#access to the woods was limited. so while some people might have been able to keep their accent

[tomthebassoon]

Ok listen. I'm dying. Reading the hunger games, I was vaguely aware that district 12 was supposed to be located in my homeland, but I didn't fully feel it till I read tbosas. Like, that's Appalachian folk music, baby! The music of my people! Lucy Gray talks like me!! The humidity Snow can't stop bitching about? That's my summer!!!

And then the movie came out and let me tell you, the joy I felt hearing the covey speak. That's my accent on the big screen!!! And of course, the music was just how I imagined it!! Straight up, The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird was *the same* melody I thought of when reading the book!!! (musicology is my passion ok). Every single song killed me I swear. And the cinematography of district 12! I can imagine my home town like that. I know meadows and lakes just like those. That's my home.

[to-be-a-dreamer]

For the au asks: monster hunter au and 2000s au.

OKAY OKAY I had a lot of different ideas of how to do this but I think I got it figured out!

My first instinct was the classic Moster Hunter x Monster set up but that felt too easy so we're doing Monster Hunter x Monster Hunter (it kinda flew off the rails and neither of them are really hunters but shhhh its fine) and there's probably some kind of metaphor about systemic discrimination hidden in here somewhere that I'm not smart enough to figure out

Monsters, to the general public, are defined as previously-human creatures who have been infected or corrupted in such a way that they have lost their humanity. This includes but is not limited to werewolves, vampires, and zombies. Although these creatures are able to access the memories of the humans they once were and can even imitate their personality, the person they were before their corruption is considered legally and socially deceased. While they can be highly intelligent and manipulative, monsters are ultimately driven only by the animalistic instinct to kill. They are highly dangerous and thus closely monitored by the government.

If the family of the deceased wishes to keep the monster that corrupted their loved one's body, they are allowed to do so but with several restrictions. The monster is given daily injections that keep it in a semi-sedated state, is not allowed to leave its caregiver's property without a police escort, and is required to undergo a weekly evaluation to assess how dangerous it is and if it should be allowed to continue living with its caregiver.

Most monsters are eventually sent to general care facilities where they are kept under the security and care of trained professionals for the remainder of their lives. (no one is immortal in this au methinks, they might just be harder to wound/kill and have accelerated healing) Any monster who escapes custody is considered a rogue and is killed on sight by the police or military.

Katherine is the daughter of Joseph Pulitzer, the country's top manufacturer of anti-monster weapons. Her father has dedicated his entire life to "protecting the innocent" by selling his inventions to the US army and police force and being one of the most well-known advocates for the capture and "relocation" of all monsters.

Pulizter expects his daughter to work in his company, preferably in the sales and marketing department, but Katherine wants to do more. She's seen documentaries, advertisements, and news stories about the Corrupted Human Regulation (CHR) branch of the military, colloquially referred to as hunters. For as long as she can remember, Katherine has looked up to the brave, honorable soldiers who risk their lives to protect people and has always known she wanted to join them one day.

Is it stupid of her to go wandering around the woods hoping to find a rogue monster to fight, kill, and call in to the CHR so she can finally prove to her father that she's serious about this "pipe dream", as he calls it? Probably, but the woods near the city are usually pretty safe anyways so it's not likely for her to run into anything out there. The anti-monster defenses in the area are pretty intense and there hasn't been a rogue monster sighting in years. There's not even that many household monsters in the city, most families who decide to host one end up moving away after a few months. Katherine can count the number of times she's seen a monster on one hand, so she doesn't really expect to find one just by wandering around the forest.

One of those "the odds are low but never zero" kind of situations.

She freezes at first. Probably not the best start to her hunting career, but she forgives herself quickly and instead focuses on aiming her gun at the creature in front of her. It's not a top-of-the-line weapon like the kind her father supplies to the CHR, but it's still pretty lethal, especially if she can hit a half-decent shot. Katherine is the first to admit that she's not the most skilled with a gun, but she can hit pretty close to the bullseye at the shooting range so she expects this will be easy enough, especially since the creature hasn't seemed to notice her yet.

That should have been her first indication that something weird was going on. Werewolves have a highly keen sense of smell and hearing, even better than actual wolves. They can smell their prey from over three miles away and their hearing can reach up to twenty. This wolf should have sensed her coming ages before she was able to lay eyes on it, especially since it was fully shifted. It should have killed her before she even realized what was happening

I have a few ideas for how this scene would go, but the main thing is that Katherine realizes the wolf is stalking a girl, probably close to her own age, when it suddenly pounces into a clump of foliage and she hears a loud shriek echoing through the forest. She doesn't think. She doesn't take the time to aim her gun properly or recognize the lighthearted laughing that follows the scream. She just shoots.

The wolf staggers back as the girl quickly raises to her feet, looking absolutely horrified. It lets out a strangled howl as the girl's eyes lock onto Katherine's and she steps in front of the wolf, as if she was trying to protect it. The girl keeps one hand on the shaking creature's shoulder and holds the other up in front of her, yelling at Katherine to stop. She doesn't move when Katherine cocks her gun again and tells her to run so she can finish the monster off. The girl's gaze locks onto something behind Katherine just a split second before something big and strong slams into her back, knocking her to the ground and pinning her in place.

The other werewolf's breath is hot on her face as she helplessly gropes around for the gun she dropped, staring up into furious, glowing yellow eyes. It growls deeply from its chest, strong muscles tensing under sleek red fur and Katherine braces herself for whatever comes next. Would it finish her off quickly? Would it take its time, relishing in her suffering before leaving her to the elements? Would it bite her and turn her into one of its kind?

The last possibility scared her the most.

"Civilian weapon. One of the nasty ones but she's not CHR. Not even a licensed freelance hunter and barely an amateur, if you can even call her that. This was probably her first hunt."

The girl, the one she had been trying to save, had picked up her gun to examine before unloading it and tucking both the gun and the bullets into her bag. Katherine wonders for a split second if she's a werewolf too, but as she enters Katherine's vision she is distinctly human. Her teeth are dulled, her nails are small and rounded, and her incredibly pretty eyes are a soft brown color.

She tells the monster on top of Katherine to let her up and help the one tending to the injured wolf instead. The creature obeys, not without snapping its teeth in her face and snarling angrily, but it lets her go.

Katherine is too shaky to resist as the girl pulls her up into a sitting position, tugging the collar of her shirt down to inspect something on her shoulder. She feels a slight sting and realizes the wolf's claws must have dug into her skin, but the girl tells her it's barely a scratch.

"Did you drive here?" "Y-yeah. What the hell are you doing hanging around a werewolf pack? You're gonna get yourself killed" "The way I see it, the wolves were in more danger tonight than I was. Lucky you're such a terrible shot and only grazed him." "It attacked you." "We were playing a game. This scratch should clot on its own by the time you get back to your car. Sorry about that, he still forgets how sharp his claws are sometimes. Now get the hell out of here and, do everyone a favor, learn how to use a gun properly before you go traipsing around the woods trying to play the hero." "I'm not- I mean- I can take you home too." "No." "You can't just stay out here in the middle of nowhere with a pack on the loose." "Full offense, but I feel about ten times safer with my friends than with a trigger-happy amateur hunter who can't even aim."

The girl turns away from her after that, kneeling down next to the injured wolf to assess the damage Katherine had done. She was right, it was a terrible shot, and the wolf was already starting to heal, even with the wolfsbane that had coated the bullet. The girl must have some kind of death wish, with the way she turns her back on the two fully-shifted werewolves standing guard over their companion. She doesn't even flinch when the injured wolf snaps at her as she smears some kind of thick paste over the wound. The girl just pushes the monster's head back down and tells it to stop moving with a teasing grin and a flick on its nose.

If Katherine didn't know any better, she would say the werewolf looked like it was pouting.

She can't really explain why she doesn't call the CHR the second she gets back to her car. She can't explain why she drives right by the police station without even slowing down. She can't explain why she sneaks past her father on her way inside and buries the blood-stained shirt deep in her dresser drawer. She can't explain why she stares at her phone for a few minutes before going to sleep without reporting the pack of vicious monsters just outside of the city. She can't explain why she spends the entire weekend searching through the missing persons section of old newspapers for the girl's face.

Sarah Jacobs. That's the name she finds.

She can't explain why it makes her feel so giddy.

Katherine goes back to the woods. It's a long shot, she knows. The wolf pack probably cleared out, expecting her to report them. But still, it's worth a shot so she goes back to the place where she shot the wolf. It's empty like she expected, but she leaves the short note she wrote pinned to a tree.

"You're really bad at this whole hunting thing, you know."

The high-pitched scream Katherine let out would have been embarrassing if she wasn't so focused on slowing her heart back down to a normal pace.

The girl, Sarah, had apparently found the note and snuck into the backseat of her car in less time than it took Katherine to walk back. She holds it up questioningly, displaying the envelope where Katherine had written the girl's name in careful lettering "So, you want to know more? First things first, you know my name so it's only fair you tell me yours."

And yeah that's as far as I've gotten plotwise. I haven't fully worked out the rest of the details but here's what I'm thinking so far:

Sarah is part of a small group that helps newly-turned monsters escape the city. (or any monster they can find, it's just easier when they haven't been fully processed yet) They're also working to expose all the misinformation about monsters but it's slow going. Sarah is mostly involved in the short-term solution, getting people to safety.

She joined after her twin brother, David, was attacked by a werewolf and turned. Everyone told her that her brother was dead and the monster just looked like him, but she knew they were wrong. No matter what she had learned growing up, no matter what the doctors or the specialists or the police said, she knew her brother. She knew he was the same person he had always been, just a little different.

No one else in their lives felt the same way. Her parents held a funeral and everyone mourned a boy who was very much alive and begging to still be loved. They were going to send him away to some facility that would keep him drugged and isolated until they found some excuse to get rid of him for good and she just couldn't accept that. So she helped him escape and they ran away together. They made it to the woods when the group found them and gave them a new home.

Katherine learns the truth about monsters, of course. She was lied to her entire life and that takes a while to come to terms with, but she meets the other monsters (aka, all the newsies) and it's so so different than everything she's ever been told.

She meets Davey, Sarah's brother, and he loves all the same books as her. He likes mint chocolate chip ice cream and misses his cat. He wants to be a writer and he's afraid of heights. He chews on his claws and avoids lingering on his eyes when he looks in the mirror. He doesn't like to shift but does it anyway because a pair of young siblings, newly turned vampires she learns, say he looks like their family dog and they sleep better when they can curl up against his side and pretend they're back home.

She meets Spot, a werewolf who was a pack leader for a long time before joining the group and does not like Katherine at all.

"Probably because you shot her boyfriend", Sarah explains.

She meets Race, said boyfriend, who doesn't actually seem all that bothered by it and teaches Katherine how to play poker.

I have absolutely zero thoughts about what's going on with any of the other characters, sorry. Jack's in here somewhere and he and Davey kiss about it but that's all I got.

But yeah, Katherine eventually joins them and helps where she can. She keeps an eye on reports of newly-turned monsters so the others can help them escape as soon as possible. She gathers as much information as possible on the monster care facilities and they're able to pull off a raid with her intel. She's able to find a newspaper willing to print articles debunking misinformation about monsters that Davey and some others wrote. This is not a "privileged white person saves the poor little minority group" type of thing btw, the monsters do most of the work, she just helps with information since most of them can't go to the city and then she steps back to let them do their thing.

NGL, I don't really know what the overarching story is but yeah, that's the AU idea.

Oh yeah and at some point, Katherine and Sarah kiss a bunch

Nearly forgot that part

Was this comprehensible? Who knows! But it was fun to brainstorm and I might develop it further in the future, I think it would be a fun universe to write oneshots for.

[royalmercer-c23-archived]

ursine physiology (ursus arctos) — individuals with this mutation may access the abilities of or transform into brown bears, known in some regions of america as grizzly bears. some of these abilities may include increased strength and durability, enhanced vision and sense of smell, strong hunting instincts, a bite force of almost 1,000 PSI, and the ability to eat an entire bushel of berries in one sitting.

what’s your mutant’s ability? ursine (bear) physiology - the ability to transform into a bear, in royal’s case specifically a brown bear.

what’s your mutant’s classification level? beta.

how old were they when they first discovered their abilities? how did it happen? at about ten years old, royal was a mischievous and adventurous kid. the kind that got into all sorts of trouble. he was in a little bit of a prank war with another kid at school. what was intended to be a mostly harmless bucket of water was replaced with one full of mud, and to top it off, the wrong person went through the door. not just anyone, though. the principal. at the sight of his face, covered in mud and contorted with rage, royal turned and ran. out the school doors and down the road. at some point he tripped and pitched forward, catching himself with his hands. looking down, he realized he was, well, a bear. he ran the rest of the way home on all fours, faster than ever before.

so, what can your mutant do with their abilities? he can transform into a bear! he’s able to stay transformed while unconscious, but he wasn’t always able to. being a bear has lots of advantages, like strength, enhanced senses, and thick, protective fur and skin.

…and what can’t they do (at least, not yet)? he’s never successfully stayed transformed for longer than a week. he also can’t shift his tongue back from being a bear tongue. he’s got a bear tongue all the time, but at human scale.

what’s one thing they hope to learn or are currently trying to learn with their abilities? he’s really interested in trying to get better control over his transformation so that he can either target specific areas of his body or transform only halfway, stopping somewhere between bear and human..

what is the most powerful thing your mutant can do with their abilities? do you think they would actually do it? depending on your definition of powerful, probably killing someone? he can also peel open a minivan like a can of sardines but that’s more of a party trick. if he felt it was necessary though, he wouldn’t hesitate to do either.

what are your mutant’s weaknesses? royal’s ability to transform and stay transformed is limited by the amount of energy available within his body, which basically means he has to be well fed in order to become and stay a bear. mild to moderate hunger reduces how long he can remain in bear form, while severe hunger or starvation would leave him unable to transform. (he’s also a stubborn bastard who holds grudges big time, but that’s a different kind of weakness)

do they use their abilities in their day-to-day life? in what ways? there’s not necessarily a whole lot of use for being a bear in day to day life in new york city, but back on the farm he often helped move heavy or awkwardly large things. getting your new couch out of the back of your flatbed is a lot easier when you can just have a bear do it, you know? it’s also just a really fun way to spend a weekend out in the woods.

as a mutant, do they have any goals? dreams? royal has always wanted a family, but he’s never limited that to the traditional idea of a wife and kids. really he just wants to live a life surrounded by people he cares about. additionally, he hopes that he and his brother and cousins will be able to keep their grandparent’s farm and halfway home in good shape and make sure that it stays the safe refuge it’s always been.

how do they feel about the last 30+ years of mutant history? royal is frustrated with the way mutants are treated, generally speaking. fed up, one might even say. for example, the 1983 presidential address was, in his mind, a heap of worthless lies. the subsequent lack of follow through was further confirmation of what he already knew: the government wasn’t going to help. similarly, his feelings about the essex house include a good deal of distrust and suspicion. the promises made were too good to be true, which usually means they are. then the escape happened in ‘96 and that was all the proof he needed. he hates that he was right, but he’s not shocked. by this point, he’s a cynical old bastard who’s sure of one thing based on the last 30+ years: mutants are on their own, which means they need to stick together.

( @c23tasks​ )

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Why Aleks Took Alina’s Letters To M*l

I’ve ben thinking alot about this recently, it was brought on by a couple of things the main one being I just read ‘The Tailor’ which is another short book that LB wrote similar to Demon in the Woods, this one is deleted scenes from shadow and bone told from Genya's point of view but it does give us more information on what went on with the letters Alina had written to M*l. So disclaimer obviously there are spoilers for the tailor so if you haven’t read that book and don’t want to be spoilt stop reading now. I also want to put a trigger warning in here as I do discuss the topic of grooming. 

I’ve talked a little before about why I think Aleks took the letters but as I’ve said I’ve just read the short story and its given me some more information on it. Before reading the short story I kept seeing various theories and interpretations on why Aleks might have stopped the letters, one of my own was that he was using them to gain information on Alina and because after her comments about not wanting to be grisha and whether anyone had ever escaped the LP he considered her a security risk and so was taking the letters to make sure she wasn’t planning a break out with M*l. But one theory that I’ve seen alot of antis using is that Aleks wanted to isolate Alina because he is a groomer and he was hoping that if he isolated her then he could become her new singular confidant and have an easier time manipulating her. Literally though the amount of times I’ve seen antis use Aleks taking Alina’s letters to M*l as ‘evidence’ that he was grooming Alina. But I’m here to blow some holes in this theory because he never actually isolates her and he never becomes her sole confidant. Again something I’ve spoken about before but Alina has friends at the LP (even more so in the show) she has genya, marie, nadia, in the show you can probably add fedyor to that list too and of course Aleks himself. It always kind of amuses me when I see the claims that Aleks isolated Alina because she actually had more friends and a more well developed social support system at the LP than she ever did at Keramzin or in the First Army with M*l. And while she does confide in Aleks alot he by no means becomes her sole confidant. She also confides in Genya, Marie, Nadia and even to some extent Baghra. Again this shows that she has that better support system because she does have many people she can go to for emotional support and advice whereas before arriving at the LP the only person who provided this role for her was M*l. If Aleks took the letters because he wanted to isolate Alina so that he would become the only support she could turn to then he wouldn’t have stopped there. He would have isolated her completely made her feel completely alone, he would have isolated her from the other grisha too. There are so many ways he could have done this, he could have told the other grisha and Alina that she was too far above their station for them to be allowed to socialise, he could have insisted that she eat her meals with him privately instead of in the hall with the other grisha, he could have trained her separately with private lessons only, he could have confined her to her rooms for her ‘safety’ and only let her leave for lessons and meals. This would have limited the amount of socialisation she’d have with others and ensure that she only relied on him and that she really did feel completely isolated from everyone else. But he doesn’t do that he leaves her be to form friends and socialise as she wishes. The only way in which he interferes in her social circle (other than taking the letters) is by sending Genya to her and asking her to spy for him. To be honest though I don’t necessarily think this was a manipulative or malicious move, Aleks was aware that Alina’s life had just been uprooted and that she was likely going to struggle to adjust not to mention Alina was a bit of a wild card, so asking Genya to keep an eye on Alina was probably a smart general like thing to do. 

Going back to ‘The Tailor’ in this short story we learn some interesting things but one thing we learn is Aleks’ actual motivation for taking the letters. The letters were given to the servants and then the servants gave them to Genya who was passing them on to Aleks. Genya is clearly feeling guilty and unsure about taking the letters and there is a really interesting scene where she is talking to Aleks about this and it is here that Aleks says this:  “Old bonds,” he says as he gives the horse a final pat and pushes off from the fence. “They can do nothing for Alina but tie her to a life long gone.” 

