#but considering she was created directly by the shade of life. i imagine there might be a bit of resemblance there

[aromanticasterisms]

"the distance between sitting in the hands of the anemo archon statue in mondstadt and standing on the head of the statue of the omnipresent god in inazuma is exactly 6666m" how the fuck did you guys figure that out

[lencra]

lenora remembered coming to king's landing when she was only sixteen. she had been invited to one of queen alicent's events for only ladies then. while a young lenora lefford had not been excited for an afternoon drinking tea and chatting with ladies, most of them were far older than herself, she had already seen value in it then. these tea parties increased the queen's popularity among the ladies, of course, but it also served as a safe place for the women to exchange information and create ties between houses in a way that no men could. unofficial alliances could be struck, understandings could be reached, and misunderstandings could be cleared up... or lines could be clearly drawn in the sand. all wives of lords, knights and kings had to master the art of persuasion, the art of subtle influencing. lenora could not tell jaehaerys what to do, but she could try to nudge him. sometimes she would speak her mind plainly as jaehaerys had encouraged her to do, but other times she would have to be more subtle in her approach. she was still learning how best to navigate being queen consort.

but beyond the official purposes of the tea parties, it was also an excuse for her to spend time with old and new friends alike. laena was in the first category. they had known each other long before she wed jaehaerys. lenora had hesitated for a moment when making the guest lists. it could be seen as an offence to queen illya to invite the king's mistress, but laena was her goodsister, she was a friend and she had risen beyond what could be expected of a natural-born child. in the end, it had not been a difficult choice to make. the only thing that she was very aware of was to not invite illya and laena to the same tea party.

lenora knew there would be whispers about laena, so she kept the woman close to her side as a way to deter the worst of it. at least then no one would have the nerve to say it directly to her face. she looked at the fabric in laena's hands. "indeed they are. it would compliment fair hair the best, i think." she thought about herself for a moment, but she already had dresses in a similar colour. her own wardrobe consisted mostly of shades of green, gold, white and blue. "of course, we are not only friends but family now. you are always welcome here." lenora imagined she might not find such hospitality everywhere, but jaehaerys was accepting of his sister's new position. she certainly had no problems with it. she would rather her husband took a mistress than another wife. "thank you, laena, i've tried my very best." and she really had. since arriving in king's landing, she had spent most of her waking hours planning for the coronation. she had spend hours and hours planning the tea parties, the garden parties and the art exhibition, all while also planning for the actual coronation itself, what dress she would wear, what flowers would fill the halls of the keep. she had inspected the chambers of their most important guests herself before their arrival. if she knew everything was perfect, she would rest more easily at night. and even despite the diligent preparation, she would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and go over everything in her head while trying her best not to wake jaehaerys. she could become obsessed with tiny details. her mother used to call her a perfectionist when she actually cared.

"add these silks to my pile, please," she said to the merchant standing ready. she had already picked out quite a few fabrics for herself. "it looks like there would be enough for two dresses. one for you and one for cerissa." before laena even had the opportunity to protest, lenora continued on. "i want to hear no protests. you would both look lovely in this colour and you know it. consider it a gift to our sisters and goodsisters from jaehaerys and i." she had always enjoyed the finer things in life and growing up a lefford, she had never been forced to spend her gold wisely. there had always been enough for what she wished to buy for herself and others. "we shall find some lovely fabrics to pair the silk with ― and some for calla and haera as well."

setting : one of the tea party’s hosted by the queen lenora in which laena was invited to attend ; starter for @lencra

the tea party was lively and unlike any she had experienced before, in a good way, so she thought. of course laena was not accustomed to such things, only in recent years having attended as a guests, a lady amongst all, one to the former queen of the reach. it seemed so long ago, and so near all at once. she tried to put those thoughts aside to enjoy the present, realize the nerves that welled in her tended to send her mind wandering. she now sat with the queen of new valyria, her goodsister. laena found lenora to be elegant, and kind, even before her marriage to jaehaerys, she had taken a liking to the other woman. though her brother insisted she would be treated like a princess upon her arrival, she did not expect it, so an invitation from the queen was somewhat of an unexpected surprise, one she appreciated.

lilac hues scanned the room, trying not to wonder what gossip was happening around her, though she knew there were more than just whispers about her. she, too, read the pamphlets that plagued each court with horrible rumors. many acted shocked and upset by such words, but to some they were of great benefit, it was an easy scheme to continue on, for the gossip amongst courtesans would never cease. that was about the only thing she was certain of in this room.

she looked back to lenora now, observing fabrics before her, and she pointed to simple silks of pale blue. “those are lovely.” she stated, hand moving to pick up the fabric to get a feel of it. “and very good quality.” laena added after a moment. she s t the fabric down and shifted a bit, trying to remember all that she previously learned to present a more graceful image. “thank you again for having me today. you’ve really outdone yourself.”

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

Main Interlude — A Curious Attempt

Watching a tale from afar, in the midst of Carcosa, the Master of Chaldea decided to surprise their friend.

…If only their world wasn’t this… strange.

[Inspired by @hasjalterdoneanythingwrong , @hasmataharidoneanythingwrong (iirc), and others’ Pokémon posting as of late — I wanted to take a shot at this myself and include some neat writing on this topic. Check their works out as well — they’ve got some really neat stuff going on! (I probably missed a few people, but I’m very sleepy and can’t remember jack at the moment, lol)]

—

“Do these things even exist?”

I look in the mirror — fixing my orange hair, breathing a solemn sigh out.

‘Reality’ was already fairly subjective, wasn’t it? As I tried to ignore the buzzing of a fly that desperately wanted to give the flickering light above me a gentle smooch, my mind grew occupied with other things.

“…It’s an interesting pastime. Not to mention, it might do them some good to have something to play around with here.”

That, and a glance out the window told me things were already horrendously off.

The moon hadn’t so much as moved an inch since we landed here — it had to have been hours on end since then, the walk to this apartment itself taking one or two hours. Yet, the faint glow of moonlight still illuminated the outside, and cast a faint light on the bathroom floor where the flickering lightbulb couldn’t reach.

Something wasn’t right here already. As a Singularity, it only made sense — but something really was off.

…Perhaps…

“…It’ll make things a bit better for him, wouldn’t it? He has the others, and me, but… I think something else might be good for him.”

…I looked away from the mirror, and stepped towards the bathroom door. ‘Feeling’ out the mana I did have in reserves, I reckoned I’d have enough for the job.

Even with my mana output, surely creating a Mystic Code wasn’t beyond me.

—

…

…It appears it was beyond me.

The faint light of my desk table warmly illuminated small, spherical object so blatantly not what I had in my mind that it bordered on parody.

It had the bare minimum — a sphere separated into two halves, with a hinge holding the two together — but the latch was utterly broken, unable to keep a grip on the sphere if you so much as rattled it lightly. Even worse, the awkward shades of red and white made its vibes utterly horrendous, as though you left a fishing bob out in the sun for years and gave the whole thing a horrid yellow tint. The warm light, of course, made this atrocity even worse.

“…I didn’t exactly have any apricorns on hand, but… Holy hell.”

I couldn’t even dare look away from it — it was as though I had raised a monstrosity beyond human comprehension, like trying to find a poodle and instead raising a shoggoth. I hadn’t even tried to Mystic-Code-ify the damned thing yet — it still really only was a hastily-carved piece of wood that faintly resembled what an alien might consider a ‘poke ball’ at a passing glance.

…But even so, its appearance didn’t matter as much as if the Mystic Code worked. I could’ve made it into the beautiful visage of a filled mason jar, yet it would still fail if I bungled this next step.

So, the next step was to ‘encode’ this object.

“That which should not happen, yet does regardless -“

…That made sense, didn’t it? ‘Nothingness’ worked best for such an object, that made the impossible possible.

My finger traced its form, one eye closing, the other peering down at the wooden sphere as though trying to see through ‘its soul.’

“…There.”

Like a painter, brushing over an empty canvas, I dug my nail directly into the wood — as it slipped through it, seamlessly, almost akin to a knife into water.

Tracing ‘connections,’ ‘lines,’ ‘circuits,’ all throughout its figure — my eye remained, centred on the sphere, as though even blinking would cost me my life.

To create ‘something,’ that could bind a ‘something’ — a familiar — and even return it to what was a step before ‘nothing,’ swapping this being from ‘nothing’ to ‘something’ at a whim, without even harming the being within.

If it could even function, and work — was beyond me. Crossing one’s fingers, praying for success, was all I could do, tracing these ‘commands’ in the form of lines and connections, now sprawling over the entire sphere in glowing blue ‘cracks.’

In time, the sphere itself seemed as though held together purely from the bonds of its Connections — the ‘commands’ of what it was moved through it, like a ceramic vase broken and put together with enough glue to showcase its cracks. Lifting my nail from it, the cracks faded — turning from blue to a faint yellow, then fading entirely, leaving only the same wooden sphere I was met with.

