#believe it or not I set up this account purely to lurk at first | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

284 notes · View notes

pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

The First: Aftermath (Part 2)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 2 of 4, 1609 words.

It never ceases to amaze Zenigata how quickly things tend to spiral out of control when the Lupin gang is involved. Just a few days ago, he was staking out a Parisian museum in hopes of preventing Lupin from stealing some old diary with vague ties to his grandfather. The stakeout had sort of worked, excepting Lupin’s usual dramatic escape at the last second. Then radio silence for a day or so, until Lupin popped up again in the middle of Mexico for no clear reason. That’s when things really got complicated, as they almost always do with these people.

While arresting Lupin may be the cornerstone of his career, Zenigata’s primary goal has always been to uphold justice and root out corruption wherever it may lurk—even among his own coworkers, from time to time. With that in mind, it’s not terribly surprising that he often finds himself forming a temporary alliance with the Lupin gang when there’s a greater evil to deal with, and there are few greater evils than the one they’ve come up against this time.

All in all, things seem to have worked out alright. The entirety of the Brazil base’s manpower was either taken into custody or gunned down when Interpol (and the Lupin gang) stormed the place, the Eclipse device was kept out of the wrong hands, and Laetitia Bresson can get on with her life as a bright young woman with a promising career in archaeology to look forward to, finally free of the dark cloud hanging over her.

But something still isn’t sitting right with Zenigata.

He would never admit to giving them a head start—it would sound too much like he’s going soft—but it didn’t seem fair to chase the Lupin gang out on a rail before they had a chance to say goodbye to their new friend. From where Zenigata had been watching on Interpol’s own boat, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, the whole affair seemed rather subdued. Lupin didn’t perform any of his usual grand gestures of farewell; Laetitia had hugged him, but he ended it fairly quickly and spent most of their conversation on the speedboat, like he was trying to keep a bit of distance between them.

The pursuit didn’t last long, on account of the fact that they could hardly leave Laetitia stranded there on the pier, but what little he saw before cutting the gang loose left a bad taste in his mouth. Again Lupin lacked his usual grandstanding and bravioso—no cheeky waving, no jumping around hurling childish barbs as the speedboat careened off into the sunset.

As a detective, Zenigata’s job is to make inferences based on whatever scraps of information he can wring out of a situation. In this case, the information he has leads to one conclusion: whatever happened on that plane, it didn’t go anywhere near as smoothly as Lupin insisted it would when he originally pitched his plan to destroy the Eclipse personally. There’s other supporting evidence, too; when the plan was originally hashed out, Lupin claimed he would set the Eclipse to destroy itself and then immediately bail out before it could become a danger to him. But when the time came, nobody saw him at all until long after the plane had begun to consume itself, and even then he didn’t have his parachute.

Something went wrong up there, Zenigata’s sure of it. If he had to guess, he would suppose that Geralt wasn’t as much of a pushover as Lupin seemed convinced he would be. They probably fought—or rather, Geralt fought while Lupin danced around making a fool of himself. Given the nature of Lupin’s scheme, it would stand to reason that Geralt might have come at him with everything he had. People tend to abandon all pretense when their ideology and life’s work goes up in smoke before their eyes. With that in mind, it’s very likely that Lupin took a beating before he could get away. That would explain his behavior after the fact, if he were injured.

Of course, there’s not really anything Zenigata can do about his theory, regardless of whether he turns out to be right. Going back for Laetitia meant he had absolutely no chance of catching the Lupin gang, or even tracking where they might have gone; he’s got a hunch they’re still somewhere in Brazil, but that’s not enough to work with. And there’s still all the logistics and busywork that come after a caper like this—reports to write and fact-check and edit, charges to file against the surviving Nazis, favors to cash in so Laetitia can make her way back to France (and then, shortly, to Boston) without too much hassle.

Zenigata is going to be up to his neck in paperwork for the rest of the month making sure this mess is sorted out properly and without any mistakes, and that’s assuming everything goes smoothly when it comes to filing charges. He’d like to believe his annoyance at being chained to his desk is purely a result of not being able to hunt down the Lupin gang after having no choice but to let them slip away, but he’d be lying to himself. The truth of the matter is that he’s worried, and there’s nothing to be done about it now except grind through the paperwork and wait to see if they resurface any time soon.

Just as Zenigata’s considering calling it quits for the night, his desk phone rings. That in itself isn’t terribly unusual, but everybody who’s needed to speak with him about today’s chaos has come to him directly—the building’s internal lines have been tangled up for hours with all the cross-department communication. It must be someone from outside the building, then, and Zenigata has a strong hunch who it might be. “Inspector Zenigata,” he says automatically.

“It’s Jigen.”

That’s what Zenigata was hoping for. “I’m not going to bother asking where you are.” Jigen would never say, and it would be impossible to trace the call before he loses his patience and hangs up. Besides, he’s almost certainly calling from a payphone, and that’s only marginally more useful information than ‘probably somewhere in Brazil’.

“Good. Saves us some time.” He sounds about as terse as usual—his gruff demeanor doesn’t translate well to phone conversations—but there’s something else there. Maybe he’s tired. “Just wanted to let you know we made it to dry land.”

Well, that’s good. Pretty vague reassurance, though. “And you’re all alright?” He can’t be blamed for probing a bit. It’s basically his job.

A brief pause. Not a good sign. “We’re all alive, if that’s what you mean.” Definitely not a good sign. Jigen sighs, or maybe it’s just static on the line. “Look, pops, I’ll level with you. Lupin’s not doing too hot. He’ll live,” he adds hastily, cutting off any possible miscommunication.

So Zenigata’s hunch was right. It’s no victory, all things considered. “How bad is it?”

Another pause, though this one is less loaded. “Not as bad as it could’ve been. He didn’t get shot this time, for once.” Lupin had mentioned his plan to palm Geralt’s bullets before they disembarked. Sounds like he pulled it off. “But that prick really did a number on him. Broke some ribs, fucked up his arm. Nearly crushed his throat, looks like.”

Zenigata finds himself gripping the receiver more tightly as he imagines what might have happened to cause those injuries, anger bubbling into his chest. Lupin may be a criminal, but nothing he’s done would ever warrant such brutality. “And you and Goemon, you two have it under control?” If they needed a proper doctor, Zenigata might find himself too busy to notice any reports that might come in regarding notable patients in the area. He’s got a lot of work to do, after all.

“I think so. It’ll mostly just take rest. Lots of rest.”

“Are you sure you can make that happen? Lupin won’t like it.”

“We’ll chain him down if we have to.” Jigen says it flatly, but there’s a hint of humor under there.

The situation must not be too dire, if he’s able to crack jokes. “Well, thanks for telling me. I really appreciate it, Jigen.” He won’t admit that he’s been fretting since he had to make the call to turn the boat around.

“No problem. It’s what Lupin would want, anyway.” Jigen pauses again; there’s a faint tapping noise, like he’s drumming his fingers on the receiver a little too close to the mouthpiece. “Pops, do yourself a favor. Take a vacation once you’re done cleaning up the Nazi mess. We’re not gonna let Lupin do jack shit for at least a month or two, so you’d be wasting your time waiting up for us.”

Now that he mentions it, a vacation sounds nice. Zenigata does get to travel a lot, but only for work; he hardly has time to take in the sights or buy souvenirs. “A month or two, huh? I’m holding you to that. I want a clean bill of health before you even think about another heist, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jigen sighs more than says. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I’ll tell Lupin you said hi.”

And just like that, the line goes dead. In terms of the Lupin case, Zenigata still has no leads, but he can’t bring himself to be particularly upset about it. He got the information he was hoping for, and he can’t really ask for more than that. Instead, he returns to his paperwork and makes a mental note to look into attending Laetitia’s archaeology seminar in Boston next month.

Part 1 (by Pin) < --- > Part 2 (by Cosma) < --- > Part 3 (by Pin)

#ink #fanfiction #lupin iii #daisuke jigen #koichi zenigata #lupin iii: the first

24 notes · View notes

kingstylesdaily · 4 years

Text

Harry Styles’ “Adore You” Is Everything a Music Video Should Be (Including Underappreciated by The VMAs)

youtube

KSD NOTE: there is a mention of suicide in regards to the beginning of Adore You.

On November 18, 2019, a website promoting a mysterious place called Eroda (“No Land Quite Like It”) arrived on the internet. Two days later, the official Twitter account for this fictional frown-shaped island began teasing local seaside attractions. You may have missed it, depending on which corners of the internet you choose to lurk, but not if you were a Harry Styles fan, a group that went into pure overdrive trying to figure out what it all meant.

I, for one, missed it at the time. I was unaware this account was cryptically quote tweeting fans as they tried to piece together what was happening, what it meant, and what it could be connected to (Greek Mythology and Lost were a couple of theories posed in comments, Twitter threads, and Reddit). Meanwhile, the Columbia Records marketing department had been hard at work for months, devising this specific and highly-detailed campaign around the music video for Styles’ second single, “Adore You” from his second solo album, Fine Line, ever since he shot the video in Scotland in August 2019 (Eroda = Adore backwards — clever!).

But it was all leading up to the morning of Friday, December 6 when the video was released, one week before the full-length album arrived. Up until that point, I had never seen an entire Harry Styles music video, but what happened next was inevitable. Somehow, as a self-proclaimed boy band scholar, I had never paid much attention to One Direction. I kept a distant eye on Styles since they disbanded, intrigued by the decisions he was making in his solo career. But I hadn’t yet realized I’d been in the ring all throughout the fall of 2019, fighting to resist the inevitable fascination that awaited. First came the jab of Rob Sheffield’s Rolling Stone profile, followed by the cross of “Lights Up”, a song that cracked my Top 20 most listened to songs of the year despite being released just two months before Spotify so thoughtfully compiled that personalized playlist. Then there was the hook of his SNL hosting stint in November (and bless you Bowen Yang for that Sara Lee sketch), which then leads us to the “Adore You” video, the uppercut and ultimate TKO. I surrendered in what felt like a near instant. I was now a Harry Styles fan. (If we’re following this analogy, I sat up to spit out some blood after seeing that cover of “Juice” before my head quickly hit the mat again with a loud thud).

Maybe it’s not quite remarkable that I took time out of a Friday morning to watch a music video, but that I sat at my desk, in an office, with other people around (back when we did those kinds of things) and proceeded to wipe away a few tiny tears from under my eyes by the end of it, was an experience I had not been through… maybe ever? In a world of lyric videos and TikToks, actual, thoughtful, impactful music videos with a full (and sweet!) story are about as rare as a glowing and growing fish these days.

Ultimately, “Adore You” does everything a music video should do. In nearly eight minutes, this video uses excellent visual effects in a cool and interesting way, tells a compelling and heartfelt story, is anchored by an irresistible leading man and an adorable sidekick, is backed up by the catchiest song you could ever dream of, and culminates with a touching and hopeful ending. It’s a treat for the eyes and the ears and the soul. It’s innovative and the kind of thing that begs you to watch it more than once to catch all the details (and yes, I do tear up every time).

So one would think that an award show with the specific purpose of celebrating this type of creativity would be extra sure to nominate such a charming and effective clip, but alas, “Adore You” was overlooked in the MTV Video Music Awards main categories this year. Of course, some could argue that that fact only adds to the video’s credibility but I’ll do my best to not be that petty as I’m still rooting for it to win in the three technical categories where it picked up nominations: Best Visual Effects by Mathematic, Best Art Direction by Laura Ellis Cricks, and Best Direction by Dave Meyers, who remains one of the most inventive and influential directors of all time and whose videos with artists such as Missy Elliot, Pink, and Kendrick Lamar have been racking up nominations for nearly 20 years now. He also saw four other videos he directed get recognized this year: Normani’s “Motivation” (Best Chorography), Travis Scott’s “Highest in the Room” (Best Hop Hop and Best Visual Effects), Anderson .Paak’s “Lockdown” (Video For Good), and Camila Cabello feat. DaBaby’s “My Oh My” (Best Cinematography).

But I reached out to Meyers to specifically ask about the intricate details of “Adore You” and how it all came to be; how he captured such a vibe with the overcast and dreary weather, mixed so wonderfully with the charming oddities of the people that make up this world of Eroda. In addition to directing the video, he also co-wrote the story with Chris Shafer and said, “It’s the first idea that popped to mind after the first listen to the song, and the first idea I pitched to Harry. It was a story that underscored my understanding of what Harry stood for and felt it was necessary to tell it as a narrative to convey his optimism.”

The extended version of the video starts with a two-and-a-half-minute introduction to the world of Eroda, narrated by Rosalia. This includes the “peculiar” people and their professions on the island, meeting The Boy (Styles) and his glowing smile that most people try to avoid, and the quirky superstitions these people continue to live by. “It all served a purpose,” Meyers said of the details. “The superstitions were a set up for how society generally reacts to different things. They fear change or oddity, even if it’s what’s best for them.”

Meyers, however, did not share in that fear, as much of this video provided for interesting and new opportunities he had yet to experience throughout his decades-long career, which he listed off: ”Compelling narrative, CG character, remote location, Scottish crew (nothing phased them),” also noting that all of the other characters in the video were locals as well. So perhaps they were less fazed by the atmosphere across the four-day shoot in Scotland, but as Meyers recalled, the “weather was nuts. It rained every 20 minutes, then the sun, then cloud over.”

However, it’s likely that Mother Nature is also a Styles fan, as Meyers recalled, “I seem to remember going up on the hill for Harry’s picnic with the fish and being worried that it was so gloomy. By the time we came to shoot, the sun came out. And then the sun went away as soon as the scene was over. Similarly, we had the worst storm when Harry was contemplating suicide at the start. Pouring rain, drenching him. So I guess in that sense it was fun watching how Scotland provided a backdrop for the emotions we were after.”

And hey, at least they had the weather on their side to add to the mood while shooting the video, as one of their main characters, well, didn’t exist. “It was very odd shooting with no fish,” Meyers admitted. “But was quite rewarding later seeing it dropped in and making empathic sense to the story we were after.”

Of course, the main character they did have on hand is an awfully useful and appealing one at that. Fans became enamored with the moment Styles uses the back of his hand to check the temperature of a coffee pot before dumping the fish inside the water so it could stay alive. I asked Meyers about this particular moment and he said, “The problem we had was apparent when Harry ran in and threw the fish in the pot. We all sorta felt — well, what if it was hot? So I believe Harry improvised that as a solution and we felt it was perfect for the character’s sensitivity and consideration for this poor fish.” And that’s not the only nice thing he does for his fish friend — he also serves him a tiny taco! “The taco was a whimsical way to express friendship between Harry and the fish,” Meyers offered. It looked pretty tasty, too.

The entire video serves as a showcase for what Styles does best and what makes him such a unique artist: his music, his acting, and his charisma, which Meyers knew would offer him a lot to work with. “Harry is a leading man. I felt that from my first meeting and wanted to play with his wonderful range of emotions. So finding a story with a real character arc was part of my focus in building this world.” Meyers described working on “Adore You” as an “all-around memorable shoot: awesome location, lovely Harry, compelling story, great effects, and… it worked.”

