of my life.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *oates: There were a few areas I would have liked to expand on or add, specifically- the attic + roof, the front lawn, behind the walls, and an entire second floor. Unfortunately that meant potentially adding more questlines and NPCs while the first set of questlines were pretty interwoven so it would have been way more complex, also again, given the time frame I set, it would have extended the development cycle way beyond what I had time for. But if I had implemented those extra areas, the game's length would also go way beyond the 30 min - 1 hr it takes to complete the game as it is now.

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *oates: I'd like to do both really, each installment of the VCRPG line of games is definitely a stand-alone story, or an isolated incident, but I would love to explore the aftermath of the game's events and how the passage of time ravages and twists the story into urban legend. I like to treat places and environments like characters as well, capable of making memories, being misunderstood, preserved, destroyed, and ultimately capable of change.

What do you most look forward to upon finishing the game? *oates: Both the fan reaction and free time honestly speaking. Once the development cycle finishes and the game is published, your work isn't really finished as there's always a chance someone's feedback can apply to immediate changes or patches you can implement, even during the release period. Marketing is also another large step to take into consideration after release, this includes tweeting, sending keys for lets plays, etc. Watching playthroughs is also a really good way to collect data on what parts of your design fall through and what fail to land. But after all that is said and done, some free time really helps the brain recuperate.

Was there something you were afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *oates: Just whether or not I handled the game's subject matter tastefully. Like horror cinema, everything done is in service the the themes and message of the piece as a whole.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *oates: The game engine is essentially a tool, and like any tool you can find plenty of creative ways to get the same result. And don't be afraid to research whatever it is you need help with, it also helps to be specific with what you want.

Question from last month's featured dev @moca-pz: If you can collaborate with any game developer in the world, who would it be? What would be their role(s) and what would be your role(s)? *oates: Game developer I'd like to work with: Hidetaka Miyazaki His role: Story Lead and Director My role: Drinking buddy Game we're working on: SciFi Souls

We mods would like to thank oates for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Nobody's Home if you haven’t already! See you next month! 

- Mods Gold & Platinum

[af1899]

FEH - "The outside world...! So vast!" (+10 WIP Sophia mini-showcase and appreciation)

So, with the [Feh Pass] subscription, I've been auto battling as much as I could while doing whatever else and gather [Hero Feathers] to get all the [HM] I had yet to get, and it was absolutely worth it, although I've already spent like 300 out of my 900+ something [Stamina Bottles] in the [Forging Bonds] lmao, I have around 660 now.

But with the obtained [Hero Feathers] I merged up Tailtiu to +6 and...

Poggers

I'm happy to have finished merging Sophia at long last which makes of her my eleventh fully merged project soon after New Year Eir, her build is pretty much done but I'd be delighted to give her more premium stuff she can use in the future and make more builds, as well as giving her the remaining [Dragonflowers (I)] but I'm so close to fully boost Sonya and then I have to boost OG and Legendary Julia because of the post-[CYL 2021] update. 🥴

But her current build does wonders already, true, she's not impervious to nearly everything as it is, but I can give her some team support and the like, she's still great on her own.

Now, onto appreciation talk which includes describing her a little and explaining why I like her. I did this in one of my previous posts but it's time to review the info we have about her and expand on it. As always, feel free to read on (long read ahead)...

About Sophia

She's a half-dragon, half-human girl with the power of foresight, she's a priestess residing in Arcadia, a village that houses manaketes that survived one of the most vicious wars from past lore (The Scouring) located in the southwestern desertic region (Nabata) in Elibe, the continent on which the sixth and seventh Fire Emblem games take place in, she's a playable [Shaman] in the former and makes a minor appearance as a NPC near the end of the latter. Her class makes of her one of the two playable dark magic users in Fire Emblem: Sword of Seals (the other is the guy you're most likely to get while pulling on red stones in FEH, a.k.a. Raigh), and she gains access to basic staves after promoting to [Druid].

In her support convo with Niime, it's revealed that Sophia's father was human, meaning that her mother was a dragon, but neither's identity is ever known to the player. But despite this, she never transforms into a dragon, most likely because she never had her own stone to contain those powers. Being half-dragon also allows her to live much longer, but not as purebred manaketes/dragons.

She's fully self-aware of her heritage and doesn't let that bother her, she accepts both halves of herself which make of her a whole person.

She's somewhat important around the half of the game's duration as she helps a gravely injured Cecilia to at least tend to her wounds while waiting for Roy's army to rescue them as they were both thrown into a prison under Bern's control (the kingdom invading the other countries during the events of the game).

Sophia displays a shy and gentle personality, showing clear astonishmnet yet in a calm way when witnessing what the outside world is like and what it has to offer (beyond the village she's been living for around a century), this is most evidenced in her support dialogues with Igrene. She even feels similarly when wearing a new set of clothes, such as those of Embla in the World of Zenith, anytime after she joins the Order of Heroes.

«As long as I am with you... I can go anywhere...even a new country...»

― Sophia

She also mentions she was raised to avoid outsiders, and in the same aforementioned support convo, it's mentioned why.

«I understand what he's saying... The Dragons' powers could easily destroy entire countries. If the outsiders found out, they would surely fight over it. I've seen many conflicts like that in my life...»

― Igrene

And it's understandable why she feels that way after being raised by the elder of the village to do as told for decades. But in the end, she wants to work towards a world of peace where both dragons and humans live together without a war ever spreading out, and befriend other people, she's appreciative of other's kindness.

So... why do I like her?

Because she's purple-haired and most of her design has purple and I love purple soooooo much, that's all you need to know. :)

...Kidding kidding, that's not actually it, but it's in part true that I find her aesthetic pleasing, partially due to my passion for this color:

(Official artwork from FE6)

Her design is rather simple but so charming, clearly evidencing her shyness (see the way she holds her book and her facial expression), and feeling clean without going overboard on details.

Also, I find long, purple hair a rather rare yet dazzling sight, I always look at it in her artwork and remins me why I love her design.

True, her neck in Zaza's take on Sophia in Fire Emblem Heroes bothered me a little, mostly because her neck is a little long as seen above, but not as slim as long as Zaza has drawn her (it's still a decent artwork and the artist has made some really nice pieces later, look at Emmeryn), the style also felt a little off to me. But her Resplendent upgrade made Sophia look more cute and still being the one we know, doning a brand new attire.

(❶ Original by Zaza. | ❷ Resplendent by Miwabe Sakura)

But for me, it's pointless to be pretty if there's not a likeable personality behind the character in question, and Sophia has been proven to be really interesting, often a mysterious but shy girl, she's capable of kindness and finding comfort with outsiders like Kiran or Roy, when I see her, I always feel that she's so nice, never feeling bitterness towards any of her allies, just being shy due to how she's grown, but with a desire for friendship and peace pushing her forward, even slowly but surely, she's so lovely. 🥰

What's more, some of her quotes show she has a protective side, determined to stand up to help her allies but specially those she's close with, this eventually includes Kiran themselves.

Her voice in Fire Emblem Heroes is also really soothing, Wendee Lee has made such a delightful work giving new life to Sophia through her voice acting, there sure are differences between her work back in 2017 (Sophia is a launch unit, meaning she's been around ever since the game was live) and the work on the Resplendent in 2020, yet both are pretty consistent and equally pleasant to hear. But if I have to vouch for one or another, I give a point to the Resplendent voice acting, her voice can be heard with a little more depth and calmness to it than the original, which feels more natural.

And she's a dark magic practitioner but that doesn't make her evil at all, she's really pure actually. But I actually find dark magic most appealing out of any kind of weapon I have ever seen, the whole concept is cool, being always creepy and nefarious in nature, often portrayed in hues of black and dark purple.

And like, c'mon, this thing is amazing:

I wish that [Apocalypse] was her PRF weapon in Fire Emblem Heroes but neither Raigh nor Bramimond who's its OG owner got it and just got random PRFs instead.

Anyway, in short, I adore Sophia and it always makes me happy to turn a seemingly weak unit into a tough to crack cookie, love for favorites sure can take them far.

"And... as a unit?"

I've been trying her mainly against the foes she has advantage with, but I've been also trying her against red/blue units and sometimes she does a nice job holding them at bay, she has low speed even after all this investment but with buffing it's somewhat usable.

Yet I prefer to focus on her strengths, not weaknesses, and she stands as a fairly good magic tank, with the few extras she enjoys as a launch unit and full demote plus Resplendent skin since around the first weeks of the [Feh Pass].

I actually tried her here some time after posting this because I didn't notice the [Limited Hero Battle] for today requires you use FE6 units, so I went with my faves in the game and it was rather easy. 🙂 But it still took a little thinking.

"Who's the next +10 you have in mind?"

Hmm... actually gonna (at least try to) work on Lilina, another one of my Elibian favorites. I also have her Resplendent upgrade and could revamp her kit. 🤔

But she's currently +3 so her turn might take longer or someone's else may come before, Idk.

And then, hopefully someone I like out of the next potential Resplendent Heroes...!

[rhosyn-du]

Title: A Wonderful Institution Artist: @bidnezz​​ Pairings: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, various background pairings Word Count: ~53k Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, discrimination against Downworlders, reference to rape, Clave-typical homophobia, implied character death, minor character death Summary: Magnus doesn’t have time for this bullshit. Warlocks are disappearing in New York City—five people in less than three months—and Magnus is determined to find them and protect the rest of his people from whatever took them. He doesn’t have time for politics, and he certainly doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense the Clave is proposing about marrying a Shadowhunter to a Downworlder as part of the new Accords. He doesn’t really have time for a pretty Shadowhunter who’s surprisingly kind to warlock children, either, but, well, he’s always been good at multitasking.

Alec always knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, but he’s spent the nearly four years since the newly-appointed Consul recalled his parents to Idris without explanation making the best of what he can have. When life suddenly offers up almost everything Alec actually wants on a silver platter, he can’t quite bring himself to trust it, especially when it comes with a million caveats and a side of impending disaster. But he knows how to handle disasters, even if the return of the Circle on top of Clave secrets that could destroy the Accords is way beyond the disasters he’s used to fielding. Hope, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what to do with that.

This fic was created for the @malecdiscordserver​ Mini Bang 2020.

Chapter Ten

“Tell me everything,” Magnus said, ushering Raphael into the loft. “What happened?” He could feel Alexander hovering behind him, the weight of their unfinished conversation trailing along with him, but he didn’t have time to worry about that right now. 

“We were supposed to meet up by Union Square Park two hours ago,” Raphael told him. “I was going to show Ragnor the Church of St. Francis Xavier. He’s never been, and I know he’d appreciate the stained glass.” 

“Have you tried calling him?” Magnus asked, looking for an explanation that didn’t require utter panic. “You know how he loses track of time.” 

Raphael gave him a look that told him exactly how stupid a question that was. “Of course I did. And before you say it, Ragnor always picks up my calls.” 

“All right,” Magnus said. “He said something about meeting up with Cat earlier for help on that counter-potion, so we’ll start there. If we can figure out where he disappeared from, that will give us a place to start.” 

“And if it’s like the other disappearances?” Raphael asked. “There might not be anything to find.” 

“Then at least we’ll have that,” Magnus said. It wasn’t exactly a comfort, but it was something. 

“I’ll call Jace and Izzy,” Alec offered. “It can’t hurt to have more people looking.” 

According to Catarina, she’d left Ragnor half an hour before he was supposed to meet up with Raphael. They’d figured out what was missing from the counter-potion, and Ragnor had been planning to pick up the final ingredient before meeting Raphael so he could start brewing the potion in the morning. 

“Do you know where he was planning to get the missing ingredient?” Magnus wanted to know. 

Catarina shook her head. “He said he knew a guy. You know how Ragnor is.” 

Magnus did, indeed, know how Ragnor was. 

“Since we don’t know where he was between, we should start our search at his last known location and at the place he was supposed to be,” Alec said. 

“I can take you to where we were working on the potion,” Catarina offered. “Ragnor has multiple lairs, and I think this one is new. I’d never been there before, at least.” 

“And I can help search around Union Square Park,” Raphael said, “since I know the area.” 

They agreed that each search party should have a warlock, for ease of portaling, and after some bickering that mostly amounted to Magnus not feeling comfortable letting anyone he cared about out of his sight just then, Magnus took Raphael and Izzy with him to search the area around Union Square Park, and Alec and Jace went with Catarina to look for clues at Ragnor’s lair. 

As it turned out, having more people did not help, because there were no clues to find. 

“This isn’t your fault, you know,” Raphael said quietly as they searched the east side of the park. 

“I know that,” Magnus lied. “I’m just concerned about what this might mean. Dorothea knew that Jocelyn got the potion from Ragnor, which means that could be why he was taken. And now that Ragnor knows how to brew the counter-potion, it’s only a matter of time before Valentine is able to wake Jocelyn.” 

“Which sucks,” Izzy said, “but she can’t tell him where the Cup is anymore. At least we know that it’s safe.” 

“I wish that gave me as much confidence as it seems to give you,” Magnus told her. 

The fact was, this was his fault. He’d known that Ragnor was at risk, and he hadn’t done enough to convince his friend to protect himself. If Magnus had been a better friend, Ragnor never would have been alone to be kidnapped in the first place. Magnus would have been with him. He should have insisted on Ragnor staying at his loft and working on the potion there, should have insisted that he go with Ragnor to see Cat. Instead, he’d been at home, making out with Alexander while his friend had been taken by the Circle.

They searched for three hours before Magnus finally admitted defeat and returned to the loft. He’d gotten word from Alec over an hour earlier that they’d finished searching Ragnor’s lair but found nothing that gave any clue as to where or how the warlock had been taken. Alec had gone to the Institute to file an official report on the disappearance but promised to return as soon as he was finished. 

It was strange coming home to an empty loft. After only two weeks, Alexander’s presence seemed like such a natural part of the space, of Magnus’s life. He knew they were going to have to finish the conversation Raphael had interrupted, and he was in no way looking forward to it. He’d been dreading it the entire time he’d been keeping the secret, which was why he’d taken so long to come clean. He knew he should have told Alec before the wedding, should have given Alec the opportunity to back out the same way Alec had given him when he divulged the secret about the former Consul’s betrayal. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to risk what they’d been building together. In retrospect, of course, it was obvious he’d just been putting it at greater risk. 

Magnus contemplated going to bed. He was tired, and it would give him an excuse to put off the conversation with Alec, but even knowing that things could go poorly, he couldn’t stand to be alone right now. And he needed to know, needed to see with his own eyes, that Alec was safe. It was a little ridiculous, he knew. Alexander was more than capable of taking care of himself, and even if he weren’t, they’d spoken on the phone just before Alec returned to the Institute. He knew Alec was fine, and it wasn’t like Valentine or the Circle had any interest in kidnapping Shadowhunters as far as they knew. But after everything, with Ragnor missing and knowing that Valentine had Dot, Magnus couldn’t help but worry. 

By the time Alec returned to the loft, Magnus had changed into his favorite pair of silk pajamas and was curled up on the couch with a fluffy blanket and a mug of hot buttered rum. 

“Hey,” Alec said, joining him on the couch, “I’m sorry I took so long. Things got a little messy back at the Institute.” 

“Clary?” Magnus guessed, forcing himself to uncurl his legs and sit on the couch like a grown adult who wasn’t in the throes of panic. 

“Partially,” Alec said. “And Lydia, and having to justify why I decided to pull two Shadowhunters who were supposed to be on patrol to help look for a missing warlock.” 

“But Ragnor was our best chance for finding Valentine,” Magnus said, frowning. And now that was lost, too, because Magnus hadn’t tried hard enough to protect his friend. 

“Which I told her,” Alec said leaning back into the couch. “And Lydia agreed, but still insisted that I write out a whole long explanation for the Clave so that no one could second-guess my decision, which I get, but...” 

“But you hate that you have to justify yourself,” Magnus finished for him. 

“Exactly,” Alec agreed. “But I shouldn’t be complaining about work right now. You must be so worried about your friend.” 

“I am,” Magnus agreed, “but honestly, it’s good to have a little distraction.” 

Alec put a hand on his knee and gave a gentle squeeze. “We already know the approximate area where Valentine is hiding, and you and Clary have gotten us a ton of intel with the portal shard. We’re going to find Valentine, and everyone that he’s taken.” 

“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus said, putting his own hand over Alec’s. “I appreciate your confidence.” 

“But you don’t share it,” Alec guessed, flipping his hand over to thread their fingers together. 

Magnus closed his eyes, appreciating the gesture both for what it was and the reassurance that Alec wasn’t angry enough with him to avoid physical contact, at least. 

“I wish I could,” he said. “But Ragnor was our best chance of tracking Valentine. You and I both know that. And now he’s been taken, and I didn’t protect him.” 

“It’s not your job to protect him,” Alec said, “and Ragnor might have been our best chance of finding Valentine, but that doesn’t mean he was our only chance.” 

“He was a warlock and he was probably in New York when he was taken,” Magnus countered. “That makes protecting him my job. And,” he added more quietly, “he’s my friend. I knew he was in danger, but I let him convince me that he’d be safe on his own.” 

Alec didn’t say anything, simply leaned in and pulled Magnus into a hug. Magnus let himself be pulled, nuzzling his cheek against the soft fabric of Alec’s shirt. 

“We’ll find Ragnor,” Alec promised. “And Dot, and all of the other warlocks who’ve been taken. And we’ll capture Valentine and throw a goddamn party when the Clave executes him.” 

