#but I just run into an even more massive shitshow somehow

[wild-magic-oops]

The fandom bias is insanely dumb, i have seen people CRYING(literal in some cases) about other people joking about using a certain twinkish companion in the grymforge as sacrifice.

If you are just mean to certain twinkish companion you are the worst person ever and support SA(no correlation).

If another companion is mean to certain twinkish companion the character is the worst character ever.

They love to use the evil fucked up choice with Gale in a durge run, but wont do any of the evil choices to certain twinkish companion, act 2 has a very fucked up choice to do with certain twinkish companion, wonder how many twink girlies(gender neutral) "had to do it!!!" just because they were playing a dark urge. After reading some comments, close to none, because you ARE the devil if you make him sad or go against what HE the fictional character wants and needs.

There is also the thing about not respecting other companions story of abuse and so on but that's just normal in the fandom i guess because some slavers are hot and Mystra certainly didnt do anything wrong since its Gale.

The double standard is really smth else in this fandom. And when 80%+ of content is about Astari*n, it's getting incredibly tiring and frustrating.

In a truly evil run Astari*n would not be surviving past the first few long rests, let alone be in a relationship with the protagonist by Act 3, but like I said before - these runs are just selectively evil and from what I've seen almost exclusively used by Astari*n fans just to be cruel to other companions (and having an 'excuse' to post about it in said characters' tags) while making Astari*n the exception bc at the end of the day they just want him to approve of their actions and that generally happens for the horrible choices. So it's not an evil run, it's a "l want to please Astari*n" run.

[editorialsonlife]

HOW IS IT APRIL ALREADY

who wants a chaotic life update coz here we go

We just submitted an offer on a house in palmy, eeeeeeeek. So moving to a whole other city an hour and a half away from where we currently live. Likely to be accepted and have been working through all the admin for mortgage approvals and selling our current home and buying new up there. We’ll be going from a 90m2 house to a 200m2 house on a larger section - it’s going to be hilarious to live somewhere so massive.

Antidepressants are the best things in the world I should have done them years ago.

Work is a wild shitshow, thanks to a prime minister who can’t accept that running a country and a company are two fundamentally different things. Consequently, work is currently calling for voluntary redundancies and then will kick off a change process in May. Will I have a job come 1 July? Who knows. Current math suggests job losses for ~1200 people across our 3500 ish back office staff so watch this space.

Thanks to antidepressants, I can’t even be stressed about this. It’s amazing!!!

Dave got a solid bonus this year, which is amazing. They did it so tough last year through all the flooding and having clients on suicide watch and everything else and they really Fkn earned it so yay. Waiting to find out what his pay rise will be as well.

At least both of us can keep our current jobs when we move and just commute a couple of days a week ( I’m in denial about the reality of this but anyway)

Naturally my sister and her husband couldn’t possibly be left out so have also put an offer on a house up there but it was so impulsive and a really dumb choice but it’s been accepted so their only hope now is they can’t sell their current house.

Fuck I’m glad we don’t have stamp duty in this country.

I signed up for an online bootcamp class on zoom that’s 530 every morning coz let’s be real I ain’t doing nothing after work apart from collapsing in a heap and it’s been so fun! They are v much like, this is your first start back in a while these are your regressions we expect to see you using them and then don’t shame you for it either? And are just like, too hard? Don’t use weights then? And my god is it ever a relief for my poor overweight body to not be forcing it to move in ways it can’t and reminding myself that actually I can do pretty amazing things if I give it a chance and it’s just been such a massive mental win. Maybe over the next few months I might get my eating sorted you never know.

I signed up for it as a 6 week challenge kinda thing and I’m 99% sure I haven’t lost any weight which was not at all the point of signing up for it - it was proving to myself I could be consistent with something and I’ve achieved that so yay.

Dave and I are good which is lovely. Even started talking to the counsellor about all my sex hang ups which is deeply unpleasant and awkward but at least it moving things along a bit??? 🤮🤮🤮😬😬😬😳😳

Have I mentioned lately how good antidepressants are honestly?? I have my brain back and my personality and it’s wild.

We wanna start having kids this year? Also wild.

Had a birthday and now I’m 34 and somehow it’s April? I do not understand time at all honestly.

I fucking love my new doctor he’s actually the best I will not be changing when we move.

I’m excited for a slower, quieter pace of life and more chill. I’m honestly done with my girl boss era. I’ve made the money and chased the titles and it’s exhausting honestly. (Watch this change again rapidly)

I was away for 7 of 8 weekends across Feb and March and it was INSANE. weddings. TAYLOR SWIFT ERAS TOUR!!!!! Birthdays and friend birthday and mum and I went to Pink and other birthdays and it was way too much. Oh, and house hunting mixed in. Plus ya know, a full time job in the mix.

It’s been a Fkn massive start to the year, and she ain’t slowing down any time soon.

Antidepressants man. Wild the difference they have made to my life. WILD.

Happy and grateful for my life and everyone in it and all the madness that it is right now. Someday it’ll be chill right??? I’ve been saying that since 2019 at some point I’ll accept that the answer is no.

Cool cool cool what a wild ride.

[littleferal]

In an universe where Frankie did get his millions (because Tom wasn’t there to RUIN everything) what do you think he would spend his money on?

i feel like this answer is maybe just gonna be boring for you nonnie? but i cant see frankie be flashy with money spending in any world? because even without tom i still feel like it would have been a bit of shitshow that frankie didn’t actually really want to sign onto - he only went along because it’s his old crew asking and everyone else is onboard. true, they’d all be getting out of there with a lighter heart than with the whole tom mess because hey, we didnt lose anyone but it doesnt change the fact that at the end of the day i still cant see it being a thing he’s happy to do.

so what does he spend the money on? little bits here and there. pays off any outstanding bills he has, does the house up a bit but doesn’t scale up - what does he need all that space for anyway? he doesn’t quit his job because he wants to keep working somehow - it keeps the mind busy and that’s useful - but maybe he switches it up a bit to give himself more hours off. he stubbornly clings onto his old truck - which he now has the time to spend fixing up himself - cos he doesnt really like all those new shiny ones. but he does spend out on new parts for it to keep it running better and longer. whether he’s still with his wife or not he puts money aside for his kid. opens a savings account for them and just trickles money in every now and again so it doesnt scream i have lots of money!! but they’re well cared for. puts some aside for his own retirement. and he totally puts money aside to get back into therapy cos fuck he needs it. he also probably makes a few very generous anonymous donation to charities because the more people he feels he’s helped with this money the better he feels about the whole thing. a military veterans one is probably pretty high on his list because he knows first hand the bullshit you come back with and carry with you, knows just how hard it can be transitioning back into civilian life.

i also feel like he’d probably try to get rid of it kinda fast too? not immediately because yeah, he’s sensible about it, he’s not going to make stupid massive purchases or the like. but he just doesnt wanna be holding onto that money for years and years to come, he wants to wipe that chapter from his life.

so yeah. not only is frankie not wanting to be a flashy big spender who draws attention to himself - cos whether full on shit show or not he’s not 100% comfortable with what happened and doesn’t want anyone finding him after - he’s also just pretty sensible and has become a little grounded over his years out of the military.

talk to me 🌙

[carpe-history]

Some things.

1. I’m on watch.

2. It just took me four hours to catch up on Tumblr because I didn’t check at all today.

3. I spent the last day of my 20s:

on duty, 

working a massive shitshow of a week that might get me an award when all is said and done. Or at least a 24h special liberty. 

being dressed down by my duty section leader for being a ‘problem’ in addition to a bunch of other things that I'm not getting into here because of reasons.

Feeling invalidated by the maintainers because of that dressing down.

crying in a bathroom for 10 minutes being calmed by my husband via text.

Hiding the crying from my coworkers.

Getting back to work because that wasn't even 0730 in the morning.

For the third day in a row, standing on my head getting the command up and running properly. I’ve worked 10 hour days for the last week. I have been the last one to leave for the Last week. I am so tired.

Having supply rally around me and the work I do. So feeling validation from that St least.

Dealing with my other job assignment as supervisor with being a sailor down

Taking a working lunch.

Working an 11 hour day.

Going home to the Best spouse I could’ve ever asked for. He made Ramen! He’s already prepping for my birthday dinner tomorrow! He’s put up with so much shit this week! God I love him do much. 

And now I'm on watch

4. I will turn 30 on watch. So that's a thing.

5. I’m working a full day tomorrow. Not because of command rules, But because I have to stand on my head again to get the command up and running correctly. My trainee/replacement is on rom. :(

6. It’s the end of the fiscal year next week and honestly it’s looking like next week will be more calm than this week. And I am told that is wrong. but somehow it is what it is.

7. 🎶It’s my job and I’ll cry if I want to🎶



[the-desolated-quill]

Quill’s Swill - The Worst Of 2019

Congratulations! You’ve made it through another year! You’ve faced many obstacles and overcome many adversaries to arrive here, at the dawn of a new decade. So as we prepare to leave the 2010s and make our way into the 2020s, lets take a look back at the challenges and hardships of 2019. And by challenges and hardships, I of course mean shitty fiction and media.

Yes, it’s time for yet another edition of Quill’s Swill, where we mark the absolute worst stories that the industry had to offer over the past year and proceed to tear them to shreds. Think of it as like voiding your bowels before the New Year.

As always remember that this is my personal, subjective opinion. If you happen to like any of the things on this list, that’s fine. More power to you. Go make your own list. Also bear in mind I haven’t seen everything 2019 has to offer due to various other commitments. So as much as I really, really want to, I can’t put Avengers Endgame on here. I know what happens. It sounds fucking terrible, but I haven’t seen the film, so it wouldn’t be fair of me to put it on the list, even though it would most definitely deserve it.

...

Seriously, read the synopsis of Endgame on Wikipedia some time. It’s like fanfic written by a nine year old. It’s truly shocking. And now it’s the highest grossing movie of all time? Give me strength.

All In A Row

Don’t you just hate it when you’re expected to parent your autistic child? Like actually show love and care and consideration to your offspring. Look at him, expecting you to treat him like a human being. Selfish bastard! If only there was a play that explored the horrors of having to be a decent person to your own flesh and blood and how objectively awful it is. If you’re one of those people, then the play All In A Row will be right up your street.

Premiering on the 14th February at Southwark Playhouse in London, All In A Row was a total shitshow to say the least. The playwright, Alex Oates, claimed to have ten years of experience working with autistic children, which you wouldn’t have believed if you saw the play as the autistic child at the centre of the play, Lawrence, seemed more like a wild animal than a person. In fact two of the main characters compare him to a dog. And if you thought this wasn’t dehumanising enough, Lawrence isn’t even a child. He’s a puppet. Yes, it’s as bad as it sounds.

All In A Row seems to place all of the blame for the family’s predicament on the autistic child, who’s presented as barely functional, bordering on bestial. There’s no effort to really make an emotional connection with Lawrence (how can you? He’s a puppet!) as the play instead focuses on how this kid has effectively ruined this family’s life because of his autism and aggressive behaviour. Speaking as someone on the autism spectrum, I can say quite confidently that this play is fucking despicable. Badly written, badly conceived, insulting and downright mean spirited. I wouldn’t want Oates looking after my autistic children, that’s for damn sure.

Anthem

EA is back and this time they’re dragging the critical darling that is BioWare down with them.

Anthem was a desperate attempt to jump aboard the ‘live service’ bandwagon, trying to replicate the success of other video games like Overwatch, Destiny and Warframe. They failed spectacularly. The game itself had more bugs than A Bug’s Life, loot drops were often stingy and unrewarding, loading times were farcically long, and the story and worldbuilding was fucking pitiful. Oh yeah, and if you played it on PS4, there was a good chance it could permanently damage it. Thankfully I have a uni friend with an Xbox One and they allowed me to play the game on that. It was a crushing disappointment, especially coming fresh off the heels of Mass Effect Andromeda, which didn’t exactly set the world on fire back in 2017.

It didn’t help that EA’s reputation was in tatters thanks to the lootbox controversy of Star Wars Battlefront II and having to try and win back the trust of fans, but worse still reports began to service of what went on behind the scenes at BioWare during the game’s development. Apparently the game’s story and mechanics kept changing every other day as the creative directors and writers didn’t have the faintest idea what kind of game they wanted to make, and the developers were often forced to work obscenely long work hours in abusive crunch periods to get the game finished for launch. It got so bad that, according to an article on Kotaku, some members of the team had to leave for weeks or even months at a time to recover from ‘stress casualties.’ 

To think this was the same company that gave us Mass Effect, Dragon Age and Knights Of The Old Republic. Thank God that Obsidian Entertainment is there to pick up the slack on the RPG front because I think it’s safe to assume that BioWare won’t be around for much longer at this rate.

The Lion King (2019 remake)

Here we go. Yet another live action remake of a Disney classic. Excpet it’s not live action, is it? Well... it’s live action in the sense that Dinosaur was live action (remember that film? Don’t worry if you don’t. No one does). Real locations but CGI characters. Millions of dollars spent on cutting edge tech to create photo realistic animals... and the film ends up duller than a bowl of porridge that really likes trainspotting.

It’s not just the fact that The Lion King remake is yet another soulless cash grab from the House of Mouse, it’s also the fact that it’s done really badly that upsets me. The Lion King works as an animated film. Bright colourful images, over the top song and dance sequences and vibrant character designs. As a ‘live action’ film, it just looks awkward and stilted. None of the animals are very expressive, leaving it up to the poor voice actors to carry the film, and to cap it all off the CGI isn’t even all that convincing in my opinion. At no point did I look at Simba and go ‘oh yeah, he looks like a real lion.’ It’s so obviously fake. In fact it reminds me of those early 00s movies like Cats & Dogs or Stuart Little where you see the jaws of the talking animals moving up and down like some messed up ventriloquist act or something. And here’s me thinking cinema has evolved past this.

BBC’s The War Of The Worlds

Remember Peter Harness? That guy who wrote that Doctor Who episode about the moon being an egg? Yeah, he’s back and he’s doing an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ War Of The Worlds. And guess what! It’s fucking ghastly! :D

The three part BBC mini-series was without a doubt some of the worst telly I think I’ve ever seen. It’s staggering how clueless Harness is as a writer. For starters he managed to achieve the impossible and somehow made a Martian invasion of Earth boring. I didn’t even think it was possible, but somehow he pulled it off. Then he sucks all tension out of the story by revealing the ultimate fate of the Martians at the beginning of the second episode, so now any threat or danger has been chucked out of the window because we know that the main female protagonist Amy at least would survive. And then finally he takes a massive dump over the source material by having humanity weaponise typhoid to kill the red weed rather than just having the Martians die of the common cold like in the book. Because God forbid us Brits should be presented as anything other than heroic and dignified.