This is something that has been spoken about before in the fandom, Aleks stopped the letters because he knew that Alina would not be able to access her grisha power and flourish at the LP whilst she was still holding on to her old life and her bond with m*l. He’s realised something that I feel like m*l and Alina never really do, which is Alina will never again be that same girl that grew up at Keramzin. She can’t go back to that life and so the only way she can really reach her potential is by letting it go. Now here’s the thing, is it morally grey of Aleks to take the letters? Yes of course it is. Being separated from M*l causes Alina great pain and distress and thinking M*l has abandoned her really hurts her. But I also can’t say that Aleks was wrong. I mean it is canon that Alina didn’t harness her powers until she let go of M*l and embraced her identity as a grisha and as the sun summoner. So while yes it was very upsetting for Alina to think that M*l had abandoned her and this is where alot of Genya’s guilt comes from, I don’t know what other way there was to get Alina to move past that block and reach her powers. Her co-dependency on M*l was damaging to Alina so it’s difficult for me personally to see this as some villain move when in the end it ultimately benefitted Alina. 

Something else that I found really interesting in this short story is that when Genya expresses guilt for taking the letters and worries that Alina won’t ever forgive her, Aleks says he will give Genya the letters, he then says the above quote explaining his reasons for keeping the letters from Alina and then tells Genya that she can do whatever she likes with the letters. She can give them back to Alina, send them to m*l or destroy them, but it is left entirely up to Genya on what she wants to do and ultimately Genya decides to burn them. What’s interesting about this to me is even though Aleks clearly thinks stopping the letters is the best thing for Alina, if Genya feels like its going to destroy their friendship and isn’t ok with taking the letters then Aleks isn’t going to force her to. I mean he could’ve pulled rank and said you’re my soldier you’ll follow orders or he could have asked someone else to take the letters instead, but he instead leaves it up to Genya. 

Anyway that’s enough babbling for today. If you do get the chance and haven’t read it already I would recommend The Tailor its a very interesting read and gives alot of backstory on Genya and some insight into her relationship with Aleks.  

[thebountyfucker]

Kyuzo/Phatrong Headcanon Masterpost

I created a post similar to this on my main blog @kyuzan-queen years ago and wanted to give it a refresh!

Included in this post:

Kyuzan biology (does include NSFW elements) Culture: Clothing, Music/Art, Religion, Familial culture, Politics, and life of Phatrong

Kyuzoni biology:

The Kyuzo are an omnivorous (carnivorous-leaning) reptilian species. They sport a mouthful of sharp fangs and a long tongue. While they are reptilian, they are warm blooded and do not lay eggs. Because of Phatrong's inconsistent weather, Kyuzo evolved to be able to maintain and regulate their own body temperatures. Their bodies can accept a shift in temperature of about 20 degrees Fahrenheit before it starts to affect them. They, like cold-blooded reptiles, do enjoy sunning/basking. It's good for their mental health and other bodily processes!

Kyuzos also evolved to carry pregnancies and give live births, also because of the weather. The process of Kyuzan pregnancy is awkward and painful, though, and mortality rates for mothers are quite high.

Kyuzo skin is rough, but not scaly like Trandoshans. Skin colors can range anywhere from green, to yellow, to blue and in between. However, those who are purely yellow or blue have a common pigmentation disorder. Their health is not negatively affected because of this, although people might treat them differently depending on where they live.

All Phatrongi Kyuzo are born with honeycomb eyes, that can be any color. Their eyes tend to glow in the dark, and they can see in the dark better than most humanoids.

Other than having slightly wider hips, cis females are very similar to cis males. Cis females do not have breasts or any noticeable secondary sex traits. While cis males tend to be a bit taller and wider framed, its not uncommon for cis females to have those traits, and vice versa. Intersex Kyuzo are common. Gender is very fluid among the Kyuzo, as parents tend to raise their children without a defined gender; when the child is of age, they get to decided what their gender is. Thus, being trans or nonbinary is prevalent.

The Kyuzo can be up to 7′6″ tall, with most falling in the 6′ to 6′6″ range. They tend to have larger frames than humans but are considerably more agile.

The weakest part of the Kyuzo is their lungs; if there is too much moisture in the air, they can easily contract pneumonia. Too little oxygen in the air and they’ll suffocate. Thus the reason they wear masks off planet.  

Kyuzo, beyond that, are an incredibly hearty species that can live upward of three hundred years. After reaching sexual maturity at around young adulthood, their aging slows down. Whatever kills them before old age is usually attributed to their lungs or more physical means. They can contract other diseases, but they are usually nonfatal. Usually.

They have an amazing amount of stamina and can run at speeds that are hard for most humanoids to attain. They, unfortunately, have high pain tolerances and a hard time receiving fatigue messages to the brain, and this generally spells out problems. Kyuzos have been known to run themselves to death - literally. It’s not uncommon for families to find the bodies of missing members hundreds of miles away from where they were last seen. They have to make a very conscious effort to stop, or they won’t.

Kyuzo are much stronger than other humanoids, and can jump higher. Most outsiders confuse them as force sensitives for this reason. Kyuzos can be Force-sensitive, but it's rare to find Kyuzo Jedi.

Kyuzan cocks are long, with a tapered head. Most cocks have ridges or nodes on the top that would expand when inside a Kyuzan pussy. These nodes would help to anchor the cock inside. However, when fucking a near-human, these nodes/ridges tend to only work as extra sensation against the g-spot and a-spot.

Culture:

Clothing:

Most feminine presenting Kyuzo wear headwraps/headdresses. Other than displaying wealth and covering cold heads, there isn’t much of a reason that they wear the headdresses. It’s not required, but most feminine presenting people wear them because they grew up seeing other feminine presenting people wearing them. If one is wealthy, their headdresses will tend to be large and elaborate; it’s not uncommon for one to wear a headdress that is pounds upon pounds of metals, jewels, and cloth. Poorer feminine presenting people generally just wear cloth, or nothing at all.

Kyuzoni clothing is colorful and flowy; people wear very similar clothing, no matter what gender they are. Dresses and skirts are very common, and people will generally go topless. While most colors are okay to use, there are certain colors that are not used in everyday clothing, such as purple, light blue, gold, and white; the Kyuzo place sacred meaning in some colors, so they are only supposed to be used for special events.

Phatrong’s army/police force wear loose, non-restricting clothing with a leather-like armor covering their chests. Their family’s crest is painted upon the armor, in case that the warrior is killed in action. Their clothing is trimmed in gold, which represents bravery and wisdom.

Light blue cloth, specifically headwraps or shirts, signify that a wedding is approaching. Purple is a wedding color, as it signifies prosperity and commitment; wedding clothes are trimmed with silver. White is only used for funerals or births, as it signifies both death and the innocence of new life.

Music/Art:

Music on Phatrong generally revolves around stringed instruments and percussion instruments; they don’t generally listen to music for leisure. Music is only played at festivals, and generally tells the stories of ancient heroes and gods. The Kyuzo also create dances to these story-songs, to make things more dramatic.

Art varies around Phatrong. By the oceans, it’s mostly glass-work like beads and giant stained glass windows. Those Kyuzo that live by the rivers create pottery. Richer families will paint large murals that will cover the walls of their homes. These murals tell tales of their gods, but more often than not they are used almost like photographs that capture small moments in the lives of the family. Jewelry making is also common.

Religion:

The Kyuzo believe in a polytheistic system; the most prominent goddess is Vohaoya (Vo-ha-oy-ah), the mother of the gods and creator of worlds. She represents women, fertility, life, and nature; she is described as having a mostly Kyuzoni appearance, with three eyes and four arms. Often, she is shown in art or statues sitting cross-legged, cradling Phatrong in her lap; her arms are either pointing toward the sky, or she is making gestures with her hands. Her bottom arms are often portrayed as laying flat against her legs with palms upturned - this relays openness. Her left top arm is often resting on the planet, which portrays her protective nature. And her right top arm is often pointed upward, her pointer finger curling in toward her palm while the rest of her fingers are outstretched; this is a symbol of love for the Kyuzo. Her statues are mostly made out of gold, but are painted with the likeness of galaxies; some people swear that the stars shift in the right light.

Other more minor deities include Ixpi, the goddess of peace, and her brother Echting, the god of war. Because the Kyuzo like to believe that they are a peaceful race, Echting is often described as a villain. Ixpi is described as a small, rainbow-colored being that floats rather than walks; besides being the goddess of peace, she is also a patron of happiness, sunrise, and the LGBT community on Phatrong. Echting is also the god of destruction, mayhem, and storms; he is often described as a fiery being too bright to look at. He is surrounded by lightning and is easily angered.

There are temples, wherein these gods can be worshipped. The temples are all large and ornate, made usually of marble or wood. The temples for Vohaoya and Ixpi are run exclusively by priestesses, and though men can worship there, men cannot serve the goddesses. Men can work at the temples of Echting, but not many do, given the god's bad reputation.

Legend has it that Vohaoya created the Warriors of old to protect the gods from those that wished to harm them. They were created from the rich soil, and they were considered divine beings. In the modern era of Phatrong, it is still considered one of the highest honors to be a Warrior.

Life on Phatrong:

The Kyuzo tend to live in large villages or the few small cities around the planet; those who are born into the more obscure villages often never leave the villages.

Villages are generally comprised of thousands of people, all of which are extended family members. Separate families can have more than twenty-five members, all living in one house. Villagers take turns tending to the communal farm, which produces most of their food and fibers for clothing; to supplement the farm, they also forage, hunt, and fish.

Village born Kyuzo are very secluded, only working with neighboring villages to marry off their children. Because of their seclusion, they are the more suspicious and less educated than their city counterparts. Knowledge is passed down through the generations as those born in the villages don’t have access to teachers. At most, they know Kyuzoni and basic math: they are instead taught more practical skills, like sewing, cooking, cleaning, and animal husbandry.

There are two ‘real’ cities on Phatrong, Shutalo and Shouji; Shutalo (Shoo-tah-loh) is the capital city, to the north. Shouji (Show-zhee) is a large industrial city in the southern hemisphere. Any outside trade is limited to these two areas.

Kyuzo that live in the city tend to have smaller families, with about six members at the most. The Kyuzo in the cities have actual jobs, but they don’t make money; they are given items of use instead. (Think of bartering, almost. If they work at a textile store, they are given cloth, which can then be traded for food, etc.) Villages that have produced too much food or are in need of other items will sell food to the city folk.

City Kyuzo have better access to education, although it’s still not the best in the galaxy. Most city Kyuzo learn things like writing, higher levels of math, and an objective look on the planet’s history. Kyuzo that wish to learn beyond that must travel off planet.

It’s extremely difficult for Kyuzos to speak Basic, just because Kyuzoni and Basic are so different. It can take years and years just to get the verbal language down, and that doesn’t count how long it takes for them to learn to read Aurebesh. If the Kyuzo do manage to figure out how to speak Basic, they have thick accents that are often hard to understand, thus making them vulnerable to mockery.

Politics:

Politics on Phatrong are strange as the government actually doesn’t do much. The senate, located in Shutalo, is a group of Kyuzo (and a few Kataline) from various villages and cities that are there to set basic laws so that they can have a seat in the Council of Neutral Systems. Really, the various villages will set their own rules, and as long as it doesn’t interfere with the senate, they’re generally alright with it. (A law would include: Murder is punishable by death. But their definition of murder is loose and up to interpretation.)

Kyuzo children (generally young men but it’s not limited to males) learn to fight from the moment they can understand. The Kyuzo, although a generally ‘peaceful’ race, train their children to become a quasi-army/police force. The most promising fighters are then shipped off to various academies around Phatrong to train with masters to hone their skills. Many children, as a result of poor quality of life at the academies and dangerous fighting practices, end up dying. It is rare that the academies are punished. The children that make it then must complete a three-year stint as an active warrior; those who passed but are not necessarily promising are sent to protect sacred temples. Those who show a certain level of finesse can continue to climb the ranks until they are high-ranking military officials. They act more like a police force than a military, but they have the training just in case.

Marriage and Family Life:

Kyuzo children are often promised to each other at birth; throughout their childhoods, they get to meet and connect with their betrothed. They generally marry at eighteen, with a week-long festival preceding it. Certain wives -ones that are ordained from birth by priestesses- are considered sacred embodiments of the Goddess Vohaoya, and are limited to bearing five children; superstition says that having too many children will thin out the wife’s existence. Daughters are vitally important to carry on their mother’s bloodline.

Because Kyuzo value large family, a husband will take a wetzandi as well; a wetzandi, or birth maid, is a younger woman who births the rest of a man’s children. A wetzandi is someone who is generally caught bedding out of wedlock, or has committed some other small crime against the goddesses. Unfortunately, they are not valued by most, and are treated as little more than breeding stock.

[dwellordream]

“…Medieval children encountered dangers during every stage of development, but some of the most fragile moments of childhood were the ones during and directly following birth. Childbirth was a dangerous process in the Middle Ages, for both mother and child. According to Shahar, childbirth alone accounted for a large number of child deaths in Europe throughout the medieval period. Again, using late-Tudor child death rates compiled by historical demographers, she estimates that approximately twenty-five out of every 1,000 women died from childbirth and at least thirty percent of infants died during delivery. The death toll increased during times of epidemic and famine, and when women had a caesarean procedure.

Much preparation was made for royal births. A room was prepared for the expectant mother at least a month before she was going to give birth. At the time of labor, cloth was draped over windows and the birthing bed, and an obstetrix, or midwife, assisted both mother and child. Women in rural areas also gave birth at home in darkened and warmed rooms, if possible. Jeremy Goldberg argues that the purpose of heating and darkening a room was to “mimic the womb” in order to soothe mothers and newborns. Women in rural areas sometimes gave birth with the help of midwives; however, it was more likely that non-professional midwives, such as female relatives and neighbors, aided in the process.

Although childbirth has been thought of as the territory of women, husbands assisted wives, if midwives or neighbors were not readily available to help. To make sure that birthing process did not go awry, midwives, relatives, and neighbors recited prayers over the expectant mother and unborn child. Moreover, they provided water for the mother, helped her bear down, and assisted with the passage of the fetus through the birth canal. Shahar asserts that “childbirth was undoubtedly considered a most important event, and, within the limitations of the means and the know-how at their disposal, people did all they could for mother and child.”

…Because baptism did not completely remove the stain of original sin, medieval people were constantly engaged in the struggle against sin and were required to participate in the sacraments up until the time of their death. Thus, preparing women for all outcomes of childbirth was necessary for parish priests. Religious authority also had concerns about the salvation of newborns. If a newborn looked as though it might perish after birth, parents, and even midwives, were allowed to perform emergency baptisms. In cases of emergency baptisms, the child’s head had to be washed, the person performing the baptism had to christen the child in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirt, and it was preferred that the child’s name was said aloud. Concern for a newborn’s soul, according to Linda Pollock, also eventually led to the shortened interval between birth and baptism from the twelfth until the fifteenth centuries.

In addition to performing sacraments, women could seek out relics and amulets to protect them and their infants from harm. For example, expectant mothers wore apotropaic rings. Gilchrist provides the example of Margaret Patson (1441), who wore a ring, and also encouraged her husband to wear the ring of Saint Margaret. Moreover, churches sometimes owned girdles which were supposed to offer protection to women and children, if women laid them on their abdomen before or while giving birth. Girdles were long strips of parchment sewn together that contained scripture, charms, and prayers. Sometimes girdles were passed down in a family, while others sought more famous relics.

…Scrolls and mineral stones were also used to prevent danger in childbirth. Scrolls made of parchment paper containing images of the Cross or wounds of Christ, and jasper, rock crystal, and eaglestone, were laid on women’s stomachs during the birthing process. Women who did not have access to relics, prayed to local or patron saints of pregnant women like Saint Margaret or Saint Dorothy. In the miracle stories in the paternal grief chapter, some families even called upon help from Thomas of Becket. Women also vowed to go on pilgrimage to a saint’s shrine in exchange for a healthy birthing experience.

…Walter of Bibbesworth explains that children must be swaddled right after birth, hinting that this could help prevent crib deaths. For Walter of Bibbesworth, though, children learning to walk is one of the most dangerous situations. He encourages guardians to go beyond making sure that children avoid hazards when they are with them. Once children are able to walk, he says, they can get into all sorts of trouble. Because of this, guardians should employ servants (or someone on hand) to walk behind children, so that injury does not occur.

…Despite the many warnings that were given by members of the clergy or how many precautions were taken by supervisors of children, deaths still occurred around the household. Accidental deaths around the medieval home contributed to the high death counts of children. Descriptions of accidental deaths are scattered throughout miracle stories, as will be seen in the following three chapters. …According to Hanwalt, medieval peasant households were at the heart of village life. Peasants held a share of arable land that served as their livelihood, as well as access to meadowland, pastures, and woodland that delineated the perimeters of the village. Every village had a parish church and cluster of crofts. A croft, which was an enclosed (by hedges or ditches) area of land, surrounded the toft (i.e., the location of the home), household well, barn, garden, and other buildings belonging to a family. According to Hanawalt, a family’s life was centered around the croft and toft. It was here where “families kept their worldly goods, cared for their animals, raised their children, and entertained their friends.”

Household types on village crofts could vary. The smallest house was that of the cottar’s household. Hanawalt explains that these houses were either one-room houses (sixteen by twelve feet), or two-room houses (thirty-three by thirteen feet). Long-houses were more common on the village landscape. Some could be only a little larger than cottages, while others could be anywhere from forty-nine to ninety-eight feet long, with the former being more common. They contained living quarters at one end and a byre, or room that sheltered animals, which was separated by a passage, at the other. Timber was used to frame houses, while wattle and daub was used to fill in the timber walls. Roofs were thatched with straw and clay with pieces of straw usually lined the floors.

Inside the home, the hearth was located in the main room and was at the center of household activity. Meals would be prepared over the hearth’s open flames, and families would gather around the hearth to socialize and take in its warmth. Families may have also slept in the main room by the hearth, especially in one-room households and when cold weather persisted. Multi-room houses had chambers, or rooms branching out from the main room. Chambers could be used for sleeping or storage. In Medieval Domesticity: Home, Housing and the Household in Medieval England, Sarah Rees Jones points out that chambers could also be used as meeting areas, to discuss matters of the household.