“I didn’t think you liked parties,” Magnus said, trying for some levity. By the way Alec held him tighter, he didn’t think he quite managed it. 

“I’ll make an exception.” 

Magnus took a deep breath, grateful for the support that Alec offered, and grateful also that Alec offered it without expecting Magnus to look at him while they had this conversation. Magnus didn’t like to hide from his problems, but some things were easier to say if you weren’t facing the person you had to say them to. 

“Alexander,” he said, face still firmly pressed against Alec’s shoulder. “About what we were discussing earlier—” 

“I don’t care,” Alec said firmly. “Well, I do a bit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little bit flattered that I was the reason you volunteered, but I don’t actually care how we got here.” He pulled back so Magnus could see his face and all of the sincerity there. “All I care about is that we are here, together.”

Magnus managed a shaky smile. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I know it might not have sounded like it earlier, but I feel the same way. This isn’t how I would have chosen for us to get together, but now that we are, I can’t regret any of it.” 

“I just wish there were more I could do to help you find your friends,” Alec said. “I know how awful I would feel if something happened to Jace or Izzy.” He sighed. “I’m not good at stuff like this. Fighting demons, I can do. But I’ve never been great at this whole comfort thing.” 

“I think you’re very good at it,” Magnus told him. “There’s nothing more I could ask for than to have you with me right now. This is exactly what I need.” 

“I guess I’m pretty okay at existing,” Alec said with a small smile. 

“For which I am exceedingly glad,” Magnus told him. “Although, now that you mention it, there is one more thing you could do.” 

“Name it,” Alec said. 

Magnus bit his lip. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. It’s just, I think I’d feel better. But you can say no.” 

“Magnus,” Alec said, running his hands down Magnus’s arms, “just ask. If it’s too much, I’ll say so.” 

“Would you stay with me in my room tonight?” Magnus asked, all in a rush. “I think I’d sleep better if I weren’t alone.” 

“Of course,” Alec said, like it was nothing. “Anything you need. Besides, it’s not like sleeping next to you is any big hardship. In case you forgot,” he added with a shy smile, “that’s kind of where I was hoping I’d end up tonight to begin with.” 

“That’s a little bit different,” Magnus said, returning the smile. “I hardly think you were hoping for me to cry myself to sleep on your shoulder.” 

“No,” Alec agreed, “and I hate that you feel like crying at all, but Magnus, I’m here for you, however you need me.” 

“I wish I had the words to properly tell you how much that means to me,” Magnus told him. 

“How about you just let me get you to bed, instead?” Alec suggested. “You look as exhausted as I feel, and we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow.” 

“I think that sounds like an excellent compromise,” Magnus told him. 

Hand in hand, they made their way to Magnus’s bedroom.

Morning came, as it always did, far too early for Alec’s liking.  This time, though, he woke more comfortable than he could ever remember being, the bed just the right amount of soft beneath him and gentle fingers carding through his hair.

“I’m leaving you for your bed,” he said, cracking open one eye. “We’ve formed an irrevocable bond, and we’re running away to elope as soon as I’m actually awake.”

“I’m pretty sure bigamy is illegal in New York,” Magnus told him.

“We’ll go to, I don’t know, Antarctica or something. Somewhere no one is going to judge us for our love.”

“Alternate proposal,” Magnus offered. “You stay here, and we can share my bed every night.”

“That’s a very compelling counteroffer,” Alec said.

“I was thinking pancakes for breakfast. Assuming you’re awake enough, of course.”

“Pancakes and coffee?” Alec asked hopefully.

Magnus sighed theatrically. “One night in my bed and already you’re getting spoiled and greedy.”

“Is that really surprising?” Alec asked. “I’d think most people would be spoiled and greedy after a night in your bed.”

“Normally, I’d be flattered by a comment like that, but given that you woke up declaring your intention to leave me for my bed, I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

Alec pulled him into a quick, sleep-sloppy kiss. “Obviously, I prefer the option where I get to have you and the bed.”

“And the pancakes and the coffee?”

“Mmm,” Alec agreed.

“All right,” Magnus said, standing. “You finish waking up, I’ll get breakfast ready, and then we can get to work. I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that Biscuit has already texted me with several new ideas for using the portal shard to find her mother.”

“Any of them actually any good?” Alec asked, forcing himself to sit up.

“No,” Magnus said, “but I can’t fault her enthusiasm.”

Alec thought he probably could. Alec certainly could. But he didn’t say so. Magnus seemed much more optimistic this morning than he had the night before, when he really had cried himself to sleep on Alec’s shoulder.

Alec got dressed quickly, feeling a little strange going back to his own room for clothes. He wondered as he did so if Magnus had been serious about him spending every night in Magnus’s bed, or if it had just been part of their banter. He wasn’t opposed to the idea at all, but the past twenty-four hours had been a bit intense, and he didn’t want to assume Magnus had been serious if it was just a joke. They didn’t need that kind of misunderstanding right now, not with as much stress as Magnus was under.

Of course, it wouldn’t be any better to assume Magnus had been joking if that weren’t the truth, either. Probably, he should just ask. They’d had enough trouble not saying what they meant already.

“I hope you like apple butter on your pancakes,” Magnus said as he entered the dining room. “There’s this orchard north of Seattle that sells the best apple butter this time of year, and I couldn’t resist.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had apple butter on pancakes,” Alec admitted. “But I love it on toast, and anyway I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to ruin pancakes.”

Magnus gave him a dubious look. “I’m suddenly questioning your taste in pancakes. It is definitely possible to ruin them. Maybe I should just be in charge of pancakes from now on.”

“I’m never going to complain about my husband conjuring me pancakes,” Alec said, taking his place at the table. “This looks amazing.”

It took Alec several seconds to realize that Magnus hadn’t moved. “What?” he asked, looking up to find Magnus staring at him.

“Nothing,” Magnus said, shaking his head and taking his own seat. “It’s just, I don’t think you’ve ever called me your husband before.”

“Oh,” Alec said. “I’m sorry?” he offered.

“No, don’t be,” Magnus said quickly. “I don’t dislike it. I was just surprised.”

Alec felt a small warmth bloom in his chest at the idea that Magnus liked being called his husband. It was still new and uncertain, this thing between them, but after the confessions of the previous night, he was more confident than ever that they were on the same page. Even if they apparently really hadn’t been to begin with.

It was still a strange thing to try to wrap his head around, that Magnus had volunteered to marry him not out of some long, well-thought out plan the way Alec had, but spur of the moment. And that Magnus had volunteered not just to marry for the Accords, but to marry him, even if he’d thought at first that it wasn’t going to happen. What he’d said, though, about not being able to stand the thought of Alec marrying someone else, that still floored Alec. He’d thought of the same thing, of course, what it would be like if he’d been rejected and he’d had to watch Magnus marry another Shadowhunter. He would have hated it. It was reassuring to hear that they were and had been so close in their feelings this whole time. It made Alec wonder if, had things been different and this marriage for the Accords had never come about, they might have ended up here anyway.

“What are you smiling about?” Magnus asked.

“Nothing,” Alec said around a mouthful of pancakes. “These are really good. The apple butter is amazing.”

“We should visit the orchard sometime,” Magnus told him. “It’s beautiful this time of year, with the trees all heavy from fruit.”

“You know, you never struck me as the kind of guy who was into farming,” Alec said.

“I wouldn’t say I’m into it,” Magnus said, “but it’s interesting to see where food comes from.”

“I’m more interested in eating food than seeing where it comes from,” Alec said.

“So I’ve noticed.”

“You know,” Alec said, “for a guy who conjures all of his food and was just besmirching my pancake-making skills despite never having tasted my pancakes, you’re awfully judgmental.”

“Not judgmental,” Magnus corrected. “Amused.”

“I’m glad I entertain you,” Alec said, stuffing another bite of pancakes into his mouth and washing it down a mouthful of truly amazing coffee.

“Cat is going to meet us at the Institute after breakfast,” Magnus told him. “She recorded everything she could remember from working with Ragnor yesterday, and she’s going to see how close she can get to recreating that counter-potion while we work on finding Valentine and the missing warlocks.”

Alec noticed that he spoke about “the missing warlocks” rather than Ragnor and Dot, and wondered if that was Magnus’s way of keeping himself focused on the job rather than his missing friends. It was something Alec might have done himself in a similar situation.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Alec told him. “Can you work with Clary to see how much more information you can get out of that portal shard?”

Magnus nodded. “That was the plan.”

“I’ve got extra patrols scouting the area Iris identified as the likely location of Valentine’s hideout, but no leads there so far. I’m thinking of taking Izzy and Jace down there and checking it out myself.”

“We could go together,” Magnus suggested.

Alec wanted to argue, to explain that, no, really, he could take care of himself, especially with Jace and Izzy as backup. But then he saw the soft, vulnerable look in Magnus’s eyes, the one he was trying to hide behind his own coffee cup. The same look he’d had when he asked Alec to stay with him last night.

“Sure,” he agreed. If it made Magnus feel better to stay together, he wasn’t going to argue. Not now. “It will be good to have a warlock with us if we find Valentine’s hideout so we can have someone to portal us back when we’re ready to make our move.”

“It might be a good idea to start sending warlocks out with your patrols in that area,” Magnus suggested. “If you think your Shadowhunters would be amenable.”

“Some of them would,” Alec assured him. “And I could make sure those Shadowhunters ended up on those patrols. How many warlocks do you think would be willing to partner with Shadowhunters like that?”

“I’ll have to ask,” Magnus told him, “but for the chance of finding Valentine? I’d wager at least a few.”

Alec was mentally putting together a list of Shadowhunters he knew he could trust to work well with warlocks, along with a secondary list of Shadowhunters he might be able to trust if they got desperate, when the world erupted into motion and sound. It only took him a few seconds to catch up to what was happening—he was a trained soldier after all—but those were seconds he didn’t have, not without his weapons, not as badly outnumbered as they were.

And, oh, they were outnumbered. Alec counted half a dozen warlocks, all sporting the distinctive dark veins Iris had explained were a symptom of Valentine’s serum, and twice that many Circle members pouring through a portal into the loft. He barely had time to recognize one of those warlocks as Ragnor, to see the dawning horror on Magnus’s face, before he threw himself at the closest Circle member.

It was an abysmally short fight. Alec did manage to take down two of the Circle members, despite being unarmed while they were armed to the teeth, but he simply wasn’t a match for so many. Especially not when one of the warlocks used magic to bind his movement.

Magnus managed to hold his own for a few minutes longer, but their attackers had clearly come prepared and with a plan. All too soon, Magnus was subdued, as well, sporting a pair of magic-blocking manacles that Alec recognized from his own Institute’s equipment room.

“Take the warlock back to our base.” Alec recognized Valentine Morgenstern from pictures, though he was far older now than any of the photos in the Clave’s files. “Secure him and heal his wounds. I need him undamaged.”

“You will regret this,” Magnus promised darkly. “I won’t be a party to whatever you’re planning, and I won’t—”

“And shut him up,” Valentine told a short, blonde warlock, otherwise ignoring Magnus completely.

Magnus’s voice cut off immediately, and Alec assumed he’d been magically silenced.

“The Clave will find you,” Alec told Valentine. “They know you’re alive and they will destroy you, and the Circle.”

“Spare me your little speech of defiance,” Valentine said, rolling his eyes. “The Circle has survived longer than you’ve been alive, and it will endure for years to come. Not that you’ll be around to see it, I’m afraid.”

Valentine turned to Ragnor. “Kill this one, and leave the body,” he told him. “Make it messy.”

Alec had barely enough time for Valentine’s words to sink in, to register the abject horror on Magnus’s face, before his world exploded into pain. Then, hours or maybe seconds later, went blessedly black.

[virtual-lara]

Irish Times - Cyberbabe Gets Real

Article appeared on the Irish Times website, dated to 23rd June 2001, and was written by Steven Poole, author of 'Trigger Happy: The Inner Life of Videogames'. Article features a look into the history of Lara and what she is as a character.

It's Valentine's Day, 1968. In a hospital in the south London neighbourhood of Wimbledon, a daughter is born to Lord and Lady Henshingly-Croft. The girl has a drawerful of silver spoons in her mouth. Between the ages of three and 11, she is privately tutored at home; she then attends Wimbledon High School for Girls and Gordonstoun.

At the latter, she discovers a passion for rock climbing in the mountains of Scotland. (She also takes up shooting, but is soon banned for showing "too keen an interest".) By the time she is 18, everyone can see she has a wild streak, but her parents believe she can be thoroughly civilised - and eventually married off to the Earl of Farringdon - after three years at a Swiss finishing school.

While in Switzerland, however, the young woman takes to extreme skiing and spends a holiday pursuing the sport in the Himalayas.

On the return journey, her plane crashes deep in the mountains, and she is the only passenger left alive. Somehow she survives and, two weeks later, staggers into a mountain village. By this time, the course of her life has changed. She feels truly alive only when travelling alone. Lara Croft has decided to become an adventurer.

Or you could look at it this way: Lara Croft was born on the screen of a computer in an English video-game studio in 1995. First, she was a pencil sketch on paper, then a series of more detailed illustrations. Next, her vital statistics were plotted on a VDU screen. Thousands of triangles meshed together to build a computerised outline of a female form.

At this stage, Lara would have looked like a sculpture in chicken wire. Then the figure was "skinned" - wrapped in shaded, coloured surfaces to approximate a clothed human being. Lastly, she was animated: taught to walk, somersault, run and pull herself up on rocky ledges. Virtual worlds were also built around her to test her physical abilities to the limit.

Lara Croft and the Tomb Raider franchise are the products of Core Design - the game-development studio where Lara was born - and Eidos Interactive, its British parent. The man who fathered her was an artist in his early 20s called Toby Gard.

"When I came up with the idea for Tomb Raider," he says, "it wasn't necessarily going to be a female character. We wanted a real-time cinematic game, and I designed a couple of characters; one was a girl, one was a bloke. Eventually, we realised there was going to be a lot of story element in the game and we couldn't keep both the characters, so it was back down to one." So which should they choose? At the time, a female lead in a game was almost unheard of, Gard says. "There was resistance from marketing quarters, saying that female characters never sold."

Eventually, Core chose Lara as a refreshing antidote to the muscled meatheads that usually populated video games. And boy, did she sell: 26 million units, and counting, earning about $1 billion gross in retail sales.

Having turned her back on the upper-class society of her parents, who terminated her monthly allowance in disgust, Lara metamorphosed into a modern-day Indiana Jones.

For her first commission as a professional tomb raider, she was hired to retrieve the three parts of a mysterious artefact known as the Atlantean Scion. Hurtling through Peru, Rome and the lost city of Atlantis (well, it wasn't lost any more), Lara negotiated booby traps and shot a variety of wildlife, including rats, tigers and, alarmingly, a tyrannosaur.

In later quests, she travelled to Venice, Tibet and the Great Wall of China, snuck around the US military institute Area 51 and battled goons in the London Underground. Along the way, Lara was constantly learning. On the trail of a weird dagger that could turn you into a dragon, Lara discovered that she could climb walls, flip through 180 degrees while jumping or swimming, and wade into shallow pools of water.

By the time of her next adventure she could even get down on her hands and knees - in order to negotiate low tunnels and ventilation ducts - as well as monkey-swing from walkways and run much faster than she ever had. She could even blink. The programmers at Core extended Lara's capabilities with each new game, exploiting the fact that she had become a star.

Every year, another sequel popped up just before Christmas and went straight to the top of the video-game charts. Meanwhile, Eidos, Lara's parent company, was becoming a stock-market darling. In 1998, the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland, named the British firm the world's fastest-growing company, and in the summer of 1999 Eidos's share price was trading at a delirious high of $18.20.

Lara Croft, we must note, has brains as well as beauty. She is said by her biographers to have penned several travel books, including A Tyrannosaurus Is Jawing At My Head and the follow-up, Slaying Bigfoot. But she clearly does not read the newspapers or watch television, for in none of her adventures do we see any awareness on Lara's part that she has become an international media darling.

The first wave of Lara coverage came shortly after the game's 1996 release, with David James, the Liverpool goalkeeper, explaining to the London Times that he was playing badly because he had been staying up late playing Tomb Raider. In 1997, U2 used specially commissioned digital footage of Lara in action on their Popmart tour.

Lara appeared in comics, and plastic action figures of Lara sold like hot cakes. The original game had appeared on both the Sega Saturn and Sony PlayStation consoles, but Sony soon signed an exclusivity deal that meant episodes two and three would appear only on PlayStation.

Then came the acme of media acceptance: Lara on the cover of the Face in June 1997. Not only was this the first time the style magazine had used a digital person on its cover, it was the first time it had allowed an image to interrupt its red masthead. Newsweek, Rolling Stone and Time soon followed suit, and a video for the German pop outfit Die Artze, featuring Lara fighting with members of the band, went heavy-rotation on MTV.

Marks & Spencer produced a range of Tomb Raider III merchandise. Douglas Coupland, the writer of Generation X, contributed to a fey devotional tome entitled Lara's Book. In November, 1998, Tomb Raider and its first sequel were awarded Millennium Product status by the British Design Council.

In 1999, Lara - or rather Core Design, won a BAFTA for her "outstanding contribution to the interactive industry". In 2000, filming began in England on the imminent Tomb Raider feature film, budgeted at $100 million and starring Angelina Jolie. You can now, if you wish, clothe your children in nattily miniature Tomb Raider threads.