“…Looks like the only thing left is to try and make it work.”

…I stood from my chair, fighting back a sudden pain in my chest, and lifted up the sphere — turning to the door of my barely-lit hotel room.

All that was left was to try and catch something.

—

…

…Things truly were off, here.

With all my wandering, the only animal I’d seen to date was the crow that ‘Quin’ kept close. Even so, that seemed to me an obvious familiar — something she wouldn’t take kindly to me trying to catch.

By now, I stood at an empty field — not far from the apartments, certainly, as I could still hear its chains rattling — watching the moon that lay just on the horizon, as though watching me right back.

“…Nothing.”

In time, my eyes slipped back down to the wooden sphere I gripped in my hand.

‘A wash, huh?’

…But it’s not as though it made no sense.

Even in a Singularity, the impossible did not suddenly become possible.

The moon may freeze, things may grow strange and scary — but biology, itself, would not bend to the whims of something as weak as a Singularity. Not so easily.

“…But isn’t there something you’re missing, Senpai~?”

…My eyes peered up —

—in front of me, behind me, around me—

—but found nothing.

“…I can’t quite get there now, but I can speak to you. How cute, hm~?”

“…I assume it’s convenient timing you find me aimlessly wandering around a field like a loon.”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I could almost feel BB’s mischievous gaze staring through ne.

“I… think I can help your problem. You want Cadence to have a little animal friend, right~?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Why is that, if I may ask?”

…I breathed out, and had to bite my tongue.

—

“…I don’t think Cadence will live through all of this, Master.”

—

“…I’ve got to make him smile as much as the others. He’s got enough on his plate — I want to help him take it off.”

…It seems she accepted the answer.

“Well, in that case, I have just the solution~! I’ll see if I can’t ‘hack into’ this Singularity and get you exactly what you asked for — since you asked so politely, Senpai~!”

…Even as she said that, something in front of me began to shift — shake, even.

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t come here? How can you do this?!”

“Well, Ritsy, I’ve got to try, right? What could possibly go wrong~!”

…The entire surroundings turned a deep, dark black.

“…That could go wrong!”

“Nonsense! That could, uhm, be a Darkrai! Yeah!”

“—Isn’t that what Cadence would need the least?!”

…A deep red light suddenly engulfed the field in front of me.

“—What the hell?!”

“I tried to make it a Cresselia! I tried!”

“—Are you absolutely sure about that?!”

“It’s something about this place! Everything I’m doing is—“

…Suddenly, her communications ceases.

And I was met with…

“—…—-…”

“..AA—,,,,—AAAUUAAA———AAAHH—-JAA—“

…A piercing, faltering scream.

The kind I could only imagine would come out of a nightmare.

It was this long, red, tetrahedronal thing, that was simultaneously everything and nothing around me. Surrounding me in its endless shade — almost singing, in a voice so cathartic and broken that it shifted between ‘endless pain’ and ‘desperate screaming’ while yet still feeling passionate — enjoyable.

‘Listen.’

My muscles froze.

‘Listen.’

My tongue stopped — calcified.

‘Listen.’

…

Its screaming —

—it became all I could think about.

This being —

—it wouldn’t move. It had me where I could only presume it wanted me, and yet it didn’t move a muscle.

“—AaAaAAaaAaa—“

…

…My calcified muscles —

—I could only move my arm, just that little bit.

Closing my eyes, I gently rolled the wooden sphere across what might’ve been the ground —

—and, after some seconds passed, heard a ‘click’ amongst the screams.

…

A roll—

—Another —

—…

…Another ‘click’ — and I fell to the ground, the pain in my chest feeling unending all at once.

…That sphere… would drain mana. It would drain it every time it were used — and now, just by capturing whatever that was, I found myself sprawled out across the ground of the plains, unable to so much as think about moving.

And that being — whatever BB had created — wasn’t a creature that should exist.

A step beyond even ‘something that shouldn’t exist, and yet does regardless.’

All I could tell, in that short few moments of being held in such a way, was that it were fighting for its right to exist.

Perhaps, in a way, its song was meant to validate itself.

To make it memorable, and ‘confirm’ its existence.

“…It… certainly achieved that.”

…

—

…A writer shifts its brow. A wrench in the schemes — and yet…

[I should have expected/understood as much.]

It only made sense — that beings like these Masters would find beings not unlike themselves.

…

[…It should not interfere. If it does — it could be written out far too easy to fret of.]

The writer, the director, breathes out, and raises a hand to the masked man on their left.

[Prepare yourself. If they attempt to use that… abomination, it will do itself in. Focus on your role.]

…The masked man nodded, and closed a locket on his chest — stepping away, and moving backstage.

—

—

…New Pokémon Discovered.

Adding to registry…

[♀.]

4 h Pokemon

Height: 80’3’’

Weight: 6099 lbs

Normal/Normal

A being that should not exist.

Outside of combat, it manifests as a red tetrahedron, and appears capable of sending other living creatures into and out of a ‘pocket dimension’ not unlike a Reality Marble. It appears this space is pitch black; and unlike in the real world, where it remains mute, it is capable of speaking here. However, it speaks in broken English only.

In combat, ‘reality’ notices the beast, and begins to try ‘writing it out’ of the world. This causes the being immense pain — with its only ability in this instance being to trap an opponent within its pseudo-Reality Marble, and ‘sing’ endlessly to maintain and validate its existence. Due to this, fighting with it is ill-advised.

If it is able to enter combat normally, however, it’s remarkably speedy for its weight, with decent bulk and strength befitting of its large size. It is weak to magical or special skills. Perhaps due to its unique ‘effect’ that comes with its singing, it lacks an Ability. Notably, this Pokémon inflicts extreme mental strain on its Trainer in combat due to the unique nature of its skillset, and as such, extreme precautions must be taken to ‘use’ the being normally —up to and including dedicated battlefields, with bushes in northeast corners, which seem to prevent some of this Pokémon’s more catastrophic effects.

(It appears that this Pokémon is technically a Noble Phantasm of BB, due to her being responsible for its birth. Due to this, it answers only to Cadence, BB, and BB’s closest ones.)

[nathalie-sancoeur-assistant]

Feast spoilers

Okay so here begins all my thoughts and feelings on the newest ep, from start to finish. I need to get them out there. This is just like what I did for “Ladybug”- I won’t be doing these for all the episodes, only the ones that really get my mind running. 

First things first, we get a shot of Nathalie right in the beginning, right in the center of the screen- and Jagged stone is right there. I guess that’s a tidbit of fuel for all the Jagged x Nathalie shippers out there.

“The highest mountain tops of tibet” 

Me: Tibet? That’s where Gabriel and Emilie got their miraculous. 

Okay so Alya is a BOMB reporter, okay, she’s awesome. But did it not cross her mind that this could potentially help Hawkmoth too? He undoubtedly follows the Ladyblog. If you’re going to go to these lengths, then do not publish what you have found online. Wait until you next find Ladybug and Chat Noir on patrol- THEN you can publish them for the public to see AFTER Hawkmoth has been defeated. 

“Until for some unknown reason they disappeared, and the world forgot about them” I feel like there’s a little more to that line than meets the eye- because yes, sure, Master Fu did some funky ish when he was young and it’s been 200 years since they were last heard of, however, even in 200 years you would think there would be some historical documents or something speaking of these mysterious supers that just come and go. Just...something, you know? I feel like there might have been effort to wipe out the memory of the miraculous by someone. Or maybe Im just looking to far into something that’s already been explained. 

I wonder how this lady treated Nooroo. She looks so graceful- is that her while transformed? If so I gotta say I much prefer her simple transformation to Hawkmoth’s. I dunno, I just really like this. Being able to see some of Nooroo and Plagg and Tikki’s previous holders being memorialized. I wonder if they ever have the urge to go visit museums where their previous masters are displayed- I wonder if they miss them. Or talk about them. 

“Hercules, or, lion miraculous holder?”

Me at first: Lion miraculous? Well there’s a tiger but I think that’s a longshot- 

Fu later on: The sentimonster ate other miraculous boxes 

Me: o h. 

Alix: Why not a bunny miraculous while you’re at it 

Me: You did not just.

There’s an app for everything these days, isn’t there?

She’s ready for her close-up!

Seriously though, I love how she has become a more prominent character and actually gets shots like this. 

Also, why did she not sense the amok until she saw the statue? Does the peacock miraculous harm the wearer even if not transformed (I ask because of her reaction)

Bye bye little butterfly

Also, I love her shoes now that we have a close-up of them. 

Jagged looks a bit concerned- but look at Adrien

This poor child, he doesn’t even hesitate to jump to her aid. He loves her so much. 

And the way she speaks to him here, she sounds motherly. “It’s nothing, Adrien” I think this is the first time we’ve seen them have any kind of intimate mother/son physical contact too.

