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jkflesh · 4 years ago

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Interview with jesu January 2021 New Noise magazine #56

Read the interview by Antoine "Neredude" Duprez below:

The “Terminus” Bandcamp page states that the album was done between 2016 and 2020. That's a long period in your standards! Did you get some sort of writer's block with Jesu? Or was it because you were so busy with your numerous projects?

— I never get writers block, I just simply move on to the next thing if I’m not currently inspired to work on a specific project. Most my records, for many years, have been written and recorded over extended periods of time; I work when inspiration strikes, when it doesn’t I move onto the next thing; there’s never a block for me with creation generally, maybe just specific areas. i take large breaks for my music so as to afford some sort of distance, gone are the times when an album would be hammered out in a month!

''When I Was Small'' has kind of a Radiohead thing in the vocals, whereas ''Alone'' reminds me a lot of Sigur Rós. Are those bands part of your background?

— Ok, interesting observation, but no Radiohead is not an influence on this song, the biggest influences on the vocals were Liam Gallagher from Oasis, and subconsciously "White Flag" by Godflesh (which I only discovered after the album was complete). I do love some Radiohead though, as I do Sigur Rós, but neither band is a direct or conscious influence. Musically “When I was Small” was mostly influenced by trying to recreate a vibe of early Neil Young mixed with Oasis, in a jesu fashion, coupled with a demo production; intentionally underproduced. I’m not sure where a lot of the influence on “Alone” came from, electronic pop music for sure, short and sweet was the intention, driven entirely by the voice sample.

Regarding “Terminus,” did you set yourself a framework or musical approach beforehand like you did for “Every Day I Get Closer to the Light From Which I Came?“

— Not really no, generally when I work on a bunch of songs things will fall into place naturally, the songs become a whole and then collectively the songs will become conceptual as i write, they build their own logic, so to speak, I don’t force anything, I let things happen organically as I write and record.

I think around 2013, you said “Every Day I Get Closer to the Light From Which I Came” was going to set a precedent for the next album. Now that it's out, do you still think so? Personally, even though both records are different, I can definitely hear a connection.

— Yeah, shame it took 7 years to come to fruition! And many things changed over those 7 years, as ever. Jesu certainly documents my personal journey in life, it’s ultra personal, Godflesh is much more external comparatively. A lot to the solo jesu work took a backseat when I worked on the collaborations with Sun Kil Moon, but that was very refreshing and inspired me to take jesu further, I had notions of discontinuing the project at some point, but the collabs with Sun Kil Moon inspired me to keep pursuing jesu.

"Every Day I Get Closer to the Light From Which I Came” was inspired in great part by you becoming a father. Can you tell us a bit about what was on your mind when you wrote “Terminus?”

— That’s very true, especially the initial journey of bringing life into the/our world. everything is there in the lyrics and artwork for "Terminus" so of course, like a lot of my work, depends on the listeners perspectives, they can make it their own, make it personal. But it’s essentially about endings, and my obsession with finality, my sensitivity to it and my fear of it. There’s a line in the title song that says “my end, our end, the end, the end”, which pretty much sums it up.

The EP “Never” you released before “Terminus” is quite different and more focused on electronics. I remember you telling me that you liked going experimental on EPs, doing stuff you wouldn't do on a full length. So I figure that's still the case?

— Yeah, I like experimenting with everything, I like satisfying myself with different ideas, obviously that doesn’t suit my listeners too much, but I make this music for myself, and I’m always trying to do better. I still don’t know why I put myself through the trial and hell of releasing music, I often think about just recording for myself and not bothering with an audience, but I’m not really capable of earning money in other ways, so I have to finish music and release it, let it go. For me "Never" was just another way of interpreting the jesu mood, nothing deviates too much from the original intention of the project. It’s weird, critically, it was perceived as this big electronic departure, whereas jesu has sounded pretty much like this most of it’s lifetime! “Pale Sketches", "Lifeline" even "Silver” is all mostly electronic, save a real drum loop in the song "Silver", but this EP seemed to get this thing that its all electronic, whereas it;’s no more electronically oriented than any other jesu record I have made. jesu is a mood that can be explored and experimented with, I’m not making the first album over and over, some can’t get over that, but that was a different moment in my life which I captured, and as an artist who challenges oneself besides the audience you can never win, and one will generally never win hah. This is a new jesu, it comes with age, transitions. "Never" was intentionally idiosyncratic and deliberately fvcked up sounding, and I think by and large critically the subtleties were lost on people.

“Never” features two version of ''Never There for You'', one of them described as the ''original vision''. Can you explained how you ended up releasing two version of this song?

— The “original vision” existed like that since around 2010, I shelved it, it was to be a Pale Sketcher song, I had an album’s worth of similar songs, I still do, couldn’t decide if they should be jesu or Pale Sketcher. I sent them to Aphex Twin / Richard James because he was a huge fan of the Pale Sketcher EP “Seventh Heaven”, we were talking about a release on his label Rephlex, I had all these songs that were floating between jesu and Pale Sketcher. But then he folded Rephlex for good, a real shame, so I was left with all these songs in limbo, I still am, but at that period I shelved them all. I returned to them around 2018 and started adding guitars and vocals, thinking that they will now definitely be jesu songs. “Never There for You” was one of them, so I wanted the listener to hear what it was originally before I added more of organic me. I’m working on finalising all those songs for Rephlex into future jesu, probably an album that I hope to release late 2021, it’s not a "Terminus" though, and probably most ppl will hate it hah.

“Terminus” is the first album to feature Ted Parsons in a long while. Did you invite him because you felt these songs needed his touch?

— I wanted some live drums, 3 songs only. I was going to play them myself, like on "Opiate Sun". "Infinity" etc, but I really wanted Ted involved and see how he interpreted my drum parts, he always swings something and makes it interesting. he’s a very real drummer, and a very real human being.

When touring is possible again, would you like to tour with Jesu, with Ted on drums?

— I may tour solo, with electronics and projections. The band thing is tiresome and always just sounds like a band, bands bore me these days because of the constraints of the instruments, rock records also bore me these days; same productions, etc, very little actual aesthetic, but its popular and what do I know. But I’d rather jesu now sound hugely expansive live, not just like a rock band. But i’m still unsure. Live drums swallow my voice live, I can’t sing above them, and jesu is a tiny project, can’t play big venues with stage separation and screens around the drums, and 8 guys diving around onstage, it’s not affordable. I stopped performing as jesu for some time due to all those reasons.

You said “Silver” is probably your favourite Jesu record. Are there other Jesu albums that stand out in your mind?

— Did I say that?! Haha. I don’t recall, and that opinion changes every day I feel. I like how concise and all encompassing "Silver" is; it covers most of the ground that I feel the project should cover. But "Terminus" is my favourite jesu album, and it should be, otherwise I would not feel I was moving forward, and I feel I am, it is the best jesu album I have made.

Last year, you told Olivier ''Zoltar'' Badin that the next Zonal album would probably go in the direction of it's title track ''Wrecked''. Is it still true to this day and what can you tell us about that upcoming album?

— Well, a lot of time has passed since, but I think Kevin and I are still quite struck on that song as a template for future recordings, although everything changes all the time, of course, and time is passing fast once again, we haven’t discussed Zonal in some time.

I know you don't actually consider yourself as a guitarist. With you focusing on your electronic projects like JK Flesh and Zonal lately, do you ever get tired of guitar? I'm asking this because I recently discussed the subject with Steven Wilson. He basically told me that after 30 years writing and doing gigs with guitar, he's feeling more creative and excited when writing music on other instruments and I wondered if you ever felt something similar.

— All instruments are just a means to an end for me; a tool for the bigger job, I don’t really wish to be overly proficient at any instrument, I liked that about punk, and it’s what I’m not that fond of about overly progressive music, it’s like it’s for show, I don’t do anything for show, I’d rather be shit than great, it’s more interesting, it reflects the human condition, imperfection. I don’t wish for things to sound perfect, whatever that is, people should not come to my music for that, they probably don’t and it’s probably why my audience is so small haha.

I recently discovered that you worked with Josh Eustis with the mastering of the JK Flesh / Orphx live album and was a bit surprised. How did that happen?

— Josh is a very good friend of Dominick Fernow’s (Prurient / Vatican Shadow / Hospital Productions, etc), and Dominick is a very close friend of mine. I was aware that Josh does very good mastering besides being an extremely talented artist, so Dominick suggested josh master that collaboration, and it sounds excellent!

I interviewed Lee Dorrian some time ago and we were talking about the impact Napalm Death had, not just the band itself but all the bands who were formed after playing in that band: Godflesh, Carcass, Cathedral, Scorn... Lee thought this legacy had a lot to do with John Peel broadcasting a wide array of music on young aspiring musicians. How would you explain such creativity and versatility from musicians who all played in Napalm Death at one point?

— Lee is absolutely correct, a lot of very young kids listened to John Peel, most generations did, his taste exposed music to many of us who were already enquiring at a young age that we would not have heard anywhere else and of course back then this centralised things, not fragmented them like the internet does; a kid now can absorb an artist entire catalog in an hour, speed listen to it all, then have an opinion, but it’s informed, no context, no history, no experience. We heard music then on Peel and then hunted it down. It took work, valuable work that paid dividends. Peel’s broad appreciation of eternally subversive music and otherwise told us that music didnt need to exist in such strict compartments, that’s it’s all part of a greater whole, so when groups of musicians collaborated even at such young ages, our tastes were informed and wide, very rarely singular.

Can you tell us a bit about you latest remixing output? What were the tracks that you enjoyed the most remixing? Those are the names I could find: Full of Hell, Oathbreaker and a lot of projects I've never heard of.

— I always and love to remix, I love the fact that I didn’t create this music but can make something new from someone else’s work. Music is endless, for me, it’s just when you wish to end it, but ultimately it can never end. I have some remixes that I love moire than others, but only over time, I never let a remix go unless I am as happy as can be with it. Sometimes I would’ve loved to have done more, my Killing Joke remix is a good example of that, I wanted to go further, but Youth of Killing Joke told me they were happy with where I was at, I think I could’ve made it much better. The Oathbreaker remix you mentioned is a favourite of mine from the last years worth of my remixes. I’ll remix anyone, if they can afford my fee and I have the time!

I'm curious, since you released some of your music with your own label with Godflesh, Jesu and other projects, did it have an impact on the revenue you got from streaming platforms like Spotify, compared to albums released on Earache or Hydra Head? I'm asking this in the light of the neverending controversy regarding streaming revenue for musicians.

— On my own label more money can be earned from these services due to no split with another label, which usually would be 50/50, but streaming is very small as is common knowledge. I never see any royalties from Earache so can’t compare their rates etc since Godflesh is constantly recouping an advance from Columbia / Sony for the "Selfless" album that Earache, contractually, can recoup from, even though they didn’t give the advance, so they’re making money from the band and from an advance they never paid, which these days you would think that besides being unethical that it would be criminal, but such were the contracts in the 80’s / 90’s. So I’ve never seen a single penny from streaming with Earache!

I know it might be pointless to ask you, since someone's mind can change with time but do you still think “Post Self” may be your last album with Godflesh? Your told us last year that you weren't sure if you had enough in you creatively to do another album and also that the constant screaming was a bit harder to do.

— Hah, the shouting/screaming live now takes its toll, it does with age, I’m unsure due to not performing for so long thanks to the pandemic how my voice would be for Godflesh now in a live setting, I’d have very little problem in the studio. I’m still struck on the fact that there may not be another full length studio album from Godflesh, I haven’t been inspired to initiate one for numerous reasons, and I don’t wish for us to repeat ourselves in any way, I do have a lot of interesting old material though, some good rare stuff, demos, “Us and Them in Dub” which is also in the works, but I work on that sporadically, when I feel inspired to do so. So there’s a lot of good stuff coming.

Last time I interviewed you in 2014, Aphex Twin was making his grand return with “Syro”. I remember you telling me that the album was still shrinkwrapped on your desk. Knowing you're a big Aphex fan, I wanted to know if you liked that album, especially knowing that a lot of fans were disappointed by it.

— Ahh it was such a long time ago now that we spoke last! I love "Syro”, but I love Aphex, and since I first heard "Didgeridoo" when it was released and then "Quoth", he will always be a favourite, "Syro" may not be an Aphex favourite for me, but it’s still amazing, he is amazing; creative, subversive and doesn’t give a fvck ultimately, he’d also never release anything if he didnt really have to, he does this for himself, for me the best art is entirely selfish and should consider no one. People are always disappointed, a lot of people just can’t live with the fact that an artist strays from their own personal conception of what an artist should be, it’s some sort of misguided entitlement, I lost that when II was around 14, a lot of people don’t lose it and now these people have the internet. No artist owes me anything, if they gave me one thing in my life then i will always respect their art, regardless of whether it works for me or not, and if I don’t like it much, I won’t be peddling that opinion on the internet in an entitled egotistical manner, I’m glad I did not know that a lot of people were disappointed, haha.

Thank you very much! Best JKB, Jan 2021

#jesu #justin broadrick #interview

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thetimelesscycle · 4 years ago

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Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 4

A common goal fails to foster cooperation, and questions without answers continue to perplex.

A/N: In which I am forced to try and include some actual plot and civil conversations are in short supply.

Chapter 4

A Puzzle Incomplete

To say that Merlin was furious would have been as wild an understatement as the claim that Arthur was not especially fond of magic. He was not certain there was a word for the incandescent rage boiling just beneath his skin, threatening to dissolve carefully constructed walls that had not crumbled in decades. It took a conscious effort to keep a lid on that fury as he guided his exhausted apprentice to lie down once again, the boy having spent what little strength he’d regained in a few scant minutes. Shivers still wracked his slender frame, his body reacting to the invisible wound festering beneath the surface, though at this point Merlin was more worried about his state of mind.

He had never seen Hisirdoux display such raw terror before, not even at the sword point of Arthur’s knights. Then again, Galahad had only threatened to execute him, not tear his soul to shreds and leave him with the tattered remains.

The worst part was he did not think there were meant to be any remains. Whoever had attacked his apprentice had done so with the intention of destroying him completely. They had come dangerously close to succeeding, thwarted by the boy’s own magic, which raised more questions than it answered. If Hisirdoux had encountered a creature powerful enough to wound him in this way, how was he still alive? How had a child whose own enchantments still flummoxed him fended off that sort of danger?

He wasn’t going to get any answers from Hisirdoux right now, that much was clear. His apprentice was mumbling restlessly in his sleep again, nonsensical words, the delusional arguments of an overstressed mind.

“Tell me you know how to fix this.” Archie had settled himself behind his familiar’s shoulders, one paw draped over the boy’s arm, but his eyes were fixed on Merlin, plea and demand both in that gaze. “Tell me you can help him.”

“I intend to do everything in my power, Archibald.” It wasn’t quite the same lie he’d told his apprentice, trying to soothe the boy’s panic before he did himself further injury, but it wasn’t the whole truth either; He was already doing everything in his power, it simply wasn’t enough.

