#and is honestly one of the things that makes his longevity the most impressive. one hell of a change to have to make mid career

[batsplat]

Wait what’s the tea on Valentino’s sleep patterns 👀👀 (fellow insomniac / recent motogp fan always looking for more representation)

oh yeah, if you're looking for representation for poor sleeping habits you've very much come to the right place. his sleep patterns are pretty remarkable you have to say. way too nocturnal for a professional athlete, reliant on naps to get through the race weekend, all power to him for somehow making that work and winning all those titles. pretty sure I've read somewhere that he's still known for doing sim races at ungodly hours these days, just how he lives his life

tbh I can't remember off the top of my head where I'd actually read about his sleeping patterns, but I've cobbled together a decent selection of quotes from the usual sources. the most interesting stuff he's said on the topic is in his autobiography - where he goes into rather a lot of detail about his preference for the night. given that it's quite a lengthy passage, I've chucked it under the cut. he frames his nocturnal inclination as not only suiting his natural body clock better, but also as a way of escaping the rest of the world - of being able to move around in peace and silence and anonymity. plus, he liked to spend his nights in the garage to... *pinches bridge of nose* have some special personal time with his bike, when it was just the two of them. take that as you will

before that, let's just start with a few more general descriptions of his sleeping patterns. from early in his career, jerez 1998 (from oxley's vr files):

The camper only holds two people, but that's okay. I don't like my dad to sleep with me, because when it gets to ten o'clock he starts saying: "Vale, Vale, got to bed!", but I can't go to sleep before one or two. We did share a motorhome in '96 and it made life very, very difficult for me.

and about brno 1999 (from oxley's vr files):

On weekends when I'm not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it's a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me! Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I'd be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good for 24-hour racing!

and then a few years into his premier class career, valentino says the following (x):

'I have a lot of energy after 2am,' Rossi agreed. 'I like to sleep in the morning. I have some problems at the start of the day.'

we've also got a description of crew chief jb's influence in terms of making sure valentino wasn't slacking off by sleeping in (from oxley's vr files):

Burgess' talents aren't restricted to getting the best out of a 500. The Aussie has been in GPs for decades and knows how to extract the best from riders as well. He expects 100 per cent commitment both on the track and in the pits, and when he doesn't get that, he gives 'em hell. Some other crew chiefs won't do that - they're too overawed by their riders' superstardom. JB laid down the law last summer when late-sleeper Rossi turned up late for practice. Rossi suggested that in future one of the crew should be despatched to his motorhome each morning to make sure he was out of bed. No way, said Burgess, I'll be there to give you your wake-up call. Rossi's not overslept since.

and from 2001, in valentino's own words:

Q: Tell us about your sleeping habits, JB has had to wake you a few times for practice... VR: I never go to bed before 1 o'clock, and there's no limit on when I go to bed, but even when I go to sleep very late I always wake up at 8.30, though when I do wake up I always have a big confusion for the first five minutes, then after that I remember: "Oh fuck, I'm at world grand prix!" So I have a shower and then I'm okay. I never get up too close to riding time because the 500 is a dangerous bike so it's necessary to be awake when you climb aboard. Back in the afternoon after practice at four or five o'clock I'll sleep for another hour.

only semi-related but valentino's also talked about... you know, this generational shift - where the sport has become more professionalised, which is reflected in certain lifestyle changes (from barker's rossi biography):

"The next generation is always stronger. They are more professional, they put more effort in, they make a perfect life, they eat in a good way, they don't drink, they go to sleep early, they train every day from the morning to the night... I come from an era where the riders drank beer and smoked cigarettes!"

also plenty of talk of jet lag obviously... doesn't struggle with it too much headed westwards because he says he basically lives on american time anyway. the other direction is tougher, but in his youth he decided that he might as well try to continue living on italian time. so he essentially went racing at 5 in the morning (about phillip island 1998, from oxley's vr files):

I don't have a problem with jet lag, I always sleep. Last year in Indonesia I stayed on Italian time for the whole grand prix - so I was racing at five in the morning! But the difference is too great to do that in Australia.

how on earth are you racing motorcycles like that. mind you, he won that 1997 indonesia race

so yeah. king of disordered sleeping. given the nature of motogp schedules and how they do kind of require you to actually get up in the mornings, congrats to him for being remotely functional during race weekends. crazy how he even won the odd race

and here's the autobiography passage:

My day, usually, begins in the afternoon. It’s as if I exist inside my own personal time zone. I live at night, because I love the night. Now, this might make you think I do goodness-knows-what in the wee hours, or that I don’t live the life of a professional athlete. It’s true, I don’t live the life of an athlete in the traditional sense — early to bed, early to rise and all that — but this does not mean that I’m not careful about what I eat and drink or that I don’t train. In fact, I train a lot, both in the gym and on the bike. It’s just that I go to the gym in the afternoon, rather than the morning. Equally, when I’m training on the bike, down at the quarry, I always go in the afternoon, never at nine o'clock in the morning. My body has a certain type of metabolism. It is used to living according to a different body clock. That’s why, even if I’m travelling all over the world, I don’t experience jet lag and I rarely go to bed before 3 a.m. It’s much more likely that I’m just tucking into bed as people are leaving for work. As I say, I have a special relationship with the night. I like moving in it, living in it, thinking in it, relaxing in it. The night fascinates me, because it’s the period of least confusion. The world calms down, it goes quiet. And, besides, I’m Valentino Rossi. I’m wanted... I'm a fugitive. Yes, I’m always running away from my _ beloved countrymen. The Italians. I’m proud to be Italian, I'm proud of our merits and I regret our shortcomings. Italians are exceptional people. In every way. Even when they start loving you. Because that’s actually when problems can arise — if it’s you that the Italian falls in love with. Italian people are warm, empathetic, spontaneous. But they can also be excessive, oppressive and disrespectful. I don’t know who said that Italians will forgive everything except for success. Whoever it was, they were right. Because it’s absolutely true. After the 1997 season, I could tell I was becoming popular. Year after year, that popularity turned into fully fledged love. They’re in love with me now and, as a result, since the 2004 season, I’ve been a man on the run. And there’s no escape, no end in sight, because wherever I go they find me. There are simple things, the little pleasures in life, which I simply can’t engage in when I’m back in Italy. I can’t go to the bar and have a cappuccino, because I would not be able to drink it. To be fair, I can do it in Tavullia, but that's the only place. If I go more than a few kilometres in any direction from the centre of town, that's it, everything changes and I become, once again, a hunted man. I can’t walk into a store, look at something and decide what I want to buy. In fact, I can’t stop anywhere, not even at a petrol station. If I stop, I’m screwed. Somebody will recognise me (Italians are exceptionally good at recognising people), make a lot of noise, call other people and then, before I know it, I’ve been swallowed up by the crowd. If I schedule a meeting with someone, we have to meet in a secret, out-of-the-way location and, even then, we can't linger. I can't go to a restaurant if there are too many people inside. And if I do go, I can't go at a normal time, say eight o'clock. I have to go later, much later, when people are leaving. And I can't sit where I like, I have to hide away in a corner, in the shadows. As for places like cinemas or the beach, forget about it. They are just always off-limits.

Having said that, I do mix with people. I do it because I like doing it. It’s just that I wish I could do it as a normal person, because, deep down, I am a normal human being. This is part of the reason why I have to live at night. It would be that much tougher during the day, with all those people about. Plus, I don’t like the traffic, the chaos, the noise, all those people running all over the place, stressed out and out of breath. The night is different. Everything is softer, there are fewer people around and you are much more free. It’s like a parallel dimension. The world is different at night. Everything is different. That’s why I’ve assimilated the lyrics of a song by the Italian artist Jovanotti, “Gente. della notte” (“People of the night”). It has become my personal anthem. Jovanotti is one of my favourite singers and I find myself agreeing with him on most things. I love his work. What else can I say? The night is my reality. And I don’t change just because Grands Prix are scheduled during the day. My way of being and living is reflected in what I do during races. I don’t really change. Obviously, I don’t go to bed at dawn, but let’s just say that when I do, finally, go to bed, there aren’t many people around. Everything is better at night in the paddock. There is silence, the people _ have disappeared and, with them, the chaos. I can wander around freely, most of all I can enjoy the empty pit area and my bike. Yes, my bike. Because at night I often slip into the team garage. At some races I do it every single night, because I love being with my bike. My night-time activities can be traced back to the years racing in 125cc, and are directly tied to my passion for aesthetics and the stickers, which would later become my obsession. I don’t leave anything to chance'when it comes to choosing the colour or the stickers for my bike. That’s why I’ve always been central to any and all discussions when we were deciding the aesthetics of my racing bikes. I’ve done it always, with every bike, at every level, with every team. And, naturally, I still do it today. Nobody has ever been allowed to attach a single sticker to my bike, unless it was the logo of a technical sponsor. Until a few years ago I was totally inflexible about this. Now, Roby takes care of the number: he attaches it because then he needs to cover it in transparent paint. But apart - from -this, which is primarily a technical procedure anyway, I take care of everything else to do with the stickers. And this takes time and planning, which is why I started going to the garage at night. During the day it is packed with people. There are mechanics, technicians and others around. I would just get in the way, if I wanted to get near the bike just to check the stickers. As I got older and progressed from 125 to 250 and then to 500 and on to MotoGP, I maintained that passion for aesthetics and stickers, as well as the habit of dropping in on the team garage at night. I enjoy the bike during the day _ obviously, but my relationship with the bike is so special that I can spend hours with it, just looking and admiring it, making sure that everything is in order. Those are very personal moments which I find difficult to describe. The Japanese guys, both the executives but also the engineers never knew this, not the guys at Honda, not the ones at Yamaha. I don’t think they would really understand. They would probably view it as a waste of time, since I don’t actually do anything concrete. I never touch anything to do with the bike itself, beyond, obviously, the stickers. And yet I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. It’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy.

During the day everything happens so quickly, frenetically, neurotically. However, there is a sacrosanct moment when I need to step away and isolate myself. Once my commitment to the team is over, usually around 5.30 p.m., I retire to my motorhome, relax and take a nap. It usually lasts a couple hours and then I go out. There’s always something to do after dinner. Of course, the range of options depends on how many friends are around. I really start enjoying the paddock around ten o'clock at night. Before going to sleep I check on the bike again and then I go into the team motorhome, which serves as an office. Now that I’m at Yamaha, I have an office all to myself. That’s where I keep all my race gear. I do this for two reasons. My own personal motorhome is an absolute mess, nothing more fits in there and I probably couldn’t find anything amid all the junk. Plus, the office is where I change into my racing suit before going out on to the track. Thus, at night, after going to the pits to see the bike, I go to make sure that all my stuff is where it should be: gloves, suit, socks, boots . . . everything needs to be perfect, because I just don’t have time in the morning to hunt around for stuff. Thus, each morning I have to follow a very precise routine. I’m like a robot, everything is the same each day. Because the truth is that I need to be like clockwork. I just don’t have the time to think. Somebody generally comes to wake me up — usually it’s Jeremy, because he doesn’t trust my ability to wake up on my own! I then get up, wash my face (my eyes are still shut at this point) and try to stay awake as I ride the scooter from the motorhome to the pits. I then go up to the office and get dressed. There too everything is done mechanically. It takes the slightest hiccup to throw everything off, forcing me to be late to the testing.

"I find it hard to explain to an engineer that I enjoy simply being near the bike, even when I’m not doing anything. it’s a complicated concept to explain: the risk is that people will think that you're crazy" well -

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Nu carnival boys find out you're a demigod ♦️(Morvay)

Yakumo

You tell him you're a demigod and his first question is if you can help with his grandparents' harvest. His second question is how you handle having power and if you can give him any tips so he's less scared of his power. He feels safe with you and he loves you so much, but he'd love you the same even if you were mortal. He feels closer to you after you tell him and that makes him very happy.

Edmond

He doesn't believe you. Even if you have a great power he is convinced it's magic or something like a Yokai and not something godly. He'll be upset if you misuse your power or “status” in any way, but for the most part he only cares about how you treat him and others. If you use your power to help people that's the fastest way to his heart.

Olivine

Guilt, confusion, blasphemy. He's feeling a lot of emotions right now and honestly is doing a good job handling it considering his very devout religious views. Is dating you idolization? Has he been sinning by being with you? Well, sinning in more than just the physical sense. He cares about you but will need some time to repent and think about the situation. In the end he still loves you and is sure the God of Klein will forgive him. He will be uncomfortable with you using your powers around him though, unless it's to help someone.

Quincy

This changes nothing. God, human, demon, or something else entirely; it doesn't matter what you are once he likes you. If your demigod heritage gives you longevity he will actually be ecstatic though. He's so tired of out living everyone he cares about so if you actually be able to stay in his life that would make him so happy. He long ago lost the dream of growing old with someone, but if you'll let him, he will gladly spend the ages with you.

Kuya

Oh no. Do NOT give him access to any of your power! He is strong enough without the power of a demigod at his beck and call. He's happy that your demigod status makes you more durable and more “fun” to play with. He did have his suspicions for a while but wanted to see how long it would take you to tell him.

Blade

He does not understand religious implications. Even if you try to explain it to him it's not like it'll change his opinion of you. If you know who your godly parent is he will read every book and legend about them and show you all the coolest stories he can find! For him it's a bonding experience, for you he's just being adorable.

Garu

He’ll ask you what it means to be a demigod first. When you tell him it basically just gave you power he thinks it's the coolest thing in the world! He's very sweet about it and will listen to any stories you want to share about your heritage, and will love any part of your demigod abilities you decide to show him. He will never push you to show him anything though.

Karu

“Demigod? Can you eat that?” He will be a little offended when he finds out about your power. He doesn't like the idea of his partner being stronger than him (he doesn't want someone to have power over him). He comes around though if you show him a cool trick or something. He is very easy to win over.

Dante

His ego takes a bit of a hit and he's actually bitter for about a week before he finally relents and goes back to normal. He makes a point to tell you that even if you're a demigod he is still the Sun lord and your superior in Solaria. Even if your power is impressive he prefers that you don't use it. Not just because of his ego but because he's worried someone will take advantage of you because of the powers you have.

Rei

Also doesn't believe you are a demigod. He knows you have great power but he doesn't believe gods exist, so by extension demigods don't exist either. Maybe you're a descendant of a powerful Yokai? Or you've been gifted by the elemental spirits? Either way he refuses to believe you're a demigod unless you can somehow tangibly prove that gods exist, and that you are related to one.

Eiden

He's impressed and amazed, but not surprised. Honestly he's seen so many fantasy things since coming to this world that he expected to meet a god sooner or later. He's just happy that his partner is so cool! Also how many people can say they slept with a demigod! He is definitely going to brag about this.

Aster

Really hope you weren't trying to keep this a secret because once he knows, everyone knows. He is also the type of person Dante was worried about. He will find a way to benefit from your abilities whether you know it or not. He loves the fact that he has a powerful partner though. Is makes him feel that much more powerful.

Morvay

“Oh that's why your c*m is so heavenly!” I can see him making so many jokes and innuendos about it. All with a giant grin on his face. He doesn't really take it seriously. Not that he doesn't believe you, he does, but he doesn't care that you're a demigod. He may use it to brag to Aster though.

[progmanx]

Soo… thoughts on the flip side?

I enjoyed it when I played it, but it left zero lasting impression on me, unlike the first two games. It holds no special place in my heart, and I honestly question why it exists. I think there's a lot you COULD say about sex workers and how that internal perception works, how Jecka's total lack of control in her life paralyzes her, but...I don't think this has really much to say at all. The FYE route reads and feels like a bad South Park episode, which is completely baffling.

And for the love of God if you want to if you NEED to for some reason make a joke about how this kid from the suburbs doesn't know geography SAY PAKISTAN FIRST as the one she is mixing up that was so tone deaf and pointless as a writing decision.

As much as SBN3 talks about how humor and jokes work and that's what he does? Where are the jokes. The same bit with Jecka's dad screaming at her is kind of funny the first time you play it but it's not gonna work twice. There's no longevity there's no LIFE to this, unlike the first two.

Basically none of the humor is actually going to be funny a second time unlike ALL of the Re-Up and a lot of the original game. For something that marketed itself as "the other games matter here to remember" they really didn't except the Nicole suicide route which was done extremely well but...we already did this messaging. That's why it was good we did ALL of this before. There was nothing actually new here to explore or say.

Just a remix in a far more muddied and far less entertaining way. Three routes are about jobs in the Recession which could be really interesting to explore but. They didn't.

I don't even have a problem with the feet thing, tbh, but it's the SAME joke over and over and over and it stops working faster than the game thinks it does imo.

Nicole having toe sex with Jecka's dad feels...baffling and bizarre. Especially after how much time was spent in the sex worker route FOR NICOLE last time. She can't fuck a stranger sober but she can do this? To this old creepy dude she is disgusted by at the start? I know she's vindictive but jfc???

We did this already.

Ms. Ames as the counselor (no she's not she's Remedial English), Kyle as...cited as the guy who killed his mom for Jecka in the opening but then he's just there? Again, talking about how the other games matter but they don't?? There's like. No characterization here, but most of all, above everything else, why I only enjoyed it once and why I don't love it?

There is not one trace of sincerity outside of the Nicole Suicide route. BECAUSE THAT'S FROM THE FIRST GAME. It all feels just so...hollow and forced and frustrated and almost spiteful. Like why the fuck is it ARI who dies and not JECKA KILLING HER DAD?! There's no consistency here, basically everyone is flanderized I just.

what the fuck?

I'm not even that disappointed, since I went in expecting nothing, but to go that hard on the first two and then you show up with whatever the hell this is? Anachronism after anachronism---if you want to talk about instituional cp you need to actually oh gee I dunno give that some fucking room. You SHOULD talk about it if you feel you can in a way that's HELPFUL but shouting it with nothing else to say doesn't do shit and really doesn't fit with...the other games actually saying stuff and meaning it.

I have defended the Mr. White stuff because of how easy the slippery slope of radicalization is but this is just fucking stupid. There's nothing to this. It's a bunch of references in the FYE route and if you can't get Antfish back just do not put the counselor in the voice doesn't work with an impression. There's like. no actual banter in this game, either. There's no solid back and forth.

I doubt I'll stick around for the anime if this is where things are at, like okay man. You had two great things I'll always love them. This gave me a fun evening and I am already struggling to remember anything that happened or anything that was said. The other two are seared into my brain forevermore.

also that last text message was just lazy troll dick move; everyone will think he is being entirely serious.

God just

HOW DO YOU GO FROM HAVING A COMEDY DUO THAT IS UP THERE WITH ABBOT AND COSTELLO TO DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING?!

[tokiro07]

The results are in!

I'm surprised that Human was the most popular choice, I would have expected that people would want to be something else in a fantasy world, but that's why I included it I suppose, for anyone who wanted to explore that world as themselves

Naturally, Mink was second, and going by all of the comments, for all of the reasons you would expect

Third was Lunarian, which I voted for myself, I imagine because it's either the coolest (wings, fire, and canonically rare) or because it's practical (flight and near invincibility)

Fishman was fourth, and I'm willing to bet it's because it's One Piece's premiere fantasy race. They were the first to be introduced, they have just as much versatility as Minks, and again, they're just pretty dang cool

Mermaids are always popular on tumblr, so I'm not surprised it beat out everything below it and made it all the way to fifth

Large Human at sixth is a bit of a surprise, I would have figured people would think it's too close to just regular human but slightly less convenient. Honestly, since it's just a style of human, I considered omitting it entirely and using either Snakeneck or Alien, but I guess now I'm glad I didn't!

The fact that Cyborg was behind it at seventh, though? That really shocked me, I would have expected more people would jump at the chance to modify themselves however they like. I guess I'm just glad no one complained about including an artificial "race"

The only thing more shocking is that Giant only made it to eighth. I wonder if perhaps some people got confused about the difference between Large Human and Giant? I hope not! Anyway, the colossal strength and longevity of the Giants seemed to me like it would be a huge draw, but I guess not!

Three-Eye making it to ninth seems about right; we know basically nothing about the Three-Eyes other than that they can ostensibly hear the Voice of All Things under...some completely unknown circumstances. That's literally it. That mystery, I would wager, is what drew a 3.5% of voters to it, unless they're just big fans of Pudding or the overall aesthetic

Longleg leads the bottom 3 at tenth place, and I'm honestly impressed it wasn't a bit closer to Longarm. Certain Large Humans just look like Longlegs anyway, so I personally find it one of the less visually interesting choices, but hey, they've got good movement potential and martial arts skills, so it's not like they don't have anything to offer

Longarm being at eleventh does make sense to me, though, as the majority of Longarms we see are pretty gangly and a bit offputting. The strongest Longarm we've ever seen, Ideo, doesn't even look like a Longarm most of the time, he dislocates his shoulder and folds his arm up weirdly, so I would guess most voters don't have a good impression of the advantages to being a Longarm (and neither do I)

Dwarf being last at twelfth seems ridiculous to me, though. They're so cute!!! They got them big ol' tails! And they're super strong and fast! I have to imagine that people in general like Dwarves, but just don't want to be that small or just like the idea of being the other ones better. I refuse to take this as a sign that the Dwarves are unpopular!!!

Thank you to everyone who voted!!! I'm still hoping someday we'll get a One Piece game that lets us all put this into practice

If you would have picked one that's not here, apologies, tumblr only gave me 12 options, which is still two more than I anticipated

Reblogs for a greater sample size would be greatly appreciated

[thetypedwriter]

All the Young Dudes Fanfiction Review

All the Young Dudes Fanfiction Review by MsKingBean89

So. 