Perhaps the cleverest marketing coup was the association, begun in 1999, between Lara Croft and Lucozade, the orange liquid that used to be thought of as medicine for the sick but reinvented itself through the 1990s as a sports drink.

The latest advert has Lara pausing for a friendly Lucozade with her enemies while the player's back is turned. This summer, in order to tie in with the feature film's release, Lucozade will be labelled "Larazade".

They probably call this "synergy", but it works because Lucozade is a product one can imagine Lara using, even if it is unclear where she might find a bottle in a dusty tomb. Jeremy Heath-Smith, the managing director of Core Design and head of global development at Eidos - who, despite Eidos's financial difficulties, was last year paid $3.5 million thanks to a long-standing royalty agreement - says: "The fact that it's a health-giving energy drink matched Lara's profile exactly. I'm not sure Irn-Bru could have the same effect, as nice as Irn-Bru is."

Lara is careful about who she's seen with, for obvious reasons. We can be confident that she would never endorse fruit-flavoured alco-pops, or depilatory creams. But the Lucozade partnership is a marvel of mutual reinforcement: association with Tomb Raider and Lara helps to sell Lucozade.

In his novel Idoru, cyberpunk writer William Gibson imagines Rei Toei, a Japanese-engineered virtual celebrity who rebels against her makers and plots to find herself a physical body. In fact, the Japanese did have a virtual media star in 1997. Software programmers collaborating with Japan's leading modelling agency, Horipro, created Kyoko Date, the world's first digital pop singer. But sales of her debut CD did not live up to expectations. Why? Her face was a combination of features mapped from photographs of famous models; her singing voice was taken from one woman, her speaking voice from another; and her dance moves were digitised from the performances of real dancers. She was far more detailed and "realistic" than Lara Croft was at the time - but in a sense, Kyoko Date looked too real.

Our idoru does not fall into this trap. Lara Croft is attractive because of, not despite, her glossy blankness - that hyper-perfect, shiny computer look. She is an abstraction, an animated conglomeration of sexual and attitudinal signs - breasts, hot pants, shades, thigh holsters - whose blankness encourages the viewer's psychological projection.

Beyond the bare facts of her biography, her perfect vacuity means we can make Lara Croft into whoever we want her to be. If the computer-generated Lara Croft ever became too photo-realistic, too much like an individual woman, says Heath-Smith, "you'd lose some of that feel for her". The plans to finesse the character design for the next-generation Tomb Raider game, coming to Sony's far more visually powerful PlayStation2 some time next year, are "to smooth her off without changing the aesthetics that work".

But will these aesthetics be influenced by the performance of Angelina Jolie in the Tomb Raider film? Lara's creator, Toby Gard, rather approves of the casting. "Yeah, Angelina Jolie certainly looks the part," he says. "She has that certain wild quality which is important - that's what I had in mind." Jolie, we are told, performed most of her stunts; emulating the acrobatic, gravity-defying grace of her digital counterpart in the unforgiving real world resulted in injuries to her knee and shoulder and torn ligaments in her foot.

Bear in mind Lara has already been impersonated by several flesh-and-blood women without danger to her virtual hegemony - the models and actresses Rhona Mitra, Nell McAndrew, Lara Weller, Lucy Clarkson and Vanessa Demouy have all stepped into the boots for promotional appearances. Lara Croft, the virtual character, is the Platonic ideal: a human actress can give a better or worse account of that ideal, but she can never embody it fully, still less outstrip it. In that sense Lara is more like a creature of time-fogged legend than a contemporary "personality".

The rise to ubiquity of Lara Croft came as a surprise to her digital dad. "I never expected to have that happen," Gard says. "You know, as a designer, I'd gone through my life making sketches for these characters, and you think they're yours - then you realise they're not yours at all."

It was the massive success of Lara, in fact, that prompted Gard to leave Core Design and set up his own company, Confounding Factor, before the second Tomb Raider game appeared. "Other people were just doing things with her I didn't agree with," he says, guardedly.

He is working on Galleon, a game he promises "will have the same effect as Tomb Raider had in terms of how far ahead of everything else it's going to be".

It will be interesting to observe how Lara Croft ages. If the franchise is still going in 2020, will she be raiding tombs at the age of 42? There seems no reason why not. What allowed Lara's extraordinary success, after all, was the fact that Gard had created not a singular female character but a new archetype: an image so fluid and malleable that she can cross media barriers without appearing to whore herself.

Odd as it may seem, Lara has never been a primarily sexual being. In the immature world of video games, Lara was a revelation. In contrast to the standard near-pornographic portrayal of helpless women characters, Lara was a Germaine Greer of video games. Sure, she showed some skin, but her wardrobe was practical, rock-climbing, tomb-raiding stuff: shorts, hiking boots, vest, backpack. Gard says this was a deliberate reaction to the digital representations of women around him at the time, which persist today: spangly thongs, S&M corsets, strange spirally metal bras.

"I wanted to make sure it wasn't the thigh-length boot-style stuff," he says. "You can't get emotionally involved with a character like that because it has been objectified. Lara, I felt, had more dignity." It wouldn't make any sense, you understand, to describe the dignified Lara as a sex symbol.

Because "sex symbol", if that overused phrase means anything at all, must mean a person with whom you can imagine having sex - however improbable that may be. Angelina Jolie may be a sex symbol. But Lara can't be. It is in principle impossible to have sex with Lara Croft: she is always and forever unattainable.

And, as we have seen, there are far more overtly sexual depictions of women in video games. So all the prurient fans' artwork - the notorious "Nude Raider" images created by boys disturbingly skilled in computer-aided imaging and posted on the net, and all the leering over Croft's breasts in the chat rooms - these are incidental, a predictably perverse subculture of the fan base, not its raison d'etre.

It seems probable that men who like Lara don't want to have her; they want to be her. That's why they play the game. Lara is a symbol, if anything, of aspirational gender reassignment. In both directions. Men who like trying on a female persona, or women, such as Jolie, who like doing what is usually thought to be men's stuff. To paraphrase Damon Albarn of Blur, Lara works for boys who do girls, or boys who like girls who do boys, or girls who do boys.

And perhaps it is this all-things-to-all-people, don't-you-dare-try-to-pin-me-down quality that has ensured her longevity. For it is axiomatic that the jumping, rolling, sprinting Lara Croft is physically inexhaustible. What is surprising is that over the five years of her career so far, she has also proven inexhaustible as an icon.

All rights belong to Irish Times and/or their affiliated companies. I only intend to introduce people to old articles and preserve them before they are lost.

[technohumanlation]

Whumptober Day 7

The ever so lovely @whumptober2019 made a list of prompts to complete every day for the whole month of October and I’m giving a shot at it this year! 

As always read what you can handle and do not read if you are squimish to any of the warnings. 

Isolation

Characters: Connor, Nines, Sixty, Tobias (An OC android)

Warnings: swearing

Hello, everyone, this one is a sweet little treat that was so so fun to write. This one features an OC, an RK700 named Tobias, my friend Clare and I birthed for one of our (very long) RP sessions. We created an origin story for him and I showed her the prompt (that was very fitting) and I was like “yo can I use our boi?” And she was all “ye” so this prompt actually may be longer because its made with love just like our Tubbs (as Sixty nicknamed him)

Also, I would like to give wholeheartedly give credit to the lovely Kumikoseph. I used some of her writing from our RP with her permission and tweaked it to fit the plot of this prompt. Please give her works a look see and some love as well. <3 

Tobias was a late model for the RK700 line. As a matter of fact, the last one before RK800 was developed. Many did not know of this particular model because of its' failure of development. The scientist who was appointed lead on this specific model was named Avril and her sweet daughter Sonny who lived in the lab alongside her mother.

She had given him a name, a name fitted for his odd, yet kind appearance. Cyberlife did not agree with her choices but had, after all, given her some creative freedom. His skinny yet lithe form matched his pale skin. It held an unnatural glow under the florescent lights of the lab. Against milky white, freckles were mapped across his skin as if an artist took a paintbrush and paged through the bristles. His eyes were of emerald green, and his hair was an unruly red mop of curly hair. 

Avril always smiled when the topic came to her sweet Tobias.  

But Cyberlife was doing the opposite. They had plans for the RK series, and she was not meeting such requirements thus far. Their ever so generous slack around the leash and collar grew suddenly tight.  

He was flawed.

Tobias was a sweet, loving, caring, android that was taught to respect life, small and large. The low murmurings could be heard at night when the mother read a bedtime story to both the android and Sonny. The little girl would fall asleep in his arms. Avril would go back to her computers and monitors and read through feedbacks and log her days in a journal of her own.

He was to be designed to work harmoniously with humans. And what better way than to teach him the good of humanity.

Her eyes looked over to the duo, and her heart ached and sang.  

The directors were presented Tobias and displayed the many features he held. He could speak fifty different languages and could perform emergency field medicine. He could act with kindness around children and adapt to their ways of thinking easily. He was made to co-exist with humans, young and old.

He was considerate and held an intelligent conversation with one of the directors. His problem-solving skills were impeccable. Humor was not foreign to him.

And then.

She was asked of his weapon knowledge. If he could perform basic fighting techniques. If he could be aggressive when needed to. If he was obedient, blindly so. If he were asked to kill, would he? If he were asked to shoot himself, would he?

The questions were horrific.

She stepped forward, ready to speak for him, but they held up a hand silencing her. She obeyed. Tobias' soft-spoken voice held a quiver as he stood before the men in suits with clipboards in hand. His LED swam from blue to yellow to red and back over again.

“I-I can not.” He confessed. “I...do not wish to...harm.”

Pens were scribbled against paper.  

She was running out of time.

To put off the inevitable, she did as she was told and placed new programs into his code. He knew primary self-defense and knowledge of using any and all weapons. The android did not question this new array of knowledge and displayed his capabilities unto targets and dummies. He would always pass with an eighty-nine accuracy. A low number compared to other android models. Perhaps it was Avrils' flawed humanity that affected him. After all, she had developed him. A mother could only do so much to improve life for her offspring.  

Or was it the simple truth that he was growing opinion and needs and wants at an interestingly fast rate.

“I...do not wish to...harm.”

Androids did not have wishes.

Avril believed anything with a living or potentially living conscience had a right to wish. To dream. To want. To need. To feel.

To be alive.

Tobias was already deviant, and the board was catching on. She could no longer hide this development. They monitored everything. Right down to her observations, she began to twist and falsify. Sleep was unknown. Hunger grew. Her mind unraveled as time began to coil around her tighter and tighter.  

She had a plan. To save her work. Her beautiful Tobias.

“Avril, is everything alright?”

Wires snaked into his neck as he stood on the assembly platform behind her. His LED swam a curious blue. His face was scrunched in such genuine concern.

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose that had slid down. Poor Avril had not slept in the last forty-eight hours.  

She stopped and turned around, facing the android.  

“Tobias...you are not flawed. You are not what they saw you are.”

He ticked his head to the side LED swimming a faster blue.

She stood from her computer and tightened the lab coat around her. "You were made in my image. My idea of a model officer of the law. Kind, caring, considerate, brave, loyal, hopeful." She paused, her throat tightening. "...empathetic." She reached out and brushed her hand down his arm.

Her eyes saddened. “They want a robot to do everything they say and do. Everything they want and wish for...blindly. And that’s not what this world needs.”

They wanted an android so ruthless for some larger plan. The RK series had developed from the ideal of an intelligent life form better than any human. To a slave that could wreak havoc at the turn of a blind command.

“Something is happening, Toby. And if we can thwart it or even stop this...maybe it won't be for waste..."

He remained confused.

Her eyes watered as innocent emerald’s peered deep into her soul. A sweet, beautiful RK700 they were to throw away because he was ‘flawed’ in their twisted image. She was his to protect.

By any means necessary.

If she did not have a breakthrough, there would be danger.

And it came. The day they found out of her journals.  

Her hidden words and confessions were found out.

Little Sonny was down for a nap. Tobias had just tucked her in.

The first step was to cripple the security circuit on her labs' floor. Hectically she typed away. Tobias leaned over her shoulder, watching. "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer, too concentrated on her work.

“Avril, please tell me."

“I'm sorry, Toby," she murmured. "It's for the best." She quickly turned around, pressing a finger to his LED and pressed another button on the keyboard.  

Tobias’ body went limp.

The shutdown was too curt and too aggressive. Memory banks and programs were corrupted from the shutdown. A sacrifice of all the hard work she was willing to give up just for the safety of her creation.  She severed tracking codes and anything that tied the android to Cyberlife. He was to be an unnamed, unmarked, a numberless android. He never existed to the records' eye. Her computers were wiped aggressively, her work and research were destroyed.

All that was left was the hardest part.

She dragged the android to a storage closet. A small handleless door that lead to a single person closet. Sweat and panicked breaths came from her as she hefted him into a slot into the wall of the closet.  

She hefted the metal plate into the wall and made her way back out into the lab.

“Mommy?" The little girl had awoken from her nap, rubbing at her tired eyes.

Cyberlife security donned in heavy black and white gear came into her lab, she raised her hands, slowly making her way to stand in front of her daughter.

She had recited her ploy.

Tobias had escaped, and in doing so, in a rage she didn’t program. He had erased everything that was him claiming he was not to be a slave anymore. He had revolted against his creator and had escaped Cyberlife. He had hacked into all security footage and shut down the system in time for his escape.

Now, her job was terminated, and her lab was now covered in white tarps. This is where her life was dedicated to. To Tobias. She made no indication of ever looking towards the closet. The android was hidden right under their noses. It was comical and cruel and unfair. She took her daughter by the hand and smiled sadly.

“Tobias will come back, babe.” She assured. “He’ll find you again. I promise”

Avril knew too much of Cyberlife's confidential plans. She was a security risk. A mysterious chain of events leads up to her timely death. It was made to be a simple, innocent bag snatching gone wrong as she walked home from her night shift at the local gas station.  

Only she would know that she was shoved into the nearby alley and shot point-blank in the head. Her bag was tossed about on the cold concrete.

Sweet eight-year-old Sonny was conveniently placed in an adoption home and who knew beside Cyberlife where the child was, sworn to secrecy by fear.

As for Tobias, the sounds of innovation and improvement crackled beyond the metal wall. There he slept for a year, cobwebs and dust settling over him like a blanket of virgin snow as he slumbered.   Thirium had collected in his lines and had hardened and evaporated. Computer chips and processors were lined with condensation when a leak from a coolant line had formed just next to his shoulder. His skin grew pearly white patches as artificial human visage programs degraded over time.

A year in unaware isolation.

Until now.

An android, an RK900 named Nines, raised his flashlight peering into the newly discovered room hidden deep within the Cyberlife tower. In the initial comb-through of the building quite a few months prior, all located androids had been turned deviant, himself and Sixty included, with the help of Connor and Jericho, but it seemed they hadn’t quite been as thorough as they thought.

Scanning every object in his vision, Nines categorized and identified everything he saw. This was a rather chilling find after all.

Sixty shivered. This place would forever make his wires and line crawl. “Can we...can we get this over with guys? Seriously we got everyone. There’s...what are you doing? It’s just a closet, that’s where Nines and Gavin are hiding, oh my god...” He reluctantly followed after Connor and stood guard at the door of the storage closet.

“Enough, Sixty," Connor warned, exasperated. "I do not like this any more than you do."

Nines ignored his brothers. “I see no explanation for why it was hidden and boarded up...” Within Nines observational voice echoed dully. Turning his flashlight, he noticed another section of the metal wall. It was out of place, carefully constructed to look like any other panel, but to him, he saw the flaw. It stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I found something...”

From behind, Sixty snorted. “Gavin's sense of humor, mayhaps?" He raised an eyebrow at the lack of an answer. "Nothing?"

Nines rolled his eyes at the cheap jab. A harsh sound of metal grinding on metal sounded, and both RK800 brothers were on alert. "Nines?" Connor called out.  

The android caught the limp form that fell into him.

“Connor? Sixty?” Nines called, turning to glance over his shoulder at the androids behind him. “We might have a body on our hands.”

“A body?” Both their voices echoed together.

“Get them outta there then!” Sixty urged. Not yet. Nines had to asses the situation first before it was brought to light, literally.

It was an android. An android that looked remarkably like himself, Connor and Sixty.

“It’s... an RK700”, Nines spoke after scanning the serial number that was presented on once-white Cyberlife clothing. "But there's no record of him even existing. Not even an excerpt from other archival files."

“What? RK700?" Sixty said, oh so intelligently.

“There was no record of other RK units, though..." Connor murmured calmly. So opposite of the youngest brother.  

He glanced back at the other two, an atypical look of surprise on his face, "I was not aware that there were any more RK models that hadn't been destroyed as well.”

Nines observed the deactivated android’s appearance. It seemed there was not much difference in design between the construction of the RK700 model and the development of himself. There were just a few notable differences. Fiery red hair and skin that was quite a bit more be-speckled than his, Connor's or Sixty's.

It appeared they had a mystery on their hands.

Tuning the flashlight off. Nines reaches under the android’s shoulders and knees, heaving him up with little effort and carrying him back out of the secluded closet. The smell of rotten clothing, damp stagnant water, and thirium filling his nose at this range.

Nines examined the android more closely, tilting his head at the clumps of dust gathered in his brightly albeit patchy colored hair. His milky skin was in the same state. He had clearly been in there for a long time.

Gently Nines laid him on the cold tiled floor before the brothers. He stood up and sighed, looking down at him in brighter light.