“That’s not a ‘yes’.” The tiny dragon gave him a look that could almost have been called threatening. “He thinks you’re capable of anything, you know. Maybe it’s time you lived up to the legend.”

Not gracing that barbed statement with a response, he tucked the blanket back about Hisirdoux’s shoulders, pausing just long enough to rest a hand on the boy’s clammy forehead as he renewed his stasis spell for the umpteenth time. That done, he took his leave, refusing to acknowledge Archie’s lingering stare as he slipped out of the room.

Morgana was waiting for him when he reentered the workshop, pacing back and forth with long, sweeping strides, a book held open in her hands. She whirled as soon as the door opened.

“How is he?”

Straight to the point. Her and Arthur were very alike in that way. He didn’t answer at once, drifting across the room to the cluttered workbench by the stained glass windows. There was a fine layer of dust there that had gathered over the past two days, the designs he had been pouring over what seemed a lifetime ago now sitting discarded and forgotten. He sensed Morgana’s impatience as he lifted the page of sketches and idly examined its contents, dropping the weighted truth into the tense silence.

“Slipping away.” It was an inadequate description for what would happen if he didn’t find a way to stop the dark magic from finishing its work. What was confusion and spontaneous panic now would devolve into raving madness as Hisirdoux’s very essence continued to crumble. The boy was already losing memories, the spell he had cast only slowing the process, not preventing it. “I have no doubt this was an attempt to kill him.”

“Why?” Her outrage echoed his own. Where his bubbled beneath a thin veneer of self-control, hers revealed itself in a flash of righteous fury, the room rattling briefly as she paced closer. “He’s a child, Merlin!”

“That I cannot say.” His suspicions, founded on his knowledge of the type of magic it took to cause this kind of injury, seemed ludicrous. Hisirdoux was not trained enough to be a threat to anyone yet — besides himself — and certainly not enough of a danger to warrant such wanton cruelty. The being who had attacked his apprentice under Arthur’s very nose had done so with purely malicious intent. To hurt someone in that way, to threaten not only their life but their existence beyond the mortal plane as well... that was an act of pure hatred. More perturbing still, Hisirdoux appeared to have been the only target. Not even Archie had been wounded, despite the fact the pair of them shared the same bed. “Though I intend to find out.”

“I will help in any way I can,” she asserted, coming to stand on the opposite side of the work table. “What about Douxie? Is there anything he needs? Anything we can do?”

“He needs a proper healer.” Morgana scowled, and Merlin’s own glare deepened out of habit. It was a tall order. Neither of them had a gift for healing magic, formidable wizards though they might be, and those of Camelot’s dwindling magical community who were proficient in the healing arts had been some of the first victims in Arthur’s war against magic. Such individuals were typically well-known and notoriously bad at keeping themselves hidden, driven as they were to put their skills to good use. Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet, but not to the level required to mend someone’s shredded spirit; Certainly not when he was the victim.

“Did he tell you what happened?” Morgana was on the hunt. He’d seen that look enough times to recognise it. “A name? A face?”

“No, not yet.” He could have pushed. It was clear Hisirdoux remembered something, and was deeply disturbed by it. Perhaps that was why he’d chosen not to force the matter. Further stress right now would only make things worse. He also had the image of his apprentice reeling away from him in abject terror ingrained in his mind, and wasn’t in any great hurry to repeat that experience. “We’ll have a chance to ask some more pertinent questions when next he wakes. In the meantime, we should continue our efforts to keep the castle secure.”

“You’re worried about Arthur.”

“He is a rather more likely candidate for assassination than my very green apprentice.”

“You haven’t even considered the possibility that you were the target, have you?” He came up short, casting her a piercing look. Morgana rolled her eyes. “Of course you haven’t. He is your apprentice, Merlin. If anyone wanted to draw you out, Douxie is by far the easiest way to reach you.”

It made a disturbing amount of sense, much as he would prefer to deny it. Anyone with even an inkling of familiarity with the royal court would be aware that he would go to Arthur’s aid as required, but the king had an enchanted blade and dozens of trained knights at his beck and call. He would not fall without a fight. Hisirdoux, on the other hand, couldn’t even fend off an enchanted broom. It was entirely possible, even probable, that anyone trying to strike down the Master Wizard would see his apprentice as the weak link in the chain.

Except, that would suggest that the person responsible believed he would set everything else aside to assure the welfare of his student. That assumption was to his advantage; Or, it would have been, had he not spent the last two days doing exactly that. Without the constant renewal of his stasis spell, Hisirdoux might not have survived long enough to regain consciousness. Putting aside his other duties had seemed the right thing to do at the time, weighed against the unnerving thought of no longer having apprentice and dragon constantly underfoot. Morgana was forcing him to face the fact his enemies may have depended upon him making that exact decision, and consider the very real possibility his eyes had deliberately been drawn away from some greater danger.

He wasn’t in the mood to entertain that thought, or to acknowledge the stark fear nipping gently at his heels, so he deliberately set them both aside. There had been no further attacks; It seemed reasonable to assume Hisirdoux was the only target for the time being, as perplexing as that was.

“There is no point speculating until we know more,” he said aloud, knowing the silence had stretched a beat too long. “Better to concentrate on securing our defenses and finding someone to help Hisirdoux.”

“You won’t find anyone in Camelot. You know that.”

That she was right didn’t make him any less aggravated by the observation. “What do you suggest, then?”

“I could try.”

He had not been expecting it, which was the only reason it took him more than a second to formulate his reply. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“I think enough damage has already been done without bringing Shadow Magic into the mix, don’t you?”

“I’m not going to hurt him!”

“No, because you will not be using your dark arts anywhere near him. I forbid it.”

She clenched her fists around the volume in her hands, the room rattling again as she stared him down in muted fury. “You know you are part of the problem, don’t you? If you didn’t spend so much time dismissing and demonising that which you don’t understand perhaps Arthur would not feel so justified in destroying every form of magic that does not serve him.”

“Rubbish.” He waved the words away. “We both know where Arthur’s hatred of magic stems from. It has nothing to do with me.”

“You are blind if you truly believe that.”

“And you are wasting my time with pointless arguments in the midst of a crisis. I have better things to do right now than have this discussion with you again.”

He turned towards the door, only to have it come aglow with magic as it slammed shut.

“I am not Hisirdoux to be dismissed whenever you don’t feel like listening.”

“More’s the pity.” He swung back around to face her with his condemnation. “I did at least think you had enough regard for the boy not to delay my work.”

The glare she fixed on him could have quelled Gunmar himself. Merlin simply glared right back, raising an imperious eyebrow in that way he knew she hated.

“Waiting and hoping you’ll think of something is not the answer, Merlin, as you well know. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“What I refuse to admit is that diving headfirst into the Shadow Realm is a viable solution to the problem at hand. Because it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that.” She gestured with the book in her hands. Not one of his library; He had never encouraged this exploration of dark magic. He didn’t even know where she had happened across it, only that he deeply regretted not having snatched it away to cast into the fire years ago. “You don’t know Shadow Magic. How can you be so certain it won’t work?”

“Common sense, girl.” She glowered at the title, a humbling she had earned with her adamance. “Double the poison does not make a cure.”

“There is nothing there to cure.” She slammed her hand palm down on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin marked Archie emerging from the bedchamber, though whether he intended to intervene or simply wanted to be closer to the unfolding argument was debatable. “Whatever magic did this to him destroyed parts of his soul. They’re not there to be mended, they’re gone. He’s not a torn cloak, Merlin. You can’t just tie the pieces that remain together and hope it’s enough to cover what is missing. Even if you get him back on his feet you will stretch him so thin you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill himself the first time he tries to cast a spell!”

“And how would you know that, hmm? What extensive well of experience are you drawing your theories from?”

“This.” She lifted up the spell book, shoving it at his chest. He seized it on instinct, and she took the opportunity to pluck several more volumes off the table and toss them in his direction as well. He caught those with magic, which was preferable to his face, and watched her storm closer whilst struggling to contain his own rising ire. “You are so convinced that your way is the only way that it has never even occurred to you that I chose to study Shadow Magic for this very reason. For when other means are not enough. You have no idea how it works because you think it is beneath you. I do know. I can use it. And I know that if we have any hope of restoring Douxie’s soul the Shadow Realm is our best chance. Somebody tore that boy to pieces, Merlin, what’s missing doesn’t exist in this world anymore, but that sort of dark magic leaves a trail. I can save him if you will just trust me.”

“And when what you save is not Hisirdoux? When you patch him back together with dark magic and corrupt him entirely? What then, Morgana?”

“I know the difference.”

“No, you think you know the difference, and I will not wager my apprentice’s life on your arrogance.”

“My arrogance? You are the old fool who can’t see past your own self-importance to what your inaction has cost us all! You could have stopped Arthur years ago if you so chose, but you needed him to keep you safe so you could continue your all important work, at the cost of the hundreds of innocents you abandoned. The only reason your apprentice ever needed saving was because you were too much of a coward to stand up to your king!”

“How dare you—!”

“Stop it, both of you!” The outburst was such a surprise that Merlin was actually struck to silence, turning in tandem with Morgana to stare at the small dragon glaring at them both with a baleful expression. “What you seem to be forgetting is that this isn’t your decision to make, it’s Douxie’s. He is the one who has been hurt here, and you deciding what is best for him without bothering to even ask what he thinks is not going to help matters at all. When he wakes up we will all have a civilised discussion on what the best thing to do is. Until then, perhaps you two Master Wizards can put your heads together and properly figure out who was responsible for this. Before they do the same thing to someone else.”

The ensuing hush was awkward, to say the least. Archie refused to back down, standing with wings flared and lips curled back in a faint snarl as he tried to look as intimidating as a dragon that didn’t come up to one’s knees could. Merlin was the first to turn away, stalking back to the table to set down the books Morgana had flung at him in her fury. Unfortunately for him, years spent as his student had taught her to read his silences better than anyone else, and there was disbelief in her eyes when he turned back to face the pair of them.

“You already know, don’t you?” she accused.

“I suspect,” he defended himself. “That is not the same thing as knowing.”

“Yes, yes, it’s completely different,” Archie pressed impatiently. “Who do you suspect is responsible then?”

He had not been ready to disclose this much to anyone just yet. Sadly, he could not see a way out of it without inciting another argument. It was a small miracle they hadn’t already woken Hisirdoux with all the shouting that had been going on, and he didn’t want to subject himself to Archie’s righteous anger should it start up again. Instead, he adopted the stance of a teacher once more, marching back and forth as he spoke, “The ability to injure someone in this way is not common. Shadow Magic might allow you to tether a soul to a traumatic memory, hold it in place, twist it until it bends to your will, or rip it from its mortal flesh entirely, but it does not allow you to cause irreparable harm. This is something older, darker. This is the Arcane Order.”

Morgana exchanged a glance with the familiar, then asked the expected question, “What is the Arcane Order?”

“You mean who,” he held up a finger to emphasise his point. “They are a trio of ancient wizards who protect the balance between the magic and the mortal worlds by rendering destruction on those they perceive to be a threat. If you want to blame anyone for the world’s growing mistrust of magic, Morgana, the Order should be at the top of your list. To say that they are responsible for the deaths of hundreds would likely be understating the bloody mark they have left on history. Part of the reason I aided Arthur in uniting Camelot was because it was becoming abundantly clear I could not continue to fight them on my own, and the divisions amongst the mortal kingdoms made them easy prey. The Order has been quiet since Arthur came to power; I might have known they were planning something.”

“Why Douxie, though?” Archie wondered aloud. “Why not Arthur? Why not you?”

“I do not know.” It grated to admit that much. Morgana’s theory might hold some merit, but he still didn’t understand why the Order would not have come for him directly. He was not an easy mark, but he was not unreachable either. “If it was the Arcane Order, then I do not even know how Hisirdoux survived. These are beings older than nearly any other that walks the earth. Hisirdoux is a child. It doesn’t make sense.”

“We are missing something,” Morgana agreed, leaning across the table to emphasise her next point. “So let me look for it.”

He folded his arms, making his disapproval known. “We are going in circles, Morgana. The answer is still no.”

“But—!”

“Enough!” He called his staff to his hand from across the room just to add the force of slamming it on the ground to his words. “I need to go make sure our king is kept informed of this potential threat. If you want to make yourself useful, try searching my library for a solution that won’t simply kill the boy faster.”

“Kill?” Archie’s head shot up, eyes wide behind his glasses. “He’s dying?”

Merlin took that as his cue to leave the room. Let Morgana be the one to break the bad news. If she was doing that perhaps she wouldn’t feel tempted to go rooting through every scrap of forbidden knowledge Arthur had not yet managed to destroy.

A doubtful outcome, but a wizard could hope.

Right now, that seemed like all he could do.

Story Canon Notes:

"Hisirdoux had shown some aptitude for minor healing charms using his runic bracelet..." - Not strictly canon, but Douxie's role in the Trollhunters game is team healer, which at lease loosely implies he has some sort of remedial spell in his arsenal. His (minor) injuries also disappear between scenes in Episode 8, and I assume he was going to attempt to use some sort of healing spell on Merlin before Merlin stopped him.

#hisirdoux casperan #tales of arcadia #toa wizards #toa merlin #toa morgana #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #Fanfiction #toa archie

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 23

WARNINGS: SMUT. NSFW.

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

“So how mad are you?” Tyler asks, as he stands in the doorway of the main floor laundry room, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

The situation is touch and go. She hadn’t set foot upstairs while he’d carried out Millie’s bedtime routine or when Kyle had wandered in with a sleeping five year-year old under each time; dumping each of them fully clothed into their beds before taking off again.

“Why would I be mad at you?” she counters, as she gathers a bundle of laundry from inside the dryer and drops them on top of it. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Well, besides getting glitter all over the goddamn place.”

“You can blame your daughter for that. She's a little obsessed with sparkly shit.”

“Just a little,” Esme agrees with a grin.

He takes it as a sign that all is well between them and finally approaches, standing behind her and pushing a hand through her hair, tangling his fingers in the soft, fine tresses and lightly tugs; drawing her head back and kissing her. Teeth lightly capturing her bottom lip as he pulls away, and she gives a grin and reaches back to grab a hold of his ass, lightly squeezing before he steps beside her.

They work in companionable silence; each tending to handfuls of clean clothes that they drop into a wicker basket that sits on the floor between them. And he glances over at her every few seconds; eyes wandering her entire form; clad in nothing more than one of his old t-shirts, tattered and filled with holes and paint stainss. Taking in the way her hair falls to just below her shoulders and brushes against the sides of her face; the natural red high lights sparkling under the artificial light.

She catches him watching her and a grin tugs at the corner of her mouth, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Almost seven years later and she’s still self-conscious about how she looks to him. Always fretting about the shape of her ass or the size of her thighs and how wide her hips have gotten. He sees none of that; he doesn’t notice the extra ten pounds she complains about or the stretch marks she tries desperately to hide. All he sees is the woman that he’d fallen in love. And keeps falling in love with each passing day.

“Tyler...” she says.

“Esme...”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring. I’m admiring. I’m not allowed to admire my wife?”