And he is immediately done- he just wants her to get home where she can relax. He’s so concerned for his step-mom, it’s going to break him when he finds out who she is. Snap him right in half like a glow-stick.

is he holding her arm?

“I never should have entrusted her with the miraculous” She’s actually having doubts about trusting her best friend. I’ve been there honey. 

Oof, Fu looks so terrified. And also kinda like a chipmunk. 

“Alya is an excellent journalist. Sooner or later she would have discovered this secret kept under wraps for centuries” I can’t tell if he was throwing shade or not. 

So basically, Master Fu was taken from his home from a young age by a bunch of monks saying he was chosen for a very important job. They but him through rigorous tests to train him into being a capable guardian for the miraculous and as a result of starving a sad young boy the temple got burned down. Sounds almost like they deserved it tbh.  

Also, Master Fu’s sentimonster had free will too- it had its akumatized object in one of the safest places it could have put it. It had free will like sentibug- but it was created to consume miraculous. No matter what, even if Ladybug had felt at this moment that the creature was a real living being (which it seemed just as alive as Sentibug) she would have had to have destroyed it. The difference is that THIS sentimonster was out of control, because it was made from the grief of a starving child. Sentibug was made out of love and loyalty. She didn’t have that underlying meaning of creation that led her to destroy. But this one, when given free will, did, because it was made from destructive emotions. 

Yin and yang play such a huge role in symbolism with the miraculous. Im kinda glad I chose my OC’s miraculous to be yin & yang. 

This is also how I feel when I am hungry. 

“I created a sentimonster that was very different from the one I had envisions” does that mean that the sentimonsters can latch on to whatever their creators are feeling at the moment and form around them EVEN if they didn’t intend to use the particular feeling or emotion to fuel it? Could that be part of why Sentibug turned on Mayura- she was having doubts while creating her because she knew Gabriel would have never let this happen, that she needed to stop- but she just couldn’t bring herself to? And those feelings got ingrained into Sentibug too, and when Sentibug heard “Stop Mayura and take her miraculous” those doubts resurfaced and took form as it seeming for Sentibug to have a sense of justice?

“A monk told me to run away with....and the miraculous box. The very last miraculous box.”

There are other miraculous.

So judging from the pictures and Fus story, he lost the book and two miraculous not to very far away from the temple- which means that Gabriel and Emilie travelled to one of the highest mountain-tops in Tibet. What on Earth could have made them go up there? That’s not just some sort of vacation spot. 

Look at this honeybun. Poor girl- it looks like her head’s hurting. 

Adrien seems so concerned for her- and now we know that he knows that she’s sick. I had suspected as such, because it would be very difficult to hide it because of how much time they spend together- but honestly this is just heartbreaking. 

“It’s thoughtful of you to be concerned, Adrien”

Of course he’s concerned. You’ve been around so long he probably can’t imagine life without you, you’re the one that’s been there ever since his mother disappeared, he loves you like you’re family. An empathetic and caring young boy isn’t just going to look at someone like you while sick and not get concerned. 

“Nathalie sometimes get’s dizzy spells but it’s nothing serious” Nooo Gabriel, I get dizzy spells that are nothing serious (I’ve been to the doctor for them don’t worry), I understand wanting to protect Adrien but one of these days she’s going to disappear too, and what then?

And this scene? They had a moment. He said that he didn’t need to worry, but I think he saw right through what he said, and maybe even that he was a little worried himself. The way he’s holding his eyes, he looks a little bit concerned too. 

And if you ask me, they do not look happy about lying to him. Because he should be worried. But they don’t want to put that on his shoulders- plus if they told him the truth...yeah. 

Okay so let me get this straight- now, Mayura did not create any sentimonsters in this episode, but she did wake up one that was dormant. How does a sentimonster go dormant? Considering there has been a sentimonster lingering out there dormant, we know for a fact that multiple sentimonsters can exist at one time- however, can two exist and be active at the same time, or does one have to be dormant in order for others to exist after the dormant one was created? And how did she sense the amok- was it the same way in which Gabriel sense emotions through his miraculous? And if that is the case, then does she need her miraculous to sense the amok? If so, where is she wearing it at right now? Also look at her, she’s so cute from this angle- just look at her eyes, they’re so gorgeous. That shade of blue is lovely. 

Don’t look concerned about her, Gabriel, you’re the one telling her to use the miraculous...okay yes, actually, do look concerned for her, feel guilty and take it away (I know you will, eventually, but will you honour that commitment in the finale?)

Look at that smile 

This poor kid...he’s got everything in the world but really, he just misses his mother. And now he’s getting flashbacks with Nathalie as to wht was happening with Emilie.  That’s all the proof we need, that’s the show telling us directly that the miraculous is exactly what caused Emilie to go into a coma in the first place. But then sweet plagg, coming in and making him laugh. I think it’s awesome that Plagg is so good at piano too. But its so sad that directly after such a cute scene, he gets taken away. 

His face just lights up

“Mom’s the only one who could make me laugh like that. Thank you, plagg” Sweetie pie!

clack clack clack clack clack clack The clicking of heels is such an aesthetically pleasing sound

“I can feel it’s yearning, Hawkmoth” and I can feel yours someone needs to give you love.

She has the power to Thanos amoks XD

“Take one step closer and I’ll take your amok away from you...you dont want me to destroy you do you?” Man, that’s brutal. She’s got to reason with it as if its an actual living thing (I’ve heard various theories as to why sentimonsters are and are not living individual beings and I just think its all very interesting)- but looking at this after knowing Ladybug and Chat Noir will come to the conclusion that they are later down the road, this episode kinda shows pretty well too that Sentimonsters could really actually be their own being. It felt almost like she was chastising a puppy. 

Wow, familyagrestefanblog was right about this- they really can be akumatized. Which...also goes along with them being conscious beings as Ladybug and Chat Noir believed. Its all so interesting. And the morals here? If this is all so then where is the morality of using the peacock miraculous at all? Eventually the sentimonster is going to be destroyed. UNLESS the reason they can be akumatized is because they’re the very embodiment of a person’s emotions. 

And did I mention that I LOVE his facial expressions in this ep? 

“Ill even give you the peacocks and mine as a bonus”

“I always honour my commitments” 

So was he not going to blackmail the thing? Or was what he told Lila also a lie? If he wasn’t going to black mail it, then is he really that willing to give up all the miraculous once he has what he wants? Which is literally just to right some wrongs and heal his wife? Low-key if that’s the case I like him a little more. 

Okay so

I’ve always had this idea on if Hawkmoth used catalyst, and akumatized one person to do some damage and draw out the hero’s then akumatized Lila with tracking abilities and put her in the middle of the fight, he could use her to find out who ladybug and chat noir were and take their miraculous in their sleep.

But also, this is so sad.  

Marinette’s first thought wasnt “Oh no, I can’t be ladybug anymore”

It was “Tikki!” 

And she was so desperate to get her back. You could see it in her face, she was so determined. Her clumsiness didn’t get in her way this time- because she was determined and focused, no nerves- she just wanted her friend back. And I liked how Wayzz was trying to convince Fu that it was a bad idea. 

So Bikerbug really just keeps her bike IN the bakery huh?

Okay, so, I really really love watching this scene- his facial expressions, the fluid movement, I quite enjoy it. And I love the way Mayura sounds when she speaks so that’s just an added bonus, but then. 

“My Dear Mayura...”

I think I forgot how to breath when he said that. I don’t think that Nathalie is gonna flip out over every little thing (like people theorizing that her heart sped up or whatnot in Ladybug when Hawkmoth landed in front of her and she got a close-up of the booty- I think there, she was more concerned with survival than that) but that? She had to have felt that. 

Adrien recognized Ladybug immediately. And Master Fu was leading Feast right through traffic. 

Me mentally: Oh hey Bananoir, how you peeling? 

“As you wish, Bugaboo~” He wants her to call him Bananoir omgosh. 

“Master look, Ladybug and Chat Noir, despite their ridiculous costumes” Oh my gosh Wayzz leave them be XD

“The guardian of the miraculous is this decrepit old man?” Honeybun there are gonna be people saying the same thing about you if you’re revealed as Hawkmoth.

& Am I the only one that really wants to see Master Fu’s transformation?

“You sure its the right time, M’lady?” Chat, please. 

Chat is not amused. 

“Keep those miraculous nice and warm for me, and enjoy the other ones, youve earned them” Either he is actually being nice to the sentimonster because it actually did its job or hes planning on blackmailing it and having Nathalie take away its amok anyway? 

“Farewell my dear Wayzz” doesn’t hold as much impact as “My dear Mayura”

“Careful what you wish for”

He’s mad cause he felt so close, when really he had just fallen into their trap. 

And she detransformed without even saying “fall my feathers”

And he rushed to her

And the way she looks at him? She is helpless. 

That is not the face of a heartless man.

1.) Now we have a shot of their official height difference minus nathalie’s heels.  2.) They are standing side by side untransformed. But Emilie is still looming over them. They seem to be equals, But Emilie is between them, behind them, watching, and much bigger than they are. Hmm...