So what we’re left with is a poorly realised allegory with ineffectual horror tropes full of OTT progressive posturing in a pathetic attempt to make Harness and the BBC look more liberal than they actually are. There’s no effort to really explore the themes of imperialism and colonialism outside of casual lip service, and we barely get a glimpse of the dark side of humanity. Everyone is presented as flawed, but basically awesome or, in the case of Rafe Spall’s character, utterly gormless. Our TV license fees help fund this shit, you know?!

And if you think this was bad, just wait till New Year’s Day where we’ll get to see Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss’ butcher Dracula. Can we stop giving these beloved literary icons to these hacks please?

Glass

I liked Split. It wasn’t an amazing movie, but it was entertaining with some good ideas, a great performance from James McAvoy and was a true return to form for M Night Shyamalan. That being said, I wasn’t keen on the idea of it taking place in the same universe as Unbreakable. I feared it would be a step too far and we’d end up having something like... well, something like Glass.

On paper, Glass isn’t a bad idea. The idea of superpowers being a delusion is legitimately intriguing and could have been a great post-modern deconstruction of the superhero genre. Except Shyamalan never actually does anything with it. The first act drags on and on with absolutely nothing happening, none of the characters really grow or change over the course of the film, Bruce Willis in particular is basically only here for an extended cameo as his character does pretty much nothing for the majority of the film, and then the entire film is undermined by that stupid Shyamalan twist. Turns out superhumans are real and there’s a big cover up. Oh great! So not only does it render the entire film pointless, it also undoes what made Unbreakable and Split so good. They’re no longer people capable of extraordinary feats via rational means. They’re just superhuman. They can do anything. Sigh.

Shyamalan... maybe it’s time to give up the director’s chair, yeah?

Cats

Oh come on! Don’t act surprised! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t put Cats on this list?!

Cats, without a doubt, is the worst film of the decade and, yes, the CGI is terrible. Not only are there these sub-human cat mutants running around, we also have mice and cockroaches with child faces, James Corden coughing up furballs, Taylor Swift trying to give the furries in the audience boners, Idris Elba looking disturbingly underdressed and Rebel Wilson being... well... Rebel Wilson. It’s a disaster of a film. And really, should we even be surprised? We all knew this was going to suck. And no it’s not because of the CGI. I thought the CGI in Pokemon: Detective Pikachu was creepy as well, but at least it had a decent script and good performances to back it up. No the reason why Cats sucked is because... it’s Cats. It’s always been that bad. No amount of ‘advanced fur technology’ was going to change that. It was still going to be a confused, plotless mess with one dimensional characters and bad songs.

The only consolation I had was that I didn’t waste money buying a ticket. A friend of mine snuck me into the premiere and we watched it in the projector room. The plan was to make fun of it and have a laugh, but we didn’t even do that because honestly there’s nothing to really make fun. There’s only so many times you can take the piss out of the CGI and honestly the film was just boring more than anything else. It doesn’t even have the distinction of being so bad it’s good like Sharknado or Tommy Wiseau’s The Room. It’s just bad, period.

I just hope we don’t see something similar happen to Starlight Express. Just think. Anthropomorphic, singing trains on roller skates. Shudder.

Star Wars: The Rise Of Skywalker

Finally we have yet another cynical cash grab from Disney.

I confess I didn’t exactly go into The Rise Of Skywalker with an open mind. I was never all that keen on a sequel trilogy in the first place, and neither The Force Awakens nor The Last Jedi ever convinced me otherwise. Admittedly they weren’t bad movies. Just derivative and painfully uninspired, and I was expecting more of the same for Episode IX. What I got instead was quite possibly the worst Star Wars film since Attack Of The Clones. Yes, it’s that bad.

This film is very poorly made, filled with plot contrivances and logic holes galore. I lost count of the number of times the protagonists got into a dangerous situation because of Rey constantly wandering off like a confused toddler lost in a shopping mall. Oh and we finally find out who her parents were and it was quite a twist, but only because it was really stupid. Of course we didn’t see it coming because nobody would have guessed it would be something that moronic. I feel JJ Abrams’ stupid ‘mystery box’ philosophy is to blame for this. It’s derailed countless franchises before such as Lost and Cloverfield, and now Abrams has fucked up Star Wars because he’s obsessed with mystery for the sake of mystery and Disney are so lazy that they couldn’t be bothered to plan an actual trilogy out properly beforehand. Instead they just wing it, making it up as they go along, which led to Rian Johnson ‘subverting our expectations�� and left Abrams desperately trying to pick up the pieces. 

In fact a lot of The Rise Of Skywalker seemed designed specifically to appease people of both sides of the wide chasm The Last Jedi had created. The roles of characters of colour like Finn and Rose were significantly reduced, Poe and Finn don’t end up together because of homophobia, but we do see two women kiss in the background of one two second shot that could easily be cut out when they release the film in China, Kylo Ren gets his stupid redemption even though he hasn’t fucking earned it, Lando Calrissian shows up for no fucking reason, Rey is given ‘flaws’ relating to her parentage in order to combat those accusing her of being a Mary Sue, but they’re the boring kind of flaws that don’t have any real impact on her character, and that ghastly ship Reylo is made canon even though it makes no sodding sense in the context of this movie, let alone the whole trilogy. They even go to the trouble of baiting us with a FinnRey romance before pulling the rug out from under us. Then, just to add insult to injury, the film retroactively ends up making the entire original trilogy completely pointless. All because Disney wanted more dollars to put in their Scrooge McDuck money bin.

The Rise Of Skywalker, and indeed the entire sequel trilogy, should serve as a cautionary tale against the dangers of hype and nostalgia. The reason The Force Awakens was successful wasn’t because it was a good movie (because lets be brutally honest here, it really fucking wasn’t). It was because it gave gullible Star Wars fans warm fuzzies because it reminded them of A New Hope whilst tempting them with the vague promise that things might get more interesting later on. And when that didn’t materialise, quelle surprise, the fanbase didn’t take it very well. I would love to think that this will serve as an important lesson for the future when people go and see Disney movies, but who am I kidding? I guarantee at some point we’re going to get Episodes X, XI and XII and we’ll have to go through this sorry process all over again.

So there we have it. The worst of 2019. May they rot forever in Satan’s rectum or wherever it is stories go to die. Tomorrow we’ll take a look at the other end of the spectrum. Yes it’s the Quill Seal Of Approval Awards! The best of the best! Who shall win? The suspense is killing me! Ooooh, I can’t wait! You’ll be there tomorrow, won’t you? Of course you will. How could you not?

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 2 - LABYRINTH

Jahaan’s strategy of blindly sprinting around the maze as fast as he could didn’t seem to be working so well so far. He’d encountered a couple of puzzle doors that made his head spin, so abandoned them in hopes of something simpler later on. Unfortunately, simpler didn’t come, so he settled into trying to work out the answer to this riddle door he had come across.

Four small masks were connected to the door, each with a different emotion carved into it - happy, neutral, sad and… broken, for lack of a better term. The mask was smashed in places, an emotion indiscernible. Above them read the line, ‘I am not a morning person. Nor am I a mourning person’.

Aside from that, nothing. No hints, no instructions. Jahaan didn’t know if he had to press just one mask or multiple, or what the consequences for a wrong guess would be. No doubt they wouldn’t be pleasant.

Running his fingertips over the masks, Jahaan tried to think as rationally as possible. Not that Sliske was a rational opponent. But no matter how hard he tried, the mental block refused to lift; Jahaan had never been good at puzzles, and the time constraints around the whole labyrinth concept were stressing him out. He had to move faster if he had any chance of retrieving the Stone.

Hitting the door in frustration, Jahaan groaned, “Fuck it!” and pressed the broken mask.

Instantly, he was shot back across the corridor until he slammed into the wall behind him, twitching from the effects of the static shock.

And to make things worse, Sliske’s laugh swarmed the air around him. “Ouch! That had to hurt! Are you okay there Janny? Do you need a time out?”

Colours danced in Jahaan’s vision as he picked himself up off the ground. He refused to reply to Sliske’s taunts.

“How’s the ribs doing?” Sliske asked, pretending to be nonchalant. “Glad to see you walking without a cane now.”

Jahaan continued to ignore him, breathing heavily to try and drown Sliske out. It had limited success.

But Sliske’s next taunt really tested Jahaan’s resolve. “You know, Ozan’s made himself rather at home in the Barrows…”

Jahaan twitched, and this time it wasn’t an after effect of the static shock. Back at the door now, Jahaan repeated the riddle over and over again in his head, allowing no other thoughts to enter his mind except for that one line: ‘I am not a morning person. Nor am I a mourning person’.

Oh, he wanted to bark back at the smug Mahjarrat. He wanted to shout and curse every obscenity in every language he knew. He wanted to threaten him, to tell him in detail every little wound he was going to inflict upon him… but knew that was exactly what Sliske wanted him to do. So, he refused to give Sliske the satisfaction of a response.

Until he claimed the Stone, at least. Then all bets were off.

After Jahaan reaffirmed that to himself, a calm contentment washed over him, and he was able to look at the riddle with fresh eyes.

Once he did that, the solution became obvious.

He pressed the neutral mask and the door clinked open.

Satisfied and with renewed vigor, Jahaan continued on through the maze. Sliske appeared to have grown weary of trying to talk to him, for now at least, which was a huge relief.

When Jahaan rounded the corner, he saw a somewhat giddy Armadyl at the other end of the corridor, avianse in tow. If Jahaan had managed to catch up to him so easily, either the head start Sliske promised was a lie, or Armadyl had severely failed to capitalise on the advantage. But from the look on the deity’s face, he didn’t seem to mind.

Kree'arra was a proud and majestic avianse with gorgeous wings of gold. Jahaan recognised him from way back in Guthix’s cavern; a being like that is hard to forget. Fortunately he didn’t have to fight him then, and hoped he never had to. Those talons were sharp, and the bolts of the crossbow he wielded were even sharper.

Taka’ara was a broader-shouldered and shorter avianse that Jahaan didn’t recognise. Little did he know, Taka’ara was the strategist who helped secure victory over Bandos.

When Jahaan was spotted by the winged deity, he was summoned over with excitement. “Jahaan! Come, come. Talk to me. Did you know that I haven't moulted in millennia? Not a tail feather has fallen from me since I became a god. But this brief interruption of my godhood… it has got me moulting again. The feathers are falling away from my body. I can feel the flesh underneath! At first, not moulting made me feel unbeatable. If time and the elements couldn't ruffle me, then what could? But then I felt like an imposter among my people. I wanted to be with them, but how could I? Their feathers fell with age. I outlived countless generations. Now, I am sharing the company of the aviansie as an equal! Forgive me, it's exhilarating to lose one's power.”

Jahaan smiled, warmly. He’d never seen such pure, innocent joy on another man’s - or bird’s - face. It’d been a long time, too long, since he’d encountered such happiness. The avianse surrounding him seemed warmed by the deity’s glee. “Always seeing the silver lining, Armadyl. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Oh, I am. It may seem like such a little thing, but it has helped subside the misery of Sliske’s little game.”

Picking off one of his feathers, he handed it to Jahaan. “Take this. If I get back to my people, it will be something of a collector's item, and if I don't get back to my people, well, it will be even more desirable.”

“Thanks, Armadyl,” Jahaan took the feather and placed it carefully in his backpack.

Motioning for his followers to continue on, Armadyl turned to leave. “Let's see if I lose every feather in this place. That would make for an unusual return to my people - a bald eagle.”

Zamorak, on the other hand, was a lot less jubilant as he traversed the maze. Being stripped of his divinity didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, but the tedium of the maze and these ridiculous puzzles Sliske had set out grated on him. No-one had any idea that Sliske had planned out an absurdly large labyrinth for the gods to explore; Zamorak was hoping for something a little more combat-oriented.

As backup, Zamorak brought with him a handful of his most trusted allies and advisors. Moia, Lucien’s half-human, half-Mahjarrat daughter who led Zamorak’s army during the Battle of Lumbridge; Hazeel, one of Zamorak’s oldest and closest Mahjarrat friends; and Lord Daquarius, the well-armoured Lord of the Kinshra.

“Your power’s diminished too, Hazeel?” he checked as he brushed a calloused hand against the wall’s surface, sensing the magic within.

“Yes, Zamorak,” Hazeel gravely confirmed. “Sliske has somehow managed to hone in on the slight divinity of the Mahjarrat in order to quell our power.”

Grumbling a Freneskaen obscenity, Zamorak huffed before continuing, “The only thing that gives me comfort in this shitshow is knowing that all the other gods are in the same boat I am. If one of them wants to start a fight, well,” he cracked his knuckles. “It’ll be one less enemy for us to deal with after we claim the Stone.”

“My lord,” Moia called out softly. “What of Vinculum Juris? If Zaros calls upon his favour, you will be compelled to give him the Stone.”

“True, that’s how the contract goes,” Zamorak accepted, but a cunning smile tugged at his lips. “But if I take the Stone and escape Sliske’s games before Zaros’ has a chance to call upon this favour of his, we’re home free. The contract only gives that manipulative motherfucker a small window to ask his favour - the duration of Sliske’s game - leaving us with a massive loophole to exploit.”

Zamorak and company particularly hated the rune combination lock doors; anything that required patience wasn’t exactly Zamorak’s forte, so he allowed Hazeel and Moia to work on it, lest he resort to ripping the door open with his bare hands. Of course, upon encountering the door, that was the initial strategy - break through.

This was much easier said than done, however, and such attempts left Lord Daquarius with a nasty bruise on his shoulder after he valiantly threw himself into the door, ricocheting off the thing and tumbling to the ground.

Eventually, they got the door open the conventional way. Soon after, they ran into Armadyl’s faction.

When Armadyl spotted company at the end of the long corridor he brought his avianse entourage to a halt. “Well, if it isn’t the murderer.”