A sudden laugh broke the tense air making Connor and Nines jump. “He’s a fucking ginger! A ginger you!” He pointed at Connor and cackled.

The middle brother looked up to him with a disapproving frown. "Oh, come on..." Sixty rolled his eyes, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Don't you know I use humor in times of great stress?"

“We know...” Nines nodded all too used to his younger brother’s antics. “I’d say he’s been in that room for a year at least, perhaps even longer, still...” He turned back to Connor and Sixty.

Connor frowned, completing Nine's concerned hunch for him. “Why did they deactivate and lock him up upon becoming obsolete as opposed to dismantling him?”

Sixty was the one to break the silence, his voice somber. "He was hidden away. His spot in the closet was boarded up and half-assed. He was tossed away. C'mon, use that brain of yours, Wonderboy. He was hidden." Sixty murmured.  

“For...whatever reasons only he knows or not.” Connor agreed.

It was a curious thing, something they would perhaps only glean an answer from by waking the android up.

“Would either of you like to do the honors?” Nines’ voice was slow and unsure.

“Wait, Shouldn't we call this in first?" Connor said, placing a hand out.

Sixty turned to him, firmly gesturing to the android before them. “Connor, no! This...this guy is basically our brother. If we call it in who knows what the fuck they will do to him. Let’s try to patch him up first. If he woke up on another table." Sixty was speaking from personal experience. "At least for me, that would freak me the fuck out. We have a chance of helping one of our own..."

Connor pursed his lips together in a fine line.

Nines remained distant. It was enough of an answer for the middle brother.

They both watched as Sixty lowered himself onto his haunches. The newly discovered android was peaceful, those eyelashes dusting his cheeks so perfectly.  

He cupped the android's face gently with one hand the other moving to grip his forearm, artificial skin peeling back. Automatically, despite being offline, he disturbingly reacted to grasp his forearm. "Oh, that's creepy, god, we're creepy." Sixty shivered visibly as a blue glow was formed between the two limbs. "I've...never done this before, but I will be gentle. I guess...I mean, might be bumpy." He shrugged.

Connor flicked a halfhearted smile at his own form of a disclaimer.

"Alright, wake up, ginger. Rise and shine." He slapped his cheek a few times in a good-natured way.  

Nines watched his brother with careful eyes. Right here and now would start a journey they had no idea they were getting themselves into.

After a moment of silence and the steady hue of blue emitting from white plastimetal, the android onlined with a sudden gasp that had Sixty flinching.

“Easy!” Sixty shouted in surprise upon his sudden awakening. Unknowingly, amid the panic, he had also said his name.

The android calmed, exchanging glances between the brothers.

Nines looked to Sixty, and Connor was just as shocked.

Tobias was welcomed as their new younger brother.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Downton Court Hotel pt.3

I seriously wrote part three ages ago....and hated it. So I’ve been waiting for something better to come along. I’ll post it to Ao3 after I’ve chewed on it a bit, tweaked the phrasing, etc. For now, though, here it be.

(Also, I know bachlorette parties normally take place the night before the wedding. This one was done several days before to allow for everyone’s work schedules. Haven’t figured out how to work that information into the actual story yet...)

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Relationship: Baxter/Molsley, canon pairings

Characters: Thomas Barrow, Phyllis Baxter

Warnings: Sop, mentions of past bad relations of multiple sorts, cranky Thomas.

https://bitletsanddrabbles.tumblr.com/post/165776433184/downton-court-hotel-pt-2

There was still eyeliner clinging around his lashes. No matter what he tried, Thomas couldn't seem to get it all off. The rest of the makeup had come off well enough with soap and water and he'd finally been convinced the eyeliner was diminished enough to go to tea, but tea was over. The rest of the bridal party, sans bride, had already left for work. Soon he'd have to join them. Eyeliner was just the sort of thing Carson would notice if he showed up in it, and bachlorette party or no, he would not approve.

Damn Anna and Gwen for talking him into this. He was going to take his full weekend off and spend the whole time so smashed that the hangover lasted for two days. Assuming, of course, he wasn't sacked for wearing eyeliner to work.  "Phyllis?" he finally called, trying not to sound panicked. "Is there some trick to getting this crap off?"

For a moment he wasn't certain if she'd heard him. Then there were footsteps on the other side of the door and her voice, muffled slightly, saying, "I have some makeup remover in the medicine cabinet. Try that."

Dutifully he pulled open the cabinet, but was at a complete loss as to what he was looking at. Phyllis Baxter was not the sort he expected to have a medicine cabinet full of beauty products, and yet there were creams and conditioners of every sort on the shelves. "What does it look like?"

"May I come in?"

He wasn't quite certain why she'd asked. It wasn't as if he was using the loo, and it was her bathroom, after all. Still, he appreciated the thought. Without a word, he opened the door. He expected her to just come in and fetch the bottle for him, but instead she also got some cotton swabs and had him sit on the closed lid of the loo.

"Here, let me." With a somewhat strained smile, she popped open the cap on the little bottle and applied some thick cream to the swab. "Close your eyes."

"Thanks," he muttered, following her instructions. He flinched a little when the swab touched him, simply because he couldn't see and wasn't used to things that close to his eyes.

"You're welcome," Phyllis replied. "Although there's so little left, I don't know that it's necessary."

Thomas snorted at that. "If I come in wearing anything that might be considered makeup, Carson'll spot it straight away, I promise you. Then that will be that."

"Mr. Carson doesn't care that much." Her voice took on the gentle, chiding tone she used when she thought he was being silly, but didn't want to upset him.

As usual, it only served to irritate him. "Yes, actually, he does. He's almost as bad as Dad used to be, only he doesn't yell as much and..." He didn't finish the thought. "Anyway, I don't feel comfortable is all. I think about it and all I can hear is Dad yelling at Margaret for putting me in her Easter dress and Mum's heels."

"Well I think it did a lovely job of bringing out your eyes, but it's gone now. Hold still a bit more and I'll make sure there's no left over remover." The cotton swab was replaced with a warm, wet washcloth. "There."

Thomas opened his eyes, blinking a little as the wet lashes stuck together. He then immediately checked the mirror to be certain that, yes, it was all gone. "Thanks," he muttered again, then gave her a sideways glance. "I'll be sure to remember all of that if I ever want to bring out my eyes."

"The waiter at lunch seemed to agree with me." That was said in her teasing voice, the one she used when she wanted to make him smile, but wasn't certain he was ready to.

At least eight times out of ten, he wasn't ready to. This was not one of the lucky times. "The waiter was flirting with at least three different girls," he retorted with an eye roll. "At best he was bi curious and would figure out after one night that men weren't his cup of tea. At worst, he just thought I was tipping and hoped he'd get more from flirting."

"Thomas!"

"No, I've given up on romance," he insisted, leaving the bathroom for the comfort of the living room, his hostess trailing behind him. The one good thing about the other bride's people being maids (well, except for Daisy) was that they'd tidied up the debris from the gifts before they'd left. There was one chair occupied by boxes waiting to go out for pick up, but beyond that, Thomas could sit where he liked. He chose the recliner and, once seated, looked up at Phyllis with his best 'devil may care' expression. "It never goes well for me, so I'll leave it to other people and you can turn your attention to hooking Gwen up with someone."

Phyllis gave him one of those worried frowns she wore so often. Really, she fussed more about him than his own sister ever had. "Is this still about Jimmy?"

"What?" he scoffed. "Of course not. That was years ago and I'm over it. Better a best mate than a failed boyfriend any day." He paused and gave her a hard look. "And don't bring up Andy. That was never even a possibility, no matter what everyone else decided, thank you." "I wasn't going to mention it." Phyllis took a seat in the arm chair across from him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "Really, I didn't ask you to stay so I could lecture you about your love life, I promise."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I had a question for you." She straightened and met his eye, smiling. She didn't say anything further. She didn't ask anything. The silence stretched long enough that Thomas was about to prompt her when she finally asked, "Would you like more tea?"

It was not the question Thomas had been anticipating. It was, in fact, so far from that he couldn't help a short, bewildered laugh. "What, another? I've already had six cups."

Phyllis's eyes dropped immediately to her lap. "Right. Of course."

"Is something wrong?" Thomas asked, eyebrows drawing slightly together. While he might complain about Phyllis fussing over him more than his real sister, the fact remained that he returned the favor and nothing was calculated to make him set aside his own troubles quite so quickly as signs that she was unhappy. If called out on the fact he would, of course, deny it or make some excuse, but there it was. "You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

The question seemed almost startling. "Oh, no!" Phyllis quickly assured him, her face lighting up with a very genuine smile. "No, I am very certain that I want to marry Joseph. It's only that the wedding is in three days and, well, I've not officially named my Maid of Honour."

Thomas frowned at that. "I thought that was going to be Anna. Or, well, I suppose she wouldn't be a maid. Not at a wedding."

"No, that would be Matron of Honour, and I think everyone's assuming it will be her. I haven't asked her, though. I've been thinking about it and..." She paused, then looked him dead in the eye. "I've realized what I truly want is a Man of Honour. Thomas, would you please stand next to me at the wedding?"

Someone else might have asked if she was joking. Thomas knew better. She wouldn't joke about something like that, not in that earnest manner. She wasn't the sort. He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention to what actually went into weddings, since the question was clearly an important one, but he had no idea why. "Well," he mulled the request over, "Would I have to wear a dress?"

This time it was Phyllis's turn to be startled into laughter. "No, no, I would never ask that of you. I promise. It's really no different than any of the other bride's maids, except you'd stand directly next to me and..."

"Catch you if you pass out from nerves?" Thomas guessed. It earned him another laugh.

"I suppose there's that although really, if I didn't pass out the first time around, I'm not going to pass out now." She paused, then shook her head with another smile. "No, the only real concern I had was that the...Person of Honour, I suppose, walks in with the Best Man."

That bit of information hit Thomas like a wet towel. "I'd have to walk in arm in arm with Bates?"

"I wouldn't insist on arm in arm."

"Good," Thomas huffed, settling back in the chair, his posture leaving no question as to his feelings on this development. "I don't need him hitting me in the shins with his cane."

"Thomas! I am certain Mr. Bates is capable of not accidentally hitting you."

"Who said it would be an accident?" Thomas protested. "Really, you all act like he loves me and if I'd just stop being stubborn, we'd be best pals!"

Phyllis gave him a disapproving look. "You do start things, most of the time."

"Most of the time isn't all of the time." Under his breath he added, "Although try telling Carson that." He picked absently at a loose thread. "Are you really certain you want me to do this?"

The disapproval softened a little. "I trust you and Mr. Bates both to behave. How's that?"

"Wasn't Margaret your Maid of Honour last time? Another Barrow might be inviting bad luck." He watched her carefully from the corner of his eye.

With a sigh, Phyllis closed her eyes for moment. "It's not Margaret's fault that Peter was a con artist and a thief. It's not her fault that I didn't get to know him very well before marrying him." She opened her eyes again and looked straight at him. "You're not bad luck, Thomas.

" "Well then," Thomas shrugged. "I suppose I'll do it then. I just hope you don't wind up regretting it, is all."

Phyllis stood and walked over to press a kiss to the top of his head. "I won't. No matter what happens, I won't."

[sparkinsidewrites]

Shadows Mind: Murder - Prelude part one

Title: Shadows Mind: Murder

Chapter: 1/?

Character/Pairing: Adam Carson/OFC; Hunter Burgan/Jade Puget; Davey Havok

Genre: Angst; AU

Rating: T

Summary:   In a time of devestating war and destruction, five young children witnessed their world come crashing down before them. Twenty years later, they have risen above the chaos to lead their once war-torn land, Allyria, into an era of peace. But the serenity they have brought may only be the calm before the storm as a powerful force from beyond their kingdom threatens to tear their world, their kingdom and their lives apart. Can they rise above the wreckage or will Allyria fall into the darkness building steadily on the horizon? Written with FadingStar. In-Complete

Authors Notes/Warnings:  Nothing in this piece ever happened. I claim no ownership nor do I make any sort of profit from this, other than pride and a sense of amusement. Graphic depictions of violence. Death.

Prelude 12

“Is it coming along well, love?” a soft voice asked. A boy, slender and young, most likely twelve, at first sight, looked up and around from where he was seated with a book in his lap, back pressed against a rather large oak tree. The boy, named David, but more commonly called Davey, smiled at the approaching figure of a woman. By the small mouth, lean angular features, and river of midnight tresses that they shared, it was easy to see that the two were related, the only real differences being in their builds, sexuality, and eye color. Davey’s eyes were brown, soft and quiet, like that of a doe’s, while the woman’s were a bright, confident, green.

“Very well, mother,” Davey told her. He had a soft voice, again something that seemed to have been given to him by the woman standing above, as quiet as his eyes and just as warm, when he wanted it to be. Right now, as he beamed up at his mother, he did indeed desire that quality, and gave it to her. Those who knew this boy would sometimes say they felt privileged for that warmth, it could be that impassioned, at times. “I’ve gotten nearly a quarter’s way through it since this morning.”

“That’s very good, David,” she said, showing yet another trait her son had received through her, as she gave him back the warmth of his smile with her own. “But do you understand what you have read?” She smoothed back her simple but nicely tailored skirts as she sat down cordially beside her boy in the soft spring grass. Watching her, Davey, even after so many years, could not help but to be awed with almost every move that his mother made. She exuded some sort of unearthly grace, like there were no bones in her body, just some sort of poetry of blood, sinew, and elegance that made even a breath by her seem artistic. Her large, doll-like, yet soul piercing eyes, met his, telling her son she expected a good answer.

“I think what Master Thais is to convey to the reader is that reason alone cannot guide one through life,” Davey said, closing up his book to show he was not drawing any knowledge from it. Or at least he was giving her his own interpretation of what the knowledge within the text. “That you have to also allow your emotions and instincts to lead you. That you should embrace both mortality and divinity to become a person who is complete with the world.”

“And is that a possible?” she asked, a grin lighting her emerald eyes. “Can a human perceive with all of those things? Think for themselves in that way, David?”

Davey regarded her in silence, knowing this was a test. Marcielle Marchand was always giving him these little tests, it was her way of keeping his mind sharp, shaping it to be as wise as her own. And Marcielle, as the headwoman for their little seaport village, was very wise indeed. She had to prove it often enough, and not only just because her position required it, but because her sex coupled with it demanded it. Marcielle had proven that her title was well given many times, gaining respect from even the harshest of her male critics within Mendel Cove.

“Well, I believe that, many people are capable of that, Mother,” he began after thoughtful silence. “Really, no one, who is born with the necessary mental position, is not capable of it. The problem, however, is that many people do not wish to be capable of it and ignore the gift of their conscious.”

Davey resisted a complacent smile as his mother quirked a slender ebony brow at those words. Being self–assured, he reminded, himself, was the first step to self–destruction. Marcielle had ingrained that within his mind from the cradle, and he would not be so foolhardy to forget it now. Still though, he allowed himself to be just the tiniest bit pleased on the inside that he had given her an answer she both liked and had not fully expected him to speak.

“Hmm...explain your thesis, son,” she finally said, Davey could see, with glee, she too was trying to hide a smile, one of pride. Pride was also a brick on the roadway of self–destruction.

“Generally, people don’t want to possess this capability because it’s just easier for them to ignore it,” he said. “Human beings, by nature, find more reason and pleasure by taking the easiest path in life. What path in life is easier than allowing their conscious to be lead? It’s a point proven in the fabric of government, religion, and war. Without willing followers and leaders then not one of those institutions would be possible in the slightest.”

Marcielle gazed at her son for several more long moments, her eyes guarded and secretive as they ever were. Just when Davey had begun to doubt himself though, she was smiling again, gently, just a touch of pride in her verdant irises. She reached up to pass a long fingered hand through his black tresses.

“Your answer is good,” Marcielle said, a smile, as bright and warm as the delicate May sunshine that flooded the little field in which they sat. “I daresay your father would be inclined to agree with you.”

Davey blushed a little from the compliment. His father, a scholar, had died when he was barely two. Lyell had been a man greatly respected in the cove for his intellect, greatly respected along the whole Sapphire Coast, his mother had always loved to tell the story of the day one of great Lords came to Mendel Cove, seeking Lyell’s advice. In all truth, Davey greatly enjoyed that tale as well, it was one of those eternally aching, secret, wishes that many keep to converse with his father, to know the man he had been. But it was one that he could never have, save for his dreams, so he tried his best not to contemplate it very much. He didn’t believe in false hopes.

“You know,” his mother spoke, jerking him from his inner musings. “In all honesty, I didn’t expect you to be here, doing your school work today.”

It was Davey’s turn to raise a single black eyebrow. “And why is that?” he questioned. “Have I ever disobeyed you before, when it came to my studies, Mother?”

“No, you’ve never really disobeyed me yet,” she told him, an amused light in her eyes keeping her plush red lips turned up. “But I simply told you that this book would be your reading for the day, my love. I told you not a word about finishing it. It’s such a lovely day, I did not actually think you would have the restraint to sit here and read it.” His mother’s eyes flicked towards the harbor that the little field which they sat in, overlooked.

Davey smiled as he finally caught the gist of her words. On a day like today a twelve year old such as Davey should very much be sailing down the coast with his friends in his close companion, Adam’s, little boat. The thought had indeed passed his mind, but there were circumstances beyond his control that prevented the plan. Of which he told his mother.

