#also i always thought he was a weasel but so many sources are calling him a ferret

[beautifulfartgalaxy]

I can't get him out of my head and it's a Problem™

[brawltogethernow]

I would LOVE to hear your aro Hal thoughts if you don’t mind sharing?

[re:] (Sorry in advance there are absolutely no issue citations; I have saved so many pages in random places without labeling them.)

I don't know if I'd even call it having thoughts so much as having...an incomplete collection of Hal...saying things?

And having things said about him?

And he does this very familiar weasel jink when asked certain types of questions.

Like the general direction of authorial intent here is presumably that he's a ~playboy~ who ~can't be tied down~,

but we rarely see him...like...with anybody. He's an informed attribute playboy who's had a handful of onscreen flings that tend to be complete disasters with significantly less chemistry than a poorly measured baking soda volcano, and other than that there's Carol, who he's been failing to marry with high agitation for sixty-five years at this point. Like in cape comics it's standard for your obvious endgame A couple to take twenty or thirty years to get around to that, but sixty is excessive. Like even Alicia Masters and the Thing managed it faster and they kept getting put off because it stressed out too many Marvel writers to contemplate monsterfucking. (And other less comedic factors but this post isn't about that.)

And every time Hal tries to go steady with Carol he acts like he's dying, even though he clearly loves her and holds having her in his life in extremely high priority.

Like he is not enjoying a playboy lifestyle he doesn't want to give up. He has tried very hard to settle down several times, but he always panics and bolts at the last second like someone who's run out of the willpower¹ to keep holding onto an electrified rod--except when he's rescued by deus ex machina.

¹Ha.

And it's also pretty evident that he hates himself for this and doesn't understand why he can't pass this standard life milestone, or why he keeps hurting Carol, his favorite person, trying and failing to do what they think you're supposed to. He very blatantly views his romantic failures as something that let down other people and "improving" as a sacrifice he's supposed to make for them.

When his desires come into it it's primarily in the context of him gaslighting himself about how he totally wants the things he's supposed to that won't disappoint people, definitely definitely for real this time.

As seen above, romantic success for Hal is often conflated with retiring from being Green Lantern to inject cheap drama and insert a built-in inevitable failure, framing him as staying single because he's "married to the job". This barely ever made sense but was already downright comedic by the, I want to say late 70's?, where Carol was in on the secret identity and John and Katma were pulling off extremely successful GL/GL dating in the same book. At this point it's complete nonsense, so writers have been pulling harder on framing Hal as a disorganized man-child with commitment issues who's just sort of arbitrarily rendered undateable by being a committed superhero, something which, although it's a classic source of drama, has not hindered any of DC's other characters to this degree this consistently.

In conclusion: This aro man does not know what aromanticism is despite being one degree of separation from Connor Hawke, which is ruining his life and his ability to have any self esteem. Him and Carol desperately need someone to tell them what queerplatonic relationships are so they can stop doing these wretched I'm-not-touching-you kisses.

#EverybodyDislikedThat

Also he's been dressing up as the aromantic flag since 1959. Okay now I'm done.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey weird question but, with the context that while conspiracy thought in and of itself is just a sort of dangerous logical fallacy, most conspiracy theories have some kind of tie to antisemetism, are there any antisemetic aspects to gaylor theory? i can't think of how but somehow it almost always weasels in there, no matter how innocently silly something seems on the surface.

DEEP SIGH okay it's time to talk about Scooter Braun and his place in the Gaylor conspiracy

I'm not going to recap everything but will instead link you to this US Weekly article (I know, sorry) which is basically a fine summation of events despite being a bit sensationalist in calling a business disagreement between two adults a "feud"

tl;dr for anyone who doesn't want to read all of that (it's not actually that long, I prommy): in 2019 talent manager Scooter Braun acquired Taylor Swift's former record label Big Machine, giving ownership of the masters of her first six albums. Swift objected to this very publicly on the grounds that she wanted ownership over her own work and had repeatedly been denied the opportunity to buy it outright, while also alleging that Braun has been harassing and bullying her for years. ultimately, Swift has remained unable to buy back her work, leading to her steadily re-releasing expanded versions of her first six albums under the "Taylor's Version" headline.

obviously, given my stance against speculating on the personal lives of famous rich people, I'm not particularly interested in debating whether or not there's merit to Swift's accusations against Braun, although given the exploitative nature of the music industry I hardly think her claims are implausible.

regardless of whether or not Braun sucks as a person, it's important to note that he was only very briefly in ownership of Swift's discography: as the linked article above notes, he only owned them for about a year and a half before selling them off in 2020.

despite this, Braun holds what I would consider a rather outsize role in a lot of Gaylor conspiracy theorizing, with many apparently believing that Swift fully intended to come out in 2019 with the release of her seventh album, Lover, but was prevented from coming out by Braun purchasing her discography. I've seen some claim that he actively subjected her to homophobic bullying and others saying that she didn't him to financially benefit from any career boon she might have after coming out (although no one ever seems to have an answer for why she still hasn't come out three years after he sold her discography).

I can't say whether or not the majority of Gaylors, like, know or care that Braun is Jewish, but it feels tragically predictable and yucky that a Jewish man is given such a disproportional share of blame for why Taylor "can't" come out and is made a scapegoat in the ongoing effort to evade reality with "arguments" like this

(source)

... hang on, what's that?

oh man I love when a Jewish family gets put n SCARY ALL CAPS

okay so let's talk about Karlie Kloss and Josh Kushner!

as many of you probably know by this point, Karlie Kloss is the pinnacle of Taylor Swift's platonic gal pals that she gets relentlessly shipped with; I think it's fair to say that "proving" a romantic relationship existed between the two of them is the primary focus of a lot of Gaylorism.

since 2018 Kloss has been married to Josh Kushner, heir of THAT Kushner family. his infamous brother Jared is in fact Donald Trump's son-in-law and probably guilty of, like, a lot of federal crimes. that doesn't inherently make Josh a shithead or anything and he and Kloss both claim more liberal politics, although it should be noted that like a lot of rich liberals Josh does also suck pretty hard. he and Jared own a real estate management company together and were suing their tenants and evicting them during the COVID-19 rent moratorium, so that's kind of everything you need to know about him and Karlie Kloss IMO!!!

having said that, Josh being a bastard landlord doesn't make it appropriate to frame a Jewish family as having some kind of sinister interest in suppressing a queer woman's sexuality or imply that Kloss and Josh Kushner are in some kind of sham marriage. for YEARS Kloss' marriage to Kushner, including her conversion to Judaism and their two living human children, have been dismissed as elaborate turbo-bearding, with some Gaylors going so far as to allege that Kloss and Swift have actually been married for years and Kloss is just having Kushner's children for... reasons unknown... which feels like, you know. a pretty gross dismissal of a Jewish family in favor of pretending two WASPiest WASPs to ever WASP are secretly scissoring.

anyway I certainly don't think it's the most egregious or deliberate anti-semitism that's out there in the conspiracy world but are there some Gaylors blaming The Jews(TM) for forcing poor innocent Taylor to stay in the closet? resounding yes.

[snnbnny]

---Main cowboy content has to wait cuz im tired, so you get some thirsts instead.

Character: Daichi Sawamura x fem Reader

c/w: smut, simpy, kinda nonsense, sexy daichi moment, southern daichi, oral (m! receiving), he's a head pusher, one use of the word brat

Daichi Sawamura was made to be a cowboy, that fact is undeniable. From his strong arms, determined personality, and love for what he does. Not only that but he looked so good with his black cowboy hat on and those tough but well fitting working clothes showing off every outline of his body but also leaving enough up to the imagination.

He has this gorgeous black male quarter horse he calls Lucky, not only is Lucky a working horse but sometimes at the local fair Daichi uses his trusty stead for a bit of friendly barrel racing. Your jaw drops at the sight, of course, for such a rough and tumble man Daichi had such speed in elegance in these competitions. This was where you first saw the man, and boy did you know how badly you wanted him. You watched him preform from the stands, legs crossed in hopes to release some of the pressure from your core while simultaneously hoping to hide the wet patch forming on your panties hidden beneath your red sundress. You knew you would never see this man again, even if you did was most likely from the stands again- But god something about him had you worked up, sexy enough to make you forget about whatever loser you came to this event with.

It was almost a miracle that not even an hour later you caught a glimpse of the black hair hidden beneath a black ridgetop hat in the distance from where you stood in the moving traffic. It was a subconscious move when you weaseled your way threw the fair-goers and to where Iwazumi stood beside a black trailer that said 'Karasuno'. He was taking a rest, using a hose to cool himself down subsequently drenching himself. It made you freeze only a few feet from him, staring at him with such a gaze no one could mistake. The tanned man took a moment to realize you were there, but when he did he didn't do much about it except turn so you were in his peripheral and smirk.

"Hey, cutie. What can I do for you?" His tone was teasing, teasing enough to send a shiver up your spine which you sure hoped wasn't visible.

"Yes-uhm- No! I'm so sorry to bother you- I just wanted to say, you uhm, you did really well out there!" You were going to slap yourself later, you were a flushed little mess and it showed.

His deep chuckle caught you off guard, Daichi turned of the spicket where he was sourcing the water and turned to you with a sultry glint in his coal black eyes, "Well, thank you honey."

"You really should have placed first!" You couldn't help but blabber. "Those judges were so blind, you deserved that trophy."

You didn't notice it at the time, but there was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, "Well, ya win some and loose some. Although, I think I've thought of something more rewarding then a trophy."

"Like what?" He could say sit and you would, you were putty in this mans hands despite barely knowing him.

"A date with you."

You of course gave him that date, and another and another. By the time the next fair came around you were engaged, cowboys always loved to move in quickly with the sweet little things they find to be their partners. What the point of even giving you the chance to slip away? He couldn't let that happen, you were so good to him.

Taking care of his home while he's gone all day, having dinner waiting for him when he gets home. Making sure he showers before he sits at the table, but your always kind enough to offer your assistance in that department. Scrubbing his sore muscles down with suds while he kisses and nibbles your soft and untarnished skin, all it would take is own groan of a command to have you on your knees before his half-hard member.

He was thick and of decent length, no matter how many times he's entered any part of you, you still gasp at the sight. Most dicks weren't as pretty as your fiancée's, the mushroom tip being a beautiful shade of red when he was turned on and the almost scarily thick length a beautiful warm skin tone which showed off his prominent veins well.

You gave him a couple pumps to not only bring the appendage to high alert but to also make sure the sweat was replaced with the clean water streaming down. You gave the tip a couple kitten licks before your normally gentle fiancée pushed your head down, forcing you to take most of the length into your mouth at once which triggored your gag reflex.

"Shit- sorry beautiful. But I can't handle you being a brat today," He would moan as he gave you a bit of relief by pulling you back, getting a better grip by burying his hand in your hair before pushing you down again. He fucked your mouth like it was a sex toy only vocalizing garbled praise. It wasn't long before he came in the back of your throat, forcing the thick hot substance to leak down your throat.

He waited a moment before pulling you off and getting down to your level, "Sorry, baby. let me make it up to ya."

[vagrantblvrd]

That one AU where Ryan’s undercover, right?

Still with Narco or maybe he’s been shuffled around a bit, moved over to Robbery right around the time Homicide and Beckett get the case with Finch and Esposito’s old partner. (Or maybe a case crossed over and he’s being loaned out, idk, details and so on???)

And at the beginning of the case in comes Detective Demming in Robbery, formerly out of the 54th.

Castle is like >:(((((( because the man is just too pretty, and also probably rescues cats out of trees on his days off, and honestly, is he the only one to see this Detective Tom Demming as what he truly is?

(In his experience, someone who seems too good to be true isn’t, but clearly this Demming has bamboozled not only Beckett but Esposito and Captain Montgomery as well and it is up to the intrepid author of the group to prove it! ...as soon as he finds evidence.)

Meanwhile.

The case proceeds as usual and Lanie finds Ike’s prints on Finch’s body, which, you know Drama.

In comes Holliwell and the accusations and whatnot.

Esposito going to see Carol and Tim and asking if she knew and all that fun stuff?

But then!

Someone finds out that Finch was in contact with this guy, someone who could help them with a Thing (technical issue, get them something else they needed, who can say, right?) and of course it happens to by this guy who happens to know Demming.

Seems delighted to see him, all friendly like as they haul him in to ask a few questions and he’s got this smirk and is “hey, Demming. See you’ve moved up in the world,” and generally being a cocky little shit because he knows they can’t pin anything on him and also he has an alibi, but yeah, sure. Why not humor the cops for a bit? Should be fun.

Demming is just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ because yes, okay, he knows this little weasel. Busted him a few times for minor offenses and the whatnot but he always gets out and no one can make anything stick. But. He’s got a reputation for being able to get people what they need and rumors tying him to a string of robberies in a case a few years ago they were never able to solve.

But everyone knows he had something to do with it, you know?

So they ask him a few questions and get a lead. Doesn’t pan out, but what did they expect, really? (The next time they haul him in he does have a lead that pans out, so that’s nice.)

Shenanigans and whatnot, they see the footage showing Finch’s wife and Ike casing the bank and bring her in for questioning. Esposito races to Ike’s with Beckett and he has that conversation about it that’s all about Drama.

Back to the precinct and Beckett sparring with Demming and the “stealthy” sneaking around to get Demming’s SIM card and ~reveal that oh, yeah, no.

Not a dirty cop and you should all feel ashamed about even considering the possibility because the man is an angel, okay? An absolute angel.

(He definitely rescues cats out of trees on his way to coach underprivileged kids, you know he does.)

And then!

Esposito running off to help Ike steal the ledger and Demming is like ah, yes, Esposito is totally taking “a walk” and excuses himself to make a phone call, as you do.

Beckett and the others realize Holliwell is the dirty cop and since Esposito isn’t back yet �� but before they can theorize as to why that is, Demming comes back in and says a “reliable source” told him Ike’s going after the ledger as they speak and with Esposito nowhere to be found it makes sense he’d be with him, right?

There’s this Moment where Beckett and Castle do the brain-twin thing and go hmmmm because it’s a little too convenient how Demming came by that info, but no time to worry about that now, they have to get to Ike and Esposito before Holliwell does.

Holliwell showing up to catch Esposito and Ike in the act and the pew-pew shooting before Beckett and the others catch Holliwell trying to make a break for it.

AND THEN.

Shenanigans in which other cases are dealt with and every so often Demming shows up and oh, hey.

Also Demming’s little weasel buddy?

Enough that he starts in on giving Esposito and the others grief too when they bring him in for questioning?

(Kind of weird how he keeps popping up, but whatever. Demming says the guy’s just like that and you just get used to it? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Eventually though, there’s a case, right?

Some murder that’s tied to drugs and robberies and homicide(s) and he’s a suspect – and then a key witness – and all the good will and trust he’s built up with his little criminal circle doesn’t mean a damn thing when someone put a price on his head and anyway.

“Wait, what?”

Because they have to protect him from the baddies – a stipulation if they want the information he’s got in that head of his – and it’s like.

Like, sure. They could do that, or they could maybe put more pressure on the guy? Beckett and Esposito could break him, just give them time, and Demming is like.

“I mean, you could, but it wouldn’t get you much. Trust me.”

And so the safehouse and Demming’s little weasel courting painful, drawn-out murderization from Beckett and the others with all the shit he gives them? Seems delighted by it like he has no idea how close they are to snapping, and does he realize they definitely how to hide a body where no one will find it, but whatever.

The thing is, Beckett and the others would rather die than admit that yes, okay. They, too, have a soft spot for the little bastard the way Demming seems to?

Such a little shit, but weirdly endearing and also he has helped them out a time or two before, you know?

He really gets under Esposito's skin, though. Because flirty little bastard and Castle is like a kid in a candy store because a criminal willing to share stories and whatnot who hasn’t (yet) threatened to kill him!

Incredible!

Amazing!

(Also, a fan!)

Beckett kind of loves the way he pushes Esposito’s buttons and he’s just. It’s hard not to like him. (She pointedly ignores the looks she gets from Demming because they’re all of the “I told you so” variety and anyway.)

And then!

After a couple of days of this the weasel disappears on them – and it’s all !!! and also >:((((((((((( because not only how, but why????

Demming goes to get answers from his people while Beckett and the others try to find out where the little bastard’s gone.