“Admiring or critiquing?”

He frowns. “What the hell is there to critique?”

“I’ve had five kids. Things don’t look like they used to,” she laments. “I’m definitely not the same person I was when we met.”

“Neither am I.”

“But you’re only getting better with age. Me? I just get worse.”

“Baby, have you looked in the mirror lately? Because you look fucking amazing. And I know you’re just going to say I’m just being biased or that I’m just trying to boost your ego. But it’s true. Every word. You’re beautiful and you’re sexy and you always will be in my eyes.”

He hates not only what her own battle with depression and the monsters from her past has done to her, but also her disastrous first marriage; Mark’s abusive behavior –physical, emotional, sexual- leaving so much damage in its wake. And it’s been a full-time job in itself getting her to see herself the way he does. It’s his main bone of contention in their marriage: having to listen to her degrade herself and drag herself down when he just wants to worship the ground she walks on.

“Even after five kids?” she challenges.

“Especially after five kids. I don’t know what more I can say. How to get you to see yourself like I see you. I just wish you would.”

“Maybe you need glasses.”

“Maybe you need to stop. I love you. And I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. I have since that day you walked into my place. I don’t see what you do. I don’t see the extra weight you bitch about or the marks on your skin or the how your clothes don’t fit like they used to. All I see is you.”

“You really are determined to make me cry by the end of the night,” she teases, and playfully slaps him in the face with one of Addie’s sleepers.

She watches the way his hands move as they fold that simple piece of clothing. His hand –from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle digit- longer than the actual sleeper itself; those fingers with their various scars and their swollen and misshapen knuckles never fumbling as they tend to impossibly tiny buttons. She knows what those hands are capable of; the things that they’d done. The blood he has on them; hundreds of men in Dhaka alone were dead because of those hands. Large and powerful. Frightening, even.

But she also knows how those hands feel; the callouses on the palm and the even more prominent one on the right index digit; his ‘trigger finger’. She knows they’re capable of inflicting so much more than brutality and death. They can be soothing and gentle; rocking babies to sleep, caring for the kids’ injuries and clearing away their tears, massing her aching back when in the agonizing final stages of childbirth. And she knows how they feel during intimate times; how they can alternate between gentle and rough depending on his mode and what how she wants and needs his touch to be. She’s experienced those delirious heights of pleasure that they’re more than capable of bringing her to.

She looks away; the mere thought bringing a flush to her cheeks and a familiar warmth that builds between her thighs and in the pit of her stomach.

“I was always looking at you because I was trying to figure out if you’re wearing underwear or not,” Tyler admits.

“This is not a safe house to walk around in wearing JUST a t-shirt. Not only do we have all kinds of little people that can show up out of nowhere, but now we have Kyle wandering in and out.”

“How long’s he staying for anyway?”

“He SAID his vacation was for two weeks.”

“But? There’s a ‘but’ coming. I can feel it.”

“He did say if he liked it here that much, he might not go back.”

Tyler sighs.

“I thought you liked my brother.”

“I do. I just don’t like the baggage he brings with him.”

She smirks. “Nik?”

“We just got rid of her. He sticks around, that means she’s going to come back. And I don’t know about you, but the less of her the better.”

“She does tend to bring the drama with her.”

“Drama, home wrecking, whatever you want to call it.”

“But if we could get him away from her...”

“We are NOT getting involved. We just talked about this. We agreed to stay out of it.”

“No, you agreed to stay out of it,” Esme corrects.

“And I told you to stay out of it.”

“When do I ever listen to anything you say?”

He smirks.

“We could always kick Chloe out and have Kyle take her place.”

“You mean Ovi could kick Chloe out. Because we’re not doing shit. We are staying out of people's personal crap. Didn’t you hate when people were always in our shit back in Colorado? Your mom, your other brothers...”

“But they’re evil and were always trying to cause problems. We’re trying to avoid a huge problem. If we get Kyle away from Nik, then there’s no more Nik. That way if he stays here, we won’t have to worry about her coming around and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Neither wants you to stick in her...”

“Let’s not start that conversation again.”

“I’m just trying to think of what’s best for my brother. And I know she’s not it.”

“Then you never should have set him up with her in the first place. This is kind of all your fault.”

Frowning, she rolls up the beach towel in her hand and smacks him hard across the ass with it.

“I’m just saying that we need to stay out of. Let Kyle do what he wants and whatever happens, happens. I just don’t want him living here. We have enough people living under this roof. We don’t need another one.”

“And yet you want another kid,” she scoffs.

“That’s totally different and you know it. That’s a kid. That we’d make together. Kyle’s a grown ass man. Let him be one. Stay out of it. If he wants to marry Nik, let him marry Nik. If he wants to dick down the neighbor, let him dick down the neighbor. Who gives a shit?”

“And if he’s dicking down both?”

“Then good for him. He’s lucky.”

She rolls her eyes.

“He manages to juggle both of them, he’s a fucking legend.”

“You’re going to be juggling both your balls in a second. Is this your sly of way of telling me you want to be dicking down the neighbor?”

“Are you fucking insane? No way in hell.”

“You have to admit, she’s cute.”

“She’s not you. I don’t want to be dicking down anyone else, okay?”

“You know,�� she grins. “Sometimes you can really redeem yourself.”

“And even if I did want to, I wouldn’t have the energy to dick anyone else down anyway.”

“I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or...”

“Just you, baby. I only want you.”

She smiles, then lightly bumps his hip with her own.

“So I never did get a yes or a no. About the underwear.”

She gives a dramatic sigh and then lifts the bottom of the t-shirt to her waist; giving a slight peek of the elaborate and colorful tattoo that graces her entire left rib cage, and a look at the lacy black garment that sits low on her hips but is cut high on her ass. “Good?”

“Very good. Very, very, very good.”

“You’re getting easy to please in your old age. Pretty soon all it’s going to take is some side boob to get you in the mood.”

He grins. “Who says it doesn’t already?”

“You have been very...what’s the word...amorous...lately.”

“Lately?”

“I mean, you always are. You always HAVE been. Our track record was amazing sex over the past almost seven years is remarkable. But since the doctor gave that green light, you’ve been extra...I don’t know...extra.”

“Do you blame me? I just went four months having to flog the bishop two to three times a day.”

“Flog the bishop,” she can’ t help but laugh. “Baby, you’re so cute.”

“What I am is horny.”

“Yeah,” a grin tugs at her lips. “I’ve noticed that the last couple of days.”

“No. I mean like right now. This very second.”

“I’m busy.”

“Get unbusy,” he says, and yanks the piece of clothing she’s folding out of her hand and tosses it aside.

“You need to chill,” Esme suggests, and then has the nerve to bent over in front of him as she fetches a wayward sock off the floor; the shirt slipping up to the small of her back.

Just the mere sight of her ass –that smooth, pale skin- causes his cock to stir; the pressure beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. And he reaches out, running a fingertip along the edge of the lace, feeling the goosebumps that prick her flesh. Finger slowly travelling over her skin until he reaches her hip; then pressing his palm against it and squeezing tightly.

“That hurt!” she scolds and reaches around to rub at the tender spot. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s what I want to get into you.”

“Okay, well can give you five minutes to get shit done? Patience is a virtue, after all.”

“Screw patience,” he growls, the slams the dryer door closed and places on hand her stomach and the other at the base of her throat, fingers applying slight, yet firm pressure as he presses his erection against her. His hand slips down the front of her panties; fingertip dragging along the top of her pubic bone, his breath warm and moist as his mouth hovers by next to her ear. “Let’s fuck.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but all words escape her when she feels the tip of his nose and the scratch of his beard against the side of her throat, followed by the sensation of his hot, wet mouth. Lips aggressive and demanding against the skin; teeth lightly grazing along the flesh, fingers pressing harder and deeper into her neck. His aggression has always been a turn on; starting with that moment he’d pinned her against the wall in the hotel room in Dhaka in a fit of a rage. She’d quickly discovered it was what she liked. What she craved. And she’d initially been ashamed because of it; Mark had caused a tremendous amount of pain and torment during their shit show of a marriage, so she’d felt disappointed and disgusted in herself for wanting sex to be that way with another man. But she’d learned that the two situations were vastly different; one was abuse, the other someone she trusts with her life. Who’d never intentionally do anything to hurt her.

She presses her ass against him; loving the way he groans in her ear. It’s empowering. Knowing you have that kind of effect of someone. When you know all the little things that drives them crazy; those magic spots that can nearly bring them to their knees. And she reaches up to grab a hold of his hair as he kisses her. His tongue aggressively pushing its way into her mouth just as his hand slides lower into her panties, palm cupping her mound; hot and wet against his skin. Giving a low moan of approval at the sensation before his mouth finds the side of her throat once again. Her eyes closing and the grip on his hair tightening as two of his fingers push past the swollen lips, the ends coming in contact with her clit; causing her body to shudder against and her hips to jolt backwards, bringing her ass in contact with his cock yet again.

“Fuck...” he growls. The simple contact even through the fabric of his sweats causing the pressure to build; erection painfully straining against the confines around him. And she cries out when his teeth clamp down on the juncture between neck and shoulders and he slips two fingers inside of her. “So good...” he breathes, mouth against her neck. “...you feel so good...and you’re so fucking wet.”

“For you,” she says. “Only for you.”

A low and almost feral moan resonates from deep within his chest and removes his hand from inside of her panties. His gaze never wavering from hers as he licks and sucks her fluid from his fingers, the taste sweet and delicious on his lips and his tongue.

“Tastes so good,” his voice is low. “So fucking good.”

There’s a primal, animalistic look in his eyes; a hunter stalking its prey. And it makes that aching and longing between her legs almost overwhelming; almost too powerful to bear. She grinds her ass against him once more; feeling how hard he is through the fabric of his sweats. His breathing quickening and become more ragged as she continues to rub against him, feeling the way his fingers bite into her hips. And she attempts to slip her own hand between her legs to chase some relief, but he roughly grabs her by the wrist, then brings her arm behind her back.

“I don’t fucking think so,” Tyler snarls, and uses the force of his grip and the weight of his body to propel her towards the countertop across the room. A knee pushes her legs apart as he keeps her arm secure behind her back; his other hand roughly yanking her panties off her hips and over her ass, letting them to pool at her ankles. “Take them off,” he orders, and she hurriedly obliges.

Anyone else in this situation and it would scare her, the intensity in his eyes, the aggression in both his voice and his movements. But the trust is there. It always has been. The confidence that he’d never hurt her; that he’d stop the very second she showed any signs of pain or discomfort.

Tyler tightens his hold on the wrist that’s pinned behind her back and pushes her further into the countertop. His free hand on her shoulder; pushing her upper bod down before hastily shoving down his sweatpants. “Open,” he demands, using a thigh to push apart her legs. And still holding her arm firmly behind her back, the other hand settles on her shoulder as he pushes into her with one smooth, solid thrust that has her crying out, cheek pressed against the cold ceramic beneath her.

He hesitates; leaning over to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You okay, baby?”

“Mm...hmm...” she responds, and pushes her ass back, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Just fuck me,” she orders. “Now.”

He grins. “You’re demanding.”

“Now!” she forcefully repeats and reaches back to dig her nails into his thigh, hard enough to break the skin.

He pulls out completely, smirking at the disappointed, pissed off look that crosses her face before slamming back inside of her with brutal force. It always surprises him; how someone that small and seemingly fragile can take as much as she can. How she’s always so eager and willing to this side of him to come out; aggressive, mean, controlling. Sometimes it even scares him; how quickly he can lose control of both the situation. Afraid that he’ll hurt her and then spent a week hating himself for it.

But he gives her what she wants. Repeatedly driving into her; that arm still pinned behind her back, the other hand now on the back of her head; spurred on by her pleas for ‘harder’ and ‘faster’. Sweat beading across his forehead and gathering at the nape his neck and the small of his back. Fucking her until she loses the ability to form coherent words and is gasping and sobbing; tears streaming down her face. Hips jerking back towards him, matching every movement. And he drops the hand from the back of her head and reaches between her legs, fingers easily finding her clit; vigorously and relentlessly rubbing at it until her orgasm hits her. The scream muffled against the countertop and those internal muscles contracting almost painfully around his cock. It quickly brings on his own release; a few deep, controlled thrusts until a deep, low growl rumbles in chest and he empties himself inside of her.

He finally releases the hold on the arm behind her back; both hands now resting on her hips as he closes his eyes and drops his forehead onto her shoulder. Chest heaving and legs sharking as he attempts to regain his composure.

“Tyler...” she reaches around and lays a hand on his thigh, trying to push him back. “...I love you, but you’re really fucking heavy.”

He didn’t realize his entire weight had collapsed against her, and he places a kiss on her cheek and gives an apologetic smile before backing away, withdrawing completely. Snagging a towel from the laundry basket, he uses it to clean himself up, then gently presses it between her legs. “You alright?”

Esme nods.

“Was I too rough?”

She shakes her head. “You were perfect. But I swear to God if you got that towel out of the clean basket...”

“Sorry,” he gives a sheepish grin, then kisses her softly before tossing the item in question into the nearby sink before pulling his sweatpants back up. “Here,” he locates a pair of pajama pants in the dryer and hands them to her. “I don’t think you’ll want to put that underwear back on. They’re a little...wet.”

“Well if you didn’t have that effect on me, they’d be perfectly fine,” she retorts, and then turns to face him; hands on his chest for balance as he helps her slip into the pants. “I never thought you’d be the type of guy who’d be into aftercare,” she teases.

“I never was. Until I met you.”

“Look at me. Bringing out all the good sides of you.”

“All the best sides,” he declares, then lays a hand on the back of her head and kisses her. “You sure you’re okay? I think I was a little too into it.”

“I would have told you if you were. You were amazing. Trust me. And thank you,” she stands on her tiptoe to kiss him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I love you,” she says, as she buries her face in his chest, fingernails lightly scraping against the bottom of his hairline. “So much.”

“I love you too, baby,” he brushes his lips against her temple. “Always.”

****

The second time lasts longer. Slow yet intense love making that follow two rounds of foreplay. Now they lay in a mix of tangled sheets and sweaty limbs; on their sides with her back tucked into his front, one of his legs draped over hers and their tightly clasped hands pressed against her stomach. Tyler’s eyes are closed, tip of his nose and his lips pressed against the nape of her neck; happy and sated. Not just from the sex, but from the intimacy afterwards; lying together and feeling the warmth that radiates from her body and the familiar smell that clings to her hair. And she gives a long, content sigh and turns her face to the side, smiling back at him.

“You asleep?” she asks.

“Nope. Just completely and utterly fucked out.”

She laughs at that, and he gives a chuckle of his own and raises his head long enough to kiss the corner of her mouth.

“I love you,” he says, and brushes his nose against her temple.

“I love you too,” she snuggles tighter into him and increases the grip on his hand. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing really. Just lying here. Thinking about how happy my dick is right now.”

She snorts.

“Which is very fucking happy, by the way.”

“If he wasn’t, I’d be very insulted.”