Because the hearth was the center of activity in the domestic sphere, many accidents happened around the structure. Legal texts reveal that because hearths were essentially open fire pits, they were the source of most house fires. Hearth fires spread quickly throughout peasant houses because they were made out of wattle and daub, and floors covered with straw. In addition to causing devastating house fires that killed both children and adults, infants left unattended in their cradles near the hearth could sustain injuries (or die) if chickens pecked around the hearth for food and dropped burning straw into their cradles. There are even instances where boiling liquid fell onto children when the stands holding pots over the hearth broke and tipped over.

Children also encountered dangers either while their parents performed chores or while they participated in errands themselves. According to Hanawalt, infants and toddlers could not contribute to household chores and were therefore “a drain on the time of the housewife.” Even though infants and toddlers could not help much with chores, they could still fall victim to accidents while their parents performed tasks or while “playing” at these tasks as their parents worked. Medieval mothers would have worked exhausting schedules in order to keep the economy of the household running, because families were not usually extended with female kin to help. Women were responsible for the running of the household, rearing of offspring, and a variety of other occupations. Spinning in particular was a common activity. Cloth was sold to weavers or used to make clothes and sheets for a family. Women also did laundry, brewed, helped in the fields, tended to animals, collected nuts and firewood, and participated in the back-breaking task of picking up stray grain.

…Once children were older, they attached themselves to their parent of corresponding gender early on and were an important part of the “smooth functioning” of the household and “indispensable part of the household economy.” At six years of age, boys started taking on menial tasks, such as gathering items needed for inside the home, like wood, peat, fruit, and nuts. Boys aged seven and above were given more responsibility. They were ox goaders, tended to animals, and helped separate grain from stalks. Teenagers graduated to helping plough fields, fixing mill wheels, and learning other husbandry skills under the tutelage of their fathers.

Accidental deaths of male children involving outdoor activities such as these are common in court rolls and coroners’ records. Boys died from being trapped under tree branches or chunks of soil when collecting items, and from being injured with tools while working in the field with their parents. Herding animals was also a major risk in and of itself. Inquests contain instances of horses trampling boys and of boys falling into ditches and drowning while herding animals away from stables or across bodies of water.

Young girls, on the other hand, did not participate in as many outdoor-related chores compared to boys, at least not until they were older. From the ages of six to twelve, girls contributed to the household economy by attending to siblings and building fires in the home. Once they got older, they played a major role in the collection of food items and food production in general. They gathered apples, cherries, pears, and those living in coastal areas collected shellfish. Despite the fact that female children, for the most part, did not participate in the same tasks as male children early on, they still were involved in fatal accidents while working around the home with their mothers.

Most accidental deaths involving young girls occurred while helping their mothers prepare meals or laundry. Girls fell into wells, located in the croft while, retrieving water or perished after falling into boiling pots of liquid used for laundry or cooking. Water- related accidents were the leading cause of child death, for both male and female children and several examples are mentioned in the miracle stories given in the following chapters. Both female and male children were also run over by carts and ploughs and got impaled by farm tools while working and playing.

The community layout of cities differed much from that of rural communities. Residents of cities lived in crowded street-side houses or rented rooms next to the workshops of craftsmen, which says a lot about each entitie’s mode of existence. City dwellers relied on trade, while villagers focused on agriculture. In London, some people lived within the shops that they worked, or rented rooms in small buildings from parish churches, while wealthier merchants lived in larger houses with courtyards. Multi-story houses were common in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Villagers entering cities would have been overwhelmed by the crowded streets. London had a population upward of 60,000 people, whereas some villages only had 200 or less. They would have also been “struck by the height and density of the houses... To someone used to low building scattered about closes in peasant villages, the London streets must have felt like canyons, with their overhanging buildings and a forest of signs spreading over them horizontally like tree branches.”

…Children in both cities and villages could also be abandoned and left for dead or killed by their parents. Families not able to support more children may have killed offspring or abandoned them after birth. Although cases of infanticide and abandonment were recorded, John Boswell argues that there are fewer cases than one would expect and that when parents abandoned their children, they usually hoped that someone who could properly provide for them would find them, not that they would die.

Although both parents were liable for the safety of children, mothers could be accused of foul play if children died under their care, especially if they did not follow legal protocol after their offspring perished. When children perished, community members and relatives tried to revive them and if they were not able to, they would attempt to confirm death. In miracle stories, children are suspended by their feet when they drowned, in hopes that water would drain from their bodies. Others were poked in order to see if they showed signs of life. If death was confirmed, children who died, whether by natural causes, foul play, or an accident, it was the first-finder’s duty, no matter their relation to the victim or age, to “raise the hue and cry” and report the incident to the local coroner.

…If medieval people did not report a crime to local authorities, they could be fined or even become a suspect for the coroner and jury to investigate further. Those convicted of homicide had to forfeit all of their chattels and moveable property to the king’s treasury. Families of those who committed the act of felo de se, or suicide, risked losing their property and the right to bury their deceased loved one inside of a parish cemetery. In contrast, when people died from accidental deaths, the “thing” (i.e., an object or animal) that caused the accident was supposed to be forfeited to the king as a deodand, or “gift to God.”

…Overlaying, a term used to describe a mother or wet nurse accidently falling asleep on and suffocating a child while nursing in bed, was second only to drowning as the most common cause of infant death in England in the thirteenth century. This type of death was often regarded with suspicion. Women could be convicted of foul play if babies died while co-sleeping, especially in instances when the community perceived that the child was unwanted because a household could not support more children.Wet nurses, too, were accused of purposely killing infants and still receiving pay for nursing, then blaming the death on overlaying.

…Richard Helmholz explains that the Church considered overlaying to be a form of accidental death caused by parental negligence. Butler points out that women were not always accused of infanticide or neglect when they overlay their children. She cites a case in the Northamptonshire eyre of 1329-1330. In this case, a woman named Alice overlay her three-week-old daughter, but she was exonerated by the jury even though she fled the scene of the death out of fear. Because overlaying happened so frequently, English clergymen took steps to prevent it by cautioning women against and attempting to prohibit the act of co-sleeping altogether. Swaddling accidents could also be looked at with suspicion. Although swaddling methods varied, mothers could be accused of not swaddling their infants properly, which could lead to them falling out of cradles or laps more easily.”

- Danielle Nicole Griego, “Causes of Child Death and Child Safety.” in CHILD DEATH, GRIEF, AND THE COMMUNITY IN HIGH AND LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND

[batterycityghoul]

Stay (Shane Walsh/Reader)

Summary: You think you’re saving yourself by leaving the group, but when Shane tracks you down, you realize you needed him all along. 

Word Count: 2.7k

Author’s Note: I meant for this to be a drabble, but it did not turn out that way. :/

Masterlist / Read on AO3

You didn't realize you were planning on leaving the group until you were already gone.  

It seemed like the group was constantly falling apart. First Merle went missing, presumed dead, which wasn't such a huge loss in your opinion. But then the group just kept losing people. Amy and Jim were lost to walkers while Morales decided to take his family and try their luck somewhere else. Jacqui opted out and Sophia was lost in the woods. And then Carl got shot.  

The only thing the group seemed to have gained was Rick Grimes and you weren't entirely convinced that it was an even trade.  

You were tired of losing the people you were starting to consider family. Surviving with the group was one thing, but you had become entwined in their lives as well. You knew Carl's favorite color and that Daryl wasn't a big fan of small-talk, but he seemed to enjoy someone's silent presence while he dressed and skinned the results of a successful day's hunt. You knew Glenn was in love with Hershel’s eldest daughter and that T-Dog secretly hated green peas.  

You were becoming invested in their lives, but you didn’t know how much longer those lives would last. Death seemed to literally be around every corner, just waiting to snatch away someone else with greedy fingers and hungry moans.

You couldn't stomach watching Carol fall apart every night since the fate of her daughter was unknown. Add to that watching Carl, the kid who usually had a smile for everyone in the group, pale and defenseless from a gunshot wound, and you just couldn't take it anymore. You didn't want to watch the group divide and splinter with each passing day. You had reached your limit.  

So, while you didn't mean to leave, it ended up being what you needed.  

You told the group you were going for a walk and by the time you noticed you were a couple of miles away from the Greene farm, you realized you had no intention of turning back.  

It was oddly freeing to know the only person you had to count on now was yourself. If you died, then that was your fault. If you were killed, then there would be no one to mourn you. You were cutting ties and saving yourself and the group any potential emotional damage.  

You knew it was selfish to just wander off and never come back. You knew they would assume you were dead or worse. But you couldn't keep forging bonds just to have them get abruptly cut off every time the group faced a problem.  

It took you a while to adapt. You had been lucky enough to leave with a machete and a hunting knife for protection. You had learned enough from watching Daryl that you could catch something to eat if you had to, but you had to admit that your supplies were running alarmingly low.  

The backpack you had taken with you only had half a salvaged bottle of water and a granola bar. You didn't want to have to scavenge, but you knew it was your only option. You couldn't risk letting hunger or dehydration weaken you when you were constantly fearing and fighting for your life.  

You lucked out by finding an abandoned convenience store on an otherwise desolate stretch of highway. You were sure you would be able to spot any walkers around for miles and if you were really lucky, then you could get in and out without any problems.  

You made sure to keep your knife at the ready as you did a quick perimeter check. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was just the slightest bit off and while you knew you should probably listen to your gut instinct to leave, you couldn't really afford another night with minimal water and food.  

You were glad to see that the store wasn't picked clean. You found a few sports drinks and canned items to add to your collection of supplies. There was an itch just under your skin that warned you to hurry up, so you quickly swiped a few candy bars from the meager offerings. It was as you were closing up your backpack that you heard it.  

The sound of shuffling footsteps.

And they were heading right for you.  

You lowered your backpack to the floor and whirled around, ready to kill the walker creeping up on you.

You thought you would be greeted with the sight of decaying flesh and starving, grasping fingers. Instead, you were surprised to see...

"Shane? What the hell are you doing here?"

Shane offered you a rueful grin, his hands up to show he wasn't a threat. "Well, I'm not a tracker like Dixon, but I did alright, didn't I?"

You frowned at him, your hand slowly lowering so you weren't quite pointing your knife in his direction. "Why were you tracking me in the first place?"

Shane shrugged his shoulders before he feigned interest in the shelf next to him. He reached out to pick up a lone packet of ramen and studied it. "You were one of the only ones with any damn sense. I figured if you were making a run for it, then I might as well find out why."

You shook your head, not knowing what to think. You had never really been close to Shane, but you appreciated what he brought to the group. He was a bit too ruthless, but you knew he would do absolutely anything to protect the people he cared about. That protection always covered the group to an extent, but you noticed only a few people seem to be the main focus of it.  

"What about Carl?" You couldn't help but wonder, taking note of his grimace. "And Lori? Rick?"

Shane let out a humorless chuckle, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Seems like I wasn't going to be missed all that much for at least a few days. So, I reckoned I'd come after you."

You quirked an eyebrow at him before finally reaching for your backpack on the floor. "How'd you know I wasn't dead?"

"You’re smarter than that, Y/N," Shane pointed out with a smirk. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt."

"Thanks," you muttered before you brushed past him. "You've seen I'm alive for yourself, so you can head back to the farm now."

"Thought I'd stick around for a bit," Shane offered as he moved to follow you. "Came here on foot and it was a long journey. I'm not too eager to make it again."

You glanced at him over your shoulder before you sighed. The reason you left the group was so that you wouldn't have to worry about anyone else. With Shane here, you could already feel that persistent need to make sure he was safe creeping back in.  

When you got outside, you noticed Shane stop briefly to scoop up a duffel bag, before he followed after you. "So, you got a plan? Know where you're going?"

"Not at all," you answered honestly as you glanced around to make sure you weren't going to be surprised by any walkers.  

You heard Shane huff out an amused breath, but he dutifully followed you when you took off in the direction of the woods on the other side of the highway.  

You kept expecting Shane to leave. He had checked on you, made sure you were fine, so why was he still sticking around?

As days passed and you got used to having Shane around every hour of the day and night, you started to realize a few things about him.  

He had a devious nature about him, but he was also kind and caring. He seemed to notice little things that you would have never thought important. He fully expected for you to take care of yourself, but he always had your back. He was playful and all-too-serious in turns, but he never made you feel like you couldn’t trust him.

You weren't sure when it happened, but you found yourself looking forward to nightfall. With walkers around, night could mean low visibility and lethal surprises, but it also meant you got to see a softer side of Shane.  

Instead of spending your nights fearing the dead, you found a solace in Shane you had never experienced before. He seemed to unwind when it was just the two of you in the quiet of the night.  

Whenever a chill swept in, you would risk a small fire for warmth. You would sit huddled together, seeking heat from the fire and each other, and Shane would talk.  

He told you about his former days as a sheriff's deputy. He recounted tales from his days in high school when he would prank his principal or get into trouble with Rick. He confessed to his affair with Lori and how it tore him up to be away from Carl. He told you about his slow falling out with most of the group in the days after your departure.  

Hearing his voice in the otherwise silent night was what started to carry you through the day.  

You started craving his company during those quiet, intimate moments when it started to truly feel like you were the last two people alive.  

You assumed Shane still planned on going back to the group. It didn't seem to matter to him that the both of you were traveling farther away from the Greene farm. He missed Carl and was still pining away for Lori. Of course he was going to go back to them. How could you possibly compare?

It didn't take you long to realize you would miss him when he finally decided to leave you.

There was a day, only a couple of weeks after Shane found you, when it seemed like there was a group of walkers everywhere you turned.  

"Must be getting close to a city," Shane guessed as he reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He frowned at the grime and dried walker blood on his arms. "We should find somewhere to wash up."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, silently challenging him to find you a place to take a decent bath. With no home base, it wasn't like you had steady access to a water source. You got so desperate just a week ago that you bathed during a downpour and pretended it was a shower. It made you miss the few moments you got to enjoy the relative comfort and safety of the CDC before Jenner blew it up.  

"Come on," he coaxed as he nodded a bit off the path. "Bet I can find us some place before it gets too late."

You frowned up at the slowly darkening sky before you conceded with a sigh.  

To your delight, Shane managed to lead you towards a small creek.  

"It's not much, but it'll do the job," Shane said before he started to strip out of his shirt. You noticed he kept his underwear on once he took off for the water. He had a bar of soap in one hand and your machete in the other as he carefully stepped around rocks and twigs. "Come on, Y/N. Not much daylight left to find us a shelter," he reminded you before he waded into the water.  

You couldn't help but watch him for a moment before you sighed and made sure you couldn't spot any walkers. You were always worried they would catch you at your most vulnerable moment and stripped down to just your underwear with only Shane to back you up seemed like a bad idea. But, you realized as you stepped cautiously into the water, you trusted Shane with your life. If he thought it was a good idea, then you were going to take him at his word.  

You heard Shane chuckle and when you glanced up, it was to notice he was considering you from just a few feet away.  

"Come on, girl. It's not like I'm gonna bite. You've been getting pretty rank these past couple of days. You need to wash off more than I do."

You caught the smirk on his face and the way his eyes twinkled with mirth.  

"Fuck you, Shane," you muttered before you glanced down to the water circling your thighs. You tipped your head back up to look at him, raising an eyebrow, before you slowly reached down to cup some water in your hands.  

"Oh, no you don't, girl," Shane quipped as he took a few steps away from you. "Don't even think about it."

You couldn't help the pleased grin on your face as you flung the water in his direction. It didn't quite have the impact you wanted, but it seemed to set off a few carefree moments with Shane in which you both splashed each other relentlessly with water.  

Shane finally conceded defeat when you managed to catch him off-guard and dunk him under the water.  

"Uncle, uncle," Shane cried when he resurfaced. He spat out a mouthful of water and shook his head. "You've got a mean streak to you, do you know that?"

"I was the youngest kid," you told him as you finally moved to scrub off the dirt clinging stubbornly to your arms. "I had to learn how to fight for myself."

"Huh," Shane breathed as he followed your lead and started getting clean as well. "Didn't know that about you."

You shrugged your shoulders, offering him a helpless grin. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"I guess that's true," Shane remarked before he started slowly making his way back towards the shore. "We should probably head on," he added as he moved towards his discarded pile of clothes. "It's going to be dark soon."

You sighed, knowing he was right, before you joined in him getting redressed. You hated the way your clothes stuck to you, but you didn't have the luxury of waiting to dry off. You had to find some kind of shelter if you could before night fell.  

Later, as you sat close to Shane and tried to soak in the warmth from the fire, you couldn't help but think back on the past couple of weeks with him.  

You thought you were better off alone, but you realized you needed him.  

Who was going to make you smile or laugh while you were fighting for your life every day? Who was going to watch your back or distract you with tales of his former glory days? Who was going to push you to walk just a bit farther when it seemed like you'd never want to walk again? Who was going to remind you that there was still life out there among the dead?

Shane. It was only Shane.  

You couldn't handle the thought of him leaving you anymore. If he left, then you would spend the rest of your days thinking about him and missing him.  

You found yourself reaching out for his hand and tangling your fingers together. You felt him startle as he glanced to you in surprise.  

"Y/N?"  

His voice was so soft and wondering that you couldn't help the hopeful smile you offered him.  

"Stay?"

For one disheartening moment, you thought he was going to disagree. He was quiet for just a beat too long before a pleased grin slowly formed on his face.  

"I didn't plan on going anywhere without you," he assured you before he squeezed your hand.  

You couldn't help but watch him as he turned back towards the fire, feeling a little breathless and awestruck.  

When Shane didn't let go of your hand, you found yourself thinking that maybe there was more to the apocalypse than simply surviving. Maybe forging and keeping a connection wasn't the worst thing you could possibly do. You had been so terrified of losing all you held dear, but with Shane at your side and his warmth pressed along your side chasing away the evening chill, you knew you instead gained everything you needed.

And you were going to hold onto that for as long as you possibly could.

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #5

A/N: That one was tough. I have never written something with so much physical action before, and I had to rewrite a huge chunk of it until I finally felt happy with it. Describing sports is really tough, as it turns out. Also, KC belongs to the wonderful @kc-needs-coffee who lets me to a little cameo once in a while 😊 Enjoy!

 Word Count: ~ 3.100 (oops)

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Chapter 5: Back Home

A persistent rumour among the students was that Professor Binns had altered the clock in his classroom, back when he had been still alive. It was said, he did so to allow him to delve more minutely into every little detail of his subject he wished his students to remember.

If he hadn’t known any better, Orion could have sworn it was true.

He absentmindedly ran his quill through his fingers, trying his best to take in Professor Binns’s droning voice in what was their last class of the day. Orion glanced around the classroom. He estimated about half of the students were daydreaming about the upcoming weekend. The other half was fast asleep.