It did. And it was a risk: a video this complex and detailed (and one has to assume, costly), attached to a marketing campaign that proved to be even more involved, still came with no guarantee that the fans wouldn’t shrug it off. But as Manos Xanthogeorgis, SVP of Digital Marketing & Media at Columbia Records told Billboard last year, “When you have a video and a piece of art at such a level, it’s an incredible challenge for the rest of the team to build a campaign at that same level of artistry and creativity.” Oh, and that was only step one, as the marketing team engaged in “real-time marketing” with fans online, ensuring they would continue to remain engaged by dropping clues and clips in the lead-up to the video premiere and subsequently the album. “This whole campaign was around mystery and sometimes mystery is more powerful than knowledge,” Xanthogeorgis said. The Twitter handle has remained active throughout 2020, used as a continual marketing tool for Styles’ next videos including the Meyers-directed “Falling” and this summer’s hit, “Watermelon Sugar.”

With that kind of fan engagement, “Adore You” seemed like a no-brainer for the fan-voted categories of the VMAs this year, as they surely would’ve turned out to vote just as feverishly for this video as they did when searching for clues (about a made-up island, at that!). But hey, maybe MTV was just not interested in massive fan engagement this year — after all, it’s not like everything Styles does, including growing freakin’ facial hair, has the internet in a tizzy for weeks. Ultimately, as the impact of music videos (and certainly the ceremony celebrating them) continues to lose relevance, the disregard of this specific project simply feels like a missed opportunity to acknowledge a rare achievement in the art form.

While Meyers was sure to describe his inclusion in the VMA nominations this year as “lovely and flattering” (and he better have a moonperson in his possession this time next week, MTV!) it’s still puzzling why “Adore You” wouldn’t be included in the big categories, considering Styles is squarely within their demo, at the very least. That “Adore You” is also a technical and storytelling masterpiece, as well as a full moment that was used as inspiration both for the experience online and in-person at the Fine Line Spotify listening party last December, that also comes packed with one of the most enthusiastic groups of fans around, well, that should have had the entire network drooling.

Of course, some of this can simply be chalked up to a perfect storm. As far as his singles go, “Lights Up” was a nice appetizer, but “Adore You” remains the delicious entree (you already know what’s for dessert). “Adore You” is a perfect pop record if I’ve ever heard one (and I have) and deserved a special video. A Chris Isaak “Wicked Game” sexy vibe wasn’t going to work here. The song tells the story of such passionate, pure, and heartachingly naive and innocent love that it almost had to be directed toward a non-human being. Instead, Styles chose to inject those same carefree, sweaty, sticky, delicious, whimsical beach vibes into the “Watermelon Sugar” clip, which was the right choice, and not just for the summertime season (MTV has since added the Song of Summer category to the VMAs and included “Watermelon Sugar”).

But it’s “Adore You” that has melodies that bring a smile to the faces of babies, get your toes tapping even when you hear it in the dentist’s chair, and likely has my neighbors rolling their eyes when I sing along to it in the shower. The song is so simple it’s deep, a theme reflected in the video, as is the central reminder to help and care for others, a thoroughly 2020 message.

However, not all is lost. Both “Adore You” and “Watermelon Sugar” continue to rack up major spins at radio with the latter hitting number one on the Billboard charts earlier this month. Grammy voting kicks off at the end of September and Academy members should take note. Not only is Fine Line more than worthy of being acknowledged, but having Styles on hand to potentially collect trophies and perform is in your best interest when it comes to viewers and online chatter. Do not wait to take him seriously. This is the album, this is the time. Prove that you aren’t a bunch of stodgy old white men who think he’s just for teen (and um, thirty-something) girls, but that you understand the music he enjoys, is inspired by, and subsequently makes, is the same rock music you appreciate as well. An artist like Styles can be both of those things at the same time, and really, the best of both worlds. Give the album a listen, and then one more to let it all sink in. If you have not yet succumbed to the force that is Harry Styles fandom, I truly can’t recommend it enough — and please know that it will get you eventually.

Source: Decider.com

#kingstylesdaily #Harry Styles #hs: news #hs: adore you #August 2020 #Decider

114 notes · View notes

hlupdate · 4 years

Link

I, for one, missed it at the time. I was unaware this account was cryptically quote tweeting fans as they tried to piece together what was happening, what it meant, and what it could be connected to (Greek Mythology and Lostwere a couple of theories posed in comments, Twitter threads, and Reddit). Meanwhile, the Columbia Records marketing department had been hard at work for months, devising this specific and highly-detailed campaign around the music video for Styles’ second single, “Adore You” from his second solo album, Fine Line, ever since he shot the video in Scotland in August 2019 (Eroda = Adore backwards — clever!).

But it was all leading up to the morning of Friday, December 6 when the video was released, one week before the full-length album arrived. Up until that point, I had never seen an entire Harry Styles music video, but what happened next was inevitable. Somehow, as a self-proclaimed boy band scholar, I had never paid much attention to One Direction. I kept a distant eye on Styles since they disbanded, intrigued by the decisions he was making in his solo career. But I hadn’t yet realized I’d been in the ring all throughout the fall of 2019, fighting to resist the inevitable fascination that awaited. First came the jab of Rob Sheffield’s Rolling Stoneprofile, followed by the cross of “Lights Up”, a song that cracked my Top 20 most listened to songs of the year despite being released just two months before Spotify so thoughtfully compiled that personalized playlist. Then there was the hook of his SNL hosting stint in November (and bless you Bowen Yang for that Sara Lee sketch), which then leads us to the “Adore You” video, the uppercut and ultimate TKO. I surrendered in what felt like a near instant. I was now a Harry Styles fan. (If we’re following this analogy, I sat up to spit out some blood after seeing that cover of “Juice” before my head quickly hit the mat again with a loud thud).

Meyers, however, did not share in that fear, as much of this video provided for interesting and new opportunities he had yet to experience throughout his decades-long career, which he listed off: ”Compelling narrative, CG character, remote location, Scottish crew (nothing fazed them),” also noting that all of the other characters in the video were locals as well. So perhaps they were less fazed by the atmosphere across the four-day shoot in Scotland, but as Meyers recalled, the “weather was nuts. It rained every 20 minutes, then the sun, then cloud over.”

#harry styles #articles #270820 #tw suicide mention

112 notes · View notes

stylesnews · 4 years

Link

Meyers, however, did not share in that fear, as much of this video provided for interesting and new opportunities he had yet to experience throughout his decades-long career, which he listed off: ”Compelling narrative, CG character, remote location, Scottish crew (nothing fazed them),” also noting that all of the other characters in the video were locals as well. So perhaps they were less fazed by the atmosphere across the four-day shoot in Scotland, but as Meyers recalled, the “weather was nuts. It rained every 20 minutes, then the sun, then cloud over.”

#harry styles #aug20 #adore you #decider #suicide tw

64 notes · View notes

mittensmorgul · 5 years

Note

Hey there! Well, one thing that really makes me so irritated and curious is the fact that in the prophecy Sam was the one who would kill Rowena permanently. But like why tf? Who even write the death books? Chuck? Billie herself? Fate? But why Sam? Why did he have to kill her? Like uhhhhh she was immortal, they were getting closer, being friends, i even see her as part of tfw and them BOOM, she finds out Sam is gonna kill her? Like what's the sense? Do you have a theory about it? 👀

Hi hi!

And oh, golly do I have theories. Too many theories, probably. Mostly because we just don’t know who “writes” Billie’s books. Actually the one thing I’m relatively certain of-- it’s not Billie doing the writing.

Of everything we know about how death and Death and fate work, and how those books themselves work, it’s been a fair assumption up to a point that the books are simply generated by a culmination of an individual’s choices throughout their lifetime. But I still have so many questions about those books.

For example, why is it implied that most people only have one book that rewrites itself if a person’s circumstances drastically change, and yet Dean has an entire shelf of books? Is it because of how much Chuck has directly interfered with his life? Or the fact he’s died and been resurrected so many times? If that’s the case, then why didn’t his “previous life” books disappear to be replaced by a new one? He may have died many times, but he’s still just one person. Why so many books?

That’s not what you asked, but I still think it’s important to understand the full picture of information we do know in order to attempt the best guess possible here. So in that spirit, I’m gonna take another slight detour on my way to attempting to answer.

I’ll start by point to this very, very long post I made about Rowena’s entire character arc on the show, posted December 1, 2019, so before we saw her back in 15.08. It’s on AO3, because it’s far too long for tumblr:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21641770

I go into a lot of detail on her overall character arc, as well as this very specific storyline. But before I delve into Rowena’s side of this conundrum, I also need to delve into Sam’s...

In a really creepy way, the result of 13.19 was Sam getting to experience a version of “you either have to save him or kill him” that was John’s final declaration to Dean about Sam. Because at the end of 13.19, Rowena took a strange comfort from the entire experience. Knowing that no version of her own death would be at Lucifer’s hand actually helped her deal with her biggest personal fear and horror. It had haunted her, and ruled every choice she’d made up to that point. But here was Sam... kind, understanding Sam who’d given her that page of the spell book to free her power to protect herself... offering her a hand of friendship and help to potentially change her fate? And not just an automatic death sentence? Well, that was something.

Like she told Michael in 14.14:

Rowena: Fate says Sam Winchester's going to off me, which makes dinners a bit awkward, but does give one a certain sense of security.

In a weird way, she trusts Sam. She knows he’s not lurking in the shadows just waiting to kill her, you know? She knows he wouldn’t kill her without a very good reason. And she knows that she’s been doing everything in her power not to deserve killing. To have Sam and Dean Winchester welcome you into the family, and believe you can change your fate is their universe’s equivalent of being blessed. And Rowena has treated it as such.

So... that said, what does it take to actually change one’s fate? What does it take to redeem oneself?

We’ve already seen those books of fate shift over time. I mean, the most blatantly obvious example is from Dean’s books (all of them! well... except for that one Billie gave him) that changed after 14.10. And then we have to assume they all changed AGAIN after 14.14... because Michael was dead and couldn’t use Dean’s vessel to destroy the world anymore.

We also know from another agent associated with death that it’s our human choices that can change our fate, thanks to Lily Sunder in 14.08:

SAM: Fine. Then change it. Let her into Heaven.ANUBIS: I'm an accountant. I don't have that kind of power.SAM: Yeah, right. Like you or-- or God has never made an exception?ANUBIS: That's right. Because God doesn't decide. I don't decide. You do, each of you, your individual choices all tallied up at the precise moment of your death. Keep me here. Try and kill me. It is not going to change Lily Sunder's fate. But it might change yours.

Except... knowing this, knowing her choices had the power to change her fate, gave Lily the power to choose a different fate for herself. Of course she couldn’t know for sure if it would be enough, if her last Good Deed would be enough to tip the scales, but she hoped. And it had changed everything.

LILY: I don't understand. Why am I here?ANUBIS: Hm. Care to try your luck again? [Anubis brings out his abacus again, and measures Lily’s soul. Most of the beads are now white, and rise to the top]ANUBIS: I'm curious. Did you know what doing the spell would cost you? Say hello to your daughter for me.

Doing the spell cost her life, but she had already begun to let go of her very long life. She’d had time to get her revenge and make her peace, and her last act, as her own free choice, had been enough to save her soul. It’s more than she ever could’ve hoped for when she’d set the course of her life more than a hundred years earlier.

And yet, for Rowena, performing the spell that had saved the world from the hell rift caused by Chuck’s temper tantrum hadn’t been enough to redeem her. She’d been just as hopelessly trapped in hell as if she’d never consciously chosen to become better in the first place. Her redemption failed. And I gotta wonder... why?

Rowena’s goal was pure-- save the world with the one spell she knew would work, but that would cost her everything. She didn’t even hesitate. She didn’t stop to wonder if performing this spell and making this sacrifice could redeem her soul. She only cared that Sam would be saved (well... and the world...).

And yet, in working the spell, she literally needed Sam to do the deed, because it wouldn’t have worked without him. She didn’t believe in love enough to sacrifice herself, her love for anything or even the world itself. The only thing she truly believed in enough was the power of the prophecy of her own fate in Billie’s book, which is just nine levels of pain to understand.

This is why her taking the throne of Hell is just... literally the Worst Possible Outcome if it was indeed her final fate on the show. And for the details on why, because I’ve already typed 13k words on the subject and typing them again here feels kinda frustratingly pointless, I’m gonna point back to the very long post on AO3 again. :’D

Does Chuck have any power over what those books say? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena rewritten her own fate before performing that spell, and despite her belief in her actions in 15.03, had her own fate already been rewritten? We just don’t know.

Had Rowena actually earned her redemption, and like so many others who didn’t deserve it, did Chuck banish her soul to Hell as a punishment for flouting his plans? Did he just need her out of the way because like Billie, she meddles? Or gives the Winchesters too big an advantage in solving their problems? Again, we just don’t know.

But I’m still convinced that we haven’t seen the end of her story yet, and so I’m not really gonna speculate beyond this...

#spn 15.03 #spn 13.19 #spn 14.08 #spn 14.14 #spn 15.08 #rowena #billie the reaper #lily sunder #that's what free will is #Anonymous

22 notes · View notes

hinabes · 5 years

Photo

A letter from the Food Fantasy writing team.

Source: xixi1226 on Lofter (They’re merely a relay, and so am I)

Touches on the writing of Food Fantasy as a whole and Black Forest Cake. Keep an open mind and be kind.

Only the parts specifically labeled as “TL note” is input by me (pretty sure there’s only one)

To all Master Attendants.

First of all, we may disappoint you, as we in the writing team are only responsible for the story, so we can't send out any in-game rewards. This is just the ramblings of some writing ladies.

Let's start with the past. Food Fantasy is almost 2 years old, and the writing team has been around for a long time as well.

From the bottom of our hearts, we know very well that our stories are mediocre, and very few members of the community actually read them.

At first, there were very few fan creations on Lofter, mostly inspired by the game arts. The first big burst in fanwork came from the haunted amusement park event.

When we saw the large amount (in our eyes) of fanworks, we were delighted.

That's right, we're lurking, watching from the shadows every day. Every! Day!

Though, due to work reasons and we've all got loose lips, we're not allowed to use our own accounts to like and comment on stuff.

Nonetheless, we're very thankful to everyone who comes to Lofter and uploads to the Food Fantasy tag!

To put it simply, a fanwork community like Lofter is built from all sorts of varying opinions, and that of course includes the dissatisfaction that some players have towards some characters.

As an author, our characters are like our children and seeing them hated, we can't deny that we're not saddened.

But of course, there must be a reason for a character to be hated.

A story, good or bad, must have an antagonist.

Whether people like or hate them, there's a reason for them to exist.

We created antagonists, besides out of necessity for the storyline, in hopes to show you a clearer Tierra, with all kinds of people with different points of view.

To be labeled an antagonist, these characters must have done some things unacceptable to the general public. They have their own stories to tell, and we would hate to claim any of them as completely innocent. The problem lies in something we hoped to doーーshow that bad people have pasts tooーーwe didn't do well enough.

This is our problem.

Be it because of a disliked ship or a character that's too grim.

We will use this experience and work even harder to write better characters and stories.

Once again, we thank everyone for putting your efforts into the tag, making your voices heard.

You've shown us, at the very least, that our efforts put into this or that character have been seen and that you're willing to voice out for them.

We take the time to read every single one of your posts. Perhaps putting it like that might make us seem egoistic.

Nevertheless, from the writing team, thank you!

We have seen lots and lots of the world of Tierra, it's not a pure world of only saints and innocents, it has a wide variety of characters.