“What are you thinking about?” he inquires.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He frowns. “As long as it’s not Dhaka. Because if you say Dhaka...”

“It isn’t Dhaka,” she assures him. “As amazing as those five days were...”

“Best five days of my life.”

“...I was NOT thinking about that place. I was thinking about that shack of yours. After Millie brought it up, I started thinking about wanting to go there and see it.”

“It doesn’t look the same anymore. Not after what he’s done do it.”

“You mean it actually has walls and an actual roof now?”

“Listen, smart ass...”

“I don’t care what it looks like. I just want to see it. It’s where everything started. It’s where WE started.”

“Technically WE didn’t start until Bangladesh.”

“But we met there. At the shack. It’s where I first saw you. It would be nice to go and see it. To see Koen again. And bathroom chicken.”

“I don’t think bathroom chicken is there anymore. I think he’s probably made dinner out of her by now.”

“That dick. That’s fucking savage.”

Tyler chuckles and presses his lips to the side of her head. “You eat chicken,” he reminds her.

“I wouldn’t have eaten HER. We could have kept her as a pet. Or considered her our first child.”

“I remember when we were in Dhaka and...”

“Hey!” she jabs him in the stomach with her elbow. “No saying the D word.”

“When we were THERE, I used to think about how we’d make things work. If they went okay between us and we didn’t kill one another while we were travelling. If you’d be happy staying there with me whenever you came to town.”

“Why wouldn’t I have been?”

“It wasn’t exactly five-star accommodations.”

“You were a bachelor. You didn’t care what your place looked like. You were on the job so much it was basically just a place to eat and sleep. And fuck some of your pieces of ass.”

“I never had any pieces of ass there. I didn’t want anyone close to home. In case they got attached and started showing up all the time.”

“What about Nik? I’m sure she visited you there.”

“We only ever fucked when I was on a job and she’d show up at the hotel. Never at my place. I didn’t want her there. I didn’t want ties to anyone, which meant keeping them away from my place.”

“You’re a very complex man, Tyler Rake,” she muses. “But you thought about having me there.”

“Because I wanted you there. I wanted you to be part of my life. If it was a dick and ditch, I would have told you right from day one. When we first fucked.”

“So you wanted to keep me around. Right from the start.”

“More like from the third day in. I was hopeful. That you’d want to stick around.”

“And here I was thinking it was me getting attached way too soon,” she teases, and he smiles against the back of her neck. “I was hopeful too. That there’d be more to it. That we’d travel like we planned and find out if we actually liked each other outside of sex. We never got that chance though.”

“No. We didn’t.”

“Do you regret that?” That it never went according to plan?”

“No. It’s the butterfly effect, right? Change one thing, everything changes?”

She grins. “When did you become the deep thinker?”

“Not just a pretty face and big muscles, baby. If things had had went the way we planned, there’s a chance that the twins and Declan and Addie wouldn’t even be here. The only for sure one is Millie. Because I wasted no time knocking you up with her.”

“Your swimmers were very determined,” she concludes. “I wonder what day of the five it happened on. I hope it wasn’t the first day.”

“Why’s that?”

“You want your daughter knowing she was conceived while you were choking me?”

“You want her to know how much you like it?” He counters.

“How about we agree to keep our mouths shut. Because those five days were extremely dirty and what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Deal?”

“Deal,” he agrees, and presses his lips to her shoulder; lingering on the lotus flower tattoo that graces her skin.

“I would have been happy there,” she says. “At the shack.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “I think WE would have been happy.”

“Wouldn’t have been able to raise a family there. Maybe one kid. But not five.”

“We would have had to move once we found out about the twins. Or added onto the place.”

“The outback is not a place to bring up kids. Trust me.”

“I would have liked some time with you there. Even just a little while.”

“Honestly? I would have just liked to fuck you there. At least once.”

She looks over her shoulder at him, frowning.

“What? You have your thing, I have mine. Just ‘cause it sounds weird, doesn’t mean it is. And I’m not gonna lie, I would have done it that first day.”

“Seriously? What about Nik?”

“She could have watched.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” Esme scoffs. “Bad enough she’s seen you naked. I don’t want her seeing me naked. Seeing us...you know.”

He grins. “Fucking?”

“To be crude about it, yes.”

“She could have just waited outside then,” Tyler reasons.

“You wanted to seriously fuck me the first day we met?”

“First day? First ten minutes. Do you blame me? I’m a guy. And you walked in there looking so cute and...”

“Cute? You’re calling me cute?”

“What’s wrong with being called cute? I think you’re very cute.”

“I want to be beautiful and sexy and alluring and...”

“You’re those things too. But sometimes you look cute. That’s not an insult. You’re tiny and cute and I want to pick you up and put you in my pocket. And you looked cute that day. You had on those little jean shorts and that yellow tank top that had one strap that kept falling down. Your hair was in a ponytail. And you smelled like coconut.”

She rolls over onto her side to face him. “You remember all that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Like I said, you looked cute. And you walked in there like you owned the place. All fucking attitude. I liked what I saw. You were different. You didn't take shit and you let me know pretty early that you weren’t going to put up with any from me.”

“I knew it. You’re turned on by assertive women.”

“Well I was turned on by YOU. I don’t know about other assertive women. I so would have fucked you. Right there. Right then.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered, or....”

“Flattered. Definitely flattered.”

“For the record, I would have let you.”

A broad grin covers his face. “Yeah? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey you, nice hair. Let’s fuck’?”

“That would have worked actually. I would have been like ‘let’s go’.”

“Why didn’t YOU say anything? Esme counters.

“I was trying to be a gentleman.”

“You plied me with alcohol.”

“I asked you if you wanted a drink and you said yes. I gave it to you. I didn’t ply you with it. There’s a difference.”

“Well even without the booze, I would have given in. Just so you know.”

“I used to have a thing about wanting to fuck you on the kitchen table,” Tyler admits. “Just bend you over it and just give it to you.”

“You’re dirty.”

“That’s tame compared to some of the things we’ve done. Most of them, actually.”

“You’re such a bad influence,” she declares, then places a hand on the back of his head and kisses him; mouths moving slowly against each other, naked limbs rubbing and brushing together. And when he pulls away, he brushes the hair away from her face and presses his lips to her forehead, then the bridge of her nose.

“I’m hungry,” Tyler announces.

Eme sighs. “Me too. What are you going to make me?”

“What do you want?”

She shrugs. “Guess we’ll have to see when we get down there.”

“How come I have to be the one to make it?”

“Your daughter said that you were the good cook, so I’ve given it up and handed you the reins,” she chides. “You wanted to try your hand at the domestic life, well there you go.”

“By domestic life, I meant siting on my ass while you do everything.”

“You wish!” she scoffs, and he pecks his life being throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. “Baby...” she muses, rolling over onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re sexy. Can I feel your arms?”

“You can feel whatever you want, whenever you want, however much you want.”

“Wherever and whenever?” she enthuses. “That’s dangerous. What if I start feeling you up at the grocery store or when we pick the kids up at school? Make Millie’s teacher extra jealous.”

“Baby, if you want to fuck me in the parking lot at the grocery store, all you have to do is ask.”

‘Kinky,” she giggles, then frowns when he tosses on his t-shirts at her and lands on top of her head. “Are you really going to Port Douglas tomorrow?” she asks, as she sits up and shrugs into the shirt. “To see your dad?”

Tyler nods.

“And you’re taking Millie?”

“She wanted to see him. And asked if he could come to her birthday party. She even made him a special invitation to give him.”

“You think she’ll be okay? I mean, if he’s having an ‘off day’...”

“If he is, we leave. I wouldn’t take her anywhere I didn’t think she could handle. You know that.”

“And what about you?” She climbs out of bed and stands in front of him, hands on his chest. “Think you can handle it?”

“I did the first time,” he points out.

“Did you?” her fingertips trace the scar on the left side of his chest, where the sniper’s bullet had caught him on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.

He hadn’t even known what hit him; the shot knocking him off his feet, an immediate burning sensation filling his entire chest and blood rising into his throat. He remembers thinking that he had to get up and get cover; that the sniper would be waiting to take the ‘kill shot’. But his legs wouldn’t work; he was nauseous and dizzy and in excruciating pain and all he could do was drag himself across the asphalt while coughing up blood.

“I think so,” he replies. “I didn’t come home and crack open a bottle and pop some Oxy, so I guess I did okay.”

“I know there’s a lot you’re holding back,” Esme says. “From your childhood. That you’re angry and you’re hurt and even though he’s sick, you want him to pay for what he’s done. And I get it, Tyler. You know I do. And you know I support you one hundred percent.”

“But...”

“I just don’t want Millie hearing all of that. If something happens and you snap on him, I don’t want her being there. Because she’s five and she’s a baby still and she doesn’t need to shoulder adult things. It’s bad enough she asked about the time you nearly died.”

“In all fairness, you brought that up the other night and she’s been holding onto it for days.”

“I know. And I feel like shit for doing it. Sometimes I forget she’s listening and that she’s as smart as she is. She’s insanely smart. It’s almost scary how smart she actually is. Which is why I don’t want her there if things go bad between you and your dad.”

“I promise you, if something goes wrong, we just leave. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. You know that.”

“I do know that,” Esme agrees. “But I also know what you get like when you go off, Tyler. When you can’t control what you say or what you do. And...”

He silences her with a kiss. “I would never...ever...put our daughter in that situation. You know I wouldn’t.”

She smiles, then stands on her tip toes and circles her arms around his neck. “You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Whether you think so or not.”

“I think you overestimate me way too much.”

“I think you need to keep your mouth shut,” she counters, then squeals when he pinches her ass hard enough to leave a bruise. “I could take you; you know.”

He smirks. “I’d love to see you try.”

“It’s the little ones you have to watch out for.”

“What are going to do? Bite my ankles?”

“You’re such a dick sometimes, you know that?

“I do. But you love me.”

“Yeah....” she smiles, then tightens the hold around his neck. “...I do.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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yogatrainingforbeginners · 5 years ago

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Meditation Benefits Reconsidered

Maybe you're tired of someone or people in general speaking of meditation and it just seems like an absurd waste of time to just sit there, doing nothing. Of course, if this sounds agreeable, then you might not understand what meditation is about and you may simply feel you don't have time to meditate. To not have time to meditate is like saying you don't have time to sleep or to eat or to use the bathroom. Meditation is self-care and you can be of just about any religion and meditate without having to change any of your beliefs. If you want to become a better you, there are many forms of self-improvement, such as martial arts as were written about in our last blog. The point, however, is that you find something that works which you can do regularly, every day if it isn't going to injure you. Should I meditate? Should I run? Should I join a group of fellow photography enthusiasts or computer geeks or political activists? It doesn't matter what you do so long as it is helping you feel contentment in being alive.

But if you think meditation is silly and pointless, I will contend that jogging or any sport you can think of can be seen just as easily to be silly. Am I trying to convert you into a religion or cult? No. As I said, meditation is not exclusive to any particular religion. Am I trying to open your mind to the idea that meditation has great value to those that practice it? Yes, most definitely.

Ok, so let's pretend we're talking to one another right now. You've conceded meditation seems no more silly than jogging in circles. Why meditate? What is meditation? How do you do it? How do you benefit from it? Lots of questions immediately arise. Let me take these questions one at a time, in my own order.

Why Meditate?

Meditation isn't a thing like a rock or a dollar bill or fame. Meditation is a state of being. Think about your cell phone or laptop. It serves a central role in your life and while you can usually count on it to do what you need it to do, it needs down-time to recharge its batteries. Now think of your body, spirit and mind. They don't run on electricity but rather proteins, minerals, your brain, sugar, positive energy. You body and mind need down time too. Sleep is essential, but so is conscious relaxation or re-centering. Of course, if you simply plug your phone into its charger for the hour before you leave for work rather than giving it plenty of time to recharge, its batteries will not become fully recharged and it will become less reliable.

Human beings are famous for adaptation, determination and perseverance. It's why we dominate the planet and the food chain, most of the time. Millions if not billions of people throughout the last thousand or so years have found meditation beneficial enough to keep its practice alive and to pass it down generation to generation. Yet many, especially Americans, consider it silly, absurd, pointless. Scientific studies have shown otherwise, as the Washington Post and the BBC had to say (see end of article.)

So now you may do your own investigating and say, ok, so maybe there is something to meditation based on all the scientific evidence. So what? It still feels silly to sit down and stare at the wall or close my eyes sitting still. I bet it also felt very silly to be standing at a chalk board trying to learn your capital and lower-case 'Q' 's, but if you never did anything you thought was silly, you might not be able to read this.

You can think something is silly and not for you, but if you don't try it first and then conclude it's silly based on your experiences, rather than your gut feeling or accepted ways of thinking you will have given up without trying.

Now maybe you are willing to try, seeing there are plenty of 'why's.'

What is Meditation?

First, I am no expert but I've practiced meditation, particularly walking meditation, hence my feeling comfortable to write this blog about it. That cleared, meditation can be described in many ways, such as clearing the mind of any issues, recharging the mind/body's batteries, enhancing focus, reconnecting with the physical body, and on and on and on. But the best way to tackle the 'what' question is to try meditation for yourself.

We know better than to be unhealthy. We know we won't be able to call anyone, to be of help to them tomorrow if we don't recharge our own batteries today. Nature themes tend to dominate most attempts to explain what meditation is like-- because, as we said, it's not a thing but an experience, similar to an environment except, being a state of mind, it is with you no matter what environment you enter. Imagine a still pond versus the open ocean with 15-ft. swells. In this case, the pond is your mind on meditation-- clear, serene, focused. The 15 ft. swells are thought-emotions which threaten to capsize you if they are capable of overtaking your calmness and determination. The meditative state is the cure for those states in which you let your emotions overcome you and you say hurtful things to people. Meditation isn't about giddiness or numbness. Meditation is a state of being that is still you, only without waves, calm, serene, centered, focused and aware of everything, ignoring nothing, accepting everything and finally, knowing that in accepting everything we also accept that everything changes and so acceptance must be flexible to follow life's natural course.

How Do I Meditate?

If we accept meditation like we accept jogging and we feel passionate about becoming a better person-- physically healthy, mentally solid and spiritually strong-- we must learn how to engage in exercise and meditation.

In order to learn enough to get something worthwhile of, say, twenty minutes of meditation a day, I regret to inform you that good meditation practice and form cannot be taught from a book, much less a blog.

I don't mean to infer that you can't teach yourself how to meditate, only that books and blogs set themselves up as authorities on the matter of meditation. And really, if meditation is anything, it is unique to the individual, as an experience, a spiritual one for many. How to go about learning what constitutes meditation and actually doing it properly involves practice and guidance. The mere physical presence of someone in a serene state of mind tends to calm us if only somewhat. Meditation is not the denial of all thought, it is the embracing of all thought without attaching to it. Think of a healthy relationship versus a co-dependent relationship. In a healthy relationship, as in healthy thinking, there is no over-attachment. While a loved one is anticipated positively and there is a healthy connection, unlike co-dependence, there is no need. Each party to the relationship can and does regularly function autonomously from the other. In meditation, we are seeking to separate and decompress our thoughts and feelings, with a healthy connection but without being overly attached. As one of my teachers once said, think of your mind like a mountain-- solid, sturdy-- and your thoughts/feelings like clouds. Sure the clouds obscure the mountain view from time to time, but they must go around the mountain and pass on, into the past, like thoughts/feelings, particularly the stormy ones that cause us such anxiety, fear and other negative emotions.