His gaze wandered out of the window. He could just make out the Quidditch pitch up ahead in the distance. The banners on top of the stands were swaying in a gentle breeze. He could feel it lightly brush his face from where he sat near the open window. It brought with it the pleasant warmth of a late summer afternoon.

Orion shuffled in his seat. He could feel his entire body brim with energy. The restlessness he felt had been bubbling under his skin for the last few days. He was itching to get back on his broomstick and to feel the wind on his face as he sped through the air.

This was what he had missed most during the summer break. When not at Hogwarts, he had no access to a broomstick, let alone people to fly with. Although Orion prided himself on always being grateful for what the universe had chosen to bestow on him, he sometimes he couldn’t help feeling envious of people like Skye. They could practise what they loved to their heart’s content, whenever or wherever they wished to.

He could feel McNully nudging him into his side. “There are only 23 minutes and 35 seconds left to his torment. 30 seconds as we speak,” he whispered.

Orion tore his gaze from the silhouette of the Quidditch pitch and turned to better face him. “Excuse me?”

McNully pointed at his now worse for wear looking quill. “You have been running your hand over this quill fourteen times in the last twenty minutes. In the last 45 minutes you have been staring out of the window seven times, with an average duration of five minutes. You have not been able to play Quidditch for 76 days in a row. And to add a personal note, tapping your foot excessively like that gives off an impatient expression and is rather annoying as well.”

Orion only now noticed his foot was indeed lightly tapping against the leg of table. He stopped.

“Sometimes I find your habit of observing your surroundings as meticulously as you do worrying, my friend.”

McNully shrugged, a carefree grin showing on his face. “What do you expect? I’m a commentator. I observe things and I comment on them. That is what I do.”

Orion had to grin at that. “It is indeed.”

He propped his head onto his hand, staring at the clock mounted above Professor Binns’s head. “I wouldn’t call it impatient, though. More like eager. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

McNully had started doodling onto his parchment, drawing tiny snitches between his notes. “Call it what you want, it doesn’t change what it is.”

Orion contemplated his words. “I agree. The appearance of the shell cannot change the core of things.”

He could see the confusion forming on McNully’s face. “I’m about 34 % sure that is what I said.”

 Only a few hours later, Orion felt himself unable to wipe the grin off his face. He stood in the middle of his beloved Quidditch pitch, the sun warming the back of his yellow robes. The unmistakable smell of grass, wood warmed by the sunlight and broom wax made him feel almost intoxicated.

Most of his team had already taken to the sky. They were getting back into the swing of things, darting around the pitch, doing turns and dives. Even down here, the joy they radiated was contagious. Everyone was wild with excitement to finally be back.

“And here is Parkin with a triple backwards flip. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a move to be watched! But what is this? Parkin is challenged to a race around the pitch by Jameson! Which Chaser can push their Comet’s limits further? There is a 92,4 % chance we are going to find out!”

He stifled a laugh. Of course McNully was here to commentate on their first friendly of the season. Orion hadn’t been the only one antsy to get back to business.

His attention shifted to the group of tense looking students stood in front of him.

Orion had carefully selected a few Hufflepuffs that were known to be skilled flyers. Every one of them had the potential to fill the vacant spot on their House’s team. He had already been thoroughly testing them, before admitting them to a practise with the other players. They had all passed his balancing test. Now it was time for them to prove themselves in action.

When he saw the reserve players arriving on the field, he mounted his broomstick.

“Now, my friends, is the time. The quest to become one of the pillars the building that is the Hufflepuff team is built upon is almost complete for one of you. For our new Beater to be revealed, we will have to see how you fare in a real match situation.”

He raised his arm, calling his teammates down to his side. “We will divide into two teams and play for a bit before switching things up. Good luck to all of you.” He inclined his head towards the contestants, some of them looking positively sick with nerves. “May this division serve to bring us unison.”

He unlocked the trunk resting at his feet and watched first the Snitch and then the Bludgers shoot up into the air. Picking up the Quaffle, he pushed himself off the ground.

“Let’s play.”

 If returning to Hogwarts had him feel like being home, tearing up and down the pitch made Orion feel like he truly belonged here. In contrast to the hectic movements unfolding around him, playing Quidditch granted him unparalleled focus, similar to nothing else. All that mattered was the moment at present, nothing before, nothing after.

He had taken himself back from the game playing out in front of him to better watch the students competing for the open position. Jason Everett, a rather loud and braggy guy, was one of the competitors he had chosen. He was sharing the dorm with Orion and McNully and Orion had never been able to form a real connection with him. To his surprise, however, he was showing great promise.

He decided to take the challenge up a bit. Putting himself on the same team as Lizzie and Skye, he wanted Everett to compete against a full set of Chasers for the second half of the match.

It wasn’t until flying with Skye and Lizzie by his side that he fully realised how much he had missed this. He felt like sheer life was running through his veins.

Although they hadn’t seen each other since the end of last year, it took them only a few manoeuvres to regain the unmatched unison the Hufflepuff team had grown reputed for. They had managed to create a bond between the three of them that didn’t require any words.

He felt this connection especially with Lizzie, allowing them to move almost as one when attacking the opposite goalposts. Throwing the Quaffle back and forth between them, it was no easy feat to stop them from scoring.

With Skye, it was different.

They had played together even longer than he and Lizzie. If there was harmony with her, it was all friction with Skye. The two of them were entertaining completely different beliefs on what Quidditch stood for and how it should be approached. As a result, they regularly clashed, on the pitch and off.

Contrary to what most people would think, the tension between them had never worn him down. Like a static charge, the constant challenge Skye Parkin posed to him acted as an energiser. Discussing strategic matters with her had never failed to give Orion new perspectives outside of his own thinking patterns.

“Here is what we all have been waiting for, my honoured spectators. Now, we are getting serious!” McNully was giving it his all in the commentary box, clearly relishing the first friendly of his not-so-secret favourite team.

“Amari and Parkin are on the hunt for the Quaffle, Jameson’s broken out of formation. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we are about to see the Parkin’s family pinching signature move! Watch this! The Chaser is flanked by Amari and Parkin. This is not looking good, ladies and gentlemen, if I were in possession of that Quaffle I would seriously be worried right now. Oh, and there we have it! Jameson makes expert use of her Comet’s impressive speed and pulls up from underneath her opponent, forcing her to either let go of the Quaffle or her broomstick. Parkin relieves her of the Quaffle, using her broom’s patented Horton-Keitch Braking Charm to drift around, racing to the other side of the pitch, Jameson overtaking her and Amari close by her side.”

Lizzie was diverging from the path he and Skye flew on, preparing to round and get behind the other team’s attacking Chasers, allowing Skye to pass the Quaffle to her at the last moment. They had used this strategy numerous times and it had seldomly failed them.

“Parkin sets herself up to score. Or is she letting Jameson have the advantage? We might never find out as Everett, hot contestant for the vacant Beater position, aims his Bludger directly at Parkin. This might get ugly!”

McNully was right. Everett had hit his Bludger straight towards them. It rushed towards Skye at a fast pace. Orion shouted a warning, but she had already seen it coming. She waited for a moment, dodging the Bludger at the last second before passing the Quaffle on to Lizzie, who made short work of the Keeper.

“And Jameson scores! That’s ten points for her team and an impressive show of flying skills from Parkin if I may add.”

Orion nodded contentedly before turning around and chasing after the Quaffle again. Lizzie and Skye both didn’t seem to have lost their fire. They were in good form.

Despite himself, he liked the potential Everett was showing. He wasn’t nearly the Beater they had lost, but he had foundations they could build upon. When Lizzie had needed to fill in for Bean a seasons ago, he and McNully had made a more than capable Beater out of her in a shorter amount of time.

His mind was taken off his thoughts when he saw a yellow flash dart past him. It was their Seeker Lucy, who had spotted the Snitch hovering just underneath the railing of the Slytherin stand. The other Seeker had seen it as well and both were racing towards it.

“Both Seekers appear to have spotted the Golden Snitch. Catching it would reward their team with additional 150 points. We’re talking the winning catch of this game here! O’Connell utilises the advanced speed of her broom, but Miller has less ground to cover! Both are nearing the Snitch at high speed, if no one slows down, we had better alert Madam Pomfrey. But no, no! O’Connell takes the absolute last out of her broomstick. She secures the Snitch and her team’s victory!”

Orion saw Lucy raise her arm in triumph, the wings of the tiny golden ball beating frantically against her palm.

Everybody was steering their brooms towards the ground, clapping Lucy on the back. Orion landed beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“That was magnificent catch, Lucy, well done.” He turned towards the other players that had gathered around them and raised his voice. “Although Lucy secured the win for her team, all of us have won today. As we were competing against each other, we were competing against ourselves. Overcoming what’s inside us makes us stronger, and lets us grow closer as one team.”

“One team!” everybody shouted what had gradually become their motto, raising their broomsticks up in the air.

Orion turned towards the contestants. “Watching you play, I have been able to gain insight to the path that lies ahead of us. I will contemplate which one of you will get the chance to balance  our team. I will let you know my conclusion when it is time.”

“And that would be when?” Everett asked impatiently.

Orion tilted his head and smiled placidly. “The time has come when the time has come. And the time is not now.”

A mix of confusion and frustration on his face, Everett left them standing and headed for the changing rooms. Orion had seen this look countless times before. New players always needed time to grow accustomed to his ways.

He was already going over the contestants’ performances in his mind when McNully rolled onto the pitch and joined his side.

“Brilliant match! The way I see it, you and Gryffindor are pretty evenly matched this season. I announced them the day before yesterday. If you keep up the form and choose a capable second Beater, that is. I calculated the odds and I would say Jason Everett has the best chance of fitting in, he is fast and has suitable strength. His aim is not the best though, 31,6 % of his Bludgers missed their mark.”

McNully’s eyes lit up. “I know just which one of my playbooks he needs. He will never miss his target again.”

Orion quickly filtered the information his friend had been spewing at him. He was right. Everett was far from ideal, but which player was when they started out fresh? They were like rough diamonds, waiting to be cut and polished until ready to shine.

“Can a Bludger really miss its target, though? Or is it the Beater that misjudges the path the Bludger is meant to be taken?” he mused.

“Whatever it is, I am glad this particular Bludger’s path was not destined to end in Skye’s face.” Lizzie and Skye were approaching them, their brooms resting on their shoulders.

Skye scoffed at her words. “As if it could have hit me. I had things under control. It takes more than that to bring a Parkin down.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “He is no Erika Rath, for sure, but it was good enough for a beginner, I would wager.”

Skye’s face darkened. “Don’t remind me of her. It has been such a beautiful day so far.”

“You will have to deal with her rather sooner than later. Ravenclaw is set as your first match in two months’ time. And from what I have seen so far, their Beaters are still the best Hogwarts has to offer.” McNully’s voice had a dreamy touch to it, making Lizzie chuckle.

“We all know you particularly enjoy watching the Ravenclaw Beaters,” she teased with a sweet voice. “Give KC my love, next time you see her, will you?”

“I have no idea, what you are talking about.” His face was blushing a deep scarlet. “I am merely doing my job and keeping my statistics up to date. I’d better get going now.” McNully turned his wheelchair hastily and rolled off quickly.

Orion was giving the snickering girls by his side a scolding look. “You shouldn’t taunt him like that. Our hearts’ desires are out of our power to control.”

“Calm down, Orion, it’s just a bit of fun. He can take that.”

The sun had slowly started setting, the stands casting their elongated shadows across the field. Skye rubbed her neck. “Come on, Liz, let’s get changed and head back to the castle. I’m starving.”

Lizzie hesitated, glancing at Orion for a second. “Go ahead, I’ll be with you in a second.”

Staring at her friend in wonder, Skye shrugged. “Whatever. Make it quick, I won’t wait too long.”

After Skye had left, Orion and Lizzie were alone on the pitch. He watched her staring back at the castle for a moment, the sunlight catching in her golden-brown hair. She seemingly tried to collect herself. He couldn’t deny being curious about what was on her mind.

He smiled openly. “What can I help you with, Lizzie?”

For an instant, Lizzie seemed to look for a way to word her question. She didn’t look him in the eye.

“Uhm, you are quite good at Herbology, aren’t you?” she mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows. “Being in balance with oneself brings you closer to nature. If you listen closely, the plants can tell you what they need.”

She sighed. “I take that as a ‘yes’.” She ran her fingers over the smooth handle of her broomstick, still not looking at him, her shoulders unusually tense. “Would you mind helping me studying?”

He tried to hide his surprise. “You need a tutor? Professor Sprout regularly fills me in on the academic progress of our team’s members. She never mentioned you struggling.”

“I haven’t so far,” Lizzie replied quickly. “But I had a look at the curriculum for this year. It’s really tough, and I don’t want to mess up my O.W.L.s because of a plant biting my finger off.”

It still struck him as odd, but Lizzie was his friend. He wouldn’t let her down if she sought his help. “I’ll be glad to guide you through your curriculum, as long as you desire my help.”

Finally Lizzie met his eyes, obviously relieved. “Thank you, I appreciate this a lot.” She suddenly seemed to remember something. “Can my friend Rowan come, too?”

His surprise turned into confusion. “Rowan Khanna is struggling with a subject?”

“Well, she is a perfectionist.” Lizzie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. A strand of hair had come out of her ponytail and she impatiently tucked it behind her ear. She was radiating a nervous energy Orion had never seen on her before.

“Of course, bring her. I’ll talk to Professor Sprout about using the greenhouse and let you know the details, is that alright?”

All of a sudden, Lizzie seemed much calmer. She sighed with relief, a smile forming on her face. “Brilliant. See you in the Common Room.”

With that, she spun around and quickly left. Now alone on the pitch, Orion stared after her and wondered what in Godric’s name that had been about.

[loosescrewslefty]

Miraculous Ladybug- Fixing the Powers

I’ve been very much bothered by the way that the writing team for Miraculous Ladybug has been handling powers for a long time now. It might not be as frustrating or offensive as how they sometimes treat the characters and their relationships, but it BOTHERS me. Because it doesn’t make sense that Adults are more powerful than kids just by the grace of being an adult if the magic comes from a kwami and the jewelry and as such the age of the wearer shouldn’t matter as much. And objectively speaking, there as several ‘minor’ miraculouses that seem WAY more powerful than the two that are supposed to be the most coveted, the Ladybug and Chat Noir miraculouses. Also both the addition of the potions AND the distinctions given to some of the miraculouses/kwamis (Such as Pollen being the ‘Kwami of Subjugation’) are just... ODD. So a while back I sat down and charted out a way to ‘fix’ the powers in Miraculous Ladybug, much like I’ve seen others fix plots and characters.

More Clearly based on Yin/Yang, Wu Xing, and the Zodiacs

I can’t tell you how much it annoys me that Astruc clearly chose these Chinese motifs for the aesthetic, and didn’t bother researching or properly applying any of the theology attached to them to his show. Ladybug and Chat Noir SHOULD be equal, and balance one another out, but they’re not. Instead, Ladybug gets way more power and importance than Chat Noir does. And the Wu Xing Cycle is an important one too, because that’s nature holding itself in check. 

The Wu Xing has four different cycles attached to it; the Creation Cycle, the Destruction Cycle, the Insult Cycle, and the Controlling Cycle. It could have been interesting to lean into this, so that pairing two miraculous heroes together can lead to new powers being unlocked, depending on the two in question, and that if a  Hawkmoth happens, there are two heroes other than Ladybug and Chat who’d be able to step up and confront him.

New Stations/Distinctions for the Kwamis

It bothers me that the distinctions chosen for the Kwami feel extremely random, and don’t fit together at all. Nooroo is “Generosity”, Trixx is “Deception”, Pollen is “Subjugation”, Wayzz is “Protection”, and Duusuu is “Emotion.” Like, on their own these are fine. But none of them really relate to one another in a way that makes sense, which the Wu Xing SHOULD. As much as it annoys me, I can sorta understand why it would be a bad idea to attach the specific elements themselves to each Miraculous, because then people will expect the powers of that miraculous to relate to that element, which is very limiting. The Wu Xing is about much more than just nature and the elements. It’s also used to reference the passing of time, physical parts of the body, emotions, cardinal directions and so much more. 

But I still feel that the Distinctions for each Kwami and their powers should be presented in a what where it makes sense to see them relating to one another. One way I’ve suggested for people to do this is to include Ladybug and Chat in the consideration and base each of the Kwamis off of one of the Seven Chakras. But another way I like much better is to consider the kwamis in relation to what area their abilities will affect. For Example; Fox- Mind (Wood) Bee- Energy (Fire) Turtle- Body (Earth) Peacock- Soul (Metal) Butterfly- Heart (Water)

These are things you can tell at a glance relate to one another, without limiting the kwamis too much to being one trick ponies. And speaking of limits...

Limits are based on internal balance, not age

In an effort to make the sage figure that is supposed to be Fu NOT look like he has sand for brains and decided it’d be a good idea to give his chosen heroes a massive handicap against the villain right out of the gate, we’re going to change up the limiter for the Miraculouses. Rather than being based on age, the thing that determines how well you use a miraculous is your affiliation with the element/distinction that the Miraculous represents. Let’s use Kim as an example here. He’s very energetic and driven, so he’d have a great time with either the Bee or the Turtle, but give him the Peacock, the Butterfly, or the Fox, and things will get a hell of a lot harder for him. On the exact flip side, Juleka would be great with the Peacock, Butterfly, or Fox, but would struggle with the Bee or the Turtle.

Having the powers draw off of being able to synchronize with that power/ability due to personality makes sense, and is more true to the concepts that Miraculous Ladybug is trying to present than claiming that it’s because of age. And the beauty of this is that people can grow and change at any point in their life, which means that they can learn and change and miraculouses that they once struggled with can become easier for them to use while ones they once used easily can slip from their grasp if they begin to neglect that aspect of themselves.

More Clear and Understandable Power Pyramid

This is one of the things that bothers me MOST about how they’ve been handling the powers. We’re supposed to see Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses as the be all/end all, but many of the zodiac miraculouses seem much more powerful than them, and even the Peacock and Butterfly can create opponents that are more than a match for the Lucky Duo. Not to mention the fact that, as I said before, the Lucky Duo itself is imbalanced due to Ladybug getting all the power in their relationship. So the best way to fix that?

Power Pyramid.