Realize, after going over what they know about the case and the little bastard that of course he’s gone to talk to someone – make a deal with his boss (the one who put the price on his head) or something and anyway -

Demming runs into them to tell them there’s some kind of meet going on...somewhere and his weasel’s involved, and then madcap race to get there before the little bastard gets himself killed.

Shenanigans in which the bad guy gets the drop on Beckett and the others, looks like the whole gang is about to be murderized, right?

Drama and Bad Guy Confessions Via Monologue, the weasel about to get murdered for real, but what’s this?

A bunch of cops in from Narco and Robbery, also Captain Montgomery and associates and all cavalry to the rescue to save the day?

Bad guys in cuffs being led off and Esposito hauling the weasel along, pissed off like you wouldn’t believe because of course the little bastard snuck out on his watch – scared the shit out of him – and just.

Very much Annoyed.

Demming takes charge of the little weasel when they get back to the station, had this odd little smile on his face as Esposito hauled him away, right? One Beckett and Castle just could not figure out and then!

Beckett and the others up in Homicide finishing off reports and whatnot and not quite ready to head home?

She gets a call from Demming, says he has someone he wants them to meet and if everyone’s still there? To which she is like yes?????

And then!

Few minutes later the elevator goes ding!

Ding goes the elevator and out comes Demming and his little weasel?

No cuffs this time, and it looks like he’s had time to clean up and get a change of clothes, which is probably for the best because of all the blood and whatnot after being knocked around by the bad guys before Beckett and the others showed up.

Which also huh, you know, huh. Like, sure. Guy’s not their murder suspect, but also other crimes and why, okay, why is Demming smiling like that? Why is the weasel smiling like that?

(He does clean up well, though. Not that Esposito is staring or anything, goodness no.)

“Thought you’d like to meet Detective Kevin Ryan.”

Shit-eating grins on both their faces and Beckett and the others like what and then attempted murder of Ryan by Esposito because that little shit, and then shenanigans?

Also going out for drinks and the telling of a story that involves undercover work and many instances of running into Beckett and the others and being like – “Do you guys ever get a normal homicide case?” because Kevin’s new here and doesn’t realize and anyway.

For some reason Kevin Ryan ends up transferring to Homicide and Esposito grumbles to anyone who will listen for forever afterwards about getting stuck with him, but it’s pretty obvious someone needs to look out for the idiot.

And then shenanigans and Castle still prying stories and whatnot out of Ryan every chance he gets – Esposito gets this look on his face when he’s around for one because they’ve all gotten to know the little idiot by now and how the hell is he not dead yet???

And perhaps, also, there is still ~flirting because Ryan is still a little shit and Esposito cannot with this moron, but also there’s a betting pool, because of course there is.

Castle has a !!! “My goodness, I never would have expected you, of all people, to take part in this,” to Demming when he ponies up some money for the betting pool on how long until those idiots figure out their shit.

(Meanwhile, Ryan gets in on the betting pool about Beckett and Castle because how do they not see it and anyway, yes.)

Shenanigans???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[movedkagen]

right back at ya,     @guroshi​ !

He’d never been caught before. 

Despite his very obvious restriction regarding cursed energy,     Toji Zen’in   ( ‘Fushiguro’ was a name that would come later )   had never been caught by a person he was pursuing.     He moved soundlessly,     like a panther in the nocturne jungle,     and struck precisely.     It was the one reason why despite his  lack  of ability,     calling him  weak  was a sore mistake.     They therefore treated him like he were a curse himself;     they  loathed  him,     they  were  disgusted  by  him,     but  they  dare  not  say  his  name  lest  he  appear  in  their  midst.     Toji Zen’in had a tendency to appear like a bad omen.   When people caught him,     it was only when he wanted them to,     and it rarely ever ended well.

It turned out that being the boogeyman paid pretty well;    he’d made a living out of that rejection.     And maybe, ��   just  maybe  to a certain extent he felt a sense of  vindication whenever he closed in on a sorcerer.     Outwardly,    thriving off of the disdain was a survival tactic.     I’m  just  not  a  likable  guy,     he’d  say,    usually with a sardonic laugh.     But  inwardly  …  sinking his blade into the flesh of someone who he  knew  thought him worth little more than an  animal  brought him a slight sick sense of pleasure.     The  jobs  mean  nothing  to  me:     truth.     But it would be a  lie  to say that he didn’t like  fucking  up  the order  of the food chain just by  drawing  breath.     When his very existence served as a shameful  thorn  in the side of his family,     Toji made sure to do so with an expertise that made it so that even  ridicule  was too dangerous an acknowledgement.     If  you’re  going  to  be  bad,     be  the  best  at  it.     If he was hopeless as a Zen’in,     he would therefore be a source of hopelessness to them in turn.

In nearly all other things,     Toji was a man who lived aimlessly;     fighting,   fucking,   food,   fortune.     Those were the only motives that propelled normal men,     and for Toji his motives were no different.     So,     when his phone rang and revealed the voice of his uncle,     Toji nearly hung up.     They’d provide him no benefit,    after all.

“Toji?”     The voice echoes again when his initial greeting doesn’t earn a response.

“Ojisan.”    His voice is groggy,     but the snide way he calls him  uncle  is still palpable.     “If you’re calling me because my old man finally decided to kick the bucket,     save your breath.     I’ve no interest in his funeral.”

He can  hear  the way his uncle grimaces on the receiver.     “That’s not why I’ve called.     We want you to come to the estate.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“We have a job for you ------”

“Not interested.”

“------  and we will pay.”

Toji paused at that.     His family was shit,     sure,     but they were also swimming in cash.     Inversely,     looking over his shoulder at the woman he’d been sleeping with in exchange for a  bed  in January,     he couldn’t be any less liquid.     “...How much are we talking?”

“Name your price and we’ll negotiate.”

It was the right answer;     he knew if he went,     strong - arming the amount he wanted would be easy.     “I’ll be there in an hour.     You waste my time,     I walk.”     Without waiting for a response,    he hangs up and pushes up off the bed,      disappearing to shower.     

He arrives at the estate feeling tense.     He’s got bad memories of this place;     being born without an ability meant he’d spent most of his early teenage years serving the family,     but looking at the other servants,     it could have been worse.     I  could  have  been  born  a  woman,     he thought,     watching with morbid horror as a cousin he barely spoke to struggles to soothe fussing children as her husband glances at her with annoyance without daring to lift a finger to help.    

The Zen’in estate was like a sepulchre;     opulent and pristine from the outside,     but filled nothing but rotting stench and decay internally.

He hides his unease well,     despite it all.     Bile builds in the back of his throat,     but in the room appointed to be their meeting place,     Toji stands with a bored expression and seems as though nothing bothers him at all.     The door slides open,     and he smirks when only his uncle walks through.     Typical.     His father didn’t show.

“So … what did you do for them to dump this meeting on you?     They must not like you these days.     Have you fallen out of favor,     Ojisan?”

His uncle ignores his comments,     taking it as an obvious ploy to provoke him.     Instead,     he simply sits and folds his arms.     “You’re a man who always has his ear to the ground.     Have you heard the rumors?”

“You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“About the Gojo clan.”

The mention of the  Gojo  surname reaches deep into a past Toji barely remembers;     not only is this history  old,   but it’s also near inconsequential.     It’s only ever been mentioned in the story of their  great  victorious  ancestor   who killed the vengeful spirit that fathered that clan,   and how while the Zen’in clan grew in glory,     the Gojo clan continued to fall from it. But oddly enough,     Toji does recall something he’d heard,     which he only remembers because it’s odd to mention the burnt - out family in the first place.     “I heard they have a new kid.”

His uncle gracefully pulls out a kiseru and lights it,    then puffs on it lazily before continuing.     “...The rumor is that he possesses both the  limitless  and the  six eyes  technique.”

Toji frowns.     The longer he’s here,     the less he understands why he’s been called.     “Get to the point.”

“It’s been years since you’ve left,    Toji,    but you surely can’t forget one of the most prolific battles of our family history.     The  ten  shadows  shaman  versus the  limitless  many - eyed spirit.”

“Spare me the lecture,     old man.”

“We want you to verify the rumor.”    Seeing Toji pause,     his uncle doesn’t need to wait for him to ask ‘why me?’  before continuing.     “Your lack of cursed energy means that if it’s true,     you’d be able to get in easily without being noticed.     Since the birth of this boy,     the family has been in utter seclusion.     It’s almost as though they’re trying to hide him from the world.”

For a moment,     Toji is silent.     But slowly,    he chuckles.     The chuckle builds until it’s a booming laugh,     bordering on a cackle.

“Is this funny to y ------”

“Oh,    this is rich!     A little kid has you all shitting yourselves,     is that it?     What’ll happen if the rumors are  true?     Will you all go sick with grief because you don’t have anyone with the ten shadows ability?    Is that it?     Are you sure you want to know,    old man?    After all,     if it’s true,     then your  prolific  battle  story means dog shit.    Unless … you’re asking me to off the kid?     Because if that’s the case,     I won’t do it.    Not because it’s a kid,    but because watching a primary schooler ruin your entire dynasty just by being alive is too funny to let pass by.”

Clear  irritation  is written across his uncle’s expression,     but he forgoes an argument.    “No one is asking you to kill  anyone.    We are confident the  perfection  this family produces is enough to rival one person.    The Gojo clan can’t be rebuilt on the shoulders of a single man.”

“------ But?”

“But,    that hasn’t stopped them from trying.    They’ve managed to weasel their way back into the upper ranks based off of these rumors alone.    If they’re a threat to our own influence,    we must know.”

Toji waves his hand dismissively.    “I don’t care about any of that.    How much are you offering?”

“Five million yen.”

“I want twenty.”

“And yet you’ll only get ten.”

Toji pauses.    Ten  million  yen.    He would have walked with the five,    but to give him this much … they really were uneasy about this,    weren’t they?    It didn’t matter.    These politics didn’t matter to him;    it was a job,    and it paid well.     With ten million yen,    he’d never have to sleep at that dingy apartment in Kabukicho again.    “...Deal.”

This all brought him back to the beginning point:    being  caught  for  the  first  time.    Sneaking into the estate was so easy it was almost comical,    and dressed properly,    he  was easily believed to be a servant himself.    The Gojo estate was different from the Zen’in estate.    The Zen’in clan was big,    lively compared to this place,    where he could hear a pebble being kicked across the gravel he walked upon.     This place was a graveyard.    If the Zen’in estate was like a palace of bones,     the Gojo estate was like the temple of a god that had died centuries ago.    Big,    but brittle.    Quiet.   Prayed to only by the wind that passed through it,    as if out of pity,    echoing the hollowness of it all.    

But it would seem that god had returned at long last.

He made sure to keep a safe distance behind the boy;    he was followed by two men on either side of him at all times,    who Toji deduced to be bodyguards.     If that was the case,    he could only assume the rumors were indeed true.    Why else would a child need to be guarded in his own home?     As he walks behind him,    Toji feels something unpleasant.    Pity  is too noble a word;    but it was like gazing upon a lovely bird in a zoo.    Did  it  know  that  it  was  captive,    or  was  it  content  with  the  magnificent  cage  it  lived  in?    

This  kid  is  going  to  be  one  hell  of  a  puppet,     he thinks.

It is at that moment that the boy stops walking,    then turns and looks at him.    There’s  no  mistaking  it.    His eyes lock with Toji’s,    and Toji halts in his tracks.    It’s not like him to stop like that,    but his body freezes of its own accord.  Fighting,   fucking,   food,   fortune.    He’d always believed those were the four things that motivated the average man,     but he forgot the last motive;    maybe because he didn’t remember the last time he felt it,     if he’d ever felt it at all before this moment.

Fear.

The boy’s face is pale and listless,    nothing like that of a child.    His hair and eyelashes are bone - white,    and his eyes,    large and owl - like,    are a crystal clear blue that shimmers in a manner that makes it seem as though his irises  swirl,    like pools of fate.     Toji shouldn’t be able to see that from here,    but for some reason distance doesn’t seem to  matter  between them.    He is several feet away from the child,    but he sees him as though he’s inches in front of his nose.    Curse  …   sorcerer  …   those words didn’t suit this boy at all.

This  child  is  a  demon.

The child doesn’t blink.    The guards beside him seem to keep walking,    but the boy also never seems to move from his place.    Did  he  stop time?    Did  he  pull  Toji  into  another  dimension  entirely?  The boy gazes at him with neither curiosity nor contempt;    he simply looks at him,     looks  through  him,    and Toji feels as though his soul is being stripped bare.     There’s no doubt.     This boy knows everything;    Toji wasn’t a paranoid man in the slightest,    but he felt as though this child had known about it all  ------   the zen’in’s,     the exchange,     the ten million yen,     the rumors and the eyes on him,     and the task to verify it all.

Well?,     his eyes seemed to say.    Have  you seen  enough?     You  have  someone  waiting  for  you.     Go  and  tell  them.

Toji  would  never  forget  that  boy  again.

He’d never been caught before.

As the knife is pulled from his flesh,     Satoru feels the strange, unfamiliar sensation of being unable to support himself enough to stand.     Is  this  what  weakness  felt  like?     He falls to the floor,     finding himself incapable of processing that this attack even happened in the first place.     He watches his blood pool around him   ------    strangely enough,     he feels no pain.     As his vision goes dark,     he knows the truth;     the shock is preventing him from feeling a thing.     Maybe he wasn’t as untouchable as he thought.     “Su …”     The name is not even half spoken before he falls silent.

He must be dead.

He stands in an expanse that extends  forever,     an endless void of vantablack that is maddening to look at.     Didn’t people get a rush of endorphins before they died?     Why,     then,    did he see a past that only made him miserable?     He watches his life flash before his eyes;     he sees his own birth.     He sees the countless days he spent in his family estate,     learning mathematical theory and physical nonsense all because they  hoped  he would awaken this latent  infinity  within him.     He sees his arrival to Tokyo tech   ------   his first time away from the prying eyes of his family.     His first time meeting kids who weren’t  hand  selected  to be his friends.     The thrilling sensation of being disliked,     being  a  delinquent.     Breaking rules and laughing from his chest.     It  was  a  fun  way  to  end  things,     he thought.     I  just  wish  I’d  gotten  to  have  a  lot  more  of  it.

He’s shown the moment of his demise,     and Satoru grimaces.     Ugh,     how  uncool.     He looks like a deer with its throat in the maw of the wolf;     helpless,     surprised a second too late.     He sees the horror in Suguru’s expression,     and he feels just a tinge of guilt.     The  strongest  duo’s  broken  up.     Sorry  I  couldn’t  stay  and  help  you  in  the  end.     

He wants to look away   ------   really,     who wanted to watch themselves die twice?   ------   but just as he thinks to,     Satoru’s eyes stop on the face of the man who killed him.     Why   does   he  look  familiar?     He looks at his life laid before him,    and watches a bright white string extend from this image and go back,     back,     back  into a very peculiar day in his childhood.     He sees himself,     six  years old,     turning and locking eyes with him.

No.     Not  him.    This man.

He  met  him  before.

Great,     he thought bitterly.     So  I was  more  perceptive  when  I was  a  first  year.    

But then,     all of the images hit him at once.     They condense and slam him with such force that Satoru feels  pain  all over his body,    like the wind has been knocked out of him.    He’s drowning in this knowledge   ------   this  infinity.     Maybe that means in the physical world,    his lungs are taking their last shallow breaths.     The images continue to condense until they make a small orb;     the single source of light in this place.     Slowly,     the orb opens and reveals an iris that reflects his own:     too blue to be human,    dimly shimmering in a way that makes them seem like a flowing spring.     Satoru feels his own gaze turned upon him.     His own voice echoes in his ears.     Get  up,     it says.     Or  are  you  really  that  weak?     If  you  can’t  get  up,     you  were  never  strong.     You  deserve  to  die  here.     Satoru’s hand extends towards the orb.

Get  up,     dickhead.

Satoru wakes up with a gasp,    bolting upright with a shock that could wake the dead.      And hadn’t it?     No … he looks down at himself,    and sees the still - warm blood staining his shirt.     Satoru realizes in that moment,     he never died at all.

Gojo Satoru had touched infinity for the first time.

He stills himself and thinks.     Or,     more accurately,     perceives.     He allows those six eyes to see  for  him.      He’d forgotten that so much of his power worked without his effort,     if he let it.     Riko is dead.     Suguru is alive.    He’s still bleeding from his leg.    And Toji is …

The  rest  is  a  blur.