Zamorak choked out a cruel laugh. “That’s rich coming from you, godslayer. How does killing Bandos fit into your ‘peace, love and justice’ bullshit dogma?”

“That was different,” Armadyl maintained, chin held aloft and shoulders broad. “You murdered almost my entire species. Your attack on Forinthry tore Gielinor apart.”

“Like I had a choice. You and Saradomin stood side by side ready to pronounce my death sentence. What would you have me do? Keel over without a fight?”

“We could have been reasoned with,” Armadyl insisted through gritted teeth. “We would have listened. We would have accepted a graceful surrender.”

Zamorak wagged a clawed finger at Armadyl. “You… perhaps. You still cling to the morality of mortals, perhaps trying to convince yourself you still are one. But not him. Not that fucker. He’s wanted me dead from the moment our war began. He can’t stand the fact that my message is as powerful as his.”

“That does not excuse what you did,” Armadyl growled, a violent, squawking sound that caused the avianse to tense up, ready to fight as soon as their god commanded it. “To save your life, you took thousands of others. Genocide, Zamorak! You nearly destroyed the avianse in your war!”

“Your war,” Zamorak retorted with a growl of his own. “I wasn’t the only one throwing fists in the God Wars. You brought so many of your people to Gielinor - warriors, to fight. It was war, and in war, people die. What did you expect? To roll over my forces without a single casualty?”

“No of course not. I-”

“Then you were prepared,” Zamorak cut in. “You were prepared to sacrifice every aviansie you brought to Gielinor. And hey, you won the war. But you paid the price for that victory. Only you can decide whether it was worth it.”

“That does not excuse what you did,” Armadyl maintained, coldly.

“No, and I’d never pretend it did,” Zamorak replied, “We all have scars to bare. I’ve done things that would make you lose sleep at night, but I’ve done them for the greater good. I... have made mistakes. I’ve seen those that I care about die… but I have owned those mistakes. It’s time you did too. So save your anger for who it’s really meant for.”

“Oh? And who might that be?”

Zamorak laughed mirthlessly. “Isn’t it obvious? YOU brought your people to this world. YOU armed them with swords and spears and sent them out to face my forces. You asked each and every one of them to die - to die FOR YOU. You're angry because they did. Because in your fucking arrogance you thought that you were untouchable and your people invulnerable. Pride can be a terribly powerful weapon, but the blade always points inwards.”

Shifting his stance, Zamorak continued, “So, we can settle this right now and you can risk losing a couple more of your precious avianse… or we can go our separate ways and hash this out after the Stone is claimed. What’ll it be?”

Glancing back at his avianse entourage, Armadyl tried to gauge their reactions for an insight of how they wanted to proceed. Even though they were outnumbered, Kree'arra and Taka'ara were both in favour of the fighting option, hands clutched tight around their weapon and steely eyes piercing holes through Zamorak. Armadyl had always preached peace, but understood why his soldiers were so thirsty for the blood of the man that nearly wiped out their race.

Despite this, Armadyl was less inclined to resort to violence. Not while the Stone was still on the line. And as much as he hated to admit it, Zamorak had a valid point. Armadyl was angry at himself - intensely so… it was just so much easier to direct that anger outwards rather than inwards.

Sighing, Armadyl eventually said, “I do blame myself and rightly so. But I am never going to forgive you Zamorak. I won't strike you down today, but I will not mourn if another does it for me.

Zamorak grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

All things considered, the maze was going well for Jahaan so far. He’d passed another riddle door, conquering another line of Sliske’s terrible poetry, and came across one of these rune combination lock gizmos that took far less mental effort than he assumed it would.

Foolishly, Jahaan allowed himself to be confident.

Speeding around the next corner, Jahaan almost tripped over, skidding to a halt so abruptly as he came face to face with Icthlarin. Relief overwhelming his features, he beamed, “Icthlarin… nice to see a friendly face again.”

Icthlarin tried to smile too, but there was something a little bit off about him. “Jahaan... it is good to see you. I am glad... that we could find each other so quickly.”

Noting the odd twitching movements and uncertainty in his usually resolved tone, Jahaan queried, “Icthlarin? You seem… different. Are you okay?”

The demigod shook his head, a frown dominating his expression. “No… I cannot explain it, but no. I feel… I feel as if I am slipping away… my mind is becoming foggy… muddled… I…”

Icthlarin proceeded to sniff the air in front of him. “You… you smell of Friend…”

Jahaan’s eyebrows crinkled. “What?”

Slapping himself on the side of his head, Icthlarin creased his eyes tightly shut, trying so hard to remain focused. “I... I am sorry, that... I just... what's happening to me?”

Suddenly, the maniacal, twisted laughter of Sliske filled the air. “Oh this is wonderful! I was curious as to what you would be like with your divinity curbed, but this is glorious! Far better than I could have ever hoped.”

While Icthlarin growled, Jahaan shouted, “What have you done to him, Sliske?!”

With a sigh, Sliske replied, “It’s as if no-one listens to me… honestly… I explained this earlier. I’ve removed a lot of the divinity from every contestant, including little Iccy here. Now I get to watch as they try and grapple with who, or what, they were before they ascended to godhood. This is Icthlarin's little struggle.”

Icthlarin’s eyes were burning red. “Put… put me back…”

“And save you from this delightful torment? Why in all creation would I do such a thing? This is delightful! Mighty Icthlarin, noble guardian of the Underworld, wasn't always an erudite scholar. Though he might have been the pet of one. He was just a regular mutt. Weren't you, Iccy?”

Icthlarin just about managed to catch himself before he began barking, but his teeth were bared and sharp, desperate for Sliske’s blood.

“Stop this Sliske!” Jahaan ordered, the lump in his throat growing unbearable as he watched his friend grapple with his fading humanity.

In response, Sliske let out a short, sharp laugh. “Stop this? Why would I do that? To help him? To ease his suffering? You've met me, right? I think we've long since established that's not the way I work. No, it's going to be so much fun watching you drift more and more away, Icthlarin. To see you so humbled, so easily. Truly my finest work.”

“SLISKE! END THIS!” Icthlarin roared into the air, but this time, he garnered no reply.

“I don't think he's listening any more,” Jahaan regarded his friend with heavy eyes.

Icthlarin whimpered, “Jahaan, don't… don't leave me here alone. May I come with you? I need someone... to remember who I am… I’m… I’m scared, friend. So scared. My sentience… I feel it slipping away...”

Jahaan tried to force a smile that didn’t reek of pity, knowing how much his friend would hate that. With as much confidence as he could muster, Jahaan rested a gentle hand on Icthlarin’s shoulder and assured, “You’re going to be alright.”

Icthlarin wagged his tail, but upon realising what he was doing, he cleared his throat. “Err, let’s just get through this as fast as… um… fast.”

“Will you stop smashing stuff, Strisath! It's making a terrible mess and you're really far behind!”

Sliske’s announcement echoed through the labyrinth, bouncing off the walls before fading away into the white noise surrounding them. For Seren, that was the steady rhythm of the elves’ heartbeats alongside her own; it was soothing, a comforting blanket of noise to weave her thoughts between.

As they traversed the labyrinth, Seren and her elves had been floating ideas as to the origins of their predicament. Namely, the sudden mortality of the gods.

Seren pondered aloud, “Do you think it is some sort of mechanism?”

Lady Trahaearn, the eldest of Seren’s entourage, shook her head. “It can't be, m'lady. There ain't a nick nack in the world that could strip a god of its power. Plus it ain't scientific. An effect like this would have to be transmitted as light or sound, and there's more walls in this place than Morvran's holiday dungeons. Yep, this'll be your good ol’-fashioned magic.”

Lord Arianwyn added, “If it’s magic, it’s nothing like any I’ve encountered. It doesn’t even share characteristics. See, spells borrow power from one another. That’s the way of magic. Bones to Peaches shares something with Hi-Alchemy. Crystallise borrows from the Lunar Magicks. This feels utterly new, disconnected. It's like a new branch of magic. Which is exciting of course!”

“Exciting, but not exactly helping us determine its origin,” Lady Trahaearn continued with a frown. “Unless...  unless we're overthinking this. Step back, think about what has happened recently.”

“Ha! I see where you're going with this!” Seren exclaimed, wagging her finger excitedly as they skipped around another corner. “Yes, yes, there have been a couple of instances. The World Guardian, for instance. The World Guardian can nullify god magic. I believe Guthix manipulated the anima in some way to achieve this.”

Lord Arianwyn added, “And there’s the edicts themselves. But no one knows if that was Guthix himself casting out the gods, or if it was the anima, the Sword of Edicts, the Stone of Jas…”

“The Stone of Jas is where my coins are on,” Lady Trahaearn stated, trying to examine the walls for any clues as to which direction they needed to go in, using her well-tuned ears to listen out for the faint hum of magic.

Seren responded, “I agree with you, but there are complications. The Stone of Jas does not simply have a switch that turns off god magic. Only a seasoned user would know how to generate that power from the Stone. Either Sliske has become extremely proficient, or someone else is aiding him. Someone extremely powerful.”

Lord Arianwyn insinuated, “Very few beings would have such knowledge of the Stone of Jas…”

Seren’s concern deepened. “I fear I know where you're going with this, Lord Arianwyn. I pray you're wrong, for the sake of this world.”

Lady Trahaearn gulped. “A worrying thought indeed, M’Lady.”

“It is. That’s why we need to make sure that we win the Stone, and that it can be kept in safe hands. Away from Sliske. Away from my brother. Away from everyone…”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[dontwanttobeasexyvampire]

I wrote the first chapter of a Preacher fanfic starring an OC and I hope you like it!

Warnings: Mature content, sex, language

It was a sweltering Sunday in Annville, Texas, and the sticky morning heat inside the chapel was suffocating. I sat in the third row next to my Momma, fanning myself with a program and doing my damnedest to stay awake during the service. Unlike her, I wasn't exactly a believer, and as the droplets formed around my brow and rolled down the sides of my face, Momma's voice resounded in my head.

"You're sweating like a sinner in church," she'd scold me in the old days, frequently, at the slightest hint of my distress. Today, I was certainly perspiring through my scratchy Sunday best dress, but at least a quick peek around the room revealed I wasn't the only sweating scamp in the room.

I was trying to keep an open mind—believe me, I was—but the All Saints Congregational church seemed to me to be a meeting  place for the town's biggest outcasts and degenerates. Maybe a quarter of the seats were filled, and try as I might to concentrate, my thoughts drifted, and I couldn’t stop my mind from inventing stories of the folks sitting in the pews around me.

There was the churchgoer who had clearly had the shit beaten out of him, his busted arm held up in a cast and sling. I imagined him losing a bar fight, badly, his pride all but trampled. I'd had to force myself not to stare at another who seemed to have an enormous anus in place of a mouth. No matter where my thoughts went, they couldn't come up with a suitable explanation for this poor kid with the ass face. And then there was the man unselfconsciously stretched out across an entire back pew, dozing. At least he had the right idea, getting in his penance without having to engage whatsoever.

I tried to pass the time by studying the architecture, but I could only stare at the big plain cross at the head of the church for so long, and the harsh sunlight washed out the stained glass windows so I couldn’t even make out the patterns. I had to remove my glasses again and again to wipe the lenses of condensation from the growing humidity in the room, and eventually I simply gave up. The coughing bellow of the pipe organ only served to lull me closer to sleep.

As I sat through a bizarre and toneless punk interpretation of “Amazing Grace," I wondered exactly what I'd gotten myself into coming here. It took only minutes of Sunday service for me to regret ever agreeing to let Momma introduce me to the new preacher, who—she’d reminded me again and again—was single.

After all, I'd only been unattached for two weeks and was in no rush to jump back into the fray. That relationship ended when my boyfriend of 9 years broke things off without warning. I never saw it coming, but all I could think about as the bullshit spewed from his mouth were the things I thought I should be feeling. I wasn't heartbroken or upset. I didn't even feel numb. All I felt was an overwhelming sense of freedom.

It was a signal for change, and after more than a decade in Los Angeles, I had to give in to the fact that Texas was calling out to me. It was time to come home. So I made my arrangements, packed up my things and was out of there in the course of a week.

But even this reinvigorating fresh start couldn't mask that particular stink of Annville. I knew better than to dig too deeply so close to my roots. All that was down there was shit and offal. Instead, the cozy digs I found about 20 miles outside the town limits suited me fine. Even the brown-yellow haze that seemed to perpetually coat the place lifted once you'd gotten far away enough from it. I was glad to miss the introduction of the new town mascot, Pedro the Prairie Dog, on the night I’d arrived. Regardless of what Momma told me, I was sure it was a shitshow.

Preacher Custer wasn't quite what I'd been expecting, either. He was handsome enough, striking quite the figure and emulating a saintly cowboy in his black suit, steel tips and clerical collar, but his little speech threw me for a loop and didn’t exactly inspire my confidence. I glanced at Momma as the preacher spoke and saw that the stuff about starting fights and hurting the community didn’t register at all. But when he got to speaking the word of god, she held her hand to her heart like he’d uttered a revelation. I wasn’t impressed.

When the service ended early, without a sermon, the relieved murmur from the small crowd was impossible to miss. As most of the audience filed out to barbecue and drink Sunday morning beers, Momma leaned over and insisted it was time for me and Jesse Custer to meet. I knew it was a bad idea, but eager to get the whole thing over with, I agreed to step up to the pulpit with her to say hello. We rose from the uncomfortable wooden benches.

That's when we were approached by the organist, who was quite happy to see Momma. She seemed straight-laced and dedicated, but to me it also appeared that she might be hanging on to her composure by a thread. I thought they were going to hug, but a sense of prim propriety forbade it.

"Emily, this is my daughter, Ada," Momma introduced me, and we exchanged pleasantries before Emily saw the program in my hand.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said to me as she put one hand to her face. “Things were kind of last-minute, so the service didn’t exactly follow along. You must have been very confused."

"Oh, I figured things out," I said. "No big thing." While I'd read every word on the flier to kill time, multiple times, I hadn't been paying enough attention to notice the discrepancies.

"Ada here is back in Texas after a long time away,” Momma chimed in. “And I knew she had to meet Preacher Custer." It was then that the very little color in Emily's face drained completely. Momma didn't notice—or didn't care. "I think they'd make a lovely couple, don't you?"

She did her best to maintain a smile, but I think her eye was starting to twitch.