By this, I mean that instead of all miraculouses just getting one power and calling it a day, it makes more sense to present the powers as an almost ‘trickle’ effect. To start off, Zodiacs get defined by a single element and whichever side of Yin/Yang they fall on, and get their power based on that. For example, the Dragon. That is a Yang/Earth (Body) Personality, who uses the elements in an aggressive way. Meanwhile, Snake is a Yin/Fire (Energy), so they require someone who comes across as passive, but is actually patient and knows to wait for the precise moment to strike.

Next level up from the Zodiac Miraculouses, we have the Wu Xing/Elemental Miraculouses. Rather than just one power, each Wu Xing Miraculous should get two, one based on it’s “Yin” Abilities, and one for it’s “Yang.” the way I broke it down when I was working this out for examples went like so;

Trixx

Fox Powers/Mind

Yang- Mirage 

Creates an illusion of the user’s choosing.

Yin- Outfox

Gives the user the ability to convince the victim that anything they’re saying is true.

Pollen

Bee Powers/Energy

Yang- Nectar

Ability to heal injuries and cure illnesses (not as strong as Miraculous Cure)

Yin- Sting

Causes temporary paralysis

Wayzz

Turtle Powers/Body

Yang- Shell-ture

Creates an impenetrable shield

Yin- Withdraw

Teleportation ability that allows the user to put people and object of their desire in a pocket dimension of their own making for protection.

Duusu

Peacock Powers/Soul

Yang- Good Spirits

Creates a golem/familiar of sorts that is bonded to a certain person or object and protects them at all costs.

Yin- Soul Search

Allows the user to leave their body and enter another persons to take control of their actions and peer into their memories.

Nooroo

Butterfly Powers/Heart

Yang- Metamorphosis

Creates heroes to fight alongside the user

Yin- Butterfly Effect

Allows a brief glimpse into the future

And then after the Elements, at the top of the Pyramid we have Ladybug and Chat Noir, who get a whopping FIVE power each, but can only access those powers when they are in tune with that aspect of themselves, much like using the lesser miraculouses. For Example, Marinette’s Ladybug Can easily do the Mind, Energy, and Heart powers, but has a much, MUCH harder time with the Soul one, because she tends to read people at face value rather than trying to see beneath the surface. Adrien’s Chat Noir is excellent with the Body and Energy powers, but struggles much more with Mind (linked to one’s creativity) and Heart (Based on people’s abilities to connect with others, something Adrien struggles with after being home schooled his entire life) My idea for the Ladybug and Chat Noir powers look like this;

Tikki

Ladybug Powers:

Positive Heart- (Healing) 

Miraculous Ladybug/Miraculous Cure

Heals all wounds, restores everything to its proper state

Positive Mind- (Inspiration) 

Lucky Charm

Grants Ladybug an object to help her win

Positive Energy- (Creating) 

Wish Come True

Allows Ladybug to will into existence something of her own choosing

Positive Body- (Protecting) 

Elytron

Allows Ladybug to recreate both her own suit and the suits of her allies to help them fight (space suits, ice skating form, underwater suits, ect)

Positive Soul- (Life) 

Red Thread

Ladybug has a limited ability to communicate with plants and animals, extending some of her power to them. Also works on humans, if the person trusts Ladybug enough to basically let her see into their very soul.

Plagg

Chat Noir Powers:

Negative Heart- (Toxicity) 

Cat Scratch

Curses the victim with a lingering sickness that can only be healed by Ladybug.

Negative Mind- (Madness) 

Cheshire Cat

Causes temporary insanity, which varies from victim to victim.

Negative Energy- (Destruction) 

Cataclysm

Destroys anything the user touches.

Negative Body- (Weakness) 

Catatonic 

Puts the victim to sleep.

Negative Soul- (Death) 

Catacomb

Allows the user to see, touch and summon spirits/ghosts

And that’s the basic breakdown of how I feel the powers of the ML universe SHOULD be handled instead. Feel free to comment with thoughts and inputs of your own and ask questions if any of this doesn’t make sense! ^^

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Fury, Oh Fury - Part One

Triple Frontier | Hunger Games AU

Me: Hey what if I started working on Fury again? Y’all: Me: Hey if I started working on Fury again would you read it? Y’all: Me: Okay okay you’ve forced my hand I guess I gotta start working on Fury again

Rating || Mature (for graphic descriptions of violence/gore and strong language) Characters || Ben Miller. William Miller. A good chunk of this fic will be heavily focused on the Miller brothers, because I’m most comfortable writing them and I feel like I know them the best. Rest assured, Pope and Catfish will be making appearances ~eventually~ Word Count || 4.2k Taglist || (Starting out tagging some mutuals and people I remember from the previous taglist)  @firefeatherx​ @mylifeliterally​ @mandoplease​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @skylyknightly​ @havenforafrazzledmind​ @beatriz-silva-00​ @veuliee​ @veuliee2​ @oldstuffnewstuff​ @dindisneydjarin​ @lilacyennefer​ @dignityneeded​ @agirllovespancakes​​ @xjustmenobodyelse​​ @oscarflysaac @jaime1110​​ @goldenhour-goldenboy​​ @pascalz​​ @briskywalker​​ @herestherealproblem​​ @givemethatgold​​

Author’s Note || For anyone who might be new here, @veuliee​ sent me a concept that I kinda uh, tripped over my own feet and plunged face first into and that’s the story of how I started writing a Hunger Games AU for Triple Frontier. Things got unbelievably crazy once I started work, and I’ve had some pretty unhealthy work/home boundaries with being virtual. I’m trying to establish some healthier limits and make more time for my writing, and this seemed like a good enough starting point. That and the outlines for the rest of this fic are still staring at me and demanding to be written.

So, here goes.

Home hasn’t felt like home since Will left.

It’s been nothing more than a house since the day of the reaping, almost a month ago. A collection of walls with a roof—the same as any other building. The place where he grew up. A place to rest his head and feed himself between training sessions. It won’t be home until Will comes back.

If he comes back.

Will has trained for this, Ben tells himself when doubt creeps in, wraps its icy fingers around his lungs and clenches tight, pushes down on his chest in the dead of the night and it feels like Ben is drowning. Will practiced and fought and earned the chance to volunteer for District Two. He wouldn’t have been selected as the male tribute for this year if his teachers hadn’t felt he had a strong chance of returning victorious.

But there had been Two’s female tribute also. And the tributes from One and Four. All were formidable in a fight, and knew the tips and tricks to survival that would be essential in the arena. Not to mention the Games themselves were an absolute wild card. For all Will’s training, he still could be killed by a natural disaster of the gamemakers design, stabbed in the back by his allies, a tribute from an outlying district could catch him off guard.

There’s far too much that can go wrong; Ben drowns each and every thought behind his own training at the academy.

He can’t let that kind of vulnerability shine through. Not to his father. Not to his peers. Especially not when he’s being followed as much as his brother in the arena. Since the field of tributes narrowed down to eight five days ago, when Capitol cameras and personnel arrived to interview him and his father, there’s been hardly a moment of privacy. So Ben covers his fear with a smile, says he has full confidence that his brother will be home as soon as he can. He laughs when they ask him if he’ll volunteer one day, just like his brother did.

Ben answers with a grin, says he has no place to make that determination—but who knows? 

Deep down… he knows. He’s known for a while now. He’s young, but he’s already tall, strong, quick. A prodigy, they’d said of his skills. A promised child, just like his brother was.

In spite of his age, Ben is favored to volunteer and represent District Two in the coming years. For now, though, the focus is on honing those skills, shaping him into the best warrior they can to bring pride to District Two.

The Capitol, they say, are charmed by him already. The idea of two brothers bearing the title of Victor is the kind of narrative they’re keen to fall for. So Ben plasters that smile on and lets himself become a part of the show.

Because if he lost Will…

If he lost Will—

Where would home be?

--

All of District Two seems to have hit pause, every pair of eyes glued to the nearest screen.

Peacekeepers-in-training pause their exercises. Future tributes stop their sparring matches. The lines at every shop in town are on hold. Even the children have stopped playing their games to witness this.

And in the city square, standing in front of the Justice Building in a roped off section reserved for family, the mayor, and a handful of District Two’s more recent victors, thirteen year old Benjamin Miller tries to keep his fidgeting down to an occasional scuff of his feet on the dusty ground or flex of his weary muscles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we are entering the final moments of the Fifty-fourth annual Hunger Games!”

The massive screens mounted in the square broadcast live footage from the arena. Presently, two feeds are placed side by side, dedicated to the two remaining tributes of this year’s Hunger Games. One tracks Will’s every move, the other follows his opponent: the boy from District Four.

Will abandoned the Career pack when there were still fourteen tributes left. One night, during his watch shift, he left them behind, taking with him a pack with enough food to last him four days, a bottle of water, a sleeping bag, a hunting knife, and his preferred sword. A long, wicked thing most people might have struggled to wield two-handed. Will handled it with ease. One-handed.

Speculation rippled through the district at that. The decision to leave so early in the Games was shocking enough. Why not kill the rest while they slept and increase his odds of victory by an exponential margin? It was known that the pack would disband eventually, but why so soon?

At the academy, Will was both praised and berated for his choice. It was understandable to leave before bonds formed and killing another tribute turned into killing an ally. But so early? When so much could go wrong? It was a risk not many were brave enough to take.

In the arena, navigating the terrain proved to be its own exercise of survival. This year’s terrain consisted of three mountains of varying height, surrounded by dense forest. It became apparent early on that the woods were not safe, as they were crawling with all manner of predators, both organic and manufactured by the Capitol. Two weeks into the Games, the gamemakers destroyed the entire forest with a raging wildfire, killing an additional two tributes.

The forest now uninhabitable, Will had taken to carving out several hiding places among the mountainsides. Once he’d burned through his rations, he relied on hunting small creatures still inhabiting the cliffs and whatever his mentor was able to provide through sponsors. With the element of surprise working for him, Will had managed to ambush and eliminate four additional tributes, bringing his kill count to a whopping ten—high above the average for a typical career.

Almost half of the playing field, brought down by one seventeen-year old. Will must have struck a deal with his allies before the start of the Games, because during the bloodbath, he’d done most, if not all of the killing while the remainder of his team secured their supplies from the Cornucopia. If he walked away from this, he’d be the pride of District Two for a long time to come on that merit alone.

When the tribute pack thinned down to four, the gamemakers struck again. Devastating rockslides hammered each mountain, cutting off both Will’s access to his hiding spots, and any freshwater sources he’d relied on. The slides killed two tributes, the girl from One and the boy from Five.

Ben remembered watching in abject horror as his brother fled from the avalanche, finally managing to take cover underneath an outcropping of rock that shielded him from the worst of it. He’d escaped, though not without accruing a fair amount of scrapes and bruises along the way. The worst of it was a small, but deep cut slicing through his eyebrow. By a small miracle, it had stopped bleeding within an hour, but half of Will’s face was now crusted with streaks of dried blood, only adding to his already haggard state. He lost his knife in the chaos, but managed to hold onto his sword—his saving grace.

Not only that, but the only reason the boy from Four had survived was because he’d turned on his companion as they fled. When they were clear of the slides, while her guard was down, he’d shoved her back, right into the path of an oncoming boulder. She was crushed before she could even appear shocked by the betrayal. There weren’t even any remains left for the hovercraft to collect.

More whispers rippled through the district, then. Yes, it was sad. But it was what needed to be done.

No fresh water. Most of the wildlife either dead or scared off. Two tributes. It was evident the gamemakers wanted to end this fast. The Games had already lasted nearly three and a half weeks, far longer than average. This year had proven to be a particularly hardy bunch. Even getting a small water bottle into the arena at this rate would likely cost a large fortune.

Which meant they were on their own.

The moment the dust cleared, the cannons fired and faces projected in the sky, everyone knew what came next. Immediately, a space was cleared in the square for Ben and his father, victors called out to join and prepare to offer either congratulations or condolences depending on the outcome of the final encounter.

On the screen, Will inches his way along a narrow path on the face of the tallest mountain. All he has on his person is his sword and his clothes, veritably shredded after three weeks of fighting for his life in such an unforgiving environment. The landscape is similar enough that when Ben looks at the screen with the boy from Four, he can’t tell how near they are to each other. Will grew up in the mountains of Two. In theory, he should have an advantage over the boy from the coast. Nothing is ever set in stone, though—not in the Hunger Games. Four had proven himself to be quiet the adaptable tribute.

They have to be getting close, Ben thinks, there’s no way the gamemakers would push them away from each other at this point.

As if in answer to his thought, a low, feline snarl rumbles through the speakers. It’s faint, far away, but Will hears it. Everyone hears it. Pressing his back against the rock, he dares a swift look down towards the origin of the sound. As if oblivious to the cameras trained on him or simply not caring, Will’s shout cuts through the wind. 

“Fuck!”

The camera angle switches, and Ben’s heart plummets.

Prowling about fifty feet beneath Will’s feet is a strange breed of feline, the likes of which Ben has never seen before. Three of them. Large, with a pale golden coat and small round ears. Long, curved, razor-sharp claws extending from all four oversized paws carve thin scratches into the rock as they pace back and forth beneath him.

Ben’s first thought is cougar, but then the cat looks up, and he beholds the elongated canines extending far past its lower jaw. He’s learned about it in school. A kind of cat that went extinct long before the continent was even known as the Americas. Despite his best efforts, Ben cannot recall its name.

It’s undoubtedly a muttation, designed and put out by the gamemakers to do one thing: kill.

The long-toothed cat bares its teeth, its companions following suit. From his perch on the mountainside, Will’s chest moves rapidly. He’s struggling to control his breath, Ben realizes. His throat tightens, his stomach tangling with itself.

Beside him, his father murmurs, “Move, William, move.”

“Look at that!” one of the commentators yells. “It seems the gamemakers have one last trick up their sleeves to push Will and Reed together!”

Ben grips the rope in front of him as if that is the only thing separating him from Will. The big cat crouches, leaps up to a rock jutting out from the mountainside, ten feet closer to him. Ben spares one glance towards Four’s feed. He doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Another trio of cats nip at his heels as he struggles to ascend the mountain.

Will’s breathing slows and deepens, and he masters himself enough to take several tiny steps closer to the end of the path. There, he will easily be able to summit the mountain, another twenty feet above his head.

The cats leap up another ten feet, and Will draws his sword with one hand. Bracing his free hand on the smooth, grey rock, he angles the blade towards the advancing cats and continues inching along. Only a few more feet separate him from the safety of the broad platform of stone. Beneath him, one of the cats leans back onto its haunches. Its entire body trembles before it goes preternaturally still, preparing to make one last leap towards its prey.

Reading the movements, Will does the same. For a moment, they lock eyes. Blue to gold, predator to predator. Silence grips the square. Ben’s lungs strain against his ribs, but he doesn’t let himself breathe. Not yet. Not when it feels as if a single puff of air could alter the course of history in this moment.

The cat leaps.

So does Will.

He goes nearly parallel to the ground, his free hand reaching out for something he can catch himself on and his sword hand sweeping downward the same moment the cat swipes a clawed paw towards him.

The honed edge of the sword slices deep into the neck of the feline. A trail of blood droplets follows the arc of the blade as Will twists in midair, angling his body so his back will take the brunt of the impact and tucking his chin down into his chest. The cat yowls as it tumbles back, the sound turning into an awful gurgle before cutting off. Its body falls down the steep mountain face. Ben only catches a short glimpse before it tumbles off the screen, but he can see that Will cut deep enough that its head is barely hanging on by a few tendons and muscle fibers. A thick streak of red smears the rock where it fell.

With a grunt, Will slams into the ground, sliding over the dirt and loose rocks for a moment before his body stills. He remains there for several seconds before ever so slowly, he turns onto his side. Pressing his left hand into the ground, Will pushes himself up, dragging his feet beneath his shoulders. As soon as he puts his weight onto his legs, he gives out and he topples back down.

Any relief Ben felt at his brother’s life-saving maneuver is swelled out by a pulse of fear when he sees why his brother can’t stand.

A duo of long cuts, so straight and deep it looks almost surgical, extends from the middle of Will’s thigh down to his ankle. Ben had been so busy watching his brother he’d been oblivious to the fact that the cat had gotten him.

Each breath Will takes has blood oozing from the laceration until the leg of his pants are soaked and glistening a deep, sullen red. He tries, and fails, again to rise to his feet. Even using the sword as a support, he loses his footing and crumbles, his weight kicking up a cloud of dust when he hits the rock.

“In a stunning turn of events, it seems that the outcome of these Games have already been determined…”

Get up, Ben thinks with every shred of desperation he has. Get up, Will.

Will sluggishly turns onto his back, and hoists himself upright with his legs stretched in front of him. It seems to take every bit of energy he has to shrug his jacket off, and slide it underneath his bleeding leg. He brazenly ties the sleeves around his thigh until his arms are straining and the blood flow slows. The makeshift tourniquet may save his life, but it’s only a matter of minutes before the damage is so permanent that he risks losing the limb altogether.

Again, using his sword for support, Will heaves himself to his feet. He wobbles again, and Ben feels his heart rise into his throat before he steadies himself. Will straightens, and takes a few limping steps towards the final ascent. He’d been so busy tending to his wound, worrying about the big cats, that he hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Ben, too wrapped up in concern for his brother, hadn’t checked the other video feed, hadn’t heard the commentators call out in shock—

When Four crashes into Will and sinks a knife into his shoulder.

Ben, his father, the city square, the entirety of District Two, cry out in collective shock as Will and Four go down, Four pinning him with a roar so inhuman it sends a chill skittering over Ben’s bones.

It’s worse, so much worse than he’d imagined.

Blood sprays, and Will’s fingers splay when he hits the rock. His sword clattering too far for him to reach. Ben barely processes what he sees as he fights to remain upright. He feels the cameras in the square narrow in on him. He can’t give out. Not now.

Will rolls, flipping Four off of him and onto the ground, wrenching the knife in his shoulder free in the process. His blood drips down the blade as Four angles it in front of himself, his own arm shredded, likely from his encounter with those big cats. Will slowly climbs to his knees, beaten and bloody and entirely at a disadvantage. The blood, the dirt—he looks more animal than human when he bares his teeth.

Ben’s never seen anything like it. Anything so unearthly, so primal and raging.

Four leaps again, and Will leans down. As Four descends on him, Will straightens, and there’s a clang of metal on metal.

It takes a moment for Ben to understand what he sees.

But there’s Will, knife in hand, his face red with the effort it takes to keep Four from landing another blow. He’d lost his knife in the avalanche. He’d seen it.

How long had Will kept a knife hidden in his boot, waiting for a moment such as this to use it?