“Yo. Long time no see.”     It’s all he can say,     when he’s intercepted Toji.     Why is he here?     The job is done.     They  failed.     There’s no reason for Satoru to come here.

Ah,    that was a lie.     He was here to kill Toji.    Infinity … he’d touched it and seen it;     he’d be the strongest,    now.     No more goofing off,     no more avoiding his own holiness.     But the thing about being a  god  is that gods can’t be killed.     And if there was someone who could kill him,      that person had to fight him.     Yes,     that would be his true trial of divinity;     he and Toji would fight here and now until one of them died,     and whoever left standing would be the one  truly  bound to heaven.

The shock on Toji’s face doesn’t matter to him at all.     ... Are you serious?,     he says,     but Satoru hears it like a dull echo.     He’s barely listening to him.

Toji is weak,      after all.     And he hates weak people.

The shock is enough to make Satoru giddy,     however,     so he grins and pushes his hair up to show him the healed wound to his head.  “Oh,      yeah.     I’m alive and well.”     His eyes are owl - like and large again,     though they don’t shimmer like quiet pools.     They churn like a riptide,     and they focus on Toji with malicious intent.

“A reverse technique,”     Toji breathes,     more to himself than to anyone else.

“Correct!”     Satoru chirps.     “I gave up on fighting back when you crushed my throat.     I poured my all into perfecting this technique.     Cursed energy uses negative energy.     It can fortify the body,     but it can’t cause regeneration.     That’s why it’s necessary to multiply it with more negative energy to create the positive.     That’s the reverse technique!”     He laughs and his grin widens,     and he can tell his elation is too much for Toji to understand.    But it can’t be helped   ------   this isn’t about Toji.     He’s giddy because all along,     the secret to reverse technique was  math.     Simple math,     whereas Satoru had mastered complex number theory ages ago.     All this time,     the ability’s secret had simply flown over his head.     If he had known it was just the application of a basic mathematical principle,     he could have used reverse technique ten years ago.     “The theory is easy enough,     but I couldn’t do it at  all ... until now.     The only person I know who could do it can’t explain for shit,     either.     But I  finally  got it when I was on my deathbed … the core of cursed energy.” 

Satoru grins and sighs euphorically before continuing on.     “You lost because you didn’t cut off my head,     and because you didn’t use a cursed tool when you stabbed me in the head.”     Doesn’t Toji understand how  funny  that is?

Apparently not.     Toji’s eyes flash all of a sudden.     “Lost?”     He says,    pulling a cursed blade from the throat of his  worm  of an accessory.     “The fight has just begun.”

“------ Huuuuuuuuuuuh?!     Ah,     yeah,     I guess so!”     Satoru realizes he’s right;     he’d already seen the end of this in infinity,     but he supposed he couldn’t say it happened until it did,     right?      He was getting ahead of himself.     It’s not like  Toji  could see the future.      He starts to laugh.     “I guess you’re right!”

Toji gives him no time to even finish his sentence.     He’s a real warrior,     Satoru will give him that.     He flies at him with the same beast - like grin from before,     only this one is different.     They both fight with the full intent to kill,     and it’s not a matter of work.     It’s a battle for the crown;     one that Toji was for better or worse proud to have,     and not willing to give up easily.     Good.     Toji understands.   

He slashes at Satoru with terrifying force,     but he has evolved since their last fight.    The once devastating prowess of the sorcerer - killer is little more than a  mild  inconvenience  to him,     now.     By the time Toji’s slash reaches the end of its arc,     Satoru is in the sky above him,     and even more terrifying than when he gave him that maddening smile,     he looks upon him with a wide - eyed,     barely perceptible grin.     Though  he’d  already  reached  a  new  height,     it  would  seem  he  was  evolving  again,     right  before  Toji’s  eyes.     He  was  fortunate  to  witness  it.

The positive energy  that  is  born  from  the  reverse  technique  …  that  energy  is  channeled  into  the  infinity  technique  I’ve  carved  in  myself.     He  understands,     now.     Reverse rotation  technique.

“Red.”

It repels Toji back hundreds of feet,     through a  building  and into the side of the concrete.

One:     “The  power  to  stop.”     The  neutral  infinity jutsu.     Up  until  this  point,     an  ability  that  required  vigilance  and  effort,     and  why  he’d  fallen  to  Toji.

Two:     “The  power  to  attract.”     The  reinforced  infinity  jujutsu,     “blue”.

Three:     “The  power  to  repel.”     The  reverse  jujutsu,     “red”.

Satoru watches him attach his blade to a chain and create a vortex with it.     Toji believes that he can fight this.     And why wouldn’t he?     Satoru had the power to stop from the start,     and Toji circumvented it.     The power to attract,      he could negate either from afar with the spear,     or he could outrun it.     The power to repel could be blocked with the spear,     so long as he got the timing right.

But Satoru still appears on the rooftop with the same peaceful grin from before,     appearing madder than ever.     He  knows  all  of  Toji’s  thoughts  already.     He  knows  his  heart.     He knows that unease is slowly settling into his foe,     but that despite that,     Toji  believes he still has a chance. 

“No,”     Toji tells himself.     “It’ll work.”     Satoru knew that Toji would say that.   “------ I’ll  kill  you!”

Satoru knew he’d say that,     too.

Time seems to go still,    for a moment.     Satoru reigns himself in,     a sobering clarity coming forward in the midst of it all;     he  would  not  be  a  foolish  god,     after  all.

I’m  really  sorry,     Amanai,     he thinks.     I’m  not  angry on  your  behalf.     I  don’t  hate  anyone.     All  I’m  feeling  right  now  …  Is  the  pleasantness  of  this  world.

Satoru grins again,    and extends his hands forward.     This would be the final blow.  “Throughout the heavens and earth,     I alone am the honored one.”     

Toji whips the bladed chain at Satoru,     but it’s less effective than flailing a cotton  rope  at him,    at  this  point.     You  don’t  understand  what’s  going  to  happen  yet,     he thinks.     That’s  okay.    I  saw  it  in  the  void.     You’re  going  to  die  here,     Toji.     Thank  you  for  sending  me  into  myself.     I  understand  everything,     now.

The good thing about jujutsu techniques that have been passed down over generations is that the instructions on their usage are clarified by the predecessors. The bad thing is that the information about the technique can be leaked much more easily.

You’re  from  one  of  the  three  great  clans  …  the Zen’in  clan,     am  I  right?     Satoru recalls the day he met Toji,     all those years ago.     The man who came to see him for ten million yen.     How could he forget?     He’d seen infinity before.     

You  know  about  “blue”  and  “red”  …  and  everything  about  my  infinity,     I’ll  bet,     Satoru thinks.     But  this  …  even  among  the  Gojo  clan  …  only  a  select  few  know  about.     When  the  infinity  collides  with  the  forward  and  reverse  rotation  techniques  …  this  is  born.     The  expulsion  of  imaginary  mass  …

And  I’m  using  it  to  kill  you.     You  should  be  honored,    Toji.

“Imaginary Technique:     Purple.”

It is spoken like a final rite;    like the decree to end all decrees.     The opposing forces converge and destroy everything in their path  …  Toji,     and anything unlucky enough to be behind him.

Satoru fixes that impenetrable gaze on him again.     That soul stripping,     all - knowing gaze.     “I  don’t  wanna  work  for  free.”  ------  you’d  usually  just  have  said  that  and  ran  away.     But  the  person  in  front  of  you  is  a  user  of  the  infinity  jutsu,    who  probably  just  became  the  strongest  shaman  of  this  generation.     You  wanted  to  deny  it.     To  go  against  it.     Against  the  Zen’in  clan  that  denied  you,    against  the  apex  of  the  jujutsu  world.    In  order  to  reaffirm  your  identity  …  you  warped  your  usual  self. 

You  already  lost  at  that  point.

“I thought I had discarded that pride …”  Toji breaks the silence for them,     finishing the thought that Satoru had heard from the depths of Toji’s soul.

Satoru heard every thought leading up to that declaration,     but he feels strangely peaceful in the moment.      He’d  made this prophecy come true;     Gojo  Satoru  emerged victorious,    conquering death and the god - killer  himself.     There would be a new era from now on;     for better or for worse,     Satoru would be the head of it.     “... Do you have any last words?”

“ … Nah.”     The look on Toji’s face says he  knows  that Satoru’s seen everything.     But,     just in case  …  “In two or three years,     my kid will get sold to the Zen’in clan.”     Why was he telling him that?     Maybe because he was understanding that if  anyone  could  fuck  up  the  natural  order  of  things,     it wasn’t him at all.     It  has  always  been  this  kid.     Maybe it was because,     in his final moments,     he realized that he’d left behind nothing,     and given his  blessing  to the very place that had sculpted his demise.     Maybe it was the “regret” those damn shamans never shut up about.     Whatever  it  was,     Toji  couldn’t  bring  himself  to  beg,     even  on  Megumi’s  behalf.     “... Do whatever you want.”

Before the light left Toji’s eyes,     Satoru watched something else die first.     What  broke  then  …  was  the  heart.     What,     did he think he would go and right his wrongs?     That he would protect his  kid?     It seemed his six eyes hadn’t anticipated him doing  that.     Honestly,     what was Toji thinking?     It was too late to ask that now,     but  Satoru only knew  one  thing for certain.

Satoru would never forget this man again.

[back-and-totheleft]

‘There’s still a presence out there reminding people not to speak about JFK’s killing’

Oliver Stone is not a fan of “cancel culture”. “Of course I despise it,” the Oscar winning filmmaker says, as if utterly amazed that anyone needs to ask him such a dumb question. “I am sure I’ve been cancelled by some people for all the comments I’ve made…. it’s like a witch hunt. It’s terrible. American censorship in general, because it is a declining, defensive, empire, it (America) has become very sensitive to any criticism. What is going on in the world with YouTube and social media,” he rants. “Twitter is the worst. They’ve banned the ex-President of the United States. It’s shocking!” he says, referring to Donald Trump’s removal from the micro-blogging platform.

It’s a Saturday lunchtime in the restaurant of the Marriott Hotel on the Croisette in Cannes. The American director is in town for the festival premiere this week of his new feature documentary JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass, in which he yet again pores over President John F Kennedy’s assassination in November 1963.

“I am a pin cushion for American-Russian peace relations… I had four f***ing vaccines: two Sputniks and two Pfizers,” Stone gestures at his arm. The rival super-powers may remain deeply suspicious of one another, but Stone is loading himself up with potions from both sides of the old Iron Curtain.

He has recently been travelling in Russia (hence the Sputnik jabs) where he has been making a new documentary about how nuclear power can save humanity. He also recently completed a film about Kazakhstan’s former president Nursultan Nazarbayev which – like his interviews with Vladimir Putin – has been roundly ridiculed for its deferential, softly-softly approach toward a figure widely regarded as a ruthless despot.

Dressed in a blue polo shirt, riffing away about the English football team one moment and his favourite movies the next, laughing constantly, the 74-year-old Oscar-winning director of Platoon, Wall Street, Natural Born Killers et al is a far cheerier presence than his reputation as a purveyor of dark conspiracy thrillers might suggest. He is also very outspoken. For all his belligerence, though, Stone isn’t as thick-skinned as you might imagine. I wonder if he was hurt by the scorn that came his way when his feature film JFK was released in 1991.

“I was more of a younger man. It was painful to me,” the director sighs as he remembers being attacked by such admired figures as newscaster Walter Cronkite and Hollywood power broker Jack Valenti for listening to the “hallucinatory bleatings” of former New Orleans DA Jim Garrison when JFK came out. “It was quite shocking actually because I thought the murder was behind us. I did think there was a feeling that 30 years later, we can look at this thing again without getting excited. But I was way wrong.”

Garrison, of course, was the real-life figure portrayed by Kevin Costner in the film; he was the original proponent of the theory that the CIA were involved in the killing of the US president, after his 1966 investigation. Garrison wrote the book On the Trail of the Assassins, on which the movie was partly based.

Even the director’s fiercest detractors will find it hard to dismiss the evidence he has assembled about the JFK assassination in the new documentary. Once I’d seen it and heard him hold forth, I came away thinking that only flat-earthers can possibly still believe that Lee Harvey Oswald shot President Kennedy all on his own. It’s that convincing.

Stone blitzes you with facts and figures about the Kennedy killing and its aftermath. At times, he himself seems to be suffering from information overload. “I am sorry. There are so many people,” he apologises for not immediately remembering the name of Kennedy’s personal physician, George Burkley, who was present both at Parkland Hospital, where Kennedy was first taken, and then at Bethesda, where the autopsy took place. Burkley was strangely reticent when giving evidence to the Warren Commission.

“I think there’s still a presence out there which reminds people not to speak. I’ve heard that in, of all places, Russia,” Stone says. He was startled to discover that the Russians knew all about his new documentary long before it was discussed in the mainstream press. “They said, ‘We heard about it.’ I said, ‘How?’ They said, ‘We have our contacts in the American intelligence business. They are not very happy about it.’”

Stone believes that no US president since Kennedy died has been “able to go up against this militarised sector of our economy”. Even Trump “backed down at the last second” and declined to release all the relevant documents relating to the assassination. “He announced, ‘I’m going to free it up, blah blah blah, big talk, and then a few hours before, he caved to CIA National Security again.”

The veteran filmmaker expresses his frustrations at historians like Robert Caro, author of a huge (and hugely respected) multi-volume biography of President Lyndon Johnson, for ignoring the evidence that has been turned up about the assassination.

“I can’t say [LBJ] was involved in the assassination,” explains Stone, “but it certainly suited him that Kennedy was not there anymore and he covered up by appointing the Warren Commission and doing all the things he did.”

Stone tried to cast Marlon Brando in JFK in the role as the deep throat source Mr X, eventually played by Donald Sutherland.

“I realise now I am grateful that he turned it down because he knew better than I that he would make 20 minutes out of that 14-minute monologue and it wouldn’t have worked.”

Nevertheless, he filled the film with famous faces. He thought that having familiar actors would make it easier for audiences to engage with what was an immensely complicated story.

Getting Stone to stop talking about JFK is like trying to pull a bone from a mastiff’s jaws. To change the subject slightly, I ask if he is still in touch with WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. He is and is utterly horrified at how Assange is being treated, especially given that Siggi the Hacker, a key witness in the extradition case against Assange, admitted recently that he lied. Stone praises Assange’s partner Stella Morris as “the best wife you could ever have. She really is smart, she’s a lawyer … he has two children. He can’t even touch them or see them. It’s barbaric. It indicates America is declining faster than we know. It is just cutting off dissent.”

The mood lightens when I invite Stone to discuss some of his favourite films. He recently tweeted a list of these, which included Darling starring Julie Christie, Joseph Losey’s Eva starring Stanley Baker and Jeanne Moreau, and Houseboat, a frothy comedy starring Cary Grant and Sophia Loren. “I love films, always have. People don’t know that side of me. I could go on forever.”

Between his darker and more contentious efforts, Stone has made a few genre films himself, for example the underrated thriller U-Turn starring Sean Penn and Jennifer Lopez. He notes, though, that even when he tried a sports movie, he ended up right back in the firing line. The NFL was furious about his 1999 American Football film, Any Given Sunday. “They (the NFL) are arrogant, very rich people who close down any dissent, so I had to change uniforms and names… but they got the point.”

Last year, Stone published the first volume of his autobiography, Chasing the Light, which took him from childhood up to his Oscar triumph with Platoon. It was well received but it didn’t make nearly a big enough splash for his liking. “There was a curtain of silence about that. Maybe it is Covid… it was not reviewed by many people,” he says. “I wish the timing had been better. The publisher was terrible. They didn’t really promote anything. So now I have to start over again if I am going to do a second book, which I would love to do. But I have to find the right publisher.”

The book contains a barbed account of Stone’s experiences as a young screenwriter working in London for British director Alan Parker and producer David Puttnam on Midnight Express. “I wrote about it in the book, so you got my point of view. They were not very friendly people. I gave my criticism of Parker that he had a chip on his shoulder. He was from a poor side of the English. There is this phenomenon you see in England of hating the upper classes until they approve of you.”

No, they didn’t stay in touch. “And Puttnam is a Lord, right? He reminds me of Tony Blair. He is such a weasel.” For once, Stone feels he has overstepped the mark. He doesn’t want to call Puttnam a weasel after all. “Put it this way, Tony Blair is a weasel. I wouldn’t trust Tony Blair. Puttnam is a supporter of Blair. Let’s leave it at that.”