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letsmeditationtherapy · 5 years ago

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Meditation Benefits Reconsidered

Why Meditate?

Now maybe you are willing to try, seeing there are plenty of 'why's.'

What is Meditation?

How Do I Meditate?

#6 #phase #meditation

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fernandoelly12-blog · 5 years ago

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The Number One Question You Must Ask for Sandals Women's Fashion

An e-commerce fashion store is an ideal area where you can get cool men's vest online in only a few clicks. There is an assortment of elements that involve a hassle-free shopping experience and when it has to do with buying men's vest online then it requires some crucial aspects. People on the internet can sometimes, even suggest improved ideas for the internet store to grow.

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Therefore, you're in a position to locate an appropriate outfit which suits your personal and financial requirements. If you're prepared to take a look at a thrift store to find out what you could find, prepare for an enjoyable adventure. Scarves arrive in a vast selection of fashions, sizes and materials.

Things You Won't Like About Sandals Women's Fashion and Things You Will

Ideally, a customer request is going to be solved the very first time round. Segmenting your emails will say that. Compare how you describe yourself to the way that your customer describes you.

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odindiana35-blog · 6 years ago

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The Hidden Treasure of Love of Rashad

If you own a minute, have a look at these fights, they are outstanding. I know a great deal of you're rooting for Rutgers' Tim Brown to produce the team. My department truly altered the game of doing outreach rather than recruitment, states Norris. These shirts appear to be the brand preferred by several of the top MMA fighters! This is supposed to be an enjoyable fight, and an opportunity to see one of the few truly legitimate prospects beyond the UFC continue to develop. Stop acting as if you're stupid,'' Evans explained. If you would like to say, I'd like to move in the division and I'd love to face Anthony Smith', fine. Evans on the opposite hand will attempt to stand up at first with Rampage, but it is going to only be a bluff to set up for a takedown or clinch in the fence. College basketball is a good place to come up with the skills necessary to be effective in the NBA. Love of Rashad - Dead or Alive? 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In its rebuttal, Microsoft has made a decision to concentrate on the smugness, refusing to inject any trendy-ness in their image.

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theonyxpath · 7 years ago

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A preview of Hunter 2e from Monica:

Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition has been in development for a while and there’s a few reasons for that. The game is designed to stand alone as its own corebook, and this approach is something I have to be conscious of with respect to rules and referenced material. It also, however, has a lot of callbacks to what the first edition of Hunter is all about: fighting monsters in your own backyard. To that end, once I finish tidying up the rules, I’ll be applying a lot of my own research to spruce up the Slasher Chronicle, make sure the compacts/conspiracies are well-covered, and then jam-pack the chapters with flavorful story seeds by replacing some generic terms like “monster” with actual threats so the game is fun to read and to play. I’m also working on a new preview for you, and I think you’re really going to dig it.

Remember that the setting conceit for HTV 2E is: “There are more monsters than ever before.” To hunt them, you’ll need more tools — and it’s my job as developer to provide them for you. While it’s true that hunters fight monsters, they also spend a lot of time investigating, identifying, and tracking them, too. To that end, my team and I thought about the “where” in monster hunting. This preview is a sneak peek from our Mysterious Places chapter. This sample reflects my first pass at development, and may be spruced up further following my second pass and a round with our glorious (and talented) editors. It will be tied to the Storyteller chapter and the list of Tilts and Conditions in the Appendices. And, you’ll also be getting samples of each mysterious place in the chapter that offers you ready-to-play locations for your chronicle, too.

Classifying Places

Hunters track down monsters in rat-infested sewers, creepy attics, gnarled oak trees. Sometimes, they get a lead. A neighbor points to the oldest house on the block or the local rickety bridge just beyond the cemetery. Sometimes, however, hunters can’t catch a break. Maybe their nervous informant is missing. Maybe that slimy trail of footprints they were following disappeared. Or worse: they’ve discovered there’s more than one monster on the loose.

When hunters reach a dead end (or don’t know where to begin), the cell should be reminded that the hunt isn’t always about shooting or trapping monsters. It’s also about tracking monsters down to find out where they devour victims, lick their wounds, and sleep — in a monster’s own backyard.

Nests are homes and lairs a monster claims. They are usually secluded, defensible places — a dank cave, an abandoned factory, a crashed train — where a monster feels safe. No matter how you look at it, Nests are very, very dangerous and hunters should be wary of rushing in to fight a monster on their own turf.

Places that are Tainted are just…wrong. Whether they’re twisted, cursed, or corrupted, simply being present in a Tainted place is a health hazard. Sometimes, a hunter might experience strange, supernatural-like effects. A trapped hunter is convinced the exit is right in front of them — only they’ve been locked up in a room with no doors or windows for several hours. A victim believes the hunter is the true monster, and rushes to attack them instead of the beast lurking in the corner. If Nests are dangerous, Tainted places can be downright terrifying because an invisible, accursed force permeates each one. Entering a Tainted place is always risky; being trapped in one can invite additional trouble on top of dealing with the monster that haunts it.

Perhaps the strangest areas of all are Sentient. Unlike Nests or Tainted places, areas that are Sentient can be classified as monsters themselves. In game terms, a monster is an antagonist that possesses Dread Powers — and Sentient places definitely do. A Sentient place can think and reason, feel and hate, plan and attack. Some can communicate, move or alter their dimensions, ooze blood, or even ignite fires. Though they are supernatural, not every Sentient place specifically targets mortals. A Sentient house, for example, could trap monsters and hunters alike. Unfortunately, since a Sentient place can simply seem like it’s Tainted, many hunters do not know what — or who — they are dealing with until they’re trapped inside.

For these reasons and more, whether a hunter is investigating a Nest, Tainted place, or an area that’s Sentient, they should learn their surroundings are just as crucial to a successful hunt as dealing with a threat.

[[sidebar]]

For the Stortyeller: What’s in a Term?

The terms in this chapter are defined for the Storyteller’s use. Hunters will use their own definitions to describe what they “think” they know, either through the lens of their experience or by relying upon a common lexicon used by their cell, Compact, or Conspiracy. If a player gets a term “wrong” during the course of the chronicle, that usage has no bearing on whether or not their instincts are correct. As such, the Storyteller is encouraged to give players the reins to investigate locations without getting caught up in terminology. Don’t be afraid to use a cell’s lack of knowledge to facilitate the needs of the story, either, by leveraging misdirection and the occasional red herring.

[[end sidebar]]

Nests

Even monsters need familiar places they can call “home”. A pack of dog-sized creatures covered with rusting metal plates hides between piles of crushed cars in a junkyard. The old woman’s house, abandoned since she died, is a Nest for a group of things that only look like the cats she used to care for. Some Nests might even be called a “haunt” or a “resting place” by the ghosts who lurk there Whatever you call it, whatever form it takes, a Nest is the lair or refugee of a monster.

Nests are suited to the creatures living in them and hostile to any hunters who dare to enter. Investigating a Nest can be as dangerous as tracking down a feral animal, because the monster’s home is their turf and they chose it for a reason. Hunter approaching a Nest should proceed with the utmost caution and come prepared.

Using Nests

Nests exist to facilitate a confrontation with a monster. Storytellers might use a Nest to narrate the satisfying climax of a chronicle or highlight how a cell is in over their heads and needs to regroup. In either case, dealing with a monster on its home turf should reflect a dramatic scene filled with heightened tension.

Depending upon how the Nest is physically structured, it can also be used for chilling investigation scenes. A labyrinthine network of caves or sewers is a great backdrop for a slow and steady pursuit of a monster’s trail. In this case, the Nest itself can be a source of clues to not only track down the monster, but identify it. Sprawling Nests are also, however, a terrible gamble: what do hunters stand to gain by investigating a Nest? What happens if and when the monster returns unexpectedly?

The kind of lair a monster chooses should reflect its personality and nature. A Nest might reveal a monster’s weakness; if it’s light-sensitive, the area might be pitch black. If it can be weaked by fire, it might choose a swamp as its home. Savvy hunters will also notice Nests can provide hints about a monster’s capabilities. A cell might assume a monster acts solely on instinct, but then discovers a collection of stolen photographs hung carefully inside its cellar. Some monsters might even lead hunters to a false or fake Nest to protect their true home which, in turn, delays a cell’s ability to rescue victims.

No matter how a Nest is introduced, a monster’s lair is more than just a place; it’s a characterization of an antagonist the hunters are forced to deal with.

Neutralizing a Nest

The easiest way to neutralize a Nest is to ensure the monster never returns to it. Some hunters might bulldoze a dilapidated mansion to the ground or call in a favor from the chief of police. Others might pursue a monster back to its Nest, trap it inside, and then start a fire. Keep in mind that, unlike other types of mysterious places, Nests are not usually supernatural in nature. Once the monster is destroyed or dealt with, technically the Nest is no longer a hunter’s problem. Sometimes, however, driving a monster out of its lair can cause unforeseen complications. A monster survived the attack and targets the cell’s homes. A collapsed cave forces monsters to the surface where they attack joggers more frequently. Or, perhaps, the hunters missed the obvious: more than one monster called that Nest “home”, and now they are pouring out of a burning skyscraper, howling for blood.

Neutralized, damaged, or destroyed Nests may still be unsafe after the monster has left. A cave on the verge of collapse or a dump site full of toxic chemicals are both extremely hazardous. And, if an emptied Nest is in great condition, it could attract other, new monsters to move right in. Hunters might solve the problem by using fire, explosives, or demolition equipment, but that kind of outright destruction has its own set of complications. Abandoned places are usually owned by someone who can be bribed, cajoled, or convinced to look the other way. These details might seem tedious, but dealing with “real world consequences” are part of what keeps a hunter grounded.

Systems

A Nest’s physical structure and layout aren’t always apparent at first glance. Exploring an unknown, mysterious place can be difficult because monsters use their surroundings to their advantage. Tilts and Conditions, defined on page XX, offer Storytellers tools to customize their scenes by tying the Nest to the players.

Most of the time, a Nest possesses Environmental Tilts to reflect its hazardous or dangerous attributes. Say the hunters have tracked a living doll back to the 13th floor of a condemned apartment building; the floor’s narrow hallways are cluttered with ripped sofas, rusted bedframes, and broken chairs. In this Nest, the doll can move freely and intuitively to stab victims between holes in the furniture. The hunters, unfortunately, caught in the doll’s trap have trouble maneuvering. In this example, a Storyteller might choose the Detritus and Tight Tilts to reflect the terrain.

Conditions are also a great tool for Storytellers to leverage provided they fit the scene. Picture a looming figure in a gas mask that takes up residence in a chemical factory. In this Nest, the Storyteller decides fumes inflict the Nauseated Condition on anyone who breathes the factory’s toxic air. Then, after intruders have been weakened (e.g. suffering from the Nauseated Condition), the monster lunges to attack.

Creating a Nest

Creating a Nest is a two-step process that can either occur before a chronicle begins or between sessions.

Step One: Develop a Concept

Who lives here? When creating a Nest, Storytellers should have a clear idea which monster will be occupying it. The Nest should either suit that monster in some way, or be intentionally devised to thwart the hunters and force them to rethink what they know. In many ways, the Nest is representative of the monster in your chronicle. Think about the tone and mood you’re trying to exude in your chronicle and, when appropriate, how the Nest offers hunters clues about their prey. Example: A man-eating crocodile slithers in a subway station that has been closed for maintenance. It has punctured sewage pipes with its sharp claws; the murky water covers the tunnel walls, masking the scent of blood, making clean-up crews nauseous.

What are the Nest’s physical traits? After deciding where the Nest will be, focus on the “what”. Flesh out details that offer hunters clues and warnings. Example: A shambling figure hides in a city park, where the thick trees and overgrown brush hides its every step. Broken twigs and branches reveal signs that something is hiding in the park, but it isn’t until a group of hunters discovers a set of muddy human-sized paw prints they realize they’ve got their hands full.

What is the site’s history? Nests represent physical locations in the real world and, as such, many of them possess a history. Details hunters uncover in the present can shed light into the past. Developing the Nest’s backstory is another way for hunters to investigate an area and lead them to a more successful confrontation with the monster. Example: A ghost haunts a convenience store. The land that store was built on, however, used to belong to a murdered family the ghost was sworn to protect in life.

Step Two: Assign Tilts and/or Conditions

Storytellers may, at their discretion, assign Tilts and Conditions to the Nest. It is strongly recommended that these rules are attached to the Nest before gameplay, and not during a tense scene. The Storyteller should consider:

Physical Attributes: What are the Nest’s physical, identifiable features? What effects might those have on hunters?

Circumstances Used: When using Tilts or Conditions, sketch a scene where they might be used. Is the entire Nest full of slime and rotting garbage? Or, have they hunters discovered a bloody pit filled with the bones of a monster’s victims?

Example: Megan is creating a Nest for a horror in her game, a slimy, amphibious humanoid creature. Its Nest is located in the water-logged tunnels of a storm sewer. She decides to give the Nest the Tight and Viscous Tilts, to represent the narrow passages and the thick, slippery muck filling most of the tunnels. She briefly considers also using the Filthy Tilt, but decides that keeping track of the potential for open wounds will slow down the scene too much when combined with the other Tilts.

There is no set number of Tilts or Conditions that should be applied to a Nest. Less, however, is usually more. To avoid overwhelming players, select one or two Conditions or Tilts to add some narrative heft to a scene. Often, a Nest’s terrain is best reflected by Tilts. The determination and usage of the rules in a session, however, are at the discretion of the Storyteller.

#Onyx Path Publishing

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cherubim85 · 7 years ago

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11 thoughts on 13x02 “The rising son”

This episode has also been quite interesting meta-wise. I picked out some aspects that seemed important and interesting to me. So, let’s start!

(Screenshots are all mine, please like or reblog if you use or save. Thanks!)

1. Asmodeus - a fallen angel?!

The white suit in the first picture strongly reminds me of Lucifer in season 5. By wearing this “innocent colour”, a colour often associated with purity and holiness, the assumption comes to mind that maybe he used to be an angel, just like Lucifer. Further proof can be seen in the next picture: the way he kills those demons, the light coming out of their eyes and mouths, is also a very “angelic” way of killing. In comparison the light isn’t blueish or white, like when angels kill humans or demons, but yellow, mirroring his yellow eyes and status as Prince of Hell. The way the corpses look afterward is exactly the same way they would have looked like, if an angel had killed them. So, more proof for the interpretation, that Asmodeus (as maybe all Princes of Hell) could be a fallen angel.