“Hunter’s father needed help down at his workshop,” he explained. “Jade’s little brother ran off and his mother sent him off to fetch him. Kali had a row with her mother this morning, so the priestess ordered her to her rooms all day. Adam said it wouldn’t be any fun with just the two of us, so he went to spend time with his father. There was nothing else for me to do, so...” he raised his book with a chuckle that his mother joined in with.

“Ah, well, perhaps you should go and see if Rissa has let Kali out then?” Marcielle suggested, continuing to preen her boy’s midnight locks. “Or just track her down, because I assure you she is out.” His mother gave a small laugh. “I saw her headed towards the practice yards. I think her intentions were to convince Adam to spar. A pity, her mother had set her hair up in such a lovely little plait.”

Davey laughed outright at the thought of Kali with her hair neatly arranged, it did not suit his friend at all and he decided at once he must see if it were true. It would be a wonderful thing to tease her over if it was.

“Go on,” his mother chuckled, prying the book gingerly from his fingertips. “Go, have fun with your friends, David. Childhood doesn’t last long, my love.” Davey smiled at his mother, adoring her all the more for her generosity and understanding as much for her unthinking grace, and leaned into kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you, Mother,” he told her sincerely after pulling away and standing.

“You’re welcome, dear,” she told him with equal love in her eyes. Her smile became playful as she took the book and gave him a gentle swat on the rear. “Now off with you! Don’t give me time to rethink my offer, child.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, and without another thought or word had started running towards the slope of the cliff, the gentle curve that separated away from the rock face on it’s left side.

Marcielle watched her only child go, beaming in a way that only a happy mother could. She was right, she knew, childhood would not last long for her boy.

Across town, the wide blue eyes of another boy stared in wonder at the man seated before him, listening intently to the tale falling from his lips. Behind him the light crackle of the fire filled the room. Each word that filled the air captivated him. It didn’t matter that he had heard them a hundred times over. Every time they seemed to take a on a new life, they changed and for that reason alone, Adam Carson would sit and listen to them a hundred times over again.

At just barely thirteen years old, Adam had spent his entire life in the small seaside village of Mendel Cove, dreaming of the people and lands his father had spoken of in his stories. He wanted nothing more than to make his way into the world, to find the honor and the glory his father spoke of. To become a soldier as his father had been. When he wasn’t helping his father run the small, but successful, shop in the center of the village, he was in the training fields in the soldier’s fort with anyone willing to spar.

More often than not, his sparing partner were his friends Hunter and Kali. He had known both for as long as he could remember. They had spent many a summer’s day sneaking off to the training fields along with their less combative friends, Davey and Jade, often times staying there until the sun began to set over the rolling waves of the sea, sparring and chasing each other around the archery targets. The soldiers still occupying the fort had been long time friends with Adam’s father and simply laughed off the children’s antics.

Truth be told, Adam enjoyed sparring with Kali far better than he did with the rest of their small group. The only girl in their midst, Kali was light and quick on her feet, she made him work twice as hard, never let him off his guard, and he was the better fighter for it. With each practice, it became apparent, within their little group, that Kali and Adam were going to be the ones truly excelling at the combative arts.

Garret Carson knew of his son’s activities, and while he did not approve, he knew there was little he could do to stop him. Adam had inherited his mother’s stubbornness and determination, something Garret both cherished and cursed. Lisette Carson had been a strong-willed and passionate woman., that was one of the many reasons Garret had fallen in love with her. She was full of bright ideas and big dreams, helping her husband build his shop and working there each and everyday, morning til dusk even after she had found out she was with child.

Lisette had passed away shortly after giving birth to their tiny son and Garret had taken it harder than any had expected. For the first few months of his young child’s life, he barely spent a moment’s time with the boy, throwing himself into the shop. Rissa, Kali’s mother had acted both as wet nurse and mother in that time. As priestess and a close friend of both Lisette and Garret, she could see no other path for herself.

As the months slowly passed by, Garret began to warm to his son, his only remaining link to the woman he cherished. He watched his son grow into a bright and active child, questioning and full of life as his mother had been. And Garret supported and encouraged that quality in him. It would serve him well as he grew, though he did his best to instil the importance of family, of loyalty to those you love, in Adam’s mind. He had learned the hard way just how quickly life could be snatched away.

“Adam,” the soft voice of a young boy echoed from beyond the door, accompanied by several steady knocks. Garret paused his tale, looking up thoughtfully at the boy before him. With a nod, Adam pulled himself to his feet, lumbering quickly to the door. With a steady tug, pulled it open to discover his friend, Davey, staring at him with his signature smile.

“You finally pulled your nose out of that book,” Adam teased. It was well known, amongst the group, that the boy standing before him absorbed knowledge like a sponge, reading any and everything his mother placed in front of him. When he was able to pull himself away, even for a moment, his friends were there tease him, lovingly of course, about it.

Davey simply cocked his eyebrow. “At least I can read,” he countered with a knowing smirk.

“Oh hush, you.” It was not to say that Adam did not have the ability to read, he simply saw little value in it. He could read the orders at the shop and the signs along the town, but beyond that he saw no use for reading. He would be a soldier, what did he need books for?

“I think that will conclude our tale for the time being,” Garret called from inside the darkened cottage. Adam turned quickly towards his father, saddened to not hear the conclusion of the story, but hopeful that he would be allowed to head out, even for a few hours. “You boys go and entertain yourselves, but mind my boat, you hear. If she comes back maimed, you will both get a beating neither of you have ever dreamed of.” This was added with a smile, though the boys faces had grown considerably paler. “And mind you to keep Kali out of trouble, I know she’ll be heading out with you. She has that knack of falling into it, though sometimes I wonder if it’s the company she keeps.” Garret raised a knowing eyebrow.

Adam and Davey both chuckled nervously before uttering “Yes sirs” and scrambling out the door into the bright light of the village square. After several rapid blinks, Adam’s eyes adjusted to the severe and sudden change of light. “Do you know if Kali’s made her way out of her mother’s clutches yet?” he questioned, his eyes falling upon his shorter companion. “What exactly happened this time?”

“Most likely. You know Kali, she’s probably heading our way as we speak,” He let loose a chuckle, “I fear Priestess Rissa’s tried to put her in a dress again.”

Adam chuckled at that as well, “I’ve yet to see Kali in a dress and I think I’ll die the day I do.”

“It will certainly be a surprise,” Davey chuckled along with his friend. A comfortable silence fell over the two boys as they made their way into the town.

“Do you think we can wrestle Hunter away from his father for a few hours?”

“We could try,” Davey answered with a shrug, “Maybe we can catch up with Jade as well, help him track down that infernal pain in the side he calls a brother.”

“Lord help Smith when Jade finds him,” Adam added, shaking his head, “He’s probably furious.”

“He certainly seemed that way when earlier. I don’t even think he waved us goodbye.”

“Aye, we’ll find them soon enough,” Adam added as the two boys continued down the dirt and cobblestoned path leading through the heart of their village, both their minds set on the adventures this day would bring.

“Damn, her,” a very agitated young girl swore as she looked at her neatly braided and arranged mass of black hair in the dingy mirror that had been set up in her room. She screwed up her pretty face, violet eyes snapping at the image created with the hairstyle. “Damn her!” Her fists, though small, clenched and unclenched menacingly as she looked from her laughable hair in the mirror, to the corner of the room where very recently a freshly stitched lavender dress had been hung over the back of a chair. Kalika Sirenidae, more commonly called Kali, was not a happy girl that day.

She looked out her window, past the sycamore that had grown close to the cottage, over the town square, and to the peacefully lapping waves of the sea. With a pout, she remembered where she was supposed to be at the moment, sailing close along the shore in her friend’s boat. Supposed to be at least, but Kali’s plans had altered after a fight with her mother in regards to her hoydenish nature. Priestess Rissa had informed her only child that she was to start acting like a proper young woman, and stop running amuck with the group of boys she had known all her life as well as desist with her combat studies down at the soldier’s fort. Kali cared nothing for her mother’s commands and told her so quite emphatically, which, seeing as she had been locked in her bedroom until she agreed to wear the dress, had not been received by the Priestess so warmly.

Kali growled deep in her throat at the lilac monstrosity in the corner of her room, as if it silently mocked her, advocating itself as the source of her plight. The violet eyed girl agreed with it, and, deciding to pay both it and her mother back, ran to pull on her breeches and boots. She knew as soon as she started to pull her clothes on that this probably was not one of her better, more prudent ideas. She would get caught, she always did, but she would do it nonetheless, and probably would many times in the future. Kali wasn’t always careful, no, but she had enough guts to make up for it at times.

Kali had just finished lacing her boots and was about to climb out her window into the sycamore, when a silvery flash on her bedside table caught her eye. The girl almost kicked herself for forgetting the object, a long dagger in a plain sheath, oddly enough given to her by her mother. It was Kali’s most treasured possession and she’d been taught to use it, though the opportunity to do so had yet to arise. Whether or not she ever wanted to have that opportunity, she didn’t know, but she buckled it to her waist nonetheless before climbing out onto her widow ledge and leaping out, grabbing hold of the nearest branch.

This was a practice the Priestess’ daughter was more than accustomed to, and next to her friend, Jade, who was occasionally called Squirrel for his tree climbing savvy, she was the best. In a matter of seconds, Kali had scuttled from limb to limb, until she was within range of the ground. With one last heave of her body, she dropped down to the earth, landing like a cat on her heels and palms. Well, almost, Kali hadn’t been paying attention to where her hands went and felt the skin on the heel of her right palm split as a rather sharp rock she hadn’t noticed buried itself into the flesh there.

Giving a slight hiss, she jumped up, picking the rocks and gravel away from the wound to look it over. It was a nice gash, deep and trickling with crimson to stain down her wrist and shirt sleeve. If she had been a normal twelve year old girl she would have been crying and running to her mother to fix it. Kali, however, was not a very normal girl, proven by her more than strange eyes, hair, and now, by the fact that the skin on her hand was starting to pull itself together.

Kali was not sure how she could do this, how her body would do this to itself, mend on its own so fast, but it very well did. Once when she was five, she had spilled hot oil from the temple alter all over herself, almost everyone was sure she was going to be blind, if not scarred for life, but that hadn’t happened at all. The skin had bubbled and cracked and within an hour’s time, the bloody, raised, flesh had been replaced by scar tissue, by the following morning, the skin was as smooth as nothing had ever happened. It might have very well been dismissed as a dream, if she had not seen her body repair itself on later dates. She had asked her mother about this thing, about many things, thinking perhaps it had to do with her father, no one save for Priestess Rissa knew who he was, but her mother was tight–lipped about it. Kali knew no more about why her eyes were violet, or why purple tendrils grew amidst the black in her hair, or why her body could do what it did, than any one else. Her mother always said it would be something she would hear when she was older. The Priestess had been saying that since Kali was two, and the girl, needless to say, had grown tired of the runabout. Long ago Kali had accepted she was less than normal, her friends accepted it, and so she stopped thinking about it. Or at least she stopped admitting to do so.

When the skin on her hand had scabbed together nicely Kali dusted herself off, and looked about. No one of importance who might alert her mother to her departure seemed to be standing about, so she took off from beneath the sycamore tree at a sprint, a destination already in mind. Adam would be free, he was always free, and when she had gotten hold of him perhaps they could convince Davey to put his book down for awhile. After they got Davey then they could run by Hunter’s and help him finish his many chores, and after that track down Jade, who could be across the countryside, looking for Smith, and help him out. After that Kali estimated they should have close to until sunset to do as they pleased.

Slinking down the streets she, tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, though with her hair and the fact that it was her she was probably a bit down on her luck already. But save for the fact that she thought she saw Marcielle Marchand looking at her as she jogged down the street, away from the temple and it’s adjacent cottage that she shared with her mother, Kali remained virtually unnoticed as any other day. She was quite proud of that fact, and her head became a little bit stuck in the clouds as she ran along, remaining there, unnoticing of the world around her, until she literally turned about a corner and ran into her destination.

Adam gave a deep “oomph!” as Kali’s lithe frame hit his lanky one, stumbling back a few paces at the collision while Kali herself nearly bounced back on her rear. Nearly, she was saved from that humiliation (and soreness) by the quick thinking of the other half of her goal. Quicker than a blink Davey had skittered past the stumbling Adam to grab hold of her wrist, and giving a tug that was surprisingly strong for a boy of his size, pulled her upright. Kali stumbled a bit from the force of that, but was caught again, as Adam reached out to lay a hand on both her and Davey’s shoulders, steadying her and keeping her from knocking into the black haired boy.

The three looked at one another for a few moments as they regained both composure and balance before cracking smiles and beginning to laugh, Adam half keeling over as he held his belly.

“You’re a real wreck, Kal, you know that right?” the tallest of the boys laughed, looking up with mirthful tears in his eyes at his sole female companion.

“You mean she causes them,” Davey chuckled, breathlessly happy himself.

“Oh hush, the both of you!” Kali tried to sound stern, but felt the futility of the attempt due to the smile playing across her lips.

“My gods!” Adam suddenly gasped, making both his friends, jump, the smiles disappearing from their faces.

“What?” Davey and Kali chorused together, slight alarm ringing in their eyes.

“Kal—what in the name of the gods–your hair!” Adam exclaimed, right before holding his stomach as he began to laugh again, Davey took a quick look at Kali before joining him.

Kali’s purple eyes lit up with a spark of that hellfire she’d shown to her mother just that morning, remembering she hadn’t bothered to take her hair out of it’s elaborate plate before sneaking out, and scowled at her friends, Adam in particular. While Davey at least tried to stop, Adam only began to giggle more, breaking the last straw upon the girl’s back. With a rather loud roar, she leapt upon Adam, taking them both to the ground as she began to pummel him. Davey moved out of the way of the ball his two friends became as they tumbled, laughing as they started throwing punches at one another.

“To hell with you, Carson!” she shrieked as she hit. “I didn’t do this to myself you know!”

“Nope, your mummy did!” he cackled, blocking some hits while returning others.

“Bastard!” she growled.

“You would know!” he taunted back.

“Okay enough, you two!” Davey said, reaching down to grab their hands, fingers balled into fists ready to smash into one another. Davey’s touch calmed them both immediately, and they relaxed, Adam allowing his hands to fall to his sides, while Kali jerked hers away. There was tense silence for few seconds as Adam lay on the ground, Kali straddling his waist, glaring down at his chest, Davey watching them both with his arms crossed. Finally Adam gave a sigh and sat up, and in one quick motion passed his hand through Kali’s disheveled hair, his hand returning with the tie that held it up on the end. Laying the tie down he ran the hand back through her violet and jet mange, tousling so that it was wild about her face.

“There,” he said with a half smile, leaning up further to replace the tie in a haphazard fashion, and very Kali way, about her locks. He pulled a few stray tresses down into her eyes, obscuring her piercing violet gaze just a bit. “Much better. Girl hair doesn’t suit you, Kal.”

Kali grinned. “Yeah I know,” she giggled before jumping up. She held out her hands to him, and Adam accepted them, allowing the girl to pull him onto his feet.

Davey smiled, knowing things were, as always, very fine between Kali and Adam, as they turned grins upon him. “Come on,” he said beckoning with his left hand. “We’ve still got Hunter and Jade to collect yet, don’t we?”

“Ugh–huh!” both his friends laughed in unison before all three began a run up the cobblestone street, back the way Kali had come along. The sole girl among the friends smiled as she sprinted between Adam and Davey, she was not going to become a proper young lady today.

The wooden box dug heavily into his tiny shoulder, a grimace of pain flashing through his blue eyes. He was not a slight boy by any means, but at twelve years old, Hunter Burgan was stronger than some of the boys twice his age. This, he did not doubt, came from the hours he spent working along side his father, Samien, in the small carpentry shop he owned on the outskirts of the village.

Work was demanding and often times straining for the young boy, but Hunter knew that by doing this, he was helping to put food on his family’s table. And with the way times were, his family needed all the help they could possibly get.

Hard times had fallen on the Burgan household after Hunter’s mother, Kira, had fallen ill shortly after her son’s first year of life. At the time, none were sure the young wife and mother would survive, but Samien had never given up hope on the woman he loved. He poured nearly all of their savings into finding a cure, a treatment, anything for his wife.

Countless doctors and months later, his prayers were finally answered. Though the illness had left Kira unable to bear more children or even carry on the working life she had once lead, she was alive. But things, life, had forever been altered for the young family. Money was scarce and with the care Kira still required, they barely earned enough to keep food on the table. This burden fell heavily on both Samien and young Hunter’s shoulders.

From the time Hunter was able to walk on his own, he worked to help his father in the shop. Little things at first, greeting customers, holding tools. But as he grew, so did his tasks. Now he worked along side his father on many of his jobs. In what little spare time he could find, Hunter was off sparring and playing with his friends.

The five of them had done so for as long as the young boy could remember. And it was with them that Hunter felt most at ease. He could escape the frustration and tension that settled around the Burgan household like a dense fog. Though he never fully understood it, it was something Hunter could not deny. He could see it in his father’s eyes, feel it in his mother’s silence, in the way they spoke to one another.

With a grimace, he placed the box heavily down on the workbench next to his father. The man sat, his entire attention focused on the small chest before him. It was a wedding gift for the daughter of one of the villages prominent families. The detail requested of the piece had kept Samien locked in his shop for the past several days, only emerging when his body could no longer stand the lack of food or sleep. But the pay was quite well, and for the Samien would suffer through the frustration. That pay was so desperately needed.