On matters English, he isn’t that keen on soccer either. He watched the semi-final between England and Denmark but had no intention of tuning into the final.

“Soccer is a different kind of game. It’s a different aesthetic. It is constant movement. The United States game allows you to re-group after every play and go into a huddle and so it becomes about strategy. I still enjoy it although people think I am brutal.”

Ask him why he so relishes American Football and he replies that he “grew up with violence in America … we were banging – cowboys and Indians, a lot of killing and that stuff. How do you get away from that? We weren’t playing with dolls.”

Stone’s feelings about the US are deeply ambivalent. He is old enough to remember a time in the late 1940s and early 1950s when “everything in America was golden” and part of him still seems to love the country but his mother was French and he talks about the US as a nation now in near terminal decline.

Perhaps surprisingly, his real political hero isn’t JFK. It’s the former President of France, Charles de Gaulle. “He said no to NATO and he said no to America. He understood the dangers of being a satellite country to America. You have no power in Europe. Don’t kid yourself. The EU is just an artificial body that was amazingly stupid in cutting off Russia and cutting off China too now.”

He doesn’t much like Boris Johnson either. “Boris, listen. He’d simply throw you in jail in a second.” He rails against the English for holding Assange in Belmarsh prison.

When he is not on a crusade or unravelling a conspiracy, Stone relaxes through Buddhist meditation. “Moderation in all things,” the man who came up with the phrase “greed is right, greed works” says with no evident sense of irony. He enjoys hanging out with his friends. “I have a nice life. I’m lucky,” he says before quickly adding, “I wish I had been more honoured and respected in my lifetime, but it seems that I took a course that is in conflict with the American Empire.”

Stone’s films have had relatively few strong female characters. Ask if he welcomes the #MeToo movement and the challenging of old gender norms and he gives a typically contrary answer. “It cuts both ways, though. There are reasons for patriarchy through the centuries,” he says. “Tribes tend to have a strong leader. You need strong leaders, but I do see the feminine impulse as being important, especially when situations become too militant. The feminine impulse, I’m talking about the maternal impulse not the Hillary Clinton/Margaret Thatcher version of feminism. They’re men. They’re not women,” he says. “I don’t want women in politics who want to be men. If a woman is a woman, she should be a woman and bring her maternalism. It’s a leavening influence.”

The director deplores the rush to judge historical figures about past misdeeds from a contemporary point of view. “I am conservative in that way… don’t expect to rejudge the entire society based on your new values.”

He met with Harvey Weinstein in Cannes a few years ago to discuss a potential Guantanamo Bay TV series. “At that point, maybe he knew he was on the ropes; he was delightfully charming and humble.” The project was scuppered by the scandal that that engulfed the former Miramax boss, who is now behind bars as a convicted sex offender. Stone’s gripes with Weinstein are less to do with his sexual offences than with the way that he attacked films like Born on the Fourth of July and Saving Private Ryan to boost his own movies.

“The press loved him [Weinstein]. Don’t forget, they loved him in the 1990s,” he says, remembering the disingenuous way in which Weinstein portrayed himself as the underdog taking on the big, bad Hollywood system.

“I think he robbed Cruise of the Oscar, frankly,” Stone huffs at the intensive Weinstein lobbying which saw Daniel Day-Lewis win the Academy Award for Best for My Left Foot, denying Tom Cruise for Born on the Fourth of July in the process.

Stone acknowledges his status in Hollywood has diminished. “All that’s gone. The people have changed,” he says of the days when the studios doted on him and his films were regularly awards contenders. Now, he’ll often finance his work out of Europe. He is developing a new feature film (he won’t say what it is). “Never say die, never say it’s over,” he says of his career.

Stone is based in Los Angeles and also has “a place in New York”. During the pandemic, he still managed to travel to Russia to make his nuclear power/clean energy documentary. “I got my shots over there because the EU is so f***ing stupid,” he says of the of the Europeans’ refusal to recognise the Sputnik vaccine. “It’s ridiculous, part of the political madness of this time.”

Now, he is putting all his energy into his new documentary about nuclear power. He waves away the idea that the Chernobyl and Fukushima disasters show what can go wrong – they were accidents.

“Accidents you learn from. If there were not a few crashes, how would you fly?” he says. It’s a line that somehow seems to express his entire philosophy of life.

-Geoffrey Macnab interviews Oliver Stone, The Independent, Jul 15 2021 [x]

[geckolady]

Skulduggery Pleasant: Raising Cain - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Weapon neutralised

Stephanie immediately sat on Bear’s lap when she kicked off her shoes despite the other seats and the fact he had a cup of tea he was attempting to enjoy alone. He allowed her though and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was almost eight at night and she was waiting for whoever was cooking to serve as she was very hungry.

Also, she was a little embarrassed she had thought Tanith was so pretty, so she was happy to close her eyes and pretend it didn’t happen. Something about Anton made it easy for her to rest. He was quiet, soothing, strong. They hadn’t known each other long in real life, but he was exactly the way she had imagined in her childhood dreams. It made her feel closer to him than anyone else would have after only a few days.

“What did you find?” Bear asked her quietly. The others were somewhere else, probably plotting. She was grateful for that though. She wanted privacy.

She yawned and looked at her knees. “We spoke to an Echo stone and then went to China’s and Crow and Panda looked at books to destroy the Sceptre’s power source and I looked at magic.”

He sipped his tea. “Anything luck?”

“Not yet,” she said disappointedly. She hesitated for a moment and then decided to continue. “I made a friend,” she admitted in a whisper, grasping a lock of her hair and beginning to braid it tightly. “She was pretty. She helped me with the magic.”

She saw the smile tug at his lips. “And who was this pretty girl?”

“She wasn’t a girl,” she said, rolling her eyes to seem less nervous. “Her name is Tanith. She’s English. And I think she’s here to fight but I don’t know who for, so we didn’t speak much I guess. She didn’t mind though; I think she knew what I was thinking the whole time. It was so embarrassing. I can never see her again.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. Maybe she’ll be on our side and you can be friends.”

“Maybe,” she said uncertainly. She definitely didn’t want to face those feelings again. “I think I’m going to know my name soon. I feel like it’s right there, but I just haven’t clicked the pieces together yet.”

He nodded. “I hope you find it soon, and that it is as bold as you want. A name is always best if it fits the person not just as they are, but as far as they are willing to become. It has a lot of meaning, Stephanie. Don’t pick it just on yourself now – think about the type of person you want to be.”

She nodded, and they were called to dinner. She ran to the table and took her place before most of the others and was grateful Crow took his place too even though she hadn’t said anything. She had enjoyed eating together the night before. They had several Turkish dishes that night, all of which she couldn’t name but absolutely loved, courtesy of Wolf and Weasel.

When they finished they all got ready for bed and Stephanie let them talk in the living room about the Sceptre and book stuff and the Elders while she stayed upstairs. She used half the stone in a shallow bath to get rid of her bruises and then got a shower to get really clean. She was glad for it afterwards – she felt and looked a lot better without marred skin.

She passed out in bed in just her shorts that night.

.*****.

When morning came, so did the responsibility of getting rid of the Sceptre. She pulled on her top and went downstairs slowly, finding most of her men around the dining table with toast, cereal and tea, but slipped down the hall to find just Dexter in the kitchen trying to work the blender for a banana smoothie. She reached over and put power on at the socket and it began working for him.

“Thanks Cub,” he said brightly. “How are you this fine morning?”

She gave him a hug. “No.”

“That bad? Want a smoothie?”

She nodded into his chest. “What are we doing today?”

“Well, the Elders have demanded we visit them, you included, but after they tell us off for having you work with us, they’re going to be helping us. They admitted yesterday that Serpine has killed some of their people, although they’re actually forced to take him in because of you, Cub. They can’t allow someone to torture and kidnap a child without serious consequences. Not that we’d allow him to live after that anyway but it’s always nice to have the Sanctuary at our backs.”

She nodded and shuffled along as he went to grab things around the kitchen for her smoothie. She liked his hugs; he was always so warm. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said, placing a small kiss on the top of her head. “Trust me, this isn’t our first rodeo. I’m looking forwards to finally being rid of him.”

She smiled and took the drink he offered, gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to the dining room. She sat in her chair and listened to the others make small talk about little things like work and Bear’s hotel. When they were all finished and sitting around the living room – she could see a routine coming into play – and they finally got down to business.

“Stephanie, I want to try something,” Crow said. “I’m going to get the Sceptre and you’re going to go near it. Okay?”

She frowned. “Why?”

“I just have a feeling about something. Just do it, alright?”

She shrugged, and everyone left the room. Crow brought in the Sceptre and put it on the coffee table. She was standing right next to it. As Crow left the room, the singing faded to nothing until it was silent. Stephanie looked at it and uncertainly pocked it with her finger. Nothing.

“Um, Crow? Shouldn’t it be making noise or something?” Stephanie asked.

He shook his head from the dining room. “It’s like I thought. You’re a descendant, Stephanie.”

“What? You really think?”

“Absolutely. And if we search the house I bet you’d find a family tree right back to those girls the Echo stone said about, and probably even further. I imagine Gordon knew and that’s how he was able to get the Sceptre,” he explained, coming back with a cloth and covering the singing-again Sceptre. “Now we just need to destroy it.”

“Could you instruct it to destroy itself?” Stephanie asked.

“I doubt that would work,” Crow said. “Like the Echo stone said, its purpose is to destroy and nothing more. To destroy itself would be to stop future destruction and that wouldn’t fit its purpose.”

“What about a mirror?” Wolf suggested. “Maybe the shot will come back on itself?”

Crow shook his head. The singing was sort of getting on Stephanie’s nerves. “Unlikely to have that type of flaw. Even then, I’d rather not eradicate myself.”

Wolf nodded. “Worth a try though.”

Crow crooked his head. “Are you asking me to see if it will kill me?”

Wolf grinned. “Would I do that to you?”

Crow snorted. “Let me think on that. In the meantime, any other suggestions?”

They all thought about it.

“Oh,” Stephanie said. “We could just push the stone out.”

They all looked at her.

“How?” Panda said.

“Well, we already think the Ancients and their descendants, me, are safe against the stone itself. So maybe we could push it out and just hide the crystal. The Sceptre can’t be destroyed but it’s useless so long as it isn’t powered, and assuming it needs a very exact amount of power, or was designed around the crystal, no one could use it again even if we handed it over. I wouldn’t risk it, but at least if it’s found we can claim it had no crystal in the first place. Once the stones gone we could just, like, dump it in sea.”

“Why the sea?” Wolf asked. Crow seemed to be considering her.

“Well, it would take anyone quite a while to get it out, and it would be costly, so not many people would do it. If we put it in the right place, it would be basically impossible to get out. And again, even if it did somehow resurfaces, as long as there’s no crystal and we never say where the crystal is, the Sceptre itself is useless and likely no other power source will work. It doesn’t destroy it exactly, but it does neutralise it. If we’re lucky, the stones can only be touched by descendants too, and that keeps it ultra-safe.”

They were all nodding now. “This is the best plan we have, I think,” Dexter smiled, crossing his arms.

“I vote Cub makes all our plans now,” Snake said, putting his hand in the air. “All in favour of replacing Skul as plan maker with Cub, say aye!”

Everyone, including Stephanie, put their hands in the air except for Crow and said ‘aye’.

“Am I really that replaceable?” He asked them. “I make amazing plans. They always work out.”

“Your plans are rubbish,” Panda said. “Let’s work out how to get rid of this damn crystal.”

They removed the cloth again and inspected the crystal carefully. They all about had a heart attack when Stephanie reached out and touched the crystal itself. They all shouted and put hands over their faces and told her off but there was so much fondness in their eyes she didn’t listen to it. She was fine, it wasn’t a big deal!

They got power tools out after a while, trying to drill into it without success before getting a hammer and chisel to try and slowly knock it out, as well as a knife sharpener to sharpen the chisel. It took half an hour before Stephanie with the help of Bear and a hammer was able to knock the crystal free, jarring her whole right arm in the process.

The Sceptre glowed for a moment before ‘powering down’ and the singing stopped completely. They grinned at each other and Stephanie took the stone and they split to do their tasks. Bear and Wolf left with the Sceptre in Gordon’s old car to be more inconspicuous on their way to the dock Gordon’s small yacht was stored at.

Meanwhile, Stephanie and Crow went back into the caves to dump the crystal somewhere deep and dark. They took a shovel to help and buried it deep. They walked for so long that Stephanie was glad for two reasons when they emerged. Firstly, she could get lunch. Secondly, even if she was captured and tortured, she could neither tell nor show them the exact place because she would never find it again.

She almost couldn’t believe she had thought that.

[kd-holloman]

First Line Tag Game!

I was tagged by the wonderful @writingamongther0ses! Thank you so much! As much as I’d love to use my first lines from Oh, Hell, they aren’t that great. So, I’m going to give the first lines of The Traveler’s Gift!

Chapter One:

Jerry Reubinault knew he was going to die.

Chapter Two:

A dizzying array of colors flashed behind his eyes as his head hit the pavement. The sharp sting of asphalt cut through the muted sensation of his limbs as his elbow scraped across the ground.

Chapter Three:

Louis had been in the twenty-first century for six days and he liked Rodney. No matter how bad things got, he always looked at the bright side of things. If it was raining he’d look up at the sky and say, “We could be baking in the sun.” If they were hungry he’d say, “That hunger means we’re still alive.” If someone shouted obscene things at them through their car window he would say, “Sometimes people need to vent.”

Chapter Four:

The first thing Louis learned about the man running the O’Shea mafia was that his parents must have hated him. His honest-to-God name was Rick O’Shea. The second thing he discovered was that Rick had inherited his father’s reign at a fairly young age.

Chapter Five:

Louis tossed what little remained of his cigarette to the glass and pebble strewn pavement. It bounced, sparked, and rolled to a stop. He couldn’t sit beneath the overpass, breathing in the stink of exhaust fumes for another minute. “I’ll be back in the morning, Rodney.”

Chapter Six: 

Louis couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. Everything felt far away, but simultaneously too close. If he held his hand up in front of his face he couldn’t tell how far away it was from his nose. His palm was blurry. The lines creasing his skin reminded him of smudged ink on a freshly written letter.

Chapter Seven:

Drip, 347. Drip 348. Drip 349.

Chapter Eight:

“What do you say?”

Chapter Nine:

Louis paced his cell. He had no way to entertain himself. So, he spent his time wandering around aimlessly from corner to corner. He was growing frustrated.

Chapter Ten:

Hours passed. At least, it felt like hours. It had to have been hours because Louis’s head no longer felt like it was full of wet cement and he could slog his way from one end of the room to the other without tripping over his damned feet.

Chapter Eleven:

For the first time since his arrival to the twenty-first century, Louis finally had the chance to experience it without being hurt, drugged, or homeless. It gave him the opportunity to explore the era the way he wanted. He got to try technology he’d never dreamed of. Things had changed dramatically in the past ninety-something years. The way people talked, listened to stories, and enjoyed music had all changed. He was just now becoming familiar with the technology and trying it out for himself.

Chapter Twelve:

“My, oh, my. Don’t you clean up nice.”

Chapter Thirteen:

Louis liked a lot of things. For instance, he liked strawberry jam on his toast, he liked to watch people, and he liked that he had hundreds of options for television at his disposal. He also hated a lot of things. He hated menthol cigarettes, raw onion, and listening to some palooka talk himself up when he was really full of shit.

Chapter Fourteen:

The blood on the plastic was so thick and dark it seemed black.

Chapter Fifteen:

Almost a week after [Redacted]’s death, Louis sat at the table and played solitaire. It was a game that required just enough thought that it kept him from hearing the horrible wet sound as [Redacted]’s heart had been ripped from his chest.

Chapter Sixteen:

The precinct smelled of old coffee and body odor.

Chapter Seventeen:

The benefit for the police department was a formal affair. It consisted of wrinkle-free navy tablecloths, white-linen napkins, crystal long-stemmed glasses, and some of the city’s wealthiest people pretending to get along for just a few hours as they shamelessly donated obscene amounts of money to the cause.

Chapter Eighteen:

By the time Louis had cleaned up Slater’s mess, both he and Ardford were long gone. He asked the bartender where he’d gone and he’d been pointed in the direction of a side door not too far from the bar.