(Puts her Sam voice on): “According to the lore” and many other stories which involve Asmodeus and other demons of his rank, it is often stated, that they indeed are fallen angels, each standing for one of the seven deadly sins. Asmodeus stands for wrath, of which evidence can also be found in this episode. Maybe this also means that three further Princes of Hell are in existence and can come up any time.

By the way, names often indicate a link to angels, too. Many (not all) angel names end on the letters “-el”, just like the word angel itself: Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel ... With the Princes of Hell we also had two names making that connection to angels: Azazel and Ramiel.

2. Jack is still light:

I found this shot kind of intriguing. Jack walks into the room, really likes this place and wears a huge smile on his face. The light source of the room is right behind him and he himself is illuminated. As long as Jack’s happy and everything around him pleases him, he’s light.

The boys on the other hand are hardly illuminated at all. That’s a very stron contrast. Dean can only be seen because of what little light comes through the window from the street and the sign of the hotel outside and Sam (on the right) can hardly be seen as he closes the door. They had a long and exhausting road trip, are still in a bad place, because they both are grieving and for them this is just another room, nothing special.

3. The pictures in the hotel room:

On the pictures behind Jack we can see a night sky, some landscape fitting the cowboy imagery of the hotel and (most importatntly) the full moon. Also the walls of the room strongly remind me of a dark blue night sky. I think this can be seen as a foreshadowing of some kind. Jack is surrounded by darkness, which is exactly, what is coming at him this episode via Asmodeus and his own unsure assumption of himself, after hearing he could be evil so many times. This lays out a very dark path for him. But: not all hope is lost, because the moon, illuminated by the sun and indirectly reflecting the sun’s light is still there. So, even when it gets dark around Jack, there is still something good in him, a possibility to turn things around and go down the path of light.

4. Solomon:

Many have already pointed out that the Song of Solomon is one of the most romantic passages in the Holy Bible. But another connection can be made. As I researched on Asmodeus (*feels like Sam again*), I found out that Solomon found a way to subdue Asmodeus to his will. He did this with the help of a magic ring which had been given to him by the archangel Michael. So, not only can Jack find a way to overthrow Asmodeus, if he reads the right passages, but Michael could be back in the game. Who conveniently is alive and well in the other dimension where Mary and Lucifer are trapped right now:

“Our” Michael is still in the cage and(according to Lucifer) a bit loony. He couldn’t achieve anything against Asmodeus in this state. But the Michael from the other dimension could help and give Jack and the boys the magic ring.

This would put our “trinity” (the whole episode pointed to the number three several times) in the position of Solomon and therefore in the position to gain power over Asmodeus. I hope, something like this will happen!

5. Dean the role model:

Cass once said that Dean is a good role model and Jack seems to have “adopted” this view. He imitates Dean like a child would, in order to learn how to do things the right way. This shows that Jack not only likes Sam, but also Dean, even though Dean has been more than sceptical towards him.

6. The Nephilim’s prophet:

Donatello is introduced as a dark shrouded figure walking down a hallway, which is illuminated by lamps that strongly remind me of a yellow glowing eye, just like Jack’s. The imagery of light and dark is very strong in this scene. The lamps (standing for Jack), show Donatello, who is linked to Jack, the way. Of course this was also an interesting trick by the director / writers, because one could also assume that the yellow lamp / eye could stand for a Prince of Hell and Asmodeus. Interestingly enough Asmodeus later chooses the form of Donatello to influence Jack and subdue him to his will.

7. Jack becomes darker and darker:

After hearing the argument between Sam, Dean and Donatello, Jack teleports to the dark alley ouside the hotel. Many negative things were said about him during that conversation and that was too much for him. He even once said “Hey, I’m right here”, indicating that he can hear every word, but he was ignored. This reminded me so much of difficulties between parents and their children in such situations. It is a psychological fact that children who hear that their behaviour is bad often as a consequence start behaving in negative ways, because they believe what they hear about themselves. They don’t yet know who they are (just like Jack, which is pointed out drastically at the end of this episode), so they adapt to input from parents or other elders. This is exactly what happens in this scene and what sets Jack on a dark path. He’s sitting in the dark, composure that of a sad child, thinking about who he is. Is he really evil, just because his father is? But his mother was good and he reminds himself of all the positive things she said to him and about him. Then Sam appears:

Sam is illuminated by the signs and street lights. He brings the light back to Jack with his positivity and faith in him. It is also a psychological fact that a child which often hears that its behaviour is good and positive also acts that way, because it develops a positive image of itself. It’s all got to do with self esteem. And Jack is currently having difficulties with that, asking if he's really worth all this. But Sam can bring back a positive self esteem to Jack, whereas Dean, who has a very low self esteem of himself, currently brings in the negative aspect. Both paths are layed out in front of Jack, now it depends on which path Jack chooses to act upon.

8. Sam and Dean aka light and dark:

During the whole episode Sam and Dean can often be seen in light and shadow cast by the shutters of the window. Intriguingly neither of them sees the situation with Jack completely light or dark as one could assume (because Sam represents light and positivity in his faith in Jack and Dean represents darkness, as he seems to be convinced that Jack is evil, being Lucifer’s offspring and all). But I think that this special lighting is there to show us that neither of them sees Jack one way or the other. And since we all know Sam and Dean, we also know that they’ve learned to evaluate and differentiate. Of course each one of them has his point of view on Jack, but Sam knows that Jack could turn the other way, as well as Dean knows that there is also good in Jack. It’s more complex than just black and white and our boys know that. They just have so much going on in their lives right now that it’s hard for them to focus on Jack in more detail.

9. Jack becomes Asmodeus’s victim:

Poor innocent Jack gets manipulated by Asmodeus in the form of Donatello, to open a gate of hell. Jack is still a child and believes what he hears from people he trusts without question (and he trusts Donatello, since Sam and Dean trust him). He wants to please and do good, just like a child would. Asmodeus uses this naivety for his evil schemes. Luckily the “trinity” arrives to save Jack, but they get attacked by the Prince of Hell:

Jack immediately recognises who’s good and who’s evil and saves his friends. This was a conscious desicion, no matter what Dean is going to say afterwards (Dean just refuses to believe in what he sees right now, because he still hasn’t even processed all the losses he had to suffer, but deep down he knows that Jack is capable of positivity). Jack chose the path of light for his friends and overcomes his “nature” for his “nurturers”.

10. Who am I?

Even though Jack chose the path of light, the episodes ends on a bitter note. Jack has experienced his light and his dark sides during this episode. Asmodeus used him for something dark and Jack did it without knowing better. Now he’s afraid something like this might happen again. That he either gets used for the dark side or might even act on it himself, because he’s scared of something (yes, fear leads to the dark side of the force...ahem). But he doesn’t want to be evil, he wants to be good. He tells Dean that he has no control over himself and he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. I think that is why Jack hurts himself. He doesn’t know if he’s good or bad but either way, he wants to protect others from himself, which is a very human way of thinking. That is something Dean can relate to, because it mirrors exactly the way he felt when he was under the influence of the Mark of Cain. And that’s why he tells Jack, that if he turns out bad, Dean would be the one to take care of it and kill him. That’s exactly what Dean had wanted for himself back then but actually didn’t get. So by giving this kind of promise to Jack, he wants to help him and take care of him (in a very twisted way). But maybe he will find another way, he and Sam always do ;-)

11. Jack is no longer purely light:

In this last shot of the episode we see Jack in front of a mirror. This calls back to the pictures in the hotel room earlier this episode. The light over the mirror isn’t switched on, it’s dark. And Jack’s reflection is half dark, half light. This episode’s experiences have left their mark on Jack. He’s not completely light anymore, there are severe traces of darkness. Now he carries both sides in himself, he isn’t the innocent child anymore. But as he is still a child, he will need guidance in order to figure himself out. Now it depends on which kind of guidance he’ll get. Will our boys still be divided or will Dean finally come round when he’s overcome his grief and help Sam to guide Jack towards the light? Or will Jack get manipulated again or choose the wrong friends and go down the path of darkness? We don’t know yet, but this episode has layn out both possibilities beautifully. I wonder what the result of all this will be and am excited for the next episode!

Wow, that was a lot to write, thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more meta after next week’s episode! :-)

#spn meta #spn 13x02 #supernatural #spn #the rising son #jack the nephilim #dean winchester #sam winchester #asmodeus #season 13 #donatello

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123designsrq · 5 years ago

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I nonetheless stay with a 16gb cellphone. It isn’t not possible, however it’s hard. The international isn’t moving closer to adapting to low storage, it’s increasing it. So what do you do while you run low on storage? Delete pics and apps? NO! Back the whole thing to the cloud? You ought to, but you’d want steady get right of entry to to it to retrieve records. What else can you do? Transfer it for your laptop thru cable? Sure, but who’s got the time for that. You could maybe use an OTG pen-drive… but no longer many people have those. With Type-C USB ports becoming more and more famous, there’s one greater solution. The Hyperdrive Type-C connection kit. It without difficulty suits on your pocket, and expands your cellphone’s opportunities. Plug it in, and also you’ve got a normal USB port, and two card-readers for SD and MicroSD cards. You can now literally plug any USB drive into your smartphone and either transfer information to it, or retrieve information from it. Or you could use the SD card reader to pull photographs off your DSLR. What’s higher is that the Hyperdrive’s Type-C works with laptops too. With most new laptops having a Type-C port for fast transfers and faster charging, the Hyperdrive plugs into your pc too, no longer simply increasing the wide variety of ports on it, but even allowing you to easily switch statistics between your computer and phone. Without a cable! best external hard drive for android phones, external hard disk for mobile phone, how to connect 2tb hard drive to android, how to connect internal hard disk to mobile, external hard drive for android tablet, how to transfer files from android to external hard drive without computer, format external hard drive for android, smartphone external storage

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Best portable difficult drives & SSDs

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ayafoxheart · 8 years ago

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An Ishgardian Ballad - Just a Story

(Screen shot by @kiskiphelone via tumblr, and used with grateful permission!)

[ A story from Aya's life in Ishgard. A story inspired by Noir - and stylistically by Cowboy Bebop (my favorite anime). I encourage anyone familiar with it to read the narrator in Jet Black's voice. If you're not familiar, I still hope you enjoy〜 ]

RPC Cross Post: http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=7871&pid=286681#pid286681

First Musical Accompaniment:

The maid huffed. It was a huff of indignation. A huff of curiosity. A huff that resounded with a full measure of spontaneity, but was in fact fully rehearsed; being the sort of gesture one learns through repeatedly encountering the same situation. She shook her head with a look of annoyance. People were always leaving their junk here. Sometimes it seemed they just wanted rid of it. Other times it seemed as if it were something special in search of a new owner. This was just a little wooden box. It looked like it could contain just about anything. The woman cocked her head and stared inquisitively wondering just what it was, what its story could be. Junk is junk, but most that found its way here had a story of one kind or another. Now, you might be thinking this is just another one of Aya's boring stories about tea time, or another one of those friendly conversations beneath the setting sun, or some such stupid junk like that. But this isn't one of those stories. Not at all. Its a story of family and honor. Of doing what is right, or at least what's necessary - or just your best. Oh, yeah, and its a story of young love. So, you know, if that's not your kind of thing you can just save yourself the trouble and stop right here.