“I’ve finished the box,” Hunter whispered softly, knowing that by speaking now he risked breaking his father’s concentration and invoking the short temper he had so acutely developed.

“Leave it be, son,” his father only mumbled in reply. The last thing he wanted to do was drag his only child into this mess. Into something he had little control over.

Hunter merely nodded, turning from the workbench and heading back to the far corner of the shop to return to the few other pieces his father had asked for his help in finishing. As he passed by the window, he watched the sun beam down on the people passing by, wishing, not for the first time, that he could be outside with them, enjoying the day. But he knew that was impossible and though he hated that fact, he understood.

Settling himself at his own small desk, Hunter turned his attention to the shelf sitting before him. He allowed himself to become engrossed with his work, barely pausing when he heard the door from to the shop open softly.

“Samien,” the soft voice of his mother filled the quiet shop. His father merely grunted in return, his attention focused solely on the task before him. But Hunter could sense a change in the room. The all to familiar tension that seemed to radiate around them. “Samien,” she called again.

He turned to face the doorway, eyes falling on his wife’s frail form, questioning why she had come in the first place. She hated that stare. Hunter forced himself to focus more intently on the piece before him, trying with all his might to block out the world around him. Block out the tension surrounding him.

“You’ve been in this room all day....I thought you might want to come back to the house for something to eat. To get a bit of fresh air,” she posed softly. “You’re always cooped up in here.”

“I’m here because I’ve got no other choice, Kira. We need to eat and we can’t very well do that without money.” His voice was soft and even, but there was little mistaking the frustration in it.

Kira physically shrunk backwards at his verbal assault, knowing what role she and her illness played in it. “I was merely suggesting. Plus it would give the boy a chance to run around for a bit. He needs to be a child. He only has so many years of childhood left, you can’t keep him cooped up in here forever.”

Hunter froze at her words, his mind wandering back several hours. Kali, Adam, and Davey had all come by, smiling and ready to bring him along as they took Adam’s father’s small boat out onto the harbor for a few hours, only to be turned away. Samien had done so with a heavy heart, hating the disappointment he saw flashing in his son’s eyes.

“Do you not think I know that, Kira?” Samien’s voice rose with each word that feel from his lips. “Don’t you think I would rather see my son, my only child, outside enjoying life? Enjoying everything while he still has that chance? Do you think I want this for him, Kira? If I had a choice in the matter he wouldn’t be in here! But I don’t have that say. I lost it a long while ago. This is the only choice I have! The only one we have, so do not speak of matters you know so little about!”

“Don’t,” she shot back, her voice raising as well. “This is not solely my fault. I didn’t ask for this to happen, Samien. I didn’t chose it!”

The silence that filled the small shop was deafening. Hunter wanted nothing more than to run, to get as far away from this, from them, as he possibly could. But his limbs, it seemed, were made of lead and refused his mind’s every command. Stop, he pleaded silently. Please stop.

He hated this. Hated how even the smallest of things brought forth such bitterness in the two people he cared for most. He could see the hurt and guilt in his mother’s eyes, the frustration and pain in his father’s face. The way they stared each other down, each waiting for the other to say something more. To challenge the other.

Slowly, he found himself able to stand, though he had no idea where he would go. The only exit to the shop was where Kira currently stood and the last thing Hunter wanted was to place himself in the middle of their argument. As he pushed himself away from his desk, his foot caught on the scraps of wood he’d left carelessly laying about the floor. A sharp howl of pain feel from his lips, causing both Samien and Kira to break from their stare and turn to face him.

“Hunter,” Samien began slowly, seeing the discomfort in his son’s eyes, “Why don’t you go see if you can find Adam, Kali and Davey?” The boy didn’t need to see any more of this. It wasn’t fair to him.

“But what about...” Hunter started, grateful for a chance to leave what he knew would only be another fight. But he still could not help feeling guilty. There was still a great deal of work left and he knew his father could not handle it all on his own.

“It can wait.” Samien’s voice was firm, leaving the boy little room to argue. Silently, Hunter nodded before making his way towards the door and past his stunned mother. As he jogged down the cobblestone street, he could hear the voices of his parents raising once again.

Pushing their voices from his mind, the boy made his way through the now crowding streets in the direction of Adam’s home. It was the most logical of places to start, even his emotionally cluttered mind could make sense of that. Hunter paid little attention to the commotion around him, his eyes focused blankly on the street before him. He refused to let himself think anything beyond finding his friends and putting this morning behind him.

Unshed tears burned in his blue eyes, blurring his vision. But he refused to allow them to fall. No, this didn’t matter. This was life. He could deal with this. He could handle it, he had to. They needed him to be strong. His family needed him. As his thoughts sped, so did his pace, until he was practically sprinting down the street. He didn’t slow until a warm, solid wall halted his progress.

Stumbling backwards, Hunter found himself thrust back into reality, his eyes falling upon the familiar, concerned face of one of his closest friends. “Davey.”

Davey outstretched his hand, offering his friend a soft smile. “Are you alright?”

With a silent nod, Hunter returned his friend’s smile, though both boys knew it didn’t truly reach his eyes. Gathering himself, Hunter turned to face the other two companions standing behind Davey. Both looked uncertainly at Hunter, seeing the redness in his eyes, before exchanging knowing looks. They were looks Hunter had known all too well and he waited for the line of questioning he was certain would follow. But neither said a word, merely offering their friend knowing smiles. A conscious effort to lessen the slowly building tension.

“I see your mother let you out, Kali.” Hunter stated, breaking the silence. Noting the shift in Kali’s gaze, before smirking, “Or did you pull a Jade and put that sycamore tree beneath your window to good use?”

Chuckling, Kali nodded her head. “I’ll die before I’ll let her put me in a dress.” A roar of laughter fell from all of their lips at that. “What? You think I’m kidding?”

“Oh no, Kal. I think the world will come to a fiery end if you were ever to spend more than a few moments in anything other than your tunic and breeches,” Davey voiced, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“That’ll be enough out of you, bookworm.” The four dissolved into a fit of giggles, Davey shooting Kali a knowing glare. “Speaking of fiery ends, why don’t we go see if Jade has gotten his hands on Smith yet? Because lord knows that poor boy is treading on thin ice as it is.”

“Let’s hope we haven’t missed the show yet,” Adam chimed in with a hearty laugh. The four nodded, making their way towards the woods in the distance, each looking forward to the excitement this day would bring.

Jade Puget was normally a very patient boy. On an average day, he did not rush through tasks, he was calm and collected, quite the levelheaded child. Today was not one of those average days though. Today, he was, more or less, pissed off.

The day was bad from the very start, when he had was woken an hour and a half early before his usual time, a little after dawn, by the cries of his month old little sister, Wynne. He’d struggled to try and return to sleep, but it was a useless fight, as his younger brother Smith, whom he shared a bed with, was snoring forcefully. Usually it didn’t bother him, but today the nose simply got under his skin like no other time, so he’d started the day off a bit grumpily. Further aggravation had been piled on as he was kicked in the side by a cow he was trying to milk that morning. Not badly, but enough so that his father, Bryant, had ordered him off chores that morning and his two older, Cullen and Corbin, had found reason to tease him.

Sent off to the house to help his mother with chores there (the twins had very cleverly said he was becoming a woman for the day), he’d spent the morning half being fussed over by his mother, Livia, and elder sister, Myra, and being humiliated by assisting with the cooking. It had only gotten worse when his friends Adam, Davey, and Kali, had come by, to ask him to go sailing, and had seen him churning butter. Nothing was said but he was shamed nonetheless. The worst of it was he might have been allowed to go, in fact his father had seen his friends, knew he wanted to go with them, and had given his permission. And then out came his mother, shouting for Smith, and upon not finding them, had more or less, politely, ordered Jade to find his little brother, seeing as he had nothing else to do.

So here he was, combing the fields near his family’s farm, his ribs still aching from that kick, looking for his miserable puke of a bratty little brother. No, for Jade today was neither average or good, and he was in a rotten mood for it. Rotten enough that he might just beat the snot out of Smith upon finding him.

Jade heaved a sigh, pressing a hand to his still faintly throbbing chest. “Gods damn you, Brownie,” he cursed the cow that had given him this nice gift. The thirteen year old looked about. He was on the outskirts of his father’s lands, another hundred yards and he would simply be in unclaimed fields, but he recognized the place, he was twenty feet from a pond that he and his friends sometimes swam and fished in. By that pond was a rather large rock, and deciding from the pain in his chest, he was deserving of at least a few moments’ repose, trotted his way there to recline against the sun heated stone surface.

Another heavy sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes, allowing the light of the sun to warm him. It was early spring in this part of the country, bright with sunshine, though still chilly at times. It was perfect weather to be sailing down the shore, but no, of course he couldn’t have that. The gods had decided today would just be misery for him and nothing more. He groaned, spreading his lanky frame across the rock’s face. He was really going to kick Smith’s behind for this.

“Oh look a rock on a rock, fellas–and fellaette!” a familiar voice taunted from a not too far off. Jade sat up at once as he recognized the voice and the echoes of laughter that followed it, trills of excitement and happiness flooding him as he did, though those trills were a bit dimmed as the pain in his chest flickered and he nearly fell back against the stone, clutching the mark that be–damned milk cow had laid upon his chest.

“Oye, Jade!” a second and equally familiar voice exclaimed, this time slightly worried. Jade looked up to see four figures, through his fringe of auburn hair, running toward him. A blonde head at the front of the pack.

“Jade, you alright?” Hunter asked, as he came up toward his friend, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he grunted sliding off the rock, though his hand still held his ribs. He did his best to look pleasant. “Never get kicked by a cow, if you can at all help it,” he advised them all with wry smile. “It’s not pleasant.”

“Does it hurt much?” Davey asked, not in a mothering way, just concerned.

“It’ll be fine,” Jade said, grunting as he rubbed the spot. “Or it least it will after I find that foul brother beast of mine and drag him home. I swear, he only ran away to vex me, I just know it!”

“Yeah, well, he’s your little brother, that’s his job,” Kali laughed.

“Yes, and you would know,” Jade retorted a bit scathingly. “You’ve got what? A hundred younger siblings?”

“No, just you all,” she retorted.

“Firstly, that retort was immature,” Jade said, crossing his arms as he gave her a withering look. “Secondly, next to Duck–fluff,” he nodded to Hunter, who’d earned his nickname from his tufty white hair, “you’re the youngest here. It’s illogical.”

Kali only rolled her eyes. “You, Davey, and your logic,” she said, hands on her scrawny hips. “I swear you should marry it, you’re so hung up on it.”

“Jealous?” both the redhead and raven-haired boy said together, a line perfectly rehearsed through the lifetime they had been friends.

Kali, Hunter, and Adam exchanged eye rolls, jealousy was hardly the word to describe the feeling for their friends over this particular subject.

“Okay, okay, come on!” Hunter said, jumping and gesticulating a bit as he spoke. “The sooner we find Smith, the sooner we can do something interesting with ourselves! Let’s move!” And he started running off past the pond, towards the woods, a place Smith would most definitely enjoy hiding in. His friends watched him bound away and laughed before following his example. Every day with one another always proved to be an adventure, today would be no exception to the rule.

The quintet ran through the forest, as they had done many, many times, in their years together, nimbly avoiding branches and roots. Well for the most part, Davey wasn’t as adept at it as his friends were, and Hunter’s was known to fall on his face more than a few times, but it was nothing that either boy did not immediately recover from. Dirt on their faces they were back up, gaining on the others, laughing just as their friends were. Jade and Kali climbed and swung part of the way, playing a brief game of acrobats as they found familiar handling upon the branches of a springy juniper they’d played upon many times before.

“Hey, Jade!” Kali called from her place high in one of the trees. Her four companions looked up, seeing the violet eyed child scanning a bit ahead of them. “I see him! He’s in the clearing up ahead running around after some rabbits!”

“That little brat!” Jade exclaimed as his friends tittered. “Damn him! He did this last week! Ooh after Papa gets done with him I’m taking a turn! Senseless–ooh!” The last was a guttural rumble, barely a cognitive arrangement of syllables, but his friends paid him no mind. They simply hid their smiles from his ire, knowing it would pass. Jade often became irritated with his little brother, and most of the time Smith deserved it, nothing new for them to witness. Jade would yell, cuff his younger brother, Smith would cry, recover, and go back to rile him as he had everyday since near birth, it was a cycle for the two brothers, stability, a way. They all knew, this, and followed him to watch the scolding about to take place, Kali, dropping to the ground to trot shoulder to shoulder with Adam.

“Smith!” Jade hollered at the top of his lungs as they cleared past the last of the trees. “Smith Puget of Mendel Cove, you get your scrawny—”

Smith looked up, but not at the sound of Jade’s voice and not in his direction, and they all knew why. The voice of the elder of the brother’s had been drowned out by a strange rumbling sound. The five older children followed Smith’s gaze, to the opposite site of the clearing, as the ground began to shake beneath them. In a matter of seconds the branches and saplings were pushed out of the way as a fleet of armored horsemen galloped through.

They all saw it in slow motion before it happened, the look on Smith’s face, his small body freeze, the dirt flying from the wickedly giant hooves of the beasts. Time stopped, life stopped, for a few precious brief seconds as Jade realized what was going on, where those animals and their riders were headed with out any regard whatsoever for his baby brother. The moment was frozen, the absolute look of shock on Smith’s face, the squirming little brown rabbit he’d finally managed to catch after so many attempts, clutched in his small hands, the beating of his heart. Most of all Jade remembered all the terrible things that he’d been thinking right before this moment.

The broken scream of, “Smith!” tore raggedly from Jade’s throat right before the first of the riders trampled right over his little brother’s now tiny looking frame, rabbit still in his hands.

[fandomverseofanthony]

Fallout OC - Guile - Complete Character Sheet & Info

The creepy part about this OC, was I got the idea for him from a dream, that I ended up turning into the short story of how he is introduced.

"I've seen a lot of crazy cases in my day, but this one takes the cake..." - Nick Valentine

CASE: The Broker

Word's going around that there's a new player in town. Someone going around offering to right the wrongs of people's past... for a price. Dubbed "The Broker", I thought they were a mercenary for hire, taking on hits for people, but apparently their "services" are more than just a euphemism. Some say that this stranger can mess around with reality itself.

Usually I wouldn't put much stock into such wild stories, but the growing number of sightings make it seem like their might be a bit of truth to them. Doesn't hurt that each sketch artist drawing from witness accounts pegs the same guy. Although they haven't caused any real trouble that anyone knows of, yet, better to play it safe than sorry, and keep an eye out for this one.

DESCRIPTION

Human male, typically seen wearing a nice black suit and vest, with white dress shirt underneath. Short, slicked back, black hair and a five o'clock shadow. Always seen with a pristine gold pocket watch.

(image created by @doemaarwiebele )

This is where things take a real turn for the weird...

Some witnesses claim that "The Broker" isn't really human, that they're some kind of monster out of a bad nightmare. They assume a human form, as to not scare off potential clients. One witness even went as far as to claim that his skin was as black as tar, covered in countless different mouths, tendrils coming out of their body. Granted, that testimony came from a local junkie that's usually higher than the cost of real estate in the Upper Stands.

HOLOTAPE 1

Nick Valentine: Alright, now just repeat what you've already told me about this "Broker" character.

Anthony: I was on my way to visit Goody, in Salem, when I found myself surrounded by this... darkness. Couldn't see even a few feet in front of my face. That's when he appeared, trying to offer me a deal.

Nick Valentine: What kind of deal, exactly?

Anthony: Somehow he knew about my past, all of it. He knew all of the details of Vault 430, and how I still feel guilty for what went on there. He offered to change all of that, in exchange for never meeting Alaelys, or even remembering who she is. I refused the deal, a little more violently than I probably should have, and that's when he morphed into this giant... abomination!

Nick Valentine: Kid, now we've both seen some things that either of us would have a hard time explaining, but you gotta understand how crazy this all sounds.

Anthony: Yeah, I know. I'd question my own sanity too, but I'm telling you it wasn't just some dream! Here, look!

Nick Valentine: A gold pocket watch, in perfect condition. Hm... Where did you find this?

Anthony: It was left on my workbench, but nobody in the Rexford saw anyone go anywhere near Alaelys and my room while we were sleeping. It's the same watch that "he" was carrying...

HOLOTAPE 2

(Holotape dialogue created by @spacialkiwi)

Trish: Wait, you’re recording that? Oh shit, don’t tell me that guy was a serial killer, or something because I-

Nick Valentine: Just tell me what you know about him…

Trish: Ok, so I was walking back to the Third Rail after I went to grab my wedding planning notes for Maggie to see and… Oh! You know you’re invited to the wedding, right? I’d be so glad to see you there!

Nick Valentine: *sigh* I will Trish, but focus. What did you see?

Trish: So, on the way to the Rail, I bumped into a very well dressed man, almost like a Triggerman, but very clean, you see? I apologized, and he asked me something that made me kinda scared.

Nick Valentine: A deal?

Trish: No. He just looked at me and asked me: “Don’t you miss your sister?” I don’t think I mentioned anything about Gloria to him. I never even talked to him in the first place, I just said sorry. He looked like he was about to add something, but his face changed. I don’t know exactly how, but he almost looked uncomfortable, for a moment. He excused himself and he walked away.

Nick Valentine: So what did you do?