The good, the bad, but no matter what, whatever anyone does is rooted in their own beliefs.

Such is the way in real life as well. Because of you, we have the motivation to push onwards.

At the same time, we wish that whatever negativity you have, you vent by enjoying the game, leaving the joy and happiness you have for reality. And that the game is able to release whatever pent up negativity you have from reality.

Thank you for voicing out your suggestions to us, and thank you for your love for the characters of Tierra!

From the bottoms of our hearts, we hope that the tag can thrive through the hard work of all of us, with more and more fan creations for everyone to look at. Because of your support, we have the courage to push onwards.

Thank you, everyone.

Formalities and heartfelt words done with, let's talk about things you're probably more interested in.

First off, we have seen everyone's dissatisfaction with Black Forest Cake.

Is she based off a certain unacceptable organization? Actually, no!

("You're wrong, I'm not!" Black Forest Cake yells)

The black forest cake is a famous German dessert that prides itself on its strict craftsmanship, maintaining its fame over its long history.

In Germany, if a patissier didn't make black forest cakes by the set recipe, such as swapping out ingredients and making it with vanilla sponge cake and strawberries instead and still selling it as "black forest cake", their shop would be swiftly shut down and the chef might even have to serve a term in prison, as the black forest cake is legally protected by the EU. (TL note: google "black forest cake protected status")

Compared to other desserts, the craftsmanship regulations for the black forest cake may be considered overly harsh. We've only seen Germans portrayed as strict on the internet as well. Combining these, we made Black Forest Cake a stickler for the rules.

Taking a step back, another factor is that when we were writing, we saw a lot of news reports about overbearing and manipulative parents, along with the stress and breakdowns of friends.

=-=.......

Um… At first, Black Forest Cake was modeled after a child who grew up with overbearing parents, who in turn enforced too many unreasonable rules on her own children, which resulted in their pent-up stress bursting out on her. The parent in this situation would never back off and would think it's the child at fault.

We're so sorry… Everyone, you think too highly of us… We know far less about military history than some of you do, and we're nowhere near as good at making connections… To bring up bad feelings, we're really… sorry…

Regarding the design of her clothing, this is the image we brought up as a suggestion: A punkish dress with military vibes.

(Gets on knees and apologizes)

We're so sorry, it's completely our fault that we didn't take into more consideration everyone's ability to make connections! But it's true, we really didn't! We really didn't!!!

QAQ We love this world! We're not an evil, anti-human organization!!

Black Forest Cake out of the way, let's talk about more stuff you might be interested in, the stuff many of you approach support about.

Q: Do Food Souls have genders? A: Food Souls' bodies are modeled after humans'. They're whatever gender they believe themselves to be, Hotdog's gender is hotdog.

Q: Can Food Souls [CENSORED]? A: ………..Modeled after…humans… um…….. when two Food Souls love each other very much… ummmm if we say more our boss is gonna beat us, you get the idea, don't come asking anymore!!!! Please!!!! QAQ

Q: Is there true love between Food Souls? A: Depends. The bigger your heart is, the more space you have in there. As they say, the stage extends as far as the heart goes.

Q: Are XXX and XXX shipped? What's the relationship between XXX and XXX!! A: … We said stop asking!!! We're gonna killed by our toxic male boss!!!! Please, please, please just read the story and make more fanworks. We definitely will see them.

Q: How much do you check Lofter? A: I know nobody asked this question, but. Your creations on Lofter may just become the inspiration for our next story, each of us checks Lofter as often as 4 or 5 times a day at most. Thanks, pl0x, next question.

Q: Anything to say? A: Thank you, everyone! We love you! (づ￣ 3￣)づ

Lastly, we hope that we can all take on the world with an open mind, express ourselves better, bring joy to everyone else, and with a strong positivity we can better ourselves as people.

Thank you to each and every one of you who read this far! We will continue working hard and do our best to deliver you heartfelt stories, both sad ones that have you bawling your eyes out and sweet ones that give you toothaches. Loving you always, the writing team.

ーーThoughts after half a month of overtime 21 August 2019

#food fantasy #ff black forest cake

147 notes · View notes

jlf23tumble · 4 years

Text

i was tagged by @calmrry to give you a tour of my home blog, and I’m sorry this house is such a mess, but welcome, friends! It’s like this in spite (because?) of my wildly divergent aesthetic tastes--I literally can’t commit to just one thing, so I tend to be a bit lazy in the setting up, which translates into doing something impulsive yet neutral-ish in the moment, then letting it ride. It’ll take me yearsss to update headers, names, backgrounds, colors, avatars, etc. (and don’t get me started on themes--that’s one I actually MIGHT fix soon, if only so to somehow sort tags like #recap, #fic rec, #the squad, etc.). Anyway, yeah!

Header: Old gold shoes that I crave purely for the aesthetics

Icon: Drunk-ass Harry Styles in a Hawaiian shirt w/ “happy birthday” glasses

Description: Fairly dry recap meant to cover a LOT in very little because I hate when description text wraps

I'm into One D and kitsch and various other random things

This is meant to warn people who follow me for kitsch but not the D, and vice versa, lmao. The wildest thing is that when I first set it up, I had something in there about larry, but I changed it to be more about the D in general when all kinds of gross shit spiked a while back--and someone noticed/sent me an ask? I never notice descriptions! So controversial! (For the “record” [which in itself makes me el oh el because there are people in the One D fandom, in the year of our lorde 2020, who genuinely give that much of a shit about what other people think in or out of the One D fandom that they will take the time to BJ Novak such things with extreme care], I’m with Alex: “culturally, I’m a larrie, but functionally, I don’t care”).

Content: One D and kitsch and various other random things! I’ve trimmed my One D dash back because not much is going on in general at the moment, plus I’m allergic to hand-wringing, so I tend to reblog things that appeal to my visual magpie eye and other interests; I also post about fic (One D fandom and elsewhere), I write recaps about random things when so inclined, and I generally love answering asks/doing these kinds of narse activities.

Background colour: honkin’ stonkin’ “MY EYES HURT” red

Text colour: i can barely see it yet "MY EYES HURT” contrast blue

Url meaning: At my first real job after college, I was assigned jlf23 as my ID because, believe it or not, there were 22 jlf’s before me! I’ve reused it a lot for social meeds, which is probably not the wisest move (after I started getting all kinds of shitty hate anons related to two wealthy white men I’ve never met, I ended up deleting my old jlf23 twitter account, among others, oh, me).

Blog title meaning: pure Boy George punnery related to above-mentioned laziness! I used to lurk on tumblr about five years ago, so when I took the plunge to create a blog, I didn’t put much thought into it, I was, like, hmmm, tumblr, hmmm, that makes me think of laundromats and Boy George’s “I’ll tumble for ya,” let’s just use that. Thinking about it now, maybe my header should be a laundromat, which actually matches a lot of my other aesthetics as well, hmmm. It’s also why I have the stupidest ao3 name in history because I blanked and just used something the Swedish Chef on the Muppet Show says as a nonsense word PLUS a random nonsense musical instrument from ancient times. I’ve really exposed myself here tonight, huh? The pisces mood on a lot of levels!

i'll tag... @alienfuckeronmain, @newleafover, @statementsue, @got2ghost, @setsailtomorrow, @vibey-lesbian, @kerasines, and literally anyone who wants to do it (I know I tend to tag the same folks, ver ver lazy that way, the callouts all over this post, I’ll see myself out)

#pisces are the true pillow princesses of the zodiac #and i own that #tag games #lazyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #people always say dreamy #but that's being kind #we're the laziest fuckers you've ever seen

4 notes · View notes

theparanormalperiodical · 5 years

Text

11 Weird Events that Happened on Halloween

It’s that time of year again:

Your local Tesco’s has officially begun stocking christmas-related food items, cheap cat ears have completed their invasion of every female-directed fashion shop, and thanks to global warming the temperature has barely dropped since mid-summer.

That’s right - it’s nearly Halloween!

And we all know what Halloween means: striking moments of political change!

Oh, wait, is that one just me?

Yep, thanks to British politics, the most wonderful day of the year could potentially be tarnished by Brexit.

But it got me thinking: what other major events have happened on Halloween?

And has anything spook-tastic ever coincided with All Hallow’s Eve?

Clearly the 31st of October has an aura of frightful goings-on.

In basic terms, Halloween is believed to be the only day of the year when spirits can cross over from the afterlife and wander with the living once more.

So, could these events be a coincidence, or sparked by the spirits crossing back over into this world?

Today’s edition of the Paranormal Periodical is going to be all about every event - from the political to the paranormal - that has happened on the 31st October.

Let’s get spooky!

We start with the political side of things.

And let me tell you, there’s like, a lot of things.

So, no, Brexit will not stand alone as a political memory on the best day of the year.

In fact, it honestly seems like a large chunk of American history just decided to, like, happen, on this one day of the year.

But we start with something less spooky, more sad.

It’s the Wreck of the Monmouth.

Take yourself back to 1837.

It’s - yes, you guessed it, you understand the basic premise of this post - Halloween night. It’s also the moment from which the forced deportation of Creek Native Americans from their homeland begins, shortly following a war in 1836.

This deportation used a number of boats, including the one that titles this tale: The Monmouth.

The story goes that it crashed into another steamship, and that the sheer force of the collision sent it to the depths of the Mississippi river.

It is estimated that 400 Native Americans drowned in this collision. It has even been regarded as the worst American Steamboat accident to date.

But there seems to be more discussion surrounding this tale than simply its occurrence on All Hallows’ Eve:

It ignited a wider discussion of the portrayal of Native Americans among the population and in the press. As it was in a remote area and ceased to include white people, it was simply ignored by the press.

As I said before, American politics does seem to dabble on doing things in late October, but it really specifies a niche for itself by having yet another disaster with a ship.

Only this was to have much more global consequences.

The USS Reuben James - created to protect supply shipments during WW2 - was sunk during conflict on Halloween.

It lost two thirds of its crew, and even earnt the honour of being the first ship sunk during the conflict.

Indeed, this occurred only a month before Pearl Harbour, cementing itself as part of one of the most iconic moments in modern American history.

Happy Halloween?

But before we get tangled up in American history, how about we move to the next crazy event that coincided with the spookiest day of the year?

Well, I’m afraid that’s going to involve getting knotted up in another country’s political history to do so…

It was 1922 when Mussolini - the first European dictator to start the mid-20th century political trend - marched on Rome.

Having created a coalition government, he decided to consolidate his power by (you guessed it) this infamous march on Rome.

Bolstered by a sea of Blackshirts, his fascist supporters, his control symbolically began.

Keep your horror films, and hold onto your ghost stories: this scares the living shit out of me.

Our final event takes us back only 4 years before this march, and back across the borders to American history.

However, this does shed a more positive light on the darker moments already detailed.

It was October 1918 when the affectionately named ‘Death Spike’ of the Spanish Influenza hit the USA.

And with a death toll topping 50 million around the globe, it certainly seems to stick to the darker themes so far discussed in this episode.

(Look, I’m sorry history happened, I can’t control fascists or stop people dying.)

In October, 200,000 Americans from the Influenza died. This accounted for nearly a third of the total death toll in America for the Influenza.

The positive side to this story? It was Halloween that actually ended this month.

Yep, Halloween ended the Death Spike.

Well, phew, that’s over.

Can we finally get onto some cool, spooky yet awesome stories now?

What about some stories with less death and hatred and pure evil?

Maybe a handful of quirky coincidences to liven up the depressing stories already listed?

Nope, the next ones are just as awful.

Now we turn to the spooky shit that coincided with Halloween.

We start with possibly the most ironic death… ever.

Harry Houdini is the most famous magician - okay, fine, you can keep Merlin, whatever - that’s ever existed.

Yet it’s not actually his life that features on this list - it’s his death.

It was October 1926 when Houdini gave a lecture to McGill University students about fraudulent spiritualism.

Hahaha well this is awkward hahaha.

Basically, he invited some students to his dressing room at one of the theatres in Montreal. For some reason, one of these students decided to score several hard blows at his stomach.

One abdominal infection later, and he was dead.

And so the death train continues.

Our next stop is still as deathy, but a smidgen more spooky. And a splash more serial killer.

In 1981, a couple was murdered.

They were beaten, shot, and the house was left ransacked. The police even claimed it had the looks of an execution.

Initially it was believed to be related to drugs, but the tone of the case quickly shifted when it was discovered the murder was predicted by an prisoner.

Serial killer David Berkowitz gave an eerily accurate description of the murders mere weeks before it occurred.

Clearly, this would make him a give-away suspect in this case, but as he was in prison during the murder, this removed him from the list.

We now turn to a similarly ghastly murder.

In 1977, a baby girl went missing. She was snatched from her own cradle.

And the first terrifying detail of this case starts with her abduction - which okay, fine, that definitely counts as creepy enough but somehow it gets worse: as the doors and windows were found to be locked, it is believed the abductor was hiding in the closet.

Oh, and it only gets worse and weirder - her body was found in a fridge.

I suppose you could assume that the murderer, I don't know, panicked and hid the body in a pretty ordinary un-suspicious object.

But this is when things get interesting. Prior to this, two young girls were also abducted and lured into a fridge, confirming that a fridge is somehow a prominent prop for a serial killer who may still be lurking among us.

One of these girls died during the abduction, and it was the surviving child that claimed it was the babysitter who attempted to abduct them.

The babysitter was found to be innocent, especially considering the surviving child was so young.

We now move from deaths to a disappearance:

Even now, no less than 18 years later, information regarding Hyon Jong Song is scarce.

Following a Halloween party in 2001, Song made it home at 4am, still decked out in a traditional Halloween bunny costume, after a lift from a friend.

The last evidence we have of her is her belongings which were dropped off in her house - she had even managed to remove her eyelashes!

But this was to be the final trace of this grad student.

Our penultimate tragedy takes us to Indiana, and brings us swinging into the sixties.

During the Indiana State Fair, an ice skating exhibition was on display for hundreds of visitors.

But it was during the finale that disaster struck.

Unknown to the managers of the event, propane gas was leaking from a tank in a room nearby. You don’t need a chemistry degree to tell you this wouldn’t end well.

The fire utilised in the finale’s effects set it alight, causing an explosion that killed 74 and injured over 400.

We now turn to an occurrence that seems uncomfortably common for Halloween.

I take that back - I suppose it suits the time of year well...

In fact, I’d like to call this section:

when Halloween decorations were not Halloween decorations but were actually dead bodies.

Brace positions, everyone.

The most famous case only take us back 5 years.

In 2014, a man dragged a fake corpse out of his apartment on Halloween in front of a crowd of unsuspecting onlookers, and kicked the head across the street in a jest.

Only it wasn't a jest.

And it wasn't a fake corpse.

It was his decapitated mother. He had killed her shortly before this.

A similarly tragic event - which doesn’t sound dissimilar to any old urban legend is the death of William Anthony Odem.

The 15 year old was hoping to embellish the theme of his haunted house by staging a Gallows scene in the basement.

Unfortunately, he hung himself in the process.

In fact, hangings in particular - accidental, or not - often have ended up as decorations.

Suicide victims has often gone unnoticed during All Hallow’s Eve, disguised as the ghosts and ghoulish figures hanging on trees across streets and suburbs.

And so we arrive at our conclusion.

Depressed and scarred for life.

So much for a horror film binge and thought out costumes - these real events should scare you enough for Halloween!