"Y'know, I gotta run," Emily blurted, suddenly seeking like she had a dozen places to be. "Errands, kids. You know. You two take care." And like that, she was gone.

Despite the weirdness, it a welcome diversion. Momma had to grab my arm and drag me along to get me to finally step up to the preacher. We stood there before him for a moment before I loudly cleared my throat and he finally glanced up from his podium to see us.

"Mae, welcome back," he said to her, his eyes fixated back on the podium, which I realized had nothing on it.

"Preacher Custer, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Ada," she replied as she gave me a tiny shove, pushing me nearer to him. Again, there was a pause as he finally raised his eyes long enough to truly see us both.

"Welcome," he said, extending his hand. I firmly gave it a shake, and even through his twinkling, pleasant smile and the way he looked me directly in the eye, I knew he was seeing right through me. "Pleasure to meet you, Ada."

"Pleasure's all mine," I responded.

Momma continued the small talk from there, but it didn't seem Jesse was absorbing much from the conversation. To be fair, neither was I, so I eventually excused myself, seeking some quiet.

I ran my fingers over the corners of the pews on my right as I walked to the back of the church, contemplating this massive waste of time. But then, just before the very last row, I halted. The sleeping man lay there along the bench, arms folded on his chest. His big hazel eyes stared right up at me.

"Hello there,” he said. His voice was deep but musical, and his words ended in a toothy grin. His unmistakably Irish accent caught me off guard. It certainly wasn't the type of thing you ever heard in Annville.

"Hi," I said back. I was a bit wary, but at least I wasn't bored. He sat up then, pulling down at the corners of his denim vest, and then his playful expression sharpened a bit as he gazed up at me, to the front of the chapel and back again, like he was solving some kind of mental equation.

"I can put in a good word for you with the Padre, y'know," he said, pointing his thumb in the general direction of the preacher. I thought he was joking at first, but his sincerity was apparent. "He's my best mate. Listens to me."

Sizing him up, I never would have pegged him as a friend of Custer's. But he was either the world's greatest liar or he was telling the truth, and despite everything, I believed him. Something about him pulled the honesty out of me, too.

"I do appreciate the offer," I said, shaking my head slightly, "but I'm not really interested."

He paused.

"Not your type, eh?" He raised an arched eyebrow emphatically as he studied me.

"Not exactly," I admitted. "Not that I'm looking. I just got broken up with, so for now I'm gonna be taking things slow."

"Well, you look great," he said, looking down and wiping his palms on his jeans.

"I... What?" I stammered, and when a smile cracked again across his lips, I began thinking he liked getting a rise out of me.

"For someone who just had a split, you look great," he expanded. "There's a look about you. A glow. He was probably a bit of a bastard, am I right? You're better off, is what I'm sayin'."

I don't know if it was the heat, but I could feel a warm blush in my cheeks.

"Thanks," is all I managed to say before I heard Momma call behind me to say it was time to go.

The man stood now for the first time, towering above me by more than a head, as he extended a tattoo-marked hand.

"The name's Cassidy," he said.

"Ada." I shook it back, and as he smiled softly at me, I somehow got the feeling this wouldn’t be the last I'd see of him.

—

Momma blabbed about Jesse Custer for the full 10 or so minutes it took me to drive her home, and honestly I was relieved she never once asked me what I thought about him. I imagined I'd feel a bit more focused once things got quiet, but even once I'd dropped her off, I found myself having difficulty concentrating my mind.

The whole drive home was a blur, and when I got back to my apartment, I couldn't muster the willpower to even look at my Sunday to-do list. Moving boxes remained full and laundry sat in hampers. All I could summon the strength to do was watch old movies on TV and order Chinese takeout.

When bedtime came, sleep wouldn't. I'd utilized all my usual insomnia tricks—blackout curtains, melatonin, lavender oil, a white noise machine and a little light meditation—but I still found myself lying awake, bouncing from thought to thought about my life and the decisions that led me here, yet unable to fully dig down and comprehend any of it.

Hours must have passed, and just when I finally thought my mind was finally settling down, the doorbell rang, harsh and piercing, just like the one I'd had back in Los Angeles. It jolted me out of bed. Now my mind was fuzzier than ever, and just making it to the front door left me feeling confused, like my apartment was a winding maze. I finally reached the entrance after what seemed like forever, and then unlocked the main door and opened it wide to see who had rung at such an hour.

I stared through the screen door. Standing in the dark, illuminated by wall lamps, was Cassidy, and somehow just seeing him brought things back into focus. Noticing the look of concern on his face, I quickly undid the next lock and opened the door for him.

"Cassidy... What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you." His voice was resolute, and my first instinct was to comfort him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, stepping closer to put my hand on his arm.

And then he looked straight into me with his sad, probing eyes, cupped his strong hands on both sides of my face, and kissed me hard on the mouth. For a second I did nothing, giving into him entirely, before I tugged on his vest to lead him inside, shutting the doors behind him.

Before I knew it, we were up against the wall, his arms at my waist as he tenderly kissed down my neck, nipping at my ear and sending ripples of pleasure down every inch of me. I felt his hard cock press against my belly through the denim of his jeans and I knew there wasn’t anything I wanted more than him, right here and now.

He was kissing my neck again as I fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, finally undoing them to find that his big cock was barely being held back by his boxer briefs. I pulled them down, and as his full length unfurled, I became ravenous for it.

Soon he was lifting me by the thighs, pinning me against the wall, and when he slid inside of me I was wetter than I’d ever been. God he was big, filling me up with powerful strokes that made me quiver and call out. He hungrily kissed my lips and then my neck and then my lips again, pulling me toward him with every thrust of his hips to go deeper and deeper, bringing me closer to ecstasy each time. I leaned into him, arms clutched around his neck, and pulsed with his every move. And then fuck, I felt it coming, slowly building inside of me in waves. I told him not to stop, that I was going to cum, and he obliged.

I moaned his name as I climaxed, and he held me as close as ever, never stopping, as sunlight began to trickle through the breaks in the blinds. Then the rays reached us, and our skin caught with bright, dancing flames. His gaze was so piercing now, even as the blaze left us blistered and risen away to ash.

He gave me one final rough kiss and I bolted awoke in my bed, soaked in sweat, mind racing, and horny as all get out. I'd never had a dream so vivid and emotional and erotic. I pulled the curtain aside to peek out, and was slightly relieved to find it was still the dead of night. I took a quick shower to clean up and try to get my thoughts straight, and I suppose I did, because as I lay in bed for the next three hours trying to get back to sleep, the only thought I could conjure for more than half a second was of Cassidy and when I could see him again.

[thelem0npie]

America

Writing this was like 70% googling American terms, 10% progress and 20% caffeine...

"What even is a Hufflepuff..." Y/N wondered aloud, tugging at the uncomfortable yellow and black tie as she roamed the large, cold corridors of Hogwarts. She'd just left the Principal's office after being assigned her house and told where to go to find her classes.

Unfortunately, Y/N had never been good at following directions and soon enough found herself lost somewhere deep within the castle. She opened a door at the end of the hallway to find what seemed to be a tower of staircases.

"What the actual fuck is this school?" She stepped onto the staircase in front of her and started climbing when a strange rumbling sound stopped her in her tracks.

The rumbling continued as the staircase started to move?!

She screamed and ran back down to solid ground, crashing into the closed door at the bottom. Her bag slipped off her arm and fell to the ground, spilling open and spewing her new school supplies everywhere.

Loud laughter rang out from above and the girl looked up to see four boys sitting on the bannister of one of the moving staircases.

The four had obviously been watching her progress and found it to be the funniest damn thing in the world.

One of them, one with black hair and glasses, fell backwards off the railing amidst his laughter which only encouraged the others to laugh even harder.   Blushing furiously, Y/N grabbed her things and backed out of the tower, slamming the door behind her, too embarrassed to face the group on her very first day.

While she tried failingly to clear the ink stains from her brand new school books the door opened and the four boys streamed in, led by the tallest one, sporting brown hair and an amused look. The second one to appear was the black haired boy who'd fallen off the railing, his face still slightly red from laughing as he rubbed the back of his head. The third to follow also had black hair but it was slightly longer and better kept than his friend's. The fourth and final boy trailed behind the others, eagerly expecting more entertainment and gazing at the boy with the glasses with a look that was half admiration and half awe.

It was clear that glasses boy was the leader as he stepped forward and the others subconsciously gathered around behind him, one of them resting an elbow on glasses boy's shoulder while the other two stood on either side. The other black haired boy, the one who was leaning against glasses boy, seemed curious about the strange girl as if she was a new toy. The tall one looked on warily, almost like he expected something to go wrong. The short boy stared at the scene playing out, drinking in every move his leader made. It was clear to Y/N that this interaction would play a big part in deciding how the rest of her time at Hogwarts would go.

"Hi, I'm James Potter." Glasses boy gave Y/N a dazzling grin and held out a hand for her to shake. "Haven’t seen you here before."

"Y/N Y/L/N." She responded, taking his warm hand and shaking once. "I'm a transfer from Ilvermorny."

"Crikey, it's a Yank." The other black-haired boy commented in surprise.   "What's a Yank?" The smallest one whispered.

"She's an American." James answered without looking away from Y/N, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he took her in.

"An American who's lost. Can one of you please tell me how to get to..." She fumbled around in her bag before pulling out the now crumpled and blotted timetable. "Herbology?"

"Sure." The tallest boy stepped away from the group and offered a sweet smile that took her breath away. She'd never seen a boy who looked so... perfect. "Let's go before they decide to do something stupid." He teased and lead her away from the group (and the terrifying stairs tower). The remaining three boys whistled and called out after them. The tall boy beside her just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

When the others were out of sight and their calls faded away into silence the boy struck up a conversation as easily as if he were speaking to an old friend. "So, what brings you to England?"

Y/N, struggling to keep up with his long strides, barely heard him. "Sorry?"

He noticed her distress and slowed down to her pace before repeating himself.

"Oh, my grandpop bought the farm and left my folks his pizza chain here so dad decided to jump ship and we caught the first red eye over."

The boy frowned and looked at her. "I know that was all English but I have no idea what you just said... something about your grandfather buying a farm, sailing and getting red eye?”

Y/N took one look at his bewildered expression and laughed. "You're not even close. Pop died and mom and dad inherited everything so dad quit his job and we moved over here."

"Oh... sorry about your grandfather...”

She shrugged. "It's behind me. He was never more than a name on a card and a 50-pound note. 'Sides, thanks to him, dad made a killing on the pizza chain last month."

"Do all Americans speak so fast?"

"Do all Brits speak so slowly?" She countered, enjoying the short burst of laughter he let out at her response.

"No, just the boring ones sorry."

"I don't think you're boring."

"You'd be among the first." He chuckled. "Sorry about those idiots back there, James loves a chance to show off."

"I can handle a few slack-jawed kids like them." Y/N shrugged, rifling around in her bag to see what had managed to escape the inksplosion.

"Here, let me take a look at that." Remus reached over and slipped her bag off her shoulder with nimble fingers. He slipped his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the bag. A few incantations later and it was clean and organized once again.

"You are a lifesaver! It's bad enough being the new kid but being the new kid with a completely trashed bag is a whole other shitshow." She took the bag from him and slung it back over her shoulder, taking care not to break her inkwell again. "I owe you one.”

The sweet smile he gave her was enough to turn her stomach into a mess of nerves. How unfair that she would have to have a crush on the first friend she'd made in this new school.

As they walked and the conversation went off topic Y/N found it more and more difficult to keep her eyes away from him.

She was entranced by the way he ran his hand through his hair every few minutes, almost as if he wasn't even aware of how good he looked doing it. Her eyes hungrily scoured his broad shoulders barely concealed under the thin fabric of his school shirt. She found herself gazing at the cute way his nose scrunched up and his eyes crinkled when he started laughing. And when he smiled down at her, a smile that lit up his eyes and sent her nerves into chaos, the grey and dreary English sky seemed brighter somehow.

They finally reach the greenhouses where he said the Herbology classes were usually held and she found herself not wanting him to leave. "Thanks.... I don't even know your name." She smiled sheepishly.

"My name's Remus. Remus Lupin. Good luck in your first class.”

With that, he turned and made his way back up to the enormous castle, completely unaware of Y/N watching his figure until he disappeared.  

"Well fuck me.”

Morning classes passed by in a mix of whispered gossip and curious stares. By the time lunch rolled around Y/N had more than had enough of it. If she'd known British people were going to be so rude and obvious about their staring she'd probably have fought harder to stay at Ilvermorny.  

After a gruelling hour of potions - in which she'd had a jar of bat blood spilt on her and then promptly been told off for using her wand to clean up the mess - Y/N followed the crowd to lunch, hanging back to avoid any more staring. Her first day at Hogwarts was proving to be even worse than anticipated and she was certainly dreading the idea of entering a massive hall filled with strangers only to embarrass herself once again.

"Hey, Y/N!" A familiar voice called out from behind. Y/N spun around to see Remus walking toward her with a breathtaking smile. She was suddenly aware of the fact that her hair was a mess from the earlier potions debacle and that she probably still smelled like bat blood but her relief at seeing a friendly face overruled her urge to run away and hide in the girl's bathrooms.

"Remus!" She breathed out in relief, stopping in her tracks and letting him catch up. "You're a sight for sore eyes!"  

"Rough morning?"  

"Hella rough." She sighed, letting him lead her to the great hall as she recounted her morning, stopping from time to time to explain her 'Yankee talk' as he put it.  

They reach the hall and Y/N stared at the four long tables, crowded with students and food. Everyone seemed to know each other, she stuck out like a very sore and incredibly irritated thumb. "We eat in our houses," Remus explained and chuckled when he saw the horrified expression on her face. "But you can come sit with me until you make friends in your own house, if you'd like." He added quickly.  

"Yes please." She whispered, not liking how people were already turning to stare at her. She heard the words bat blood floating around and felt her cheeks heat up, she knew how gossip and rumours spread in schools and didn't want to think about what people were already saying about her.  

"Don't mind them," Remus said as he led her past the whispering people. "They'll get over it in a day or so." He stopped halfway down one of the tables and Y/N recognised James and the two other boys from earlier.  

"I sure hope so." She muttered, sliding into the seat beside Remus and opposite one of his friends.  

"Afternoon lads." Remus said, loading different sorts of meat onto his plate. "You remember Y/N, right?" 