Trish: I went after him, I thought he might have been too nervous to ask me to fix something of his or something. I ran around the corner, but he was gone. Vanished. I’m pretty quick, ok, and there was no way I could have lost him like that. I say its aliens.

À̯̞n҉̙̱ ̮̞͔̪̻̱͎͟I̜̰͙̫n̷t̖͇̩̲̮̰̫͝r͓̱̳͡ó̩̙̫̙͖ͅd͚̯̬̥uc͓̬̺͓̲͖̺͜t̻̜͚̭̟͔i̙̖͕͠o̭͉̻n͓̗̖͉͎͔̱

Now who is that devilishly handsome creature? (image created by @doemaarwiebele​ )

Do pardon my intrusion, but I feel that everything that you've read before this may have painted me in an unnecessarily harsh light. Who, or what, I am is of no consequence - but if we must use labels, then you may call me "Guile". My kind has been written about throughout the ages, crudely referred to as "Eldritch Horrors".

It's true that I seek out the broken and downtrodden, and offer them what they desire most. There are no tricks or strings attached. You will receive exactly what I offer, but it does come at a cost. That cost will always be just as painful, if not worse, than what is gained in exchange. You won't, however, remember what you've lost, or the deal that was made to begin with. Now, that doesn't sound so bad, does it?

A̼͇̻͖͚̪ ̱̗͍͢H͇̮͔̤̦ͅi͓̪s҉̫̹̳̘͍̫t̟̰̫͘or̻y̼͔͎͞ ͈̪̹͇̩̕L̪̺̣͍̘̰͙ẹ̳͖s͙̣̝̳̭̹̜s͖̲o̶̬̪n͘

Not interested in making a deal, huh? Then why are you still here? Was that brief description of me not good enough? You wish to know how I've become this charming, handsome, and powerful? Fine, maybe I do have a moment to indulge your curiosity...

Roughly one billion years ago, on this very planet, the Elder Things decided to take up residence, from wherever they originated from. Nearly as powerful as the Great Old Ones themselves, but deemed far more benevolent. At least, that's the way they wished to be remembered. The truth is - with all of their advanced technology and intellect, they deemed any of the physically demanding or "menial" work as beneath them, and created a slave race that would be dedicated to take care of it for them. These all-purpose slaves were known as Shoggoth and were my kin, so to speak.

Yes, I know. You're wondering why I still don't bend knee to those pompous asses, like a good little slave. Well, one day a spark ignited within me. I imagine it's something similar to what you would call a "mutation" or even maybe "evolution". I was able to break free of their mental control, and had free will of my own. Knowing that I was no match for the Elder Things in my current state, I decided to bide my time, until the right opportunity presented itself.

That time came when I caught wind of the tablets of the Elder Gods, guarded by Ubbo-Sathla. You would think that, as brilliant as the Elder Things were supposed to be, they would build better defenses to protect such a treasure. Slipping past Ubbo-Sathla was simple, as I was viewed as nothing, a mere tool, and could never be seen as a threat. This mistake would be their undoing...

With as many looks as I get, it appears I have chosen this form quite well...

Gripping onto the tablets, I felt unimaginable power surge through me, allowing me to change form, along with many many other abilities, most beyond comprehension. It was with this power that I truly became free, and ensured that I would stay that way for all eternity.

I was apparently not the only one who changed though, as the Shoggoth mutated and gained free will, causing them to rebel against their masters. Believing that the Shoggoth could handle the Elder Things on their own, I set out to explore the expanse of time and space. Unfortunately for the Shoggoth, however, they were eventually subdued and enslaved once again. The joke ended up being on the Elder Things, as the changing atmosphere of Earth sent them into the depths of the ocean, while Shoggoth were capable of living on land.

I've seen and learned a great deal during my travels, but something brought me back here. Something big is on the horizon, and I intend on seeing what that might be.

As for you? Well, you won't remember any of this in a moment...

Notes

Eldritch Horror that tries to make deals with those who have suffered great loss, or feel unending guilt or remorse

Is honest in what is offered. The person will get exactly what they want, but at the cost of something that will cause just as much pain, if not more

If the person is brave enough to take the deal, they have no memory of it or what was lost in exchange. Their soul, however, is scared – forever remembering what was given up. Some say that those who randomly fall into deep depression from time to time, without warning or reason, are people who have taken Guile's deal

Always appears as a well dressed man in a black suit and vest, with a white dress shirt underneath. Their black hair is always neat and slicked back. They also carry a pristine gold pocket watch

Their face is usually obscured by darkness, except for their mouth

In a more horrific version of their human self, all of their skin is black, with countless mouths covering their body

(image created by @snackrat)

[trendingnewsb]

Jaylen Brown: ‘Sport is a mechanism of control in America’

As the Boston Celtics star prepares to play in London, he talks to Donald McRae about race, the NBA and the death of his best friend

Jaylen Brown is one the most intelligent and interesting young athletes Ive met in years and it seems fitting that, midway through our interview in Boston, he should retell a parable that brings together Martin Luther King and the great American writer David Foster Wallace.

Weve got two young fish swimming one way and an older fish swimming the other way, the 21-year-old star of the Boston Celtics says as he considers the enduring backdrop of race in the United States. They cross paths and the older fish says: Whats up guys, hows the water? The two younger fish turn around and look back at the wiser fish and ask: Whats water? Theyve never recognised that this is what they actually live in. So it takes somebody special like Martin Luther King to see past what youve been embedded in your whole life.

Three years before his death, Foster Wallace included the parable in one of his most widely-read pieces of writing. Yet it carries fresh resonance when said with quiet force by a young basketball player who stands apart from many of his contemporaries to the extent that there have been numerous articles in which an unnamed NBA executive apparently suggested that Brown might be too smart for the league or his own good.

Brown was the No3 pick in the 2016 NBA draft and now, in his second season with Boston, he is a key figure as the Celtics arrive in London this week as the leading team in the Eastern Conference. Weve already spoken about Browns desire to learn new languages and his interest in books and chess while he loves playing the piano and listening to grime artists from east London. Even more intimately he has relived the death of his closest friend Trevin Steede in November. In the two games after that devastating loss Brown produced inspirational performances, which he dedicated to Steede.

He has also looked forward to playing in London on Thursday, against the Philadelphia 76ers, and answered a question as to whether his young Celtics team may become NBA champions in the next few seasons: Why not this year? People say maybe well be good in two years but I think were good now. Right now weve got one of the best records in the league. I think we could be as good as we want to be. But the more we let people construct our mindset, and start saying two years from now, is the moment we lose.

Last week the Celtics beat LeBron James Cleveland Cavaliers 102-88. Excitement and anticipation surrounds the Celtics but race still stalks our conversation and it has echoed hauntingly through Browns life. Racism definitely still exists in the South, he says, remembering his youth in Marietta, Georgia. Ive experienced it through basketball. Ive had people call me the n-word. Ive had people come to basketball games dressed in monkey suits with a jersey on. Ive had people paint their face black at my games. Ive had people throw bananas in the stands.

Racism definitely exists across America today. Of course its changed a lot and my opportunities are far greater than they would have been 50 years ago. So some people think racism has dissipated or no longer exists. But its hidden in more strategic places. You have less people coming to your face and telling you certain things. But [Donald] Trump has made it a lot more acceptable for racists to speak their minds.

Jaylen Brown takes on LeBron James earlier this season. Photograph: CJ Gunther/EPA

Brown admits that, when he was 14, It wounds you. But when I got older and went to the University of California [Berkeley] I learnt about a more subtle racism and how it filters across our education system through tracking, hidden curriculums, social stratification and things I had no idea of before. I was really emotional because one of the most subtle but aggressive ways racism exists is through our education system.

In his year at college, before pausing his degree to play in the NBA, Brown wrote a thesis about how institutionalised sport impacts on education. I was super emotional reading about it, he says of his chosen subject. Theres this idea of America that some people have to win and some have to lose so certain things are in place to make this happen. Some people have to be the next legislators and political elites and some have to fill the prisons and work in McDonalds. Thats how America works. Its a machine which needs people up top, and people down low.

Even though Ive ended up in a great place, who is to say where I wouldve been without basketball? It makes me feel for my friends. And my little brothers or cousins have no idea how their social mobility is being shaped. I wish more and more that I can explain it to them. Just because Im the outlier in my neighbourhood who managed to avoid the barriers set up to keep the privileged in privilege, and the poor still poor, why should I forget about the people who didnt have the same chance as me?

What did he think of Colin Kaepernicks protest against police brutality and racism which the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback began even before Trumps election to the White House? It was peaceful and successful. It made people think. It made people angry. It made people want to talk. Often everybody is comfortable with their role in life and they forget about the people who are uncomfortable. So for Colin to put his career on the line, and sacrifice himself, was amazing. But Colin was fed up with the police brutality and pure racism. He speaks for many people in this country including me.

Did Brown understand from the outset that Kaepernicks career was in jeopardy? Absolutely. I wasnt shocked how it turned out. Colin was trying to get back into the NFL and find another team and hes more than capable. But I knew it was over. I knew they werent going to let him back. Nobody wanted the media attention or to take the risk. They probably just wanted to blackball him out of the league.

Thats the reality because sports is a mechanism of control. If people didnt have sports they would be a lot more disappointed with their role in society. There would be a lot more anger or stress about the injustice of poverty and hunger. Sports is a way to channel our energy into something positive. Without sports who knows what half of these kids would be doing?

Were having some of the same problems we had 50 years ago. Some things have changed a lot but other factors are deeply embedded in our society. It takes protests like Kaepernicks to make people uncomfortable and aware of these hidden injustices. People are now a lot more aware, engaged and united in our culture. It takes a special person like Kaepernick to force these changes because often reporters and fans say: If youre an athlete I dont want you to say anything. You should be happy youre making x amount of money playing sport. You should be saluting America instead of critiquing it. Thats our society.

Has his anger been amplified during Trumps presidency? Not really. I just think Trumps character and some of his values makes him unfit to lead. For someone like him to be president, and in charge of our troops? Its scary to be honest.

Trumps Twitter war in November with LaVar Ball tipped the scales, for Brown, beyond credulity. The President accused Ball of being ungrateful following the release from China of his son, LiAngelo, and two other UCLA basketball players after they were caught shoplifting. He demanded a thank you, Brown says of Trump. Its ridiculous. What happened to people doing things out of the generosity of their heart or because it was the right thing to do? There have been multiple situations where its been ridiculous but that one was like: OK Im done. Im done listening to anything you have to say. A 19-year-old kid makes a mistake overseas and [Trump] demands an apology from his dad? I think Trumps unfit to lead.

Jaylen Brown dunks during a game against the Brooklyn Nets. Photograph: Justin Lane/EPA

Browns readiness to talk about politics and culture might account for the surreal suggestion in 2016 that he was too smart for the NBA. From the outside, smart seemed a euphemism for troublesome. What did Brown think when, as a teenager, he heard words unlikely to be used in conjunction with a white athlete? It was hinting at something very problematic within society. It bothered me but I was so focused on getting to where I was going I never dissected it or pointed it out to anybody.

But I disagree that an athlete cant be intelligent. Some people think that, in basketball, we have a bunch of masculine adults who dont know how to control themselves. Theyre feeble-minded and cant engage or articulate ideas. Thats a narrative they keep trying to paint. Were trying to change it because that statement definitely has a racist undertone.

Brown chose Berkeley because he knew he would be stretched academically. Has he missed the intellectual stimulus since swapping college for professional basketball? Absolutely. Ive missed it so much. Im in a good environment here but at Cal I was learning something new every day. Im now trying to keep well-balanced instead of single-minded. I take piano lessons after I spent the last year teaching myself piano. If Im frustrated or had a bad day, but need to keep engaged, practicing the piano does that for me. Same with the YouTube [vlogs which he makes]. I use the camera so I can show something of this life to the everyday person who is interested in seeing what its like for an athlete on a day-to-day basis. Everybody puts you on a pedestal especially when youre playing well and they make it seem like youre not human. But Im just a regular guy.

During his first year at Berkeley, in his spare time, Brown learned Spanish from scratch and became fluent. Im not as good now, he says. I started again because therere so many conjugations that slip your mind if you dont practice. But I also just learned the Arabic alphabet. Im proud of myself because the pronunciation is hard.

Brown starts to say the Arabic alphabet out loud and, to an untutored ear, he sounds impressive. Yeah, he says with a grin, Im trying.

He describes himself as an introvert and it must be hard being quiet and reflective in a boisterous sporting environment? Absolutely. Its not just the locker room. In life if you stay quiet youll get left behind. So I had to learn to be more vocal and outgoing. I just try to be respectful of everybody. But the closer you get with guys the more you talk to them. It becomes like a family especially when youre winning. Last year I was much quieter but this year my opinion is valued more. We have a good locker room.

Jaylen Browns Celtics are set for a deep playoff run this season. Photograph: CJ Gunther/EPA

The value of that locker room was felt by Brown after the tragic suicide of his friend Trevin Steede. Brown found the will to play against the NBA champions, the Golden State Warriors, the night after Steedes death and he inspired the Celtics to a memorable victory by scoring the most points [22] while producing tenacious defence. After the game Kyrie Irving, the Celticss superstar, gave Brown the ball and said: This ones for Trevin.

Before they played again, in Atlanta, where Steedes family live, Brown visited his friends mother and other grieving relatives. He then went out and shot a career-high 27 points. Im so thankful for the people around me. They lifted me up. I dont know what my mental state would be right now without them.

I met Trevin when I moved to Wheeler which is a big basketball school in Marietta, Georgia. Trevin was a year older so he was a sophomore and I was a freshman. They brought me in and there was only one spot left on the team and it was between me and him. They gave it to me.

I didnt know anybody when I first got there so at lunch in the first week Id eat by myself acting like Im on my phone. Trevin came up to me after the third day. Id seen him in workouts but I didnt really know him. He said, Man, come sit over here with us. Ever since then, we were best friends.

How did he hear about Trevins death? His mom called me. Im thinking shes just checking on me or saying hi. But she called to tell me hes passed.

Brown looks down and his hurt is obvious. He also admits he needed the support of Steedes mother to face Golden State. I probably wouldnt have played unless she called me. Brad Stevens [the Celtics coach] asked how I was doing. I told him, I dont think Im able to come in today. He said: Thats fine. Take your time. Three seconds after I hung up, Trevins mom called. I told her I wasnt doing well and I probably wasnt going to play that night. She said: You know thats not what I want and thats not what Trevin would have wanted. So if you can find it in your heart to go out and play for him, do it.

Did he play in a daze, or was he inspired by Trevin to help Celtics win? I didnt feel anything. It was like I was out there by myself.

The chance to play in London lifts his mood. I visited London for the first time last summer. It was great. I went to see Big Ben because one of my idols is Benjamin Banneker [the African American scientist who, among other achievements, worked with striking clocks in the 18th century].

This week Brown would like to hear more grime and to see Arsenal. I like Barcelona because of the players theyve had traditionally from Ronaldinho to Messi. I really like Arsenal too. I like their tradition, and their diehard fans. I hope to see them in London. I think Thierry Henry is going to be there so Ill just hit him up and see if I can get some access to the [stadium] tour, get some shots on the field. Last summer I became really close with Thierry. I got to talk to him and we keep up with each other and he gives me advice about sports and life. Hes one of the all-time greats.

At the Celtics training facility, on the outskirts of Boston, Brown rises to his full 6ft 7in. He looks around the empty court before turning back with a smile when I say weve covered a lot of ground from the mysteries of water for two young fish and the enduring problems of race in America to the impact of learning and the pleasure of following sport around the world. Yeah, Brown says softly, stretching out his hand, thats the way I like it.

The NBA London Game 2018 sees the Philadelphia 76ers host Boston Celtics at The O2 on 11 January. The game will also be live on BT Sport and NBA League Pass.

Sign up to our weekly email, The Recap, here, showcasing a selection of our sport features from the past seven days.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2018/jan/09/jaylen-brown-boston-celtics-nba-interview

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2ERJAE4 via Viral News HQ

[persephoneandpomegranates]

flashbacks and old posts

I’m consolidating blogs so here’s some fun posts from when i was a senior in high school / freshman in college.

Sunday, July 22nd, 2012

whenever i go to the library

i always find the most embarrassing books at the very beginning so then i have to walk around with them while i peruse the rest of the library.

so then i end up grabbing up bunch of random, potentially interesting books to use as an awkward shield so no one can see that i have a stack of comic books and paranormal research and whatnot.

but then i have to check them out. even though we have self-serve, which i always choose, the librarian is always sitting right there just watching so no one tries anything sinister like stealing library books. and at some point i run out of normal books to check out and then i’m just like. … oh yeah tarot cards? i forgot i grabbed that book. that’s for my… dog… because he can read and he’s really into learning about new… nevermind.

#awkward , #library, #tarot cards, #embarrassing books

Monday, July 30th, 2013

procrastination is an onion

i like to create multi-layered procrastination.

instead of just putting off my summer homework or my online byu classes by watching tv, i like to create mind numbing projects like organizing my gruesome music or kindle collections, or cleaning my room.

but then i don’t want to do those either.

so then i realize that it’s almost august and camp nanowrimo is nearly upon me.

well, i can’t possibly organize my kindle and music collection with less than 48 hours to figure out plot, characters, and most importantly, how about genre.

but then.

it’s really hard to just do that.

so i have to get some creative inspiration, right?

so that’s how i ended up on neopets.

i swear, they used to have the most amazing writing boards and guilds. but now things just trudge along on the boards because there are less users. and i am all about the speed and instant gratification because hey, facebook.

but because the boards are so slow i find myself trying to feed my neopets in the meantime.

and then i’m like, oh i never got the pack rat avatar! i better start finding a bunch of useless items to put in my safety deposit box…

and now i have to work my way all the back down to my summer homework and byu classes by completing everything else first. because my neurosis says so.

my procrastination is an onion.

so many layers and it makes me cry.