43 notes · View notes

marginalgloss · 4 years

Text

the republic of heaven

Back in 2000 when The Amber Spyglass came out I feel like there was not so much news in the world. At the turn of the millennium we seemed to be entering a more optimistic time. Tony Blair was elected in 1997 at the head of a liberal Labour government, and while it may be true that Blair would never be so popular again as he was in the opening years of his premiership, the Tories seemed hopelessly outdated by comparison. They were still the nasty party of old, while the country was ambitious, outward-looking, internationalist. Explicit racism and homophobia were no longer tolerated. We were Europhiles, but we weren’t part of Europe. There seemed to be a lot of money about.

At home there were occasional horrors — the murder of Jill Dando, the homophobic pub bombings in London, Harold Shipman — but they were somehow isolated, disparate, inexplicable. They were exceptional. There was the war in Kosovo, which set a template for liberal interventionism in years to come. The economy was trucking along; unemployment was low; for the first time there was a national minimum wage. I skim the headlines today and it seems like such a comfortable time by comparison. Perhaps I am remembering it wrong. But when the years to come would bring a spiral of endless war, recession, and one of the most significant declines in relative generational living standards, I’m not sure there is any need for rose-coloured glasses.

Into this comes The Amber Spyglass, which is basically quite an optimistic anti-authoritarian novel. It was also the book which, for a handful of reasons, really brought Philip Pullman to the world’s attention. It was this which ensured that his name still lurks around the list of authors most frequently ‘banned’ in America, and which in the years after its publication would attract scores of avid cheerleaders and detractors. Inevitably most of those had no interest with engaging with the substance of the book itself. Instead, it became a sort of battleground: on one side, those convinced that religion was under attack from an educated elite; on the other, those who were committed to reducing the role of religion in public life, discourse, education, and so on. It is worth revisiting this typically excitable interview and profile by Christopher Hitchens for an example of how these novels were talked about.

To call the novel ‘optimistic’ might seem surprising, because much of it is shrouded in scenes of gloom and suffering. But when I think of the tone of the novel as a whole, it is pastoral. When the world isn’t tearing itself apart the language seems more lyrical than in either of the two preceding books. Some of that is to do with the perspective, which now has at least three (and sometimes more) main characters to follow. This means that a sense of distance, of floating high above the many worlds of the story, becomes necessary. But it’s also that the reader has a sense that this book is going to be about the promised war against the heavens outlined in The Subtle Knife, and it’s likely the reader will also understand that this is a war that must be won.

It feels like a world of binary opposites. Even characters who seemed villainous in the previous novels are here redeemed (at least in part) so they can be mustered against the ultimate figure of the ‘Authority’. A certain amount of good versus evil is likely in any book for children, but here things are now cast explicitly in terms of these two sides squaring up against each other. And taking sides is a matter of decision, not of belonging. This is a book where angelic figures can decide to fight alongside men, and where demonic harpies can be convinced not to consume the souls of the dead because they want to hear their stories instead. It’s plausible in terms of oldest storytelling traditions, where it is possible to talk one’s way out of anything — where the role of storyteller gives a person the ultimate kind of authority.

Is the capital-A ‘Authority’ in these novels intended to be absolutely synonymous with God? I’m not sure. The book is explicitly anti-religion in the sense of being anti-church, but the forces of the Authority (and the being himself) do not seem to represent any kind of absolute power in the universe. The Authority is not omnipotent nor omnipresent, nor is he very much of a creator or a father-figure any more — he is a despot, but he is also somehow irrelevant. Like a shrivelled relic, he is vastly reduced when we finally meet him. The worst aspects of his regime seem like the calcified remnants of decisions long since made and now barely remembered, like the afterlife that has become a giant prison camp. In fact it’s the abolition of the afterlife, not the death of its creator, that’s the only really significant consequence of the fall of the Authority.

So if God isn’t in the Authority, then where is he? In spite of the tendency for atheists to want to claim the author for one of their own, it seems like the heart of these novels is not in pure humanistic rationalism, but in a broader sort of pantheism. The idea of ‘Dust’ is the closest thing to a true divine presence here. It could be characterised as something akin to a spirit which moves through all things. It is ‘conscious’, and though it’s hard to determine what this means in practice, we know that it is not indifferent to humanity. It’s not like a host of little thinking homunculi (although Mary did have a whole conversation with it on a computer back in The Subtle Knife). But it wants to persist. It would seem to be the force that drives the Alethiometer. It has intentions.

The counter-argument to this would say that Dust isn’t divine at all — it exists at the bleeding edge of science, and has nothing to do with faith. It’s a material thing. It’s not a spirit. But I don’t know that this is especially convincing. The books often try to equate Dust with quantum mechanics, but this doesn’t entirely seem to add up — these are particles which are somehow small enough to slip through gaps between universes, but big enough to see with the naked eye. Everything about Dust seems too convenient from an authorial perspective. It’s as though someone took everything indefinable and unique about evolved human (and non-human) consciousness and made it into a quantifiable thing and then said: there, without this thing we are no longer what we are. It’s an easy solution to the hard problem.

It the article linked above, Hitchens described the Alethiometer and Will’s knife as ‘tools of inquiry and struggle, not magic wands’. This is only half-right. Clearly they aren’t tools like a microscope or an X-ray machine. Both items are bonded to their owners through an innate sensitivity that has little to do with rational enquiry or rigorous method. The Alethiometer is even compared to the I Ching at various points. It seems wrong to mistake ‘inquiry’ here for the scientific method; it has much more in common with ‘negative capability’, a term which is actually quoted in The Amber Spyglass — the ability to pursue truth and beauty via one’s innate sensibility, to ‘see feelingly’ through a fascination with a sort of natural mystery, and not to depend exclusively on reason and knowledge.

This leaves the reader in an odd sort of no man’s land between the armies who supposedly either adopted or despised this novel. A hypothetical arch-rationalist might find it difficult to accept all of what they find here without rolling their eyes at some of it. Negative capability does not sit comfortably alongside the scientific method as a tool, but nor does it have much to do with priests and popery. And yet it is a sort of inspiration, and in that respect I think it comes closer to a religious experience than it does a rational one.

The problem with this is that it is not possible to get any sense from this novel of what it means to be religious, or to believe in a higher power, or to be ‘spiritual’ (choose your own euphemism). There is Mary Malone, but while I like Mary’s story here, her account of her early life in cloisters and later conversion/defection is unsatisfying. We have no sense of doubt, of anguish, of guilt — it is an all-too-straightforward seeing of the light. Will is arguably more complicated, more conflicted, but for the most part he never seems to have to make any difficult compromises. If he ever loses out on anything by abandoning his mother to travel through a whole set of alternate universes, we aren’t told about it.

What if Will made the wrong call? What if he weren’t so trustworthy? He is, in a way, the lynchpin of the whole story. For all Lyra’s good intentions and inner strength, if it weren’t for Will, Asriel would have failed and nothing would have changed. So Will must be made to work. Yet it often seems as though he doesn’t want anything for himself, except perhaps to be with Lyra. It’s interesting to wonder what might have happened if Will weren’t quite so faithful (for want of a better word).

But it’s inconceivable in the world of these books that anyone could possess negative capability and then use it for anything other than a pursuit of — well what exactly is being pursued, anyway? What is Asriel’s goal, above and beyond the overthrow of the Authority? There is vague mention of something called ‘the Republic of Heaven’ — a heaven on Earth, as it were — but today that phrase can only make me recall the idea of ‘Outer Heaven’ in the Metal Gear Solid games. It’s difficult to discern any latent irony lying in wait for the reader in this case. Will whatever replaces the Authority be just as bad, eventually? Perhaps, but again, the vibe of optimism in this novel is so strong it feels odd to impose doubt on it from elsewhere.

The paradox of The Amber Spyglass is that while the explicit ‘moral’ of the novel is set against organised religion, it cannot help but describe the world in terms originally set by religion. (A very basic reading might declare the novel invalid for this reason, for much the same reason as a socialist might be declared hypocritical for buying a smartphone.) It isn’t just that there are angels, or that the story of Adam of Eve is central to the thing. It is the journey through the world of the dead and back. It’s the arc of redemption and overthrow.

At times it feels like this book is re-fighting a battle that was begun hundreds of years ago in the English reformation. In the pursuit of humanistic knowledge, a godlike figure is re-cast in the guise of an Authority who can be overthrown, and cast out of our land, and even killed. And all for the sake of nothing especially certain, nothing at all new in political or ideological terms, except a sense that we would be more free — that we would be better off without. Is it better to eject the columns of the dead into a kind of oblivion than to consider any improvement to their position? I don’t know. Perhaps things seemed simpler twenty years ago.

#books #philip pullman #the amber spyglass

3 notes · View notes

mythicallore · 5 years

Text

Bizzare Encounters with Imps

Throughout European legend and folklore can be found the pervasive presence of the tiny, evil little creatures commonly referred to as imps. The word comes from the Old English noun impa, meaning basically the young shoot of a tree or plant, and they are particularly prevalent in Germanic myths and legends. Although the creatures have countless descriptions and appear in numerous forms, there are some basic similarities. They are almost always portrayed as diminutive, small in stature, with ugly, rough features, and they are known as being mischievous, prankish, incorrigible, and uncontrollable. Many of the traditions depict them as rather evil and malicious, and indeed over the centuries they became more and more associated with the Devil and depicted as being demons and familiars of witches, warlocks, and even servants of Satan himself. While this must all sound like pure fantastic folklore very much in the vein of fairies, gnomes, and goblins, just as with those others there have been many purported sightings of what seem to be real imps, or at least something very much like these legends describes. These surprising reports involve some sort of gnome-like creatures with a decidedly demonic feel to them, and a malevolent air of menace surrounding them, and they come in from a variety of far-flung areas.

One such account comes to us from the site TrueGhostTales, from a witness named Joshua, who says that he had been just 12 years old at the time of his strange experience. It all started shortly after they had moved into a new home in Benicia, California, and although he had felt a bad energy emanating from the home from the very beginning, things would get truly bizarre when his mother one day heard a loud banging noise from the bathroom, even though no one else had been home at the time, and when she had gone to investigate she had found that everything from the counter and medicine cabinet had been thrown into a pile in the middle of the floor. This unexplained incident was followed shortly after by his terrified sister reporting that she had seen small glowing red eyes peering out from their darkened closet at night. The witness says that although he had not seen the red eyes himself, his sister had been so upset about it that he had believed her, and he would then in the coming days see for himself that indeed there was something very odd lurking in the home, which would become a regular visitor. He says of his first encounters with the thing:

My sister and I were ready to go to bed, my sister said she saw two red eyes inside the closet. I didn’t see them, but from how scared she was I believed her. We shared a room, and we had bunk-beds. My mom comforted her until she fell asleep. I slept short after. I awoke later that night from a small continuous noise coming from the foot of my bed (I had the top bunk). When I looked at my feet, I could see this dark, black figured shape jumping up and down at the foot of my bed. Every time that it jumped up, it would leer at me with these little red eyes. The eyes seemed to sink into his face until the red would just disappear. I couldn’t see much detail to his facial features, but I did realize that he was wearing a brim hat, like Charlie Chaplin. I started to scream, and within a couple of seconds my mom came in the room. But before she was able to turn the light on, I saw the little man (about three feet tall) hurry and run to the corner of the room and disappear into the darkness just before my mom turned on the light. This was not the first of many experiences we had. A few days later, I woke up in the middle of the night. I still had that experience fresh on my mind, so I very carefully peaked my head over the railing of my top bunk, and looked around the room. When I saw the little man! This time he was just being very still and quiet, and he was just standing at the foot of my sisters bed, watching her (Our bunks were in the shape of an L, so I could see the lower half of my sisters bed). He then noticed me and looked at me. I yelled, and again, just one second before my mom got into the room, he would again run to the corner of the room, and disappear into the shadow. Every time he would run to the corner, he would stop for half a second facing the wall, and disappear.

Joshua claims that he saw this strange little demonic man over the next few nights as well, finally working up the courage to tell his mother what was happening. Rather than laugh it all off as the ramblings of a child’s imagination, she seemed to think that something was genuinely terrifying them, although she never let on that she had seen it herself. It would not be until years later that she would tell of her own experience with the entity, of which the witness says:

So what she did next, she did not tell us, until years later when we were grown up. If she told us at that time, it would have made us even more frightened because we would have known that it was not our imaginations. She told us that she stayed up one night with all the lights off. She was sitting in a chair in her bedroom, looking down the hallway to the entry way to our bedroom. What she saw next startled her. She said that after about a half hour after she turned the lights out she saw a little man who came into the hallway from the bathroom. He started to walk into our room when he must have sensed something. My mom said he stopped, and slowly turned around and looked at her with those sunken in little red eyes. She said he then turned back around and went into our room. She hurried up, and ran into our room and turned on light on. But he had vanished. We lived in that house for about another year. We continued to have strange things happen. It didn’t let up until my mom and dad decided to move. Personally, I believe to this day, that the little man had to of been some sort of demon, not a human spirit. One thing that I never liked about it, was the fact that countless times, I would look around in the middle of the night, and every time he would be still, just watching us, either from the foot of my sisters bed, or he would be standing in the corners watching us. I never liked that, because you just never knew how long he could have been watching you as you slept.

A similar report comes from a witness on Your Ghost Stories, who had her own encounter in England with a very aggressive and genuinely evil little imp of some sort. She says that whatever it was had been quite bold, appearing in the middle of the day to harass her and her boyfriend, before becoming a constant presence that haunted and menaced them at all hours. The witness says of the ordeal :

I had a black shapeless entity peek at me from behind the TV one morning last May. It was black, and had tiny pinprick white eyes, extremely bright but the smile was ‘ear to ear’ and red… It rushed at me too, seemed to like chasing me at first, my boyfriend was in the house at the time, and this was during the day, while bright sunlight was streaming in through the window. I was terrified and actually climbed up my boyfriend (poor guy) to stop it touching my feet, which it seemed to find funny… When it was moving across the floor it would either be a solid black shape, half human height, or a spinning ‘moth’? Which would continually spiral towards the floor. I have no idea what it was, we tried burning sage around the house, it seemed to back off quite a lot but after that a smaller black thing (no face) would sometimes peer at my boyfriend when he was asleep, and wait on the stairs. Tried the sage, I also screamed at it to f*** off during the day while two people were there, (looked crazy ha-ha). It was actually very active during the morning/afternoon. After shouting at it for a very long time it did leave through the bathroom wall (temporarily). I actually got so desperate I smashed an ornament in its direction to try and frighten it. To be (mostly) rid of him, I had to keep standing up to it; it took a very long time, visualisations of white light enclosing the house, pushing it out… Was very hard mentally to move it at all, seemed very ‘heavy’. We think it moved to the next house, we are in a terrace and the attic has missing bricks in the wall to the adjoining house, I’m worried, but also extremely fascinated by it and wonder if it might return.