This is a first. 

If you’ve been following this blog for some time, then you know I generally read young adult books and write far too lengthy reviews on them with the occasional outlier of adult fiction, mystery, sci-fi, etc. 

At any given time, I usually have both a physical book that I’ve bought from somewhere that I’m working on (right now it’s Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley) as well as a fanfiction that I reserve until before I go to bed (my treat for a day well lived). 

Fanfiction is something that I’ve mentioned copious amounts of times on this blog in varying degrees, but this is the first time I’ll be writing an actual review for one of them on this platform. 

The reason for this is myriad. 

One, this fanfiction called All the Young Dudes is a far-cry from your normal standardized fanfiction of 5-50,000 words-something I can easily consume in a few minutes to a few hours. 

Nope, this behemoth ends on a staggering 526,969 words and 188 chapters, not including bonus chapters and extra in-universe canonical content the author has also written and published. Roughly speaking, if this was actually published onto paper it would be well over 2,000 pages. 

2,000 pages. 

Yeah. And I enjoyed every single moment of it. 

Two, while I read a lot of fanfiction I generally don’t put any of it on this blog because while I’ve dedicated it to published novels, I also usually have very simple feelings about fanfiction. My thoughts run the gambit of: It was good, it was fluffy, it was a train-wreck, so on and so forth. 

Normally my reviews are so long and wordy because I have too many thoughts about the published books that I read and I need an outlet to let them loose. 

Whether because of its longevity or because of its content, All the Young Dudes is a story I find myself having a profusion of thoughts for. Hence, the birth of this review. 

If fanfiction isn’t your thing, feel free to skip this particular review of mine (although fanfiction is a gift to this world and you should really rethink your stance on it if you don’t like it, just saying). 

Third, All the Young Dudes is well written and rivals any actual published content. 

Fourth, because of how extensive this fanfiction is, it took me over a month to read it-time I generally would have been reading something else. Instead of leaving you all hanging for a few more weeks until I finish Firekeeper's Daughter (don’t hold your breath-the book is sort of a slog for me personally right now), I decided to just take the jump and write my first-ever typedwriter review for a fanfiction. 

Fanfiction has been a part of my life for the better part of almost two decades now. It was truly something I found by accident and in retrospect, it’s insane to me that it’s still something that brings me continuous joy and happiness. 

I discovered fanfiction when I was 11-years-old and deeply obsessed with the Harry Potter fandom. 

Now, as an overall disclaimer I completely disagree with J.K. Rowling’s stances of gender and biology and differ wholeheartedly with her views of trans and non-binary individuals. With that said, I still love Harry Potter as a story and while I no longer buy anything that profits J.K. Rowling directly, I still love the fandom and the people in it, including fanworks like All the Young Dudes. 

When I was 11, the seventh Harry Potter book had yet to come out and like many other people in this time period of agony while waiting for 2007 to roll around so that I could find out what happened, I discovered fanfiction as a way to fill in that ache I was so keenly feeling. 

I found myself suddenly immersed in this world of online fiction-both good and bad-but completely entrancing all the same. 

I never left. 

That is to say, I did eventually move onto other fandoms with their own fanfiction cultures, but Harry Potter was still my first in terms of fanfiction and introducing me to the concept as a whole. 

Specifically and maybe oddly, I never found myself curious for actual fanfiction about Harry or Hermione or Ron. In my mind, I already knew what had happened to them and reading about them in fanfiction was redundant. 

In addition, the first fanfiction I just happened to come across was a Lily/James marauder era fanfiction on mugglenet.com

This idea immediately intrigued me as fans as a whole knew next to nothing about the infamous Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs and while I knew everything I needed to about Harry Potter it was intoxicating to think that I could learn about a time before the series had existed and about characters who were important, but off screen. 

I was hooked and devoured as much as I could for most of middle school about the marauders and Lily and James’ romance in particular (I even wrote and published some of my own that will go unmentioned as they are truly really terrible). 

That being said, I haven’t read a Harry Potter fanfiction in years. I grew up and out of the fandom eventually thanks to Twilight and from there I’ve bounced from fandom to fandom as I’ve aged and consumed different things and fallen in love with different characters and different worlds. 

That isn’t to say I’ve forgotten though. 

I still remember my favorite marauder stories, my favorite Sirius Black/OFC (original female character), and my favorite baby Harry drabbles. They made such a huge impression on me and even though it’s been sixteen years, I still recall those stories with fond nostalgia and jubilation. 

Which is why it’s almost ironic that I would return to this particular time period of the marauders with All the Young Dudes. 

In a fashion that’s almost scarily full circle, I happened to be on Youtube one day and saw a recommendation video about this girl reviewing a fanfiction called All the Young Dudes. Now, youtube book reviews aren’t uncommon, but a thirty minute video for a fanfiction? Not your typical sighting. 

So out of pure curiosity, I searched All the Young Dudes fanfiction on Google and low and behold the overwhelming and top results were all for a marauder-era fanfiction by MsKingBean89. Piqued, I clicked on the link in ao3 and thought why not? 

While I’ve mainly been reading in other fandoms recently (BTS, some anime and manga, All for the Game) I had been in a little bit of a slump for finding a really good, really alluring story for some time and really didn’t think I had anything to lose by reading All the Young Dudes, especially as the more research I did, the more I found how popular it was-a plethora of videos on youtube, tiktok compilations, and dozens of fanart posts. 

Plus, it had been so long since I had read anything from my progenitor fandom and the thought of going back was strangely comforting.

Hence the journey of reading All the Young Dudes began and oh what a journey it was. 

Now, that this review is already five pages in, I should probably tell you what on earth All the Young Dudes is actually about. 

The whole story is a marauder-era fanfiction told from Remus Lupin’s POV from the summer of 1971 when Remus is 11-years-old to the summer of 1995 when he is 35-five-years-old. It is an in-depth portrayal of Remus’ time at Hogwarts from year one to year seven and then going all the way up to the start of the second wizarding world, ending around the time Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix begins. 

While already the scope makes this a massive undertaking, the author also includes all canonical content from the original series involving Remus, the Marauders, and the time period and incorporates it into her fanfiction-making it canon compliant from start to finish. 

While a very large portion of this story is not romantic, there is eventual WolfStar (Remus Lupin/Sirius Black) and if you have read the original Harry Potter series...well. You know things don't end up super dandy for these two characters in particular so you know how the story will end before it begins. 

This fanfiction left me speechless for so many reasons. 

The scope and length is frankly unbelievable. This fanfiction was published on March 2, 2017 and it was completed on November 12, 2018.

….how?

How did she manage that? I frankly have no idea, but I am in complete and utter awe at her ability to write content with such a magnitude and actually complete it. She gets an award just for that honestly. 

Not only that, but the fanfiction is actually superbly well-written. I won’t lie and say it’s the most poignant and beautiful piece of literature I’ve ever consumed, but it was consistent in its pacing, characterization, themes, motifs, and structure, which, for 2,000 pages, is an incredible achievement when you think about it. 

Speaking of characterization, everyone was So. Well. Done. 

Remus was such an interesting POV to read from and while he was compliant in every sense of the word-werewolf, prefect, bookish-MsKingBean89 added so much more to his character and fleshed him out so incredibly that it’s truly tragic that he’s not a real person. 

And to that extent, she does this with all of the characters. You see James’ optimism and leadership, Sirius’ arrogance and loyalty, Peter’s jealousy and chess skills. 

Every character was so well-rounded and real. She did an incredible job of taking the bits and pieces from the canon series and using that to build up her own flesh and blood people with motivations, likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires. 

That being said, she also had 2,000 pages to do it sooooooo it would be bad if the characters weren’t fleshed out by the end honestly. 

In addition, I really appreciated that she didn’t just focus on Remus, Sirius, James and Peter. Lily Evans played a critical role in Remus’ school life and after and so did the other Gryffindor girls like Marlene and Mary. 

Too often, the focus is on the boys and their close friendship and while that was a huge focus, we also get to see Remus develop friendships with the girls in his own right and other friends as well that were often OC’s of the author’s. 

Now. OC’s are generally something I dislike. I’m reading fanfiction to read about particular characters that I’ve sought after, not to read about some imaginary cast. However, just like any of the canon characters, all of the OC characters were well-developed and played crucial roles in Remus’ development-while either at Hogwarts or after-and I found myself not minding them in the least. In a few cases (Grant) I actually really loved them. 

The biggest draw for this fanfiction for me was Remus’ time at Hogwarts. It was so well-written and incredibly descriptive and I found myself thrust back into the world of magic so suddenly and seamlessly that it was like I never left. 

MsKingBean89 includes so many intricate details and builds up the world so beautifully that I’d recommend any Harry Potter fan to consume it, just to get some good Hogwarts material out of it. 

Another thing I greatly appreciate about this fanfiction was the slow burn. I’ve read slow burn before (All for the Game trilogy anybody?), but this truly took the cake. Sirius and Remus don’t properly get together until the end of year six going into year seven. That’s over 100 chapters in. 

100 chapters out of 188. 

Meaning that over half of this beast doesn’t have the main pairing even together. For some people, this could be a drawback. You might think to yourself: It takes how long for them to confess their feelings and stop being prats?

A very, very long time. 

However...it didn’t bug me. I like slow burn to begin with, but being along for the ride as Remus goes from being a child to an adolescent with unrequited feelings to being in a relationship with someone he loves is so rewarding and fulfilling that the 100 previous chapters are completely and utterly worth it. 

MsKingBean89 develops them so well and so carefully that the payoff is so sweet and satisfactory that it's enough to bring the tears right then and there. 

The last huge feat of this fanfiction for me was the author’s dedication to canon not just confined to Hogwarts and the Harry Potter books, but also to the time period. Either she lived through the 70’s and 80’s herself or she had done her due diligence when it comes to research because anything from London anti-gay laws to British slang was commonplace in her fic. 

I found it completely amazing how she was able to tie in real-time historical and cultural moments like famous singers and movies playing at the time alongside convoluted muggle politics warring with the wizarding ones. 

I was so blown away by the accuracy and genuine love behind this fic that it often brought me out of my own mind to simply ponder once again how much work this was and how well she was delivering it. 

Even unpleasant things, like homophobia and bigotry, are dealt with in a very carefully constructed way that is aligned with the time period in which the story takes place. 

Unfortunately, everything beautiful is not without flaws and All the Young Dudes is not the exception, although it’s flaws are nary compared to its achievements. 

The few complaints I have with this fic are honestly quite negligible. 

First, there are a few grammatical and punctuation errors. Very few, but I did notice some. 

Next, and again, this complaint is really just me whining, but...the end of the fic was really fucking sad. The end of this whole story took me so much time to complete simply because I didn’t want to read it. 

I know what happened during the first wizarding war and I also know what ended it (James and Lily Potter dying, Harry being shipped off to the Dursley’s, Sirius imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit, Peter presumed dead) and in one fell swoop Remus lost everything and everyone he ever loved. 

After spending over 1,500 pages of Remus growing to love these people it is absolutely devastating and heart-breaking to see him lose it all. 

The last handful of chapters are just really, really sad and it makes me wonder why MsKingBean89 decided to write it in the first place. Frankly, I don't know why she didn't write about Remus’ time at Hogwarts and stop after graduation because we all know what happens after that and none of it is good. 

Looking back, I wish I could time travel and tell myself to stop at chapter 150. I truly didn’t need to read about the tragedies that happened after that and the hell that all of the characters go through. 

And while it does end on a….sort of kind of maybe positive (?) note with Sirius and Remus reuniting briefly once the events of Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban take place, it was really tainted and bittersweet for me knowing that in a year Sirius would die and Remus would marry his fucking cousin and have a child. 

Urgh. 

I just can’t. 

That being said, I understand it’s not the author’s fault and I’m not saying it is. She wrote a canon compliant fic to the end and it was my choice to continue reading. That being said, she said she ended it before the events of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix because Sirius and Remus are happy and back together and she didn’t want to write what was coming next if she continued. 

I truly, truly get that. 

But in the same vein, why even write the events of the first wizarding world to begin with then? I’m confused with that response as it doesn’t make much sense to me. I felt like ending it right then and there was not a happy ending. They’re together, yes, but at this point they are both shells of who they used to be. Both have severe trauma and PTSD and frankly I don’t even know if I agree with them being together just because they’ve put each other through so much. 

It’s just an interesting choice at the end of the day in terms of the author. 

Once again, however, I truly understand that she can do whatever she wants and that she doesn’t owe anyone anything, especially as she’s writing this for free and just because. So please keep in mind that although I’m complaining, I truly understand how fortunate we are to even have this fic in the first place. 

Okay. 

Secondly, my only other huge complaint is that MsKingBean89 made Remus gay. Not bi, not pan. Gay. 

You could argue that Remus just calls himself gay in the fanficiton as he didn’t know about other kinds of sexuality. You could argue that Remus’ sexuality changes and develops as he ages and experiences trials and tribulations. You could argue that it was a sign of times like so much else in this fic. 

I frankly just found it to be a frustrating choice as the fic is canon compliant and even though it ends before the events of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows we know that Remus eventually marries Tonks and has a baby son named Teddy Lupin. 

How does that make sense?

I tried very, very hard to come up with some sort of feasible explanation for how a gay man would have ended up with the love of his life’s female cousin and truly could not think of one that was not fucked up to some degree. 

Again. I know I’m being nit-picky, but it irked me that she made this choice regarding Remus’ sexuality and essentially ended her fic with Remus stuck in a corner regarding how the series actually ends. 

At the end of the day, all of the negatives are truly, truly not important. I’m just whinging to whine and to express my thoughts, but I do once again understand that MsKingBean89 isn’t profiting from this fic and that she can do what she wants as is her prerogative. 

I hope I was able to express that while I understand that, I can still be frustrated with some of the choices she made. 

To wrap this all up, All the Young Dudes is a masterpiece and is a must-read for anyone who loves Harry Potter, the Marauders, or Wolfstar. I was blown away by the sheer magnitude, the love and care she put into her craft, the slow and deliberate development of all the characters, the beautifully constructed love between Sirius and Remus, and the intricate world-both muggle and magic-that surrounded the story like a cocoon. 

I am so happy I found this fic and I truthfully am floundering at what to do with myself next. If you have any more current Marauder era fics that I’ve missed out in the past eleven years, please don’t hesitate to let me know. 

Recommendation: Go read All the Young Dudes. For weeks, you will cry, you will laugh, you will despair, and you will smile. This fanfiction will make you wish this was canon and in my mind, it now is. 

Score: 8/10

Links:

1. All the Young Dudes on ao3 

2. The Youtube Video about All the Young Dudes that made me aware of its existence 

[goodmode]

what would ur ocs think of genshin impact

oh man. well i know Cole would be like DUDE YEA!! TEENS ARE ALLOWED TO JUST ROAM AROUND SOLO AND FIGHT MONSTERS, THIS RULES!!! teyvat is an ideal habitat for the cole, who is reckless and adventurous. dude would definitely join the adventurer's guild. catch my boy in the leprechaun uniform hanging out with Reckless Pallad (his name speaks for the adventurer's guild by itself honestly)

corvidan would probably be considerably less impressed... on the outside. and then he'd take one look at the food/culinary world of teyvat and go "okay i'm in" while secretly relieved that it's Normal for most people to carry swords around and be ready to fight stuff. he would quietly LOVE xiangling

lavender, being a child and also a dragon, would probably be thrilled to find out there are TWO weird kids her age with increased longevity and not enough adult supervision. and then to find there's a dragon native to mondstadt as well? pog! new uncle acquired

...the trouble with teyvat is that on the surface it's all magic and visions and slimes bouncing around and big pretty trees and mountains but on the underbelly it's like. This World Is Wartorn And Probably Slowly Succumbing To Some Terrible Unknown World-Sickness. so i can imagine after the sparkle wears off everyone would be like. we wanna go home actually.

except for turo. who is like. well thank fuck i'm not stuck in the other world. this one seems to be on its way to die as well but in a much more researchable way. i can probably fix it. /arrogance arrogance arrogance *disappears into the abyss*

....unless you mean what would they make of the game as a fictional...video game! in which case i can see corvidan being a Video Games Unenjoyer virgin saying things like "why are you buying anime girlfriends, you're gay" and cole going "FIRST OF ALL ITS A SOPHISTICATED STORYLINE second of all i dont whale. i bet you dont even know what whaling is. google whaling in gacha IDIOT" and then they have a fight

[paragonrobits]

A friend asked me to give a stab at a Tierlist Maker for Video Games Not Yet In the Video Game Hall of Fame Tier List Maker, so here's my list for it!

This is based primarily on what I considered to be overall value to gaming history as a whole, with games with greater influence or impact ranking higher than those that had less impact on those to follow, or on culture. All the entries are those that have been nominated to the Hall of Fame, but not actually inducted as of this post's writing. Games that I personally like are generally rated higher, though mostly because I'm more familiar with them and thus can judge their impact from a personal POV.

(Tier List explainations, below!)

SHOULD BE IN ALREADY

Final Fantasy: I mean seriously. How is this one not already in yet?? It is not, as my research suggests, the first true RPG; that likely goes to games like Ultima. It is certainly an incredibly influential one; FF is a name closely associated with JRPGs in general, and its diverse class system is one of the strongest things to do with it, as noted by challenges like beating the game with a party of Black Belts. FF is THE name of RPGs in general and I'm startled it hasn't made it in, though I suppose that's owing to more notable entries (Hard as that is to imagine). It doesn't hurt that the majority of my favorite FF titles are those most similar to this one, such as FF6 and FF9, in terms of approaching the general world setting and class systems. Most significantly is that this game popularized RPGs and made them accessible, in ways that previous games such as Dragon Warrior/Dragon Quest did not; the field of gaming would be VERY different without it; RPGs became VERY popular, to the extent of RPG elements being almost universal among other games in the modern day. (I am also pleased and amused to see 8-Bit Theater mentioned on the actual Wikipedia page. Now THAT'S notability!)

Sid Meir's Civilization: HEY NOW HALL OF FAME JUDGES, DON'T YOU BE MOCKING CIV, ALRIGHT. CIV IS FUCKING AWESOME. Okay, jokes aside, I'm genuinely astonished as the Civ series is considered the first true main game of the 4x series, and it shows; the entire genre centers around expansion, resource usage and diplomacying or conquering your enemies, and considering the impact of this game and its sheer popularity, to the extent of the meme of the game getting people to play for Just One More Turn, I'm a bit disappointed that it's not already in the hall of fame. I also note that I am personally more familiar with the spin off Alpha Centauri, a sci fi variant, which is still one of my all time favorite games.

Half-Life: Given this game's popularity, to the point of its release alone consigning the likes of Vampire the Masquerade Bloodlines to cult classic status and its engine spawning a whole THING with GMod and the usage of physics mechanics in FPS games, one thing of note is its use of scripted sequences; at the time, an unknown in most games of the time. There may be something to be said for how the entire game is spent as Gordon Freeman, behind his eyes, possibly engendering a lack of separation between self and character that would be later emphasized in games like Bioshock. It's influence on games cannot be denied, with publications using it as a bookend between eras of gaming. One consistent element of what seems to make this game so distinctive is its approach to storytelling, without simply imitating film techniques which don't always work well with gameplay.

Candy Crush: This is an example of something I don't personally play myself, or even like very much, but I'd be remiss to dismiss it out of hand. There's no denial that phone games are one of, if not THE biggest market of games in the here in now; if now in scale, certainly in quantity. You might call it the TF2 Hat Economy theory; people aren't spending BIG bucks, but they are spending a LOT of little bucks all the time. It proves that highly accessible games that are generally free to play, with optional purchases, are a legitimate means of game business, and this certainly revolutionized how games were seen by the money-makers.

Super Smash Bros Melee: I loved this game as a kid, but truth be told i have a bit of a love-hate relationship; i REALLY dislike the competitive community that has fixated hard on this game, so any thoughts on it will have a slight element of pause beforehand. Even so, I can't forget the thrilled delight I felt watching the trailer for this game in supermarkets for the first time as a kid. at a time when getting any new games at all was a HUGE deal in my family. So, there is a lot of feeling behind this one! Ultimately, I have to concede that while i have complicated feelings about this game, its worth noting that the vast majority of things that made Smash iconic, and influenced the competitive scene AND the games inspired by Smash AND shaped the course of the series going forwards, largely owe themselves to Melee in particular. 64 was far more slow paced, while Melee began the trend towards much more fast paced action (and while I doubt it's SPECIFIC to melee as a whole, it may have been a trend for the genre from then). Melee is STILL widely played, especially on the competitive scene, and this sort of longevity always bears evidence of notability.

Goldeneye 007: I have to admit that despite being a kid in the 90s, despite someone who put most of their time into gaming, and despite being someone whose favorite system at the time was the Nintendo 64, I mostly missed out on the trend of history by honestly not being that much into this game. I have to say that I DID play it, however; I just never managed to get past the first level or so. I have strong memories of triyng and failing to sneak around a snowy lair of some description; it wouldn't be until the mid-2000s, playing Deus Ex Human Revolution, that I got the hang of stealth. All the same, personal indifference really doesn't matter much because HOLY SHIT THIS GAME HAS SOME STAYING POWER. IT HAS INFLUENCE, FRIENDORITOS. Perhaps chiefly, at the time it was made, consoles were not considered viable platforms for first person shooters; Goldeneye revised that notion, and created a whole revolution in multiplayer and shooter games. We would later see the ultimate consequence of this in games like Halo, which further revolutionized the whole genre. Ironically, the stealth attributes I was so bad at were part of what made the game so unique! It's one of those games that may not have aged well, by modern standards, but its import to gaming as a whole goes a long, long way.