Chapter Nineteen:

Slater stood in front of Louis. “If you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any at all. What happened?”

Chapter Twenty

Louis went straight to his bedroom when he got home. He didn’t think he could stand the metallic stink on his clothes for another minute. He stripped out of his shirt. The blood splattered down its front had dried a burgundy-brown color.

Chapter Twenty-One

“You’re kind of a hypocrite, y’ know that?” Louis asked. He juggled bags of Thai takeout while Damien was slurping from a box of noodles as they walked. “You’re always talking about eating healthy and cooking at home, but you’re the first person to suggest eating pizza, tacos, or whatever this stuff is.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The act of spying was to observe furtively.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The following afternoon Louis sat elbow-to-elbow with Slater and Damien at Rick’s dining room table.  The conversation was a murmur. There was too much underlying tension for it to grow and swell. It felt like the dry, burning, heat of summer being cut with the sharp chilling breeze of a cold front before a nasty storm. Nobody knew why they’d been called together, but Louis had a good feeling that it had to do with [Redacted]’s betrayal.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Louis had never been one for waiting. He had never wanted to wait for his punishments as a kid. He had always wanted them to be over as quickly as possible. He hadn’t wanted to wait for Christmas because excitement had him eager to tear into the brown wrapping on his gifts as soon as possible. He’d hated patrolling the trenches in France because he had known an attack was coming, but had hated holding his breath, waiting for it to come.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Have I ever told you that you’re annoying?” Slater asked. It was the night of the Quench delivery and he seemed unconcerned as he sat on a crate. He kicked the wood beneath him with the heels of his red and white Chucks.

Chapter Twenty-Six:

The dark silence of the night pressed heavily around him. The flickering of the votive and tea light candles were the only source of light in the church. It made the shadows seem darker, more ominous, alive. They made the watchful eye of Christ behind the pulpit seem even more damning.

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

[Redacted]’s parents held a quiet funeral for their son a few days after his death; at least, that was what Louis had been told. He hadn’t attended. None of them had.

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

“I’m out of coffee and this is stupid,” Slater complained. “This is bitch work. I don’t do bitch work.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

The next night, Louis found himself standing across the street from Tito’s Pizza.

Chapter Thirty:

  Louis’s head was throbbing to each knock on the door. He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. Pain jolted him awake as his arm touched the bruised and tender flesh of his swollen eye. He swore and sat up.

Chapter Thirty-One:

Louis wasn’t a fan of spiders. They had too many legs, too many eyes, and moved too damned fast. He hated them when they touched him and hated it even more when he found them in the shower.

Chapter Thirty-Two:

“What did you mean when you said Rick had fooled you before?” Louis asked. He checked his gun to make sure it was full of rounds and made sure he had enough spare ammunition in his pocket. He knew Deuce wouldn’t be stupid enough to do a job empty-handed. Especially, knowing that Rick was looking for him.

Chapter Thirty-Three:

“Louis? Wake up.” Clammy fingers pressed against his cheek.

Chapter Thirty-Four:

Louis’s life was spinning out of control again. He was lost. Knowing that Slater was in the bowels of the hospital while he was confined to the waiting room felt wrong. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

Chapter Thirty-Five:

All it took was a jump a few blocks from the apartment building and a quick check of the junk mail in the mailboxes on the front of the duplex porch to figure out which one belonged to Wes the Weasel.

Chapter Thirty-Six:

Louis didn’t have anywhere else to go. So, after Slater was settled into his room at the hospital, he curled up in one of the chairs in the corner of the room and let himself fall asleep.

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

That night, when the nursing staff told Louis visiting hours were over, Slater insisted that he stay.

Sorry for the long read! I’d like to tag (with no pressure): @howdy-writes, @littlerothridinghood, @gloriafrimpong, @gwens-fiction, @goblingraveyard, @vivian-is-writing

[tumbleranch-dorm]

“I do not care what other’s say about their pointless excuses. Now.....focus on you’re work and GET MOVING!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TECHNICAL INFORMATION

Name: Clinton Hollingsbeck

Japanese: クリントン・ホリングスベック

Romanji: Kurinton Horingusubekku

Other Name:

C (Ferd)

Four-eye bastard (Eb)

Weasel (Leona & Ruggie)

Monsieur Occupé (Rook)

Sardine (Floyd)

Voiced by Jun Fukuyama

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Birthday: September 22

Starsign: Virgo

Height: 177 cm

Eye Color: Grey

Hair Color: Coffee Brown

Homeland: Town of Iron Pistol

Family: Father, Mother, Grandfather

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROFESSIONAL STATUS

Dorm: Tumbleranch

School Year: Second

Class: 2-B Student no. 03

Occupation: Student and Vice Dorm Leader

Club: Boardgame Club

Best Subject: Magic Analysis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FUN FACTS

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Melted Butter Corn

Least Favorite Food: Toffee

Dislikes: Dawdle

Hobby: Preserve Mini Trains

Talents: Arithmancy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UNIQUE MAGIC “TIME IS MONEY”

Manipulate speed of time: back, forth & freeze time from his pocket watch because that’s where his power source comes from. The effects will lasts within 5 minutes short or so depending on how much magic the user’s would hold a grip. Although, with much instability will consequently lead to have black smudges in his magic pen. This must always be guarded with him at all cost and of course, will not use for a personal gain.....especially fall to the wrong owner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Clinton is a very intelligent and strategic individual able to solve problems both real life & magic without breaking his sweat that many claimed he’s one of the smartest student in 2nd year class which of his classmates immediately ask or approach him for cheat codes. He also had a strict attitude too strict to be exact but not a tyrant as Riddle taking the responsibility of vice, he would take this attentiveness and never overlooked from his duties too very serious claiming he’s a perfectionist doing the things in his own way to be exact perfect. Clinton would feel ashamed of himself or rather over dramatically won’t forgive himself making such mistakes whether it’s minor or not it must always be perfect for him! which most people find him very troublesome sometimes however he’s mostly calm.

With that seriousness, he does give off a solemn expression as if he’s displeased on something, well technically it is and that’s his natural expression which is mainly because his impatience and couldn’t forgive anyone who’d slack off from their respective duties. His impatience would grew more while he’d likely would teach someone a lesson of those who couldn’t do their job seriously especially to troublemakers. He’s also sane as Ferd, Clinton wouldn’t want himself to get involved in any unnecessary events except got dragged by others then ended up blamed for their cause which mostly the head and vice are the ones cleaning up the messes. His desperate wish of his peers needs obedience and this chaotic dorm to be NOT chaotic. He’d rather find friends who aren’t dangerously chaotic while in exchange, he’ll treat them less harsh but friendly towards them.

In secret, he has a cute side of him that he likes to collect mini trains and making DIY miniature land but he hides his embarrassing dorkish side from everyone’s beliefs and wouldn’t let his guard down when people have high expectations of him being the serious type or else he’d feel a bit vulnerable. The only one who knew about his obsession of trains is Ferd. Although, most people find him very odd everytime he shared his short-term predictions to anyone even to reveal someone’s plans when they’re in unusual situation. For example, If someone think about secretly causing mischief as drawing graffiti on the 7 statues then framing other students of doing it, Clinton was able to tell them the possibility of their devious scheme would end up badly as they found out the smudges of paint were exposed from their shoes which makes them to clean up the statues then get expelled from Headmaster Crowley. With that, he was well-prepared to prevent those troublemaker scheme after he warned them about the consequences. How did he predict the bad omen beforehand? Who knows. But it seems he have seen the misfortune outcome before

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BACKGROUND

His family, mainly his father (works as a CEO) and grandfather (a former president), runs their marketing cooperation “H. Beck” in Town of Iron Pistol. The cooperation used to be a big time industry but due to its recent bankruptcy, his father & grandfather were often busy leaving Clinton with his mother‘s care at home so his mother raised him wholeheartedly and the only parent who’s ever been there for little Clinton except between Clinton and his father had not enough time for father & son bonding then later on, both grew apart from conversing each other rarely except in dinner. It’s not that they have an argument but his father often caught up work over spending time with Clinton. It wasn’t last long when his father called out his mother to help him the issues in the company and without a choice to leave little Clinton in a caretaker’s care in the house. Being isolated by his parents affected him often studying by himself learning advance magic in order to work his best to gain much knowledge just like his parents without an interest making friends or enjoy any children s play at a young age. None of the family wouldn’t notice the loneliness he’s been through, thought it was ok for him without a complaint.

Until one day, his father luckily had a negotiation with the mayor of the town, who is actually Ferdrick’s father, to work alongside him in order to save the family’s business. Both fathers have slowly become close colleagues believing their cooperation won’t last but to continue their long-term business partnership. While for their sons: Clinton & Ferd had their first meeting which Clinton found & made ever first friend with the son of the influenced mayor then both quickly became friends. That time his point of view have changed him a bit thanks to Ferdrick’s companionships but still what he wanted his parent’s to take notice of him. Still.....it couldn’t be helped. At least this time Clinton’s grandfather was in turn to look after him. He did cared for his grandfather very much as he treated Clinton heart-kinded like his mother and like a real father to him, not like his real father who’s never been there. The most precious object that his grandfather gave to him is the family’s hairloom pocket watch.

According to his grandfather, the old pocket contains a powerful magic that enables to manipulate timespeed. So powerful that if you made a single change can cause the effect of the future. Every male heirs has to pass it on to the next heir, to be the keeper of the artifact. It was supposedly his father ‘s turn but didn’t get a chance due to his overwork and instead, he handed to Clinton. Not only to pass it on but to remind himself the pocket watch, itself has much love for Clinton from his family including previous generations

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OTHER FACTS

He’s twisted version of Mr. Wesley the businessman

Him and Ferd are childhood friends

The pocket watch was made by his grandfather

He secretly has a miniature land and collections of small trains kept in his room. It was just a rumor but no one ever confirms it

Other than his duty as vice, he does do other minor work like a househusband doing much of cleaning, cooking and fixing

Wants to become a businessman someday. He’s well prepared knowing how to manage finances and running a business. With that, he and Ferd had a good-term business friendship

Clinton can count money quicker with just a glance

He knows about all Heartslabyul’s rules because strangely he was fascinated by that

[steve-needs-a-hug]

in which Draco needs to ace Herbology

Part 1/? (I don’t know how long this is going to end up being lol)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758838/chapters/62556034

Setting: Hogwarts, 3rd year

Content warnings: None. Contains subtle hints of Drarry (with more to come)

Summary: Star student Draco Malfoy is acing all his courses...except Herbology. His father threatens to pull Draco out of Quidditch if he doesn’t get straight As on all his exams, and with time running out before the Herbology final, a desperate Draco finds himself reluctantly accepting help from a most unlikely source.

Featuring: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley

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

“Draco!” Lucius Malfoy’s cold, stern voice reverberated throughout the Great Hall, causing many heads to turn to the Howler that had just flown in to interrupt everyone’s luncheon. Draco Malfoy put his head into his hands as his father’s voice began to berate him about his mid-term progress grades. “Your school performance thus far is highly unsatisfactory.” Draco got mostly As with a few Bs. “Don’t you dare tarnish our family name with a B again. If you don’t bring your average up to an A by winter break, I’m taking you off the Quidditch team!” The letter promptly burst into flame and burned into a little pile of ash on the table. Draco’s Quidditch teammates looked at him with worry and discomfort at the thought of losing their star Seeker, while quiet chuckles and snickers came from the other tables.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Ron Weasley, turning to a wide-eyed Harry Potter. “What are them Slytherins going to do without Malfoy hunting you down every game, Harry?”

Hermione Granger shrugged. “I suppose Gryffindor is going to start winning a lot more matches.”

“I guess so,” agreed Harry absent-mindedly. According to Harry, Draco Malfoy had a lot of deficiencies, but intelligence was definitely not one of them. Lucius Malfoy’s standards must have been very demanding. The trio, along with just about everyone else, watched as a sullen Draco pushed away his half-eaten lunch and slinked out of the Hall.

-

The loud cheers faded into the background as Harry strode into the locker room. His last Quidditch match of the term had just ended with a Slytherin victory, but he was still in good spirits, energized by the lingering sensation of the cool autumn wind in his hair and on his cheeks. He took his time changing out of uniform and back into his regular school robes, aware that this was the last time he would get to do so until next term. By the time Harry started to walk casually towards the exit, nearly all the other players had already gone. But in the corner of Harry’s eye, he spotted a lone hunched-over figure sitting on one of the benches, his blond hair hanging over his eyes. Harry hesitantly turned away from the exit and towards Draco Malfoy. Harry was used to Draco’s excessive gloating after every Slytherin victory, yet despite the fact that he had just secured the win for his team that day, Draco seemed pretty downcast.

“Is your dad really going to take you out of Quidditch because of bad grades?” Harry inquired. “You seemed to be doing pretty well in Potions.”

Draco glared up at him with stormy grey eyes. “I’m acing Potions. It’s Herbology that’s the trouble. It’s boring and useless -” (Harry shrugged understandingly; he never cared much about plants either) “- and Professor Sprout never grades me fairly. I suppose that teacher’s pet Granger doesn’t have that problem, does she, Potter?” Draco sneered. His hostile expression quickly weakened, however, as he looked around the familiar locker room.

Since the classroom environment was so restrictive, the only time Draco ever felt truly powerful was when he blasted through the air on his broom, knocking opponents out of the way and skilfully dodging obstacles as he chased victory and received the cheers and admiration of his peers. He couldn’t imagine his life at Hogwarts without Quidditch.

Draco groaned in frustration and ran his hands through his hair as Harry stood there awkwardly. He knew Draco needed help, but he also knew the proud Slytherin would never ask. He arguably didn’t even deserve help, but Harry found himself thinking about how terrible he would feel in Draco’s current position. Powerless, and desperate, even. An idea began to come alight in Harry’s mind.

“Why don’t you…” Harry started carefully, “…come study with us? Hermione got ‘perfect’ on her last assignment – which I honestly didn’t even know was possible – and she could teach you all her tricks. She’s smarter than anyone I know.”

“Oh, yeah. Exam prep with the Mudblood, the Weasel, and the Wonder Boy. Sounds great,” Draco retorted sarcastically. “The noble, virtuous Saint Potter, rescuing me from my plight!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Listen, Malfoy. You either ace Herbology or you never get to knock me out of the sky again. You choose.” Harry stared Draco straight in the eye, as if challenging him. How far would he let his pride go?

Draco clenched his jaw and turned away from Harry’s intense gaze. Crabb & Goyle certainly weren’t ideal study partners, and Draco didn’t exactly have a cooperative reputation even in his own House. The Herbology final was mere days away and his options were narrow. “No one can see us together. It’ll be the first and the last time I ever choose to be around you lot.”

If Harry didn’t know any better, Draco was making it sound like they were going to start secretly dating or something. Harry fought off a smug smile. “We know a pretty secluded area of the studying commons. It’ll only be a couple of days, really.” Draco did not protest, so Harry continued. “Bring your book and notes and meet me after dinner tomorrow at the studying commons entrance, and we’ll get it done. You’ll see what kind of a whiz Hermione really is.”

Draco sighed. “Fine. But you better keep out of my sight until then, Potter.”

“Gladly,” Harry smirked. “Tomorrow, then.”

Draco shook his head as Harry left, feeling his stomach sinking as he processed what he just agreed to. Studying help from the three Hogwarts students he despised most. This better be worth it.

-

Harry ran into the Gryffindor common room where his friends were relaxing and enjoying their downtime. “Hey, guys!” he whispered to Ron and Hermione, gesturing for them to come closer. “I’ve got some news to tell you!” Ron and Hermione shared a confused glance, and went over to their grinning friend. They looked at Harry expectantly. His bright eyes were glinting with excitement (and a hint of panic), and he paused for effect.

“…Draco Malfoy is going to be studying with us for the Herbology final!”

“Hah!” Ron guffawed loudly. “Good one, mate!”

“Very funny, Harry,” said Hermione with her arms crossed. “Now what were you really going to tell us?”

“No, really!” Harry persisted. “He needs to get an A in Herbology to stay on the Quidditch team, and I told him all about how smart you are, Hermione.”

“Oh please, you can’t be serious, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “He’s done nothing but be awful to us!”

“She’s right, mate!” Ron echoed. “Bloody good riddance if he’s off Quidditch!”