The three boys stared at Y/N and she stared back. "Can I help you?"  

"People are looking..." The small, brown-haired boy whispered, eyes darting around as more and more people realised where the new girl was sitting.  

"Let them stare, it's nothing you're not used to Wormtail." Remus chuckled.  

"Wormtail? Is that your name?" Y/N asked, barely hiding her shock. "What kind of parents name their kid Wormtail and don't expect him to get pounded on daily." 

James choked on his pumpkin juice as he tried not to laugh, which turned into a coughing fit that led to his face becoming a bright red. "Bloody Yanks." He spluttered, wiping away his tears.  

"What?"  

"That's Peter Pettigrew." Remus pointed at the mousy haired boy she'd mistaken for Wormtail. "You know James Potter." He indicated the red-faced boy with pumpkin juice dribbling down his chin. "And that's Sirius Black." The black haired boy opposite Y/N still hadn't stopped staring at her.  

"Whatchu gawkin' at?" She challenged. 

"I-what?" Sirius stutters, not quite understanding what she'd said.   

"Why are you staring at me?" Y/N clarified with an eye roll.  

"Hufflepuffs usually sit over there." Sirius pointed his thumb at a table where a few people in yellow ties like Y/N's were still staring at the strange new girl. "At the Hufflepuff table. This is the Gryffindor table, you can't sit with us."  

Y/N blinked, completely unphased. "What are they gonna put me in the doghouse for sitting here? I mean come off it, forcing children to sit apart based on the colour of their tie? You know back in the States the No-Majes are rioting it out in the streets to end that kind of discrimination."  

"I'm sorry?" James scrunched his face at the strange phrase. "Could you please speak English?" 

"And what in Merlin's name is a No-Maj?" Sirius wondered. 

"A No-Maj? A person without magic abilities?" 

"You mean Muggles?" James said.

"What the hell is a Muggle? Sounds like some kind of gross disease." 

"Muggles are what we call No-Majes." Remus clarified in a gentle voice. 

"I like our word better." 

"Your word is stupid." Peter snapped, clearly not liking the new addition to their group. 

"Stand down Wormtail. She's cool." Sirius said, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately and shooting Y/N a wink. 

"Pads, stop hitting on her." Remus snapped, making the other boys look at him in surprise.  

"I wasn't-"    

"Leave it." James interrupted his friend, eyes on Y/N. "Welcome to Hogwarts, America."  

A month passed and Y/N was completely accepted into this strange group of boys. New gossip circulated nearly every week about this girl who'd somehow found her way into the Marauders' tight little circle.

People were constantly asking her which one of them she was dating, to which she'd always respond with the name of whichever one of the boys was closest which created a lot of confusion amongst the students of Hogwarts. One day a story would be going around about Y/N and James being caught snogging in a broom closet while next week people swore they saw Sirius and Y/N holding hands at breakfast! Only a few hours later a new tale would circulate about Y/N and Peter's 'hot date' in Madame Puddifoot's tea shop and who could forget the time Remus and Y/N had ditched a Quidditch match to hook up in the Hufflepuff common room? The rumours became a source of great amusement for the group, sometimes they'd even go out of their way to get caught in 'interesting' situations just to see what people would come up with next!   

The only person not on board with all the hijinks and giggles was Remus, who never seemed to find the joke funny, always clamming up and resorting to silence and angry stares when someone brought it up. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed and the others tried confronting him about it but he'd just laugh it off and say it was nothing and his friends were none the wiser.  

All except James that was, whose keen eyes never missed anything. He noticed all the longing glances, the badly hidden blushes, the awkward moments whenever they'd touch and his mind was reeling with ways to expose the truth.

One afternoon when the five of them were sitting underneath their usual tree out by the lake, he snapped. He'd been watching Y/N and Remus have their own little conversation as they often would when Remus had reached up to brush an eyelash from Y/N's cheek and her face had turned bright pink.  

"Lads, we need to do something about this." James groaned.  

Peter, who was sitting on his right watching in awe as James showed off with his golden Snitch, raised an eyebrow curiously. Sirius remained where he was, laying in the sunlight with his eyes closed and enjoying the warmth. Y/N and Remus looked up from where they sat off to the side, a little bit away from the others.  

“About what?" Y/N asked.  

"About you and Moony." He sighed, pocketing his Snitch.  

Sirius opened one eye warily. "What's this?"  

"Moony and America have the hots for each other!" James stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And they're both too cowardly to make a move, as their friends it is our duty to help them make said move."  

"What the bloody hell are you on about!" Remus argued, cheeks burning.   "Oh as if!" Y/N cried at the same time, blushing just as much as the boy beside her.  

Sirius sat up, his full attention on James. "What makes you say that?"  

"Only the fact that I've caught Y/N staring at him all the time and how Moony gets insanely jealous whenever you hit on her, it's pathetic."  

"Who hired you to play matchmaker?" Sirius snickered, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding in front of him. "Besides, I think you need a bit more than protectiveness and random staring to convince me." 

James winked at Sirius, ever the perfect sidekick, and turned his attention to Y/N, the weaker link. "America, would you care to tell the others what you told me last week?"  

Y/N frowned, momentarily confused before she realised what he must be referring to. "You-I thought you were too shit-faced to remember anything!"  

"I remember everything," James smirked. "Now please, repeat to the class what you said or shall I?"  

Y/N glared at James threateningly. "I'm calling your bluff, Potter."  

James grins and lurched to his feet, placing a hand on his forehead dramatically and putting on a falsetto voice and a horrible American accent. "Oh Prongs, I can't believe how perfect Remus is! They don't have guys like that back in the States! I'm so in love with him! Truly, madly, completely-"  

"I DID NOT SAY THAT!" Y/N yelled and threw a pinecone at James' head which he dodged easily.  

"And Moony, always watching America with those big green eyes." James snickered, plopping down next to Sirius and gazing at him lovingly in an imitation of Remus.   "Oh Remus!" Sirius gasped, playing along while Peter fell into a fit of laughter. "I never did see a fella like you!" He sighed in a terrible imitation of an American accent. "Kiss me, Remus!"  

"Oh Y/N!"  

"ENOUGH!" Remus bellowed, glaring at the two boys. His face was completely red, his hands were clenched into tight fists and his eyes were fixed on James with a murderous look. "I have to go." He said, snatching his bag from the grass and storming off. 

"Well, that didn't go as planned." James pouted. 

"You complete and utter asshat!" Y/N snapped, pegging another pinecone at his head before running off after Remus 

It didn't take long for her to find him, he'd only reached the other side of the Entrance Hall before she caught up. "Moony!" He stopped at the sound of her voice, watching as she caught her breath before speaking. 

"I'm sorry for storming off, I just needed to get away before I punched Prongs in the face." 

"It's fine, I nailed him with a pinecone instead." 

Remus smiled for a moment before the happiness faded from his face, replaced by a look of concern and caution. "What he said back there..." 

"Don't sweat it, I don't mind if people know we're into each other." 

"Wha-" Remus spluttered. 

"Well yeah, I mean, if we're gonna start dating they'll figure it out anyway." Y/N shrugged nonchalantly. 

"But..." 

"What?" 

"I'm... You're so... amazing and I'm just... boring old me. You could do so much better." 

"Oh please," Y/N smiled and stood up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You're perfect."

Masterlist

[themyskira]

Wonder Woman #35

Previously on the James Robinson Shitshow: Diana and her long-lost brother Jason spent fifteen pages staring sappily into each other’s eyes, gushing about their love for one another and generally just flirting outrageously, but then Jason was like “lol psych i hate u”, turned into a tidal wave and tried to kill her.

On the plus side, Diana actually appeared in the majority of pages last issue, which is an refreshing change, so maybe things are on the impr--

haha yeah no.

In a flashback, an old man peers out into a darkened yard and calls for Jason. This is Glaucus who you may remember as the fisherman-god who was charged by the Amazons with the task of raising Jason in secrecy, for reasons.

A tiny Jason comes flying over brandishing a boat, all, ‘omg omg dad I dreamed that I was super-strong and could fly, and it turns out that I am super-strong and can fly!!’

Glaucus overlooks the massive, gaping plot hole (in her Rebirth origin Diana wasn’t born with flight or super-strength; she earned those blessings from the gods), tells Jason to put down the boat that definitely isn’t his (Jason somehow manages to accidentally hurl it down so hard that it’s smashed to bits) and decides to fill the kid on his true parentage.

We segue into a voiceover from Glaucus, which is irritating, because Glaucus has an obnoxious habit of swallowing his vowels, e.g. “servin’ my captain ’n’ leader, the original Jason o’ lore ’n’ legend”. Fuck’s sake, Robinson, you don’t have to write everything phonetically.

He spends numerous pages recapping all the backstory we only just learned last issue, and I’m seriously starting to wonder whether Robinson is that bad of a writer or whether he’s just padding every issue of this arc with recaps of other comics to try and cover up just how insubstantial his plot is.

Glaucus tells us that Jason wondered why his birth parents didn’t visit him, and Glaucus did not have an answer for him. Even though Glaucus, having taken the infant Jason from Philippus’ hands through a hole in a mystical barrier surrounding the island, should know that Themyscira is cut off from Man’s World — or at least be switched-on enough to infer that Hippolyta probably can’t leave.

Anyway, Jason takes it all in his stride and decides he has an awesome enough dad without worrying about his birth parents.

Then we get the run-down of Jason’s powers, which we were also already given last issue: flight, super-strength, and some vaguely-defined air elemental power that also gives him power over the tides and tsunamis because lol why not.

Glacus decides that Jason will need training, so he calls in his buddy Hercules. We get the stock-standard sequence of Hercules tossing around the scrawny kid like a rag doll, Jason smiling gamely and then a segue into a training montage, until one day Jason is able to best Hercules in a sparring match. It’s dull, soulless stuff.

We’re halfway through the issue at this point and there’s really nothing in here that wasn’t already covered last time.

Herc and Jason have a heart-to-heart. Herc admits that he tends to avoid people, seeking solitude “so I don’t have to think about some of the things I’ve done”. Which makes me wonder what the fuck he does with his days, because being alone with your thoughts for long stretches is a fucking recipe for unhealthily stewing over all your past mistakes. What, does he just spend all of his time hunting and skinning bears and playing video games to try and avoid thinking about all the women he raped and murdered?

And that’s the other thing: Ever since Wonder Woman #1, way back in 1942, Hercules has been the Amazons’ original tormenter. The guy who deceived them, enslaved them and subjected them to the most vile treatment. His more recent comics history involves him trying to steal Diana’s power, and trying to hurt her by assuming a false identity and drugging her with love potions. Why is Robinson trying so hard to portray him as sympathetic?!

But anyway, nah, Robinson’s Hercules is a super great bloke, and even though he’d rather be hiding away in his isolated cabin throwing a one-man pity party for himself, he’s willing to come out of seclusion just to hang out with his little brother!

Next page is a masked teenage Jason, maybe sixteen or seventeen, fighting a rampaging Minotaur-like beast… which, yep, was also covered last issue.

Glaucus finds him later and informs him that Hercules has taken off again and, oh, by the way son, I’m leaving too. Got some vague sailor-y wanderlust to take care of. Plus, you’re basically an adult, right? No, you can’t come with me; somebody’s gotta look after the house.

Then Glaucus gives Jason a shiny new boat, tells him to live, and does a douchey Batman exit when his back is turned.

Jason breaks the fourth wall to announce that he’ll be taking over the narration boxes now.

“Glaucus lied”, Jason tells us. “He never came back. And I tried not to hate him.” He gives us the dull rundown of the next few years — fishing, partying, fucking, watching the reports of his twin sister’s heroism and wondering whether to reach out — all of which, again, we already know.

Then one morning, while out fishing, Jason feels something in the water with his air powers (yes, I know), and the Deep Six burst out of the sea and do the villain speech thing. Jason, mentally reflecting that this is what it feels like to be truly alive, grabs a harpoon and leaps into battle.

And that’s it. That’s the issue.

I already had rock-bottom expectations of James Robinson, but I think I’m gonna have to revise them down again, because I honestly went into this issue assuming that Jason had at least not been telling Diana the whole truth and that this was going to be the real, unvarnished story of Jason’s blah blah tragic past and why he hates his sister.

But nope, turns out that everything he told her last issue was completely true and there was really nothing to add to it.

[oldmanreed]

Reed’s Fall 2017 Anime First Impressions

So I almost died last week, how are all of you?

Boku no Kanojo ga Majimesugiru Sho-bitch na Ken  (episodes seen:  2)

Alright, so stop me if you’ve heard this one before, because I got deja vu when I started reading this several months ago:  Guy asks out the class president, who is basically the perfect human being, and she accepts.  Turns out she’s a massive pervert.

Humour is similar to SYD if any of you have every watched that, but a bit more toned down as a great deal of it is word play and misunderstandings.

The cast are all terrible.

I’m here for the wordplay.  

Inuyashiki    (episodes seen:  2)

So how many of you remember Ano Natsu de Matteru (Waiting in the Summer)?  Anyone?  No?  That’s fair, everything that wasn’t the beginning and the epilogue is all a blur to me too.  So this one starts similarly in that Aliens accidentally drop-pod someone to death, 40k style.  However, instead of being stuck and taking responsibility for their fuck up, the aliens instead decide pull a hit and run by fixing up the old man and the teenager they just killed by JAMMING THEM FULL OF WEAPONS.  FUCK YEA.

So it took me until the start of episode 2 to think “wait, this looks a lot like Gantz.”  So I paused the episode and looked up up the original creator, and would you look at that: it’s Kiroya Oku, that man that created Gantz.  I was not aware he had done anything other than Gantz:G after completing Gantz back in 2013.  I then resumed the video and one of the characters starts shit-talking Gantz.  I know a number of you have seen the “oh, you like One Piece too?” scene, but it was the Oku shit-talking his own work that did it for me.

Arguably the Best OP and ED of the season, as well as one of my contenders for best in season.  If you’re the kind of person that worships the Omnissiah and/or has wet dreams about replacing your junk with a plasma cannon, then this series is for you.  If not, then unfollow me right now, you’re holding us back as a species.

Also Doggo allegedly does not ded so watching is good.