The woman known as Aya Foxheart, wasn't always known by that name. Once upon a time she was known simply as 'Aya'. You know all of those performers out there known by only one name? Well, yeah, that was her doing. When she first made her name in Ishgard she didn't think she had another name worth sharing. So there it was, just 'Aya'. Somehow it stuck, and those others just want to be like her. Now you know. She's also thought of as one of Eorzea's greatest heart breakers. A darling and a delight. Or just trouble on two legs. And she'd have it no other way: you'd think the whole world would just bend over to get out of her way. But it isn't always so. She'd tell you that she can't remember just how it all happened. Or where it all started. Maybe somewhere with fairy tales of knights and damsels. Told by a mother passing on everything good in this world to her only daughter. She always said: 'When we lost everything, only our stories remained.' And here we are: her knight, at last: Charlesemile. Char, as she knew him. There he was again: tall and strong, even for an Elezen. She imagined him as a knight: no simple swordsman of the Temple, but the kind who stormed keeps and castles for true love. His long dark hair, raven-pitched, matched eyes that seemed capable of limitless depths. They were undeniably an object for the feminine gaze, and reflected affection with an effortless ease that belied his otherwise calm demeanor. She could not help herself in her admiration: his was the sort of smile you never forget. She didn't know how many times she'd seen him there back stage, or at some of the wilder parties thrown down there. He was probably just another nobleman's son, pawning off his influence for an evening's fun with the chorus girls, dancers and actresses of the lower-city stage. Their shows were more fun, and the girls themselves all-the-more entertaining, than those of the upper classes. They were also rather more appreciative of the bobbles and favors the young men offered. To young aristocrats, life down below the surface seemed altogether untouched by the frigid frost that defined the life of Ishgardian courtiers. Oh yes, she'd know just the sort. She'd seen it all before. She competed for their patronage. She wore their jewelry. She played their game, how could she not? And why not? Wasn't she enjoying herself? She wasn't quite famous yet. At least not like she would be. Just a teenager, and soon after her first starring role as an Othardian Princess in a great tale of heroic romance - you know the one. So, you could say she was a hot thing, but not quite that hot, if you know what I mean. And, with her charms, its not all that surprising that he fancied her. Weekend after weekend he went out of his way to find time with her during one event or another. We pick up again, somewhere, sometime, just off-stage. "Aya," he said with that bewitchingly soft tone of his, "How many times have I seen you like this? With all this company? With the noise? And the parties?" He offered up a disarming smile as he drew himself closer, pressing his arm to the wall just above her shoulder. He smiled with the gentleness that came naturally to his placid features. "Its you I want to see. Not them," he admitted with a hint of nervousness. He offered his deep, dark, pleading eyes to hers. "As much as I enjoy these shows, the only real reason I come down here any more is for you..." She gazed back, stunned. She'd like to remember a thousand thoughts coursing through her mind in that moment. Carefully weighing her options, and noting everything the man before her offered. That she was guarded, wondering, parsing. But that wasn't her. She was a just charmed girl in love. There were only two things she felt: relief and excitement. It wouldn't be easy. Is it ever, truly? But, this is a hard-scrabble story, you realized that already, right? Still, young lovers find a way. Their relationship was a spirited whirlwind. A torrid little thing buried in the frozen city. They spared every moment they could: walking the silent galleries of the lower city late at night. Slipping away from parties. Together, she visited the surface for the first time in years. She visited the Pillars and the Hoplon. She strolled past the villas of the rich and the famous. Well dressed men and women respectfully greeted her in his company. But, even then, the warmth of the daylight sun, and the pleasure of such easy respect, never compared to how wonderful Char made her feel. He was everything that she was not: upstanding, of station, proper, educated, and full of a poised restraint that seemed ever to personify the Elezen of Ishgard. His was a practiced manner, forged by a rigorous upbringing and quenched in the halls and classrooms of preparatory school. But in those quiet moments alone with her, he allowed the mask to slip. He embraced the warm, effortless joy that she readily offered the world. He smiled, he laughed, and together they grew to be more than either could have alone. Together they dreamed. Together they strayed. Of course, Aya was already a sought after woman. Charlesemile was not without his competition. And for her the danger was thricefold: to admiring men she owed her patronage, her fame, and so her future, at least whatever future she could make of her own. She could no more offer them a cold shoulder than she could wish away the Ishgardian cold. But even the greatest of men are prone to jealousy when a lovely young thing is involved. And so there she stood: pressed from all sides by dreams, needs, and fear. Despite her best efforts, things weren't always calm. There's one night in particular I'll never forget. I get to tell this one: I can see it now: a flurry of snow drifting down from the heavens. Descending flakes briefly caught in the lamplight of towering spires long before reaching the warm glint of lamps on the cobblestone streets of the less heavenly city below. The relative peace of the moment was interrupted by the sound of shouting voices. That age old concern: young men ready to fight over a young woman. Then, all at once, they fell silent with the sound of a 'crunch'. Cold steel striking the firmness of a young man's face. There quickly followed a second, 'crunch'. The same young man collapsing in a crumpled heap upon the snow. Several more remained standing, swords drawn and ready to taste blood. The not so poor fellow laying prone and regretful on the cobblestone was Reginald de something-or-other (its really not important at the moment). Above him, wiping the blood from sword-hilt stood Char. The others were Reginald's friends, or lackeys, depending upon how charitable you're feeling. "I suggest you three get him out of here, you've given us enough trouble for the evening." The trio looked back and forth, unsure of what to do with the sudden absence of their ringleader. In the moment of hesitation the subject of the altercation strode into the proverbial spotlight. Though slighter than the Elezen, Aya's always had a presence about her, and with her fearless poise and pose she seemed to momentarily tower over the rest of them. I can see it now: blue eyes shining with the full ferocity of highland defiance. Tensed, ready fists lingering waist-height just behind her. And she showed not a care that her bodice had been slit from top to bottom, leaving her Ala Mhigan bounty threatening to spill into plain view. She wanted nothing more than to return the disgrace that had been shown her, and given the chance she would more than pay it back. The fury of Highland women is something of legend, and once witnessed can never be forgot. Such is the lesson of this parable- or something like that. Anyway, faced with the charming knight, and his enraged damsel, the trio of well-heeled goons beat a hasty retreat dragging their barely conscious provacateur with them. And though he couldn'tt feel his feet as they banged along the cobblestones, he managed enough to hurl threats upon the couple: "You'll pay for this you wretch! And your cheap wench too!" It doesn't take much imagination to know how this scene ended. And there were more of the sort. Despite the challenges, they still found a way. And so it was. Sometime later Aya found herself at Heathrow's Emporium. It's her favorite kind of shop: the sort where you can find anything and everything. In other words: just another junk shop. And Heathrow's one of those talented old guys who always seems to know a little bit about everything. He also managed to have something new in stock most of the time: a neat trick given the difficulty of trade since the gates were sealed. I've always found it strange that the girl is drawn to this kind of place. I wouldn't say she's some sort of expert on junk, I sure hope not, but I'd believe she were Eorzea's foremost expert on the purveyor's of junk. Ah hell, there I go talking too much again, lets get back to the story. "...yes, my dear, it plays an absolutely beautiful little tune. Sweet and lilting." "The sort to remind you of a girl you love...?" She asked with a heart-warming unassumingness. He laughed, "I'd imagine its exactly that sort." Then the old man paused, bushy eyebrows twitching. "Say... its not for that handsome young master..." She nodded, silently, as the old man laughed, "And here I thought it was supposed to work the other way around. Guess I'm just old fashioned." "But, but..." he cautioned earnestly, "As I said, the box doesn't work any more." He scratched his head, peering at the little device, "I have not been able to figure out how its broken. Until it's fixed it won't play any music at all, whether for pretty girls or not." She stared at it intently. It was perfect. Small and he could take it with him anywhere he might go or travel. And everywhere he went, he could play the tune and think of her. But could it be made to work? She stared at it all the more, as if she could make it work through the force of will alone. The old man laughed, humoring the girl, "Ah... well... perhaps it just needs the power of love. You are welcome to give it a try, anyway. Its yours, just bring it back if it doesn't work..." Now, Aya's got a knack for tinkering. Anything mechanical, even magitek. If its a widget or gizmo with gears or crystals she can figure it out given enough time. I don't know where she got it from. I really don't, but sometimes its just a joy to watch. What she can't do is fabricate replacement parts. And that's where I get to have my part in the story: for that she needs a brother with a hammer and a careful touch. Well, she's a pretty amazing girl, and with my help, she had that damned little box working again. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪ sang the delicate little chimes. It was a lovely tune. It wasn't sophisticated or deep, but she knew he'd think of her whenever he heard it, wherever he might be. She wound the spring again, and flipped open the lid to listen once more. "Well, whadya know, sis. It works!" announced Osvald, her brother the smith, still wearing his smithy apron. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪ it played again and again. She grinned with the sort of excitement that only she could muster. You see that guy there? That's me, her brother.

The week came and went, and she had not been able to see Char. This was not altogether unusual. He was a busy young man: already in the final year of school and training for the military career that awaited him. It was not altogether easy for him to slip away, and she truly didn't mind. Eventually, they knew, all would be right, and they could be together like they had always dreamed. All she could think about was presenting him with the gift of the little music box. She opened it, and listened to the tune, imagining him in years to come playing the tune in some distant garrison and imagining rushing into her arms. He'd never feel alone. He'd never forget. The days came. The days went. There was still no word from him. She could barely wait, and at last she could no longer bear it. If he were so busy, then even now he could use a reminder of her love. She'd left him messages before, and this would be no different. After dinner she slipped from the family inn and into the streets she called home. This was her city. Her place. She had no trouble making her way in the dark to the surface streets, and the Pillars. There she gently rang at the servant's entrance, as she had before. The sweet-smiling butler answered the knock, and with the exchange of a few kind words, accepted the gift to deliver. Of course, a young woman's dreams rarely come so simple, do they? She slipped quietly into bed, unable to sleep with the excitement that swelled within her breast. She imagined Char's face when receiving the gift. She imagined him listening to the sweet little tune again, and again. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪

Second Musical Accompaniment:

She was helping with chores the next day when the carriage pulled up out front of the tavern. She nearly leapt in excitement, imagining a summons from her Prince Charming. She ran to the door, throwing it open and announcing herself, "I'm here!" There was quite a bit of activity within the rest tavern in response to the unexpected visit. Her cousins quickly began to look for 'Uncle', the one man in the family with enough standing and knowledge to speak with a member of a representative of a Noble House - no one else could afford such transportation. The Elezen gentleman who disembarked from the carriage offered nothing but serene disinterest. He stood at a majestic height, supported by an ornately decorated walking stick, and draped in what appeared to be a new fur coat: an extravagance. His short dark hair was just starting to gray at the temples - a gray that clung fully to the neatly trimmed beard that graced and distinguished his chin. His eyes scanned the environs of the modest inn. One could feel his silent scoff at the dimness of the light in the tunnels of the lower city, and the bare dinginess of the entire scene. Aya stared at him, agape, from the open door. At last, he took a few long, slow strides toward her before letting out a labored sigh that wiped the last remnants of smiling from her features. He brought his stick to rest, leaning lightly upon it. "You must be Aya..." His voice was sanguine, unaffected, and possessed of the cool, collected refinement of the masterly class. Uncle had been born and raised in the city, as had his father and grand father. He was a lowly inn-keeper, but still a respectable man who knew how to handle delicate situations involving men of higher status. Ishgardian was his native tongue, and despite his lower-levels dialect he could affect a proper-enough tone to not offend the sensibilities. It was this man to whom Aya would have looked for rescue, but this was not the man who arrived. Instead the sound of a heavy walking stick quickly descending the stairs announced the arrival of a fellow of an altogether different character. "I... yes...?" She answered, with a downcast stutter, "..ser!" she added with same panic. Her fingers clutched defensively at the door frame. His countenance betrayed no hint of emotion as he accepted her reply without comment, before slipping a gloved hand into the interior breast pocket of his coat. Unfolding his hand he presented to her the small, familiar music box. "And, you are the one who brought this to our home, yesterday evening?" There was a slight tilt of his head, expressing curiosity without intended harshness. The color quickly drained from the girl's cheeks. Her body tensed and then drooped. She fainted, her body threatening collapse at the sight, and the revelation it proclaimed. Only the sudden intervention of a strong grip prevented her plummet to the pavement. Her father. Harsh. Strong. Ala Mhigan to the very core. He had never bothered to learn Ishgardian. His grasp of the tongue is not just rough, but often borders on incomprehensible. He grasped her around both shoulders, fingers clasped around her arms, bodily holding her up with a gentle tenderness reflected in the worried expression upon his grizzled features. The Elezen pressed his shoulders back, folding his hands together in an entirely proper posture, while more of the family arrived in the entryway behind the girl and her father. Her uncle was the next there, but he was already too late. Her mother let out a wail of surprise, as the two of them took hold of Aya leaning her back and trying to revive her. With his daughter being cared for, the man who had-been lord, grasped his heavy walking stick and raised himself to his full height. He strode confidently forward, with the learned bearing of a fearless man of the battlefield, hunting ground, and dueling yard. He approached the unfazed Elezen with defiance: the worried expression replaced with a look grim and terrible: his heavy brow taut and furrowed, blue eyes filled with barely restrained malice. "This is my daughter." He stated, matter-of-factly. "Who do you think you are?" He turned his chin up toward the wiry, graceful nobleman, inviting confrontation. The Elezen had felt the pang of sympathy at the sight of the fainted girl, but he could not but dismiss the mockable sight now presented him. He gazed down his nose upon the might of Ala Mhigo's conceit, in all its broken glory. "A man whose acquaintance neither of you deserve." He replied with cold and patient form. Ever fiber of the old Ala Mhigan's body stood on edge. His voice growled to life with an agonizing fire, "You dare speak to us like this!" The old warrior raised his stick menacingly, glaring with rage. His interlocutor refused to flinch, he only drew his own cane slightly higher, perhaps to guard against a potential blow, but otherwise refused to budge or shout - still, exasperation shown through his voice, "I shall speak to you however I please. But I am only hear to speak to your daughter, and as mercifully brief as possible." From the entryway her uncle shouted to both of them for calm. Her father glared, but dared nothing further, just yet. He slowly lowered his cane, glowering with narrowed, threatening eyes. "You knife-eared scoundrel if you have dared to touch a hair upon my daughters head, I swear before the Destroyer that I shall strike you down!" "Twelve forfend!" gasped the Elezen in a manner that defused the situation. He folded his arms across his body, raising his head indignantly, "I know not your daughter. Nor do I ever care to. That is why I am here." The Ala Mhigan relented, if cautiously. "What the hells do you want with us, then?" The Elezen again presented the music box, "Are you aware that your daughter has been spending an inordinate amount of time with my son?" The Hyur looked puzzled, but Aya shouted from the doorway where she had recovered. "Father, its true!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her father knew not what to make of anything in that moment: except that this man was still terrifying his daughter. His posture quickly relaxed, and he returned to her side, speaking to her softly in their mother tongue. "Aya... what is going on?" The graceful Elezen let out a sorrowful sigh, "Now... now... I did not mean to be the cause of such... trouble." He hesitated, searching for words of comfort rather than offense. "There is no need for tears. No harm is intended for anyone today." Her father turned back toward the man once more, father and daughter staring at him hostilely, as her father replied, "I have my doubts, Elezen. Speak your business then, and begone." "My son." He started, pausing to take a breath and start over. "Charlesemile, is a man of great potential. I do not know what you are aware of, but I was not born to the gentry. Our family have been loyal retainers for generations. Centuries of carefully kept records attest to that. I was fortunate enough to marry a daughter of the family, I..." He paused, stifling a sigh while momentarily closing his eyes, "... I do understand what it is to marry for love. She became an unlikely heiress, and our son was raised with a future in her class. When she died, her title and name did not pass to me. They are his to bear. But you understand, I presume, that if he is to secure his family's position he must marry into his own station." Having finished the statement of his business, he rather abruptly presented the music box once more. "And what's this?" Asked her father, still standing by her side. The entire family watched the exchange from within the building. "A symbol of love, professed, I do believe." Stated the Elezen with clinical precision. "Now. I have every reason to believe that your feelings are sincere," he stated, with a carefully sincere intonation of his own. "And that knowing this, you will do what is clearly best for him. If you do not stay away from him he shall lose his standing, title, and every potential for his future. I pray that you satisfy yourself with once having known one of Ishgard's premier men, and one of her greatest knights." Her father rapped his stick powerfully against the paving stones, "She's not good enough for you, that's it?" He growled, before snarling a choice Ala Mhigan phrase toward the man. The Elezen bore the assault without flinching, and then addressed Aya one last time. "Is everything understood?" She wiped the tears away with her fingers, steadying herself just long enough to nod and answer him, "It is." The old Elezen was a bastard, no doubt. Glad we don't have his type as an in-law, and honestly I find myself wishing father had just throttled him right then and there for all of us. But Aya was the wiser, and we'd all have paid, in the end, for the gesture. I know she thought it over for days. She agonized. But, in the end, what could she do? It wasn't like there was somewhere the two of them could run to. Not at this time. Not in this city. "... what are you saying?" she had never seen Char so emotional as he was in that moment. "You cannot mean it!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking. "I do..." she repeated, struggling to force back her own tears as she sat passively next to him. She had summoned every last ounce of control and reserve. She was doing everything she could to be strong for him. "I do mean it." "But..." he let out an unaffected sob. The plaster-like veneer cracked before her eyes. "We are from different worlds, Char..." she repeated the carefully rehearsed words. Though they did not, and could not reflect her true feelings. "We cannot be together. I will hold you back..." "I don't care!" He yelled in frustration, leaping up from the bench as he turned toward her, his voice full of passion. "I don't care about any of that! All I want is you!" "And... you cannot..." she could not fight back the tears and longer. Her heart broke again. She sobbed. Chill rain fell from the cloudy sky with a crack of thunder. "That... this... this is it?! After... after...." he lost his train of thought, his own tears joined hers as they fell through the cracks and fractures of youthful dreams. The rain poured. It soaked them both, as the biting wind nearly froze them in place. "Char..." "Yes?" He raised his eyes, with a faint sense of hope. "Thank you. Thank you for having loved a girl like me..." It seems like that was a long time ago. So long ago. Eventually, Aya escaped this cage-like city. Found herself a new name: 'Foxheart'. You know how some of that story has gone- more than me, probably. Some, well, none of us will ever know just everything she's been through outside these cold walls. Out there, in the vast rest of the world. Sometimes I find myself wondering if she would have been the one to hold him back, or if, truly, it were the other way around. Meanwhile things here kept on, like they do. The world never stops. We went on with our lives. Never forgetting. I'm sure Char didn't either, how could you forget a girl like that? Sometimes I wonder if that bastard father of his ever had second thoughts. Ah well. Eventually, as you know, there was another Dravanian attack on us. Then, another day, they swung open those big gates. I never thought I'd see it. Had to let in adventurers, that's just how bad things had got. And then, one day, with the gates open again, she returned home... Dread. A deep-seated dread that stills the heart, and then retreats to its darkest corners as we try to forget. As we try to move on. She'd heard. But she had to know. Had to be there. Had to see it, no, feel it for herself. It was raining. That awful, awful, cold rain. Her fingers followed the indentation in the stone. The memorial engraving in that cold, ungiving, uncaring stone. "... Charlesem..." She tore herself away. Then she did what she did back then--what she always seems to do: she ran. She ran away. Away from the memorial. Away from the name she loved. Away from the memories. Away from it all. Just... away. I did say this was a sad story didn't I... I guess I probably should have... The maid stared at the little box that had been left behind like so much junk. Curious, at last, she flicked open the lid: ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪ She smiled at the lovely little tune, and mused to herself "I wonder what old Heathrow will think of that...?"