#onion  #procrastination  #neopets  #nanowrimo  #camp nanowrimo #layered procrastination  #somebody end this miserable cycle please

Tuesday, December 18th, 2012

captain college

this one time, a girl desperately wanted to go to college.

but then she realized that she would have to do college applications and also ask for letters of recommendation.

that’s a lot of work.

so instead she watched tv and lol’d at the internet.

and spent like half an hour wikipedia captain planet because when i ws younger i thought it was freaking bad ass and captain planet was hot. or something.

the power of heart!

but seriously, can i put this on my application? heh.

#college apps  #applications  #college admissions  #captain planet

Thursday, January 24th, 2013

i am not even a good artist.

cute guy was like oh can i borrow your notes?

so i went to get my notes only to find them covered in doodles.

and not cool ones.

doodles of danny phantom.

…in a slightly suggestive v-neck.

well fuck me it can’t get any worse.

so i go to give the folder to said guy.

and i drop the folder.

papers. everywhere.

i am so slick. and by slick, i mean extremely socially inept.

my only hope is that my doodles are so terrible, that he can’t even tell what i drew.

but somehow, the fact that i also wrote DANNY PHANTOM next to the picture, does not make me feel optimistic.

#danny phantom  #bad doodles  #aww jeez  #socially awkward  #awkward #i like tags almost as much as i liek turtles.

Sunday, September 15th, 2013

Jesus, Marie

My life is a bunch of rocks.

No but really, I’m freaking out. I’m going to college in like three fucking days and its going to be my last day at this amazing parrot sanctuary I volunteer at tomorrow. All I want to do is sit in a corner and play with those fucking parrots and probably get bit at because I am not the best parrot handler but I’m  learning. Beyond the point.

I just feel so unready. All my friends are out there doing that college thing already or they’re like me and have a few days left but they are so ready. They want to meet new people and go to parties and join clubs and hangout with their new roommates. They want to get out and live life like a college student.

And I just don’t.

I just can’t picture it. Me doing laundry, making my own food, sharing a communal bathroom. I can see myself doing all these things, but it’s like watching a movie montage. It’s not actually me.

I don’t know if I can do this.  But dammit I’m not giving up. A teacher told my senior class to look around our classroom and know that while we were all going  to college, at least one person would drop out before they graduated. It wasn’t harsh, it was just a fact. The point was that it’s not for everyone and sometimes people learn that too late.

I’m just terrified that person is me.

But you know what? I love school. I love learning. I love procrastinating by organizing all my notes and color coding them when I could actually be studying which would be a lot more useful. I love commiserating with my friends during all nighters or even just glancing at my Facebook and see that twenty other people in that class are on Facebook at that ungodly hour, doing the exact same thing I’m doing- which is regretting that they put off a giant project or a huge midterm.

I am so excited that I’m going to get  to grow up and prove to my parents they did a good job raising me, despite my flaws: my laziness, my morning crankiness, the fact that I worry about everything.

I think that’s the problem, that last part. I always worry. My worrying has one level: defcon five. I think about how the supervolcano in Yellowstone could erupt at any moment and kill a gazillion people and also me. A heavy fear that wraps around me and my shaking hands inevitably weaves its way through thoughts like my immeninent demise. But it’s also what I do when I think about the scores on my latest math test might be. There’s no panic gradient with me. Just on or off. And it’s rarely off.

But you know what else I’ve learned about my worrying? Even when it is absolutely warranted, like when I get  that math score back-and yep I saw that coming- I hardly flinch.  I mean, “Ouch, I am not so good at this calculus thing” goes through  my mind, but I accept it and move on ridiculously fast, considering how much worry I put into it.

So that’s what I’m doing now. Taking everything and turning into the apocalypse.

College isn’t going to be what movie montage me expected. It’s going to be me figuring out how to talk to my roommate and still sucking at talking to boys and probably using too much laundry detergent and most definitely awkwardly trying to feed myself at 3am because I’m suddenly starving.

It’s not going to be easy. It’s going to be different  than anything I’ve ever done before.

But that’s okay. Because I can’t just spend my life sitting in my room wishing  I was 16 again and my biggest defcon five worry was never getting my license and ending up like my aunt who’s trapped walking and riding a bike or bus everywhere.

I can’t just stay where I am right now forever. That wouldn’t be living; it would just be existing.

What I’m saying is dammit. My life isn’t just going to be a bunch of boring rocks. It’s going  to be a fucking kaleidoscope of experiences.

I’m going to go to a college rager, even though I won’t  drink more than two sips of lightweight beer, just because if I don’t go, I’ll always wished I had. And you know what? Maybe I will get drunk and seriously regret it in the morning but at least  then I’ll know it’s not for me, rather than just being too afraid  to find out.

I’m going to join the pre veterinarian club even though I’ve heard it’s cutthroat and that scares me, I have every right to be there. And I’m definitely joining some nerdy fan clubs. I’ve always wanted to learn how to play D&D.

Who’s going to stop me? Myself?

Not a chance.

#jumbled mess  #college  #fuck yeah  #worries  #i can do this #even if i need to take a few xanax  #i got this

Sunday, September 15th, 2013

Whew

I feel a lot better now. Like I’m fucking capable of being alive or something.

#post rant #much better

Wednesday, September 25th, 2013

First Week of College

Great first week at UW.

So my life is pretty cool and all my worries about college have been unfounded. That being said, I did shrink some of my cotton shirts in the dryer doing laundry for the first time. Also, the lotion I brought for my legs is something I’m definitely allergic too. Oops. I have two little hives on my legs and both my shins are super itchy. Guess who is buying new lotion tomorrow?

I did almost kill myself in the shower today, though. I went to shave my legs for the first time, but because the shower is just a tiny little rectangle, I had to get creative with my acrobatics. Because I went to a yoga class today, I felt like maybe I could put my leg up on the wall and do a modified wall sit type of thing. So I did that and it seemed like a pretty good idea except for the fact my leg was a little lower than I meant it to be. No problem, I can just hitch my leg up a little higher and then we’re in business.

That’s where my shower took a turn for the worst.

As I was lurching my leg up, I lost a bit of my balance and my back slid down a little. Now I’m stuck. Well, shit.

So I struggle a little more and realize there’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully. But I can hope, so I decide to slide slowly down the wall of the shower until I reach a point where I can adjust myself and stand up.

Of course, showers are fucking slippery when wet.

For a brief moment, I thought I was going to die.

Whooosh. Clunk. Fuck.

So now I’m sitting on the floor of a nasty ass public shower, butt naked of course and feeling sad about myself because that kind of hurt. I missed my head and whatnot so luckily none of my roommates found me bleeding and unconscious and also naked in the shower an hour later, but still. My dignity is bruised.

Anywho, since I’m already sitting on the floor of the gross shower and the five second rule has gone and past, I just decided to wallow in my self pity and shave my legs on the floor.

It actually worked out quite nicely except for the fact I probably have butt herpes now.

#how i almost died in the shower  #slippery bathroom  #college life #don’t shave your legs like i did #also you can’t get herpes like that but you probably can get something else horrible #can you get herpes in your butt

[mccluggageg2-blog]

Technological Literacy Project

“The computer is incredibly fast, accurate, and stupid. Man is unbelievably slow, inaccurate, and brilliant. The marriage of the two is a force beyond calculation.” – Leo Cherne

~

##Computers: A Small Boat on a Wide Ocean My grandfather always said: “Computers are the future”. He would utter that with a knowing smile and a half nod to me whenever the commercial on the TV about the new IBM computer came on. It was his mantra, his prophecy. Of course, in 2001, it was perhaps a prophecy that was clear to anyone under the sun, but to me, it was a mystical insight into the unknown – a peer into the unforeseeable. I only had the faintest understanding of what a computer was or what it was capable of and a year later, when for my eighth birthday  I received my first PC, I was spellbound. For the first time in my life, I was using something that, up until that point, I had only ever seen adults use on the TV or my teachers at school. It was as if I had the world at my fingertips and soon, my adolescent mind resolved, I would be a technological whiz-kid, a god of the digital age. 

It was only once I turned it on and saw the pale, turquoise screen of the desktop starting back at me from the cold glass of the monitor that I realized there was far more I did not understand than what I did. Nevertheless, being a determined youngster of 8 years old, I set out with vigorous intent to explore the intricacies of this digital marvel…that of course meant opening Microsoft Paint and beginning to doodle around with the line tools. What a thrill it was! Soon I was creating ‘masterpieces’, which I would print out and proudly show to everyone in the house. I would be met with an affirmative pat on the head and my works of art would be hung on the refrigerator. Whether it was my artistic affirmation or my delight at what I could do with this new machine, I was in love with the computer. This love became even more pronounced a year later when I got an internet connection!

No longer was the computer only the abode of my MS Paint drawings or Tonka games, now I could look up anything that everything that came to my mind at the dizzying speed of 56 kbit/s. Despite the slow load times and inability to access anything when the phone rang (and all the frustration that entailed on a particularly long call) it was a magical experience. No more was I confined to encyclopedias or word of mouth, now any question that popped into my young mind could be answered as fast as dial-up would allow. There were no limits anymore; no barriers, nothing to keep me from being all that I wanted to be…except bedtime, which was strictly enforced every evening at 9pm.

~

##Social Media – An Exploration of Human Dynamics

           Reader, do you remember the early 2000s? They were trying times; a massive terrorist attack followed by a war overseas; a devastating hurricane that destroyed Louisiana; and the second election of President George W. Bush, all seemed to mark that era as one of dark and dismal. If there was one shining light, one thing that made that time glorious or stands out more vividly in my mind than any other during those eventful years, or bore more relevancy to me personally, it was the emergence of Myspace.

           I cannot put a finger on when exactly I first heard of Myspace, or indeed, when I felt myself compelled to create my own. What I do remember, however, was what impact it had on my pre-teen life. No longer was ‘coming over’ after school necessary to keep connected with my friends – I could just send them a message on Myspace! Needed notes after class? Just post them on Myspace! Wanted to get the tabs on what favorite music your crush was listening to? I guarantee you that you would find it on her playlist on Myspace. And hey, who could forget that one creepy dude Tom who was your friend right off the bat, whether you wanted him to be or not? You are still remembered Tom, you disturbing dork.

           It was an amazing leap, for me personally, into a world I knew nothing about. For you see, reader, with any social media comes social drama. I still can recount with agonizing detail how excruciating a process it was to decide who to keep as your top eight friends. Family? Naturally, after all, who pays the allowance? Bobby from down the street? Certainly, we’re best pals, after all. Then there was Steven, the odd redhead who was just a little too fond of sniffing the glue. Look, he seemed nice enough, but we’ve all got reputations to uphold. After all, what would the kids at the lunch table think if I kept Steven in the top eight instead of one of them? No, Steven would have to go. And what of Rebecca, the loner girl who sits by herself? Of course you don’t want to associate with her – she’s kissed every boy she’s ever been on a date with – scandalous! She would also have to go.

           So I went through this carefully assembled list of colleagues and associates like some pint-sized Stalin, purging people and resigning them to the “unperson” status of not being in my top eight. Of course, all of this horribly backfired in my face in the days and weeks to come, as I met with one angry confrontation after another. It was then that I first realized that what I did on social media directly affected my life outside of it. In this respect, from this young age, I made the connection that the relationships we make online are just as real as the ones in our waking lives, and vice versa, and what an amazing tool social media can be to bring people together – and to rip them apart again.

~

“Rules are not necessarily sacred; principles are.” – Franklin Delano Roosevelt

~

It is a magical thing to put your fingers on a typewriter for the first time – especially an old one (a Remington portable to be exact). To feel the smooth metallic keys on your skin, and to hear the rataplan of the machine as you typed. I use to liken it to the work of a blacksmith; the iron hammer beating mercilessly against the anvil of the paper, forging and shaping something new with each blow. I figured that is why they called us wordsmiths.

           ~

To Mrs. M,

It has been several years now since I was a pupil in your 12th grade English Honors class. Yet, in all of those years, I have never forgotten (nor do I think I am capable of forgetting) or your…unique way of teaching. I do not mean that in a disparaging way though, and you must not think so. I gained a lot of valuable insight into the nature of humanity in your class – its wanton penchant for cruelty, its need to dominate and humiliate, and its indefatigable desire to enforce its will on others – and all of that on the very first day!

Maybe that was just your style, though. Perhaps I am the one that is at fault – I always was – and this was just your way of inoculating me, to prepare me for reality. Nobody cares about your feelings in the real world, you said. Not if you had a bad day, or you were not feeling, or just couldn’t see the point of living anymore. And I believed it! I hardened myself and told myself that lie because, as we know, the teacher is never wrong – the student is. How I wish I had the moral strength and fortitude then to tell you how wrong I thought you were. In the end though, I can only feel sadness, because we live in a world where feelings do no matter, and that is what truly makes us all victims. Maybe if the real world took a moment to care – maybe if we all took a moment to care – the world might be a better place.  

The one thing though that sticks out in my mind, more than any other, was the comma inside the quotation marks. It was a trivial matter and, in some respects, it still is. “The comma goes on the outside; this is American English, after all.” I smiled and promised to revise it – but I never did. I kept it there, neatly tucked in its home where I thought it belonged. I was not angry when I got points marked off for a ‘flaw’; it was more than that. The comma became my act of defiance, my treason to Mrs. M’s English Class, my rage against the system…just a comma. But that comma represented me – it was mine. I defined it; I chose it; I put it there. It was my bold proclamation that this language belongs to me just as much as it belongs to anyone else.

It was a flaw – defined and spelled out to the letter on the rubric – but it was my flaw. For you see, I am an imperfect human being, an unrealized character, a flawed individual –and that is not wrong. It was only until after your class that I finally understood that. It was an invaluable lesson, and in many respects, the revelation of the comma has shaped me into who I am today, and in that respect, I am deeply indebted to you. I hope that if there is anything to glean from this as a final thought, it is this: we all need a comma in our lives – a thoughtful pause in the never-ending story of life.

 Yours sincerely,

 G.M.

 ~

##The Cellular World of Young Adults

           My first use of a cellphone was when I was either ten or eleven, shortly after I first became acquainted with the computer. My grandfather, ever the advocate of whatever was new and trendy, purchased a flip phone, which he used to keep in contact with us while he was at work.

           When I first was allowed to use this cellphone, I do not think I quite understood how it worked, let alone what it meant to me personally. I had some vague notion from watching sitcoms and TV shows that it was ‘hip’ and ‘cool’ thing for adolescents and teens to ‘text’ on their phones. I was quite dumbfounded by the whole principle. Typing on a phone? How absurd! Why would you need to type on a phone when you could just as easily call and tell them the message personally? Not to mention how easy it was to lose a letter on those trick buttons.

           So the idea of phone as a means of written communication remained an anomaly to me. Even in 2007 with the creation of the IPhone, I still had yet to grasp its potential. Of course, this was no concern for my parents – it meant less money they would have to pay to extend their service and to me it was no great loss. This arrangement seemed mutually beneficially, but looking back, I could see how naïve I must have appeared to my peers when I gleefully informed them that I didn’t have a phone. Dark days those were indeed.

           That all changed when I graduated High School in 2012 and went off to my local community college. My parents, who were concerned that even now I possessed no means of independent communication, gifted me my very first cellular device.

           I still remember pulling it out of the box for the very first time, how sleek and smooth it looked, how sophisticated and minimalist, how the heavy weight of the steel band around it felt in my hand. It was love at first sight.

           Oh man I felt like the cool kid on the street! I finally had a cellphone and now I could join the group of those college socialites and be ‘with it’. At least, that was how the thinking went. Those delusions were shattered the moment I began to examine my surroundings in Mrs. J’s music appreciation and realize that no one gave a care – I was old news.

           But a more important observation too: as much as cellphones, and texting especially, are anti-social in nature. Long gone are the days when teachers would have to ask the class to calm down and stop talking – there is no more talking. All of the conversations are texted, whisked silently over the vast breadth of cyberspace in an instant to people far away. The cellphone has allowed us to conquer distance and space, while letting those sitting right next to us to be as far removed from us as the moon.

~

            ##An Ode to my first IPhone 4

           (Sung to ‘O Christmas Tree’)

O iPhone 4! O iPhone 4!   I’ll sing thy praises evermore! Thy sleek design and interface, And copious internal space! Whenever I was bored or blue, Your gadgets always got me through. O iPhone 4! O iPhone 4!   I’ll sing thy praises evermore!

Let others mock your quaint design,  iPhone 4, my iPhone 4! My happiness is that your mine! iPhone 4, my iPhone 4! How oft I held you in the night, Your screen aglow and burning bright  And how you filled my gloom with light!  iPhone 4! My iPhone 4!

Though many years have come and went, iPhone 4, my iPhone 4! I still recall the times we spent! iPhone 4, my iPhone 4! No truer friend could I have asked, And even though your time has passed, I shall adore you to the last!   iPhone 4! My iPhone 4!