Guitar Hero: I expect this one might be a bit hard to justify, but on its own, this game is INCREDIBLY innovative, though its not entirely the first of its kind, having mechanics based on earlier games. The very first entry has a respectable library of 30 songs, which is impressive considered at the time it was made, its not likely people expected it to get as far as it did; bear in mind that the massive libraries of later games were the result of years of this game series being a massive steamroller of a franchise! At the time, this one was an unknown. It has an interesting history as being a successor of sorts to an arcade exclusive, and inspiring a genre of imitators and spiritual successors on its own; of great note is the sheer impact this game had. With so many of those successors, the increased value of liscened soundtracks, and the way the game's concept became so influential, its astounding this one isn't already on the hall of fame. (It's also very fun, but fun alone doesn't make for memorability, sad to say.)

DESERVES IT AT SOME POINT

Myst - an iconic and incredibly atmospheric puzzle game, I'm genuinely surprised that I haven't heard talk about this one in some respect; it bears note as a rare game with absolutely no conflict whatsoever. I actually rank this one on par with the 7th Guest in terms of atmospheric games, though their tones could not be more different. So why do I think this game deserves it at some point? It was an incredibly immersive and beautiful game, lacking in genuine danger or threat, encouraging the player to explore and tackle the puzzles of the game. This sort of open-ended lack of peril makes it an interesting precursor towards certain flavors of sandbox games around now. It's worth noting that it was a tremendous achievement, given technical limitations of things such as the CD-Rom it was stored on, maintaining a consistent experience, as well as tying narrative reasons into those very constraints. It has been compared to an art film; if so, it certainly is the sort that invited imitators and proved to be a great technical achievement.

Portal: PORTAL! What can I honestly say that hasn't already been said by other people? The amazing integration of a physics engine into innovative puzzle solving, combined with a slow burn sort of minimalist plot reveal concerning the AI proving itself to be a kind of reverse HAL 9000? This game got a HUGE number of memes back in the day, and I expect anyone reading this can probably reference a few. The cake thing, certainly, and its relevance to matters of deception. There is much discussion over the game's utility in academic circles, which is certainly quite notable, and for my part, I'm interested by the point that at first the game gives you a lot of hints towards what you're supposed to do, gradually making it less obvious for the player you're on your own entirely, using your experience with the game to get past the puzzles from there, and its excellent game design. Ultimately though, I place this below Half Life in hall of fame urgency, because while I probably like this one more, it doesn't have the same impact on other games, per say. (That's a lot of awards for it, though. Wowza.)

Resident Evil: Is it fair to call this one the major survival horror game of its era? No, because it's apparently the FIRST, or at least the first to be called such. It's certainly up there with shaping the genre as a whole, both its immediate predecessors and modern games. The flavor of a survival horror can even be judged about whether its close to Resident Evil's style of defending yourself with limited resources vs controlled helplessness. It's also worth pointing out that I quite like the restricted, cramped setting of the mansion, rather than an expansive city; Biohazard was a real return to form, even if its something I mostly watched through funny lets plays because OH NO ITS TOO SCARY I CANT WATCH.

Asteroids: It's called the first major hit of the golden age of the arcade. I'm forced to say... yeah, it absolutely deserves it. The actual implementation and hardware of the game makes for interesting reading, and so its innovative nature ought to be noted: it lacked a soundchip at all, making use of handmade circuits wired to the board. It's reception was great, beating out Space Invaders and needing larger boxes just to hold all the money people spent on it. It also invented the notion of tracking initials on the top ten score, which has implications for arcade challenges.

Ms. Pac Man: This one consistently ranks HIGH in gaming records of its time, though there is admittedly some confusion to whether it or Donkey Kong was a better seller. Interestingly it appears to shape most of the gameplay mechanics people remember most for Pac-Man, such as the improved AI of the ghosts. It's more highly regarded than the original game, and on a personal note, I remember being a kid and seeing this arcade machine at ALL the laundry places my family usually wound up going to.

Frogger: It's placing on this list is not solely because CUTE FROG. The accessibility and wide appeal of the game bears a great deal of consideration, the flexibility of its formula, and just how many dang times it's been ported in one form or another. (And also, cute frog.) It also gets points for the creator being inspired for the game when he saw a frog trying to cross a road, hampered by the vehicles in the way, and he got out of his car and carried the frog across the street. The game is also evident of broad appeal, and some money-makers resisting it, goes back a long way; it was apparently dismissed as a kid's game by some, which just goes to show that some problems are older than quite a lot of gamers alive today.

Uncharted 2: this is one of those games where I cannot honestly say I have personal experience to draw from. Of the playstation's big games, I remember the Jak and Daxter series; I remember Kingdom Hearts, and I remember Ratchet and Clank, and I remember Infamous, but the Uncharted series remains

something of a 'I don't go here?' obscurity in my personal playbook. It does look memorable and charming from what I've seen, and one consistent element I've seen in comments about it is the cinematic nature of the game; it feels very much like a fun heist movie, based on what I have seen of it, and the notable thing is how the game FEELS cinematic.. in a literal way. As in, it combined elements of cinematography with game design, and that's no mean feat: what works for movies are unlikely to translate well to the interactive side, and it shows how that can be done for other games. The extensive praise does the game a LOT of credit!

WORTH NOMINATION AT LEAST

Angry Birds: As noted before, I'm not the biggest fan of most phone games, given that i prefer a more passive experience than most provide. As such, Angry Birds isn't something I've played as of this writing, but I have to appreciate the straightforward and simple gameplay; it reminds me a bit of the Burrito Bison game series, which I HAVE played, and I'm going to go out on a limb and assume it's because Angry Birds is probably the innovation that coined that particular style of gameplay. It's an example of what made phone games profitable and worth the time of developers to work at them; its easy for casual players to get into, and there's a fun sort of impact involved. Given the popularity of phone games, this one has a LOT of influence in getting that rolling, similar to candy crush, if not as much.

FIFA International Soccer: Simulation games are a tricky business; it can be really difficult to get them right, and this game provides an example of it being done in a way that a lot of people REALLY loved, set up an entire game series, and revived the 3DO system after a very bad year. Of note, apparently it was commented that it was more of a simulator than a console game, and this is rather funny considering how simulator is its own genre nowadays! Such do things change. It seems to have been a revolutionary game and simulation; setting the shape for modern sport games of its type, and tending more towards realism (accounting for acceptable breaks in reality) than was typical of the time. This one's position is thus picked for its impact as a whole; while it may not necessarily be a household name now, the series continues on, and is popular enough that even after 20 years, it's still been going.

Elite: I nominate this game in this position for being a startlingly early entry into what we would now consider open-ended games, even with an element of exploration and trading; if one stretches definitions a bit, a precursor towards gameplay of the like scene in 4X players who strive to avoid conflict, if possible. Its technical breakthroughs are some very interesting reading and make for good game history; a vast and complex game (not just by the standards of the era, either), and opening the door for persistent world games such as World of Warcraft.

Wii Sports: A significant game, and much as how other titles mentioned above were famed for gateway entries into gaming for an unfamiliar audience, or those that would want o play on a more casual basis. It seems notable to me for being most suited as a family game, or a more casual experience of multiplayer than usually associated with games like this; this has greatly influenced Nintendo's design philosophy, and one can see elements of this all the way through the Wii U onwards. It's essentially a fliparound from Mario Party; less competitiveness, but definitely meant as a group thing. Controversy is evident, because like with Mario Party, injuries did result from it.

Call of Duty: I place this one here because, while it DOES hold a very significant role in gaming history, with countless imitators, spiritual successors, being a game-changer in ways that its modern reputation might surprise you with, ultimately it is less so than other games such as Goldeneye, Halo or Half-Life. It's development in AI pathfinding and tactics is incredibly noteworthy from a mechanical perpsective, and the sheer level of awards it won is notable. In the end this game's popularity and continuing influence means that it shouldn't be overlooked.

Metroid: You can't spell 'Metroidvania' without this game! A relatively open ended exploration-based game with further options opening as new tools were found give it an interesting vibe, and the oppressive atmosphere distinctive to the game says great things about its sound and level designs. It wasn't the first open world game, or explorer, or even the first to open new aereas based on equipment, but it had ALL of these elements in a very memorable package. (Samus Aran as a female protagonist is something I'm a bit reluctant to give it credit for, as her identity was obfuscated for most of the game, and only revealed in a fanservicey way in a secret ending. All the same, credit where it is due, I suppose!) It's music seems to endure as a mood setter, too!

Pole Position: Perhaps not the FIRST racing game, but still considered one of the most important from the golden age of gaming, and the one to codify many of the firm rules of the game series. It's three dimensional gameplay is incredibly innovative for its time, and having played it and games like it in the past, I'm struck by how smooth the whole thing feels. No wonder it was popular! It is notable for having been designed specifically as a 3d Experience, meant to execute techniques like real drivers might attempt, which makes it a different sort of beast in that it tried to do more realistic actions; in some ways, a precursor to modern trends of realism in many games, for ill or best. Ultimately I think this one is worth a nomination because of its influence towards racing games (a popular and long lived genre, to say the least) as a whole.

OUTSIDE CHANCE

Nurburgring 1: On the one hand, I feel a bit guilty putting this one so low; it is recognized as likely being the earliest racing game in history, and given that I just finished noting Pole Position's influence, it feels a bit mean to rate this one as relatively insignificant all the same. However, in terms of notability, I never even heard of this one, and it was tricky finding information about it. Accordingly, that may say something about its influence, though this position DOES make it noteworthy as the first of its kind, albeit with Pole Position refining and introducing elements that shaped the genre.

Dance Dance Revolution: It feels a bit strange, putting this one fairly low. This thing was a MONSTER back in the day; entire arcades were built around the dancing control peripherals it required, rhythm based games or mechanics specifically invoked it by name, and it was an absolute cultural touchstone for years and years. So, why place it low? Partly, its because I can't just shove EVERYTHING into the 'deserves a nomination' folder; I do think it's fairly reasonable for this one to at some point get a nomination in the future, though ultimately there's games more noteworthy on the whole. It's specific rhythm qualities continue outside of its genre, and are quite influential to gaming as a whole, though unfortunately the series seems to have lost something in notability over time; popularity is a factor, but so is the impact on other games.

NBA 2K and NBA Jam: I put these two together because they touch on similar touchstones for me, and they really did popularize basketball games back in the day. Jam in particular seems to be invoking the Big Head mode that were a big thing in games at the time, at least going from the screenshot. They were very popular and highly beloved games back in the day, though I don't know if they have much influence on later games. I note that interestingly, they take opposite approaches; 2k focuses on AI and realistic experiences, while Jam was deliberately less realistic and more actiony in its over the top gameplay.

Nokia Snake: This one really impresses me for the sheer number of releases, in various forms, it's had! Interestingly, there seems to be little consensus on the name of this game; most just call it Snake or something on that theme. I went with Nokia Snake because... mostly, it sounds funny, and that's how its done on the list. This one is fairly low, but I Have to give it credit for having hundreds of releases!

Farmville: My mom liked Facebook games, a lot. And I am certain this one was one of her main ones! I rate it fairly low, and no doubt her spirit is yelling imprecations at me across the void of time, space, and abandoned socks; all the same, this one is ranked low because of the sheer number of displeasure aimed this one's way. (And to be fair, she complained about it. A LOT.) It is thus notable for unusually negative reasons; an example of exploitation, pressuring players to pester their friends to play it in an equivalent to electronic chain mail, and microtranscations.

Tron: I'm inclined to give any game that takes place in a computer land and uses programming or mechanical terminology a free pass! Interestingly, this has some association with the Snake game, as they have similar gameplay and Snake games are sometimes called Light Cylce games, after this one. It has an interesting history; the graphical system was chosen largely because it was believed it was more likely to be achieved before the deadline.

NO BUSINESS IN THE HALL OF FAME

Mattel Football: I do feel a little mean putting anything in this category; firstly because I don't want to make actual fans of something sad, and secondly because I believe you can probably find notability anywhere you look, if you are inclined. And here is the chief difficulty with this one: I could not find any real information in this one. It has no Wikipedia page, a google search only led to undescriptive links of SALES for the game, but not any information on the game itself. Notability is my main resource for sorting these entries, and honestly? If google has nothing on you, that's a pretty poor sign. Sorry, Mattel Football, but you look like a poor man's Game And Watch. You're no Portal, Myst or Pole Position.

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn't say so

A little darkgingerpilot Witcher AU I discussed months ago with @cleversturmhond I have no concept of how time passes anymore

Summary: The Witcher meets a bard, the bard meets a mage, and they travel the continent. Kylo knows what he feels, but he can't seem to act. Hux acts without talking about things. And Poe... well, what does Poe feel?

Tags: Witcher AU, Inspired by The Witcher, Slow Burn, if you count 13k as slow burn i guess, within the story its slow burn, fantasy medieval setting, Self-Indulgent, Mage Hux, witcher kylo, Bard Poe, scenic, They're oblivious, sex references, Yearning, i guess, im slapping a mature on it for sex references and some minor violence but honestly ehhh idk, darkgingerpilot

Chapter 1/2/3/?, wordcount 5012

also on Ao3

Whenever someone asked Kylo, he always said he preferred to keep to himself and the company of Silence, his horse and his best companion for the very fact of her name; she didn't talk, she didn't disturb the meditative quiet of his lonely rides, and, most importantly, he wasn't unsure how to curry her favour. An apple would do it. His current companions, on the other hand...

For some gods-forsaken reason, Poe and Hux were quarrelling about a composer who had been dead for over a century. When the three of them had first started travelling together years ago, and in the short time since they'd reunited, such discussion had been endearing; both of them were opinionated about certain things, and their conversations often turned into little debates over whatever topic arose while they were travelling. This was one of those occasions, Kylo enjoying listening to their thoughts and voices filling up the worn country roads. A throwaway comment had become interesting; Kylo didn't actually know much about this particular composer, whereas Hux and Poe both did, and, though Kylo didn't often contribute to these discussions in any great detail since the other two were both so much better with words, he did like to learn something new occasionally. But now, several hours into their journey and still on the same subject, it was just getting fucking annoying.

“I literally studied her work. You can't just turn around and say she wasn't revolutionary,” Poe objected, trotting along between Silence and Hux's own horse on the wide bridleway, looking up at Hux indignantly.

Poe's lowered position made it seem slightly laughable when Hux looked down at him and countered, “Since I actually met the woman, I think you'll find I can,” before prompting his horse to walk on ahead of them.

Poe picked up his pace a little and continued the argument, making some musical point Kylo didn't understand either. He tried to tune them out a bit as he let Silence drop back a short distance behind the them.

Considering how much time the three of them spent around each other in recent years, Kylo supposed he should be glad disagreements as lengthy as these were relatively few. And, certainly, they were fewer even than when it had only been Kylo and Poe on the path together.

[break]

Kylo had met Poe many years ago – at least a decade, if he thought about it – when he'd been compelled by his work to go through the city he'd been born in. Not only was the place particularly unfriendly to Witchers, but also had relations of his – distant now, yet he wanted to avoid them nonetheless – in positions of authority. Kylo had used a fake name, a low hood to hide his eyes, his scar, and stuck to the dingiest taverns, but a curly-haired, high-born young man had recognised him anyway, sitting himself down confidently at Kylo's corner table, offering his name, and saying, “I know you. You're that famous Witcher.”

Kylo had eyed his unwelcome acquaintance – Poewas what he introduced himself as – guessing that he couldn't yet be twenty summers old. Of course, Kylo was no good with ages – his own longevity had corroded his sense for them until everyone seemed either old or young in confusing measures – but Poe's next request had practically confirmed his suspicion.

“Would you let me come with you?” Poe had asked the second the bar-wench had placed down Kylo's ale.

“Come with me where?” Kylo grunted. He wasn't in the mood to bodyguard some noble, out for the first time in a world without castle walls.

“Well, where are you going?” Poe's eyes had glinted as he offered Kylo a charming smile.

Kylo had appraised him again, taking in his youth, his rich clothes, his courage, and summarily said, “No.”

Poe's smile didn't drop, even though Kylo could see his only half-amused chuckle for the frustration it was. “Come on, I just wanna see a bit of the world. Get away from my guardian's expectations.”

“The Queen?” Kylo had asked, an imprudently displayed gold ring on the youth's finger catching the light.

Poe had shrugged a yes.

It only made Kylo refuse all the more. The Queen was one of the people Kylo was known to by unfortunate fact of his heritage, someone he never wanted to anger, in case of her having some cause to meet with him personally. Poe, while not her blood family, would surely be missed, as her ward, were he to make off with a Witcher, especially with the one so primarily known for the massacre at Crait.

Poe's gaze went steely at Kylo's final dismissal, and he'd left the tavern quickly after that. It couldn't have been two years later when Kylo encountered the young man again, fine doublet swapped for something a little more incognito in orange and brown tones, a lute slung over his back and all the more determination to see everything.

Kylo hadn't refused him a second time, and he wouldn't have been able to, since Poe no longer had any qualms about following him uninvited. Thus, he had a new travelling companion.

Just as he suspected, Poe was a liability in some aspects of the job where monsters were concerned, but Poe had also dragged him, limping, back to camp before, bandaged his wounds, fetched his potions. His life had undeniably turned for the better with the bard around; Poe was a talented musician, it turned out, and the extra income and incentive to stay at inns meant Kylo was now more acquainted with feather pillows than he'd ever hoped to be. The positive company had made Kylo better as well, at talking to people, at putting up with them, at giving life nuance. His path was lighter with Poe on it.

They became comfortable around each other. They began to argue, about the silly things people who know each other well and cared for each other deeply argue about, about which direction to head in, which inn to stop at, about the jacket Kylo had left to get trampled by the last monster he'd fought. Barely a day went by without some kind of silly quibble to that effect, but it never truly changed the form of their relationship.

Then, they'd met Hux.

[break]

Kylo had been around long enough that he'd thought he'd heard of most of the other powerful, non-mortal beings on the continent, so randomly running into an evidently strong mage like Hux, who he'd never heard of, was a bit surprising. Kylo had been employed to go and rid a keep up on the hill of whatever it was that was plaguing it. He was expecting to take a while to figure it out, but when he arrived, the malevolent spirits were revealed easily by the mage already locked in battle with them.

The fight the man was putting up was impressive, given the sheer number of foes. He was spewing fire everywhere, manipulating the elements to his will, his bright hair and swan-white robe whipped around by the wind he was creating, but eventually Kylo could see he was losing, and so joined him in the fight. It was fortuitous that they were both there, as Kylo certainly couldn't have defeated them all on his own either. When the last spirit was destroyed, however, Hux had spun round, announced that he had decidedly notrequired the help of some filthy Witcher, and flounced off. He'd gotten about ten paces when he collapsed from the sheer exertion of having used his magic in such a manner.

So Kylo had carried the mage back to camp and laid him down on his bedroll to recuperate.

Poe was travelling with Kylo at that time, and, though he was surprised to see Hux, he seemed very glad to see Kylo back from the fight, juiced up on potions but otherwise unharmed. His smile had made Kylo's heart do something he didn't really understand, the same thing it did when Poe met his gaze during a performance at whatever tavern they were staying at, the same when Kylo said something complimentary to him. Indeed, it was becoming more and more of a common feeling, and Kylo was finding that he rather liked it.

When Kylo suggested he should probably go find a rabbit or something for dinner, Poe seemed happy enough to watch over the mage until he returned, and Kylo had picked his way into the forest they were camping on the edge of with his head full of thoughts of Poe. His distraction had meant he took longer than usual to catch something, and when he got back, it was to find Poe backed against a tree, Hux threatening him using a dagger Kylo hadn't realised he'd had on him.

“Kylo!” Poe had shouted when he saw him – and again, the weird thing Kylo's heart did around Poe – equal parts relieved and pissed off.

Hux relaxed only slightly at knowing whose camp it was he had been brought to, and, once Kylo had convinced him to lower the weapon, he protested strongly that he didn't want anyone's help or charity, and that he was offended to have been carried around like some damsel. Poe told him he was very welcome to fuck off, but it soon became clear that Hux wasn't in any shape to be going off on his own, so he stayed with them that night.

Kylo was settling in to sleep on the opposite side of the fire to Hux when Poe dumped his bedroll down next to him, closer than usual – cue the weird heart thing again – and lay down. All Kylo had managed to ask was, “What are you doing?”

Huffing, Poe leaned up to peer over Kylo's arm at where Hux was lying, turned away from them on the far side of their little camp. “He tried to kill me today. I don't wanna wake up with my throat cut for some magey shit.”

Kylo considered pointing out that Poe wouldn't wake up at all if his throat had been slit, but he was more struck by the implication that Poe was trusting him to protect him. Usually, people were more likely to fear that Kylo would be the one killing them after whatever monster he'd been hired to dispatch, but Poe was different, and always had been, really. He insisted that Kylo had good in him, that he wasn't all the darkness that Witchers were supposed to be. He wasn't entirely right, of course, but it was nice to have someone hope in him.

So instead of making the bard move away, all Kylo had said was, “You'll get cold, so far from the fire,” and offered Poe an extra side of his own blanket.