Will manages to deflect what would have been a life-ending blow, but they topple again. Four bellows as Will’s blade plunges into his forearm and twists. The shrieking of Four, coupled with the spray of blood, sends a chill weaving down Ben’s spine.

Move, move, move!

Four’s free hand slams into Will’s face hard enough to crack bone, and Will stumbles back, blood gushing.

Will just grunts, his brow bunching in pain and concentration.

Every part of Ben shakes.

Four punches his face again and the sound fracks from Ben, “Will.”

Four yanks his arm free of Will’s knife, blood spraying like rain as he slashes at Will. He catches Four’s wrist in the follow-through with both hands, pinning his arm across his body. Four swings with his free hand, the punch easily dodged this time by Will.

They stare at each other for long, uncounted moments, nothing between them but howling wind and heavy, pained panting.

Then Will does the last thing Ben expects him to.

He headbutts Four.

Will releases Four’s arm as he staggers towards the edge of the peak, right towards where the long-toothed cats stalk in wait. The blow proves disorienting enough, and though Four swings his arms wildly to regain his balance, he takes one step back too far back and plummets.

He screams as he falls, but it goes hauntingly quiet when he hits.

The impact of Four’s body on the stone is heard across the nation. They wait for the cannon, but there’s nothing.

The mutts attack.

Will sinks to his knees.

Ben clutches the rope so tightly his knuckles whiten. It could be minutes, it could be hours, before the cannon booms at last.

Will looks to the side, his eyes finding the camera as if he’s known precisely where it was the entire time. Something like relief shines there, overpowered by pain and fury and something feral as the announcer declares, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the fifty-fourth Hunger Games, William Miller—the tribute of District Two!”

--

Two days later, Will’s final interview in the Capitol airs. Before now, he’s been kept keenly away from the cameras, and it becomes clear why the moment Ben sees him for the first time since his final glimpse in the arena. He wears a sharp grey suit, but any evidence of his injuries on his face have been wiped away. Whether by makeup or surgical alteration, Ben can’t tell. His skin is smooth and pristine, unmarred by bruises or cuts or even the faintest scar.

The crowd breaks into applause as Will is presented. He gives a winning smile, but the haunted glow is still there. He still looks a little too much like a cornered animal. His stylist is praised for his masterful capture of Will’s strength, physique, and iron-willed character.

Will sits in the victor’s chair like he was born for it. Maybe he was. He views the highlights with the rest of the nation, and answers his interviewer’s questions with grace.

“While you were there, in the arena,” says the host. “Was there any one thing that kept you going?”

Will seems to think on it for a moment, working his jaw over before he answers, “My brother. The whole time… I just wanted him to know that I love him.”

The audience croons about how strong and brave he is. Ben feels himself swell with pride.

He wants to be like Will one day, he thinks.

--

The wait for the train is its own agony.

District Two is nearest to the Capitol, but operations there don’t start until late in the morning on a good day. With the conclusion of the Games so fresh, it seems they need a few extra hours to get moving.

At last, the train rolls into the station late in the afternoon. No one comments on how Ben stood there, waiting for almost the whole day as more and more citizens of Two arrive to welcome their newest victor. They chatter amongst themselves, clearing space for Ben’s father as he arrives at last, fresh off his shift as the town’s head Peacekeeper.

As the train crawls to a halt, the voices around Ben die down, awaiting with bated breath for Will to show himself. Ben feels like he’s about to burst from his own skin with the anticipation—

The doors open, and there he is.

Will’s eyes snap to Ben’s almost instantly. The relief that cleaves through him almost knocks him to his knees.

Ben thinks it might have, had Will not leaped down and ran to him.

Will opens his arms, and Ben finds his way home.

--

Will remembers every face of every tribute in that godforsaken place.

The ones he killed directly haunt him the most.

He kept count of many things in the arena. The minutes that turned into hours that turned into days away from home… away from Ben. The number of breaths he still counted himself lucky to take. But most poignant of all was those faces. Each one, their faces as they died, had been etched into his memory. Every time he blinks, he sees them.

Ten. He killed ten of them.

The train barely makes a creak as it speeds over the railway. The ride from the Capitol to District Two isn’t long—barely an hour.

Though he grew up in one of the “wealthy” districts, there is a certain elegance to Capitol wares Will thinks he’s going to miss. He relishes in every moment he has left, wresting back thoughts of death and killing and betrayal.

He hadn’t been lying when he said it was Ben that got him through the worst of it in the arena. But that hadn’t been the whole truth, either. It was the thought of how he could redeem himself after so much tragedy, inflicting so much pain on others. He couldn’t do that if he let himself die in the arena.

How did Ben—little Benny, who perhaps wasn’t so little anymore but would always be to Will—see him now, at the end of it all? What could he say that would make all the violence, all the killing, right.

He didn’t know how, but he would do it. Will would make sure to see it done, no matter what it took.

Will is barely formulating what he can say to his brother when he feels the breaks engage on the train. All too soon, just like that, he’s back home… whatever home is, now. Sure, he’ll have the house in Victor’s Village and of course his family would be allowed to live with him, but the concept seems too foreign, now. He suspects it’ll take some time to adjust to that.

His mentor—a victor from about ten years ago, beckons him forward. Will’s legs are surprisingly shaky as he rises to his feet. Outside, he can hear the district already clapping, cheering for him. He tries to imagine Ben there, tries to pretend that his brother will be happy to see him, that he’ll be happy to see Ben.

The doors open.

Light floods the train car, and Will almost lifts a hand to block the sun. The initial surge of stimulus is overwhelming. The light, the sound, the unrelenting heat of the mountains. Will blinks hard to adjust his eyes.

As if by gravitational pull, he sees him.

His eyes find Ben’s, almost an exact mirror of his own. His brother’s eyes are wide, his face broken into a grin so wide it’s a wonder his skin hasn’t split.

That’s all it takes.

Will leaps down from the train car and runs. Every thought, every doubt, every word flees his mind as he takes in the sight of his brother. Healthy and whole and alive.

Ben’s there to meet him. They collide, and Will finds his way home.

[roodllle]

Year in Review - Animal Crossing New Horizons

I started writing this review/criticism in May of 2020 but decided to update it as the year went along and post it on the anniversary of NH’s release. I would like to preface that this is mostly going to be full of questions of criticisms, I love this game. I have not been able to put it down since I got it on March 20th. My first AC game was NL and then I played HHD. I was ecstatic when they announced NH at E3 2019 and kept trying to find other games to fit in my AC shaped hole in my heart but I wasn’t able to fill it till this game came out. I feel like the pace of the game is great with how you build up to unlocking terraforming and 5 stars, and I feel like the updates are well timed especially with how crazy 2020 was for everybody. That being said there were some things that irked me. 

Some of the points I will bring up came from other people/commenters I have seen on here, Discord, Reddit, and Twitter that I also agree with. Some other points are from Youtubers such as ShayMay and ChuyPlays. And others are from me. 

With that out of the way, let’s get on with the review. Warning, I guess, don’t expect this to be an essay, this is just a patchwork quilt made up of thoughts.

Terraforming

I wish cliffs/tiers had a smaller level? Like how we’re able to make stepping stones for our rivers if we don’t want to put a bridge down/use our vaulting pole. I just wish there was a cliff alternative. 

Another cliff alternative would be if we could put bridges between cliffs. I think we’ve all been there where we see this picture 

          thought ‘we can do that!!” then realized it was photoshopped

When we go into terraforming, I wish a grid showed up on our island. It would make it much easier to avoid hitting the wrong square when I’m trying to change a river. 

Having us be able to “close” a waterfall from a lower level but not create a new on at the same spot. 

Also the fact we can add a 4th tier but can’t put anything on it is just strange to me. I know we have to have a limit to how high we can go, but at least let me put nature stuff, such as trees/flowers/bushes, on top of it instead of just a flat piece of land. 

Houses

Why no ceiling items? Find it odd they added a bunch of stuff in HHD and didn’t add that to the new mainline game

There’s no reason I can think of to why we can’t access our storage when we’re crafting inside our house. 

Buildings

Dodo Airlines

The Dodo Islands right now are very boring and barely use them. I have enough money and materials to not go farming and save up all my NMTs for when I go villager hunting, which has also become a rarity. I think it would be a good idea to make some islands seasoned themed. Have them be all rare, but have an island where it’s fall and has maple leaves falling, a cherry blossom one, one with snowflakes. I wouldn’t recommend they make Holiday themed ones, but having seasonal ones would be nice.

When I mess up a dodo code or accidentally hit ‘make a bridge’ instead of incline, etc. why do I have to restart the ENTIRE conversation instead of the characters just being “oh? did you mean “x” or “would you like to retype it?” like is it that hard??  

Resident Services

As much as I love Isabelle this game has made me very indifferent towards her. I think they gave her a role that didn’t need to exist. They could have either let us roam around without any warnings to who was roaming around our island, in the campsite, or any weather updates. Just have us rely on our villagers, the TV, and our eyeballs. OR they could have given us a social media like app and/or a weather app. Instead, they gave us Isabelle that only announces something once a month.

Nook’s Cranny

This might just be me but can they add a little DIY area in the store? Maybe just make to where you can only customize things?? This is more out of convenience than an actual problem  

Speaking of customization, since you can make medicine but also buy can we do the same for the custom kits and bait. Like make it where we can buy bait and also make our own custom kits? I just think it’s weird that they give us either/or for medicine but not for the other 2 that I honestly use way more than medicine.

Why do the Able Sisters get to have all of the colors of an item in their shop but Nook’s Cranny can’t? And why can’t we just be able to customize all items that have multiple looks/colors? Example, why can’t I just be able to change the wood type for the antique set instead of having to buy each one? I get that the furniture catalog is already small, but that’s not my fault. They’ve decided to not add past furniture sets into NH. 

Able Sisters

Let us multi select clothes instead of it just being how much we can wear. idc if it’ll just put those clothes in our personal storage and then we’ll have to run home and put it in that storage, I just hate having to walk back in and out every time I want a dress in multi colors. ALSO tell us if we already bought it, like a little storage icon or something

Why can’t we hang any article of clothing on the back wall, why do we have to either make it or have the OG qr designer come to our island? 

Why can’t we have the transparent option when designing clothes? I think it would make many designer’s lives easier instead of having to make 8 versions of the same outfit.

NPCs

I have played this game almost every day since it came out, minus 2 days. I have also been able to make friends on discord that help with trading/cataloging/etc. I have all of Saharah’s, Kicks’, Label’s, and Redd’s items. I have all of the fish/bug models I want and have no desire to “catch them all”. I haven’t talked to Wisp in months because I have most of the items and his idea of “expensive” is 10k bells. The only NPC I actively look forward to is Celeste because even though I now have all of her DIYs, she still gives out star fragments, regular large or horoscope, when I talk to her. 

What I’m wondering is if they’re planning on doing anything else with these characters. Before I speak further I’m going to weed out characters that I am actually fine with. CJ and Flick will always be there if I want a bug/fish model, I understand that Saharah/Kicks/Redd have a ton of stuff to get and w/o the help of my discord friends, I probably wouldn’t have gotten everything till late 2021. 

So that leaves Label and Wisp. I understand Wisp is there for beginners, but now that I’m at a point where I am a bell millionaire and have most of the Nook’s items cataloged, there is no reason for me to talk to him. I wish Nintendo had put in a system where depending on the person who Wisp is talking to, it determines how much money you have in your bank account/looks at your catalog, Wisp’s item’s worth goes up.

As for Label...I never saw her as viable. I also thought the tickets were dumb and you don’t even have to talk to her to have her items show up in the shop the next day. I think it would be great if when you bought all of her items, she decided to join the Able’s sisters in their shop like in NL and then have Gracie show up in her place for the weekly NPC. 

Where is Blanca? Or Brewster? Or Shrunk, Katrina, Gracie, or Kapp’n and his family? I understand we will probably never see characters like Harriet or Pete because they have been replaced by a new system, but what is the excuse for these other characters? I’m hoping they show up in year 2 of NH but...we’ll see.

Villagers

I think having your first villagers living in basic homes is a good idea but one that quickly gets annoying. I found Sherb while villager hunting for the 1st time and have had him ever since, but his house is stuck at basic lazy setup. Instead of me going back and forth on whether or not i should trust somebody enough to hold Sherb, get somebody else out, then get him to move back to my island, You can have it to where you let them leave, then just wait till he comes to the campsite to visit and reinvite him. You get his actual house and he still remembers you. This could also go for you accidentally letting somebody go or letting somebody go then regretting it. Also it’d be fun to see some old villagers again.

I was curious and looked back on past games to see how many new villagers were released each game and NH has been the least amount. NL released 112 new villagers in total while NH has released 8. I’m hoping they might release more down the line but, hella disappointing imo. Along with the Sanrio update and adding those characters to the game, I am more hopeful that they’ll be adding new characters!

Having an “event” of sorts where you visit a villager’s house and they’re looking inside their closet. They look at you in surprise when you walk in and sheepishly explain that they were going through their clothes/items. They then decide to ask you for help since they can’t decide what to get rid of/what to keep and think you have a good eye for that sort of thing. Basically, a way to get rid of any clothes/items your villager somehow received bc I guess Isabelle scolding them isn’t enough.

A big problem I feel like everybody has is the villager dialogue. Yes they added sub personality types for each personality but they are not perfectly cut in half, ex. are the Sisterly types where there are 4 B types and 20 A types, like?? How I have “fixed” this problem is by having one of each personality type on my island so I always have different conversations with my villagers, but I understand not a lot of people do that. Some people just want normal/peppy types on their island bc they’re cute as hell, I get it. I know it would be...difficult to come up with unique dialogue for all 399 villagers, including Sanrio, but....you could at least for the “gimmicky” villagers. Some examples of these villagers are Ribbot and Sprocket, Lucky and Ankha, the super hero squad, and Kabuki. 

Quality Life stuff

Why cant we sit AND wish on stars? And I don’t mean the sit emote; why can’t I sit on a bench and wish on stars?

It sucks when I’m about to hit my rocks or just do a lot of dig work and then my shovel breaks in the middle of it. To show the tool is about to break, cracks should start to form on the handle and get deeper/longer as you keep using it, starting when you have 5 uses left. You can also add an auditory element by making the tool sound like its struggling when you are using it. Net/Shovel/Axe/Fishing Pole can have cracks show up on the handle, Slingshot can have crack show up at the bottom of the 2 spokes while having 1 at the top of the handle. And the watering can have cracks at the base of the can.

If our inventory is full when I dig up a flower, why can’t I replace it with another flower to bury? And if I can dig up an item at an diagonal item, I should be able to bury it again at the same angle.

Other

Having more...liveliness?? on the island, idk how else to say it. Example is whenever you travel by plane there's a chemtrail in the sky afterwards, maybe just seeing other planes go by throughout the day. Maybe you can get a hint Redd or Gulliver will be visiting you tomorrow if you see their boats beyond the horizon, Redd’s just crusin’ and the Gulls’ boats looking messed up. On a week where you don't have a new camper, maybe have an old villager visit. That leads me too

I wish villager’s doors could count as “exterior decorating” and we can just put any ornamental on there instead having to hope that your villager will put the wreath on their own door. 

Conclusion

If you read this whole thing holy shit, thanks!! Go treat yourself on my part lol If you disagreed with me or whatever feel free to chat with me about it! 

[romulanfucker]

tell us abt tov

>:3333333 you humor me .....

im going to put this under a cut because its going to be 1) insanely long and 2) backstory secrets for the one person following me who's also a player in this campaign so borgan if youre reading this do not open (tw for discussions of violence, attempted murder, and cults. nothing graphic but. it is in there)

SO!!!! tov is a dragonborn sorcerer and he is my character for a waterdeep dragon heist campaign that has been on pause for ... far too long ... some basic physical description: - like 6.5 feet tall - silver scales, but they don't reflect light like most metallic scales would - i'm a full believer in the lizard shit so he's got a tail, clawed digitigrade feet, a long snout, and spinal ridges - he's buff for a sorcerer (in fact, there's an alternative universe version of him for which i have designed a full sheet where he's multiclassed into barbarian) so his backstory is (i'll try and fail to keep this short) that he comes from a clan of dragonborn who pride themselves on being the descedants of some of the original dragonborn created as soldiers of bahamut in the draconic wars (this is deep deep d&d lore so if you don't know; bahamut is one of the good guy dragon gods and there used to be a lot more of them and then they started getting greedy for power and created dragonborn to use a footsoldiers to fight their wars for them). as such, his clain retains a spark of that draconic magic in its blood; ie. members of his clan are born w/ a latent draconic magic. now it varies from person to person how much power they have, some have very potent magic, others can only cast some basic cantrips. and there have been some born without any latent magic at all - but very few, and tovroth senxcec (tov) is currently the only one alive without anything. obviously, this caused a lot of teasing and shame and notwhat in his childhood, and so his baby brother nagrax (rax for short) decided to try and tutor tov in book-learned magic instead.

it was very slow going. tov is bad at reading and worse at reading sigils, and their clan was also very rural and they had very limited access to arcane books. they spent years working on it, with no luck. eventually tov gave up and took an apprenticeship training as a jewelrymaker just to have Something productive to do.

then one day while in town, rax finds something buried in a library tome. it's an old historical document, it talks of a gateway to another plane, and if one passes through it, they will gain the power of that plane. and him and tov say hey actually, we know where that gateway is supposedly located. how bad could it hurt to just check it out, right?

so they charter a boat and sail for two months until they reach these ruins. now, problem. the historical text left out two very important details: one, the plane the gateway goes to is the shadowfell (if you don't know d&d its like ... the depression plane. everything is gray and horrid and food has no taste and everything either is suffering too much to notice you or actively trying to kill you) and two, because the shadowfell is like that, it takes a bit of your soul every time you enter.

so tov bops on through the gateway and ends up in the shadowfell, and its horrible and fucked up and he wants to leave, and as he turns to go, he sees this twisted visage of his brother, and something in him just ... snaps. he Needs to kill this thing, he needs to destroy it, more than he's ever needed anything.

he lunges at it, begins to fight it. in the fight, he travels back through the gateway. he realizes he's back in the real plane, and he's facing his real brother, not his shadowfell brother anymore. the urge doesn't cease and he keeps attacking.

his brother manages to subdue him, and he asks tov for answers. why would he attack his own brother like that? and tov answers him truthfully - the gateway took me to a horrible place, and i saw a horrible version of you, an evil version, and i wanted to destroy it. i must have come back while fighting it. and rax asks him. did you know you came back? did you know it was me you were trying to kill at the end? and tov says ............................. yes.