“No, listen, don’t you see?” Harry insisted in a conspiratorial whisper. “If we help him…he owes us.” He gestured to Ron. “We can get him to stop calling you ‘Weasel’!” He pivoted to Hermione. “And we can get him to stop calling you…you know…that.” Hermione crossed her arms even tighter.

“The point is,” Harry concluded, “If we’re nice to him and we help him out just this once, maybe he’ll be more decent towards us too. I didn’t come to Hogwarts to make enemies. And honestly, Quidditch wouldn’t really be the same without him.”

“Yeah, we’d win more,” Ron scoffed. “I don’t think this is a good idea, mate.”

“Just trust me, guys,” said Harry. “If it turns out to be a disaster you can say ‘I told you so’.”

“You can count on that,” Hermione said with a smirk. Harry grinned and left to go upstairs. As soon as he was out of sight, Ron turned to her with an anxious expression.

“What do you really think of all this, ‘Mione?”

She let out a deep sigh. “I think…that no amount of niceties or politeness or favours could ever make someone like Malfoy think any more highly of anybody like me or you.” Ron looked down at the floor. “I’m just going to go through with this for Harry.”

“What do you suppose he thinks of Harry, then?” Ron inquired.

Hermione looked into the distance thoughtfully. “I’ve always thought that Malfoy’s jealous of Harry. For having real friends, and being popular without having to treat anyone horribly. I’ve never known anyone as rude as Malfoy.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand why Harry thinks this is going to work.”

Ron nodded dismally. “I’m going to talk to him about it tonight. Don’t worry.”

-

“Harry?” Ron said quietly as he untucked the covers and climbed into his bed.

“Yeah, Ron?” Harry replied, already lying down and staring up at the ceiling, his glasses sitting on the bedside table.

“Why do you want to help Malfoy?” Ron asked honestly. “He’d never do anything of the sort for us. ‘Mione and I are worried, you see. We can’t trust him.”

Harry sighed, still looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just had a feeling. What would you do, Ron, if you weren’t allowed to play Quidditch anymore?”

Ron tried to visualize himself in that position. “I reckon I’d feel pretty angry. I’d do anything to stay on the squad.”

Harry knew Ron would feel the same way he did about that. “Now just imagine Malfoy next term, all angry and bitter now that he can’t play anymore, and then he sees us walking down the hall celebrating all our wins.”

A terrible realization dawned on Ron. “Blimey, he’d be even worse to us than he was before. Hermione said he’s jealous enough of you already.”

Harry chuckled. “I really didn’t even expect him to agree to come study with us. Though he did make me promise to stay out of his sight until then. Not sure how that’s going to happen since we have the same class tomorrow morning.” This prompted a giggle from Ron.

“We’re all going to be a bunch of chums,” Ron joked as he turned over and squirmed into a comfy position to drift off into an uneasy sleep.

-

Harry stood outside the entrance to the studying commons near the library, arms crossed. That morning in their last Potions class of the term, Malfoy did not look his way even once. Not even when Neville accidentally spilled the wrong ingredient into Harry’s brew and it bubbled over and poured all over the table. During dinner, Draco sat with his head down the whole time, barely saying a word to his friends who were loudly squabbling over all manner of petty topics. Ron had elbowed Harry and asked why he was watching Malfoy like a hawk all day, while Draco had done everything possible to avoid Potter’s gaze. “I’m just not used to it, I guess,” Harry replied. “He didn’t even say anything when Neville made my brew spill over.”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess he’s just dreading spending time with us as much as we are.”

Now Harry was standing there, waiting for the lively-turned-sullen Slytherin to show up. Hermione and Ron were already seated inside (Hermione was amassing an intimidating stack of textbooks to scrutinise). Finally, a pale blond head emerged out of the shadows. Draco slinked over to Harry, book bag over his shoulder.

“Hello, Malfoy,” said Harry politely.

“Potter,” Draco curtly replied. “Let’s get this over with.” Harry fought the urge to smirk, enjoying Draco’s evident displeasure with the situation. No matter how much Malfoy didn’t like it, he needed their help and he was here.

“Follow me,” Harry said, leading Draco into the large room of studying desks and chairs tucked away between bookshelves full of large, musty academic volumes. Some students were clustered together in small groups in different pockets of the room, but despite the quiet hum of voices and flipping pages, the place did not feel particularly busy. A few lamps here and there offered some dim reading light. Draco looked around as if he hadn’t been here many times before.

As promised, Harry led his rival-turned-study-buddy into a far corner of the commons hidden away behind tall bookshelves, where Ron looked on in despair as Hermione laid yet another massive volume on top of her studying pile. The anxious red-head turned to see Harry enter, hoping for some good news, but alas. There was Draco Malfoy, their haughty tormentor. Except now he was standing there uncomfortably, fidgeting with the strap of his book bag.

“Hey, guys,” Harry sighed. “I’m sure you all know Draco Malfoy,” he joked half-heartedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Draco.” She ordered, pointing at the empty chair in front of her, beside Ron. Ron looked from Hermione to Draco to the seat, and he jumped up and clambered into the chair beside Hermione to avoid sitting next to the awkward Slytherin. Draco narrowed his eyes and reluctantly took his seat, followed by Harry sitting down beside Draco where Ron was glad not to be.

“Alright, then,” Hermione began, clearing her throat and smoothing out her frizzy hair. She hoped going into full-on study mode would successfully distract her from her uneasiness. Ron watched the beady-eyed Slytherin look around the room once more before reluctantly turning his attention to the large stack of books on the table. “Let’s start with the basics,” said Hermione, lifting a thick volume detailing the magical properties of thousands of plants off the stack and placing it on the table with a thud.

This is going to be a long night, thought all four of them.

-

“Blimey, Harry!” Ron exclaimed as Draco smiled smugly and Hermione shook her head in exasperation. “Everyone knows that Valerian sprigs are a main ingredient in a Forgetfulness Potion!” After going over their notes and looking up more information on some of the plants that Professor Sprout highlighted in class, they had just started quizzing each other on the properties and uses of different herbs.

“Actually, Ronald, I seem to remember you having a particularly hard time recalling the most crucial ingredients of a Forgetfulness Potion,” Hermione remarked. “But honestly, Harry, this is first-year stuff!”

Harry shrugged apologetically. “I know we’re already in Third year, but I’m still not all that familiar with these things. I didn’t grow up in a magical family like Ron or Malfoy, remember?”

“That’s no excuse,” Hermione retorted. “Both my parents are Muggles and I still know everything I need to know to pass my exams.”

Draco scoffed. “No matter how many books you cram into your head, that doesn’t change what you are.” (So far he had done a pretty good job of keeping snarky remarks to a minimum, but as far as he was concerned Hermione had just walked right into that one.)

“And what’s that, exactly?” Ron exclaimed, incensed.

“Remind me why we’re helping him, Harry,” Hermione said bitterly. Draco shot upright but Harry grabbed his arm and plunked him back down in his chair. Draco frowned and brushed his arm off dramatically.

“She’s right, Harry,” Ron argued. “We can’t just let him insult us the way he does. If he wants our help, he has to start acting decent.”

“I don’t need your help!” Draco spat. Harry looked over at him with a Really? expression. Draco looked down at all the extra information he’d added onto his notes. The studying had actually been going pretty well (until this point, that is).

“It doesn’t matter if Hermione’s parents are Muggles,” Ron said, more calmly now but firmly. “She’s bloody brilliant and she can help us all get an A on this bloody final.” Draco didn’t look up.

“Come on, Malfoy. You can keep studying with us until the Herbology final if you just act civil,” Harry told Draco. “We’ve already made a lot of progress. Let’s just keep at it until it’s over.”

Draco sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Without further ado, Hermione reopened one of the textbooks and flipped a few pages to where they were before. “What is Wormwood used in?” she asked in a resolute voice, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the book.

“Draught of Living Death,” Draco replied without missing a beat.

Hermione nodded. “And?”

“And…? What?” Draco was getting annoyed. Ron shook his head, knowing what was imminent.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “If Professor Sprout asks us that question on the exam, naming one use of a plant is not good enough! We have to show her how much we know, give her all the details we can. Wormwood is an ingredient in Draught of Living Death and Elixir to Induce Euphoria and Shrinking Solution.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Harry and Ron chuckled at Hermione’s meticulousness. She flipped a few pages forward. “Try again. What can stinging nettles be used for?”

Draco recalled that particular plant being mentioned in class. “Dried nettles are used in the Boil-Cure Potion…” Hermione, Ron, and Harry raised their eyebrows expectantly. “And in nettle tea and soup?”

Hermione nodded in satisfaction, but Draco wasn’t done.

“And I heard nettles can improve the glossiness of one’s hair,” he concluded with a smirk, smoothing down his own sleek blond locks and eliciting a chuckle from Harry (and eyerolls from Ron and Hermione).

The rest of the studying session was surprisingly productive. Turns out the four of them could get a lot done when they momentarily put aside their grievances and got to work. By the time they were done Ron felt like his head was swimming with plants and potions. Overall, except for the rough patch in the middle, Harry thought that it went better than he expected.

Harry turned to Draco as they were packing up their notes. “Hey, Malfoy, we’ve still got one more night to study before the exam. Do you want to join us tomorrow?” He half-expected Malfoy to say “No way”.

But Draco just shrugged. “Sure,” he replied. He wasn’t particularly excited about studying with them again but he also had to admit that it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Since he’d gotten this far already, he didn’t see any good reason to stop now. He just hoped he would end up getting that A and it’d all be worth it. He was too tired to worry about his reputation now. Without another word, he slung his book bag over his shoulder and went on his way.

-

“Hey, Malfoy, where you been?” asked Crabb as Draco slinked through the dark Slytherin common room on his way to the dorms.

“Nowhere,” he briskly replied. Realizing that might make him sound a bit suspicious, he quickly rebounded. “Studying. For Herbology.” His friends looked at each other, wondering why Draco was acting a bit odd but not really wanting to ask.

He walked past them without another word and went up to his room. He set his book bag down and sat on his bed, looking out the window at the dark night sky. The more Draco stared out at the sky, the more it seemed to swallow him up in its pitch-black expanse. The only way he could explain how he was feeling right now was “weird”. He was uncertain, about how the exams were going to go, about what the next (hopefully last) study session with Harry and his strange friends was going to be like, about how his father was going to greet him when he comes home for winter break. “Hello, dear son, I’ve missed you”? Not too likely. 

If my father cared about me then why would he pull me out of Quidditch? He only cares about himself. And his reputation, Draco thought to himself bitterly, leaning back onto his pillow. As if a B in Third year Herbology would leave such a stain on the family crest. It’s certainly not as embarrassing as studying with Granger and Weasley. The thing that frustrated Draco the most, though, was that he wasn’t as riled up about the studying session as he felt he should’ve been. He didn’t even feel particularly proud of the jab he took at Hermione. When it was his gaggle of friends behind him egging him on, he relished every chance he got to belittle Potter and his sidekicks. But Draco was not on home territory tonight, and there was no one to laugh.

Then Draco sat up with a jolt, suddenly remembering Harry audibly chuckling at Draco’s comment about stinging nettles and silky hair. Draco didn’t know why he was so stunned by the sudden memory of his nemesis Harry Potter laughing at his harmless joke. That moment was probably the friendliest one they’d ever had. Then he recalled Harry quietly and politely, almost carefully, asking if Draco wanted to join them again. Draco remembered the day he met Potter like it was yesterday, and Harry seemed thoroughly disinterested in being friends then, so why was he acting so agreeable now? A deeply buried sentiment started to bubble up to the surface, 11-year-old Draco’s wish to be friends with the famous Harry Potter, to feel like more than his rival.

But Draco’s cynical side pushed these thoughts away. They must be up to something. I don’t care what. I just need that A, he reminded himself yet again. His mind wandered back to when he got up to leave after offending Ron and Hermione, and how Harry just wordlessly pulled him back into his seat. Harry wanted him to stay. Draco stood up and tried to shake these thoughts away. No point in dwelling on it. Things will go back to the way they used to be after the exam.

~ Part 2 coming soon! DM me if you want to be notified when the next part is up ~

[charliefmd]

creative claims verification: full lyrical claim and partial composing claim for no jam. // wc: 1106

“Hey did you hear about…?” “Really? No way! I actually heard that…” “Don’t you think she’s a bit… I don’t know how to explain it but she rubs me the wrong way.” “No wonder he acts like that…” “My, what a scandal they’ve gotten themselves in. I wonder how they’ll try to weasel their way out of it now.”

Hushed whispers through the grapevine becomes the background noise to her daily life — a constant reminder that her life has become everybody’s business (when it had never concerned them to begin with) when she showed her face on TV for the first time, when she stepped into the spotlight and made her name and face known, and it’s a decision she can’t take back (a fact she sometimes struggles to accept when her love for the spotlight becomes too much of a burden to carry on her own.)

Fame comes with a side dish of rude awakening of having strangers poking their nose into a situation which never called for the opinion of an outsider. The first time it happened she remembers being surprised and a little scared too, but then it happens again and again and again. Lather, rinse and repeat. By the time her group has reached their peak, so has the many comments and rumours of them, the members, floated around. (It’s during this time she learns strangers on the internet would be the least of her worries — it would do her well to look over her shoulder every once in a while because an opposition was always closer than she would expect.)

“Hey, earth to Charlie!”

“What?” snapping her head up from her dazed stupor, her attention zones in on her brother, and he gives her a look telling her he had been trying to get her attention for quite a while. He stifles his laughter at her expression as she shoots him a glare for him to shut up (which he doesn’t, of course, and it only drives him to openly laugh at her instead.) “What is it that you wanted to ask me that was so important and urgent?”

“I can’t remember,” he replies cheekily and with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder they drop the subject just like that. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head at his behaviour, and he’s supposed to be the older one out of the two of us? She often questions the level of his maturity. More than ready to go back to her lyric writing, but his voice interrupts her yet again and she knows by the tone of his voice that he’s fishing for something. “Do you keep up with everything that goes on behind the scenes? Like other idols and shit?”

“Yeah? It’s kinda hard to miss to be honest,” a raised eyebrow at his sudden interest in the world of idols he decided to leave behind all those years ago to find another path for himself, leaving her to live out a dream she never wanted for herself. It used to surprise her how little privacy there was and how most people seemed to know everything (keyword here being seemed) even when it had nothing to do with them. Connections were a tangled web of assumptions being served as facts and nobody seemed to bother locating the source, instead they happily run their mouths and adding fuel to the fire.

It is in moments like these she actually (surprisingly) wants to distance herself from the spotlight and all the attention that came with it, wanted to blend in with her surroundings and simply not be known for a moment in time. Wanted to get away from the noise and hustle she otherwise always surrounded herself with, wanted to just let go and have some sort of fun and play — all on her own terms and without all the consequences that could potentially come with it.

The scribbles on the page in front of her are scrambled thoughts of a girl just wanting to live an easy breezy life despite her actual circumstances telling her otherwise.

— — — ☆ — — —

From the first piano note, she knows the song is going to become one she is going to enjoy not only creating but also performing (it is how she ends up pushing for the song to become either the title track, or at the very least have them let her perform it as the second song to promote on music shows, because she just needed people to hear it and watch it in its entirety.)

It starts off pretty simple enough, with the song kicking off by introducing the listeners to an upbeat piano melody, which carries itself into and throughout the rest of the song too. It is a prominent part of this song in particular, keeping the melody light and fun even when part of the lyrics would suggest otherwise, but she loves working with contrasts and layers like that.

Show the people a facade but let them be surprised by the nuances of the song.

The whole song is an ode to the fun and reckless times of youth, a time she lost to the early beginnings of her career way before she even knew what she wanted to do or what she wanted to become when she grew up, and she would be doing herself and the song a disservice if the composition did not also reflect that.

The first composition draft is messy, chaotic, and all over the place. It is, quite honestly, a disaster, but it is a disaster with a purpose. No first drafts of anything are ever meant to be perfect, and because she knows it will go through several more stages of fine tuning before they officially and finally land on a final draft, she allows herself to play around with it for the time being. She finds it necessary, for this particular song too, to have the composition go through the several stages of madness for her to determine what would actually sound good and what they needed to work on.

It is a song meant to hype the crowd, and how else do one hype a crowd at a concert than to scream? A stroke of genius has her adding herself shouting in the song a couple of times (nothing too ear shattering, of course, she wants the people to have fun not to burst their eardrums), and by the end of the day, if the song does not make people want to jump around or let loose then she has failed her own mission of creating a fun and engaging song.