No word on if it ever did return or not, and it is a truly frightening and harrowing account, to say the least. From the same area of the world is a report of some sort of demonic imp at Crawfordsburn Country Park, in Ireland. The witness says she was out walking her dog, Missy, by the waterfall on an otherwise tranquil and calm evening. As they walked along the dog became very agitated for some unknown reason, and the witness explains:

Missy ran ahead and i walked quickly to catch up. I noticed she had stopped and had started growling so i started walking even quicker. As i got level with her i noticed what can only be explained as a gnome standing about 10 feet away from Missy. It was about 3 feet tall and at first i thought it was a child in fancy dress but then i noticed its teeth were pointed and a horrible brown colour and It had a bulbous nose and large, deep-set eyes. I got Missy on the lead and watched in amazement as the gnome began to laugh, this wasn’t a regular laugh but a deep cackle. I was terrified and frozen to the spot and watched as the gnome walked into some bushes by the waterfall and disappeared. I quickly ran off back to the car.

What was this thing? Was it some evil spirit or fairy? A demon? Something else? In some accounts it seems like these creatures are indeed very literal demons from Hell, true imps in every sense. One commenter on Exemplore explains of being haunted by tiny creatures that he believes are actual Biblical demons that can be fought off with the power of God. The witness says:

I see faces in figures in clouds, trees, bushes, on the grass and pretty much everywhere else I look. Until the Lord saved my life, these things had overtaken every aspect of my life, I had taken thousands of photos and videos of them, they would appear in my yard and trees as little gnomes, animal-like figures, full on demons, and all kinds of things that are freakier than anything I have ever seen in a horror movie. I’ve had dark clouds moving around my house and some insane visions that would take too long to type on here. My wife and son would see some of them, but not anywhere near the ballpark of what I see. No, I do not have schizophrenia or any other mental diseases. We tried every new age thing to rid our property of these beings, but it only got worse. One day I stayed home alone and prayed for hours trying to figure out why I was seeing these things. The Lord finally let me know in my soul that this was a product of all the sin I had allowed into my life and He was allowing me to see this in order to call me to Him. I was truly humbled and repented of my sins and I told Christ that I would rather die than to continue in a lifestyle that allowed this into my home and around my family. God saved me that day. I coughed out what I can only describe as evil energy out of my body 6-7 times. I was exhausted and felt truly forgiven and free for the first time in my life. The things is God still allows me to see things, they are just no longer in control of my life. I have learned many things from this, what feels like a curse, but I believe is a gift from God. I am now walking in the truth of God. No one could ever convince me that a battle of good vs. evil is not going on around us all the time. Most people just cannot see it.

Other unsettling reports seem to describe these things as a dark force that seems bent on luring children away to their dooms, and indeed in some folklore imps were known to do just this. One witness on Reddit weaves a rather unsettling tale of some sort of gnome that seems as if it was perhaps trying to trick his sister into wandering off with it. The witness says:

As a young child, my sister was visited by a spirit that appeared as a gnome-type creature (small, grey beard and pointed hat). He always appeared at dusk and tried to get her to follow him into the woods. My sister barely remembers the episodes, but I remember her telling me about them and even remember once keeping her from following him into the woods. My mom remembers once when we were swimming in a neighbor’s pool and she came to bring us home for dinner- after being home for about 5 minutes, my mom realized my sister was gone. Instinctively, she ran back to the swimming pool and found her in the pool, alone (she was 3 and could barely swim). We think this also has something to do with that entity, as she could not have walked that far in that amount of time by herself. Has anyone ever heard of an entity that tries to lure children away? At that time, we lived In an area of Western MA known for paranormal activity and there was a well known case of demonic possession nearby.

So, are these real reports of encounters with the demonic imps of folklore, or are they something else entirely? There is little to differentiate them from the numerous other accounts of sightings of gnomes, fairies, and other seemingly fairy tale creatures, but here we have something that seems especially evil and malicious in nature. What are these entities and what do they want? Are they real spirits, demons, interdimensional phenomena, or simply tall tales? No matter what the answer is, these are truly odd reports that mesh in with the long running myths and legends or demonic imps and gnomes, and serve as something to ponder at the very least.

#paranormal #supernatural

18 notes · View notes

mage-cat · 5 years

Text

A Fire to Beat Back the Dark, Chapter 3

Hey, I actually finished a multi-chapter fic! Admittedly by setting my sights low. Read on as I wrap up my plot threads enough that I can move on to other projects and wait for Season 3 of She-Ra to drop next month.

Link to the AO3 version through here.

Chapter 1 here ; Chapter 2 here.

This chapter below the cut ~1650 words

The first thing Catra was conscious of the next morning was Bow's voice. “It seems like a shame to wake them up.” Adora had made a very convincing argument that waking up to Shadow Weaver the night before made her nervous about sleeping alone.

“I know.” That was Glimmer. “This is cuter than I was expecting. I swear, when I first came in, I heard Catra purring.” As long as it was a favor to Adora, Catra would never have to admit how good it felt to be curled up next to her again.

Bow again. “Do you think she wakes up as jumpy as Adora?” That was new. If anything Adora had always been the heavier sleeper of the two of them. Though of course every cadet was trained to wake up quickly when necessary, and the Horde frequently claimed it was necessary even if it normally meant they were hurrying in order to wait for the proper officer to show up. Catra just liked feigning sleep as a form of information gathering.

“If she does, do you think her claws would do more damage than that knife wound Adora gave me her first week here?”

“They look so comfortable. I wonder if they used to do this a lot. When Adora said she wasn't used to sleeping alone, I just thought she meant alone in the room.”

Alright, that was enough. Catra stretched herself out until her face was even with Adora's. “Hey, Adora. Bow and Glimmer are going to keep speculating about us until you wake up.” She saw Adora's eyes slide open and noted that there was, in fact, a slight flinch as she adjusted to wakefulness that didn't used to be there. “Did you really shank Glimmer your first week here?”

“It really wasn't much more than a scratch,” Glimmer said, her face flushing.

Adora let out a sleepy grunt. “Turns out I don't sleep well alone. Don't knock to reflex too hard. It's part of what let us catch Shadow Weaver.”

She let the matter drop and sat up. “So, any plans I should know about today?”

The afternoon meeting the day before had quickly turned into a debriefing, slightly too polite for Catra to call it an interrogation. However briefly she had held any power in the Horde, even if she had been haphazardly piecing together the bits of the Force Captain orientation she had missed, she still had delivered more information about the Horde's inner workings than the Rebellion had had since before the first alliance had fallen apart. It had been embarrassing for Catra to see Queen Angella's expression harden as she had to admit that she had only just barely started to get a handle on the system of requisition orders and material sources that Shadow Weaver had been maintaining before her fall from Hordak's good graces, but everyone seemed more or less satisfied in the end. Now it was a matter of balancing preparation time for an attack on the Fright Zone against the time it would take for the information to become obsolete.

As soon as the sun had gone down and shortly after the other Princesses had headed back to their homelands to see to local matters, both Catra and Adora had been hit with just how little sleep they had gotten the night before. Best as Catra could now tell from the quality of the light, they had crashed early enough in the evening that the time they were now waking wasn't terribly late.

“Light Hope is expecting me for training today,” said Adora.

“We don't have anything really solid planned,” Glimmer said. “Just seeing to routine duties.”

“I'll follow you into the Whispering Woods for a bit, Adora, then activate my tracker in my badge. Scorpia's probably gotten worried by now. Unless she has explicit orders to be doing something else, she'll be looking for me. Best to give her something to find.”

“I'm staying with you until that's done. She may have the rest of the squad with her, and even if you're right about being able to win Scorpia over, I doubt Lonnie's opinion of you has changed that much.”

---

Adora and Catra sat among the roots of large tree near the Fright Zone edge of the Whispering Woods. Bow and Glimmer lurked somewhere nearby as back-up in case Scorpia did, in fact, have the whole of Adora's old squad with her.

Catra fingered in badge she was wearing. “This is what stopped me from following you the day you left, you know. Shadow Weaver didn't believe me when I said I didn't know where you had gone, and when I wasn't able to bring you back, she hauled me in front of Hordak. I thought something terrible was going to happen to me. Then he gave me your promotion and told Shadow Weaver off for ignoring my potential. I got my first taste of being out of your shadow. It was hard to think of giving that up.”

“It's kind of amazing how much evil we can ignore when we're told how good we are at it.” Adora thought for a beat. “I really never did see you as my sidekick.”

“Doesn't matter. Everyone else did, our squad, our trainers. Shadow Weaver was invested in it. The entire time I was Force Captain, she was very clear that the second you came back, I was going to be demoted in favor of you. It didn't matter what I did or what you did.”

“She's gone now. It's hard to really believe, but she's gone. Nothing but bad dreams.” Adora smirked. “Besides, I think it's safe to say that a walking torch doesn't have to worry about being in anyone's shadow.”

Catra felt a warm glow in her chest. “I guess you're right.”

Scoripia's voice began to reach them though the woods, calling for Catra. Adora hid behind the tree as Catra started to call out in response.

Once Scorpia was in view, she rushed up and drew Catra into a hug. “Catra! You're safe! I thought maybe you had gotten hurt or captured or something, but I should have known you could handle anything that happened.”

Catra squirmed her way out of the tight embrace, but she was smiling. “Sorry about that. I would have given you more warning before I left, but it wasn't safe for me to talk in the Fright Zone.” She glanced around to make sure Scorpia really was alone, her expression sobering. “Those old family legends, do they say what element the Black Garnet controlled?”

Scorpia looked puzzled at the shift in topic. “No, that's been forgotten.”

Catra held a handful of flames up for her to see. “What if I told you it was fire?”

“Oh wow,” Scorpia said softly. “I always knew you were something special, Wildcat.”

“I can't pretend to keep being Hordak's loyal soldier. I'm not that good a liar.” Catra doused the flames then removed the Force Captain's badge from her chest and held it up between two of her fingers. A red glow spread around the rim before the circuitry began to overheat and spark. Once it let out a small plume of smoke, she placed it in Scorpia's claw.

“Hordak can consider that my resignation. Tell him that if he wants Shadow Weaver on Beast Island so badly, he will have to take it up with the sorcerers on Mystacor. I won't be turning myself in to take her place. But don't tell him about me being tied to the Black Garnet. It may give him ideas.”

“Where will you go?”

“The Rebellion is willing to have me.” Adora, Bow, and Glimmer all appeared out from behind the trees. “And they're willing to listen to me when I vouch for you.”

Scorpia lowered her voice. “I told you I don't really get along with other Princesses.”

“Because of stuff your family did before you were born. That's messed up, but they admit that it's messed up, and they promise to give you a fair chance.” She put a hand on Scorpia's arm. “You're pure sunshine. You'll win them over faster than I will. I hope you won't leave me to be the only Princess at Bright Moon with a tail.”

Adora stepped closer. “The last Sh-Ra messed up a lot of things on Etheria. I'm trying to fix them. Our last clue pointed us to the Crimson Waste. What happened there may be what drove your ancestors out. I need to go there, and the land's rightful Princess could be helpful. We have to live with the mistakes of the people who came before us, but we don't have to keep repeating them.”

“What do you say?” Catra said. “Up for redeeming your family name?”

Scorpia bit her lip, making Catra wonder if there wasn't something that she hadn't known to take into account. She hoped it was just discomfort at being put on the spot.

“You don't have to answer now, but you'll be welcome when you come. Don't tell Entrapta about me and the Black Garnet either. She's too likely to slip something to Hordak if she thinks it's scientifically relevant. You could tell her that the Rebellion misses her though. Perfuma seems especially upset about how things went down. I don't want to break up the Best Pals Team any more than you do, but the Horde only exists to serve Hordak. If we want something for ourselves, we have to leave.”

“I understand.” Scorpia smiled softly. “I'll see you again soon, Wildcat. Stay safe until then.”

The rebels watched her as she retreated through the trees and back toward the Fright Zone.

“She has a thing for you. Like, a romantic thing,” said Bow.

“That's why she'll come to Bright Moon. She may even be able to talk Entrapta into coming with her. Either way, Hordak doesn't understand what he's up against now.”

#cat writes #she ra #catra #fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

Photo

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Caroline!

You have been accepted for the role of ALICE LONGBOTTOM! It was so much fun to read about your Alice! I loved the way you explored the parts of Alice that are conflicted within the Order and her role within her family, as well as the survival and biases sections. I am so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Caroline

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Roleplay’s a hobby, and often times the commitments that take precedence do just that — they take their precedence, and it’s something I’m rather unyielding on. I am able to come on and post fairly regularly, at least two days out of the week on busier weeks, and if the need for a hiatus/semi-hiatus arises I am fairly good in getting everything squared away with the admin. My activity high points are at nights, on weekends and Wednesdays, and I’m typically always lurking on mobile for plotting purposes at the very, very minimum!

ANYTHING ELSE: I'm about to talk your head off, for which I apologize! I’m a rambler through and through; never been able to stop it and I don’t think I ever will. Also, I’m submitting another application (because I really could not decide on just one character, thank you for that), so if you notice any similarities within the OOC exploration section of the application, that’s why! I ask that you please consider Alice as my first choice character. Thank you so much!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Alice Camille Longbottom (née Fortescue); Alice, a German-originating name, means “noble.” It is derived from the Greek word alethéia, which means “truth." Camille is derived from the Latin camilla, and its related meaning pertains to an unblemished character or pureness in order to serve at the altar.

AGE: Thirty-three; Alice was born on May 6, making her a Taurus. Taurus women are described as powerful forces to be reckoned with and the same could be said for Alice. Determined, uncompromising, and somewhat of a dark horse, Alice works hard and plays hard (when she bothers to play at all) and every action is infused with great intent and purpose. Her level of thoroughness and fixity will sometimes get her in trouble — once the blinders are firmly strapped into place, there is typically no doubling back.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Alice identifies as cis-female and uses she/her pronouns. Her sexual orientation is heterosexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pure-blood; while Alice’s family does not hail from the "Sacred 28”, both of her parents are of magical descent and come laden with rather typical pure-blood ideals, even if they are watered down.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin; green and silver scarf knotted tight around her neck, Slytherin was more of a stepping stone than a home. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, even some Ravenclaws and Slytherins alike, they all had the notion that House equated family, but for Alice, it was merely the place that she best fit and the place that helped foster growth towards being the best possible Alice she could be. Rather introverted, Alice didn’t necessarily feel as though she belonged within the folds of her House’s fabric, and she certainly never took a needle and thread to sew herself into it. The stereotypes in Slytherin that others embraced were ones she actively turned away from. She liked not being tied down exclusively to her House and having friends elsewhere, liked having some degree of detachment that others didn’t seem to have when it came to falling for the idea that your House was your home. Slytherin was where she slept, Slytherin’s colors were hers, Slytherin encouraged her to follow ambition and was a garden where she could grow success, but her House pride derived from much different motives than that of her fellow alumni.

ANY CHANGES: N/A

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Listen, I gotta start by saying that I absolutely Alice. The reason I was drawn to her bio in the first place is that first and foremost, Alice is a strong character. She is a strong woman, yes, but she is a strong character, period. She is unsure and sometimes unsteady but she is a force to be reckoned with. She does not compromise herself for anyone. She knows who she is at heart, even if she doesn’t know who she is as a player in this world. She has a strong mind and a strong heart and a strong sense of independence — she doesn't need anyone else.