One night of Hux staying with them turned into two, into three, into a week's travel to the neighbouring city. In fact, Kylo was almost sad to see the severe mage leave, as it meant he and Poe went back to their usual sleeping arrangements, instead of curling up together with Kylo as his shield.

[break]

Months later, to Kylo's surprise, Hux sought him out. He was after a gem of something something and he needed hired muscle that he could trust would actually get the job done. Hux had found them by the coast, and the first thing he said as he took Poe in was, “You're still travelling with him, are you?” Kylo wasn't sure whether the question was meant for him or Poe, but they'd both answered definitively.

The month and a half of travel it took to reach the mountain cave system in which the gem was kept saw Poe and Hux grow accustomed to each other, if not strictly friendly. Poe didn't resume his habit of sleeping next to Kylo, Hux didn't try to kill Poe again, and eventually they stopped speaking to each other in jibes and barbs.

Hux and Kylo also ended up bonding; they would sit together in taverns while Poe was performing and talk, about things that they remembered from when they were young, things Poe had learned only from his history professors. It was nice to have someone who related, who had experienced similar things to him, who understood what it was to be not-quite human and tied to a duty they didn't quite want. Hux had been raised in magic, it turned out, and, as they talked, Kylo realised it wasn't so different to being raised into killing as he had been. The small, commiserating smiles Hux offered struck Kylo deeply, and one day he realised that Hux, bathed in the yellow, glowing tavern light, was beautiful.

When they reached the cave systems that were their destination, Poe had to stay in the local town while Hux and Kylo went in search of the gem, since the place was too unknown and dangerous to risk him coming. And it did turn out to be dangerous; Hux and Kylo each saved each others' life a few times, had several close calls, and, once all the stress and danger of the adventure had turned into the satisfaction of success, they translated that pent-up tension into a vigorous fuck on the way out.

“I don't know why you keep him around,” Hux commented as they trudged back to the town to meet Poe, gem firmly in his grasp. “He can't help you with your work like I could.”

Kylo supposed that was true. “He helps me be better,” Kylo replied, which was also true.

Hux made a derisive sound. “Does he, now.”

Kylo shook his head at Hux's tone. “Why don't you like him? You have plenty in common.”

“It's not that I don't like him,” Hux said, tossing his head to get a strand of hair which had slipped in front of his eyes out of the way. Considering Kylo was grimy and dishevelled from the fighting, Hux's deep crimson tunic still looked remarkably put together, and it gave him a haughty air as he said, “I know his type. I've served them in courts all over the continent for centuries. They think they're entitled to everything without working for it and without thanking the people who actually make it possible. He's just another ungrateful, mortal noble.”

Kylo thought about what he said for a good minute. “You're wrong,” he said.

[break]

Back at the inn, Poe had the entire town in the palm of his hand thanks to his songs. He looked charming as ever, flashing smiles to all the ladies who were fawning over him, but Kylo was happy to see that, when Poe spotted them enter, his smile softened and a new light entered his eyes. This time, the flip in Kylo's heart felt more natural than ever.

When Kylo emerged from the bathhouse, Poe was already waiting in his room for a full account of the adventure so he could turn it into his latest ballad. Kylo related what happened as he usually did, keeping to the bare facts and trusting Poe to make them into pretty wordplay later, until he got to the end, at which point he decided that Poe didn't strictly need to know that Hux had pushed him up against the wall of the cave and kissed him with a ferocity he wasn't likely to forget any time soon.

But Poe noticed the brief hesitation and looked up from his little book where he'd been scribbling notes. “What?” he asked.

Kylo shrugged. “Nothing. We left to come back here,” he said, pulling the shirt he was wearing off and reaching for a different one.

“Did something bite you?”

Kylo could hear the frown in Poe's voice, and he turned back to see Poe's eyes locked on a slightly bruised, reddish ring low on his neck. A vague recollection surfaced in Kylo's mind of Hux tugging down his collar, once his outer layer of armour was off, and digging his teeth hard into the flesh over that spot. He hummed, reaching up to rub at it and thus hide it from Poe's sight. “Must have.”

Poe stood up and approached, batting Kylo's hand out of the way, which he couldn't find the motivation to resist. When Poe ran his thumb over the bruise, he was so warm Kylo pushed into the touch. If Poe noticed, he didn't comment, his brow was deeply furrowed. “What kind of monster even has teeth like that?”

A knock came on the door. “Kylo,” Hux called from outside, “we need to talk about payment.”

“I'm...” Kylo hesitated, feeling strangely and suddenly like he'd betrayed Poe. “I'm coming.”

Kylo wasn't sure what about him looked guilty, but Poe seemed to realise at that moment where the mark came from. “Oh,” he said, stepping away and back to his book.

Not long after that, Poe announced his intention to head back to his home kingdom. Kylo's mouth went dry. It was Hux who had to ask the platitudes – did he have some business to attend to? How long did he think he would stay? - which Poe replied to blandly, something about responsibility to his mentors. Kylo wanted to ask him to stop, to stay, but all he managed to get out was, “I'll miss you.”

[break]

Time passed.

Poe left for home, taking his light and song with him.

Kylo spent one winter with Hux, back in the keep where they'd first met, which Hux had appropriated for himself, but it was all wrong; there was a grounding influence missing, without which the two of them spent more time treating each other angrily than well. The sex was amazing, but eventually, it felt hollow. The day it became clear that the harshest weather had blown over, Kylo was back on Silence, looking for the next contract out on a monster, something he could hack into pieces without thinking.

The seasons changed, fled and returned until it had been another year. Kylo was firmly back in the blank swing of contract, monster, payment, move along, but the campfire felt lonely after dark, when he had nothing to occupy his mind. He started talking to Silence; she never replied.

Sometimes, Kylo found himself wondering how long it would be until he ran into Hux again, and if he would even want to see him. Maybe he could make the way they left things up to him. They'd had something, after all, and, though it hadn't been perfect, he missed that feeling of love and understanding and protection which Hux provided. Kylo didn't hold out much hope of seeing Poe; he never went near his home city, and why would Poe venture out again? He'd seen his share of the world. He was back in his real life, now.

But eventually, those nights of wondering wore Kylo down, and, quite without intending to, he found himself directing Silence down the path to the kingdoms neighbouring Poe's.

There, Kylo found himself invited to the royal tourney of Queen Phasma, as a guest of honour. She was a renowned warrior, and Kylo reasoned that it would be rude to decline the request of such an esteemed ruler. He reasoned that perhaps she would even have some work for him. He reasoned a lot of things, in his attempt to deny to himself that the real reason was hope that a tourney would be more than enough cause for a neighbouring noble to be in the area, or even just a bard...

The festivities were festivities. It was strange, to watch others fight instead of having to do it himself, and for performance rather than necessity. Though sometimes the rush of people grated on him, Phasma was a gracious host and Kylo enjoyed the good food well enough, always keeping an eye out for some shock of red hair, or those cheerful, dark curls he so hoped for.

His vigilance yielded one of those prizes.

A tall, beautiful, severe looking man entered the great hall one evening for the feast, walking directly up to the main table at which Phasma and Kylo were seated, and didn't even falter when he recognised Kylo's distinctive scar, yellow eyes, dark garb.

“Hux!” Phasma exclaimed standing and marching around the table to pull the man into a hug, which he returned with surprising readiness, “My dear friend, it has been too long!”

Hux gave a half-bow. “I'm sorry I'm late, I was caught up with business.”

“Ah, yes, business,” Phasma said knowingly, “and where is Lord Dameron?”

Hux's eyes flitted over to Kylo's for the briefest of seconds. “Altogether too caught up with his teaching to bother with a tournament, I'm afraid.”

“Well you must tell him I want him at the next one.” With that, she made to retake her seat again, gesturing at Kylo. “Kylo, this is Hux, currently an advisor to court in the neighbouring kingdom and the most talented mage in all the continent. Hux, Kylo, the Witcher.”

“Yes, we've met,” Hux understated, settling his gaze on Kylo fully, now, and extending his hand to Kylo over the table. Not sure what he was expected to do, Kylo gave Hux his hand, and Hux took it, raising it to his lips and kissing Kylo's knuckles.

Kylo wasn't entirely certain if he could blush any more, since the mutations which had turned him into a Witcher, but if he could, he was sure he was, what with so many people around to witness a display of affection which Kylo was unused to at the best of times. Along with that, relief, because it made him feel suddenly like all was forgiven without him having to wrangle the words around an apology.

“Hux, stop that and sit down!” Phasma reprimanded, “The players will begin soon.”

It was only as Hux sat down that Kylo realised the empty chair on his right had likely always been for Hux. No sooner had he settled than the players flooded the floor, dancing into their performance of an old, famous play, something about two supernatural kings vying for the affection of a mortal with all sorts of fanciful gifts.

“This version is better than the original,” Hux remarked a short while in, and Kylo hummed out an assent, though he had never seen it when it first was performed. He was probably too busy wading through drowner guts, or something similarly uncouth.

“So, you're in Poe's court, now?” Kylo asked instead. “Is he king?”

“No,” Hux remarked, picking up his goblet of wine and keeping his gaze on the players. “Nor does he want to be. The Queen has plenty of other worthy successors, and Poe would much rather go back to spending his days as a bard.” He tutted. “Even if he doesn't say so.”

“Why are you there?”

He sighed. “I wanted to see what you meant about him not being like the others, so I offered my services to the Queen.” Kylo hummed again, and this time, Hux turned to look at him. “You were quite right. He's different. I find myself rather taken with him.”

Kylo reached for his own wine now, his mouth suddenly dry. “Oh. Have you..?”

“No. Kylo...” Hux placed his cup down and leaned to the side so his shoulder was brushing Kylo's, even as Kylo was resolutely not looking at him. “He misses you. And I know you miss him.”

As if by design, the lutist started to play, and both their eyes went to the young woman performing in the corner. Kylo found himself thinking, perhaps uncharitably, that she wasn't as talented as Poe, her song wasn't as sweet.

Hux didn't fail to notice this. “I think we should travel together again,” he said.

“We?”

“You and I and Poe,” Hux said, as though it were obvious. “Like we did those few months travelling in from the coast. I've found myself thinking about them a lot.”

Kylo shrugged. “It was only a few months. Things have changed since then.”

“Which is why we should give it another try.” Kylo jolted in slight surprise when he felt Hux's cool hand lay over his own on the arm of the chair. He turned to find Hux looking directly into his eyes. “Stay here for a week after the tourney is over, and I'll have convinced him to come. Kylo.” A tacit command from Hux, as usual, instead of a request.

Kylo nodded.

[break]

So Kylo waited by the city gates, where Hux had sent a messenger bird that he should meet them. He was nervous, when he first spotted the black dot on the distant path that he was sure was them, shuffling from one foot to the other and gripping Silence's reins tight, like that would do anything. He was wondering how he should greet Poe; hello, certainly, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop himself from smiling, but he found that he also wanted to give him a hug, press their lips together, feel that he was really thereagain, after the nearly two years they'd spent apart.

It turned out he needn't have worried, since Poe sprang forward and clasped him into a hug without prompting, talking immediately about where they would be going and how good it would be to be back on the road.

Hux had merely given him a look that said I told you so, and followed after the excitable bard.

That had been nearly two weeks ago.

It turned out that Hux was entirely right; things were different than before, and they were better. The things that had changed were these:

Hux had brought a horse with him, this time, and several other magical items, such as a tent which was far larger inside than it appeared. Poe hadn't bothered with a horse, since he hadn't needed one before, and had thus left the money with which to pay for its upkeep back at home, planning instead to sing for his money like he used to. Kylo rather liked this; it reminded him of old times, when he steadfastly refused to let Poe ride Silence, in case it tired her out too much. The tent, on the other hand, felt annoyingly like Hux was living in style while the two of them were stuck outside, since Hux had never invited them in and Kylo, for one, wasn't about to invite himself.

It seemed Hux and Poe had also developed a much closer friendship, in the time Hux had spent at court. It made Kylo feel a little like he had missed out, like he had time to catch up on, like there was something impenetrable he couldn't access. Kylo supposed it must be similar for Hux, since he and Poe had known each other for so long before he met them, and again for Poe, given that winter when it was only him and Hux, but times like these – Poe and Hux discussing something so academic that Kylo knew so little about – could be daunting as much as interesting.

Mostly, Kylo felt like he still had to make something up to Poe, and he wasn't sure how to do it. He should probably just have a conversation with him about it, but the words never came, and bringing it up when nobody was thinking about it would, he was sure, just sour the mood. And if he just left it, the tension would have to break eventually.

[break]

Ahead of him on the road, Hux and Poe's little argument seemed to have reached a peak point. Kylo had been too lost in his thoughts to pay attention to what they were saying, but now Poe had stopped walking, raising open arms in that way of his that was almost defeated, but actually said he still thought he was right. It was very cute, like he was a turtle with a lute for a shell, and Kylo couldn't help but think his annoyed expression was charming as well.

When Silence reached the spot where Poe was standing, watching Hux ride on with his usual haughty confidence, Kylo hummed. “Did he win?”

Poe huffed, moving again to keep up with Silence's ambling pace. “No, but he's acting like he did. He always thinks he's right.”

Kylo thought about it for a beat; Hux did indeed always think that he was right. It was one of the things that had caused friction in their attempt at a relationship that one winter. It wasn't that all three of them couldn't be stubborn, more that Kylo and Poe had much more ability to hold out against each other's pestering than either of them seemed to have against Hux. One narrowing twitch of those steely-grey eyes, and anyone with even half a sense of self-preservation would surrender. So Kylo could sympathise with Poe's little pout.

They came to the edge of the forest, the village where they planned to stop a short way before them across a few fields. Kylo drew Silence to a halt and put out a hand to Poe, who looked at it first with surprise and then joy. He quickly allowed Kylo to help him up, settling just behind the Witcher, his chest pressed to his back, their thighs brushing against each other with every movement. Kylo could feel it all, and he tried not to let his stomach flip too much when Poe's arms snaked around his sides, hands locking at his front. He cursed inwardly that today he'd chosen to forgo some layers in favour of his cooler shirt.

But then Poe was saying to him over his shoulder – though it felt more like murmuring in his ear - “Come on, I wanna see Hux's face.”

Kylo prodded Silence to walk on, closing the distance on Hux. As they passed, Kylo felt Poe remove one hand to wave at the mage. Looking around, it was in almost slow motion that Hux's expression went from one of mild astonishment to annoyance to jealousy.

“See you there, Hugs!” Poe said, and Kylo smiled to himself.

[bisluthq]

In honor of all my new follows (hi!) and my current mood, here is my OFFICIAL LIST of Tay’s official public boyfriends/beards ranked. I’ve excluded Joe because they aren’t really public public in the same way (and also excluded dumb conjectured boyfriends like Eddie and Zach). With Joe it’s because he seems legit very very meaningful to her so is not all that funny and this is meant to be mostly a lol and intro to me lmao

1. Tom Hiddleston because so iconic! This man give us the tank top and he fought for love at 6am. He also gave us Getaway Car or at least the narrative for Getaway Car and that is a true bop. We stan.

2. Joe Jonas. He earns his impressive place due to the iconic 27 second phone call break up thing. There is an extremely small chance they did actually innocently date in a weird teenagey way and he was never a beard but either way this breakup and back and forth was objectively very funny so it grants Joe J a well earned second place.

3. Jake G. I mean. I don’t actually really care about him but she went to his ~sister’s house~ and he still gets spammed with “little kid with glasses in a twin sized bed” comments on Insta and we have to stan the longevity of this most likely fake relationship in the eyes of her fans. He also got some of her best breakup songs in the formal narrative so that also bumps him up. We don’t quite stan, but we certainly respect.

4. Lucas Till idk if they were ever even seen together but You Belong With Me is important TSwift canon and he is cute in a dull boring tween sorta way. He’s not interesting but his lack of interest is kinda noteworthy and this vanilla ice cream man comes fourth. (Also because based on Joe A vanilla is Tay’s preferred ice cream flavor 🍦).

5. Taylor Lautner. I debated if I should put him or Lucas first because he did give us Taylor Squared and the SNL monologue song appearance and those were funny but also most people have forgotten they dated and also forgotten that Taylor Lautner exists so we have to place him here, where he belongs. Lucas at least gets seen in the - again iconic - You Belong With Me video (remember this is what she won for when Kanye interrupted!! I do!! Beyoncé’s vid really was one of the best of all time 😬😬 but this is a Taylor blog so we have to punt the iconic nature of Tay’s video). Taylor L is... currently on that weird British tv show thing that Andy Samberg used to do? Ya Lucas is doing better based on the ICONIC MV.

6. Conor Kennedy. I mulled over placing him higher due to the sheer unadulterated clout factor of being a Kennedy but he’s also a convicted criminal so meh. He did give Tay the inspiration for Starlight through his fab fam and she ended up with RI real estate through this saga which gave us LGAD but in all he is underwhelming. They had the potential to be better and much, much more iconic. This means he ranks lower than Lucas/Taylor who honestly did the best they could.

7. Harry Styles because their whole relationship was basically bad fanfic/the plot of After. I love the way it helped both careers but seriously fuck this. (Though we did get live footage of Di pushing him and the iconic boat pic). And we did get the drag of “Style” which I love for Tay. Honestly, I wish I could rank him higher because I love him for him (such a little pansexual elven prince 😻) and I do love Style and OOTW but nah this relationship was bleh.

8. John Mayer. He gave us only one song and it’s too long and also he’s into some weird sex stuff based on gossip sites.

9. Calvin Harris because he’s the only one who actively SUCKS as a human. I kinda need to believe they were regularly boning because he’s so shit that that would make it better (like maybe she could ignore it because of the awesome sex although I doubt Calvin’s abilities in that department so...). Ya nah he just sucked.

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 03 - Phoenix

Long ago, when humanity was still young, when the spirits still roamed, unfettered, untamed, unhindered, long before towns and cities and zoos and knights, the spirit Fire was feeling amorous. She was a playful thing, light, energetic, yet with more than a hint of danger to her warmth, with a reputation for consuming those who danced with her. And, at that time, she desired to dance.

She first approached Wind. He was swift, he made the most beautiful art when he swept someone along, and yet he was as impermanent as Fire herself. Fire and Wind curled around each other, and though Fire was, by far, the more spectacular of the pair, Wind was always exactly where she wasn't, nor was she where he was, a glorious and bright whirl of colors. They were soon taken with and by each other; Wind felt himself grow hot when with her, and Fire felt faint at his touch. The spirits mingled, and there was soon no way to tell Fire from Wind, or Wind from Fire, so close had they grown in their dance.

When finally they separated, Fire and Wind found an egg. Round, warm, light, floating about, it was made of them, and neither could say where on the egg was Fire, nor where was Wind. The egg glowed and swirled with life, a new creature growing within.

"It is us, and yet, something new," Fire said, in her warm, crackling voice, as she beheld their egg.

"Yes," Wind agreed, his words lingering for a moment before flying off with but a memory, "and as we were the first to find this new thing, we should give it a name."

The two spirits talked over what the egg, and the creature inside, should be called. The first attempts were clumsy and inexperienced, as Airflame, Scorchgale, and several others were proposed and discarded as swiftly as they came. Fire and Wind were fast, however, and whenever one idea was shot down, another soon rose to take its place to be judged.

Finally, after several days, Wind and Fire gathered up the egg and ran as quick as they could to the other spirits to present their new finding.

"What is this? We have not seen it before," the spirits said.

"This," Fire replied, growing brighter with pride, "is ours. Wind and I danced together, and at its end, this had been created."

"We have named it, 'Phoenix,'" Wind continued, as he skipped joyfully through and around the others, his words dancing on their ears, "for it has the swish of my steps, the flicker and crack of her voice, and the warm flow of our dance."

The spirits all oohed and ahhed, taking turns to see the egg. Crow, when it was his turn, looked at the egg, then turned to address Fire and Wind. Although wary of the tricky and clever son of Wind and Darkness, they were proud of Phoenix and respected Crow as a spirit - and, for Wind, as a son - and would not tarnish one's reputation to spite the other.

"What shall Phoenix look like when they are hatched?" Crow asked them.

"We have not thought of that," Fire answered, honestly, "Phoenix is but an egg."

"Well, then," Crow replied, staring at Phoenix again, "perhaps they will resemble me. I, too, came from an egg. As you remember, Wind."

Wind nodded. "Perhaps. We shall have to see."

At that moment, Phoenix began to hatch. The three spirits turned to watch, each hoping to find a creature resembling themselves. Phoenix rocked back and forth, until finally, a small hole formed in the egg. A bright orange beak jutted through, an then made another hole, and a wider one, and then again. After several minutes, Phoenix pushed off the top of the shell, and a brilliant, feathery head the color of Fire popped out. There was a swell of energy, and Phoenix shot up, flaring wide a pair of huge wings. Wind caught Phoenix before the new creature could fall.

"Hello," Phoenix said with a head-bob, "who might you be?"

Fire stepped closer and wrapped Phoenix in a warm embrace. "I am Fire, and this is Wind. We are your parents."

Phoenix looked at them, head cocking to the side. "That is agreeable. I am Phoenix, and therefore your daughter." She flapped her wings and looked past them. "And of you?"

Crow stepped forth, though kept a respectful distance from Fire's heat. "I am called Crow," he said, "son of Wind and of Darkness. I am glad I was right about you, Phoenix; it is good to meet you."