No one related to either of these two showed up at all in the rest of the episode. Why is it so important for us to know that they were watching the broadcast that they cut to them to show us? And why go to the trouble of putting both Tsurgi’s in frame? Also note, they both have dark coverings over their eyes, whereas Gabriel and Nathalie do not. I know Kagami’s mom is blind but I wannt look a little further into it- could it be that they are going to end up allies with Gabriel, or going to Tibet and getting their own miraculous from the different wish boxes and use them for bad too? But what if their intentions are not the same as Gabriel and Nathalie’s. Neither of them have malicious intent in their search for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous- Nathalie wants to help the man she loves and Gabriel wants to fix the past/his wife. But could these two have more sinister plans? So it shows them with a dark covering over their eyes to show that their vision for the future is dark and muddled? 

Master Fu really out here thinking that that is gonna make him less recognizable. Just goes to show you that the people of Paris really are just blind. 

Oh boy, that ending though. Gabriel seems so determined right here. “And it shall be served very cold...” And he is saying all this in front of Emilie, but he is talking to Ladybug. There’s just something off about it, to me. Idk. That’s all I really have to say, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. 

[cloudbattrolls]

The Shades of Us

Svalla Saikos | Derevnya | Two Weeks Prior

Svalla bit her lip as she breathed out hard, her breath white in the frigid air. Usually it would be indistinguishable among the vast steam clouds Derevnya’s machinery created. 

The canal boats lay anchored, the tundra crawlers were hibernating - living parts resting while their artificial motors hummed on standby, waiting to be woken up again and sent to chase down prey for the city. Barely any of the golem-drawn vendors’ carts or lumbering steam cargopedes moved down the empty streets, and passerby spoke to no one and hurried past each other quickly in the late night air - only an hour or so until morning.

The whole town felt asleep, but not resting - the tense sort of sleep one got during a hunt or a heist, the kind she’d had more than enough of in her life. Fleet ships with red tridents circled its distant borders like vultures, waiting to pick it clean.

“Svalla - there you are, Svalla!”

The purpleblood turned from standing on the balcony outside her classroom to watching one of her students scamper up to her, breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong, Aleksy?”

The lean oliveblood held up a hand, one pointer finger raised while they got their breath back.

They straightened up and wiped their forehead, sweat gleaming in the pink and green moonlight.

“There’s a woman - got past the blockade and the policeradicators somehow - some kind of cyborg - says she knows you.”

Svalla’s brows narrowed, her lips pursed in concentration and suspicion.

“I don’t know any cyborgs, except one man...what’s her caste?”

“Uhh, not sure - she was wearing all grays, didn’t have a symbol. We didn’t know what to do, so we locked her in a room...she went willingly, at least. Was that okay?”

The fox troll considered this, playing with her short braid.

“Take me to her. If she’s a spy, we’ll figure it out soon enough. You did well.” She added, and the green blood flashed a nervous smile.

As they walked down the short flight of stairs leading out of her second-floor classroom, teacher following student, Svalla conjured a shield of shadows that floated around her right shoulder. She summoned a knife for her right hand, a pure black instrument that reflected no light; its edge gave off faint wisps of black smoke.

She dropped it as she opened the door and beheld the troll in front of her.

The troll who sat on a wooden chair and looked down at the floor, only tilting her head up at the dark blade’s fall to the floor and dissolution as it hit the panels.

With one and a half limbs replaced by metal and ceramic, hair cut to barely below her ears, and scarred far more than when Svalla had last seen her, the person in front of her was still a familiar face for the shadowmancer.

“Matari Markab.” The purpleblood breathed. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet.” Her voice was quieter, raspier - but unmistakably the same one that had teased, comforted, sleepily mumbled at, and begged Svalla for more food on countless occasions.

She was thinner too, her old friend now noticing how her ragged gray clothes hung more limply on her frame. The lowblood wasn’t skinny, but the generous round figure she’d always been happy to flaunt was no more.

Her eyes were the same orange as ever, the same intensity, but their playful mockery was gone. She looked like a troll who’d seen hell and come out the other side.

Svalla slapped her in the face.

Not hard - the indigo knew her own strength and the frailty of lowbloods - but enough to send a message.

“If you weren’t dead” she said, deathly serious. “Then why the fuck didn’t you contact us. Me. Sintax. Sonati. Anyone. You’ve got no excuse good enough that could make me forgive you, Matari, but you do owe me an explanation. Start talking. I want to know why now, of all times, you choose to come back.”

Matari spat out a little blood. Maybe the slap had been too hard. Svalla found she didn’t really care.

“I told you I joined some pirates, right? They got sick of me, marooned me on a planet with one outpost that was hundreds of miles away. Took me a long time to get there and stow away on a ship going back to Alternia.”

The dullness of the pegasus troll’s voice drove the fox troll up the wall. Her shield of shadows quivered, spreading and becoming thicker.

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why did you come back? Why didn’t you just stay in space? Find someone else to mooch off of and disappoint? You’ve done it your whole life. What made you stop?”

Matari blinked, but her expression didn’t change. There was a pause before she spoke, her voice still dull but with a note of weariness.

“For the first time in my life I was alone. Really alone. I blamed everyone else for a while, but out there on a planet that doesn’t give a fuck who you are or whether you live or die...I realized it was my fault. All of it. Everything from when I jerked around Gliese to when I fucked up with Cennef to when Pheres and Sipara ditched me. And yeah, how I abandoned you guys. I didn’t come here thinking you’d want me back -“

“Good, because I don’t.” Cut in the purpleblood icily.

“ - but I heard what was happening, and I knew I had to help.”

The shorter woman bit her lip again, thinking.

“Let’s say I buy your story. Let’s say I believe the empire didn’t catch you and use one of their psychics to turn you into a spy, that all this isn’t a front. Let’s say I even believe you want to help. What do you think you can do? You could, from the looks of it, barely save yourself without someone else to clean up your mess. I’m amazed whatever mediculler you found spared you. I can’t imagine why.”

The lowblood looked at the floor again.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” The fox troll snapped.

She raised her head again, gaze sharp even if her voice was dull.

“Because I’ll die to get you out of this, Svalla. I owe you that much.”

The indigo slapped her former friend again - lighter this time.

“What good are you to me if you die? What good are you to Sintax and Sonati? You’re going to live, Matari, and you’re going to apologize to them and me. You’re going to make it up to us. Not because we’re going to forgive you. But because you owe us living a better life than you did before.”

Without waiting for a response, the shadowmancer called out to Aleksy, who had been awkwardly hovering in the hallway the whole time.

“Get me Lelyah. She can tell if Matari is clean or not.”

“I - I think Lelyah is asleep.”

“Wake her up.”

“...she’s not going to be happy.”

The fox troll bared her fangs - short, but very sharp.

“Let me worry about that. Go.”

Student obedience, caste loyalty, or simple survival instinct informed the lanky olive it would be better for them if they didn’t argue further, and they skittered off in search of the psychic yellowblood.

Matari said nothing in the time it took for Lelyah to appear, scowling with her hands on her hips, Aleksy keeping several paces back from her.

“What do you want, Saikos? Your idiot told me we might have a spy? Keep her locked up until tomorrow evening, who cares. And next time send someone who looks less stupid. I hate their dumb face.”

“A whole tray of lemon bars, dusted with sugar.” Promised the highblood. “Yours if you scan her now.”

The blue and red eyed psychic made a show of tapping her chin and pulling a face, but Svalla knew she had her.

“Fine! But I’m not going easy on her. If she babbles nonsense after, that’s your problem.”

Before the fox troll could object, Lelyah turned, red and blue sparks dancing between her two sets of horns, and sent eye beams directly into the orangeblood.

“Hmmm...well someone’s got a filthy mind! You’re a nasty one, aren’t you, girlie. Full of so much regret you keep pushing aside, letting it pile up like garbage. Pathetic. I see you were controlled by a maroon once, interesting...oh, you deserved it too. Even your own mother doesn’t want you anymore, hm? That’s why you’re here. This is all you’ve got left.”

The psychic rolled her neck, looking over at the indigo.

“She’s not being controlled by anyone else, or used as a sleeper agent or medium. Just a sorry mess of a troll. Feed her to someone’s lusus, she’d be better off. Don’t wake me up again.”

Lelyah stomped off back down the hallway, and Svalla glanced at Matari.

The orangeblood looked up from staring at the floor.

“So how can I help?”

It was as if nothing had happened. As if her every weakness hadn’t just been laid bare. Matari Markab didn’t cry. She didn’t curse, or mock, or ask why Svalla had let that happen.

She had asked her question, and then went silent again.

“How did you get in?” The purpleblood realized that was the most potentially useful information her former friend had to offer.

The tiniest smile crossed the outlaw’s lips.