As mentioned above, Alice is a bit of a dark horse, somewhat unconventional for a woman who has a pretty stiff ideal system. To some, that would translate as aloof, self-isolating, detached from emotion and unapproachable, but I find that the opposite. Alice doesn’t just encompass everyone at first meeting (if she did, she would have been a Hufflepuff) because she has recognized a pattern that people’s first impressions versus their real personalities has too wide a discrepancy for her to be comfortable with. Alice instinctively keeps up a set of walls because she is selective in who she trusts, but once over that hurdle, Alice is the person you’d want in your corner, the person you’d want by your side staring down death. She is the kind to deplete from her own cup to give more to others and she will not complain — she will not draw attention to it, either. She does it on her own volition, because she believes it’s the right thing to do, and she will ask for nothing in return. She doesn’t mind being alone (quiet moments with her cat snuggling in her lap are some of the best). She does not wait for sunlight to poke through a cloud on chance and find her; she works herself to the bone in order to create a hole in the dark sky. There aren’t very many people that she trusts enough to let see all the facets (work Alice, Order Alice, person Alice, etc.) but those who do can note the way light finds her and makes her shine in a subtly brilliant way, the same way low lights bring out sparkle. Her liveliness is rather subtle, only seen by those she wants to let see. She loves fiercely and when it comes to those she loves or those she feels needs protection, she doesn’t hesitate to stand in the way. She is ambitious not for the sake of ambition, but with a purpose and an end goal. She’s a visionary, striving for a world that is inclusive and fair. She’s smart and sophisticated, knowing exactly how to present herself and keep all her edges smooth with a polished exterior. She’s cool under pressure, level head on her shoulders that she lets rule her. It’s what makes her so good in duels; she knows how to stack priorities over reactions, how to get inside the head of her opponents and stay one step ahead. Her exterior is hard but it is only to protect the emotion that lies beneath. She feels every single chink and chip and blow and feels it completely, vibrations running through her. She knows that vulnerability is what powers endurance, but she doesn’t let others see what keeps the electricity on. It’s the private moments where she lets herself fall apart, and then she gracefully stitches herself back up to keep moving through another day.

She is her biggest critic and her worst enemy is the voice inside of her brain. She worries excessively, worries that she isn’t doing enough, that she isn’t enough. She sometimes feels like she’s torn between two different worlds and that there is no true place of belonging for her, that she’s merely drifting and playing a game of charades that will only result in her losing. She is perfectionistic and she likes for things to be done correctly. She likes structure, likes having a set of rules and doesn’t like to deviate from them (they exist for a reason, after all) and it puts her in compromising situations when she is around people who are deviating or asking her to do so. It’s this hesitance and inner debate before her decision that is a fatal flaw — it’s war. It’s nothing but hard decisions, and yes, they’re the type to get people killed. Alice will fight but she’s also the type to ask why. She wants to know that there’s an existing means to an end, that it’s not all for nothing, perhaps too much so at times. There’s also a purposeful ignorance about her, especially when it comes to the Ministry. She puts her entire backbone into her job and the institution that allows her the chance to do what she is passionate about, but that institution is as good as compromised and she’d still prefer to jump through all its hoops. She’d rather walk through every step and be thorough than take the short cut, because she believes it eliminates mistakes, but she doesn’t see that sometimes, not making the split decision and cutting out the excess is a mistake in and of itself. Her family is another weakness — they raised her, they are what she knows, but she also knows that some of the things they think aren’t what she’s learned are right. Brother against brother is not uncommon in war and that’s the kind of thing to make Alice hesitate. Slytherins will use any means to achieve their ends, after all, but if it means turning her back on her own family? She’s not sure she could. Her temper isn’t the best either (that goddamn Augusta is what really does it for her) and when someone finds her buttons and keeps pushing, she isn’t the type to take it lying down. She doesn’t forthright express what’s wrong but she does wear some of her emotions on her face, unable to control the split second reactions of disgust or irritation or otherwise. It’s hard for her when she believes she is in the right and no one else can see her point of view (or refuses to), and it’s something that makes her shut down on the spot — or resort to more drastic measures.

Wands, too, I think, speak volumes about their wizard’s personality. Wood: Rowan. Rowan wands are comfortable in the hands of those who are clear-headed and pure-hearted, which I think suits Alice quite nicely. Though the roads to hell are paved with them, she always has intentions for and of the best at the forefront of all she does and her mind is quite good at remaining one tracked and steady when placed under duress. According to Ollivander, rowan wands will perform equal to, if not better and out-perform other wands specifically in duels. Rowan wands do well with defensive magic, a particular strength Alice has per her own reputation as one half of an extraordinarily gifted (and perhaps lethal) dueling team to come through the Auror department. Core: Phoenix tail feather. Phoenix tail feathers can often be found in the cores of wands owned by witches and wizards who are considered noble, wise, willing, strong-willed, bright, loyal, and self-sacrificing, all of which are traits that align closely with Alice’s personality. While this core is not common among Slytherins due to its reputation to impede Dark spells, which further solidifies Alice’s personality veering from the stereotypes of Slytherin house. The qualities she holds near aligned with Slytherin but she knows there is a right way to obtain success and pursue ambitions. Flexibility: Hard. Owners of hard wands tend to view things in absolutes (black or white), which is a beyond fair summation of Alice. These are people who others may find intimidating or difficult to approach. Wands of this flexibility are great for complex and advanced levels of magic, which I envision Alice having wholeheartedly embraced. Learning was a piece in the equation to becoming the best she could possibly be and I see her brain being like that of a sponge, absorbing all it could and constantly wanting to take things to the next step, eager to move on to a higher level since the ceiling for her didn’t (and does not) exist.

And, because I really love personality tests… MBTI Type: ISTJ - The Logistician (x) Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral - The Judge Enneagram: Type 1 - The Reformer (x) Element: Earth

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

The Fortescue family was, in terms of how pure-blood society operated, under the radar. No one looked to a Fortescue as an example (or a non-example); they were often after-thoughts. It was very much, oh! A Fortescue! They weren’t shunned out, they weren’t outcasts, but they certainly weren’t sitting in the thick of things. Dexter Fortescue was not the first Headmaster of Hogwarts to come to mind, after all, but not being first didn’t mean you were last. Alice and her brother (and potentially other siblings - I am very flexible to this and would truthfully love to see some other Fortescues running around in this group) were raised by Fennell and Adrianne to follow after their desires and dreams with a single exception: do not bring shame to the family. Do not push the Fortescue name into the light for all of the wrong reasons. There was never an explicit correlation to shame and bloodline, with the Fortescues always rather indifferent towards Muggleborns — they did not have qualms or prejudice towards Muggleborns being a part of the Wizarding World (if magic chose you, it chose you) but still being embedded in pure-blood society to some degree, marrying outside of pure-bloods would have caused under-the-radar tension within the family. Everything in the Fortescue family was done in subtleties. If there was disapproval, it was not outright shown, but alluded to in the choice of words or lack of action taken. Tempers, if they existed, were always below the surface. Alice could never truly recall a time when she saw her parents fight or get into arguments or display anger in a dazzling firework display. Fortescues knew how to keep up an appearance, how to be poised, and all grievances were usually dealt with behind doors or ignored to the point where they merely suffocated themselves on their own silence.

Alice didn’t have a bad childhood; she was much more reserved than most children. She would ride brooms and play a crude position of Chaser in Quidditch matches with cousins who actually let her join in the games (usually due to an uneven number of players) but she would also find just as much fun in reading through the books her father kept in his study, a miniature library of sorts. She was not the first person noticed sitting around the dinner table, but in her family, there was never anything wrong with being a chameleon and blending in. Her mother raised her with the understanding that the loudest person in the room wasn’t always the right one. Success didn’t depend on being flashy. Hard work and the drive and a pinch of patience would do the trick. Expecting things was a horrible way to look at the world: it wouldn’t just offer its hand and give away everything without some sort of price, whether it was immediate payment or came about later. Alice looked up to her mother perhaps more so than her father, finding a strength in the way her mother carried herself, fashioning her own confidence in the image of her mother’s. Confidence didn’t mean cockiness. Confidence was believing in oneself and their abilities, and it could be quiet. Strength could be quiet and show itself in a myriad of ways. Of course, her childhood days and beliefs have since shifted since her days at Hogwarts and in the Ministry. She hasn’t lost touch with following ambitions down their paths, not needing to be a firestorm to be a firebrand, but in adulthood she has grown away from their shadows and stepped into the light of thinking for herself, letting her own experiences shape her. Her family likes order and balance, which explains their position in the war. Her parents and grandparents see value in a pure bloodline and because they have never had to understand the struggle of Muggleborns, do not see the genuine harm Voldemort and his followers and their ideals bring to the Wizarding world. She has cousins far down the branches of the family tree who she knows side with Voldemort in more than just opinion, but in battle, too. It genuinely bothers Alice to hear her family talk like this, a veil being swept away of sorts. Alice, in her heart, knows what is right. The world is changing, why shouldn’t views? Tradition is valued and respected but sometimes tradition is a sword that runs right through people, good people. As she’s gotten older and lived a life beyond her parent’s four walls, a life that has brought her up to the face of just as much strife as success, she finds it harder and harder to operate under the radar. There are times when she doesn’t want to sit back in the lounge chair like her father and press a thin smile over her mouth, she wants to start an argument so that things will move themselves along. Despite their disheartening talk, Alice loves them still and there is the horrifying thought that the war will force her to either stand with her family or against when all is said and done. She has lost the golden view of her childhood and dismantled any heroification of her parents, but breaking away from them is a level of instability she cannot bear to think about. She doesn’t see the hypocrisy in that action, either.

OCCUPATION:

There were lots of different occupations Alice could have (and wanted) to delve into. Healer, working somewhere within the Ministry with law and regulation; Alice is very much driven and motivated by making things right. Florean had ambitions leading him towards entrepreneurship, a path that didn’t seem too terrible for Alice (though she didn’t know what her business would have looked like, and she wasn’t nearly as charming as her brother to draw in customers). In the end, Auror prevailed, and Alice hasn’t looked back. She was tough enough to handle the pressure (that or she knew how to absorb the shocks well while remaining on her feet), smart enough to think on her feet, and hunting down and imprisoning those who abuse magic, use magic for wrongdoing, it gives her a sense of purpose. It fulfills her. Alice is not the type who can consciously waste her life away when she knows there are things she can do to improve the world that she lives in, and being an Auror means she gets the most immediate course of action in improving the world — even if it is taking down one Dark wizard at a time.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER

The Order was, in the beginning, an extension activity. The Ministry had its boundaries like any structure of government would, and Alice could justify expanding beyond them. She saw the benefit in going the extra mile even if it was frowned upon on paper and in the laws. She, after all, had up close experience with Dark wizards, how they thought and the damage they could do, the threats they posed and how imperative it was to snuff out their sparks. She joined the Order on the precipice that it was the right thing: killing innocent people for things out of their control didn’t seem fair. She joined the Order because there was more she could do and the Order eliminated the need to dance around the red tape the Ministry would have set out. Alice wanted to fight, so she’d dedicate herself to the fight. It was new and exciting when the Order was first formed and even if some decisions from up high were questionable, it was a step on the path to making things right.

She’s somewhat of a veteran in the Order at this point. She’s survived long enough to have experienced highs and lows (and the current sinking low they are in as the scales tip out of their favor) that she’s got a jaded viewpoint of the Order. Violence used to be combated with skill, knowledge, strategy, the sheer goodness in their hearts or whatever noble shit she used to justify, and now it seems like the Order is sinking to the same levels as the Death Eaters when it comes to fighting fire with fire. The stakes raise consistently, especially being on the losing side, and more and more is asked of members of the Order who, like Alice, have tenure. Even members who are fresh in the fold are being asked to submit blind faith without context and Alice has lost all sense of novelty in that ideal, abandoned the assumption that it would result in victory. She is black and white in an organization that has always been grey and there are too many shades now for her to feel like she’s got any sense of alignment. Every decision and action sits uneasy with her. What were once infractions in the laws that she could justify turning a blind eye to (even if it did sprout lots and lots of questions) are now full on blowing past any sense of legality and it bothers her. There are too many shifty allegiances in the Order now — there’s Dorcas and her gang, taking matters into their own hands, there are those more committed to helping Muggleborns escape and go into hiding than eliminating the threat that causes them to go into hiding in the first place, there are those who no longer know where their loyalties lie, and then there are just those that she doesn’t trust, point blank. It’s hard for Alice to commit any kind allegiance to an organization that is hardly organized. She feels as though there’s no accountability, no real plan on how they’re going to win this war, and that will be what ultimately sinks the ship. Though she is a part of the inner circle, she doesn’t view it as any kind of grand privilege or incentive that she might have when she herself was bright eyed and ready to fight Death Eaters, eager to work hard and work her way up the ranks so she could feel her purpose being actualized and brought to fruition. I think Alice has her reasons for staying in the Order (people like Caradoc, trying to make her marriage with Frank stay afloat, the whole “we’re trying to take down the bad guys” thread still there somewhere in the tapestry) but it’s not because she agrees with what they’re doing anymore. It is a sinking ship. She is very much chained to it and the more they lose, the more conscious she grows of how heavy the chains are.

SURVIVAL:

“How have they not died?” I just love this question. You can figure Alice Longbottom hasn’t died because one, she’s not the type to follow anyone blindly and thinks for herself (she’ll be the first to question something if it sparks a question inside her) and two, there’s still a fair slew of Death Eaters running around. You could bet that if she’s going, she’s taking as many as she can with her with a bloodstained smile. Her death is something she refuses to let occur in vain. Like her life, it’d have purpose.

On a much more serious, in-depth sort of note, part of the reason Alice has stayed alive as long as she has comes with the privilege of her pure-blood. Her family aren’t blood traitors, not so far on the outskirts that they don’t have good graces to get them by. She takes advantage of it more than she realizes. She tries not to rely on her own bloodline or the one she married into to save her skin, but it has certainly dragged her out by the skin of her teeth from hairy situations before. Her position in the Ministry has also somewhat kept her stable. The Order is as good as illegal these days, and while the Ministry is corrupt, keeping her position as an Auror keeps a blanket of cover over her not-so-legal pastimes. She shut down the possibility of being a part of the Order to people with their prying eyes and questions and she has never outwardly given them reason to double back and pry further. Hunting Dark wizards puts a target on her back, obviously, but her skill and the formidable duo she and Frank can be has kept her alive. Her survival is strategic. She is aware that no one is safe, that even with all bases covered there are still blind spots. She doesn’t have an invincibility complex. She knows and has made peace with the fact she could die at any point, long since been a truth she’s accepted (practically necessity in being an Auror). It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t pull out the stops, have her reasons and hoping they will see her through. She stays at the Ministry not just in the hopes there is something left to save, but because of the protection it provides. She stays in the Order because there is value to her position in the inner circle, protection against those who think she is playing for the other team and intel that has kept her one step ahead in her work. She can divide her loyalty and the time has yet to come where she is forced to pick only one to commit to.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Alice is not a people person, not really. She’s an ISTJ; their circles are small and the way they make friends is utterly methodical. Alice picks and chooses who she puts time, energy, and loyalty into, and she doesn’t do so lightly — once it’s given, very rarely will she retract it. That said, it’s a time of war, and Alice is rapidly losing her stability, which means loyalty isn’t necessarily spouting out of her in spades. Relationships at this point in time have to be of substance, conversations need a purpose and an end goal or result contrived from them.