The four of them wasted little time introducing Phoenix to all the rest. She was quite popular, and Time was so impressed by her that he gave her his blessing of longevity. And they were all so polite and friendly to her, that Phoenix barely even noticed how few of the spirits actually touched her.

And that is the story of Phoenix.

.

Meanwhile, Earth, a calm, steady spirit, tinkered in her workshop. With bits of herself, she gave to her creations, modeled with unparalleled skill. Earth kept mostly to herself, filling the world with creatures great and small. Armadillo was among her first, having unrolled a ball of her clay to give it feet and a head. Giraffe had followed, a set of spindly sticks attached to a body. As she worked, she grew more confident, and more creative. Elephant, Horse, Rabbit, and Wolf spread across the lands. She admired Fire from a distance, and, inspired, created Fox. From Crow's aesthetic, she shaped Panther. And so on and so forth.

But when she saw Phoenix, she was at a loss. No matter what she tried, she could not recreate the grace she saw. Again and again, she shaped her clay. Tiger was born, Red Panda was born, and numerous squirrels with her vibrant color. She grew frustrated, and sought the council of her creations.

She asked Wolf, and Bear, and Panther for help. But every one of them looked at their siblings and shook their heads. "Sorry, Earth," they each said, "you've done far more than we could hope to suggest." But Earth pressed on. If her creations could not help her, perhaps her peers might.

She asked Wind and Fire. They suggested she find a spirit to dance with, and perhaps that would inspire her, or create a new creature in its own right. Fire, too, offered to dance with her, herself. Earth thanked them for their attempts, and turned them both down.

She asked Time and Darkness. Time advised her to wait, and that patience would provide her a solution. Darkness was less helpful, and told Earth that if she had not the talent for it, to continue would be a fool's errand. Earth merely nodded and bid them farewell.

Several others offered similarly unhelpful answers, until finally, Earth returned to her workshop. She sighed, staring at the formless clay waiting to be made into a new creature. Her oldest and wisest creation, Snake, watched her approach. "What ails you, Mother?"

"I wish to make another to honor the newcomer, Phoenix. I have tried time and time again, but to no avail. Tiger and the others are beautiful, but they do not feel right for Phoenix."

Snake looked at Phoenix and recalled her heat. "If you want something FOR Phoenix," he asked, "why make creatures LIKE her? My scales find her pleasant to be around. My body, however, is not fit for a flying creature such as her. Make something which is made to suit her, so she can remember you when they are together."

Earth smiled at Snake. In her deep, rich voice, she thanked him for his help and gently patted his head before he slithered off to rest and warm himself. With his advice in mind, she set about making her newest project.

Scales to gather Phoenix's warmth, and legs to rise off the ground and climb towards the child of Wind. Earth finished her newest creation, and set him alive. "I name you Lizard," she said as he blinked his first blinks.

And that is the story of Lizard.

.

"Now," Earth said to her newest son, "let us introduce you."

As Fire and Wind had done with Phoenix, so too did Earth do with Lizard, as she had with many of her prior children. The spirits greeted them both. It largely went well, save for when Crow, never to miss an opportunity for mischief, pulled on Lizard's tongue, leaving him with a long tongue, split at the end. Finally, they came to Phoenix.

The daughter of Wind and Fire kept a polite distance, now aware of how others would withdraw from her mother-given heat. However, when Earth approached with Lizard, Lizard continued towards her.

"Are you not scared of me hurting you?" Phoenix asked.

"Why would I be," Lizard replied, "when being around you feels so wonderful in my scales?"

Phoenix smiled at that answer, and allowed him more openly to approach. Earth watched, and saw that Snake had given her very helpful advice indeed. Lizard was not burned even as the two remained close, so Earth shifted away to thank Snake.

Over the days, Lizard and Phoenix spent more and more time together, fast friends and quickly growing closer still. He reveled in her company, and she loved having a friend who would not shy away from her for her fiery feathers. Then, one day, neither returned home, so enamored were they with each other. The daughter of Wind and Fire, and the son of Earth, laughed and played and danced through the night. When they emerged once more, they carried an egg.

As with Phoenix, the other spirits were all quite interested in the egg. Unlike Phoenix's, which was a barely-material swirl of flame and breeze, this new egg was set with bright red rubies and cloudy quartzes. And once again, the question on everybody's lips was "and what shall their name be?"

Their reply, to many, was an underwhelming "we have not given them one."

Crow turned up again. "What shall they look like, do you think?" he asked, hopeful to repeat his past trick.

"We're not sure," Lizard said, "but, we think they will look like us."

"A good answer," Crow said, nodding, "I would like to see that."

Several minutes passed, and more spirits observed the egg. Suddenly, the egg shifted. And then shifted again. A hard, sharp spike pierced the rocky shell. And another, and then an arm that looked just like Lizard's pushed a hole in the egg. The leg withdrew, and soon, the shell shattered, revealing a scaly creature resembling their father. When they rolled onto their feet, however, all watching saw a pair of beautiful wings sprouted from their back. And with a sputtering cough, the newly-hatched being spat out a small flame. They shook themselves off, and looked up at Phoenix and Lizard.

"It is very bright out here. Who are you, and why must I have left where I was?"

"We are Phoenix and Lizard," Lizard said, "and your parents. The egg was far too small and fragile to contain you, so you have now met the world."

The creature nodded, looking at the broken bits of stone and ruby an quartz. "As your child, I do not know who I am yet. I will call myself Dragon and do as I please until I find what I shall do."

"You will find, Dragon, that some may attempt to stop you if you want to do what they do not want you to do."

"That may be," they said, "and I will deal with them or my desire when that arises." Dragon picked up bits of their shell. "For now, I wish to recreate this, but to fit my size. I will need more of these, many more, especially if I keep growing."

And so, in their desire, Dragon began to collect gems, and gold, and other beautiful stones. Knowing they would continue to grow, they grew their collection as well, so that one day, they could return to where they had began, safe in the knowledge that they will never outgrow or break it again.

To this day, Dragon continues to do so, and to this day, they must contend with Man and Dwarf and others to gather their precious shiny stones.

And that is the story of Dragon.

[auxgod]

Top 25 Best Rap Logos Of All Time

The great rap logos from the history of hip-hop acted as cultural co-signs, and for every great artist or label there is a memorable stamp of approval. For the past 30 years we’ve seen artist develop a logo the minute they arrive and we’ve seen others get one 3 albums down the line. 

We made a list of The 25 Greatest Rap Logos of all time. Let us know who you’d add

25. G-Unit 

Like the signature Coca-Cola logo, G-Unit’s script font stood out the moment “G-Unit Merch” was officially for sale. It was simple, It was clean, and it was effective with how they had a script to take over the entire music scene in 2003-2005

24. Outkast 

The Atlanta duo Outkast exploded on the hip hop scene in 1994, packed with a logo that immediately let the general public know the South Had Something To Say. Outkast dropped five classic albums that all featured the original logo in some capacity–an impressive feat, considering how unique each cover is compared to the others.

23. Marino Infantry

Marino Infantry may be the newest establishment on this list but they sure deserve the recognition. What ASAP Ant has been able to do with the rap culture/skate culture has been impressive to watch proving there’s no limit to what you can do with shades of the classic “No Limit Logo”

22. 2Pac

The best logos don’t have to be elaborately designed by the world’s greatest artists, but they do have to be recognizable, memorable, and unique to the artist. 2Pac accomplished all of this, despite arguably having the most basic logo on this list. 

21. Sick Wid It

E-40 gets little respect when it comes to content and longevity but his logo says it best. He’s been cashing out and going Ham since the late 80′s and even in 2020 Forty Water takes no days off.

20. Ear Drummers 

With the way MikeWillMadeIt hit the scene in 2011with towering 808′s, this logo fit his “Ear Drummers” brand to a T

19. Eminem 

Similar to 2Pacs logo, it’s minimal but the backwards E would forever standout leading up to Eminem’s success solidifying him and his brand

18. Hypnotize Minds 

With Three 6 Mafia taking the rap game by storm in the 90′s and mid 2000′, one thing that always stood out was the Hypnotize Minds Logo. The Grim Reaper with the Pendulum was always iconic.

17. Young Money (1997)

One of the Newer and underrated logos, Young Money mimicked the New York Yankees logo and made it their own. It works because knowing the History of the Yankees being one of the Richest baseball teams, Wayne using that logo to symbolize their a mini version of them was always raw

16. Odd Future

Odd Future hit the scene and slowly started to change the game. As their cult following started to grow, more fans were buying merch and the Pink Donuts were everywhere in 2010-2013

15. UGK

The Underground Kings have a logo that fits their sound perfectly. Old School, straight to the point and regal. When you saw this logo on the front of an album cover you knew you were Gonna be blessed with some gems.

14. Freebandz

Future hit the ground running. The music, the visuals, and the branding was all the there. The FreeBandz eagle similar to the Diplomats was inspired by the Ramons

13. KEY! 

KEY! is your favorite rapper’s favorite rapper and can definitely be regarded as one of the pioneers of the new wave of Atlanta artist. Whether it be his image or his music, KEY! came out the gate a goat with his one of a kind logo matching his name with a Key of Coke.

12. Young Jeezy

There was a time when a snowman didn’t mean much of anything. But in 2005, Young Jeezy had people like myself getting suspended from school for wearing shirts with this very logo saying “Can’t Ban The Snowman”. Though Jeezy hasn’t used the Snowman in a while, no one will forget wondering just what was going on when it first came out.

11. N.W.A.

Words can not truly explain how iconic this logo is. NWA has been an acronym for a few great things but the Niggas With Attitude changed the atmosphere and those 3 Letters will forever be intense.

10. SoSo Def 

JD and SoSo Far were really one of the best companies who actually had a mascot for their logo. Kanye would later 

9. Bad Boy 

One of the first rap logos i can remember, the Bad Boy baby has been around for some legendary artist. Biggie, Mase, Black Rob, Shyne, Diddy has always has a great roster but could never duplicate the same success he shared with BIG.

8. Death Row 

Death Row Records logo fit their entire demeanor, The Stories told about Suge Knight and various studio sessions along with the incredible Source Awards Speech, Death Row was nothing to be fucked with.

7. Kanye West

One of the best things about “Old Kanye” was seeing “Drop Out Bear” and anticipating how Kanye would apply him into the album artwork some how. Sadly after the Graduation, Ye stopped using him for whatever reason.

6. Run DMC 

The Queens New York Trio Run DMC might honestly have the most replicated logo of all time. This Logo has been copied countless times but it’s mainly because of how trendsetting Run DMC was during this time.

5. Cash Money

You can’t say legendary logos without mentioning Cash Money. The dollar sign along with the Cash Money Records text would be the image rap fans would have to get use to from 1996 til now but mainly in 1999-2000 where the Cash Money Millionaires were virtually impossible to ignore.

4. No Limit 

No other logo would best represent what Master P and the No Limit Soldiers were about to do better than this Army Tank. P bringing out the Gold Tank in the Make Em Say Uhh video use to be a moment you literally couldn’t afford to miss because P was really setting the bar high

3. Diplomats 

Growing up you either wanted to be in No Limit, Cash Money, or the Diplomats. Cam’ron and the Diplomats started to take New York by storm and this logo began to pop up everywhere. Adding Guns to the Talons for the merch, the logo alone was the finishing touches to solidify the Diplomats as one of the best groups of the 2000′s

2. Wu-Tang 

The Wu-Tang “W” is the hip-hop equivalent of the McDonalds Arch. The legendary classic logo represents an entire Clan and their brand of Kung Fu-influenced Staten Island rawness. Even if you don’t listen to their music, this logo may be the most recognizable.

1. Rocafella Records 

While Wu Tang may have the most recognizable logo, the most iconic to us is the Rocafella Logo. Not only the artist, the plan Jay, Dame, and Biggs established, or the way they went about their business, it was the legendary diamond along with the Rocafella chain itself. Watching Kanye get his at the end of the Through The Wire video is still one of the best moments in music history.

[batsplat]

who were the underrated early 00’s riders in your opinion or who did you enjoy watching the most?

gonna go for the boring options first and say both biaggi and gibernau are commonly underrated from today's perspective. this kind of thing often happens where one athlete is really dominant, so it's assumed that the opposition isn't that strong... but it's a bit of a circular argument, right, because the reason why their resumes aren't stronger on paper is because of that one athlete's dominance. (I hate to accidentally be doing federer prop, but how people discuss his noughties dominance is actually a really good parallel here lol - like he was just very good and we'd remember the other blokes in that era very differently if he hadn't been around.) so the reasoning goes biaggi and gibernau had to be mid given they were constantly being beaten

this is obviously particularly egregious with biaggi, the joint most successful bloke ever in the 250cc category (another achievement that has suffered over the years because newer fans don't quite get how much more meaningful these titles were than moto2 ones) - but honestly it's also irritating with gibernau. again with the late bloomer syndrome... yes, it took him until 2003 to reach his potential as a rider, but that doesn't mean he didn't have a lot going for him! they're both good riders! they gave us a lot of really cool battles! they had plenty of impressive signature performances - just look at biaggi winning his first ever race in the premier class. gibernau's transformation as a rider at welkom 2003. really interesting individual stories (both with quite unusual paths to the top of the sport) that get flattened when you allow them just to be reduced to one guy's chew toys

speaking of, I do just enjoy gibernau as a rider. I like good wet weather racers as a rule, just something about that skillset that's particularly appealing to me... yes, it's about adaptability and there will be some element of 'talent' involved, but it's also about your wits and your decision-making skills and your ability to judge risk vs reward. (also, it's FUN that it doesn't correlate neatly with how talented we'd usually consider the riders. look at how good vale/casey/marc are in the wet versus jorge/dani's... struggles. most people wouldn't consider dovi more naturally 'talented' than the latter two, and yet! and yet.) I do also have a fondness for cerebral riders, the smart operators who are better racers than qualifiers, which, again. sete

the other big one is alex barros, who had already been around for a while by the time the early noughties rolled around, and as a result has a quite old school style for the time... did you know he's the only rider to have ever scored podiums with five different manufacturers in the premier class? really demonstrates his longevity better than anything else could. he doesn't really get discussed enough imo - I still think he was valentino's main on-track rival in 2002. the championship standings don't exactly reflect it, in part because he was still on a 500cc for much of the season, but they had like. a bunch of really fun battles. known for both his raw pace and for what a phenomenally later braker he was

singlehandedly made the 2002 season watchable, quite frankly

another one is... I don't know, is someone really underrated when it's possible newer fans just straight up haven't heard of him, and most fans who are aware of him do appreciate him plenty? anyway, garry mccoy was one of those blokes with a more obviously 'spectacular' riding style, which made him really easy to appreciate. his strongest season was in 2000 and after that injuries did unfortunately derail his career, but hey, 2000 is still the noughties. he was nicknamed 'the slide king' with his dirt track-inspired style... going side on into the turns in a way that was very much unique at the time. won three races in 2000! here's some sliding footage (the interesting music choices are part of the charm). troy bayliss another very distinctive rider though I suppose within motogp he's most known for his 2006 victory as a wildcard, so not technically early noughties

I have no clue how highly shinya nakano is rated but I will say people don't talk enough about his helmets these days:

aren't they great??

anyway, yeah, those are probably the main ones. is capirossi underrated these days? I do feel like he's pretty widely respected and is about correctly rated, but if not then he obviously counts too. very plausibly could have won the 2006 title if he hadn't gotten unlucky early on, and obviously won some... rather. uh. eventful titles...? in the lower categories in the nineties. also, even if he didn't end up winning a title with ducati, he was the rider who developed the bike that did. involved in quite a lot of dramatic races and quite a lot of drama, certainly contributed plenty to the sport. otherwise barros is definitely the rider who stands out, my hero of 2002. cut him out of that season and you'd have to throw away the whole year

[jacksgreysays]

Tamed, again: Oh! check out "Tam Lin (Child 39)" by Anaïs Mitchell & Jefferson Hamer (Anaïs also did this great Eurydice/Orpheus album called Hadestown, which was later expanded to a full musical, and it's great, but much longer than Tam Lin). I'd like to see what you could make of that, given how different it is from most "wed to a monster" fairy tales. Doesn't have to be Tamed, that's just the one I was thinking of when I thought of this song/fairy tale prompt.

I listened/read the lyrics to this song, lionhead, and first off--nice rec! Second of all, I knew vaguely of the folk tale featuring Tam Lin in that he is a human man who the Queen of the Fairies fell in love with and took for herself (after “rescuing him?”) but I think maybe I conflated it with a similar folk tale and thought that he tried to go back to the human realm but when his feet touched the ground he rapidly aged to the point of death because it had been a century since he had been on the mortal plane and time caught up with him--is this not also Tam Lin or is that some other unfortunate human that the Queen of Fairies fell in love with? (Anyway, the version I thought was Tam Lin kind of informed the Uzumaki section in this Changeling ficlet, since they’re so long-lived that a century doesn’t really matter to them so long as they’re able to return to Uzushio eventually)

...

Although, now that I say that...

There must have been a few Uzumaki who went to party with The Fae Court before the Fall of Uzushio and then returned only to find that their home destroyed, so before they touched the ground and rapidly aged (not to death because Uzumaki longevity) the Fae were like. Hey, you want to just stay with us forever? And those Uzumaki were like... sure, why not?

And I guess what I’m saying is: “Tam Lin” is an Uzumaki who were one of those infinite partiers who slid back to the human world when someone was messing with Uzushio and realized that they wanted to escape/be human again and maybe fell in love but that’s not as important as the agency of deciding to escape on their own (because I, honestly, could do without the SURPRISE PREGNANCY TIME TO USE THAT AS AN EXCUSE???) and while it would make sense for the person messing around in the ruins of Uzushio to be Shikako (because maybe there is some sealing knowledge to be salvaged) it kind of seems like her method of freeing this Uzushio would be a little more hands-on than “no matter what happens and what I turn into, just hold on and eventually I will be released from my contract.” Like. “Shikako is going to fight the Fairy Queen in order for this Uzumaki to be freed.”

...

ALTHOUGH!

Looking back on that above-linked Changeling ficlet, it does end with the implication that as the titular Changeling, Shikako is subconsciously making her teammates into Knights so that she will become The Queen of the Fae.

And she canonically has a habit of overthrowing regimes when she doesn’t agree with their policies...

I guess then the question is, does the “Uzumaki Tam Lin” character even matter much if Shikako’s going to war with the Queen of the Fae anyway? It takes out the devotion and desperation and faith aspects of the “hold onto me no matter what I turn into, I swear I will go home.”

So maybe not focusing so much on the fairy world thing...

Okay. If we’re focusing on the transformation thing... obviously jinchuuriki so Naruto, Gaara, and Haku would be ideal. Gaara and Haku both also have the bonus of elemental manipulation, so we could get “turns into sand/ice” THEN “turns into manifestation of bijuu” But I don’t really know what either of them are escaping from/would need someone to hold onto them while they turn into dangerous things in order to escape from something.

Unless it’s an emotional escaping thing? Closure, as it were. Since the last person to hug Gaara was probably his uncle Yashamaru who tried to kill him and the last person to hug Haku might have been his mom who hit him for using his ice or his dad who assembled a mom to try to kill him so... HUGGING IS A FRAUGHT MATTER WITH THESE BOYS, IS WHAT I’M SAYING...

... I also have another (two) takes on this, a little more abstract, but I’m not sure which one I like better/which fits their personalities better... so an InoxSai or a SakuraxIno thing. (Not necessarily romantic, but eh, why not?)

So basically, Sai wants to leave ROOT, but there are ~mysterious mental programs~ in his head which cause him to basically go mindless attacking machine. Possibly installed by Fu Yamanaka on Danzo’s orders. So the best person to “deprogram” him, as it were, may be Ino? Or, at the very least, you get the cool animal imagery with Sai’s attacks while Ino holds on (either literally or metaphorically) until he’s mentally free from ROOT and “human” again.

The second one, is kinda similar, in that... well... I actually have no idea if Inner Sakura is a thing in DoS. Did she even show up in Shippuden? Or was Inner Sakura more of a “real Sakura’s oppressed desires/personality manifesting itself as a separate thing” because the fact that she could repel a blood limit with that in canon is impressive. Unless it was more a thing against Ino not being a serious practitioner of her family’s jutsu during that time and so even a schism of will within Sakura’s mind caused too much destabilization that the Yamanaka mind swap couldn’t hold.

Anyway, what I’m saying is: Orochimaru’s splinter of personality in Ino tries to take over her body and Sakura (via Inner Sakura?) has to fight him off so that Ino can shore up her mental defenses and kick him out for good. But since it’s a mental scape thing, it looks like Ino turning into Orochimaru, turning into a snake, turning into a cursed seal version of herself, etc. etc. And Sakura “healing” her/holding on to keep Orochimaru’s take over at bay.

Hm...

I don’t know which idea I like best...