Just Because!    (episodes seen:  3)

Drama, romance, crazy blonde chick that loves taking photos and forces her agenda on everyone, baseball?  Shit, it’s like I’m in highschool again.  Only I never transferred highschools.

So this is the latest in a line of anime being dragged into the modern age that keep plugging Japanese Skype  Japanese Discord LINE as a major plot point; the messaging service being how half the cast communicate with each other.

MC transfers to a highschool for the last semester before graduating.  He runs into some old friends from middle school he never thought he’d see again.  Drama ensues as every one tries get into college, keep a club legacy alive, or try for last-chance romances they never pursued in the last few years.

It’s alright.

Kekkai Sensen & Beyond    (episodes seen: 3)

More Kekkai Sensen.  Now with Addition Chain Screen Time™ so everything is amazing.  There’s also a Hello Nurse™ who splits herself into smaller Hello Nurse™s.

The OP and ED don’t live up the amazing ones of the first season, but they’re still catchy as fuck and I guarantee you’ll be singing along.

If you need more information that this or have never heard of this series, please go watch the first episode of the first season.

Kino no Tabi:  The Beautiful World  (2017)    (episodes seen:  3)

"The world is not beautiful, therefore it is."

A mostly-new season of Kino.  (Episode 2 is the tournament arc.  Remember that shitshow from the first season?  Don’t worry, they speedrun it.)  As with Kekkai Sensen:  If you liked the first season, and/or the OVAs, and/or the movies, you’ll like this reboot-with-new-content.  If you have never seen Kino’s Journey and refuse to watch it because “muh old animation” then you’re an idiot please leave.  If you just somehow missed the first season, and/or the OVAs, and/or the movies , then give this a watch and if you enjoy it go watch the first season, and/or the OVAs, and/or the movies too.

The series follows our protagonist Kino and his magic, talking motorcycle MOTORRAD Hermes.  They travel from country (a walled city for all intents and purposes) to country on a never-ending journey because shut up and enjoy the show.  Every country has some odd law or way of life that raises philosophical ideas the viewer is left to think about.  The first episode is about a country where is murder is legal, so anyone can kill anyone else, at any time, for any reason.  And yet the country is at peace.

Some minor, fairly decent, CG aside, This show is gorgeous and, in my opinion, holds up to the original.  Another contender for best OP.

Kujira no Kora wa Sajou ni Utau    (episodes seen:  3)

So I saw fantasy, mystery, and shoujo tags on this one.  Couple that with the Cute Boy™ on the poster that I original just though was a flat-chested girl and I immediately added it to my list because that’s how I roll.  During the first episode I was like “I want this to get dark because everything is WAY too sweet and happy.”  At least that’s what I was thinking when I wasn’t 90 degrees worth of tilted from the regular animation over watercolour backdrops.

Well episode two answered my prayers and now I wonder why I keep wishing for that whenever I watch something happy.  It’s because of repressed emotional issues I work out by drinking, kids.  You all know what I’m talking about.

Not sure how I feel about this one; even after the three episode test.  It’s like Shinsekai Yori without offloading the “everything is super fucked up” in the first episode.  See, I liked Shinsekai Yori’s plot, world, and themes.  I hated the “characters.”  They were terrible and I can prove it objectively.  “Children of Whales” -because fuck your long-ass titles- seems to have better characters. 

“But Reed, what is it even about.”  Did... Did I not just mention Shinsekai Yori?  Alright, I’ll elaborate:     So everyone lives on the back of this “mud whale”; a massive, self-sufficient island that sails the sand-ocean.  90% of the population is psychic and dies around age 30.  These powers are channeled using emotions and our bitch of a protagonist breaks everything because he has the mental fortitude of that one spoiled kid whose parents just give them everything when asked for.  One day they pass an island where they meet a girl with powers but no emotions and she nearly kills the protagonist who then brings her back to mud whale WITHOUT BRINGING THIS UP TO ANYONE and the entire time I’m just sitting there thinking to myself:

            “WHERE ARE THEY GETTING THEIR WATER”

Love Live Sunshine!! 2nd Season    (episodes seen:  3)

Kill me.  Please.

So, I get the feeling that they weren’t expecting the first season of this to take off as much as it did because the first episode of this season felt like a bunch of lizard people had skinned the cast and were walking around in fleshy onesies just parroting all the memes from the first season.

Mahoustukai no Yome    (episodes seen:  3)

So here’s our other “Best In Season” contender and if you disagree then you’re wrong because this is objectively the best anime ever and you just watched it wrong.

So the redhead there, after suffering childhood trauma puts herself up for auction and is bought by an elder lich.  “you’re gonna be my apprentice, but also my wife maybe” is the gist of what he tells her and the show just gets more heartwarming from there.  Turns out Chise (that’s the redhead) is part some super rare breed of human who are super-mages in an age were regular mages are dying out.

I’m really not doing the series justice with my description, please, go watch it if you are not already.

So I read the first 10 chapters of the manga months ago and was thoroughly, dare I say, entranced.  This is going to be a ride of a series if they continue being faithful with this gorgeous animation.  And the sound track.  HOLY SHIT.  THE SOUND TRACK.  A shame the OP is a mess.

Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou    (episodes seen:  3)

It’s Moe Moe Fallout.  That’s it.

Shitbag Yuu and her caretaker Chi ride around Blame’s Megastructure in their magic tricycle-with-tank-treads and try to... I’m not quite sure what, but it’s charming and somber as fuck.

This show is so fucking comfy.  You have no idea.  OP and ED are great.  The entire thing has this great “everything is bleak, but hey, it’s not that bad” kind of feel to it.

[stellatex]

Nine Questions I Need Teresa Giudice to Answer

Originally published February 9, 2016.

Today’s the day. Christmas all over again for Real Housewives of New Jersey fans. Teresa Giudice, who has mostly been laying low since her release from federal prison on December 23, is set to make the media rounds to promote her new book, starting tonight with what is undoubtedly a contractually-obligated appearance on Watch What Happens Live with Bravo’s resident trash-TV obsessed Machiavellian puppet master Andy Cohen. Tomorrow morning, she will appear on Good Morning America with actual journalist Amy Robach.

The Housewives conceit–catty women posing as wealthy, fighting over petty drama, a trope from the heady days of 80s prime time soaps that quite obviously influences Cohen’s work, and one which Gloria Steinem recently called “a minstrel show for women”–may be of waning interest now, ten years on from the premiere of the Real Housewives of Orange County. Certainly, RHONJ has taken a dark turn, first with the introduction of Teresa’s family members (without her prior knowledge), then with the failed Giudice bankruptcy and subsequent criminal investigation, trial, and conviction. It feels like the Housewives have run their course. Certainly, the newest installment, Real Housewives of Potomac, feels like a Potemkin village of a Potemkin village, complete with early 90s fiberboard kitchen cabinets.

I’ve been watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey since it premiered on May 12, 2009. I have seen every episode multiple times. I have watched every web exclusive available on Hulu and every behind-the-scenes video on the Bravo web site. I’ve watched every RHONJ cast appearance on Watch What Happens live. I’ve read all of Richard Lawson’s uhmazeing recaps on Gawker. I’ve followed Vicki Hyman’s meticulous reporting on the Giudices’ legal woes (she is truly doing God’s work covering this shitshow; reward her by giving a listen to her TV Hangover podcast). I’ve read all the forums (here’s one) and all the shady gossip blogs (but I’m not linking to them; you’re on your own). I have all of Teresa’s books, and even Melissa’s. I have corresponded privately with one of Teresa’s ghostwriters. I follow all of the RHONJ cast members, former cast members, friends of Housewives, and tangential friends and family on social media. I have a RHONJ Twitter list [now defunct, sorry]. I started and am admin for a Real Housewives Feminist Discussion Group on Facebook (invitation only, sorry).

I’m in deep.

I know as much about RHONJ as any viewer could possibly know. Sadly, I am somehow an expert on this show. The reasons I am obsessed with this show are personal and academic; cultural and escapist. That’s a whole other post. Or dissertation.

Point is, despite my better judgment, I love this show. I love it. I can’t fully explain it. I even love Teresa. I think she was the one who was “set up” in previous seasons, with producers and other cast members acting in unison to take advantage of her as a narcissistic simpleton, to amp up the drama. But that’s all for another post, too, and in the past at this point. The fact is Teresa–along with her four beautiful dorters–is and always has been the star of this show. People watched because she was good TV. She and Joe exhibited character flaws on the scale of a Greek tragedy, sure; but they were also hilarious. Hilariously inept, if caricaturishly stereotypical. Somehow strangely lovable, even though they were also criminally delusional. From the first episode, Teresa was flashing those hundred dollar bills, buying that gaudy furniture in cash, and we, the viewers, knew Something Was Up. It’s been a long, unspooling tale from then to now. In hindsight, viewers know that Joe and Teresa had already been living on fraudulently obtained money for years. Their crimes, according to court records, date back to at least 2004, five years before they appeared on America’s television screens.

To date, Teresa’s line has been that she was misled into “signing some papers” that she either didn’t read or didn’t understand (her story varies), either by Joe or by her accountants (!) or her lawyers (!). She’s played the role of innocent, “old school” Italian wife–the same role she’s played on RHONJ. Joe tried to take the fall for her in court and failed. Due to the Giudices’ decision to continue hiding assets right up until the sentencing, Judge Esther Salas rethought her original impulse of possibly giving Teresa only house arrest or probation, and instead sentenced her to 15 months in prison.

Teresa’s complicity in the crimes is not a matter of debate, though the extent of her participation is. Teresa pled guilty. She expressed remorse in court, presumably in an attempt to receive a lesser–or no–prison sentence. It is my opinion that she really believed the judge would take pity on her as a traditional mother of four beautiful dorters. The Giudices’ financial scams had been working for years, after all. She was famous. People loved her. She deserved and was well accustomed to her McMansion lifestyle. She was obviously not very financially astute. She was a good Italian wife who deferred to her husband. She was a good girl.

She thought wrong.

We can all read the indictment and draw our own conclusions. Now, Teresa is trying to make a comeback. According to Teresa [link lost], the Giudices have paid their court-ordered restitution and their mortgage is current. No mention is made of the $551,563 still owed to the IRS for unpaid taxes, nor the the creditors listed in their 2010 bankruptcy filing, totaling $13.4 million.

Based on the teaser clips already released by GMA, Teresa is continuing, in her obviously memorized, stilted, eye-blinking way, to hold on tight to her claims that she had no idea what she was doing, or signing. It has been my contention all along that this is probably what we would see from post-prison Teresa. I almost admire her dedication. The sheer hubris. The chutzpah. Too bad she hasn’t yet channeled all that white-knuckle stubbornness into anything more productive than unflinching denial of her multiple felonies, holding grudges against her own family members, and a devotion to flawless 24/7 drag queen makeup.

But I think she’s placed her bets on the wrong horse and fundamentally misunderstands her fame.

Despite everything, there are still viewers–myself included–who love watching Teresa. Who want her to come good. Who want to see some Goddamn Character Development. It seems like she’s going to keep pretending everything is okay, even though it very obviously is not, and that she will continue to deny her culpability in obtaining the millions of dollars of fraudulent loans that financed her over-the-top leopard-print lifestyle, the craven bankruptcy filing intended to wipe the slate clean, and the way she and her husband have financially ruined the many local business and small contractors whom they stiffed in the process.

So far, there has been zero accountability.

What Teresa doesn’t get here–and Teresa, as we know, doesn’t get a lot of things–is that the only remaining way to endear herself to the viewing, cookbook-buying public is through showing genuine remorse. She is being presented with yet another golden opportunity that she doesn’t really deserve in the form of this press tour for her perfectly timed, hastily-released biography. I don’t think she realizes that, without performing–convincingly–this type of epiphany for her ever-dwindling audience, her “career” as a Bravolebrity is over after this final fifteen minutes. It seems that I’m not the only one who thinks so; even her former co-writer, Heather MacLean, tried to explain this to her, to no avail.

Teresa needs chart a course that will keep her on TV and thus allow her to continue making the type of money she needs support herself and her children, especially in light of the fact that her husband is about to “go away” for at least three and a half years. Unlike others, I don’t blame her for capitalizing on her moment in the spotlight, and the prurient interest of the public, to hawk an autobiography and book a bunch of paid appearances. It’s the only legitimate way she has to earn an income, and certainly the only way to earn the type of money she needs to continue paying down those back taxes and massive debt (and I expect some lawsuits will be forthcoming from her many creditors).

But to make good, she needs to provide some real answers to some hard questions. No doubt Cohen will only lob only softball questions and make schoolboy jokes at her expense. He may ask a few tough questions tonight in the guise of “viewer Marge in Omaha on Twitter,” but his interest is in coddling his “star” and presenting a coherent narrative for RHONJ. In another timely moved that surprised no one (who was paying attention), Bravo announced yesterday that a seventh season of RHONJ will be on our screens “later this year.” Perhaps GMA’s Amy Robach will ask her some tougher questions. We’ll have to wait and see.

To my mind, there are certain things Teresa must address if she expects to return from federal prison and jump back into her role as Housewife.

So, in the spirit of Brian Moylan’s 98 Questions I Had During Last Night’s Interview With Joe and Teresa Giudice, here are the questions that I need Teresa Giudice to answer, presented in advance:

1. You said in your statement to the judge during sentencing that you “fully take responsibility” for your actions. You said, “It’s time for me to wake up… I will make this right no matter what it takes.” Why, immediately afterward, in your interview on Watch What Happens Live, did you backtrack and try to deflect blame to your husband while insisting things were just put before you to sign?

2. You claim to be “business savvy,” telling your husband on an episode of RHONJ, “Like, you know, that’s what I do now. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m thinking business.” You’ve touted your online businesses, your Fabellini drink line, your Milania hair care line, your success as a “New York Time [sic] best-selling author.” So how is it that you are also simultaneously claiming to be a clueless housewife who knows nothing of her own finances, including the assets from said businesses that you tried to hide during both your fraudulent bankruptcy and your sentencing?

3. If you are blaming your husband Joe for your ten-plus-years of financial fraud and the year you spent unjustly incarcerated in a federal prison, why are you still with him?

4. What would you say to the creditors, banks, and, most importantly, small business owners of New Jersey whom you and your husband fleeced to the tune of millions of dollars? Do you feel any obligation to repay these debts?