#Aya #Aya Foxheart #fxiv #writing #story #Balmung #roleplaying #RPC

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sarahkhalilsa · 5 years ago

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#IFTTT #Blogger

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aurimeanswind · 7 years ago

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Let’s Get Down to Business (’To Defeat the Huns’)—Sunday Chats—1/21/18

It’s time to get back to work! Or, er, writing. All writing and no games makes Alex a dull boy.

Uh...

God, sorry, how do i do this again? Oh yeah. Opinions. And stuff.

Okay.

Deep breaths.

Post Game of the Year

I think the GOTY season is both great and not great. It’s easy to get upset with the “hot takes” and there are a lot of folks that use the opportunity to tell you exactly why your favorite game shouldn’t be game of the year, but then, I don’t see a lot of folks just enjoying their 10 or whatever favorite games of 20-whatever. What I set out to do on our Irrational Passions Podcast Game of the Year Deliberations, Five Days, Four Hosts, Three Mistakes, Two Fights, One Winner, Podcast Spectacular™ was highlight the moments I liked and enjoyed and veer more off of what I disliked. I think there is plenty of room for that discourse, and I’m not saying I am a shill who just loves everything, but there is just so much drowning negativity out there. And hey, I know I’m on Twitter too much, and that fuckin’ place runs rampant with it, that’s my own fault, but I’d rather be a well-thought opinion as to why I like something rather than the guy that hates Wolfenstein, or Nier, or whatever. It’s part of why I love being “The Persona Guy” so much, because people know I love it, and they come to me to talk about how much they love it or don’t with me. I love that.

So anyway, long and short, I think GOTY went really well for IP. We actually had an editorial meeting about all of the content and what we liked/didn’t like/could do better next time, and it was really productive. I’m a big fan of the stuff that happened, especially how we handled guests this year, and I’m curious to see that grow in the future.

If you missed it, the front page of IrrationalPassions.com is going to be highlighting our Game of the Year 2017 content for the next week or so, so go check it out!

What I’ve Been Working On

Since I have been in GOTY I haven’t been doing Sunday Chats or much else, but I am settling back into work, and am maybe expanding my day-job-work over there in my personal life. We’ll see how that goes, and how much time that removes from games for me (hopefully not too much!), but that’s all hypothetical right now.

I am excited to say I am launching a new project next month. It’s a new show and as I’ve been thinking about all my pieces of content, IPP, Alex Talks, Case Study, and now this new show, it’s been a weird concept of what do I want to lean on, what do I want to continue, et cetera. In a perfect world I can do them all together, but I know that’s just not possible. I’m looking at monthly content and what I can do around that, but we’ll see. I want to do everything! I want to make stuff that will get me hired into video games! But I want to make sure I’m doing stuff that I love doing, and at the center of all of that is having deep and meaningful conversations, whether it’s long, thought-out essays conveyed in audio, written, or video form that engage you and I in a conversation, or an actual, recorded conversation.

So that’s what’s up. Without giving anything away, stuff is in the pipeline, and I’m hopeful that people will take notice, and you all, my loyal readers, will dig it.

What’s on Tap

VIDEO GAMES.

I’ve been playing a lot, so I am going to go back and highlight just some gems I want to talk about from the last three weeks.

The Witcher 3

So I rebought Witcher 3 to see all of its glory on my Xbox One X. Boy, that’s a motherfucking video game.

For point of reference, I just got to Novigrad and have been starting the strings of quests there, which is kind of my least favorite part of that game (chasing Dandelion around, specifically) so hopefully I stay with it.

It’s really cool to appreciate this games innovations on another level after seeing stuff like Assassin’s Creed Origins and Breath of the Wild.

I’ve actually been switching between this and Breath of the Wild, and while I still think BotW is the far more interesting world and game that I like spending time in, I was surprised at how comfortable that switch (aha! Puns!) is. The games are very different and both good in their own ways, and really scratch two different itches.

I will say, AC Origins is definitely the game that came closest to The Witcher 3 as far as formatting its side quest content, but it still didn’t get close enough.

Okami HD

I’ve now replayed this game basically to completion. I would have finished it again too, as I’m just before the final boss, if a week after release they hadn’t gone and synced the trophies in the PS4 re-release to the PS3 one, in which I already have the platinum. So I’m no longer earning anything on the PS4 version, which is a bummer.

Still an excellent game. It’s really odd playing a game where you’re actually a four-legged creature just running around doing dog-stuff. It’s cool, and it’s something I haven’t seen a lot of 3D games do, or at least do well.

Stardew Valley - Switch Edition

I put about 78 hours into my Stardew Valley town on PS4, and now, 60+ hours into my Switch town, I’m definitely sick with the small-town-fever.

I really love this game, and it scratches my “I wanna live in a small town” dream-itch in just such a righteous way. I love it.

I didn’t expect to take to it so hard on Switch, but there is something about cuddling up with this game in bed and losing myself to it that is just so intoxicating.

Questions

As always, look for my tweet on Sunday afternoons with the hashtag #SundayChats in it, reply with your question, OR ANSWER, depending on what I’m feeling that day, and be a part of the Sunday Chats shenanigans!

Now I’m more curious about this snake research you were doing...?

Hrm, now this is a great alt-universe theory. I’m going to assume that it’d be in place of Cedric, so it’d be Harry and a Slytherin as the champions, which does throw a lot into question.

I think it would have. In a few ways. One, we have to assume it’d be a 7th year Slytherin, so in short, someone we don’t know. It’d be a great opportunity to characterize someone, who, say, isn’t a dick, like Malfoy, who is kind of our avatar or stand in for Slytherin characters. It’d be great to see that character and Harry develop a not-antagonistic relationship. Like, I think Harry would have still told this person about the Dragons, because that’s still just the kind of person Harry is, and I think we would have seen less shit from the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuffs to Harry because of the assumed distaste for a Slytherin champion. I don’t think it would have effected the fight between Harry and Ron though.

Where it becomes super interesting is, assuming they are a good or normal or upstanding person, do they still tell Harry how to get into the egg? Knowing that Mad-Eye was the one who told Cedric, I say yes, since they themselves didn’t get that information on their own, much like Harry with the Dragons, and I believe strongly in the pay-it-forward mentality.

The other big question is: would they have died? If they don’t, that wildly changes the rest of the books. Harry’s PTSD in the fifth book would be, still severe, but different. What would happen to them? Would they have escaped with Harry? Would that bond make them unbreakable friends? I’d imagine so. Or after a year of tension and not talking, they’d bury the hatchet, and then the repercussions for that are massive, in that I think Harry would lead a bond between all Slytherins and Gryffindors.

Goddamn. This may be too good a question to answer in a simple Sunday Chats, but yeah, in short, I think the repercussions would have been very different.

YES!

Great video game.

I’ll say this, you get essentially experiences for feeding the animals out and about in the world. DO THIS. It’s not too expensive and and will totally be worth it in the long run.

Also, get as MANY demon fangs as you can. AS MANY. You get them from using your slash ability on enemies who are flying into the air after they hit zero hp. They’ll drop a demon fang, which is a type of currency you can use much later in the game, and having a big stockpile will do you a ton of good.

Outside of that, have fun! Talk to everyone! It’s like a Zelda game, so tons of people have problems or off side quests you can initiate by talking to them. You can get the platinum pretty easily in one play through, so if you’re curious about that, hit me up.

Haha, well, how about Kinda Funny Prom? I can see it hit you with the eh vibes too. Though I’m very bummed you won’t be able to make it. I’ll be sending you good vibes from there, okay?

Oh, and I am sending you selfies. Hella selfies.

But yes, I was very, hrm, I guess, unsettled, for lack of a better word. It’s like getting invited to a costume party, where I just want to hang out with my friends. Now there is all this pressure and requirements and this feeling that you’re going to be shown-up. Plus, I don’t really clean up well, so like, I know I’ll feel super self-conscious the whole time, but that’s just me I suppose.

Then again, it’s another thing of well, I know when I’m there, and I’m in it, I’ll have a great time, but that’s a pretty big hump to get over, and I hate that I feel like I’m being forced into it, because, well, I am.

I suppose, if nothing else, I’ll just go for the weekend and then not go to KF Prom itself, but I haven’t decided yet. We’ll see.

Here is another, relevant example though, hearing about how things were being handled in the Harry Potter movies, starting with the third. No Marauders? Oh okay. Cool. Trash. Adios. Again, very much a me thing, but this is such a good question and I can’t think of a great example. I’m sure it’s out there, if I think of it I’ll let you know.

Listen, I love Tom Hanks as much as the next guy. He was in a Carly Rae Jepsen video, he, by all accounts, its a super cool dude, and I wanna hang out with him.

But Tom Hardy is a mountain of a man.

That man looks capable of actual murder. Not to say he would, he also seems like a lovely chap, but in a fist fight?

Nah.

Hardy, all the way.

Lol you’re great Nato, but also SO MUCH BOOTY AND OR TREASURE.

I talked about it a bit earlier, but I think the Guest Roundtables is a huge stand out. Those worked really well, felt good to do, and were a good reflection on a handful of cool games from the last year.

The criticism that Jarrett lodged that I sort of agree with is that there was just too much content. He said how could anyone reasonably consume all of it? Well, that’s never been my intention, I want it all out there so the audience can pick and choose what they want to hear themselves, and then go from there. But I think that’s a fair criticism. Written top 10s, guest and ours, our top 10 podcast, the five day goty show, and 10 podcasts on 10 games. It’s a ton, so why not just cut it down next time around, right?

Next year I think focusing on highlighting guests would be good. Either in just written or just podcast form. But we’ll see, we’ll have to start those conversations earlier this year.

Not at all! We just had our editorial meeting about it and I am V EXCITE.

I’ve been very lax on myself, not forcing myself to write at all. In fact, I’ve barely written a thing over the last month. Which has been, kind of nice, in the grand scheme of things. I think that’s okay. Rest is really important, and I can already feel my creative juices swirling around.

I think my feelings about writing are very much the same, but I have a better appreciation for it now. I feel like I need to write with more purpose now, and I don’t need to set arbitrary time or character limits on it. Once I get back in the swing fo writing complete things, maybe I’ll have a better grasp on how that feels.

I think it’ll review very well and I think it’ll do very well in the states. I know that may seem surprising, but the betas, the reception to them, and the time of release, are all in Capcom’s corner. Honestly, it’s a very strategic and smart release for them. I’m quite impressed at how shrewd it is. They’ll do great.

It’s just a bummer because I see so many folks talking about how it’s clicking with them or how satisfied they were with it, and after doing the three hunts in the beta with a group of three friends, I had fun but... well, I felt nothing. It just totally did not click with me. No satisfaction, no excitement, and I couldn’t wait to be done playing it, just because how it felt did zero favors for me. I’ve always had a cursory interest in Monster Hunter because of my cohosts who are so into it, and after finally playing it I just... don’t anymore, haha. I know that is a bummer, and trust me, no one is more bummed than me that I don’t get to get in on the Monster Hunter party, but more power to the folks out there playing! it think this game will do very well. It’s finally time for the Hunters to shine in the west!

This is a great question! I’d probably own an italian restaurant, and out of spite, I’d call it “O’Neill’s”, spelled the correct way. Sick of seeing all these goddamn pubs called “O’Neals” with their goddamn sheleighlies or whatever (is that offensive? Oh god I’m sorry Amy Gils) so we are doing it the right way.

And yes, I understand the absurdity of an italian food restaurant with the name O’Neill’s, that’s the whole bit. But I love italian food. It wouldn’t be just limited to that though.

I’d absolutely hire the retired Gen and Greg Miller as my head chefs. Meaning we’d have a ton of awesome stuff on the menu. I’d make my aunt’s secret pasta sauce, my mom’s secret brownie recipe, it’d be super good.

Oh, and we’d have only the best beer, curated by the best beer goddess in the business, Jazz Foster. Duh.

Also like, Beer Goddess is a thing, don’t ask questions.

No, it’s just not going to happen. I think there are plenty of players out there totally unaware fo the drama and fallout that dug MGSV and will get Survive and have a good time. Hell, I played the beta this weekend and had a good time with Logan Moore. Save for it crashing every time I went into the pause menu.

But that franchise just has too much baggage. People are going to tear it to shreds no matter what, but like, also, vote with your wallet. If that game ultimately doesn’t do well, then Konami is less likely to try and do another one, and I know a ton of hypocrites out there are going to just go and buy the game so they can shit on it on the internet. Be better then them. Go play a game made by a small indie developer, or talk about a game you really dug, that maybe folks aren’t talking about enough, like Hollow Knight, or Butterfly Soup.

Well duh, I am doing that RIGHT NOW

Happy birthday dude <3.

I’m not sure what you mean in this context. Like if you’re pitching an editor with a different ideology then you? Differing “goals” is I guess what’s throwing me off here.

I think you need to really sell why your stance is valid for that prompt, and as with everything, know your audience. If you’re doing a pitch, know the editor, know what they’re looking for, either in your, or in that pitch or prompt. They’re your audience, and your pitch is what you need to sell. You’re not necessarily selling the piece, you’re selling why the piece is special and why you need to be the one to write it.

I hope that helps?

I, unfortunately, haven’t been reading a lot of good stuff lately, so I can’t make any solid recommendations at this time, but Jarrett recommended a lot of good stuff in his Top 10 Write up, some “required readings” on all of his favorite games of the year.

http://irrationalpassions.com/jarrett-greens-top-10-games-of-2017/

That’s all I got. I deleted my Facebook account the other day, so really I am living my best life on the internet now, and I’m ready for this year. I’m not going to be doom and gloom. Things will be hard, but there are great games coming that I can’t wait to discuss and exacerbate myself talking of, and there will hopefully be great things to go along with those games.

Thank you all so much for reading, as always. I will try and get more into the swing of writing this every week like before, and also writing and producing cool stuff on top of that.

It’s 2018, or 20-great-teen as me and my friend Brandt Ranj have coined it, so let’s make this year great, together.

Keep it reeeeeeal.

#video games #the witcher 3 #metal geal survive #sunday chats #sunday #my favorite day #beer #okami #okami hd #monster hunter world

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