[wombtangclanaz]

“Not everyone can be Russ”

So I’m not really sure where to start a whole ass blog but since my rants are constantly triggered by random content I see, I'm gonna stick to what I know and not try to psych myself out and delay this blog further. So we’ll jump right in. I have to shoutout Kato on the Track for always validating the things I think I'm learning on my own, and for packaging those lessons into words that make sense and that I can share with others. If you’re not familiar with Kato, Dame Mec, DJ Pain, Sound Advice, Music Entrepreneur Club and so many other local platforms/people of the sort, you really playin yourself,  PERIODT. These guys really care about layin it out for you in a meaningful way which takes a lot of work. so WATCH AND LISTEN.  So, between yesterday and today, Kato posted a few short videos talking about the subjects we are about to explore. Until I can figure out how to attach said videos, go watch them on IG @katoproducer. The one posted today is titled “Not everyone can be Russ” and I feel that on SUCH a spiritual level. If you’re familiar with Russ at all, you can probably kinda guess what this is about. For those not familiar, Russ is a rapper/song writer/producer/author etc etc etc. who has gained some big recognition for his blueprint as an “independent” artist. I personally don't really listen to Russ or closely follow his career, however his relevance in the industry is undeniable. if you watch any interview with Russ, its clear he's garnered fame by figuring out how to be an independent powerhouse, more or less. (Admittedly, the technical “BUSINESS” side of the industry is still something I lack a lot of knowledge in cause it involves politics that can be annoying, however I'm always tryna find people to teach me more things. If this is you, tap inwardly) But basically, the point Kato is trying to make is that its not necessarily better to be doing EVERYTHING yourself with zero out-sourcing/collaboration. We see this A LOT on applications for Tucson Hip Hop Festival (shoutout THHF fam I love you guys) It seems like young artists are quick to tell us about how they rap AND PRODUCER/WRITE/RECORD/ENGINEER all their own music in their closet. it seems to be a point made to try to impress, when really it can be a red flag. This might be just my opinion, however I have a lot of conversations about this with the mentors I keep close to me and they seem to share my sentiments. The problem with doing EVERYTHING yourself is that it can quickly create a “master of none” situation. The beautiful part of todays music industry is that the technology to do the basic things yourself and is mostly free and at your fingertips. Every kid with an iphone5 can make a rap song. This is one of the reasons that hip hip is one of the most popular genres in the world right now. With popularity comes intense levels of over-saturation. You have to focus your talents and efforts and TIME. If you’re a rapper SLASH producer, ask yourself which one you're more passionate about, which one would be devastating to leave behind? Now, this doesn't mean you’re forever disqualified from making beats in the future or trying your hand at rapping. I think a big factor in a hip hop career these days is TIMING. Take note that Russ released 11 albums and 87 singles CONSECUATIVELY AND FREE OF CHARGE before he really got meaningful recognition with Soundcloud. Not to mention the fact that producers and DJ’s are more recognized and showcased as separate entities, locally and nationally. A big reason is the fact that social media made branding so easy and mostly free. Now, if you’re someone who just likes to experiment and create music and try your hand at rapping, DO NOT LET ME DISCOURAGE YOU. Everyones gotta figure things out, its important that you’re exploring and creating DESPITE everything. Consistency is key. Do not let me dictate your dreams. HOWEVER, if you're looking to take the next step and actually pursue a career, this is advice you may want to take to heart. It sounds counter-intuitive but the best way to gain success as an INDEPENDENT artist is COLLABORATION WITH YOUR PEERS. Another point Kato makes is how up-and-coming rappers are immediately trying to work with artists or entities 3-4 steps ahead of them. Theres many rappers who try to afford themselves the PRIVILEGE of skipping necessary steps in their career. Most notably the LOCAL step. I see so many rappers following this romanticized narrative of being an INDEPENDANT artist, fuck a label got it out the dirt do it all on my own yadda yadda, but are so quick to bash or dismiss their local scene that they have yet to even explore, all the while on social media spamming every single major record label and tagging every legendary rapper they can think of in every single irrelevant thing they post. I can't make any sense of that honestly. I CONSTANTLYYYYYYY have kids reaching out to me sayin they wanna legitimize their local scene, PUT ON for their city, put their state ON THE MAP, help build their community, PUSH THE CULTURE, be socially active and change lives etc etc etc. and have never been to a SINGLE local event (even as a supporter), can't name a SINGLE leader or influential person in their hip hop community or a SINGLE local rapper they admire(who aren't just one of their homies).  I LOVE that energy and passion. but without the KNOWLEDGE of what's going on around you, and the people laying down the roadwork for you, you look low-key disrespectful and very under informed. I mean, this is quite literally the bane of my existence. If you're involved in organizing shows or events or platforms on any level, you know how many people will hit you up to be on every single show/festival but HAVE not and WILL not ever attend or support otherwise. I'm sorry but there's no other way around it. I can speak for the whole state when I say that there are locally conscience artists that quite literally “put on” for their community every weekend and have for years and years. if you message me on IG for coverage on my platform and we have 2 mutual friends, THATS A HUGE RED FLAG. There are many experienced and talented people around you who want nothing more than to provide opportunities and support to pass the torch to the next generation. Its okay to reach out for support and ask for help as long as you’re worthy of it. Dame Mec always says that if you’re reaching out to someone ASKING for something (no matter how small) you gotta make sure you’re working JUST as hard or ALMOST as hard as the people you’re reaching out to. “CLOUT” does not exist if you’re actually worthy of the support, it just comes and it lasts longer. Building in your local scene can really boost the longevity of your career and helps you find “success” in unexpected places. And maybe i’m the one romanticizing now, but asking for something should not be your first contact with said person. Your local networking, knowledge and SUPPORT OF OTHERS should not come solely from YOUR OWN desire for success, wealth or influence. It should come from your utter love and uncompromising passion for HIP HOP and every avenue of culture that goes along with it. You should already be attending hip hop events and having hip hop experiences, not because you decide you're a rapper one day, but because its the thing you enjoy the most and absolutely cannot see your life without it. Sometimes I let myself get annoyed by the lack of knowledge and lack of willingness to learn that I see plaguing hip hop today and I always remember what one of my homies/mentors always says when I wanna talk shit; “their heart just isn't in it” (Pike obvi) and that's just so damn true. If your heart isn't in it, everyone around you is gonna figure that out way before you do. Don't let your ego ruin your career before you even have one

[bluerosesburnblue]

Yeah. I just like to give a benefit of a doubt (and like you said. KH doesn't always have the best writing). But I'd also say you're probably not wrong. There's a surprising amount of old people who have caused a lot of problems or have questionable worldviews (Yensid. Eraqus. Xehanort. Mickey. Ansem. MOM ect. Adults are shifty in KH. Except you Donald, Goofy, Leon, Cid, Tifa, Aerith, Sully and Mike ect. You guys are cool). What you said got me thinking. The MoM was really the one who created-

entire system for Keyblade weilders: Bequethings. Rigid traditions. Strict views. No questioning what has been passed down. This system has had quite the impact on Keyblade wielders. Not a lot of it good. Eraqus got easily manipulated into letting Xehanort rig the test to fail Terra. Then later tried to murder Ven and hurt Terra. All because of his inability to confront darkness in other people w/o resorting to violence. Aqua was also guilty of this when she was going to go after the evil -

family in Cinderella all because she sensed darkness in them. For all she knew they could have been good people struggling w/something like Terra (they weren’t but that’s not the point). She wasn’t trying to be malicious but I definitely believe she was acting in a way she thought Eraqus would. I also think they all relied so much on the system (instead of critical thinking and their hearts) that when it didn’t provide a good answer they failed each other and themselves until it was too late.-

the Keyblade wielders from the past don’t seem to be doing any better. They keep repeating the same mistakes over and over. Instead of forging their own path and trying to figure out what’s right, the Foretellers keep clinging to the MoM who abandoned them after giving them separate jobs in secrecy. Their devotion and inability to think for themselves or for the children who looked up to them caused so much death and destruction. I doubt the Dandelion leaders will even be able to fix things -

as much as they hope to (I guess nobody really learned my your heart be your guiding key back then except for the rare few). Basically we’ve seen how the MoM created system has either always been detrimental or got warped (not that he cared). Masters Mickey, Aqua and Riku aren’t anymore capable then Sora is. In fact I think they still have a lot of issues. Mickey’s guilt. Riku’s blindness. Aqua’s ptsd and loner streak. The only time the day has been completely saved was when the dull ordinary-

Keyblade weilder unlike any other (aka Sora) came rushing in to break all expectations and traditions of how things should go and instead does what needs to be done. Sora is the one big Keyblade players who doesn’t fall into the need to conform to the MoM system. Even Riku got a bit influence by it when he received the Master title. The Foretellers represent the old broken ways that have no mercy w/shallow views of worth. Sora represents the merciful loving way that can lead all into the light

Just to be clear, I don’t think that Yen Sid is actively malevolent at all. I just think that he’s not as smart or wise as everyone makes him out to be, is a horrible teacher, and is honestly kinda lazy. He’s not sitting there going “Haha! How can I ruin this child’s life!” but he is overestimated by pretty much all of the major protagonists because he’s an old, mysterious wizard who used to be pretty good with a key-sword

And yeah, that’s what I’ve been getting at with the MoM vs. Sora stuff! How MoM made the traditions that people have been using for at least a century but almost must be longer, and how Sora flies in the face of all of them

The Master set up a system designed for him to manipulate. A strict Light-Good-Darkness-Bad dogma, a chain of command where the apprentice must be completely subservient to the master, and a no-questions mentality. Now, maybe he just did it to make his plan for his own six apprentices work, but given how we see him talking to YMX in Re:Mind I get the sense that the longevity of these traditions is exactly what he intended. It would make manipulating further and further down the chain that much easier. He passed these ideas on to his apprentices, who passed it on to the millions of theirs, who would continue passing it on even when almost all of them were wiped out. The Union Leaders have a strict rulebook for crying out loud!

And I think even the mantra of “may your heart be your guiding key” could be designed to manipulate. After all, wouldn’t most people’s hearts tell them to do what their master asked of them? If you truly loved your master, wouldn’t your heart guide you into acting in a way that you believe would make them proud and please them? It certainly seemed that way with the Foretellers

And that’s where Sora gets interesting. He’s self-taught. He has no notion of any kind of structure among Keyblade Wielders because for a while he thought he was the last one left and even once he’s proven wrong… the last known people enforcing the structure are dead (Eraqus), literally trying to destroy the world (Xehanort), retired and scooting around the universe avoiding all human contact (Yen Sid), and zipping around the universe trying to find other ways to help (Mickey). When Sora hears “may your heart be your guiding key” he has no real master to impress. His desires are simple: protect those he loves. So that’s exactly where his heart leads

And you would expect Riku to break it as well given his Dark streak… until you remember that Riku’s been traveling in close contact with Mickey since Chain of Memories. Mickey’s practically Riku’s Master, even though it was Mickey’s Master who did their Mark of Mastery. Yen Sid passed the tradition onto Mickey, and Riku would probably be getting them from him. The only thing that they ever did was come to the joint conclusion that Actually Darkness Can Be Good Sometimes, but they never reevaluated the rest of the tradition

And I love His Royal Highness Michael Theodore Mouse as much as the next person, but he’s not immune to slipping back into the old ways. I mean, how could he with such a strict teacher anyway?

The tradition vs. innovation theme is one that I really hope they explore in the next arc and really treat with respect. Because the first seven Keyblade Wielders returning to face off against the Universe’s Biggest Unchosen One is just too good of a thread to ignore

[halogensleep]

pour your gasoline on me (let's torch the whole world down) [ch. 1]

Prompt: Assassin!Charlynch AU - After Charlotte wakes up ziptied to a chair at the mercy of a knife wielding Irishwoman who doesn't take no for an answer, her black and white life becomes colourful in every sense of the word as they begin a game of cat and mouse that won't end well for either of the hitwomen.

Charlotte awoke to a sore head and her good white shirt ruined. For a moment. For the briefest of instants. For the second before her wrists realised they were zip tied behind the chair, numb from the pressure, she was both nervous and impressed, simultaneously.

There was a reason clients handed her the cheque book and told her to write whatever number came to mind… she was supposed to be untouchable, invisible, the queen of shadows, the go to woman when problems needed to disappear. Apparently, somebody hadn’t just been looking in her direction, they had been watching her, learning her, picking apart her cloak of invisibility thread by thread.

Whoever he was, Charlotte became instantly certain that she would kill him the long way around. A bullet or knife would be too fast. A steam iron set to eco-mode on the other hand? Well, it would certainly be an interesting way to show him the scenic route of his own mortality once she got these zip ties off.

“Ah, the bruiser is awake!” A chirpily Irish—and definitely female—voice greeted from the warehouse door.

Charlotte said nothing despite her surprise, her unmoving stare fixed on the damp brick wall on the other side of the warehouse. She exhaled as the sound of footsteps crept around her immobilised position and suddenly became a tangible person to look at with big brown eyes and long gingery copper hair. If it wasn’t for current situation, the zipties, the abduction, the knife glinting in the Irishwoman’s hand, Charlotte would have been looser with compliments. The woman was beautiful, a present threat, but beautiful nonetheless.

There was no mask or disguise which was either fantastic news or terrible news. Charlotte was leaning more towards the latter. An old hitman with eager lips who had found himself the star witness of a federal prosecution had gone to the trouble of warning her once that this wasn’t a career that came with much longevity. In fact, it was the last thing he ever said before the slash wounds on his arms finally bled out—it was important the job looked like a suicide, Charlotte loved the jobs that required a feminine eye for detail the most—but now, immobilised, staring into the eyes of the woman who was no doubt getting ready to deliver a swift coup de grâce with the small knife in her hand, Charlotte couldn’t help but wish she had listened a bit harder to that old snitch.

“Well… not much of a talker, are you?” The Irishwoman pouted and twiddled the tip of her knife. “I won’t pretend I’m not offended.”

Charlotte smiled politely and said nothing.

“You realise I’m holding a knife?” The Irishwoman glanced down at her weapon, eyebrow craned by the oddness of the silence.

“You couldn’t spread butter with that thing.”

“Catty of you,” The Irishwoman didn’t skip a beat.

Charlotte smirked and busied herself with all the creative ways this pretty red haired woman was going to die at her hands as soon as she got loose. And by her own estimations, the Irishwoman with her long slender jaw and bright white teeth was more than just pretty… apparently she was quite the comedian too. It left her at odds with her experience and training. A successful career up until this moment had been based on the ability of reading people, facial expressions, speech patterns, involuntary movements, that sort of thing. Charlotte found herself slightly at a loss trying to pick apart the woman staring at her. There was no nervousness, no anger, no cynicism or bitterness, just overwhelming and abundant chirpiness as if they were two friends meeting after a long time apart.

She felt her disadvantage grow weightier.

“Ah,” The Irishwoman smiled suddenly, nodding her head a bit. “Thinking of ways to kill me?”

“It’s one way to pass the time,” Charlotte said coolly.

“I just want to chat, silly billy!” The Irishwoman rolled her eyes and straddled Charlotte’s restrained hips, plonking herself down on the jerking lap. “It would seem you know a friend of mine, Hadiq Sharma ring any bells?” Her lips curled into a smirk.

Her fingers danced over the white lapels of Charlotte’s shirt during the interim of silence that followed. Charlotte scowled at the cockiness and looked away.

The steam iron was going to be set to linen-mode for this troublemaker as soon as she figured a way out of this place.

“Can’t say I know him,” Charlotte lied.

“We can get to that in a moment.” The Irishwoman waved her hand. “I thought we could get a little better acquainted first…”

“Is that so?” Charlotte’s breaths became tight and measured as the troublemaker sitting over her lap pushed herself forward slightly.

“It is so nice to meet you, Charlotte. Well… officially meet you, I mean.” The Irishwoman jollily waved her knife at the miswording. “You’re considerably more dressed than the last time we were alone together. Speaking of which, you really shouldn’t use shampoos that contain parabens… absolutely terrible for the environment.” She gravely shook her head. “Also, you should make a habit of checking behind the shower curtain for intruders but I suppose that’s by the by now.” The knife was waved again like a plaything to punctuate her point. “After all, if horror films have taught us one thing it’s that you never know what sort of monster could be lurking behind the shower curtain, do you?” The Irishwoman breathed it out as a confession.

“You were in my bathroom?” Charlotte lifted an impressed brow.

“Oh, and the one in Connecticut too. Nice family pad by the way, was difficult tracking down the money orders and wire transfers with all of the fake names you used but I really do love a challenge.” The Irishwoman prodded, and Charlotte felt her blood run cool. “I didn’t put you down as the bleeding heart type but it was very sweet seeing how cosy you keep your sister and baby niece. They love you a lot, you know.”

“If you hurt them…” Charlotte didn’t need to finish the threat.

“Don’t be silly, Charlotte. Honestly, you make me sound like a sociopath! When your old battle buddy came knocking on the door looking for you, Molly insisted that I came in for a coffee and a sit down. Oh how we laughed as the baby photos came out of the cupboard!” The Irishwoman beamed with delight. “I didn’t have to so much as bend one of her fingers back… she told me everything I needed to know and then some.” The knife was traced gently along her straining neck.

The rage became visceral and embarrassing, humiliating even. Six years of doing this and nobody had so much as known the area code of her cell phone number. Charlotte realised this was an intricate torture in and of itself. The Irishwoman wasn’t gloating for the sake of gloating, she was inflicting a sense of claustrophobia, forcing a state of overwhelming stress, preparing her for an interrogation. Charlotte swallowed as the knife was traced along her jawline.

That was it, Charlotte realised. This was an interrogation, methodical and deliberate.

“I get it now…” Charlotte started to pick at the thread, the cogs turning as she closed her eyes. “You were part of the IRA,” she lengthily exhaled.

“Excuse me?” The Irishwoman laughed. “Suddenly a detective, are we? Sort of xenophobic that you assume I’m a terrorist just because of the accent but I suppose you’re not wrong...”

“That’s what you tell clients when they ask questions,” Charlotte opened her eyes and rolled them slightly. “That you were in the Republican Army. I’m sure you ham it up a little more than that, maybe talk about big jobs and political hits you and your cousins never actually did. It’s part of your cover story so nobody finds out you were a police officer, once upon a time at least.” Charlotte lifted her brows. “I’m getting warm, right?”

The Irishwoman’s smirk barely faltered, but barely was enough for Charlotte to know she was bang on the money.

“You are as formidable as they warned me you would be,” The Irishwoman pushed forward with a whisper and pressed her lips to Charlotte’s ear. “Do you know what a police officer never does, Charlotte?” She asked it so quietly, so hushed, almost flirtatiously.

“Retire with a pension?” Charlotte smirked.

“Funny,” The Irishwoman nodded and smiled too.

There was a flash, a small glint of steel in the air and then white-hot pain in Charlotte’s thigh where the knife was buried. She cried out. The pain reverberated through her extremities, only growing more substantial the more she twisted and twitched the limb. The Irishwoman just hushed and petted her cheek, making silly crooning noises that only made Charlotte want to horribly kill her all the more.

The Irishwoman continued her point, “A police officer knows to never leave witnesses, Charlotte.” It was said with a serious nod. “Now I’m willing to bet you know how this is going to end for you, so how about you give me what I want and I make this mercifully quick?” The Irishwoman talked over the sound of her pained grunts.

“If you really did your research...” Charlotte exhaled and caught her breath, wincing and lifting her chin. “You would know I’m really into this sort of shit.”

“Your sister mentioned you were captured behind enemy lines, there’s no need to harp on about it any more than she did.” The Irishwoman rolled her eyes in boredom, shuffling a bit on Charlotte’s sore and bloody lap.

“Nothing like being tied to a chair with time to kill.” Charlotte did the smug thing with her eyebrows and ignored the pain. “I really enjoy being a pain in the ass in these type of situations, I’d clear your schedule if I were you.”

“I am so glad you said that because I feel exactly the same way.” The Irishwoman leaned back on Charlotte’s lap, twisting the knife in her leg slightly to punctuate her point. “But this is just the warm up… my methods are far more brutal and psychological, love. Please don’t make me show you the hard way.” Her tone became severe and stern.

“If you’re about to threaten to kill my baby sister, go ahead.” Charlotte was prepared to roll the dice. “Honestly? She’s kind of a nag.” She nodded in exasperation.

“Funny.” The Irishwoman jabbed the knife again.

Charlotte hissed, glaring and irritated. “You know, I’m beginning to really not like it when you do that,” she said.

“Do you have a preference as to where I scatter your niece after I’ve chopped her up?” The Irishwoman pouted slightly and narrowed her eyes, as if she were deep in thought. “Anywhere of sentimental value? There’s something about tiny coffins that makes me feel a bit queasy. Unless you play ball with me, Charley-poo, that’s going to be the state of things.”

Charlotte snapped her head up.

“Ah, there we go, got your attention now.” The Irishwoman patted her cheek. “So here’s what I’m thinking, you can tell me what I want to know and I’ll make this as quick or slow as you like… or you can piss me about and I’ll visit that lovely house in Connecticut and put some colour on the walls. Lady’s choice?” She tilted her head, eyes glimmering with playfulness.

Charlotte thought of her niece’s smile and her little chubby fingers, the way she never shares with other children, the glimmer of rage in her babyish stare when things don’t go her way, all of the things that imbued her with a sense of pride, and she felt herself give up instantaneously. There were few things she cared selflessly about in this world—maybe half a thing on a particularly good day—but her niece and her cat were always up there on the list.

It was becoming more certain by the second that her card was finally up and it was equally as exciting as it was terrifying. Many sleepless night had been spent thinking about her perfect death; other people dreamed of passing away in their sleep, old and feeble, but she wanted to leave this world white-knuckled and spitting blood in the eyes of adversaries, taking world-altering secrets to her grave with nothing more than a final ‘fuck you.’

But, the Irishwoman knew about her stupid little perfect baby niece.

All things considered, today was racking up to be a bad day at the office.

“What is it exactly you want to know about Sharma?” Charlotte sighed and craned her neck, willing to play ball.