rax is (understandably) horrified, and he tells tov this has gone too far. he doesn't know who his brother is anymore. he isn't welcome at home. but as one last act of mercy, he's going to take the boat back alone and tell the clan that tov never came back through the gate, so as to preserve his memory.

and tov lets him go. so now he's alone across the sea, with this seed of hate and violence planted deep inside him but hey! at least he's a sorcerer now!!!!!

so he spends several years wandering around the woods, avoiding society as much as possible because he's terrified of that rage overtaking him again, and trying to figure out what to do with himself, because he doesnt know who he is anymore, and doesn't like what he's become. the more time he spends alone with himself, the worse it gets.

on a supply trip into town, he hear tales of some anonymous hero that killed a beast that had been harassing the town, and realized it was an animal he'd killed a few days ago. and he goes. hey, maybe monster hunting could be ... something? its a way to put that violence inside me to a beneficial cause, if i can take out things that have been bothering good people. so he starts wandering around, entering towns more often, looking for people in need of a freelance beastkiller.

this is where the campaign picks up!!! i'll spare you the details of the whole shebang because this is already SO long, but the important thing is that the party's currently caught in the crossfires of a few different criminal investigations, and to get some allies on their side, a few party members have joined guilds in the city.

tov personally joined the order of the gauntlet, a guild that's dedicated to law and justice. he almost didn't let himself join at first, because he didn't think he deserved to become a paragon of justice when he was Like That. but the leader of the guild, savra belabranta, took him aside and was like. look. this guild is a place to earn your forgiveness.

and she tells him that, before joining the guild, she was caught up in some very very nasty cult business. like. murder cult business. and she didn't think she could ever be a good person after she left, but people here believed that she could be, and she believes that tov can be too, if he'll let himself.

and for the first time since rax got back on the boat alone, tov is beginning to think that he might be able to become the kind of man who can go home and face his family again. so he joins. and he spends more and more time with savra, and he starts to really like her. like really like her.

so far in game, they've gone on one date and savra ended up having to sleep in the party's house after (they live in apartments above a bar) and so he lied and said they had a guest room and then shoved all of his belongings in a closet, directed her to his room, and slept on his party mate's floor. because he didn't want her to think he was propositioning her after just one date.

but like, the dm is 100% on my side in this, and we already have begun putting together a post-campaign marriage plot for them and im very soft about it all the time because like .... its just these two people at two different points in their journeys to forgive themselves, and they're helping each other reach that final goal, and they're both finding happiness they didn't think they'd ever actually see and i aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

anyways thats tov thanks for asking

[meangirlsx]

your opinion on... musical theatre being adapted for film? which shows do you think are successful (favorites??) and which ones do you think really need to be told in their original format? which ones have not been adapted but you think would make a great film adaptation? (-phantomoftheorpheum)

OH YOU REALLY WANT AN ESSAY YOU GOT IT

I’m gonna put a divide here because I’m about to be my wordy bitch self to answer the first question alone

I have so many conflicting thoughts on this. I had the absolutely incredible opportunity to work in New York theatre before and as everything shut down (that was an experience but that’s an entirely separate story), so I’ve been able to talk to people who are more closely affected by the situation, too.

Overall, I think musical theatre should be adapted for film. Theatre is an art form with an incredibly unique and undeniable power when performed and experienced live. But it is not accessible the way it needs to be.

A show on Broadway is expensive in itself, and most consumers on Broadway are not living in New York, so they’re also expected to spend money on travel, lodging, food, and transportation around the city, in addition to presumably having to take time off work or otherwise away from their lives to make the trip. Seeing shows on Broadway are some of the most incredible things I’ve ever experienced, but I am very fortunate and these experiences come at a great cost to most people. So many people who want to visit Broadway are not able to.

There are of course tours and that’s great. But similarly, they’re not usually cheap, and they’re not always close to you. I’ve encountered countless people who drove and even spent the night in another city to see a touring show that wasn’t coming anywhere closer to them. You can always find local shows, too, and those can be so wonderful. But the fact stands that a majority of the theatre world is based in an exclusive area. The Tony Awards are a nationally broadcast and celebrated event, but so many people watching have never had the chance to see the shows the same way you’ve had the chance to hear songs before the Grammys.

So I think shows being adapted to film widens the audience in a very necessary way. But there are two ways to adapt to film. The first is the way we know many movie musicals, as a true adaptation, like Mamma Mia, Into the Woods, The Sound of Music, Annie, Hairspray, Rent, and Les Mis. I actually do really love these versions. (West Side Story is also iconic but they basically forced their actors into brown face so there’s your not so fun fact of the day.) I think it’s fun to see the show told truly inside the world that otherwise is at least partially left to the imagination in most cases. And being adapted in this way typically means that it will interest more of a regular movie audience, which is really great to help get the stories out into the world and get more recognition of these shows and the industry.

The other way to adapt to film is the way Hamilton and Legally Blonde did it, where they released a professionally recorded version of the original stage production. I think this needs to happen more often. The original team of a show deserves for their work to be seen as the original form of the show.

For example, I’m so excited that The Prom is getting a movie, and I think the star-studded cast will help it get a lot more attention and therefore help the story reach a lot of people who need it, and that’s wonderful. This story needs to be told and these characters need to offer representation to people who have never had the chance to see themselves onscreen like this before. But the original team deserved to be able to tell the story they’d been telling it. They were the ones who introduced the story to the world and they deserve to introduce it to the world on this bigger scale.

It would be wonderful to normalize that kind of adaptation, maybe even in addition to the total remake adaptation format. I don’t want to get rid of one in favor of the other. Both have their place and their purpose. I suppose it wouldn’t be very sensible to create two movie versions of every show, to capture it in both full adaptation and stage-to-screen format, but I would honestly be all for that.

Some shows have such important, beautiful, intentional staging that it couldn’t be translated any way other than a professional recording. (Some examples below.) So some shows might lend themselves best to only a professional recording and not a total adaptation, but while I would love for anything to have a total adaptation that worked well in that format, I would want the original production, too, because it’s what they deserve.

I think especially now as we adapt so much to virtual formats, we’ve stepped into a new era of theatre potential. Theatre can be performed live virtually, or it can be recorded and shared to be watched over and over again just like our favorite TV shows and movies. There is nothing like the intense, electric feel of a live performance, but that should not limit us from sharing the art in other ways. The argument that being able to see a show as a movie would make people less likely to go see it has frankly been proven wrong time and time again. People want to see the show live more and will if they are able. Otherwise, we helped someone see a show who couldn’t see it any other way, and isn’t that the point of theatre? Making a difference in people’s lives? Connecting people?

As for shows that would make great film adaptations...

Hadestown is one of the most popular shows, so I feel like people would love to see that. The original team deserves to have their version of the show immortalized and shared with the world. But I would also love to see what an adaptation could do with the set for the Underworld.

I would love to see Come From Away as a movie. I think the show is so so so so so well done in its format, I can’t even really imagine it as an adaptation other than as a professional recording of the show.

Similarly, If/Then is a story I think everyone could use but I can’t even imagine it outside of its stage format so I vote for a professional recording.

Spring Awakening could really be a helpful show for a lot of people to see, but hot take I want it to be Deaf West’s Spring Awakening. Michael Arden is an absolute genius and the whole world needs to see his version of the story told through the phenomenal team.

The Lightning Thief deserved to be nominated at this year’s Tonys and they deserve a professional recording to be shared with the world. And I mean if someone wanted to make a better version of the movie with this group, I’d be down.

Bandstand deserves to be shared with the world and actually was available virtually for a little bit and I want that to be true again. I can’t imagine that in any other form, either, because the staging of trauma is so powerful.

Waitress was a movie first but I want the stage version immortalized because we need it.

Not Broadway but I want Kerrigan-Lowdermilk’s The Mad Ones to hit Broadway and then get a film adaptation, too.

[argumate]

now I feel compelled to write an analysis of the She-Ra battle in the style of Bret Devereaux’s excellent blog, if I can pull that off.

Engagement

The Battle of Bright Moon, as depicted in the She-Ra season one finale.

Adversaries

The Horde, a dictatorship led by Hordak, is at war with The Rebellion, also known as the Princess Alliance, a loose confederation of feudal states led by Queen Angella of the kingdom of Bright Moon and her daughter, Glimmer.

The people of most interest in this engagement are Force Captain Catra, who is leading the Horde army, and Adora aka She-Ra, who is the champion of Bright Moon and leading its defence under the command of Angella and Glimmer.

Fascinatingly, Adora and Catra grew up together in the Horde and it was actually Adora who was promoted to Force Captain before finding her alternate persona as She-Ra and defecting to the Princess Alliance.

The shared history and close connection between these two adversaries gives them insight into each other’s plans, but also adds emotional complications that could compromise their judgement. They are also both very inexperienced, and this is their first major battle.

Setting

The war is taking place on the planet of Etheria, with the Horde based in the Fright Zone, an industrialised and heavily polluted region that is surprisingly close to Bright Moon, a fortified city set in idyllic hilly countryside on a river by the sea. The two sides are separated by the Whispering Woods, a magical forest full of monsters, hidden crystal temples of the ancient First Ones, and other supernatural weirdness that acts as a natural barrier and prevents direct attack over land.

Etheria is an unusual planet to say the least, and it appears to be networked in some sense between an assortment of “runestones” from which the princesses draw supernatural powers. The Horde also has one runestone, their use of which is the key to this engagement.

History

The war has been going on for a long time, but decades (?) ago there was a particularly fierce battle in which Queen Angella’s husband was killed, along with many others, and the Princess Alliance effectively disbanded. Since then they have struggled to reform and have focused on defending their own kingdoms individually instead of coordinating assaults on the Horde, leaving them vulnerable to being conquered one by one.

However this earlier battle must have devastated the Horde too, as we observe a chronic shortage of manpower that leads them to rely heavily on robots and poorly trained conscripts. In particular they seem to have lost almost all of their officer class, and are forced to train new ones starting from childhood (!) a significant investment of time and effort that limits their activities to sporadic raids and hit-and-run attacks while they rebuild their strength.

Background

Earlier Catra captured a princess, Entrapta, and convinced her to defect to the Horde and help them weaponise the runestone in their possession. In doing so they were able to drain enormous amounts of power from the other runestones through the planetary network, setting off a series of natural disasters and freezing the Whispering Woods, which neutralised its magic and made it a viable route for a land assault on Bright Moon.

As it happens, destroying the runestone at Bright Moon would set off a chain reaction that depowers all the other runestones, leaving the Princess Alliance helpless and giving the Horde effective control of the entire planet. Catra thus has the opportunity -- on her first command! -- to win the entire war with one swift strike.

Objectives

The Horde aims to destroy the runestone at Bright Moon. Since success would win the war, they commit all of their forces to the assault.

The Rebellion wishes to repel the Horde attack and protect the runestone. Ideally they would find some way to take the fight to the now undefended Fright Zone, but this is beyond their capabilities as they are in a desperate struggle to merely survive.

Forces

Force Captain Catra has the entire Horde army at her command, consisting of tanks, skiffs, attack robots, and armoured infantry. We are given little information as to their organisation or unit structure, but we can assume they have radio communication and have discussed their battle plan in advance.

Horde soldiers train together from infancy and are highly indoctrinated, so we can expect strong unit cohesion and willingness to fight. However, their training exercises are limited and unrealistic, they have little experience in battle, and are discouraged from creative problem solving, so aside from Catra we cannot expect a virtuoso display of combat skills.

Bright Moon apparently has no standing army, the guards appear to be purely ceremonial in nature, and initially they only field Adora in her She-Ra form alone against the entire Horde army, with Queen Angella providing backup via the shielding effect of the runestone.

Admittedly She-Ra is a formidable warrior, strong enough to punch through stone, wielding a sword that can shoot laser beams and slice through steel, and capable of taking a direct hit from a tank without suffering major damage. However she can only do so much at a time, and is vulnerable to being overwhelmed by the sheer number of opponents.

She is reinforced by her companions, Glimmer and Bow on the flying horse Swift Wind, and two other princesses wielding magic nets, but this is not so much an army as a loose team of individual champions with highly disparate skill sets.

Logistics

The Horde army is fully mechanised and with the woods now accessible they can be in Bright Moon in a matter of hours and be back home in time for dinner, so they move fast and carry no food or supplies.

Scouting

Bright Moon observe the Horde army on the move through the woods and have time to prepare, although the extent of their preparations is limited to choosing better weapons from the armoury. The Horde’s arrival is heralded by their first shots slamming into the castle, suggesting that the expectation of protection by the woods has led to a serious lack of defensive works in the kingdom.

The Horde are attacking a fixed target, the runestone, so they head straight for it and do not send out scouts or keep watch, a fatal mistake that prevents them from cutting off any unexpected reinforcements from the other kingdoms.

Attack!

The Horde army emerges from the woods at the shallow river crossing, just opposite the Bright Moon fortress.

Conveniently for the Horde, the runestone is located outside and in front of the fortress, leaving it utterly unprotected by any defences aside from its own supernatural shielding effect, reinforced by Queen Angella in person, which places her directly in the firing line. The runestone is also mounted on a high pedestal that is vulnerable to tank fire; it’s not clear if bringing the pedestal down would destroy the runestone but it certainly looks very fragile.

Since Bright Moon’s champions are still in the armoury choosing their weapons, the Horde army is free to position their tanks as artillery pieces and fire at will, primarily at the runestone but also taking some shots at the fortress and neighbouring area, presumably to pin down any defenders that might emerge.

So far everything is looking great for Catra: Bright Moon has no ranged weapons that can counter her tanks, defenders would need to make a suicidal charge across the ford against overwhelming firepower to get close enough to do any damage, she has fast moving hover skiffs to intercept and mop up any enemy forces that attempt to encircle her position, and she can send heavily armoured robots across the river to attack the fortress while holding back her precious infantry for safety.

Response

Adora’s response is brutally direct: she transforms into She-Ra and with her terrifying strength begins to simply tear the tanks apart. But Catra is expecting this and has prepared a surprise: the lead tanks have no occupants and are booby-trapped to explode, blasting She-Ra back and stunning her while the Horde continues their pounding attack on the runestone.

A single champion, no matter how strong, cannot defeat an army! However, She-Ra can still do devastating damage with her sword beams, so Catra moves to the next stage of her plan by luring her away into a one on one fight, and Adora, still disoriented, gives chase.

Duel

Catra can hold her own against Adora but is utterly outclassed by She-Ra in a rage, who can smash boulders to fragments with her fists. However she isn’t in her right mind: dazed by the bomb, terrified of failure, and Catra cunningly exploits this, using acrobatics and taking advantage of the terrain to stay out of range of her attacks while constantly goading her to distraction.

It’s a risky ploy as Catra’s command is vital to the success of the Horde assault and She-Ra comes close to destroying her, but ultimately her gambit works: the duel takes She-Ra away from the main assault for long enough that the combined assault by tanks and robots can incapacitate the queen, leaving the runestone unprotected and vulnerable to complete destruction.

It’s Personal

She-Ra’s big mistake was allowing Catra to make it personal and forgetting that her objective was to protect the runestone. In the heat and pain of battle her focus narrowed to the point that she lost her grasp of strategy and latched on to the one familiar thing, and Catra exploited this to the full.

However, Catra also made a crucial mistake in her planning that may have hinged on her unresolved emotional entanglements: she sent all of her forces to Bright Moon and none to the other kingdoms. Was she really betting on them staying put? Or was she so determined to beat Adora specifically that she compromised her strategy by throwing her entire army at her and holding nothing back. Even sending a small raiding force against the nearby kingdoms would have kept them pinned down and unable to assist Bright Moon, and cost her almost nothing, but it seems that her focus on Adora as the primary threat left her blinkered to possibility of the Princess Alliance living up to its name.

The Tide Turns

Yes, the tide literally turns, and Catra belatedly realises the risks of fighting over a shallow estuary against an enemy that can control the sea when Mermista shows up riding her own personal tsunami.

The gaps in Catra’s strategy become even more evident when they are attacked from behind by Perfuma emerging from the woods, trapping the Horde forces between angry plants and angry water, while the snow princess fires ice crystals and Bow and Swift Wind rain destruction down from above.

This would all be moot if the runestone was destroyed, but the display of solidarity and realisation that she’s not alone gives She-Ra the power to restore Queen Angella and amplify the power of the runestone, supercharging Glimmer’s frankly terrifying teleportation powers, and blasting Catra out of the picture.

With this the battle is over, and the Horde forces that remain take advantage of their mobility to get the heck out of there and retreat to the Fright Zone.

Outcome

A victory for Bright Moon! But a sobering one, they were badly unprepared and almost lost the war as a result. Reforming the Princess Alliance and demonstrating the ability to mount a joint defence is a vital first step, but they will need to do a lot better than this in order to win, and the Horde will be back.

A defeat for the Horde, and for Catra, but Hordak is wise enough to agree with her that it was a damn good showing for a first attempt, and there will definitely be a second.

[aion-rsa]

How TCM Resurrects Plan 9 from Outer Space for Ghoulish Table Read

https://ift.tt/3rnt3hu

UFOs are often visible, but not always. Sometimes they make noise, sometimes they are silent. If you’ve never seen a flying saucer, that is proof they are everywhere. This is one of the many amazing things we learn in TCM’s upcoming table read of Ed Wood’s masterwork, Plan 9 from Outer Space.

We once laughed at the horseless carriage, the aero-plane, the telephone, the electric light, vitamins, radio, and even television. But it took a while to get the joke about Plan 9 from Outer Space. Written and directed by Edward D. Wood Jr. in 1959, it was a little-known independent film with a direct line through directors who carried on the DIY-filmmaking spirit like John Cassavetes, Melvin Van Peebles and John Waters. The Cult of Plan 9 began when Ed Wood was posthumously awarded a Golden Turkey Award for Worst Director of All Time in 1980. Though this has been disputed.

Turner Classic Movies is the go-to channel for prestigious films. You can always count on a showing of The Treasure of Sierra Madre or The Public Enemy, or Citizen Kane. But top prize in the Golden Turkey awards carries its own prestige.

“This isn’t ‘Plans One Through Eight from Outer Space,’” Jerry Seinfeld proclaimed at the Chinese restaurant in a 1991 episode of Seinfeld. “This is Plan 9. The one that worked. The worst movie ever made.”