I think her relationship with Frank is possibly the most important relationship in her life at the moment, especially considering that it’s crumbling. Frank was the yin to her yang. She thought him a perfect complement to her; it was why they were so lethal in duels. He understood her, she (thought she) understood him, and Alice truly felt herself better just by Frank’s presence. Frank validated Alice in a lot of ways; he validated every feeling that didn’t quite align with what was in place for her, whether it was her exploring a freedom that many people around her didn’t or keeping to herself. She felt like she didn’t have to tick boxes or live up to certain expectations around him. Because of that, in a way, she would protect him with a dying breath, walk into fire with him and never look back. Now, of course, he feels off-kilter to her, and it is utterly nerve-grating. With everything going on she doesn’t necessarily have time to deal with working out the puzzle of what’s wrong with Frank and how do I make it right? and if it weren’t because of how much she loves him (or how long she’s loved him, per se, he’s remained a constant in a time when nothing is guaranteed and there’s somewhat of a reliance on Frank being the anchor in the storm) she’d shift her focus elsewhere. There’s never a good time for her to pick his brain and sift through the issues, which means it continues to get put off. There is a part of Alice that is afraid they’re no longer on the same page and she doesn’t know what she’ll do without him, so she simply doesn’t ask so she doesn’t have to hear the answer she doesn’t want to hear.

After Frank, I’d say that the next incredibly significant relationships Alice has are those with the inner circle. The inner circle is not the Ministry. There is no real structure, no hierarchy of responsibility. The inner circle is a group of people who are supposed to be trying to keep order within the Order all while win a losing-war, and where she may have been gung-ho in the beginning, she’s now internally straddling the fence. The only person she really trusts in the inner circle anymore (and is subsequently the tether keeping her intact with the organization as a whole) is Caradoc. Mary is a finger on the trigger and Alice knows that explosion is inevitable with her, she’s either going to lead Mary down a path that keeps her in a range of safety or wind up as collateral damage. James is just as much of a risk in her eyes. To her, all of the younger members of the Order have the right idea but they certainly don’t go about it in the right way. They’re all ready to kick up the gravel but they don’t see method to their madness, they see no benefit in taking a moment to process before they lurch into action, and to Alice, that’ll be the thing that gets everyone killed. Quite frankly, she doesn’t know how much more blood she can stand to have staining her hands.

Obviously, this is by no means the full extent of ‘relationships’ for Alice - I’m merely just writing what I personally picked up from the connections listed in her bio. As a member of the “inner circle” Alice has a position that puts her into contact with nearly every member of the Order in some way and I’d love to expand and explore other connections where she discovers and aligns to people who are in the same boat as her when it comes to the tone this war has taken and how to go about it (every girl needs a drinking buddy to bitch to) and bumps heads with those who differ or have their issues with her/how the inner circle operates.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I rank chemistry higher than anything, truthfully. The way I look at things is that at the present moment, Alice is married to her work and her alignment on the right-wrong spectrum much more than she really is with Frank, whether she can swallow her pride long enough to choke that out or not. There’s a lot of waist-high angst that Frank and Alice have to explore and work their way through that I’m fully ready to fling myself into, but when it comes to any kind of definitive thing or endgame, I’m leaving myself open for any and all possibilities that come through. The rift between them could close, the rift between them could deepen and drive Alice into isolation (or into the arms of someone else) — it’s something I personally want to save for discussing and developing over time with Frank’s writer. I never join groups or apply for certain characters on the sole precipice for a guaranteed ship, I’m drawn to characters based on the vision and what avenues I can take with them, how I’ll be able to write them into the fold. With Alice, romance is certainly an undeniable element to her character but I don’t think it’s a very prominent shade in her palette considering everything else she’s got going on. I always leave windows open! I’m just more interested in diving in, exploring her, and seeing what colors and shades I can pull out of her when writing against other incredibly talented people.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

To put it rather plainly, Alice doesn’t have much room (if any) to complain when it comes to how she has it. Her family may not be what the Wizarding World would hail next to royalty, but aside from being a woman, she’s got just about every box ticked when it comes to possession of privilege. Pure-blood? Check. Caucasian? Check. Heterosexual? Check. Alice doesn’t expect the world to hand her things on a silver platter but she’s used to drinking out of a silver cup. I like to think that she’s intelligent enough to recognize her privilege and an existence of bias but very rarely does she check it at the door. Alice’s morality and sense of wrong and right is one that I think, given the direction of this group, will be something wildly fun to explore! She’s always consumed with doing “the right thing”, her world is very much black and white, but Alice’s interpretation of “the right thing” may not be what underprivileged people in the magical community consider to be right. When she is called out on behaviors or exhibiting her bias, I want to see to what extent she will recognize her wrongdoing and legitimately grow from it. She knows discriminating against Muggleborns is wrong, but her actions don’t always reflect that (usually an unintentional thing, but nonetheless still indicative). In a way it goes hand-in-hand with her association with her family (they aren’t radicalized like the Death Eaters and they wouldn’t say that Voldemort is right, but the principle of the thing is enough to align them) — Alice may educate herself and think differently, but will she choose to put it into practice instead of just turning a blind eye and grinding down her teeth to keep quiet? She’s the kind who likes to make things right, but is she too selective in what she makes right? What holds her back from speaking up against her family, what will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back (if it comes at all)? It’s something I definitely want to explore as time goes on, and I really would love to perhaps put Alice in a situation where other characters really push her in a corner and make her analyze what she’s doing about her privilege. Acknowledgment is an important step, but action (especially out of the mouth of someone who is impassioned when it comes to aligning things back to a rightful state) is just as important, and not just when it is convenient. That latter component is something Alice does need work on but I think with time, she could find herself steadily improving upon. Let her fuck up be it in a subtle manner or of epic proportion, let her be educated and let her have the opportunity to (maybe) grow from it! After all, if we as human beings are stagnate and refuse growth, are we living at all?

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I’ll be honest, I’m very selective when it comes to Harry Potter groups. I like having some kind of structure within them but also having the liberation to run with my muses, but above all else, I look for the groups who go the extra mile. Whether that’s with plot, originality, or just the sheer dedication admins and members alike pour into their group, I like to think I have an eye for finding the diamonds in the basket. To me, this group is it. I’m a sucker for an AU on anything. The creative freedom, the doors it opens, it entices me and it gives me as a writer to take a chance that I probably wouldn’t otherwise. I also really like groups that walk the balance between external and internal strife, while also allowing their writers the chance to flesh out characters in a different light than canon did. That can be hard for groups to find and walk, but I think you’ve done such a magnificent job in doing such that it’s crazy to not at least try my hand at a muse or two. For Alice in particular, I was drawn to her bio because of the completely different light you’ve angled on her and the garden of opportunity sown. As writers, we sometimes ask things of the characters we breathe our life into and what I love most about Alice is she’s the one who always steps up to the plate, an equal participant in the process. She makes you question your own motives with her character and why you write her in the way you do, she doesn’t conform to one style or one story line, and she demands all of your attention and affection with the glaring reminder you will not tame her or conform her to the basis of another muse or a past portrayal. It is imperative to her character and the development she has the possibility of undergoing — she relies on you as much as you rely on her. At the same time, she is almost an entirely separate being and writes herself (this application for her did anyways) and Alice is an incredible opportunity to deviate from myself, the canon of Harry Potter — or at the very least, the preconceived notions of fandom as to what canon in the Marauders era entails — and just write. I’m looking forward to writing a character far different from anything I could have envisioned for her (as a Slytherin myself, I’m pumped to be writing a fellow Slytherin!) or that I would have predicted taking on and I like a challenge. I’m looking forward to getting to walk in your Potterverse, I’m looking forward to how the future isn’t set and what incredible things can come from it. And of course, I love the things that can be born from war-based settings, whether it’s a plot drop or character tension, and to be on the inside of it as well as watch it unfold is an exciting prospect!

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

Look, I love angst. So much. As if you couldn’t tell. One group-wide plot I think that could be a lot of fun, especially since this is a smaller bunch, is to see what would happen if outside forces wedged their way into the group in an attempt to divide and essentially conquer the Order? I’m not sure where Peter’s storyline will take him, of course, but I think it’d be fun to play out something where there’s a strong cause for suspicion after a mission that one of them has betrayed the group and is working as a double agent, and of course, everyone thinks it’s someone different and results in everyone pointing the blame at everyone and just, a lot of angst, testing these friendships and bonds, seeing who’s ready to sell out who and so forth. This would obviously create a big vulnerability within the group since they don’t trust one another, throw in perhaps the Death Eaters or other Dark forces attacking them out of nowhere…I think it has some potential, it’s just a little idea right now that definitely needs some fleshing out, obviously, but it’s an idea that could be really fun. Another small little plot idea I have is someone in the Order going missing (could be a NPC close to one of the players, or could actually be one of our players) and it’s revealed they’ve been captured, they’ll be exchanged harm-free if our little group hands back over something of importance to the Death Eaters. There’s a time limit involved as well, and if the group doesn’t comply, this person is killed. Of course, segue into conflict, angst, and all the good emotions. Ultimately though, I like waiting and seeing the dynamic of the game and all the other players to really develop group plot ideas? As far as Alice-specific, I am currently planning to play her devoid of child, but dependent upon future discussion with other players (and of course seeing where the course of things take her), I think it’d be fun to see Alice fall pregnant and watch her struggle with that whole Pandora’s box? Would she tell Frank or keep him on the outside? Would it bring her joy or terror? Would she keep the baby or would she choose another route considering the bleak state of things? Just an idea.

ANYTHING ELSE? N/A

#homenumaccepted #bio rpg #bio rp #marauders #alice longbottom

1 note · View note

leviosarpg · 5 years

Text

Congratulations, LARA! You have been accepted for the role of KASSIUS OLLIVANDER! Lara, I think it’s fair to say that your app left me a little speechless, to say the least. “But his vision of himself is so skewed, so different from what everyone else sees, that silver will always look dull, even in the sunlight.” That, Lara, that was when I knew Kassius was yours. You nailed his entire character in a single, beautiful line. Not to mention, the quality of your writing was absolutely incredible; I found your para sample to be especially stunning! So much about Kassius’s character is tied to legacy, but I have to admit what absolutely enchanted me about your app was the way you conveyed Kassius’s understanding of legacy, as in it’s ability to be weaponized. Lara, I think it’s safe to say your app was was pure magic!

Your faceclaim change to: Matthew Bell has been accepted. Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: Lara / 24 / she/her / EST

THE CHARACTER

desired role: Kassius Magnus Ollivander KASSIUS: of Latin origin, meaning “hollow”. A meaning which he defies, but one he cannot admit to himself that he feels. MAGNUS: of Latin origin, meaning “the greatest”. A meaning which he strives to feel, but that he cannot admit is perilously beyond reach. OLLIVANDER: of Mediterranean origin; the near mythic name of a long line of wand makers, the likes of which have never been matched in the field. A reverent name, and one that has been situated amongst the Sacred 28 families since the group’s inception – though they are notably one of the few open-minded lineages amongst them.

CHARACTER DISCUSSION – AKA, I WAS DRUNK WRITING THIS AND GOT EXCITED

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

I was surprised at my attraction to Kassius at first, until it made perfect sense. I am most often drawn to the ambitious, the volatile, the dangerous; my tastes fall with the tortured ‘bad boy’ who cannot be tamed. My usual type is the villain – not the tortured intellectual. But the more I write, and the more I think on him, the more I realize that Kassius is entirely within the realm of my ‘type’, though he is entirely more complicated than just a mere archetype, as is he more good than any base tortured soul that I might call a muse. I will explain this in an examination of his personality – which will surely devolve into a stream of consciousness rambling about my love for this character, as it is far and wide. I would talk about my attraction to the character as a whole, but I would be better served analyzing him, for I was drawn to the sheer complexity of his character above all else. And GOD all he wants is to make the legacy proud; he doesn’t want to live up to the Ollivander name for fame and glory, but because inadequacy will eat him alive. He is more silver than gold, and he cannot quite come to terms with the fact that it is just as valuable, just as lustrous and coveted as gold is. He should have been a golden boy; his parents certainly thought him to be, all wild imagination and intelligence to match, all charm and ambition to command every room – but his vision of himself is so skewed, so different from what everyone else sees, that silver will always look dull, even in the sunlight. Inadequacy is a demon, a shadow that lurks in places that should shine – and the illusion of it (for he is not inadequate, though he might think he is) will eat him alive. The part in his bio that really stuck with me, and really serves as the axis of this analysis – and of his character in general, is as follows: “Kindness has become your last sanctuary, for you have become the eternal flame that demands more and more, that seeks to outlast time itself. Contentment is a virtue you will never know, for your self-inflicted agonies are rich with flowers and demons who ensure your thorns remain sharp.” He can be kind to others, to the world, to those who cannot find it in the world to be kind to themselves, and yet he, Kassius, is never kind to himself. He strives to be a beacon of kindness, of hope, of a legacy that has long-upheld the wizarding community in its stalwart truth – but he cannot be kind to himself. The disquietude he feels for his own self, while revering what he could be, what he should be, all while expending all vestiges of kindness and hard work upon the thankless world – this is what makes him so fascinating.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: + SCHOLARLY: You have to wonder how he managed to choose to shirk his parents and go straight for the jugular that is his family history, his family legacy. And it is just that – there is no stoic past for him to study, but a living, breathing body of life-history which still runs like an archaic myth, and an undeniable truth, through the veins of the wizarding world. There is no Hogwarts without Ollivander; and so it is his duty to learn everything, to know everything, to learn the histories of his contemporaries back and forth for it is the Ollivander legacy not to be a number amidst the masses, but to be almost godlike in how utterly untouchable the name is. He buries himself in books, spell tomes, historical records, preserved letters; the legacy sits heavy upon his shoulders like weights on a scale, and it is all he can do to keep them from tipping in one direction or another. + HOPEFUL: If there is one thing that can be said for hope, in the hands of Kassius Ollivander, it is that hope is kind. Hope, longing, and dreams walk hand-in-hand, and Kassius allows the line to blur even in the most crucial of moments when, perhaps, logic should prevail. He is a highly logical man, and yet the nebulous wonder of hope can muddle his logic and turn it to color in but a moment. Hope is dangerous, but wonderful; call it forgiveness with teeth and a firm bite. Hope is a demon; he bestows it upon the world while it eats away at his soul to the tune of malcontent. Don’t be fooled; Kassius is not hopeful for himself, but for what he might push himself to do for the world. Might. He hopes. +/- AMBITIOUS: This is a perilous line to walk upon. His ambition would make him fit well in the Slytherin crowd, but his ambition is not at the expense of others, but of himself. He is too hard on himself, ever reaching too high, stretching too thin. But he can do more, he insists; he can do better. He believes that he is nothing if he is not striving for something, that he is useless, a meaningless thorn in a bramble bush if he does not run himself dry in pursuit of the family legacy that he is saddled with. The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak – or it makes us hard. He is becoming more thorn than petal, though he tries so very hard to do all things with kindness, to help and protect those who cannot do so themselves, with his legacy as a weapon. - PERFECTIONISTIC: Perfection or nothing at all. This will be his fatal flaw, because he will work himself into the ground and still believe that the hole he’s dug isn’t deep enough. He does his best not to impose this impossible standard on anyone else, instead taking the brunt of his own miserable self-displeasure. It consumes him, this endless reach for perfectionism, and it takes an enormous toll upon his personal relationships. There are very few people, few things, few causes that can pull him from within himself and into the world around him. The aching for his legacy, to step into the shoes of Ollivanders past, started as just that – an ache. A wish. To be creative, to be something more than himself, something a part of something bigger. But the ache has grown, and it sits as a heavy weight between his shoulders, bending arched back downward so that he may never stop working. - ISOLATING: Reaching for meaning, for purpose, for validation, rather than reaching for connection; there is something so icy and lonely about Kassius’s struggle, and he often allows himself to become consumed by it, which often leads to him setting himself away from those who might be close to him. No matter how much he craves camaraderie, companionship, warmth, the self-imposed competition he has with himself makes it hard, most often, to emerge from the impossible chrysalis of his own creation. It’s a vicious and complicated cycle: he finds connection and community, and is validated by those he connects with; inevitably he is reminded of what he has failed to do, to become, and he retreats in on himself to work; he sees others living freely and happily, either without the chains of expectation or within, and hates that he cannot be this free; he remembers, then, that he cannot be happy until he is right, until he reaches the level of legacy that befits him. Not enough. He isolates and works, always long-suffering and self-martyring, when he falls into the deep hole of inadequacy. He does his very best to connect, and there are few things that keep him engaged, and enthusiastic, and warm in his efforts and ambitions, but when he isolates, turning inward on himself, he can be cold.