“You accepted a job to kill my client, a very bad move all things considered.” The Irishwoman wagged her finger disapprovingly. “Who paid for the job?”

“I have no idea.”

“I don’t like that answer.” The knife was yanked free and buried again instantaneously in the same spot. Charlotte gagged with the pain and threw her head back. “Shh, you big baby!” the psychopath crooned. “We can stop as soon as you give me something a bit more substantial, love. Shall we try again?” She offered, softly.

“How am I supposed to know who wanted Sharma dead!?”

“Please don’t make me press this knife in any deeper. I hate it when people spurt blood, it would be very selfish of you.”

“There’s who pays for the job and who orders it along with all the middle management in between! Even if I wanted to I wouldn’t be able to make an educated guess.” Charlotte grew frustrated with the line of questioning. “There’s a lot of people who want Sharma dead, he controls half the counterfeit trade and he’s a terrible driver!” Charlotte shrugged indignantly.

The Irishwoman tutted in disapproval, the knife was buried into the femur bone instantaneously. Charlotte threw her head back and clenched her eyes. Whoever this woman was, she deeply loved her work, and Charlotte was beginning to admire just how much she admired it, a professional approval almost.

“I’m beginning to think you’re just dragging this out because you like me.” The Irishwoman leaned in so close the warmth of her breath was felt on Charlotte’s lips. “It’s one of the more interesting come-ons I’ve had, I’ll give you that.” Her brown eyes twinkled mischievously.

“How many times did you rehearse that line in your head?” Charlotte rolled her eyes.

“Brave, you’re a tough girl.” The knife was pulled out and jammed in again. “It’s a little show-offy.”

“Jesus Christ!” Her tiny world became nothing but pain and the threat of more pain, and it left her more than slightly exhilarated. “What can I say?” Charlotte hissed sarcastically and gathered herself. “Maybe I just want to take you to a bar when all of this is over with?”

“You know the way to my heart. And unfortunately for you, I know the way to yours too.” The small glinting knife was pulled out of her leg and pressed into her breastbone. “I’m getting bored, Charlotte, and I’m starting to wonder what you look like without skin. Don’t make me find out…”

“Mr. Rabbit.”

“Is that your safeword?” A slender eyebrow piqued.

“It’s the name of the man who delivers jobs for the Collective, that’s what he called himself. Mr Rabbit. Codeword for the Hadiq Sharma job is, ‘the carriage clock has been fixed.’ I have a phone number for him and that codeword for when the job is completed but I don’t know how far up this goes and I certainly don’t ask questions. You think I give a shit who orders the jobs or balances the cheque books? I pick up the name, I name my price, I do the job, I take my money, that’s it!” Charlotte reared forward with adrenalin. “I’m telling you the truth.”

The Irishwoman pouted and huffed a long, disappointed sigh. “So you are,” she frowned and put the knife away. “You want to give me the number? It’ll go some way towards me not murdering your family...”

“It’s in the burner phone.” Charlotte nodded to the tray beside them where her things had been laid out. “If you think he’s just going to tell you who his master is just because you asked nicely… well.” Charlotte shook her head gravely and wanted to laugh at the thought, almost.

“You’ve been very helpful, this is the most fun I’ve had on a first date in years.” The Irishwoman smiled and patted Charlotte’s cheek. “Now, do you mind waiting here for a second while I make a phone call?”

“Please, take your time.”

“Gracious of you.” The Irishwoman shuffled and stood up from Charlotte’s lap.

Charlotte felt her body sink with relief as the Irishwoman grabbed the phone and scrolled through the contact list. The chance of her miraculously escaping were slim to none, but she would gladly take a moment’s respite from her current predicament. The phone dialed out and was promptly lifted to the Irishwoman’s ear, she blew out her cheeks and nodded her head side to side, impatient and playful.

“Hello is that Mr. Rabbit?” The Irishwoman chirped, and the noise of a deep voice speaking on the line was just about audible. “Well, that’s because I’m not the Queen. My name is Becky Lynch. Yes, I know it’s not what you were expecting but the Queen can’t come to the phone right now. She’s a little tied up.” The grin was gleaming and pleased. “Now as I understand it, Mr. Rabbit, you had some business with the Queen concerning a man named Hadiq Sharma...” There was a pause. “Yes, that’s the one! Nice fella! Smashing beard! Terrible driver!”

Charlotte closed her eyes and shook her head at the silliness of it.

“Now, Mr. Rabbit, sir, I understand you represent a co-operative of buyers who require the kind of services that I just so happen to offer. I have to tell you, it’s been impossible to get a contact number for you to submit my resume.” The Irishwoman played with her wet knife. “Anyway, I killed Hadiq Sharma last night. I made it look like a mundane accident, needless to say the carriage clock has been well and truly fixed. I was hoping I could collect payment for the job and that you will consider my services next time you go to market?”

Charlotte snapped her eyes open and felt them bulge out of her skull.

The Irishwoman just smiled coyly at her, fingers waving, phone tucked between her chin and shoulder.

Charlotte realised she had just been played like a fiddle.

“Wonderful to hear, I look forward to speaking to you soon.” The Irishwoman hung up the phone and strolled back over to Charlotte. “He was lovely, what a nice man!” She gushed chirpily.

“So let me get this straight...” Charlotte blinked and grinded her jaw. “You just screwed me out of a paycheck and went to all of this trouble…” She looked around at the warehouse, looked at her stabbed thigh, then looked back to her smiling captor. “All to introduce yourself to the Collective?” The fury became palpable.

“I like to think of it as female entrepreneurs helping one another up the corporate ladder.” The Irishwoman plonked herself back down on Charlotte’s lap, her weight awakening the pain in her pin-cushioned thigh. “Think of this as a chamber of commerce meeting.”

“You could have just went with that in the beginning!”

“You would have thought of a way to fuck everything up if you thought I was about to take over your patch. It was easier when you thought this was just a simple job gone wrong, especially with sweet little Emily on the line… as if I would ever kill a child.” The Irishwoman rolled her eyes, and the knife came to a menacing rest on Charlotte’s shoulder. “You know I have to kill you though, right?”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

“It’s a shame, really. I felt like we had a connection, you know?” The Irishwoman whispered with mocking, saddened eyes. “Any last requests?”

“What time is it?” Charlotte narrowed one of her eyes, suddenly remembering.

The Irishwoman stared at her in disbelief, but she humoured Charlotte nonetheless and peered at the screen of the burner phone. “One fifty-eight, to be precise,” she answered. “Why? Are you running late for something?”

“Do you mind if we hold off for two minutes? I have a thing about odd numbers…” Charlotte sighed and was entirely serious. “A round two o'clock feels like a good time, right?”

“If movies have taught me anything it’s that you’re stalling for time before your old platoon buddies burst through the windows with guns—”

“Most of them are dead or married to codependent wives who never let them go anywhere fun, but you already know that.” Charlotte interrupted with a serious look. “Honestly, I just really don’t like odd numbers.”

“Well alright.” The Irishwoman blinked, slightly offset.

“So why did you give up being a police officer?” Charlotte blurted, determined to pass the seconds towards her death with small talk, curiosity getting the better of her a bit as the human conundrum remained precisely that. “You start killing for a living for any particular reason?”

“No. Just money, mainly,” The Irishwoman lied. “What makes a soldier with a gleaming service record and a bronze star to boot turn to this sort of thing?” Her nose wrinkled.

“Money,” Charlotte lied too.

The truth was far simpler; she just really enjoyed killing people. The squelch. The gasp. The last bit of life slipping from someone’s eyes. The way windpipes felt when they were crushed beneath her fingers. The creativity. The sacredness of it. They were such simple pleasures, really. The irony was that she didn’t stumble on her favourite pass-time until after leaving the Army. Her MOS was 35M, human intelligence collection. It was a vocation that made her an expert in picking people apart and getting to the source of secrets. It was interesting, but it wasn’t using an orbital sander at four in the morning to grind off tattoos and other identification markers before dumping a body downstream interesting.

“Do you miss it, being a soldier I mean?” The Irishwoman prodded.

“Do you miss being a police officer?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither.” Charlotte sighed. “What made you do it in the first place?”

The Irishwoman sighed too. “I quite liked the thought of having a gun. I suppose I could have joined the IRA, but I’m not much political. Also, I liked the sirens. Sirens are always fun.”

“Hm,” Charlotte hmph’d at the unravelled mystery. “Well, I think our two minutes are up.”

“Are you rushing me to kill you?” The Irishwoman became befuddled. “Aren’t you going to beg or try… something?”

“Death doesn’t scare me.”

“I would ask what does scare you but some mysteries are worth keeping.” She patted Charlotte’s shoulder and got up from her lap. “For what it’s worth I was a big fan of you work. Johnny the War Dog? Two Teeth Billy? You made artwork out of those jobs. I mean, strychnine in the air vents? Poetic. If there was a Hall of Fame, you would be up there.”

Charlotte nodded and couldn’t help but agree, she was a damn fine soldier and an even better hitwoman. All things said and done, she had certainly lived life with a vengeful sort of passion for her work. It wasn’t a husband and children in the suburbs, but she stood by her life choices which was more than what most people could say.

“Let’s get this over with.” Charlotte lifted her chin and offered her throat. “Nothing too gory or creative.” A serious brow was raised. “Take my wallet, make it look like a mugging gone wrong. It’ll take a while but my sister will eventually put out a missing person’s report and someone will identify my body, you’ll be long gone by then but at least they’ll have something to bury.”

“Are you serious orchestrating your own murder?” The Irishwoman smiled slightly, impressed, her eyes gleaming with what appeared to be an instantaneous sort of fondness.

“You’ll understand, one day.”

“Goodness,” The Irishwoman shook her head and looked away for a moment, she stepped forward and looked at Charlotte again, far more sobered this time. “You really are growing on me.” The knife jabbed shallowly into the side of Charlotte’s throat, the blood spurting a bit.

Funny really, she had watched the process of death up close, an admirer of sorts. But now it was happening to her and it was nothing as she expected. Charlotte imagined the process of dying would feel like she was being forced out of her body, but this wasn’t that. Charlotte closed her eyes and tried to remain calm and dignified, the blood dribbling and pumping and leaving her quickly. She felt heavier. She felt as if she was slipping inwards. The process was… interesting.

“Saint Mary’s is three blocks north,” The Irishwoman whispered close to her ear. “Your Carotid is nicked, I’d give you ten minutes at best. Twelve if you apply hard enough pressure.” The surprise became dumbfounding as her wrists were snipped free from the restraints. “Consider this a one time gift. And if you die? Well... it was a mugging gone wrong.”

Charlotte collapsed forward and pinched the wound with numbed fingers, hissing as she dug inside the cut and forced the source of it closed as best she could. The Irishwoman was long gone by the time she got up and started dragging herself to the door.

She slung herself down the stairs, slung herself across the cement floor, threw herself out onto the street, each movement a gigantic push as her fingers squeezed and pinched the source of the bleed. Charlotte had never felt so alive before, not even a little bit, and it was growing more and more exhilarating by the second.

She got less than twelve steps down the street before passers-by were stopping and hollering and fetching help. Apparently, today, luck was on Charlotte’s side after all; one of the do-gooders was an off-duty EMT. Charlotte sighed in relief as the wounds on her leg and throat were tended to, a car whizzing up and parking along the side of the pavement ready to rush her to the hospital.

Twelve minutes wasn’t even a competitive amount of time at all. Charlotte thought the Irishwoman had definitely tipped the odds in her favour, either that or she was offended by the implication of the alternative.

Charlotte slightly smiled to herself as strangers bundled her into the car. A single name, Becky Lynch, was all she had. But she knew come hell or high-water she would find the Irishwoman again. Charlotte wasn’t sure what this now was. Maybe war. Maybe cat and mouse. Maybe nothing or everything. It was, however, unfinished business, and Charlotte had just the steam iron to make it neat and tidy once her cardiovascular system had been put back together.

…

Seven hours of surgery, two weeks in the hospital, and three new pink scars later, Charlotte had finally made it back home to her apartment. The police report read that she had been the victim of a mugging gone wrong and Charlotte kept the details as vague as possible. This was her mouse to chase, her woman to burn the world down in search of. Now that her sister and most importantly, her niece, were out of Connecticut and somewhere safe, Charlotte felt the urge to stretch out and immediately set to work.

The apartment was exactly how she left it as she opened the door and limped inside, which struck immediate alarm bells. There was no sour, pungent smell from the chicken breasts that had been left to thaw in the sink a fortnight prior. There was no two week accumulation of leaflets that had been shoved underneath the door. The litter tray by the bathroom door had been used which meant Fuzz Aldrin had been coming and going, somehow. The latter was as relieving as it was nerve wracking, she had worried the cat might have gotten himself into trouble over the last fortnight while she was away. His inquisitive happy purrs as he prowled around her ankles indicated he was more than okay.

Charlotte grabbed the loaded 9mm kept inside the hollowed bible on her bookcase before she limped any further inside.

The kitchen and living room were checked barrel first with the breakfast bar used as cover, then the bathroom, the bedroom, the balcony, and the bedroom once again just to be sure. Someone had certainly been in the apartment, Charlotte couldn’t shake the feeling. Things were left so perfectly that it felt out of place. Charlotte lowered her gun with a sigh and trod back to the kitchen, well aware of who exactly had been here.

If she needed a more concrete symptom that her suspicions were correct, the Irishwoman was feeling particularly generous. Charlotte found the post-it note stuck to the refrigerator door. She pulled it off and began to read.

Used your place as a base while you were in the hospital, hope you don’t mind. I replaced your groceries. Your cat is fat and disgusting but I’ve kept him alive and named him Big Bastard, he seems to like it.

P.S: Glad you survived.

P.P.S: Your vibrator needs new batteries.

Love, Becky.

Charlotte screwed the post-it note in her fist and threw it across the room. To add fuel to the fire of her bad mood, she now had to move out of her apartment, ideally today. The workshop out of the city where difficult problems were dealt with still remained a secret. It was an old mechanic shop out in the sticks with no heating, no hot water, and no listening ears for miles around... the perfect location for making bodies more manageable or getting information out of a person before a job could be finished. The owner was long since deceased which Charlotte knew because she was the one who killed him — rule number one of the smart business rule book, never accept a loan from the Hungarian mafia and then object to chopping stolen cars, a lesson the owner learned the hard way. The Hungarians took no issue with her using the abandoned building from time to time after he was dealt with, and in exchange she gave them a more favourable price when work needed to be done.

Charlotte sighed and came to terms with her frustration. For the foreseeable future, until the troublemaker was neutralised, the chop shop would now be her home away from home.

…

When Charlotte had asked on that fateful day what it was that made her join the police force, Becky told the truth and lied simultaneously. It was a little bit for the gun, for the permitted naughtiness of it. Mostly, she joined the Garda because above all things, she liked to hunt.

It had started as a wain when her grandfather would drive out to the Wicklow mountains with her sat on his lap the entire way there in the rickety excuse of a van to hunt the elusive Sika stags. Beautiful creatures. She wanted to weep for every single one them when the bullets rang out and they fell down in a heaped, huffing piles of horn and fur. It was without a doubt the only period of her life that she had ever felt a faint sense of empathy, the desire to weep for the beasts and yet never the gratification of following through with it.

To begin with, uncles and old men that she had to call uncle because they were friends of her grandfather had all disapproved of her presence. Mainly because of her sex, mainly because of her disposition. But with age she grew to understand the addictiveness of wielding power like that, hunting predators, outsmarting wild things, crouching in the warm wet night while the strumming and crooning insects sung the beasts to an unsuspicious state.

By the tender age of eleven, the men would walk quickly and crowd around the van as it returned from Wicklow, eager to see what the wee girl, the little hunter had managed to do. It was an unofficial test that bore more weight than her grandfather ever let her know. Her father had died in the troubles and she was without brothers, the only grandchild of the big man, and with that came expectation.

When he died, she didn’t feel much at all, she had loved him but that was that, she missed him because she was told to miss him, she missed him because the person who snuck her sweets and cleaned her gun when she was feeling too lazy to do it herself was no longer around. If her path had ever been clearly defined it was that she was expected to become a small vestibule of him and take up arms for the cause, one day. The stag hunter would grow up big and strong, take her smarts and put them to use as a leader for their people. Becky didn’t quite grow up big and strong, but she was the best hunter, the keenest strategist, insurmountable in smarts, hungry to hunt things other than stags and deer. There was a darkness in her, an unburdened urge to hunt and kill that was felt and noticed by the others, whispered about.

It was her fifteenth birthday when she watched from a blockade while a Garda shot down a man with a knife in his hands who had been causing trouble… it was love at first sight. By eighteen, her turbulent, passionate streak for strategy and blood had been placed in a uniform. The people called her a traitor, bricked her mother’s windows, did worse than that, but Becky didn’t care. For all intents and purposes, she had a license to hunt. When she entrapped some of the very men who had raised her, who had ate at her table, who had drank and raised arms with her grandfather, convincing them she was only part of the Garda as reconnaissance, the force went so far as to hand her a medal and promote her to the special detective unit after the trial came to a close.

Entrapping her people wasn’t a particularly difficult task to do, her cheerful and chirpy disposition were qualities that enamoured people and convinced them she wasn’t a threat but rather an ally, a constant and faithful friend. They were the beasts, and she was both the crooning insects that kept them unsuspicious and the speeding bullet that would put them down before they knew it was too late.

The job was enough until it wasn’t anymore. Then, she just disappeared into the night and found herself here — hunting for the sake of hunting, hunting at the behest of whoever paid the best money. She had eventually come to learn of the one called the Queen of Shadows, the woman without a name, the woman who made problems disappear, and it niggled her in places that she didn’t know could be niggled; it left her curious and infuriated by the intensity of her curiosity; until eventually she decided that she would have to hunt her too just for the sake of putting an end to it.

The trouble was that every bit of the hunt only left her with more questions. Every tiny piece of information only left her hungry for more. Every step closer towards capturing the woman she had come to learn was Charlotte Flair, decorated war veteran, keeper of secrets, lurker of shadows, mother of one repulsive cat, only made her wish she could take two steps backwards and draw it out a little more… it was infuriating, and it was delicious, and it was too much fun to let come to such an anti-climactic end as a fatal stabbing in a disused warehouse over little more than a paycheck.

After the cheeky post-it note in the kitchen, Becky imagined that the game would be reciprocated, chasing one another would be a fun way to pass the time between jobs but there was no take up on Charlotte’s part. It was offensive. It was maddening. It was above all things clearly a trap… but Becky couldn’t leave it alone.

God, she wished she had left it alone.

The Queen had been gone for some months, those who knew of her said that she must have got spooked and quit while she was ahead. They were wrong. For beasts like her and Charlotte, there was no such thing as quitting while ahead. There was only hunting, climbing, racing, jaunting and galavanting towards the next big thrill.

When the newspapers read that a newly-elected house representative had turned up dead, tragically stabbed in the throat during a mugging gone wrong in one of the only camera dark spots of the parking garage beneath his building, Becky knew the game was back on. Only the Queen would be ballsy enough to take on a job with heat and visibility like that. Only the Queen would be brazen enough to stick a message inside of the hit. And only the Queen would be smart enough to get away with it too.

After a few months of covert nosing, Becky found out through a low-level contact who ran with the Hungarians about the chop shop, conveniently named, where people went when someone wanted them to disappear. It was a lead, one that Becky enthusiastically felt put her at least four steps ahead of Charlotte Flair.

Like an unsuspecting stag beneath the crooning hum of insects singing the warm night to sleep, Becky didn’t realise it was too late until it was too late. She had trekked two miles on foot beneath the cover of early darkness toward the lone building down the road with unmistakable red gas pumps outside just like her contact had described. She was convinced she had the element of surprise… right up until a single barbed dart hit her in the chest from more than a hundred feet out.

The paralysis was almost instantaneous, the warmth and wooziness was coming more than it was going as footsteps from down the road grew closer. She tried to reach for her gun to no use, and so she huffed and kicked and moved like a wounded stag, dragging herself only a tiny distance before the tranquiliser took hold and rendered her completely immobile.

“Thank you for doing the hard part for me,” Charlotte whispered and crouched over her, grinning a bit as she slung the dart gun over her shoulder. “I was getting worried that I might have to come and look for you.” The words were chuckled out victoriously.

Fuck, she wished she had just left this alone.

“Cat got your tongue?” Charlotte prodded her slumped figure with her foot. “It’s alright, I put you down with enough Telazol to stop a lion in its tracks. Stop fighting and go to sleep… there will be plenty of time to catch up once you’re awake.”

Becky was reluctant, fighting the slumber with laboured breaths and everything she had until she couldn’t fight anymore. She faintly felt herself be picked up and thrown over a broad shoulder in a fireman’s lift, carried up the road with her slack head bouncing awkwardly against the dart rifle. Then, there was nothing but darkness.

Hours had passed by the time she came around, groggily, wincing into the bright light of flood lamp pointed directly at her eyes. The pain within her body was unreal, was impressive, was the start of something worth taking notes over. The most palpable points of dull throbbing agony were located on her shoulder blades and the backs of her arms where meat hooks punctured the skin and suspended her off the ground like a car that needed work underneath. Becky closed her eyes, unable to look at the uncontained joyful grin of her captor — which was by far the most agonising part of this whole ordeal.

“So,” Charlotte spoke first after a moment, pleased with herself. “What’s new in your life?”

Becky opened her eyes and watched Charlotte sit down on the chair opposite, folding her long muscular leg over the other with a content look on her face as the accoutrements of her work were lined up on an old, metal roller chest where tools had once been kept.