“My new limbs have high tech. I can go invisible, and lower my temperature so sensors think I’m a highblood. Or spread my body heat around enough that they can’t pick me up at all.”

“How did you even afford that?” The indigo said in disbelief.

“I didn’t.”

Again the tiny smile, and Svalla knew the orange was mirroring her own thoughts: once a thief, always a thief.

“Can you make other people invisible too?”

The smile vanished, and the former thieves’ guild member shook her head.

“That tech only works on me. But I’ve got lasers, and I can make a little smoke.”

Svalla finally dismissed her shadow shield, thinking hard. The plan she’d been working on since she’d mentioned it to Sintax now seemed possible. Difficult - highly dangerous - but just barely possible.

The orangeblood took something out of her sylladex. Curious, the fox troll stepped closer.

It was dried meat. Dried meat and some celery. Utterly bizarre.

“Why are you barely eating anything? No wonder you’ve lost weight.”

“And you’ve gained some. Looking good, Svalla.”

The shadowmancer pouted, pleased at the compliment and acknowledgement but not wanting to give Matari the satisfaction. It was strange hearing praise without the usual flirty note in the lowblood’s voice, but her tone had been completely even.

The orangeblood chewed at a reasonable pace, not racing to see how fast she could finish at all.

“I’ve got a plan.” The indigo said, sitting down on another chair and shutting the door so Aleksy couldn’t hear. She looked around, but if there were mechanical spybots, she couldn’t see them or pick them out with her shadow sense. She was going to have to risk it.

“The empire has everywhere covered, except underground. There’s a jade cavern nearby that Derevnya has tunnels to; I’ve had trolls digging out to them since the blockade started, and we’re nearly there. Enough of us will be leaving through them that the empire is bound to notice, and we’ll need a distraction to cover our escape.

I had one planned already, but until now, I couldn’t figure out how to set it off without the empire tracking us down immediately. With your tech, you can destroy the cults’ libraries and not have a psychic tracker hunt you down right after to interrogate you.”

Matari’s mouth pulled back in a puzzled frown, the expression odd without the roundness her face used to have.

“The cults’ libraries? Don’t they hate you enough from the first time? That seems extra risky.”

The fox troll’s lips drew back into a hard line.

“I know what I’m doing. This is the only way to get the empire’s attention long enough to make sure we all escape safely, and if it works how I want they might even back off from Derevnya.”

Shock was written plainly across the taller woman’s face.

“How?”

Svalla Saikos smiled a grim smile, the smile of a troll who has very little left to lose and a major bone to pick.

“There won’t be much horrorterror summoning after you destroy their texts and the empire comes to clean up the ashes. We’re going to tip them off and slip away while they’re busy.”

“Svalla, you’re selling these people out. They’re probably going to die.”

The lowblood flinched as the highblood snarled at her.

“They’re the reason we’re in this mess! They were sloppy and let themselves get caught! Don’t feel any sympathy for them, Matari. They deserve this.”

The pegasus troll’s eyebrows knitted together quizzically.

“Wait a sec. Your problem with them is that they got caught, not that they summoned a big freaky monster in the first place? Girl, you are whack.”

“The empire wasn’t doing anything about the problems. I’m not saying it was an ideal solution, but it worked! Everything would’ve been fine if they hadn’t gotten careless and let someone squeal.”

The younger woman paused after the indigo snapped at her.

“Sure. Anyway. Is there somewhere I can sleep? It’s been a long night.”

Svalla waved a hand dismissively.

“Aleksy can show you. But I want to know one more thing.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Is it true your lusus doesn’t want you anymore?”

Matari looked away.

“I don’t know. She didn’t come when I called when I went back to our hive...I don’t know if she’s alive or dead. I only found some of her feathers.”

So Lelyah had been right. This really was all her former guildmate had left in the world.

Maybe the right thing to do would have been to hug the abandoned troll, but a part of the purpleblood felt it was only fitting that the orangeblood’s caretaker leave her the way she herself had left so many others.

“Go sleep, Matari. We’ll discuss details in the evening. Don’t mention this to anyone else, or put it in a text message.”

The lowblood nodded.

“Thanks, Svalla.”

The fox troll folded her arms.

“Just go sleep.”

Her former friend obediently got up and walked out the door, and she could hear the woman asking the olive about her room.

The indigo took a deep breath.

What was it the standard-speaking trolls said? It never rained but it poured?

She felt like her tensely sleeping city had just been flooded. That any moment she could drown in the weight of what she had to do. There were no more obstacles blocking her way.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

Svalla Saikos had never backed down from what other trolls considered unthinkable. As a child, she had studied for sweeps to bind eldritch powers to her service without resorting to cursed bargains. She had come back to her city after being cast out and stripped of her stipend and carved out a new life, knowing perfectly well how much those she’d spoken out against wanted her dead.

She walked back up to her balcony, a chill wind tossing her long hair back and forth.

Sweeps ago, she had proclaimed that horrorterror artifacts should be released from the cults and used for the good of all, carefully controlled and regulated legally. She had criticized the cults who hoarded secrets, who practiced shameful sacrifices and loathsome experiments while everyone else turned a blind eye.

For this she had been banished.

For this she would punish the trolls who had hidden in the very shadows she controlled for so long.

The indigo smiled into the chill air, looking into the horizon at the red sun just beginning to peek into the sky, its light stark against the slowly hovering imperial ships.

The city was about to wake up. 

[helenaklein]

take me to your river

The steady trickle of the river creates a gentle melody that accompanies your afternoon. There’s a lightness to the air today, as if the world itself is breathing easier than it has in far too long. Your world certainly is.

Helena’s back rests against a tree on the water’s edge, and her fingers weave loose braids through your hair as your head lie in her lap. You’ve been dozing in and out of consciousness for at least an hour, basking in the simple luxury of your wife’s company. More than once, you wake to the sound of rustling leaves and the sight of slow movement in the branches above you, growing spontaneously to provide continual shade from the sun’s glow. Mirth lights up her entire face each time you catch her; her disbelief and her confidence providing a uniquely endearing combination you can’t get enough of.

You and Helena have yet to leave for any sort of honeymoon, but moments like these provide such a stark contrast to your life together thus far that you can’t imagine time even more rejuvenating.

You crack your eyes open just slightly when her hands still. Helena stares out towards the water, looking thoughtful but lacking the telltale crease on her brow she gets when something’s troubling her.

“What’s on your mind?”

There’s no surprised reaction to your question, only a small smile at the unspoken familiarity you’ve cultivated together.

“Much.”

“Well,” you sit up to reposition yourself further in her lap, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, “I think we’ve got time.”

Helena hums appreciatively and presses a lingering kiss against your cheek. The warmth of her lips against your skin persists even as she begins to speak.

“Do you remember our first riverside venture?”

You recall the day fondly. 

Those were such fraught times. So much was uncertain. Helena herself was different then, the cloud of hurt and regret that surrounded her so palpable it could have easily created insurmountable distance between you. But it didn’t.

Instead, moments like that trip to the river were a window into a gentler life, a glimpse at the woman she could become.

Your chest tightens at the memory of all you’ve gone through to get here. You wrap your arms around Helena’s neck and hold tight to what you fought for.

“When I pushed you into the water? How could I forget?”

Helena’s laughter comes unrestrained now. You think it might be your favorite change.

“I returned your dirty trick in kind.”

“It ended pretty well for both of us, I think.”

She reaches for your hand and brushes her lips lightly against your wedding ring, “I agree.”

You steal a kiss in the silence that follows. Because you can’t help it. Because she made you blush. Because Helena is your wife and because you’ve found the kind of love most people can only fantasize about.

“I asked you something that day.”

The words tumble from your mouth ungracefully, summoned from the same place of uncertainty they were conjured all that time ago, “‘What am I to do with peace?’”

Her eyes seek something distant out across the water as she nods. “It was difficult to picture myself in the life that comes after war. Growth and repair felt so foreign, so distant to what I knew of my soul. Even now, I find myself asking the same question: what am I to do with peace? There are so many possibilities before us. I struggle to envision what choice is best.” 

“It doesn’t have to be the best choice, you know. Maybe peace is more complex than that.”

The notion seems to strike her deeply, and she looks back out towards something you can’t reach.

“Is this about Chicago?”

Despite her previous insistence on the decision to move after the wedding, the commitment had yet to be followed through in any meaningful way. The two of you went as far as escorting Sophie home before stepping right back through the portal because Helena had told Altea she’d help transport her to potential locations for the future school of magic, and didn’t want to go back on her word. So many things have come up and postponed the move that you’ve begun to consider that Helena may be doing it deliberately.

You haven’t asked about it until now, figuring her reasons justifiable and her faith in you strong enough to share them when she’s ready. In truth, you don’t mind the delay, grateful for the opportunity to mull over the logistics on how the hell to make any of it work. The more you think about it, the more anxious you get. 