The SF Sketchfest presentation was adapted for the stage and virtual stage by former The Simpsons writer, and self-proclaimed Ed Wood superfan, Dana Gould. He and his Stan Against Evil co-star Janet Varney have been acting in live staged reads with a revolving cast of eager comic actors for over three years. The Zoom production also features Kat Aagesen, Bob Odenkirk, Bobcat Goldthwait, Oscar Nuñez, Deborah Baker Jr., Maria Bamford, David Koechner, Jonah Ray, Paul F. Tompkins, Baron Vaughn, and Gary Anthony Williams. The miniature visual effects, which are by no means just cardboard cutouts, were done by Mike Carano, and the sounds of musical accompaniment came out of Eban Schletter.

Laraine Newman is the narrator. She brings Gould’s adapted stage directions to such vivid life they can reanimate the dead, which is a key element of the actual plan at the center of the cult movie. Originally titled “Grave Robbers from Outer Space,” the film marked the last appearance of Bela Lugosi, who had also acted in Wood’s 1953 feature Glen or Glenda.

Lugosi’s footage for Wood’s unmade film “The Vampire’s Tomb,” was repurposed for Plan 9. Lugosi died of a heart attack on Aug. 16, 1956. To complete the film, Wood cast his chiropractor, Tom Mason, who in spite of his professional familiarity with the human skeletal structure, somehow believed he could mask the fact that he was much taller than the horror icon by pulling his cape over his face.

The table read of Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space is part of TCM’s Classic Film Festival weekend, which runs through May 9. For easy comparisons, the original film will air directly after the event. Dana Gold and Janet Varney spoke with Den of Geek about refurbishing the low-budget cult classic, and how, like their predecessor, they proudly spared every expense on its new décor.

Den of Geek: I watched the table read a second time while playing Plan 9 in another window, and I just have to say, recreating those sets must’ve cost a fortune.

Janet Varney: Yeah, just like it cost Ed Wood a fortune.

Dana Gould: That’s the genius of, of Mike Carano. All those things were this big. You can see, I have the Bela Lugosi statue and the saucer. What he did was so amazing, and it really brought [the production] up to be better than it had a right to be. When Janet and I discussed doing this on Zoom, we were like, “Well, how do we take the limits of Zoom and turn them to our advantage? Why is it on Zoom?” By doing it, one, it allowed us to get a cast that we might not be able to get. Got people in different places. Maria Bamford was in Minnesota. Bob Odenkirk was in Vancouver. So, we could get people that normally we couldn’t get. Doing it in black and white helped. And then what Mike Marano did, it made it something unique.

Janet Varney: I would just also add, as a tribute to Ed Wood, we’ve never had anyone that we’ve asked to do the show who hasn’t wanted to do the show. Whether or not they’ve been in town for the live version, every person that we love that we’ve asked to be a part of the cast at one time or another is like, “Oh, my God, I need to do that. I want to do it. When is it? Please say it’s not a date I’m out of town. Please say it’s not. Will you ask me on the next one?”

Everyone knows this movie. And the idea of getting to step into its shoes in any kind of iteration is really exciting for every single person that we’ve ever asked.

Dana Gould: And it’s great to see how different people play different parts. Joel Murray plays the General different than David Koechner plays the General. Bob Odenkirk plays Eros differently than Patton Oswalt plays Eros. It’s always great. And Janet and I, we don’t want to know what you’re going to do. Just do it.

For this production, you assembled the all-star team. But were you ever tempted to use the same kind of players Wood used: wrestlers, tap dancing accordion players, chiropractors, and radio psychics?

Janet Varney: That’s a great question. I feel like we also have pretty good access to all those folks. So maybe that will get the next variety version. Because our friend, Jim Turner, is just about to do a fundraiser for the kind of variety acts who have been struggling in this last year, because of the many myriad things that they do.

So, I actually love that idea, Tony. And you’re right, it would be a totally different experience. That’s an interesting idea too, because we do come at it with a bunch of people who love the movie, but there’s also some major winking going on, as all the comedians and actors try to lean into being: “It’s my first time on stage, maybe my first time saying words,” really playing that up.

In the future, do you hope to see this performance eviscerated on Mystery Science Fiction Theater 3000?

Dana Gould: That would be great. If they did this.

Janet Varney: Especially because Bill and Kevin have done it. They have been in our production of Plan 9. Bill had been what Laraine [Newman] did. Bill did the narration at a show, at SketchFest, and it was great.

Dana Gould: I would like to see Jonah making fun of himself.

Janet Varney: Yeah. Let’s get meta. Our fans can handle it. Fans of MST3K can handle it. Plant 9 fans can handle it. Everybody could handle it.

I know I’m paraphrasing Seinfeld, but as the person who’s trusted with Plan 9 and all that comes with that, did you get to see the first eight plans from outer space?

Janet Varney: And are you allowed to talk about it if you did?

Dana Gould: Exactly. What were they?

Janet Varney: So many questions.

Dana Gould: So many questions.

Were the first eight plans rejected?

Janet Varney: Or were they all executed? And I use that word purposefully. Were all of those plans executed and they didn’t have great results?

Dana Gould: That’s a drunk man at a typewriter, “Plan 9 sounds good.” I remember showing Plan 9 to somebody who’d never seen it before. And they turned to me afterwards and said, “Did he not have any friends he could have shown this to and gotten notes?” He didn’t have those kinds of friends.

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What are some of your favorite mistakes from the movie?

Janet Varney: Oh, God. I was going to say Dana had mentioned that the first time he saw the movie was on a video cassette that Tom Kenny and Dan Spencer, and Bobcat Goldthwait showed him. And I was actually going to ask, did you think it was the tape glitching at the end when the monologue goes from, blip to [makes a noise]? And you’re like, “Wait a minute. Back that up, hold on. Is somebody going to fix this?”

That’s definitely one. That’s a spectacularly new, weird problem in a movie that was not a consistent problem. So, you’re like, “Wait, how did that happen one time, in this very, very overt way?” So good.

Dana Gould: From the very beginning, it’s like the first time you saw William Shatner do “Rocket Man.” I remember, I had a party at my house, and I was working on The Ben Stiller Show, and everybody was there. And back then, there was no YouTube. You would just have these cassette tapes with all of the weird stuff that you had collected on it, like the farting priest and all these weird things that you had, and “Rocket Man.” And I remember showing “Rocket Man” at this thing and Bob Odenkirk just shouting at my television, “You’re a grown man. You’re a grown man.”

I always thought Shatner gave the same line reading for “Mr. Tambourine Man” as he did for “Kahn.”

Dana Gould: Yes, he did. He did. He had a couple of tricks, and he used them. Yeah. There’s one direction he doesn’t get a lot, “You want to just try one big? You want to just see how it goes?” “Take the chains off and let it rip?”

Was some of the background music in this reading, especially the oxidation bit, inspired by The Simpsons?

Dana Gould: That’s all Eban [Schletter, the musical accompanist], you have to ask Eban. But again, that’s great, especially the Solaronite song. Necessity being the mother of invention, that is a brutal chunk of dialogue for anybody, a thankless, brutal chunk. And every time I give it to Paul, I say, “I’m apologizing ahead of time. I give it to you because I don’t want anybody else to do it. Because if it was anybody else, it would be death.”

Eban came up with that. And we were just like, “Maybe we can break this up. Maybe there’s a way to break this up.” And then Eban came up with that kind of thing. And it is one of those things that I love, that it’s like a mutant. It’s grown into its own weird thing to solve its inherent problems. You can’t describe it to anybody. It’s just like, you have to see it.

I used to remember describing Kevin Meaney, the comedian. I used to just tell people, “I can’t describe what he does. You just have to see him, but then you’ll know. You only need a minute, and you’ll get it. But I can’t describe it to you.” That’s really a good analogy.

Laraine Newman, I believe, steals this as the narrator. How much of that is improvised and how much of that is written by you? Because I know that you wrote the stage directions.

Dana Gould: It’s written, but Laraine, I call it “newscaster flat.” Laraine knows how the notes need to be played. It’s like the Wrecking Crew, you have a guitar behind you. I don’t know what Tommy Tedesco is going to play, but I know it’s going to be good. I don’t know what Carol Kaye is going to play, but I trust it. It’s the same thing. It’s a murderers’ row, and I wouldn’t have the gall to tell them what to do.

Janet Varney: It takes a very specific kind of confidence as a performer to be that deadpan. It’s such a specific skill. And it’s a skill, I think, born out of a type of bravado and expertise that’s all just tightly contained in this tiny space, where she’s not trying to sell any of it. And that is the genius behind what she does is just letting it lay out there like that. I mean, it’s hard.

When you have something that you know is funny and you would be laughing yourself, if you were listening to someone else read it, it’s so hard not to want to sell it. Like, can I make this even funnier? And she’s like, “No, I need to take it all the way back, to the back of the house just like, who me, who me? I’m just reading these things.” And it’s just so brilliant.

Dana Gould: This is a person that did sketches on live television with John Belushi and Bill Murray. So she definitely knows where her center of gravity is.

Janet Varney: That’s right. Well said.

Dana Gould: And yeah, again, unflinching. And that takes, as a performer, just like a little inside baseball, a lot of control and to really, to have control of your own ego, to know that I’m going to get what I want by stepping way back. I mean, Sterling Hayden is the only person I’ve ever seen blow Peter Sellers off the screen. And he does it just by, he’s like a statue, but there’s so much weight to it.

In the original movie, I love the “Criswell Predicts.” So I wanted to ask, Janet, do you get asked to do bathroom readings?

Janet Varney: I would if asked, I would love to. That’s one of the things that’s great about Ed Wood in general too, is just having this a sort of fascination with the occult and that kind of thing. And the way that it fits into camp is so appealing. And so, yeah, I would very happily jump back into some bad psychic practices if I could. Hopefully, I will someday.

Dana Gould: And an unerring dedication to Wicker furnishings.

Janet Varney: That’s right. Always that. Paula and her wicker.

Because the table read is done during COVID and everyone feels an immediacy to Zoom calls, were you ever at all concerned about an Orson Welles’ scenario, where the residents of San Fernando Valley will believe they’re under attack by flying saucers from outer space?

Janet Varney: If only.

Dana Gould: Yeah. That’s the least of our problems out here. I don’t know when you visited last time, but the walking dead, they’re around.

The table read of Ed Wood’s Plan 9 from Outer Space airs on Friday, May 7 at 8pm on TCM. Plan 9 from Outer Space airs at 9:30pm.

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The post How TCM Resurrects Plan 9 from Outer Space for Ghoulish Table Read appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Rxjm4a

[dwellordream]

“...Cloth fibers could be dyed at several points during production (though again, note above that dyeing was far more common for wool than for linen). Assuming wool was scoured after shearing, it could be dyed at that point (thus the phrase ‘dyed in the wool’) though unscoured wool will not generally take a dye because the natural oils of the wool will prevent the dye from setting into the cloth. Alternately, wool might be spun and then dyed either as thread or as finished woven cloth. In the early modern period, undyed woven fabrics fit for dying were called ‘whites’ and might either be dyed locally or in some cases shipped significant distances to be dyed elsewhere (in no small part because, as we’ll see, the availability of dye colors was regionally dependent).

Today, we are used to the effectively infinite range of colors offered by synthetic dyes, but for pre-modern dye-workers, they were largely restricted to colors that could be produced from locally available or imported dyestuffs. If you wanted a given color of fabric, you needed to be able to find something in the natural world which, when broken down could give you a chemical pigment that you could transfer to your fabric in a durable way. That put real limits on the colors which could be dyed and the availability of those colors.

Some colors simply couldn’t be produced this way – a good example were golden or metallic colors. If something in a dress was to be truly golden (and not merely yellow), the only way to do that prior to synthetic dyes and paints was to use actual gold, weaving small strands of ultra-thin gold wire into the cloth or embroidering designs with it. Needless to say, that was something only done by the very wealthy. Alternately, if the dye for a given hue or color came from something rare or foreign or difficult to process (for instance, in all three cases, Tyrian or royal purple, which came from the murex sea snails – if you have ever wondered why no country has purple as a national color this is why, before synthetic dyes, coloring your flags and uniforms purple would have been bonkers expensive), then it was going to be expensive and rare and there just wasn’t much you could do about that.

What dyes were available thus varied based on where you were and how much you could afford to import. Determining ancient dye availability is often tricky, since fabric so rarely survives, but we know that the Romans prized a wide range of colors; Pliny gives us some clues as to some of the more expensive dyes in his Natural History (such as saffron for a rich yellow), along with more common colors like blue (from woad), red (from madder), brown (from walnuts), and a cheaper yellow from weld. Similar sets of dyes were available in the Middle Ages, J.S. Lee notes the principal dyestuffs in use in England were woad (blue), madder (red), weld (yellow), ‘grain’ red (scarlet, this is kermes dye), cinnabar (vermillion), saffron (yellow) and various other vegetable and fruit dies (op. cit. 62). Many of these were imported; madder and weld from Germany, France and the Baltic, kermes and woad from the Mediterranean, Cinnabar from the Red Sea area. Madder, weld and woad in particular were the cheapest and most common dyes and served as the foundation for clothing color in the ancient and medieval Mediterranean (which is, consequently, why colors that can be produced by those dyes, or by mixing them, are so common in medieval artwork depicting clothing).

Eventually (‘true’) indigo blue dye came all the way from India (it was known to the Greeks and the Romans) but because of its imported nature it was an expensive luxury product in Europe prior to European colonial expansion. Indigo is a particularly good example, however, of how a dye (and its associated color, the deep blue) could be relatively inexpensive and available in one place and a rare luxury good used as a status symbol in others. While the dyes available were somewhat restricted, dyers could of course combine pigments to get composite colors, giving a fairly wide range of colors, assuming one had the money for the pigments...

The actual dying process varied based on the pigment being used and there were likely local craft differences as well. Still the process could be complex, with dyestuffs often needing to be ground down or broken up and then often heated (sometimes boiled) in order to get the pigments ready before the cloth would be immersed in the dye.

...Other dyes might require a mordant, a fixing agent which enabled the pigment to set on the fibers of the fabric. Alum was often used; in the Middle Ages it was sourced from Asia Minor and so needed to reach Europe via Mediterranean trade (although Italian sources of alum were found in 1462; it was only produced domestically in England in the 17th century and after). In other cases, as with the use of dyes produced from wood, tannic acid might be used as the mordant. Each dye had its own unique preparation process to produce the dye; some involved boiling, others fermenting, some grinding down the products and so on. Dyers needed access to quite a lot of water, both for the processes of making dye, but also to discharge the various effluent from the process – spent dye mixtures and waste water. Once the dye was made, the fibers, which might be unspun wool, spun wool thread or woven wool cloth, were immersed in the dye and then agitated; the agitation was done with a ‘dyer’s posser’ and introducing or removing the cloth was done with tongs.

...Now it is necessary to caveat this upfront: in terms of raw amounts of cloth produced, household textile production is likely to have outstripped commercial textile production until the start of the industrial revolution, so while commercial textile production is more visible to us (in part because rich businesses tend to leave records and their owners tend to be the sort of people to be literate and write things like wills which we can read) they weren’t the majority of production. So while clothiers and cloth merchants and professional weavers often get more attention in the sources (and consequently may get more attention in some modern treatments) they were likely a minority of cloth workers and cloth production prior to the early modern period.

At the same time, it is clearly wrong to think of the household production chain as being completely divorced from the commercial production chain; the two were clearly intermingled. Fullers and dyers seem to have represented a point where the two production systems converged; fulling and dying were difficult to do at household scale and required special skills and so it seems that even a household producing its own textiles would have a use for the fuller and the dyer to finish those clothes (because, again, people liked to look nice). Moreover, as we’ve discussed already, commercial clothiers often sourced the spinning and weaving they needed through the putting out system, paying domestic spinners and weavers (mainly women) on a wage or piece-work basis (that is, per-unit of thread or fabric).

...But of course there were also purely commercial workers making cloth, including elements of production that couldn’t be brought into the household (like fulling and dyeing) but also producers who worked primarily for the market. The emergence of large-scale textile production for markets – what we might term commercial production – seems closely connected to the rise of large cities, presumably because those cities contained both elites who might want to buy more (or finer) fabrics than their household could produce as well as poorer workers whose households (which might just be themselves) lacked the ability to produce textiles at all. Long distance trade was also clearly a factor that drove the emergence of large-scale cloth production; wool products were major exports as early as third millennium BC Summer (on this, note several of the chapters in C. Breniquet and C. Michel, op. cit.)

In both cases, we can see that dyers tend to be rather more highly paid than other textile workers, while second place goes to fullers (in the second chart, note that fulling, cleansing and finishing were all done in a fullery; it is the last task, I think, that would be done by the fuller himself (or herself) rather than paid workers or – in the Roman context – enslaved workers), with skilled professional weavers in the third place. The range of tax paid though gives a real sense of how there might be a considerable separation between the earning power of small-scale producers (or apprentices and other hired workers in a larger operation) and producers working at a larger scale (or making elite products).

Dyeworks (and fulleries in the medieval period) tended to be located just outside of urban centers, in part because of the smell (both kinds of work tend to smell quite bad). Because both dyeing and fulling made use of bad smelling mixtures, older scholars often assumed that the workers in these occupations were low status individuals and looked down upon. And while it is true that there does seem to have been some sense that these places were not terribly sanitary, more recent scholarship tends to show little evidence that the people who worked there – particularly the skilled, professional dyers and fullers – were low-status themselves.

In terms of the social position of cloth-makers, one indicator we can look to is professional associations and guilds. In the Roman world, professional associations (collegia) of fullers seem to have been quite common and Miko Flohr (op. cit.) argues persuasively that Roman fullers were respectable professionals, similar to other artisans – well below the political and social elite (whose wealth was in large landholdings), but not disreputable. Fuller’s collegia could be significant politically though; Flohr notes that Roman fullers seem to have been politically active, for instance, in Pompeii’s local politics (most famously dedicating a statue of Eumachia, a local aristocratic woman, outside of the ‘building of Eumachia’ the purpose of which is still under some dispute (but perhaps a market-place for fabric?)).

...So while the landed elite will have looked down their nose as textile workers (they looked down their nose at everyone), skilled professional textile workers represented fixtures in what we might see as a lower-middle-class of sorts in pre-modern cities. Because there were so many of them (and because they were attached to cloth merchants who might be truly wealthy) they often exerted a significant political and cultural pull. Thus there is an enormous range in the status of cloth-workers, from the well-to-do dyer who might be a respected professional artisan to the poorly paid spinner working in the ‘putting out’ system in her spare time when she wasn’t making clothing for her relatively poor farming family.”

- Bret Devereaux, “Clothing, How Did They Make It? Part IVa: Dyed in the Wool.”