Whatever this was, the Queen wasn’t in any rush to move things along. It wasn’t surprising. Capital murder was an artform to the Queen. A lengthy creative process if her previous work was anything to go by. Becky just inhaled and tried to ignore her blistering headache.

“You’re awfully quiet today.” Charlotte posed it as a thoughtful acknowledgement.

“Just deep in thought,” Becky whispered through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes, her body swinging slightly from the suspension which only compounded the pain. “Wait.” The coolness of the breeze was felt in deeply private crevices, on stiff cold nipples that she was only now realising were exposed. “Did you…” Her eyebrows craned with absolute shock and the pain was briefly forgotten. “Well that is just completely unchivalrous and shameful!” Becky swung slightly from the ceiling with the outburst.

“You don’t need clothes where you’re going, babe.” Charlotte didn’t even bat an eyelid as she reached over to switch on one of her tools.

“You better be switching that iron on to press my delicates!” Becky hissed, a sudden apprehensive panic rushing through her.

Charlotte smiled and peered at her naked body with fluttering eyes, “I’ll iron your delicates, sure.” She craned a cheeky, unburdened eyebrow and glanced between her legs.

“That is not what I meant and you know that!” Becky flailed a bit more, the agony pulling and tugging at her sore, immobilised limbs. “This is me safewording, Charlotte! I safeword!”

“Well I really did not enjoy being stabbed multiple times, Becky.” Charlotte wagged her manicured finger. “Consequences, consequences.”

Becky became beyond exasperated. “You don’t get to whip out a fucking iron like Marie Kondo when I only used a vegetable knife on you! If I had known this would be the craic I would have at least took a steaming hot piss on you and cut a few fingers off for good measure!”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda. I could make a joke right now about you not sparking joy, but I’m above that.”

“Get ta fuck.”

Charlotte grinned, her pearly white veneers beaming and on show like a snarling predator from the sheer enthusiasm of her smile. Becky suddenly noticed how strangely overdressed she was for the occasion. Her long blonde hair was coiffed and salon finished, her lipstick carefully applied and touched up, her manicure recent and well kept. It made no sense given that she was staying off the grid. It was as if she had prepared herself for a date, for a deeply important encounter with someone special, and had gone to some lengths to do so too.

Charlotte lowered her voice to a threatening tone, “I am going to hurt you in ways you didn’t know—”

“Why do you look like that?” Becky interrupted, which possibly was not one of her brightest ideas given her current predicament swinging from the rafters by the gristle of her arms and shoulder blades.

“Like what?” Charlotte blinked.

“Pretty, like you’ve done yourself up.”

“What?” Charlotte became defensive and screwed up her brow.

“Do you always get your hair and nails done to torture someone or is it special, just for me?”

“Excuse me—”

“Ah ah,” Becky interrupted again. “It’s polite to return a compliment with a compliment. Shame of my life, anyone would think you were born in a barn.” She rolled her eyes.

The Queen paused and blinked, as if deliberating on whether to hit her with a red-hot burst of steam iron or play along a little bit. Becky hoped it would be the latter.

“Well.” Charlotte cleared her throat, building herself up for it. “I guess you look nice too. I like that little tattoo on your thigh, it’s cute...” Her voice trailed and her eyebrows wiggled as if she hadn’t spent much time thinking about it.

“Thanks,” Becky blushed slightly, surprised by the playfulness. “It’s the coordinates of my first murder, do you have any keepsakes—” Becky stopped mid-sentence as she heard Charlotte grab something heavy. She glanced down as the Queen lunged at her, just as the scalding heat singed the sparse blonde hairs on her thigh. “What the fucking fuck!” The scream was a long bloodcurdling noise as the iron sizzled and bubbled her thrashing leg.

Charlotte pulled it away and sat herself back down, unbothered.

The troublemaker let out the tiniest little whimper, her body slipping into shock to protect her from the horrendous pain. She craned her head forward with a long sob, aware that this was no longer as fun as she had hoped it would be. The skin was seared off completely when she opened her eyes and looked at it, the flesh red and burned in a neat triangular shape where a tattoo used to be.

She had it coming, she knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier to process. For some unknown reason she thought Charlotte wouldn’t follow through, that she had managed to endear herself too much to the Queen for any sort of real damage to be done. It was hopeful. It was silly. It was beyond naive. And Becky suddenly realised just how fucked she actually was. This woman was more like her in all the worst ways possible than she previously accounted for. This wasn’t just a playful battle of equals… it was a war of sociopaths, it was untred territory, it was dealing with a creature that couldn’t be emotionally manipulated with any sort of ease and somehow that only made it all the more tempting to try.

It was, above all things, dangerously exhilarating, and it only added more layers to her profound curiosity.

“I really didn’t like being stabbed, Becky.” Charlotte reiterated her point. “And as for threatening my niece? Well, that’s a curling iron in one orifice of your choosing.” She lifted her brows, unimpressed.

“What is it you want exactly?” Becky asked.

Charlotte shrugged. “What are you offering?”

“To listen very carefully?”

Charlotte inhaled deeply and picked up the steam iron again.

“Wait!” Becky yelped and swung. “Mary Mother of God! Wait, wait, wait!”

Charlotte paused with an expectant look, the iron steaming in her hand.

“I’m just… trying to understand you.” Becky blinked and stared into her cold, unfeeling blue eyes. “I’m not asking what I can do for you. I’m asking what is it that drives you? What is it that you want?”

Charlotte paused, her cold blue eyes twitching ever so slightly. She huffed and put the iron back down for a moment, folding her arms like an exasperated teacher with an unruly, promising pupil.

“The Interlevin AF10, with all the bells and whistles,” Charlotte answered after a moment, entirely serious.

“Ah, of course.” Becky nodded. “And what exactly is an Interlevin AF10?”

“An act of God. Wireless digital temperature control, self cleaning, twelve adjustable shelves, a four compressor walk in industrial refrigerator unit that could survive a nuclear fallout.” Charlotte’s expression became fierce and impressed, as if she were describing an instrument of war. “There’s a two year waiting list.”

“That’s what you want?” Becky blinked. “A walk in fridge?”

“That’s what I want.”

“Seems achievable.”

“And you?”

“And me what?”

“What is it that you want? What brought you up here?” Charlotte inhaled and stared intently, her icy blue eyes carrying a weight of expectation for the truth. She slowly sat herself down in the chair, her fingers locking together over the ball of her knee.

When the dust settled, when the realisation sunk in that they were doing this for the time being instead of the steam iron, tight, taut, her sore and broken body still tensing, Becky licked her lips and sighed, at a complete loss for an answer.

“Well.” The beads of sweat ran the contour of her brow. “You never called me back.”

Charlotte laughed and picked up the steam iron.

“I’m being serious!” Becky hissed and made her stop. “I mean, don’t get me wrong I probably would have stabbed you a bit more once I got here…” She rolled her eyes and Charlotte seemed to appreciate the honesty, her hand lowering the iron ever so slightly. “But I just came for the sake of coming… because I wanted to see you, mostly.”

“Huh,” Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry if breaking into your apartment was a bit much.”

“About that, you didn’t replace my eggs.”

“Sorry about that too.”

“I’ll live.” Charlotte smiled, and Becky got the hint that she might not.

“So you’re going to kill me?”

“Probably sooner rather than later,” Charlotte said.

“How boring,” Becky whispered and rolled her eyes.

The Queen got up out of her seat and fetched something off of the metal roller drawer. It was small, was concealed in her hand, was nothing but a green cap poking out of her fist. She stepped closer and Becky realised it was a syringe.

“Oh for fucksake,” she closed her eyes, exhaled sharply, utterly indignant that this was all that would become of the little hunter of Wicklow mountain. “How anti-climatic.”

“You expected more?” Charlotte lifted a brow as she bit the syringe cap off.

“I expected your best work.” Becky chewed furiously. “The hooks? The iron? All horrendous but second to none… this on the other hand?” She nodded at the syringe. “Pathetic.”

“What can I say? You’re annoying to be around.”

“Well I didn’t want to say anything but you don’t have the bone structure to pull off platinum blonde highlights,” Becky lied just to be acidic.

“My bleeding heart…” Charlotte frowned. “Any last requests?”

“Feel free to fuck my corpse before you bury me if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“What?” Charlotte blinked.

“What?” Becky realised it might have been a bit much.

“Did you just—”

“No.”

“Well alright,” Charlotte looked away, embarrassed, unable to move past it. She shook her head and stared at Becky again, “Did you seriously just ask me to—”

“No, you filthy pervert!” Becky lifted her chin.

“Oh, I’m the pervert?” Charlotte nodded mockingly, sticking a hand on her hip. “You need to relax.”

“Well hanging naked girls on meat hooks to torture them doesn’t scream well-adjusted childhood, does it!” Becky stated the obvious.

“Not girls!” Charlotte pinched her brow. “Girl. One. Singular. There is no plural! Stop making this weirder than it is!”

“Oh of course, pardon me, just a couple of girls catching up are we now?” Becky nodded mockingly.

“I can get the steam iron?” Charlotte nodded to the roller cart. “I’m not above burning your face off.”

“But it’s such a pretty face,” Becky whispered, frowning at the thought of being maimed like that. “Alright, sorry, I may have overreacted a little bit. Please, go ahead and murder me with your little syringe of cowardice.”

She watched the Queen look to the ceiling, then look to the floor, exhaling, shaking her head, utterly exasperated and livid by the imposition of the most unruly captive she had ever taken. It was a small thing to be proud of, Becky thought. Death was terrifying, was perhaps the only thing that truly frightened her, but this was a small platitude to take to the grave that made it a bit more bearable.

“Get on with it then, you big lump.” Becky tilted her chin.

The long hypodermic needle was slammed into her chest, the contents pushing inside her pulmonary system, her lungs shuddered, pushed and pulled, hyperventilated slightly and only made the few moments before her death incrementally shorter as a result. Becky held her breath and blinked hard, staring into those icy blue eyes for a symptom of… anything.

Charlotte just pushed a small smile and waited.

“What was it?” Becky felt her swallowing grow harder.

“Something fun.” Charlotte turned around and grabbed her coat off the back of the chair. “It was nice seeing you again, Becky.” She put the coat on and walked out of sight towards the door.

There was no kiss goodbye, no long victorious speech, just footsteps leading further away and then a door being unlocked.

“Wait, you’re not going to stick around?” Becky shouted, panicked slightly as the door opened.

“I want to remember you alive,” it was said almost gently, almost lovingly, lingering slightly before the door finally closed.

She felt drowsy, felt her head become heavier, felt furious that she was being overdosed on opioids and shit ones at that if her lack of high was anything to go by. Becky blinked and tried to stay awake, tried to think of something other than her furious infatuation because Charlotte did not deserve that kind of permanency.

Her grandfather, she remembered him, remembered his cumbersome hands, the smell of rolling tobacco, the flat peaked cap, the chunky knit cardigan. There was no love, no longing, no emotions of any sort really, but she remembered the little girl she once was when he was alive and that was something. She remembered the beasts and how she used to want to cry for them when they fell down. She remembered the way her uncles faces fell and crashed like buildings when the jury returned their guilty verdict. The former brought her more happiness than the later.

And then, slumping forward, she fell asleep.

…

The sound of birds chirping and cars whizzing up and down the street greeted her ears as she stirred like a lazy half-slumbering animal. Once again, she was sore, was bruised, was wincing into the tenderness of her burned leg, but she was alive and that was more than she had anticipated. Her throat was dry with inactivity and the room was too bright for her wincing eyes. She sighed and ouched as her arms and shoulders attempted movement, forgetting and remembering simultaneously the torture they had been subjected to.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a thick European accent greeted jollily.

Becky snapped her eyes open and looked to the man at the door. He was fat, middle-aged, hairy, badly dressed and wearing enough gold jewellery to put a drag queen to shame. He wasn’t just any Hungarian. He was the Hungarian. He was the crime boss, Laszlo Varga. And if the ancient seventies decor of the bedroom she was currently being kept in was anything to go by, she was in his family home.

Becky swallowed and stared at him, unsure of how or why she was here.

“Relax, little bird.” He smiled and came in, dusting the wooden desk with his hand to perch on the edge of it. “You’ve been asleep for more than a few days, take your time.” He smiled a bit.

“I was dead,” Becky blinked and ordered the events in her mind.

“No, little bird.” Laszlo shook his head. “You were sedated.”

“Sedated?” Becky widened her eyes.

“Well, not before you were punished a little bit.” He nodded at the bandaged thigh and the carefully tended shoulders that had been sewn up and seen to. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly did you do to piss the Queen off so bad that she… how do you say… ironed you?” He chuckled with gleaming, impressed eyes.

“I think she was just feeling frisky.” Becky craned a brow and winced as she sat up on the bed.

“Hm,” Laszlo nodded slightly. “She doesn’t usually play so well with others, little bird, you got off easy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Then tell me your name?”

“Becky.”

“Ah.” His lips fidgeted. “No nickname, then?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Me neither,” he agreed and looked to the sunshine beyond the window. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here…”

“The thought did occur, yes.”

“I need a job doing, a difficult one, a hit the Queen herself won’t take. She brought you here three days ago and said you were the woman for the job. At first I wanted to put you out of your misery like a broken little bird, less problems that way.” Laszlo chuckled. “But it would seem your work is impressive. My nephew, Andras, recommended you highly.” His tone became slightly displeased.

“Your nephew is Andras Wojcik?” Becky winced, and it felt like a detail that she should have known about before killing him as violently as she did.

“Yes, my sister’s boy.” He explained, nodding slightly. “Well, he was my sister’s boy. I believe you murdered him and put his balls in his mouth? Please, I don’t need to know which one happened first.” Laszlo raised his hands as Becky’s mouth opened to correct the order of things.

“And you’re not angry about that?”

“I hate my sister.” Laszlo shrugged.

“How lucky for me.” Becky breathed a sigh of relief. “So who is the mark Old Queeny is too scared to whack?” She lifted a curious brow.

“Andre The Cannibal.”

“He died years ago,” Becky chuckled to herself.

She was far from an expert in the field of European gangsters but when it came to Andre The Cannibal she didn’t need to be, he was a myth, an urban legend, a hitman who supposedly ate his victims, a big earner for the downtown morbid tourism scene that the Hungarians had their hands in, and he had died at least thirty years ago if she could just about remember the finer details of his Wikipedia page. Her laughter began to peter slightly as Laszlo’s expression remained fixed and serious.

“You’re not kidding,” Becky blinked in shock.

“Andre… he did a lot of work for us in the early days but he caused a lot of problems, made too much of a stir.” Laszlo shrugged and twiddled his thumbs in thought. “We paid him to disappear and he did just that, the whole thing was very civil.”

“So why now?”

“We made a lot of money with the tourists coming to see the old haunts, the restaurant where he cooked people, the street his burned body was found, these sort of things.” Laszlo mused and clasped his hands. “But… the last few years we’ve been lucky if we’ve filled two buses a week.”

“Wait,” Becky began to laugh in absolute delight. “Not only do you want me to track down a dead man but you want me to make the hit messy and loud so people know he was alive in the first place?” It was as if all her luck had come at once.

“Bingo.” Laszlo grinned and pointed his finger like it was a gun. “Andre lives, Andre dies again, someone writes a book, Netflix makes a documentary, everybody is happy, I get my tourists back. The Queen doesn’t like tracking people down and he’s been gone for a long time so it won’t be easy work. She brought you to me with high recommendation, said you would be the woman to get it done.”

“Well colour me flattered!” Becky singsonged. “How soon can I get to work?”

“Heal first, work later.” Laszlo stood up from the desk. “How much will your work cost?”

“Do what you love and you never work a day in your life, my mother used to say that.” Becky sighed happily and pushed a slackened smile. “Half a million, all of my expenses covered, and your loveliest smile.” She turned back to the Hungarian jokingly, anticipating that negotiations would start and he would work her down to the number she actually wanted.

“Done.” Laszlo smiled so wide his fuzzy red cheeks bunched and bulged. “Rest for now, I’ll call the Queen and tell her you’re off limits for a while.”

“What?”

“You didn’t think it would really be so easy, did you?” He nodded at the bandaged wounds. “She is a cat and you are her little mouse. Just because she let you live this time doesn’t mean she isn’t planning bigger things.”

“Well now that does sound exciting…” Becky felt herself fall in love with that bastard woman a little bit more.

…

Charlotte began to wonder if the little troublemaker was alive or dead, she had anticipated retaliation or maybe even a postcard at the very minimum. Laszlo kept tight lipped on the matter, said he was equally in the dark but that the pre-paid cards were being used and things seemed to be progressing as expected. It should have been easy to let go of, their last meeting had made them more than square by anyone’s standards. But Charlotte just couldn’t put the bitch down, still, now, months after the fact.

It was more than infuriating, and it had began to affect her work too, the preoccupation, the wondering, the slight infatuation of it all. She had barely enjoyed the last three kills and one of them was a Saudi Prince. A real life prince. The son of a king—albeit one of the middle ones with a penchant for bad business deals who weren’t too important in the grand scheme of things—but the son of a king nonetheless. It should have been one for the scrapbook but instead it felt like a chore, like a small way to pass the time until the troublemaker could crop up on her radar again.

Charlotte’s phone buzzed on the table of the airport bar that was now setting up to be home until her delayed flight was ready for departure.

Laszlo Varga, 1 message. ‘Turn on the news,’ it simply read. She exhaled and already knew what was coming. The phone was slung back down and her laptop was opened. She typed in the address of different news outlets in different tabs, all of them loading with similar headlines and gruesome, censored pictures.

Cannibal Hitman Thought To Be Dead FOR THIRTY YEARS Discovered Mutilated In Downtown Street Where His Infamous Slayings Took Place.

Pictured: The City Street Where Andre The Cannibal, Thought To Be Dead For Thirty Years, Was Discovered Dismembered By A GIRL SCOUT.

Reign Of Terror Comes To Final Close As Hungarian Mobster Famed For Eating His Victims Meets A Fitting Fate.

Buzzfeed’s Buzz Of The Day: Ten Reasons Why Trump May Give The Man Responsible For Murdering Andre The Cannibal The Presidential Medal Of Freedom.

Andre The Cannibal: The Failings Of A Police Investigation, And The City Commissioner Who Is Expected To Resign In A Statement This Afternoon.

The Irishwoman had certainly been busy. Charlotte scanned the headlines and chewed the inside of her mouth, infuriated by how impressive it all was. She closed the tabs one by one until a different headline all together caught her attention.

Police Search For Witnesses After Local Restauranter Discovers His Walk In Refrigerator Stolen After Closing The Business For A Period Of Mourning.

It made Charlotte smile and look away, she brought herself back and read the headline again, then once more just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. She scrolled down the page and looked at the blurry images picked up by the security cameras.

Bingo.

She would recognise that ass anywhere.

…

“Tell me you’re not a little bit impressed!” Becky said chirpily to the shocked, disbelieving face at the door.

“Is that the Interlevin AF10?” Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off of the bomb shelter in her workshop. “All the bells and whistles?”

“All the bells and whistles.” Becky nodded and clambered down from the workshop table.

Charlotte stood there and blinked, her expression mute, her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes registering reality but her brain disbelieving it, still. It was cute to watch. It was everything Becky had hoped it would be, which was a low bar of expectation to meet considering the only thing Becky had hoped for was the absence of steam irons and other mean things of that nature.

“How did you even...”

“I killed the owner’s mum,” Becky whispered softly, smile slackening, nibbling her bottom lip as if it was the sweetest gesture she could muster. “He closed up shop for a few days so I snuck in when no one was around.”

“You just snuck in and stole a walk in refrigerator?” Charlotte rubbed her chin, nodding as if it was comprehensible, nodded even though she still didn’t understand, completely gliding over the part where someone’s mother had been suffocated with a pillow.

“Well, Laszlo lended me a crane and a flatbed truck.”

“Of course he did.” It compounded Charlotte’s frustration. “You kill Andre The Cannibal, paint the whole of Ninth Street with his body parts, and then you steal a fucking walk in refrigerator all in the same weekend.” She thrusted her hand in the direction of her new fridge. “Of course you did that,” Charlotte quietly rubbed her temples.

“You’re right it is a bit impressive, isn’t it?”

“You’re not armed.” Charlotte suddenly noticed, looking her up and down, weighing up her chances. “Awfully presumptuous of you.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Becky opened her leather jacket and her gun glinted the light.

“Is this you bringing me a gift or you looking for a mexican standoff?” Charlotte opened her own jacket and lifted an eyebrow, the handle of her pistol sticking out slightly.

“Maybe both?” Becky smirked and closed her jacket.

“I will shoot you.” It wasn’t said with any sort of meaningful conviction.

“I missed you,” Becky said it as though it were the easiest thing in the world to say. “Besides… you could have killed me but you gave me the Andre Sopa job instead, this is just me returning a gift with a gift.”

Charlotte hmph’d and seemed to become stuck. “It’s starting to become unsettling how you just show up like this.” The confession was exhaled earnestly.

“You could hide from me if you wanted to, my guess is that you don’t.”

“You’re easy to become interested with.”

“Ooft,” Becky became pleased. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charlotte Flair.”

“What is it you want, Becky?”

“I honestly don’t know…” Becky exhaled and swallowed. “At first I wanted to kill you, and I think I still might. Right now I just want to understand you, I suppose?”

Charlotte became quiet and thought about it for a moment.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I’d like that.”