5. Explain this.

6. Why are you and your husband suing your bankruptcy attorney? Furthermore, do you not realize that, in doing so, you will be giving up your attorney-client privilege and opening yourselves up to a new investigation of your finances during the discovery process?

7. What are you going to do when Joe is deported?

8. You talk constantly about your love, love, love for your four beautiful dorters. Why did you put them in this position?

9. Why should viewers overlook your felonious criminal past and continue to support you by watching RHONJ or buying your books or products?

She’s taken to calling herself Teresa 2.0, and insisting that her time in the slammer transformed her into a zen-like superwoman who has her priorities straight. But we, the viewers, will be the judge and jury. Based on what we have seen to date, it appears that Teresa hasn’t learned a damn thing. I wish she would prove me wrong, but I don’t think she has it in her.

All images from the amazing T-Kyle.

[boomvagynamite]

LONG POST BUT GOOD I THINK

Hello tumblr! I would like to take the time to explain some of this British/Irish politics stuff that is happening right now. I’m not an expert, but apparently neither is anyone else (including Theresa May), so I’m going to run down what I know, so that everyone who wants to understand can get up to speed (as much as I’m able to get you there). If anyone who is an expert wants to correct me or add anything then please, please do.

(Quick note: Remember that the UK is a country, but it also made of other countries including Northern Ireland.)

First, some history: Britain has had a very tumultuous relationship with Ireland basically forever. There’s a LOT to go over, so I’ll just kind of massively over-simplify and say that Ireland became a British colony and fought its way out until only 6 counties were undecided about being part of the UK.* Conflict known as The Troubles started in the ‘60s.

The Troubles: The counties of Northern Ireland consisted (and still consist) of a mixture of two key ideologies; those who considered themselves British (unionists), and those who considered themselves Irish (republicans).** The former, wanted Northern Ireland to stay as part of the UK, but the latter wanted Northern Ireland to rejoin the rest of Ireland as one sovereign state - they arguably settled into a kind of a ‘draw’*** in the 1920s. When the fighting began in the ‘60s, the republicans were, rightly, pissed that they were being discriminated against by the unionist authorities - they wanted to be treated fairly, and asking and then demanding it clearly wasn’t working, so they resorted to force. This kicked off thirty years of fighting, involving a variety of paramilitary groups, activists, Northern Irish police, politicians, and the British army. Thousands of people died (mostly civilians), and there was bombing throughout the UK. Eventually, after a lot of work, a peace-deal was brokered: The Good Friday Agreement (GFA).

The Good Friday Agreement: In order to bring an end to the both the fighting, but also the state-sponsored discrimination that started it, a contract was brought up between the republicans and the unionists. It’s pretty complex, but some key points are these: 

A forced coalition of republicans and unionists must run the country 

The majority of people want to stay in the United Kingdom but there are loooads who want to be part of Ireland: If there is ever a time when this switches, and the majority wants to unite with the Republic of Ireland, then the UK is bound to allow it.

(A reason this is so groundbreaking is because Britain had never before recognised that both these ideas were totally legitimate)

Key to this contract is the concept of ‘impartiality’. To properly manage a country with such distinct and opposing viewpoints, you have to be emphatically impartial between the two (and the legitimacy of both viewpoints therefore implicit). This is why the forced coalition is so important. 

That was in 1998, and Northern Ireland has pretty much been peaceful ever since (there is the odd bombing every now and then) but obviously it’s kind of part of the whole deal that the two sides will never see eye-to-eye completely. Unfortunately...

Recent UK political history: I won’t go into too much detail, but basically the Conservative party were having a bit of a power struggle and David Cameron (the Prime Minister at the time) decided to sort it out by saying he’d hold a referendum about whether the UK should be part of the EU. And in 2016, he kind of had to follow through with that. It was a dumb decision with no forethought whatsoever, and the discussions around it were of the same ilk. Anyway, as we all know, without any idea what would happen once the decision was made, the UK slightly voted to Leave more than to Remain (this is known as Brexit because of course it is a dumb name like that). David Cameron resigned because whoops, and we got Theresa May - we didn’t get to vote for her or anything, we just got her. 

This year, she decided she wanted a more firm support to go into Brexit negotiations with Europe, so she called a snap election. Elections are typically every 5 years and our last one was only in 2015, so it was early. LITTLE DID SHE KNOW, good old Jeremy Corbyn (who I could talk about at length as well but I won’t) and his Labour crew brought their A-Game, and destroyed the Tories as much as they could without actually winning the election.

Basically, Britain has a dumb system called ‘first-past-the-post’. The gist of it is as follows: Each political party has their own leader, and that leader becomes the prime minister if their party wins. When you go to vote, you vote for a local MP for your constituency (or local area) representing his or her party and that counts towards the national wins - or seats - of that party. For example, you might vote for a local Labour candidate and, if that Labour candidate wins, their seats are added to the Labour party seats to see whether or not the country wants them doing a good rule of the whole place. To have a strong mandate, i.e. to be large-and-in-chaaarge, a political party has to get a ‘majority government’ - this is defined as winning 326 seats. If they don’t get that, they must form a coalition with another party to pick up the seats that they’re missing - this tends to be the biggest party teaming up with one of the much smaller ones. In 2010 nobody got enough seats****, and the Tories took over from the Labour party by getting the Lib Dems into a coalition with them; then they somehow got even more control in the 2015 election by getting a majority government on their own little leggies (no Lib Dems required).

In this election, again, no party got enough seats - so the Tories had to try and get a coalition going. But there was a problem! All the other parties they could turn to, had said they would absolutely not form a coalition with them. WHAT TO DO? Well, remember we were talking about Northern Ireland earlier...

I KEEP THINKING I’M NEAR THE END AND THEN MORE INFORMATION IS HAPPENING: Northern Ireland has for a while been run by a coalition between the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) and Sinn Féin. The former is unionist (obviously); the latter is republican. This had been going pretty well, till something called the Renewable Heat Incentive (RHI). This was a system to help businesses move towards renewable energy sources, thereby reducing UK carbon emissions. Essentially, businesses were given subsidies to change their heating methods over from non-renewable sources. But it was done in a shambolic way - people were basically being paid to just have their heat on aaaall the time, and there was no cap on subsidies so they could just heat their way to an unethical, but apparently perfectly legal, fortune. SCANDAL HAPPENED when it was revealed that this whole thing was going to cost Northern Ireland huuuundreds of millions of pounds and also look what a hash job everyone has done. Arlene Foster, leader of the DUP was asked to stand down while an enquiry happened but she refused and, in protest, the leader of Sinn Féin (Martin McGuinness) resigned from his post (and then subsequently resigned from the party and then died). Sinn Féin refused to put someone else forward to lead their half of the coalition, so Arlene Foster couldn’t lead either! Northern Ireland, therefore, had to have an election even though they had JUST HAD ONE in 2016. So they had another in March and the unionists headed into shaky ground - they lost a whole lot of seats, so only had one more than Sinn Féin. Sinn Féin continued to demand that Arlene Foster step down, and Arlene Foster continued to refuse, meaning they still couldn’t form a government. They were given a deadline to form one, or they would be put under Direct Rule (this means Westminster taking over running Northern Ireland), which is NOT IDEAL considering. (Also Brexit is happening!!! Ireland is part of Europe!!! The Northern Irish border with Ireland is a sensitive thing!!! Nobody talked about this during Brexit and they’re all fucking idiots!!!) The deadline passed, so they extended the deadline... And then Theresa May called a national election! WHAT A CLEVER CLOGS. This fucking idiot called an election in the most unstable time in Northern Ireland since the fucking ‘90s. Northern Ireland now has to go back to the polls once again! So they push back the deadline some more and then the election happens and GUESS FUCKING WHAT...

CLUSTERFUCK: Theresa May, a monumental shitshower of idiocy, doesn’t have enough seats to run the country, and nobody wants to team up with her horrible party, and now she’s fucked! But WAIT, what about the party that is embroiled in a corruption scandal and is currently unable to run its own country? That’s a good idea. Let’s get them involved. Theresa May and the DUP decide to join up. 

Now. Remember a little thing from nearer the beginning of this stupidly long post: The Good Friday Agreement? The culmination of years of peace-process discussions after and through decades of war and terror? The thing the relies on an impartial government? How impartial is the Tories getting in bed with the DUP - the unionists? Not very impartial, if you don’t mind me saying. So now not only is Northern Ireland in a mess over the Cash for Ash scandal, and unable to run itself, but ALSO Theresa May is shitting all over the only real thing that’s kept the peace for nearly 20 years. And we still don’t know what’s happening with the Ireland/NI border! And we still have a deadline for a NI government to be sorted out! And the official plan for when that doesn’t happen is Direct Rule! And you can’t possibly run Direct Rule with one of the coalition parties that is refusing to run the fucking country! And Direct Rule is kind of kryptonite for GFA anyway! IT’S A FUCKING LUDICROUS, ILLEGAL, DANGEROUS MESS. 

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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*That’s not exactly what happened. Ireland was colonised, fought for home rule (which is like being in charge of their area, while still be a British colony), and was partitioned in the 1920s because lots of people in these few Northern counties wanted to be ruled by the British government. The Irish Free State was created soon after, and Northern Ireland had the option to be part of that as well, but their government decided nah.

**This divide invariably fell along Protestant vs Catholic lines which lots of wilfully ill-informed British people will tell you is all the fighting was about. Actually there is a very long history related to this divide, which involved purposeful subjugation of Catholics in Ireland, to the point that the Irish Potato Famine could be considered attempted genocide of Irish Catholics by the British (protestants).

***Northern Ireland has since had the right to leave the UK if that’s what its people want, but that hasn’t happened and... Well, read on.

****This is known as a ‘hung parliament’. Hung parliaments do not happen a lot. there was one in 2010, as detailed above, and I think the one last before that was way back in the ‘70s. 

[theninjasanctuary]

This blog is just navel-gazing anyway, but I’m clearly not going to let that stop me from coming up with a summarization of past year’s personal ups and downs.

I started out on a rare high note, completing and presenting a fairly big creative project in early January, and actually feeling good about myself for a couple of days afterwards. And I’m afraid it was the professional peak for the year, although I couldn’t have known at the time. That highlight aside, what stands out from that winter are deaths and funerals. Starting with my aunt back in December, then old friend/mentor in late January, and then my partner’s mother in February, after a few short weeks of unexplained illness. And yeah, I tend to beat myself up here about being so shit at getting things done, but it’s safe to say in this case I genuinely had something in the way of excuses for being unable to focus for a while. I don’t want to recap anything, will only say I suppose we’ve come to terms with the situation, acknowledging that while it was terrible, it could have been much worse, and at least we were in a position to cope with the scenario that played out. In a grim way it helped that we could draw on my family’s fresh know-how of organizing things, with aunt’s funeral having just taken place. It’s not exactly all water under the bridge now though, the boyf still hasn’t started sorting the inheritance issues.

I was more operational by late spring, handling most of the pressing work concerns, but still delaying some others. I knew my contract was about to end, but I didn’t put a massive amount of effort into looking for a new job, because I had informal agreements with the same place about re-hiring me, and was feeling somewhat optimistic. When the offer finally materialized, after I’d been officially unemployed for 2 full months, the terms were a disappointment, and it’s been kind of a shitshow overall since then, as I’ve struggled to handle the workload and stress of teaching 2 new classes. The drop in my income means I’ve drained what little accessible savings I had, and am now genuinely stuck on trying to make it from payday to payday, which is another source of stress, and something I sorely need to address sooner rather than later. Would I rather have genuinely found something else to do in a different field, some 9-5 gig, I doubt it; even with the shit pay this position has some upsides of working mostly from home and mostly on my own schedule. But it’s another temporary contract - 8 months left, and even if I somehow survive until then on this pay, it is beyond clear that this is unsustainable. I need to keep looking and applying for better options. Not ideal when I feel down about my abilities, but there is no escaping it. (I am looking at job offers, but haven’t applied for anything since last winter - which took me nowhere.)         

As for recreation, the summer was quite happy despite lack of appropriate warmth and other worries. Day trips with friends, etc. I went to London, Paris, Brussels and Copenhagen, and don’t regret any of it besides maybe not having more adequate gear with me for handling the weather at Copenhagen (however, did just fine in the Paris and London heatwaves). It was worth everything I paid. Idk how I’ll afford travel next year, but it is a goal to work towards.   

Definite upside of this year: I somehow managed an actual lifestyle change by seriously reducing my sugar intake during strawberry season. Still not quite sure how it worked, but I like it and don’t intend to go back. I’ve gotten over the worry of somehow falling off the wagon; apparently it’s ok to have a small amount of dessert on special occasions, particularly when I don’t feel like explaining my dietary choices to people - there is a high likelihood it will taste far too sweet to be enjoyable anyway, and I no longer get cravings for more. I’ve saved money and lost some weight, and like the way I look more than I used to. The habit of getting reasonable, if not ideal amounts of exercise helps too.

As for personal growth... I’ve improved my French a bit, which is a long-term, ongoing goal, and I have read quite a lot for work and feel slightly less ignorant as a result, I guess. It’s still just drops in the ocean, but I ought to just come to terms with feeling perpetually inferior already, because it is clearly not something that is ever going to go away. That being said, the year has provided opportunities for observing some characteristics in me that I perhaps haven’t given myself enough credit for. (I, uhm, have watched other people behave in ways I would never?) I have got inner strength and drive, I’ve got plenty of good skills and capabilities, and I think I’m genuinely a decent, polite, kind person, a good partner, friend, family member, etc. I’ve gotten better at not feeling worthless even if things aren’t great at work/moneymaking fronts.

I wish I was a bit more articulate and witty though. I can be, sometimes, but don’t know how to do it consistently. Wonder if I’ll ever learn.   

As for the coming year, I have no resolutions as such, but plenty of wishes I should put effort towards.

* I would like to write more, to get to a place where my creativity isn’t tied up in things I do for money (”tied up”, or should I say, in a chokehold?), but feels at least partially my own again, to be used primarily for enjoyment, and achieving personal goals.

* I want to build up some savings again (idk how), I want to buy furniture to upgrade my living situation (idk how on this pay), I want a driving licence (idk how on this pay and with my workload). And I can’t resort to magical thinking and buy lottery tickets, because you get ID’d for that here, and I’m too embarrassed to admit that hi, yes, it’s me, I am really that desperate. (Idk who they share this database with, either, what if I’ll actually be at a place to afford a mortgage someday, but the bank then flags me as a person with a gambling habit?)