You have to go back to work, first of all. Which means job hunting and the whole host of inferiority issues that’s inevitably going to dredge up. You’ll need to find something that will let you work from home, as you aren’t keen on the idea of leaving Helena alone all day in a world she doesn’t know, and something for her to do in general that won’t ask for any identification. And, perhaps most complicated of all, you need to figure out a way to divert the attention that sharing a face with a dead, beloved celebrity will draw to her without asking Helena to disguise herself again.

It’s been a head-ache inducing process, to say the least, and you’ve barely had time to consider some of the pressing emotional concerns you have about any of it.

Helena seemed so sure when she talked about this move before that you haven’t really had the heart to bring up how complicated it’s going to be. You would do absolutely anything to secure her comfort and happiness, even hop dimensions and steal an identity for her. But still, the situation is more stressful than you’ve let on.

“Your world is a wondrous place. Its creativity and progress excites me. In many ways, it is the perfect answer to what I have craved for the majority of my life. Escape. Freedom. A new beginning. A chance to start my life fresh.” Helena smiles as she speaks, her blue eyes locked onto an imagined future. “If you had asked me two seasons ago where I wanted to spend my life, I am sure a place like Chicago would have been my choice, without question or second thought.”

“And now?”

“Now… it is as if I turn to what it represents to me on reflex, or out of habit,” Her gaze drops down and shame darkens her features before she shakes herself from it and meets your eyes directly, “but it has been quite some time since I have let the instinct to preserve myself rule my actions.”

“You said you feared people never letting go of your past.”

Helena repositions you slightly to better face you. You straddle her lap and catch both of her hands in yours.

“Yesterday, I met a farmer living in countryside surrounding Reiner’s castle who had been struggling to attain crop yields comparable to what he managed before the Witch Queen’s army occupied his land. What little actually took root molded by harvest time. I found him reduced to tears, clutching his ruined crop in his fists and kneeling in the dirt. He feared destitution for his family and starvation for his child, a little girl named Maya who just lost her first tooth. He thought himself a failure, and assumed that he was doing something wrong. But the land itself was cursed. I could sense the poison embedded within the soil the moment my palm touched the ground,” her words come more quickly as the story progresses, betraying her agitation at what this stranger endured. “She sabotaged his entire livelihood for no reason other than that she could, that it brought her pleasure to know he and all those that depended on him would suffer.”

You squeeze Helena’s hands in an offer of strength when you feel them start to tremble in your own, “breathe, Helena.”

She takes the suggestion immediately, clenching her eyes shut and giving herself a minute to get her breath under control. When her trembling ceases, Helena opens her eyes and continues, voice noticeably steadier.

“I offered my assistance to him. He was distrustful of magic after having seen the destruction it wrought so close to his home, and skeptical that anything could mend the damage after he had tried so hard to fix it. But he had nothing left to lose, and said as much before allowing me to help. I lanced her poison from the farmer’s field with ease. The look of wonder on his face as the crops still clutched in his hands were restored to perfect health, and that I could so effortlessly erase the evidence of her wickedness… it made my heart soar.” 

The memory puts a note of awe into her voice, her smile lights up her entire face, and you could swear the shade you rest under brightens with the grace of her happiness. You know how much it means to Helena that she’s learned how to help others with her magic. She’s formed a better relationship with herself as a result of it, with the knowledge that she is so much more than her capacity for destruction. 

Her smile fades before she begins speaking again, “there are other stories like that farmer’s. People whose lives have yet to return to sustainable conditions, let alone something resembling normalcy. Many whose homes were consumed by flames and whose possessions were seized by her soldiers, who are still in search of family members unaccounted for, whose minds and bodies are gravely wounded and continue to live without respite. The Witch Queen is dead, but her touch upon this world lingers.”

The statement would make you worry about her if not for the hard-set determination that settles across Helena’s features.

“I do fear what my reputation in this land will be. But should the burden of that fear fall upon the shoulders of those whose resentment is just? Should I extend no offer of help to people in need on the chance that they may dislike me? Is it not the worst of crimes to have great power to make change, and choose instead to do nothing?”

Helena’s voice carries the same sort of impassioned delivery she used to rouse the army to stand with her as she brought back the sun. You can’t help but burn with pride and an immediate desire to do something, armed with the knowledge that her cause is inspired and righteous.

“I have more magic at my fingertips than has ever been thought possible in our recorded history.” She pulls one of her hands from yours, holding it outwards and summoning an amorphous ball of energy to demonstrate. 

Particles of magic dance around one another, a glowing light show contained at the palm of her hand. What she holds then disperses outwards, and when Helena gestures around you, you’re caught breathless at the sight. The flow of the river has ceased altogether, fallen leaves and stones previously strewn across the forest floor levitate seamlessly in the air for as far as you can see. She holds it only for a moment, before dismissing the spell with a slight wave, and shows no sign of strain at the exhibit, if she feels any at all.

“Some of this magic was hers, once. She wielded it mercilessly against the people of this world, used it to impose her will over my body and mind until I thought of nothing but her and how to make the pain stop. I see no greater act of reclamation than my use of that same power to ease some of the destruction she wrought.”

“Are you saying you want to stay here, Helena?”

“As a child this world wounded me in ways unspeakable, and for too much of my adult life I wounded it just the same. But… perhaps there remains a way to amend some of the damage inflicted on both sides.”

“I just want to be sure you’re not trying to make a martyr of yourself in endless pursuit of everyone’s approval.”

Helena releases a hum of recognition at that, and turns her eyes towards the river once more. The sounds of the forest fill the lull in conversation between you. You’re grateful that she takes the time to consider your words, and are happy to grant her however long she needs to take stock of her feelings on the matter.

A chill settles in the air as the sun begins to fall. You tuck your face into the crevice between her neck and shoulder, seeking her warmth as much as you are protecting her with your own. Her arms come around you, pulling you close enough to feel her heartbeat against your chest.

You can hear her smile when she speaks next. 

“There is still so much beauty here. I notice more of it every day. In our view of the sunrise over the village from our balcony. In evening meals spent among our friends, getting our fill of laughter and hot food in equal measure. In the songs the village people sing together while working towards a common goal. In the jovial eyes of children who will grow up without fear. In… in the way Ishara and Asta embrace me as their own. In the dreams and aspirations of all around us certain that there is a future to plan for, and in the knowledge that this is the world that brought our hearts together. This world. She tried to crush it underfoot but kindness and hope yet lives. I see it and I can feel it take hold in my soul, and I know with certainty that this world and I are the same.”

Helena is beaming when you pull away to look her in the eye, and you can’t help but match her smile.

“I wish to stay, my love, if you are amenable to the idea. No thoughts on the matter mean more to me than yours.”

Pride and relief overtake you. The way Helena has grown since you met her still brings tears to your eyes. It may not be a fresh start, or a new beginning, but it feels no less important, no less significant, and no less a marker of positive change. 

“I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting back to the daily office grind, to be honest. I’d be happy to stay, Helena.”

“Truly?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? And so are our friends. That’s all I need, in the end.” The people you’ve met in this world have filled your days with meaning in a way nothing else in Chicago ever has. Sophie is the only thing from your world you’ve ever been sad to let go of, though you know her place in your life will persist regardless of the dimensions between you. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, with everything bad that’s happened. But it’s like you said, there’s a lot of good here too. I don’t think there is anywhere, in any world, without both. And we can help make more good. We can be happy here, I’m sure of it.”

Helena’s lips meet yours in a kiss that tastes of excitement and invigorated purpose. 

Your life together was never going to be easy, or simple. To ask for either of a woman like Helena is to deny who she is fundamentally, and ignore the long path she’s walked to become the person she is now. In place of what’s easy, you have what’s brave. It may be scary, and ugly at times, but it’s enough to know that neither of you will ever stop trying for your happiness together, the betterment of all that surrounds you, and the sort of self-improvement that can only be found by embracing challenges head-on.

“If my past catches up to me someday, I welcome it, so long as I have this moment, and the hope of another in the peace we will build together.”

The words ring in your ears. You love their sound, saying them back to yourself over and over as the truth of them resonates deep within your chest.

The peace we will build together.

That’s where you find the answer to Helena’s question. 

Nothing is to be done with peace, because peace itself is what must be done. 

Peace is what you build, not where you arrive at. It is not the hard-earned destination at the end of a long journey. It is not something you can chase, or hope to someday simply find, as neatly wrapped a resolution as that would be. It is the work you put in, the way you try, a purpose you dedicate yourself towards in ensuring tomorrow is better than yesterday.

As you walk back home hand in hand with Helena along the river, you know you aren’t taking your first steps towards a picturesque happy ending.

But together you will make tomorrow better than yesterday.