[strahd-von-asthmavich]

The Ancient and The Land - Mod Escher’s Roll20 Curse of Strahd Campaign [Session 0]

Gather round, for a tale you won’t surely forget! Join my dear, dear players as they all embark on quite the adventure in Barovia!

Before we begin, some disclaimers are needed:

Outright, there are trigger warnings for implied abuse and graphic violence.

Now, to introduce my party (one player will be introduced next session, she’s still getting used to her new work schedule)!

Diane GoldenDew - Mastermind Rogue Diane is 13 year old high elf itching for adventure! She learned a lot about different heroes, and she wishes to go on one of her own, like her favorite hero White Glint! She’s traveling by herself, since both of her parents had tragically died of old age.

Ireena Kolyana - Duelist Fighter (Played by Mod Strahd!) Ireena is the adopted daughter of the late Burgomaster of the Village of Barovia. She was found by the Burgomaster and her brother Ismark as a young child, and they took her in as part of the family. However, due to red hair being a bad omen and unforeseen circumstances, Ireena was holed away in the mansion at the age of 15, never allowed to leave again. She tried running away with her family’s ancestral blade in hand on the night before her 20th birthday, but she was ambushed by wolves not too long after. She was saved by Vasili von Holtz, a young lord of Vallaki that frequently visited the mansion and had an interest in her. Her father took exception to her departure, but after dealing with his wrath, she confided in Vasili. Just days later, Kolyan passed away.

Mirthe - Witch, Covenant of the Wise (Mod Strahd’s homebrew class!) Accompanied by her familiar, Nadcasovy (a giant weasel), Mirthe is a Carnival Performer (and might I add the cutest pastel tiefling). Her act was as a hair hanger, instead with horns! She grew up with the matriarchs of her family in a forest. Her family never shunned her father, just said he had another calling. When she grew older, about 16, she decided to go seek him out with her familiar, feeling she was missing something in connection to her magical abilities. She found her father in a carnival show and took on that life ever since. Now, she’s traveling on her own to perform.

Savita Orelene - Light Cleric Savita is a fire genasi, cursed at birth by her mother’s family after her father left shortly after her conception. Savita and her mother were taken care of clerics of the sun god, Amaunator. Grateful for their help, Savita and her mother stayed with them, and Savita was eventually blessed by the god himself. Tragically, however, her mother was slain, drained completely of her blood.

Valarys - Blood Hunter, Order of the Lycan Valarys was found by an older couple as an infant, abandoned and left on the side of a beaten road. They’ve been taken care of by the couple and was raised as their own. However, Valarys was also half-lycanthrope. As they were coming of age, they turned on accident in public, which caused a panic in the village that soon turned into a full on mob. Their father was killed in the process of protecting Valarys, but before he told them to escape, he gave them a letter and told them of a name of someone that might be able to help them.

With that, let’s begin the story of their journey under the cut!

Diane, Mirthe, Savita, and Valarys all were in their own respective campsites the night before they all met, traveling who knows where to go ahead and do who knows what. It was starting to get a little misty while they were all resting. But when they woke up the next morning, they were all trapped in a fog. when they tried to get out, they couldn’t breathe, and they all ended up meeting each other within the mists. They all decided to move out of the fog and end up in strange, dark woods that they don’t recognize. They get to know each other in the woods.

Valarys is a bit standoffish when meeting the other members of the party. Diane, being a curious and rambunctious child, was more than eager to start on her adventure. She’d read stories about Barovia, a lost city of beauty, of flowers, and of the sun. Its radiance could be something like she’d never seen before. Savita was so confused at being in such a strange land. Mirthe was more than happy to introduce herself to the players (note: Nadcasovy is bigger than Diane).

In the woods, a letter gets delivered to them in the form of a breeze, as if they were expected. The letter was as follows:

Weary Travelers and Adventurers, Welcome to Barovia.

Do forgive me for such an intrusive fog. The Mists have their own way of welcoming new visitors. Allow me to offer a far better form of hospitality.

My home is your home, as the saying goes. Feel free to roam about and indulge in the bounties of my reign. Do be careful traveling at night. We would not want any... unwanted accidents, now, would we? Mind where you tread. If I were to enter your home, I would have limitations of where I may wander, would I not?

I do hope you enjoy your stay. So long as you all follow these specific guidelines and mind your manners, we will all get along just fine. After all, this wonderful land of mine is where you will stay for the rest of your life. Do not try to go back in the fog from whence you came. You may have survived the Mists for now, but you will never be so lucky again.

And do watch your backs.

Your new Lord and Master, The Ancient and The Land of Barovia

Valarys is distraught at the concept that they may never be able to go back again. Everyone doesn’t like that idea, but they know now that they have no choice but to continue forward. After several hours, they arrive at the Gates of Barovia, where they easily open for the party.

They walk through the forest, until they hear a strange noise coming from the woods. A wolf (which Diane insists is a horse) bounds out from the forest but doesn’t attack the party. Instead, they’re running away from whatever noise was just made in the woods. Out from there comes Vasili von Holtz, who was riding a mount while holding what he describes is a gun. Mirthe in particular wonders why he couldn’t just use arrows, after he describes what a gun does, and Vasili insists that he just likes using a gun better. Valarys doesn’t trust Vasili outright, given their lycanthropy and feeling a kinship with the wolves.

Vasili was there in Svalich Woods hunting before he would then go to the Village of Barovia. He offers to let them tag along with him. On the way, he tells them about the history of the Dark Lord of the land.

“This place was not always this closed off from the rest of the world. Centuries ago, there was an ancient Prince. He came to this land and fought many battles, turning this valley into what is known today as Barovia. Not everyone treated him with kindness, however. But, when he was wounded during a harsh battle, he was nursed back to health and protected by the people who wander the land after wrongfully being forced from their homes. They’re known as the Vistani, and after taking such good care of the wounded Prince, they now forever are free to enter and leave the valley. Only they can come and go as they please.

“The Prince became the Lord of the land, maintaining order from the Eastern territories of the Village to the Western outskirts of Krezk. But he was growing older. He called for his family to come to him, and through this came the answer from his youngest brother. This young man was described to have a smile that radiated like the sun.

“Just when the Lord thought all was lost, he met a beautiful woman with fiery auburn hair; a true treasure. He loved her with all his heart. But she was taken from him. His brother, in his youthful cunning, took the woman as his own before the Lord had a chance. Enraged, the Lord attempted to take back what rightfully was his, but not without consequences.

“A coup had been staged during the brother and bride’s wedding day. The brother was slain, and the Lord was inflicted with a dark curse. And this curse spread throughout the land. The Lord became a dictator, and almost no one was safe from his wrath.”

He insists that they should go to Tser Pool to see if they could end the curse, where Madam Eva, a Seer, would be able to tell them more.

Mirthe is very pleased to hear that there is a Seer. However, Valarys is aghast at the idea of Madam Eva knowing about their past, present, and future. Vasili insists that either way, she knows all, and she could help them.

Set on going to Tser Pool, Vasili first offers to take them to the Village of Barovia to see the late Burgomaster’s children, to which Diane eagerly asks why the “Burger Master” is late. That was when Vasili reveals that the Burgomaster died of a heart attack. 

Taking exception to the fact that the party let Diane, a child, walk on foot for over 5 hours, Vasili offers to let her sit on his mount. With that, they all travel as it starts to rain (Savita, being a fire genasi, is pretty disheartened at that).

At the Village of Barovia, they’re all greeted to the sound of sobbing as they reach the center of town. After the party fails to properly perceive where exactly the crying is coming from, they proceed to knock on every door on that street until they find the source.

The first house was answered by a disgruntled man, who tells them that Mad Mary was the source of the crying. During this, Diane shows off her master skills by speaking in a perfect Barovian accent (which Vasili kindly thinks “WTF” upon hearing her). The disgruntled man tells them that crying is coming from across the street. So, they go directly across the street, where a different woman answers and insists that the crying is coming from next door.

Mad Mary answers, completely distraught at the loss of her daughter, and she is dismissive of the players being able to help her at first. She is also initially scared shitless by Diane’s talking doll, after she shows it when seeing a doll in Mad Mary’s hand. She then cries that the “Devil” could possibly have her. Diane insists that this devil must’ve been a Bone Devil, after Mad Mary describes that the Burgomaster was publicly executed by being drained completely of his blood. Initially hopeless, the party manages to convince her that they would try to find her daughter, Gertruda.

With that, Mad Mary leaves them to their own devices, just as they hear a cart roll by and a withered voice shout “Fresh Pies, Fresh Pies, Freshly Made from Granny’s Supplies!”

Crowds gather to have a taste of her delicious food.

Diane manages to successfully steal a savory meat pie from her cart, just as Vasili also decides to come up to the cart. He and Granny know each other, and Vasili eagerly does business with her, buying three pies for the party. Savita eats a meat pie, Mirthe eats half of a fruit pie, and there was also a berry pie that was purchased. Granny notes that one of her meat pies is missing, but she doesn’t think too long about that. Granny also mentions that if they ever needed any more pies, they could always visit her at the Old Durst Mill, where she lives and works.

Vasili then takes them down to the end of the street, where the Burgomaster’s mansion was. They all go inside, and they’re greeted by Ismark in a drunken stupor. At the mention of his father, Ismark simply states, “Peace be upon him” and proceeds to belch.

Right away, Vasili is looking for Ireena, who has been sitting in the library. She eagerly greets him, as well as the party. Vasili leaves to find Ismark to see if they found Kolyan’s will. During this, Diane explores the library to try and find a book about heroes, but she doesn’t find exactly what she was looking for. See, she was looking for a book about White Glint, but instead she found one about the story of a hero named Ivan Denesch and his quest to defeat Koschei the Immortal. Ireena more than happily talks about the story with Diane, who enjoys it.

Valarys meanwhile finds a book about werewolves, in which Ireena tells them that it was written by none other than Rudolph van Richten, a legendary hunter of sorts.

The party takes time with Ireena to get to know each other, in which they point out that Ireena has several healing bruises down the left side of her face and on her neck. When asked, she insists that she’s fine and that things will be better now, but she secretly insists after Diane asks that her insistence is because of Kolyan being dead. They all continue to have heartfelt moments when interacting, one such moment including Ireena giving Nadcasovy the good scritches.

After a while, Vasili and Ismark return to the library after being in a room across the hall. In hand, Ismark has Kolyan’s will, and he gives it to Vasili to read. Ismark can barely sit down, let alone look straight to read a letter. Vasili begrudgingly reads ahead first, before reading aloud:

I, Kolyan Indirovich, Burgomaster of the Village of Barovia, hereby write my final will and testimony.

For my son, Ismark, as painful as it is for me to bequeath to you this, I leave you my title and the mansion. Never forget the responsibilities of maintaining such a village and the privilege that implies. Do not let the people down more than you already have. Straighten yourself out, and maybe I will look at you fondly from the afterlife. Do be the one to place me in my final resting place. You know why, my son.

Vasili von Holtz, my dearest friend, I know we have only known each other for a short time, but it is my dying wish that you look after my daughter. She is a bright young woman with ambitions that far surpass my expectations. Wherever she may roam off to next, please assure me that she will always be under your protection. Interpret that as you see fit. I know you won’t disappoint me.

For my dearest daughter, Ireena, I leave behind for you the knowledge that everything I have done, no matter how drastic my methods may have seemed, was for your protection and your own good. My reasons for worrying for you have been confirmed. You are a wise, determined young lady, but with hair as blood red as yours, my concern for you has been like a Plague. Heed the world with caution. Stay safe, and stay home.

Distraught, Ireena immediately leaves the library after punching a decently sized hole in the wall, and Vasili goes after her to console her. They both know that they need to act sympathetic to keep up appearances, but they know that this was something Kolyan did not deserve. Ireena hates the message for her that was left behind, insisting how horribly she had been treated. Vasili offers that she can stay with him, so long as Ismark lets her go (since he’s now in charge of the mansion and everything in it) and she wants to join him. Needless to say, they’re both glad that Kolyan is dead.

Ireena then reveals what the Dark Lord had said to her at the execution: “I will always protect you, my lovely summer rose.” 

She doesn’t understand how he was able to find out what was happening anyways, in which Vasili recollects that superstition says that he’s always watching, but his timing was impeccable. The two embrace each other. In the middle of the hallway.

Meanwhile, Ismark explains to the rest of the party how the Burgomaster really died. Mad Mary wasn’t exactly “mad” when it came to her claim. Kolyan was dragged out to the center of town for his crimes against humanity (which somehow was found out) and was executed by the Dark Lord of the land himself. He was drained completely of his blood in front of the entire village, and since then, no one wanted to go near the Burgomaster’s children or even try to help bury him.

Ismark also tells them that he’s not going to keep Ireena cooped up like it said in Kolyan’s will. He explains that the reason why Ireena was initially cooped up was that being a red-haired woman was a bad omen (or so they say, since he’s impartial to superstitions). He also puts to rest that the “devil” is not a Bone Devil, but a vampire. He also warns them of strange creatures that all want to kill you: “Wolves, werewolves, dire wolves... a lot of wolves. There’s men that look like trees. Scarecrows...” He’s too drunk to be coherent about what’s actually out there, but he does warn them seriously that they should watch out for fleders, an aggressive type of vampire that hunts ruthlessly at night.

Ismark then politely asks if they could help them bury the Burgomaster tomorrow, as much as he doesn’t want to do a proper funeral. They all agree.

The session ends when Ismark offers that he can ask Ireena to make them dinner and that they could stay the night at the mansion. Valarys offers their help, in which Ismark insists Ireena would appreciate that. Meanwhile, Diane interrupts Ireena and Vasili kissing in the hallway by swiftly moving passed them, with Nadcasovy following suit.

[prorevenge]

Want to fire me? sure please go ahead.

A bit of a long story, so please bear with me. TL;DR at the end.

Background: This all happened about 4 years ago, where for my first job ever, i worked as a consultant in an international firm. Mainly responsible for developing IT solutions for our clients. I was all happy and bubbly, and I truly loved the challenging nature of the job, that is until my second year..

The cast of the story are (non-real names): Andrew = dickhead (literally) Jon = badass director Arthur = awesome manager (he will be more relevant towards the end of the story) & me = yours truly.

On to the story...

The end of my first year was phenomenal, I learned a lot under Arthur, I outperformed myself and even got promoted after just my first year in the firm.

Queue the beginning of my second year. Since i got promoted, I got appointed a new senior manager (a rank above Arthur): Mr. Andrew. At first, Andrew seemed like a nice person, was really friendly, chatty, and I genuinely looked forward to working with him.

For our first project together, I have come to learn a couple of things about Andrew: the first thing is that he is one lazy motherfucker. He would always come late, and consistently weasel his way out of work by "delegating" it to me. I didn't mind at the beginning, but as time goes by, he would go on for weeks doing nothing (chatting with his wife/mistress), while I'm producing the entire work on my own. And worst of all, he would take all the credit for my work in front of the client (He always presented "our" work as his alone somehow) The second thing i discovered about Andrew, is that he was very unethical, and I am pretty sure, that he would sell his own mother if it meant making more money!

I really thought, with time, things would get better, but alas, it only got worse. He would blatantly bully me and abuse his seniority in the company. He would call me names in front of the team, even when messaging me, he would always address me with "lazy anon" or "mr. unprofessional".

My energy and enthusiasm hit an all time low, I started going through depression. But i kept doing my best, believing it will be history at some point. Then one day, our director Joe (Big boss), decided to come visit us while we were working one late night. After updating him about the project status (It was around 10:00PM) Joe decided to go home, so i took the opportunity to ask Andrew, if i could go home as well. I barely slept 4 hours the night before, thanks to him not finalizing his OWN work. Nothing could have prepared me for what came out next of his mouth (Keep in mind this is still happening in front of the director):

Andrew: Lazy anon, you sure aren't fit to be a consultant, all you think about is going home. Maybe you should find another job that is more suitable to your lazy self.

(I was speechless, shocked..but more than anything angry!!)

So i replied (as calmly as possible): Maybe, but i do also know, that a good manager, would know how to manage better his team's time. After all, not once did I ever leave on time.

What followed the longest and most awkward slitent 5 seconds in my life, and all i could remember, is Andrew's face that turned bright red (I could swear i could see smoke coming out of his ears!)