* I want some professional achievements and recognition, not just money, dammit. Fed up of being outperformed by my peers.

* I should spend more time outdoors. That would apply to going for long walks locally (I’ve had dreams about going for runs again? Who knows), and day trips out of town, but also travelling. Just want to go on nice, relaxing holidays though, with the boyf, or more friends if possible. I don’t really want to go to any more conferences, because I’m still so fed up of travelling alone, even if someone else is paying for it.

* It would also be nice to read some books for entertainment sometimes, not just work.

* And I want to feel good about my looks, and in order to do so, have decided to be an adult about getting regular haircuts, now that I’ve located a great hair stylist. Every 4 months perhaps?

Last note is not a wish as such, just a recognition that I should grit my teeth and go to a gynecological checkup. Nothing’s wrong and I don’t want to, but soon it’s going to be 4 years since last time, isn’t it.

I wonder at which age does the “get yearly checkups” bullshit stop, clearly old women are not bothering?

It’s never more obvious how vague and possibly conflicted I feel about my gender identity than when I actually need to do something that reduces me to a set of genitalia, and assumes I am enthusiastic about being categorized on that basis, and embracing the labelling and the implications of biological determinism that go with it. Everything about it is just alienating af to me. 

[thedeadshotnetwork]

What We're Thankful For, 2017 Remember how horrible 2016 was, and how thrilled we were to leave it behind? So many people we loved died—Bowie, Ali, Prince, Shandler, Zsa Zsa, George Michael, Gene Wilder, Carrie Fisher, Sharon Jones, Leonard Cohen, Florence Henderson. Harambe . On and on. So many things we loved died too. The truth , for instance. Civility . Trust in institutions, after a long fight, also shuffled off this mortal coil. There were no signs 2017 would be any better. In fact, with the election of Donald J Trump to the land’s highest office, many believed democracy had suddenly found itself on life support. But in such desperate need to turn the page, we placed a bit of hope in the changing of the calendar year anyway. We were so ready to move on, to say “ Fuck 2016! ,” that on January 1, 2017 we woke up to a silly art prank— Hollyweed —and allowed ourselves to believe it somehow meant things were already looking up. How naive we were. It can feel impossible in this waking nightmare to feel there is anything to be hopeful about or thankful for. But unlike the end of ‘16, things actually do appear to be ticking upward. The investigation into Russia’s meddling in the election is closing in . There’s a Reckoning underway for men who abuse their power, and it just might stick . Trump’s approval rating has hit an historic low , and he's largely revealed himself to be a walking disaster who can’t get anything done. Because of him, people are tired . But they're also active . And there is evidence the pendulum may finally have begun to swing the other way. This could again reveal itself to be naiveté. But for the purposes of this post, we’re running with it—welcoming any and all good news, especially during the holidays, which can be especially tough. In that spirit, we once again asked the staff at VICE.com to write a bit about what they’re thankful for in these bad (but getting better!!) times, personal things or people or places they cling to when the world appears to be crumbling. We may not be out of the mire just yet, but the things we’re thankful for help us weather the storm. My Bike For anyone who’s not familiar, New York City’s public transportation is usually a horrorshow . Subways rarely come on time , and when they do, you run the risk of getting stuck underground for hours , having your face peed on by a complete stranger , catching your first glimpse of a dead body , or witnessing the brutality of the animal kingdom in all its glory . So my third summer in New York I decided to buy a bike and I’ve never been more thankful. Not only is it just a better alternative to the shitshow that is the MTA , a great group activity, and something you can (but shouldn’t) do drunk , but I started to grow more connected to a city that often feels like a concrete tourist wasteland. Riding my bike through Brooklyn’s sprawling neighborhoods, to Rockaway Beach, down to Coney Island, over the bridge into Manhattan, and up and down the West Side Highway, taught me more about the city than a random constellation of subway stops ever could. I got my head above ground and out into the place I now call home, and learned about others who call it home in the process. (Bragging about all the exercise I was getting didn't hurt either.) The day I finally became happy in New York was the day I gave in and got a bike. That’s all it took. I stopped relying on everyone and everything else—the uncertainty of the train schedules, the wait time for a bus, and the cost and terrible music of an Uber or a cab. If you want to understand a city, and to better feel your place within it, get on a bike (you should also throw on a helmet) and just go— while you still can . —Lauren Messman, Associate Editor Quitting Drinking, Superhero Movies, and Guy Fieri Photos: Eve Peyser on Instagram / Wikimedia Commons I've spent most of 2017 writing about the Trump administration , and the triumph of evil. To put it mildly, the world is not well, which is inconceivably frightening, and on a personal level, very demoralizing. A saving grace has been not drinking . When I quit last October, I did so because I knew if I kept drinking I would die. Drinking was always an escape for me, a way to not feel like myself and not be accountable to myself and my loved ones; at the same time, it exacerbated my suicidal ideation and depression. I don't think I would've made it through the most chaotic year of myself if I was still drinking alcohol, a substance that has only plunged me deeper and deeper into chaos. I'm incredibly thankful for my boyfriend, a fellow non-drinker. Together, we spent much of the year looking for other, less harmful ways to escape from this shit world. As it turns out, a good, wholesome way to take our minds off all the horror that is 2017 is watching superhero movies. Suicide Squad , The Dark Knight , Deadpool , Thor: Ragnarok , Batman Robin , whatever the film's Rotten Tomatoes rating, they offer a form of escapism that makes me happy without hurting myself. Same goes with Guy Fieri, and the wonderful stars of the Food Network. I am especially thankful for Guy Fieri's unapologetic Guy Fieri-ness—it's genuinely inspiring to me. Despite the insanity of 2017, it was also the year I learned to love the things I love without being embarrassed about it. — Eve Peyser, Staff Writer, Politics TEA At some point in the last three decades America decided collectively to get really into coffee to the point where I assume schoolchildren in the coastal elite bubble are educated in cold brewing and Aeropresses and why burr grinders are better. I come here not to denounce coffee snob culture (I have paid $5 for a pourover and did not complain about it) but to raise up tea culture. Sometimes I don't need to mainline all that caffeine that comes in your average cup of "good" coffee. I just want a hot drink to read while I watch a mature, adult television program such as a Ken Burns documentary or HGTV. Green tea, bitter black tea with some milk, herbal teas that can taste like flowers or orange or mint—it's all good, apart from Lipton's, which thank God is mostly not served outside of the Midwest, diners, and certain institutional settings. (I'm talking about hot tea here; iced tea is also excellent.) Teabags are fine but really you should have a teapot and loose leaves, which will feel charmingly eccentric to Americans. Next time someone comes over offer them some tea, or better yet just tell them you are making tea and they can have some if they want, because that's the kind of person you are: a hospitable drinker of tea who even has those little mesh balls you put the leaves into. Tea gives you something to do in the kitchen when you want to check out of a family gathering. It warms your hands during cold winter nights. I won't go so far as to say that drinking it makes you a good person but I'm sure that it's harder to be a vicious asshole while drinking a nice cup of hot tea, and isn't that what the holidays are all about? —Harry Cheadle, Senior Politics Editor Yoga When it feels like things are in a tailspin, and I can't stand reading one more headline or wondering why I'm bothering putting money into a 401(k) when Donald Trump could literally blow up the planet at any moment, there's really only one thing that consistently makes me feel better: yoga. For me, practicing yoga is the difference between near-constant low-grade anxiety about the state of the world and the ability to fucking chill about it. When I'm feeling shitty, I've learned to put those feelings aside for an hour and hit the mat instead. Nine times out of 10, I feel somewhat better afterwards. So yes, I am thankful for my yoga practice. (On a related note, I'm also thankful for weed, for very similar reasons.) —Kara Weisenstein, Associate Editor The 2017 World Series Champion Houston Astros This year I flew home to Houston, Texas, to visit my parents. The trip was supposed to be quick, just two days. It ended up being nine. Many of them were spent in the dark, without electricity. My trip was the same weekend another visitor came to town: Hurricane Harvey. Even as He began slowly churning in the Gulf and was projected to come knocking as soon as I touched down, I went ahead with my travel plans undeterred. As a Third Coast native, I'd lived through many a ‘cane, and figured the trip would be just a tad bit wetter than I'd hoped. I was wrong. Though my folks were largely spared , I was beginning to see—through Facebook, texts, calls—that many old friends, neighbors, colleagues, and relatives were not. The scope of destruction was massive, the exact kind you might expect when a year's worth of rainfall is wrenched from the clouds in just a few days . Everyone got touched. Efforts to recover were similarly massive. All the donated money and funds both federal and local helped people rebuild homes, surely, but spirits around the region were also in massive need of renovation. That came in the form of the Houston Astros. This was, in a word, unlikely. These are the Astros. Just a few short years ago they were the worst team in the sport . (The Dis-Astros they were sometimes called when I was growing up.) And even when they've managed to field good teams they always find a way to fuck things up. So when they found themselves this year in the World Series facing a favored Los Angeles Dodgers, the most expensive squad in baseball , there was nary a reason to believe they wouldn't be swept like they were the one and only other time they'd found themselves playing this late into the season. But they won. In seven thrilling, totally fucking insane games , they won. Quickly the photo updates of various rebuilding efforts and the lasting evidence of Harvey's destructive rumble were replaced on my Facebook feed with reaction videos of the last World Series out, photos of the various victories along the way, GIFs of improbable plays, and plans to attend the parade. Nothing will ever erase Hurricane Harvey's enormous impact on the city of Houston. But because of it, the Astro's championship season couldn't have come at a better time. —Brian McManus, Special Projects Editor My Fringe-Ass Dad My dad is fringe, in the same way Frank Reynolds is fringe —in fact, he’s a lot like Frank Reynolds, interspersed with a little bit of Homer Simpson, a dash of Harrison Ford, and a whole lot of Larry David. Once, he hit a deer while he was driving through rural Georgia in his sedan, and instead of doing anything about it, he left the chunk of fur that had lodged itself into his crumpled grill in place, neglected to clean the blood from his hood, and started calling his shitty four-door the “Deer Slayer 2000.” He rips cigs. He doesn’t pay parking tickets, as a rule. He’s been wearing the same army-green coat every winter for about a decade, despite the fact that there’s a gaping, tattered hole in the left elbow. Another good one: Five hours into a bender with my reprobate friends at a grimy Atlanta bar, after too many games of pool (couldn’t really see the balls) and air hockey (somehow wound up with bloody knuckles) on which we bet a pickle-back apiece, everyone in attendance—including, of course, my fringe-ass dad—decided to go to the Clermont Lounge . It’s a seedy, smoky strip club that’s really more of a dive bar than anything, and it is (for lack of virtually any other word in my vocabulary) fringe. But we didn’t have a way to get there. So my dad—who, thankfully, was sober enough to drive—had all eleven of us pile into his tiny, beat up sedan: Two in the front seat, seven in the back, and me and a buddy in the trunk. We all easily could’ve died, and though two people vomited on the way there, we made it, and everything turned out fine—better than fine. It was fucking awesome. We drank, and sang, and ran around like idiots, and danced our asses off. I bought my dad a lap dance. The point is this: My dad is extremely fringe, and I have never laughed harder, or marveled more, or appreciated to a deeper degree anything than I do his fringe-ass self. This Thanksgiving, I’ll eat turkey, and pet my dogs, and probably play a few games of Trivial Pursuit, all of which will be nice. But what I’m most excited about—what I’m most thankful for—is the chance to get weird with the lawless, depraved (and, by the way, huge-hearted, shockingly brilliant, impossibly selfless) psychopath who raised me. Here’s to you, Dad. Stay fringe. —Drew Schwartz, Junior Staff Writer Whitney and Brandy in 'Cinderella' While cleaning my apartment the other day, I was looking for some Whitney Houston to jam to. I stumbled upon the 1997 Rodgers Hammerstein's Cinderella soundtrack, which featured Brandy and Whitney Houston. This was the only version of Cinderella we were allowed to watch growing up, and for good reason—the movie sparked my love and appreciation for Whitney Houston and made me dream of being a princess like no other Disney movie had before. The soundtrack took me back to simpler days where every holiday season my mother, sister, and I would watch the scene with Brandy gliding around the dance floor with her prince. We were in awe of the beautiful ballroom filled with cool-colored gowns. From the mixed-race cast to the banging soundtrack, this movie was a huge part of my childhood. I am thankful for this version of Cinderella that was ahead of its time in so many ways. —Janae Price, Editorial Assistant These Things Image by Lia Kantrowitz Sometimes talking or writing without putting my foot in my mouth is hard work. I’m truly thankful I have a job where I don’t often have to express myself with words. In that vein, here is a collage of other things I’m thankful for. —Lia Kantrowitz, Senior Illustrator New Jersey I'm back at my mother's house right now in New Jersey for Thanksgiving, and I'll be here for four days—the longest stay I've had in my home state since I moved to New York five years ago. I don't miss this place until I'm here, but I often find myself defending it, even in Brooklyn. I only grew up once, but you'd be hard-pressed to convince me there's somewhere better to do it. I'm from a land that people go through to get somewhere better—to New York, to Philly, to the airport. It makes you restless, flamboyant, and (sometimes) overtly obnoxious. It's everything I enjoy about life. There's something in the air, beyond pollution, that will always make me feel at home here. Even just exiting the tunnel on the train from Manhattan, once it emerges on the other side of the Hudson, makes me feel different. The smokestacks. The factories. The toll booths and swamps and power lines. Finally I can say "fuck" every other word, and no one's going to say shit. In New Jersey, you learn things. You learn how to speak, to tell stories. You learn how to drive 80 miles an hour eight inches from the back of another car. You learn you're not fucking special. You don't have to make up your mind here. You can elect a man who might as well be the mascot for corruption, and then you can tell that guy to fuck off and pick the dude who's going to legalize pot. You can watch The Jersey Shore with irony and without irony, simultaneously. You can listen to Bon Jovi, and understand why he's brilliant and silly, and you can listen to Bruce Springsteen, and understand why he's brilliant and silly. Plus, we have better bagels than Long Island. And better emo music. Fuck them. —Alex Norcia, Copy Editor, VICE.com and VICE Magazine November 23, 2017 at 04:23PM