[mizkit]

a bit of angst

I was looking something up and came across this bit of, like...angst with...like, a faintly smutty edge, that I posted on Patreon a while back, and I thought I'd post it here now. :)

***

Thin, expressive lips, always teasing with a smirk that hid the promise of a heartbreaking smile. She knew the other one better, though. The one made of real laughter, changing hazel eyes to green. The one that came with the way he would play with his clothes, a black coat with a red lining. Sitting, he would flip its skirt open, creating a crimson slash that led the eye directly where he wanted it to go. A flash of leg, like an ingenue, before folding the skirt again and opening the collar, drawing attention upward to the hollow of his throat; to the sparkling, glittering grin above it that said he knew exactly what he was doing.  

That was the smile she knew, the smile she felt against her own lips. "Actors," she said when he did that, and his laugh held a confessional note. But then he offered his hand, a gesture almost too small to be seen, filled with the agonizing fear of rejection. It happened that way with them every time, as if they'd promised themselves it wouldn't happen again and in promising, somehow made each time the first. Their first kisses remained that paralyzing sway of seeking, not daring to imagine the gift was a given: smiles touching, breath mingling, parting again. Gazes searching, touch fluttering, heartbeats wild with hope and need. Laughter and delicate hands burgeoning into hunger and certainty, but the kisses, his lips, her mouth, always questioning, testing, tasting, to see if this thing was real. It never was, and always was.

There were worlds between them. Not unbridgeable, maybe, but broad enough for possible to seem improbable. Days, even weeks together were still filled with stolen moments, the dance of coming together and parting again. Pulled two separate ways, him by his life, her, by hers, both of them imagining that no one else knew. Sometimes she knew that was a lie; sometimes she saw others notice the caught moments, the ones where all that mattered was the fluidity of his body, the intensity in the meeting of their eyes, the lifetime that passed in a glance. Every minute together went too quickly, and every day apart made those minutes seem all the less real, until they happened again, another first time. A dozen first times, before the exquisite feel of his lips on her throat undid her, and she whispered words that were too real by far for what they were.

He went still above her, not the frozen hope of a man trying to hold on a moment longer, but an emptiness, as if everything he was had fled and left a shadow in its place. His fingers, curled against her cheek, were suddenly cold, and all she could see was the blackness of his hair, his face hidden beneath its waves. He said, "Ah," and in that one word conveyed all the remoteness of the uncaring depths between the stars. "So that's where we are now."

We. Or maybe you; with the rushing in her head, with the heat of knowing the words should never have been spoken, with the sickness of knowing they couldn't be unsaid churning in her belly, she wasn't really certain which word he'd used. It didn't matter. Answers fought to escape: it doesn't matter, we don't have to be, I don't know, it's easy to be in love when you feel this good, I didn't mean to say it. She couldn't say any of them, only stuttered a few syllables that meant nothing. After a moment he began moving again, stiffly, all the grace and passion gone. His lips wouldn't meet hers again, nor his gaze, and she pushed his shoulders away. "Stop. No. I don't want it like this."  

He moved back, drawing a sheet over himself. Caped in it, a pale shoulder exposed in frames of red, color of passion cooled by the ice in his eyes. "So, what, you're just servicing me?"

Fury flushed her cheeks. "I'm not the one who went all mechanical here. Look, I didn't mean to say it, I didn't know I was going to, I don't even know if it's true. It could be." The last confession was barely her own voice, so soft and full of pain. It hurt everywhere, in the shallowness of her breath and in the palms of her hands. Closing her eyes helped; at least she couldn't see the rigidness of his jaw that way, or the pinched set of his mouth. Couldn't see the scars in his eyes, the ones that told the story of a boy who had not thought himself loved, growing up, and who trusted no one who used that word with him now.

She did not want to be the fix for those scars, even if she could be. "It is true," she said, her voice still light and not her own, and with her eyes still closed so she couldn't see whether the words cut him or not. "I wish I hadn't said it, but it's true. I am…" Her lip curled, teeth bared before she spoke through them. "I am so happy, when I'm with you."

His brother—his opposite in all ways, big and blonde and considered not too bright—opened the door and walked in, blasé as a college roommate letting himself into a dorm. Their apartment wasn't much more than that anyway; a bed in the living room where the couch should be, another bed in the single bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, looked between them, and said nothing, only walked past them into his own room. She turned her head, watching him in a kind of numb bafflement, knowing he wasn't as dull-witted as his reputation had it; he was one of those who had seen their caught moments, and had both the wit and kindness to say nothing.

A Cracker Jacks box flew out of the bedroom and hit her lover in the head. He flinched hard and his brother came out again. Walked out the door, leaving his opinion hanging in the air: "You're an idiot."

She rose, dressing mechanically. He picked up the box of treats, never taking his eyes from it. She was on her way out the door, shoes in hand, she would put them on in the hall, she only wanted to be out of that room, out of that life, forever, and the door was closing behind her when he said, "Wait."

Low word. Broken in its syllable. Scarred, in the way she could not fix. And because she was a fool, she stopped. Waited, her heart breaking with every beat, her breath slicing cold shallow cuts in her chest.

"He liked someone, when we were little. So much he was terrified to talk to her. She gave him a box of Cracker Jacks one day, and a kiss." He lifted his eyes, gaze green green on her profile. She would not look at him; stopping had been too much already. He got to his feet, came to the door with his black hair long and loose and the crimson sheet falling to his hips, marbled expanse of pale skin framed by those shades. She saw it in her mind's eye, vivid enough to undo her; if she turned to look at him she would be lost. She always was. That was the danger of him, and she had exposed herself too much because of it.

"I'm sorry," he said, close enough behind her that his breath warmed her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm not...good at this. But he's right, I'm an idiot, and I'm...sorry. I'll try to be better."

There were promises in the last words, implications that this might not always be new, not always a test, after all, and because she was an idiot, too, she turned. He offered her the Cracker Jacks box and in doing so almost lost his sheet, the armor he wore draped about his hips. He seized the one, dropped the other, and she caught it. His gaze jerked to hers, hope searing through his eyes, and she saw the impulse there, the intention to shutter that emotion and lock her out. It was exquisite agony that he fought it, left the question unasked but brilliant in his angular face, and it cut through her like a blade.

They stood so close to one another. So near, with all the terrible distance of the world between them, and on their lips, a kiss. A question. An exchange of breath, asking, testing, fighting to see if this was real.

[treasure-mimic]

So I saw Captain Marvel last night.

It was good. It was perfectly serviceable as an action movie, as a superhero movie, and as a Marvel movie. I imagine there’s gonna be a lot of little girls and grown women who love it because Carol is a really cool character. It was good.

It has, however, gotten me to think about something specific a lot since I’ve seen it though. What’ve I been thinking about?

Nirvana.

Post will contain spoilers for the major plot twist in Captain Marvel.

I think it’s probably pretty easy to harp on Captain Marvel for leaning as hard as it does on the 90s aesthetic. A decision seemingly made out of convenience and enforced by general cultural excitement at just, naming things that existed in the 90s and don’t anymore. But, ya know, let’s give Captain Marvel a little more credit than that. Let’s try and look into Captain Marvel’s themes and see if we can’t sus out a reason behind it.

Let’s talk about Skrulls.

A common reading of all alien invasion media is the idea that the alien force preys upon what the populace fears most at the time. Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds (2005), for example, sets itself as a direct and intentional parallel to the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Centers, mirroring a lot of the imagery from the attacks and a lot of the language used about the enemy and events just following. In The Avengers (2012) the evil alien horde presents itself as a tactical and well-armed warforce staging a frontal invasion on a civilian populace, coincidentally in the same city as the 9/11 attacks, and when it does get paralleled to any terrestrial army, is compared to the conquering, expanding force of the Nazi army in World War 2. The US fears an invasion, the hordes at the gate ready to rush in and slaughter us while we sit comfortable and unprotected.

In contrast, however, we have The Body Snatchers, written in 1954, published in 1955, and adapted for the screen first in 1956. A supernatural thriller wherein a race of sentient plants from outer space land in the US and consume regular humans, replacing them with replicas that walk and talk like normal people, but are actually duplicates created by these pods, disguising their presence on earth while they attempt to consume every human being on the planet without any person being any the wiser, with any attempt to expose their actions being chalked up to “hysteria”. While all writers involved deny any intentional theming along these lines, one of the most common readings in all of cinema is that the story, perhaps unintentionally, parallels the fears felt by Americans of communists and Soviet spies infiltrating the country from within, deteriorating our systems to defend ourselves until its too late. It’s very easy to read Invasion of the Body Snatchers in this light as it was coming out alongside much more explicit narratives about much more explicit Soviet spies with similar insidious plots, to the point that even by 1961 their tropes and conventions were being parodied in publications like Spy vs Spy.

A year later is when the Skrulls invaded. In 1962, The Fantastic Four #2 was released, premiering an invading alien race of shapeshifters called the Skrulls who can effortlessly implant themselves among life on earth by taking on the appearance and memories of the people they copy. Following so closely to the footsteps of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and coming out so soon afterwards, it’s not the biggest stretch to apply the same reading to the Skrulls. They are, or at least were, an extension of the fear of Soviet spies in our midst, turning us on our protectors, scoring key seats in our government, and turning us over to an uncaring invading force. The Skrulls would continue this act throughout nearly every appearance they’ve had since, even after the end of the Cold War and the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991.