It is also worth discussing his MOTIVATIONS, as they are as varied and changeable as anything. Though his intentions are largely good, there is no doubt in my mind that he could easily be swayed by the selfish nature of his ambition. Now, this selfishness may not always be malicious – motivations spurred on by ambition need not always be at the expense of others, but they most often are at the expense of the self. He wants the best for his friends, for The Liberation, for all those they seek to protect – but how can he be of any use to them, of any good to anyone, if he’s not enough for his own legacy? For himself?

Extracurriculars: Ravenclaw Quidditch, The Liberation, Astronomy Club, Charms Club, Dueling Club, The Slug Club. – Ever the overachiever, he has bitten off more than he can reasonably chew. But Kassius is never the sort of person to admit that he has taken on too much, because he - an Ollivander - is not meant to be capable of burning out, or of being squashed beneath the weight of too much work. Not to mention he genuinely enjoys everything that he’s involved in, and is honestly passionate about everything on this list that he has set his mind to. It also helps that Freya is around in some of these places – that always helps.

PARA SAMPLE:

The hollows beneath his eyes are cavernous, and yet he finds himself here, keen, bright, standing stalwart amongst those he called his allies, and those he called his friends. There is truly nothing more important than this; it is in moments of clarity like this one that he realizes it, time and time again, that his own obsessions fall like scales from his eyes to reveal the truth – legacy is meaningless, when those without die for the sake of it.

Legacy is why they are here; some use it as weapons, where his is a thorn in his own side. Weaponized legacy, a name sharpened into a knifepoint, is a bastardization of everything a legacy is meant to stand for, but this is not why he is here. He sets his own name aside and becomes one of the masses, a wall separating the innocent from the malicious. Here, amidst the Liberation, he is not Kassius Ollivander. He is just Kassius. And for once, that is more than enough.

In fact, it is more than enough, for as he stands at the head of the near-empty classroom, wand aloft, mirroring those who have snuck from their beds to meet tonight, Kassius finds all ghosts, whispering diatribes of inadequacy and doubt in his ear, to be absent. As they all stand in a line, wands pointed at hovering targets above their heads, he – for once – thinks not of the name Ollivander, but of the name Justice. Those around him care little what his name is; nor do the men, women, and children who the Liberation seek to defend against those who put more stock in blood than in mettle. For once, he is stronger in simply being Kassius, for the youngest of them all look to him as if he is not as tired as he truly feels. And so he holds his head higher; they are all that matters.

He thinks, for a moment, of Riddle’s gospel; his family had been expected to bow, for they sat amongst the Sacred 28. Perhaps this, this defiance, this decision to stand against tyranny and injustice, to protect those who cannot protect themselves – this is legacy. His gaze breaks for a moment from the target overhead, mind leaving the spell upon his lips and finding those who stood about the room with him, those brave souls barricaded in a classroom in which they could be discovered at any moment. He finds them, and all at once the ache in his spine from arching over paper, the tremble in his fingers from holding a quill far too long, the throb of tired eyes awake at work too long – all quiet, covered with the warm rain of camaraderie.

Yes, he thinks, turning his gaze upward once more, This is what legacy is for.

“Are you ready?” he calls, wand humming in his grip. He hears a murmur of agreement at all sides of him, and his lips twitch upward.

At your ready, Kassius! Someone calls out, and the assent rises. He turns his head to meet Perseus’s gaze, his dearest ally in this trying time; there is trust between them that allows both fear and exhilaration to exist in this space in equal measure. This moment is his masterwork, what he has spent so long belaboring in isolation. This mighty something born of his legacy’s proclivity for wandwork; this is a revolution. Somewhere in the distance, he imagines Tom Riddlesquirming. An Ollivander, someone pure, finding their own weapon in their name. Just Kassius – legacy abounds. They all cast at once, and the room is alight with blue, with spark, with light that blinds. At the boom it creates, he finds himself laughing, turning his gaze once more from the flying target, which now spins and bounces from the wall, to the room. The laughter echoes along the walls, moving through all of them like a wave, as he finds Perseus, Freya, the others, all family in arms.

He feels it swell within his chest before it breaks out across his face in a wide smile, lighting up the hollow corners of his tired face, warming the tense knot that seems to always occupy the pit of his stomach. Light and bits of dust still float down from the ceiling, from the charmed targets, which dart and spin across the ceiling at the behest of their sheer combined power.

Perseus offers him a nod; perhaps it is obvious that, as is so rare, Kassius has emerged from his withering disquietude, and has bloomed before their eyes, as is the power of their combined resistance and camaraderie. “This –” he gestures upward with perpetually ink-stained finger, lips pulled wide in a near-manic grin, an utterly giddy expression that is mirrored around the room, “is what we are capable of when we are together. Strength! Live together – die alone.” He offers Freya a glowing glance, and his stomach flips. “This is our legacy.”

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

Could I possibly change his FC to Matthew Bell? Thank you!! :)

ALSO! I will link an inspo blog HERE that will be full of inspo, creations, headcanons, and the like :) thank you for reading this application!

#hp rp #hp rpg #lsrpg #literate rp #literate rpg #accepted #kassius

3 notes · View notes

doshmanziari · 6 years

Text

Crown of the Ivory King is the Dark Souls Series’ Low-point

Ever since the release of Dark Souls 2′s final installment, the Crown of the Ivory King, it’s been attended by a very vocally supportive playerbase. I’ve found it baffling and, despite lurking forums and attempting to coax out explications about why the heck people think it’s so great, I’ve hardly come any closer to understanding the reception. It’s fine, I think, to shrug and say you just have a thing for snowy levels. When that’s made into more than a hyper-subjective admittance, and becomes statements which denigrate Dark Souls 2′s main material (see: comments everywhere that the DLC is supposedly a significant step up from the “B-team”’s work (note that this supposed “B-team” is an imaginary group gamers have conveniently heaped their scorn upon when they’ve found Souls-stuff to be lacking)) . . . then I get kind of annoyed.

With the Boletarian Palace, Demon’s Souls set the standard for me where fortressed layouts in the series are concerned. At the risk of seeming to treat the Boletarian Palace as a case of insuperable level design, I’m going to quote a few bits here from prior essays concerning it, and hope that it instead demonstrates that its better qualities come from reproducible design decisions:

An uncommon attention was paid to the worlds’ furnishings. One noticed, making their way through [the Boletarian Palace], that rickety palisades were erected on the grand introductory staircase, here and there a discarded carriage with maybe a horse corpse; in small, pocket-like refectories were rows of beds, and tables bearing cups, candelabras, and bowled edibles; outside of these cells were carts harboring casks of wine and buckets; or that on a long wall-walk was a somber parade of trebuchets, and adjacent to this was an attic for carts loaded with to-be-launched boulders. There was a sense that everything was in its right place, and to weave through these environments was to experience a world that innately lent itself to textured terms of engagement. Running up a series of staircases peppered by barrels full of explosive powder, and haunted by torch-wielding madmen, meant grappling with an incendiary challenge, yet the challenge was holistically ingrained in the objecthood of that world. In that way, spatial dealings, navigational or combative, acquired a flavor of believability.

Additionally, Demon’s Souls ran counter to an extant strain of design in action-adventure games that draws a distinguishing line between “combative spaces” and “non-combative spaces.” The least gratifying cases of this strain induce a monotonous awareness of compartmentalization, of there being a manner of space for fights — most often resembling an arena accommodating the spectacle of performance (God of War and its progeny come to mind) — and a manner of space for sites between fights. What made Demon’s Souls a categorical outlier was that conflict could happen anywhere; and that, when conflict did happen, the architecture supplemented it.

. . . the Boletarian Palace’s magic was that its architecture discretely realized and blended the inherent themes of defense, housing, and storage. It both came across as a convincing place (again, “convincing” or “realistic” does not mean that the subject has a 1:1 ratio with reality) and engaged the player with design permutations that took hold of the surroundings, like groups of crossbow-firing soldiers blocking the way on a bridge, or darkly spear-throwing creatures in a dim room meant for storing carriages.

Rather than a stony maze with apposite ornaments thrown in, the Boletarian Palace felt like a castle first and foremost, with encounter design that naturally tapped into its abundance of nooks, sharp angles, and verticalities.

If we’re looking at Eleum Loyce -- which can be more or less separated into a fortified area, a residential zone, and a subterranean network -- I think the pervasive problem is that practically none of it has any suggestive power. Suggestive power is a consequence of the level design per se and the clothing it wears. So when nearly all there is to see is the most spartan of stonework (and not even skillfully texture-mapped stonework) and white mounds, engaging level design is vital. Most of the interiors have been reduced to bare, non-functional cubes, and exteriors largely are bluntly laid out paths where you pick off a line of enemies one by one, sometimes including peripheral retainers. It all has the flavor of a beta zone for developmental testing, and it feels terribly wrong that perhaps the sole memorable detail is a frozen fountain early on.

Since this doesn’t really lend itself to interesting encounter design -- there is no ambiguity or mystery to the space, no way to treat it as anything other than a sequence of immediately explicable containers -- and the majority of enemies are super-sturdy soldiers coming in a few flavors, many combative interactions play out as the melee-oriented player leading an alerted bunch of foes to a chokepoint and picking them off with strong attacks. For as much as I could criticize the aesthetic fumbles of the prior two DLC installments, their layouts had definite dynamics: Shulva’s staggered array of towers (some manipulatable), and Brume Tower’s tiered floors skirting circular shafts.

They also featured neat miniature gimmicks that could be engaged to lessen the danger of a given area: destroying sarcophagi in the Dragon Sanctum to make the ghostly sanctum knights assume a corporeal, and practically pregnable, form, and collapsing Ashen Idols speckling the Tower to halt the healing and reappearance of adjacent enemies. It’s hard to really say what Loyce’s comparable gimmicks are. There are, for a while, snowy winds blasting around the fort’s exteriors, but these winds only have a remarkable effect on your range of sight in the optional (and much-hated) Frozen Outskirts (this is, in fact, one of the Outskirts’ few virtues). There are also coats of ice making certain chests inaccessible, but once they’re shattered upon talking to a Lore-Dispensing Character it simply is a matter of backtracking and opening them up in a classically obsessive-compulsive manner (more interesting would’ve been the option to melt the ice by using pyromanic spells).

What little conspicuous level design exists in Eleum Loyce does stand out on its own terms. When you come upon the abandoned residential zone, you must navigate several columned arcades, being careful about the obscured, spine-backed ice rats and, a level above, a spell-casting witchtree spirit or two. Between this triangulation of elements you’ll find yourself using the arcades for cover while also trying to not let their dense arrangement hinder your movements or attacks. It’s basic stuff, and brief, and it’s good (it gets even better when you’re invaded by a black phantom NPC) -- it works on a level beyond shoveling baddies into crates and along straight paths. You’re conscious of an architecture. Disappointing, then, to find that the knotty little complex of residences is really a paltry couple of empty boxes with a useable staircase in one. So much for expanding on that aspect of the city.

Another similarly brief moment happens later on inside a dim, high-ceilinged hall separated by three floors built of wooden planks. The first of these floors is the most interesting. On it, you’ll juggle seeking shelter from two spell-casters by emerging onto nearby balconies, and taking care of a soldier on each balcony itself before you’re ganged up on by pursuers from the hall; and once you’re back in the hall to take of whoever remains, you’ll have to mind the several holes which break up the wooden flooring and lead to deadly drops. As with many cases of fine level design in the series, it demonstrates how an engaging sense of pressure can be exerted on players by aligning simple, but not overly simple, architecture with complementary enemy positions.

Eleum Loyce has been commended for having several loop-around shortcuts that lead you back to prior locations. These commendations haven’t taken into account why this series-trope has excelled when it has excelled, though. To be sure, Eleum Loyce’s shortcuts function as any shortcut should: they expedite the process of repeat attempts at navigation and impart a sense of incremental progress. But beyond this there’s not really any epiphanic or retrospective spark to the loop-arounds. Eleum Loyce’s overall layout is so diffuse and architecturally generalized -- if you compare the two screenshots below you’ll see how visually similar the city’s explorable portions are to its unexplorable portions -- that you’re never learning about its organizational character or seeing charismatic structures reappear. You’re just opening a door or taking an elevator. And, you know, that’s fine. But it doesn’t warrant special praise.

And then there’s the unpleasant friction of the Frozen Outskirt’s conceptual strength versus its actual strength. As each DLC installment has had mechanical gimmicks (some, uh, ostensible), each has also had an optional gauntlet catering to multiplayer efforts. These have been pretty uniformly terrible -- I called Shulva’s an “utterly reduced ‘path with enemies’” -- and are solely concerned with throwing as much densely packed shit at the player(s) in the tightest possible, and least imaginatively suggestive, spaces. As I wrote in the same essay, “There is no design goal here except, ‘Swamp the player who should have assistance to divide the streams of projectiles and the soldiers' advances.’” A slight exception, the Frozen Outskirts offer the novel idea of dislocating players by having the snowdrifts oscillate between visibility and near-invisibility by way of periodic snowstorms. If this were left on its own, if the challenge were one of pure navigation -- having to find one’s bearings and using several ruinous sites as guideposts, and fighting or running away from a few hostile adventurers -- I really think the Frozen Outskirts would be great. All of this potential is squandered by tossing what essentially amount to mini-bosses at players, with no options for even the tiniest bit of cover among the stretches separating the ruins (recalling Elana’s chief design failure), and so the overall experience is demoted to that of a frustrating slog.

I think what makes Eleum Loyce the series’ low-point for me is its formal vapidness + its very positive reception. I feel bored and alienated. It’s hard to not think that people have been poisoned to believe that what is most remarkable about these games is the element of challenge. Eleum Loyce is, to me, a snubbing of everything I’ve enjoyed about exploring these games’ places. All curious details have been scrubbed out and what remains is a base obstacle course of cartoonishly themed enemies -- ice-coated soldiers, some with crystals bursting from their backs -- with the ultimate signifier of Prepare to Die challenge at the end: a bunch of knights in a huge arena protecting an even bigger knight, who epically emerges from Barad-dûr’s peak to a tritone and can make his sword be the biggest sword.

Anyway. That’s what I think. What do you think?

#dark souls 2 #eleum loyce #videogame criticism #level design

15 notes · View notes