Joe, breaking the silence: you are right anon, call it a night Andrew, make sure you manage his time better. Andrew: Sure, go home anon.

Since then, I actually get to leave on time on most days, and Andrew became friendlier with me, to which i was ecstatic. I should have known better. A few weeks later, Arthur messaged me, telling me about how Andrew is spreading very bad rumors about me; how bad my work ethic is, how rude and lazy i am. and to top it all off, he sent an email to higher management stating that i own a business of my own beside my actual job, which would get me instantly fired! (In our contract, we cant have any other jobs/businesses while working in the firm).

Needless to say, i was devastated, but more angry than ever before. I decided if i am going down, i am taking him down with me. I went ahead, and took a screenshot of every single "bad" email/message that he sent me (there was A LOT). And i requested from our client to provide me with feedback about my work, to prove that i am not the person Andrew is portraying me to be. I went to Joe's office (with Arthur backing me up), and showed him all these messages, emails, client feedback, and even a screenshot of the pictures he sent me while he was drinking in the middle of a working day saying: "i hope you are having fun at work lazy anon". As you can expect, i was emotional, and told Joe, even if it meant that it was my last day in the company, i want justice for all of the pain i went through. Joe was really understanding and told me, this is not acceptable in anyway and said:

Joe: Don't worry anon, i will take care of it Me: I want to be there Joe: ..? what do you mean? Me: I want to be there when you "take care" of it (I was pissed) Joe: no promises anon, ill try.

Next thing i know, Joe sets up a meeting with Andrew (and 3 other directors by conference call) to discuss the allegations about me owning a side business. Now what Andrew doesn't know, is that Joe dialed me in as well so i heard everything myself, and it pretty much went down like this:

Andrew: anon is unprofessional, and he illegally owns this company, this is not allowed and he should be fired! (+ a 5mn rant about how terrible of person i am) Joe: okay..do you have proof? Andrew: I heard him talk about it many times, we should investigate Joe: so you don't? Andrew: no... Joe: well I do.

And then he proceeds to open a 3 slide presentation (he showed it to me later), where he listed out in each, all the screenshots i took, and his drinking picture. And the best part is that, each slide has a one word title that spelled: YOU, ARE, FIRED!

Andrew was speechless..

Joe: anything you have to say for yourself? Andrew: Bu.t wha... Joe cuts him off right away, and says: actually wait a second, he proceeds to address me through the call:

Joe: Anon, congratulations, we are promoting you. As for you Andrew, you are fired, please leave immediately.

Getting fired in this country means you are getting fucked sideways (Basically, you can't stay here unless you have a working/tourist visa, and since he got fired...well he gotta move with his family back right away!).

Currently I am still working under Joe, with Arthur back as my manager (he got promoted to Sr. Manager), and with Andrew banished. I couldn't be happier.

TL;DR: Manager frames me to get me fired. I say "nO yOu". I get promoted, and he gets fired.

(source) story by (/u/spadasin)

[docholligay]

Living Like Weasels

Thank you so much for picking this, @miscanthusroots! I had a fantastic time! Unfortunately, I don’t have time for the second story but if I randomly end up with an hour again, I might go ahead and do it. This is 1,000 words, and the story is here if anyone wants to read it. 

Living Like Weasels is split into sections, which is something I find really arresting and interesting for such a short piece, but it really does have the feel to it, almost as if we’re watching a slideshow that drives to a conclusion, each slide a supporting text, a source, an idea. They are separate and yet the entire idea isn’t complete without the other, and the pause between them forces you to take a swallow and a breath. I would have said this is too short for such division, but I would have been wrong. They’re like cross stitch, each separate but making up the whole picture. 

In the first section, we’re told the stories of the eagle and the naturalist, and their encounters with weasels. It’s so interesting, where Dillard ends up taking this story, for I also find a lot of wisdom in the wild, but I’m not sure we reach those same conclusions. It’s fascinating how the same story can mean two different things to two different people. 

I’m enchanted by the story of the naturalist, who refused to kill a weasel, who in turn refused to let go of his hand. The line “soak him off like a stubborn label” is one of the best lines in the entire essay, something immediately visual and catching. There is also the eagle, a weasel’s skull still attached to its throat, unwilling to let go even in death. He nearly won, Dillard says. She speaks to the instinct that informs them, that it is life itself and no thought or sense of morality that drives their hunting and their fighting. He doesn’t choose, or not choose, to let go. INstinct tells him he must hang on. Never let go, never surrender. 

There’s something of that in myself, I think, from time time to time, and Dillard seems to drawn to the idea herself. She startles a weasel in this little pocket in suburbia, this place that is surrounded by civilization but still clings to that wildness, and a lot of her descriptions really bring how this idea that she’s talking about, this senseless logical progression of nature. No one tells the turtles to lay the eggs in clay, and the wood ducks get no counsel over where to fly and when to stay. 

And for her, I think, that’s the point of its existence, the point of her weasel in these ersatz woods--amidst all the cultivation and civilization of her life, of all our lives, she has managed to find one place where that wild instinct, that base desire to live, can still survive. There’s a fallen tree there that she uses as a bench, unhewn, unintentional, calling back her idea that nature’s provisions are random and in that way, maybe more trustworthy. 

She looks down, and the weasel startles her. They sit there and look at each other, not even so much out of interest as an inability to get away, and she goes on to posit that they shared brains for a moment, that for one moment she knew the comfort of what it might be like to be a weasel. 

The scrabble of survival is beautiful to her, an ideal way to live, in the way I suppose that it is always is to those who have rarely had to do it, but I agree with her on this: We can learn something from the weasel, about a life without choices. The weasel is both pursuer and pursued, I would say to Dillard, danger is around every corner. And how many of us, picked up by an eagle, would decide we were going to hook into its throat, though we cannot possibly win? I think of all the people who have given one last shot. Who have truly embodied the idea of not being able to win, but making sure there is a mark of their lives. 

Dillard describes the weasel as open to time and death painlessly, noticing everything and remembering nothing, choosing the given with a fierce and pointed will. The writing is lovely, and I disagree. The weasel is no more open to death than the rest of us. The weasel, in fact, fights death even beyond his own. The weasel searches for food, and drags it into his hole, and stays there when there is plenty, avoiding death. 

But we are making two different comparisons, Dillard and I. She says, “The thing is to stalk you calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting.” She is talking about chasing down the one thing you love, asking us to “grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you” 

I can respect that. I can certainly respect anything written so beautifully, and if I turn my head to the side, I can see it. To hang on to writing, to painting, to whatever you love, even if it kills you, and make it bear your skull. We all die anyway, might as well die in the pursuit of something, rather than by chance. But the weasel lives by instinct and by chance, you see, and for me the lesson is different. The lesson is to gather what you need, the lesson is to rest when you are full, and the lesson is to never stop fighting, even when you are beat. 

It’s funny how two people, who draw so much from nature, can come to such different conclusions. That’s the beauty of writing, I think, is that it makes of life an inkblot, and only each writer can say what we see. That what we see in the picture says more about us than anything. The is freedom in the eagle, in disintegration at the hands of great heights, for Dillard. The freedom for me is in the utter lack of fear, and surrender. 

And we’re both right.

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E32 (August 28, 2018)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Announcements: 

No Talks Machina next Tuesday, but they will be back the following week to discuss episode 33 of CR. Next Tuesday, instead of Talks, they’re filming something very special for the new channel. Sam: “You are? Oh, god.” 

Handbooker Helper premieres tomorrow at 10 AM Pacific Time at youtube.com/criticalrole! The first episode focuses on dice basics. 

There’s a new charity drive for the Pablove Foundation, dedicated to research toward ending children’s cancer; they’ve already hit the first $20k benchmark, which means Sam will be DMing a game of Crash Pandas! The next goal is $50k, which will be used to establish a research grant.

@critrolestats for this episode:

Nott has successfully disguised herself 12 times since the campaign started.

Caleb’s most-cast spells (in order): Alarm, Firebolt, and Identify.

The party has spent 55 of their 81 days together on the road.

Gustav’s sentence in Trostenwald lasted 77 days. He averaged about 7 gold, 8 copper per day of work.

Is Nott freaked out after her adventure with Jester went so badly? “Nott is always freaked out to do anything, but is starting to loosen up a bit and trust that-- at least up until this last episode-- trust that her friends could get her out of most scenarios. Maybe she’ll be a little more hesitant in the future.” She might “take one of the responsible ones along, like Fjord or Caleb.” Liam: “Yeah, you should bring someone sharp and level-headed, in case you need to go to a hospital...”

Caleb loves that a fan points out the parallels between Caleb’s similarities to the protagonist in the Dark Tower books: “Caleb wants to do really specific things, and he is not done with that. They’re potentially harmful, and I think that before he started traveling with these people, the main thing was getting them to trust me, and form a working relationship, but the bigger problem now is, does their friendship become a problem? Do I want to get close to you if I know potentially that I’ve got to walk away from you at a bad moment?” There’s another element he can’t talk about yet where he took more direct inspiration from The Dark Tower. He’s not sure yet which way Caleb will end up veering, and whether there’s a point where he’ll prioritize his friends over his long-term goals. “For all characters, there’s what he tells himself is the deal, and what’s really the deal. I’m enjoying not knowing where the hell it’s going.”

“Nott doesn’t really much care about Gustav, but also does not give a shit about money. It’s a means to an end for her.” Other than providing a little security for herself and Caleb, “the other stuff is way cooler, the little buttons and stuff.” When the opportunity came to pay so much for Gustav’s release, “she was like, ‘Yeah, sure, great.’”

Sam and Nott both wanted to know more about Molly’s past. Liam wanted to know, but Caleb didn’t care. Especially since Molly emphasized not caring about his past, and they didn’t know each other too well, Caleb was satisfied to just take that at face value. Molly’s experience was also interesting as a complete opposite to Caleb’s own experience of being completely consumed by his past.

Sam and Liam talk about how they both think about the show constantly throughout the week. Liam: “And I also spend 10% of my week thinking about Vax, too.”

Gif of the Week: Caduceus learns how much money 400 gold is. There may or may not be a live voiceover version of the text.

Why does Caleb still use fire? “Caleb feels like he needs to work through it, ‘cause fire’s not going anywhere. Maybe something that will come out eventually is the reason that fire is his first and he has a real affinity for it now. The fire is natural progression. The Fireball is something that Caleb got just from leveling up, so I took that for him to be understanding what he can already do and magnifying it. It’s the strongest weapon in his arsenal. He needs to master the misery and the pain so he’s ready to deal with facing his ex-teacher someday, or other people.” On Beau being the one to bring him back each time lately: “He likes that. It’s a flawed friendship, it’s not affectionate the way Caleb and Nott is, but that’s okay. The instinct to bet big and tell her everything came from a sense of shared interest, and shared point of view. They’re still very different, but there’s a lot in common there.” A lot of the things she does has been reaffirming his choice to take a chance on her.

Nott’s aware that she’s been more and more powerful, and so she’s been drinking less in battle situations. “She’s still skittish and gets nervous about stuff, but they’ve survived and succeeded in enough fights now that she’s becoming a little more brave.” Liam asks if Nott knows how gifted she is. Sam: “She’s aware that she can do things better than other folks in the group, but she probably would not think those things are the most spectacular.” Liam talks about how Caleb and Nott are “two different kinds of gifted weirdos.” Sam: “Just like us. Except for the ‘gifted’ part.”

Caleb was impressed by Caduceus’ approach to the Ettin encounter.

Sam: “Something that I just decided about goblins: they have short lifespans, and they’re also super brutal and just attack and they’re mean and get hungry and all this stuff, so I just thought, maybe goblins are just like unrestrained id.” A lot of Nott’s character came from that thought.

It felt really strange for Nott and Caleb to be welcomed by Alfield when they arrived. Caleb’s concerned about their amplified visibility in the Empire, which isn’t sitting well with him. At least when they’re affiliated with the Gentleman and the criminal element, it keeps the visibility away. Nott’s hesitant to be in the spotlight, but has also realized that cheering means fewer thrown rocks, so that’s good.

Fanart of the Week: Jester and Caduceus strolling through town.

There’s a brief foray into autoerotic asphyxiation. As you do.

Liam, Taliesin, and Marisha have all met SideBySamuel. The mystery continues.

Caleb on the dodecahedron: “It’s a little too perfect.” It confirms what he believes---that it has to be possible to manipulate time---and drives him forward. He wonders about the source that this thing is a splinter of. He’s also wondering if the Academy’s project is one and the same. “Time travel is good. It definitely does not endanger present reality.”

“What is Talks Machina, Brian?”

Brian: “We have to put a stop to this.”

Sam: “On the surface, Nott noticed that Caleb mentioned Astrid and probably just thinks that it would be nice to have a young lady in his life.” Dani: “I called your ex-girlfriend the other day, and we’re having lunch.” Sam: “I hear she’s a doctor...” Liam: “I’m tired of coming over to these dinners, ma.” Sam: “I hear the wizard down the street got married...”

Liam on Astrid: “That would be bad stuff. Bad news. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but it’s complicated.” Sam: “Astrid has got to be either super bad guy now, super dead, or something else we don’t know about.” Liam: “One of the many things Caleb wonders about every night before he goes to sleep, about both his friends. He doesn’t know. It’s been 16 years since he saw them last.” He’s 33 now. The fire happened when he was about 16, he was in the asylum for 11-ish years, and then he was traveling on his own for about five.

Nott worries about Caleb “about the same” in battle, but she’s definitely noticing the others stepping up, especially Beau, to watch out for and protect him. Sam points out that Liam’s strategy has been excellent lately to keep Caleb out of danger. “Nott always has an eye on Caleb, and Sam always has an eye on Caleb.” Liam: “That’s what Vax did. I would override common sense consciously because I thought it was in-character.” He still has to suppress his first instinct to have Caleb fling himself into danger for his friends.

On the surface, Caleb knows it’s not a good thing for Nott to be so affectionate toward him, but deep down, Caleb really appreciates Nott’s affection. “With Beau, there’s no affection, but he feels like he should be called an asshole and a shit, and he feels like he deserves it. It will keep him sharpened and on task.” He likes, on an unconscious level, what he gets from both of them for different reasons.

Which pet does Nott want to eat first? The weasel. Definitely. Sam ventures a theory that the pets represented the members of Vox Machina. The truth is out there, Sam.

To Caleb, it felt a bit wrong to turn his back on the Empire given everything that’s happening right now and everything that has to happen there in the future.

Talks Machina: After Dark: When It Gets Dirty (Big Dick Peanut Butter Energy)

Liam brings out both his Speak-n-Spell voice and his ~Cuddlefish~ voice. He also does a Nott impression. Sam: “You sound like Miss Piggy on acid.”

Nott’s not looking forward to the beach. Caleb’s interested in the beach in a Death in Venice kind of way. Brian ventures a guess that they’re going to discover that Caleb’s just inexplicably super ripped.

What tricks do they want to teach the pets? Liam: “Maybe ‘Die Instead Of Me’.”

Does Beau secretly have a gooey center? Sam and Liam, in unison: “Ask Keg.”

Nott feels safe with the M9 around, not because they protect her, but because they protect each other. “She’s always relied on Caleb for protection, and now I think she’s relieved more than surprised that she doesn’t have to put that burden on Caleb, or each other. That they have a support group of people that can help them and keep them out of danger.”

Nott expects Jester’s mom to be a “real sweet, fine, fancy lady.” Liam: “Caleb had good parents, and everything that Jester describes does not sound great to him.” He doesn’t say anything to her about it because he doesn’t feel like he can give advice. Dani: “My parents that I killed were awesome. As a child of great parents, that I murdered...”  He keeps asking about her childhood, and he’s fond of her, so he’s dismayed about what he hears, but he feels like he can’t say anything about it.

Liam: "My least favorite thing about Sam is how much of a fucking food snob he and his wife are. It’s unbearable, mostly because I want the food.” Sam: “The thing that I love most about Liam is that he’s a gentle love, but he’s a kind soul. He wants to help people. But he can’t because he’s too busy.” Liam: “True, true, true. What I like about Sam is he’s the living embodiment of Shakespeare’s Fools. He’s seemingly a buffoon, but if you know him well, you know that there’s no end to the depth and soul of his character. He is skating on talent and wit.”

Liam: “I don’t know how cameras work.”