You know what else happened in 1991?

It’s likely unfair to point to one single instance as the “start” of a cultural era, but Nirvana’s Nevermind is as good a place to start the 90s as any. One of its tracks even plays during one of Captain Marvel’s key scenes. So let’s now talk about Nirvana. 

The sentiment that sits at the core of Nirvana’s work, as well as the core of all 90s alternative and grunge acts, is a potent combination of disaffection and frustration. After a couple decades of constantly fearing for their own lives and the lives of everyone around them, the mood of the youth of the generation burned out and gave way to a dull irritation. There wasn’t enough energy to keep the anger going sincerely, so instead the anger was kept alive through irony. A bitter hateful sarcasm, frustrated with every power structure that had been involved in leading to this point. Frustrated with corrupt government officials (”Some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses”), with uncaring capitalistic systems (”God money’s not looking for the cure. God money’s not concerned about the sick among the pure.”), with societal systems that keep them down (”Oh, I’m just a girl, all pretty and petite, so don’t let me have any rights”), with themselves (”What drives you on can drive you mad, a million lies to sell yourself is all you’ve ever had”), and just a frustration with a world that doesn’t and doesn’t pretend to understand them (”Oh well, whatever, nevermind.”).

90s alternative and grunge as genres set themselves as opposites to the aesthetics of the decades preceding them. In terms of pop culture, the 80s were the decade of glamour and bombast, the 90s were the decade of grounding and moodiness. It refutes and refuses to partake in the systems that created and drove the half century of wars that preceded it.

So doesn’t it make sense then, that the Marvel movie set in and embroiling itself in the 90s grunge era is the one that humanized these representatives of Soviet agents. Gave them families and a backstory and a very human reason to fight.

So, that’s that then. Captain Marvel isn’t just using the 90s aesthetic as a shallow means to pander to nostalgic twenty-somethings, its a thematic connection to reinforce the need to consider the other side’s perspective, using the counterculture of grunge to boost the counterculture of good guy Skrulls, right?

Well, no!

Look, okay, I’ll be the first to admit that I pulled all that directly out of my ass. I can’t imagine this level of thought went into connecting the story of Captain Marvel to the pervading zeitgeist of the 90s, especially when the Nirvana and No Doubt songs are played against Blockbuster Videos and Two Way Pagers. Besides, while it might be a good idea to understand that the Soviet spies and plants are in fact people with families and lives, saying that the Soviet Union were actually misunderstood good guys is at best the innocent musings of someone who genuinely didn’t know how bad things got and at worst grounds to suspect someone is actually some kind of Russian psyop themselves, and it’s far from any kind of message that Disney of all corporations would ever want attached to them. But that doesn’t make the analysis wrong per say. As said before, the writers of Invasion of the Body Snatchers disagree with the reading of its parallel to Cold War paranoia.

But Captain Marvel just doesn’t have the right 90s attitude. She’s defiant, certainly, maybe even counterculture given her response to the sexism she’s faced her entire life, but she doesn’t abandon the system, she doesn’t even really learn to see all enemies as people, and she does the least grunge thing of all and chooses a side.

I’m not saying the movie would be better if Carol reasoned with the imperialistic hivemind robo-fascist that literally brainwashed her to use as a weapon, or if she had just left the Kree to commit genocide against what is, in this universe, an oppressed racial minority that’s already been driven to the brink of extinction by rampant imperialism, but the movie still puts the blame on a nation of citizenry as opposed to the systems that influence them. The Skrulls have family and just want to live their lives in peace. The Kree don’t and don’t. The Supreme Intelligence wasn’t lying to an entire nation of soldiers, telling them that the Skrulls are all terrorists and the aggressors in this conflict, it was literally just Carol. Carol was the only one who didn’t know. Those soldiers that Carol had spent six years training with, living with, trusting with her life, they can be killed without a thought cause they’re the bad guys. Cause they didn’t have families like the Skrulls did.

In all likelihood, Marvel Studios saw a female led movie as being enough of a risk and wanted to keep the rest of film entirely safe. It’ll cause less waves if instead of portraying two warring factions as shades of grey, they just swap out black and white’s positions halfway through.

Captain Marvel adopts the aesthetics of 90s rebellion without going that extra step to actually rebel. It comes close to the realization that war is made of people with lives being shunted to their end by careless systems looking for profit, but still organizes all the players into a good side and a bad side instead of acknowledging the fascist systems behind them seeking excess material wealth and control.

Oh well.

Whatever.

Nevermind.

[fandomlife-giver]

Toxic Veins (Alucard x OC): Chapter 3

Warnings: Violence, Explicit Language, Death

Pairings: Alucard x OC

Word Count: 2692

Summary: After the memorable reunion with the members of Hellsing, and the meeting of the strange vampire, Alucard, we travel to our location where we attempt convincing an entire police force to allow us to kill a legion of ghouls and their vampire leader. Well, this should be an interesting encounter. I still have a few questions regarding the nonhuman amongst Hellsing that appears to have an ego bigger than his hat. Perhaps my dear old friend Integra will be kind enough to answer those questions. 

Let's find out, shall we?

The entire atmosphere stood quietly. The only sound was the whirling blades of the helicopter.

My lids were half-lidded, covering the magenta orbs that stared mindlessly at the earth below. My arms lay comfortably crossed as my hair blew in my face, tickling my skin. That was when I caught sight of the red figure walking below, disappearing into the forest.

"When were you planning on telling me you had a vampire working for you?" I moved my head to look at Integra, who sat with her arms and legs crossed on the opposite side of me.

"When it became relevant. As it did when you agreed to work with us." She simply said.

"And why are you allowing him off on his own? You know how reckless they can be, yet he's killing his own kind alone. Are you certain you can trust him?"

She looked at me in absolute seriousness. "I trust him with my life. As much as I trust you. He's not just any other pitiful vampire you have killed before, Phyre."

Now that piqued my interest. I rose my eyebrows. "And what makes him different from others?"

There was a moment of silence before she sighed. "Do you remember a certain individual known as ‘Count Dracula’?"

Count Dracula? What's that got to do with anything? We're talking about Alucard.

Wait.

D-r-a-c  c-a-r-d   u-l-a  A-l-u

Isn't Alucard just Dracula spelled backward? Does that mean Alucard is...

My head snapped to the right to stare at her. "You didn't."

"Actually, I didn’t. My father did. I just happened to inherit him after his death."

My eyes widened. "Why the hell would Arthur keep Dracula as a servant? And how, he's Dracula?!"

Her lips puckered. "Well, technically he is Vlad Tepes III—"

"I don't care what his name was, Integra! He is the king of vampires that Abraham Van Helsing supposedly killed, why of all places would he end up as your servant?"

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples to rid of the headache that had just appeared.

"Alucard is an ancient vampire who was pressed into service by my ancestor, Abraham Van Helsing, forever bound as a servant of Hellsing after his supposed death. After the death of my father, who was Alucard's previous master, I became the head of Hellsing, along as his new master. He serves me and carries out every order I give him with loyalty and absolute trust. Now, does that satisfy your curiosity?"

I'm not sure. I'm still processing that the king of vampires, the one monster my ancestors were determined to kill, was my coworker.

I hummed and looked back down at the forest. "Yes."

She breathed a sigh of relief and laid her head back, closing her eyes to rest.

"For now, at least."

Her eyes opened back up with a sigh, that made a smirk crawl up my face.

°°°

"Sir Integra, we are nearing Cheddar." Walter's voice played over the speaker.

I looked over at Integra as she took out her gun and checked her ammo, before cocking it.

"Is your plan to kill the policemen? If not, I'd recommend a more advanced piece of weaponry."

She looked up at me. "I could say the same to you. It wouldn't do any good, besides, they're already dead."

I rose an eyebrow. "You seem certain of that."

"I am."

"Then why bother coming if you don't plan to save them?"

She gave me a knowing look. "These are scared humans who don't have a clue what they are doing. They don't have the knowledge, nor the proper tools to stop what's happening, so instead, they send in their troops. They might as well be burying them in their graves."

I watched as she hid her gun in her jacket. "Our job is to properly rid of the problem and prevent an increase in the body count. Now..." As the chopper neared the ground, she stood up and looked down at me. "Are you ready?"

°°°

I poked my head out and followed after Integra as she exited the chopper and walked through the camp up to a large tent that was heavily guarded by soldiers. My eyes looked upon them as they stared at us in both cautiousness and curiosity.

I glanced back at Walter, who closely followed, then walked next to Integra and lowered my voice. "Do you honestly think they will believe a word we say?"

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. "It's all in a matter of persuasion, Phyre. You should know plenty about that, considering your preferred tactics."

A small smirk curved at my lips. Maybe it wouldn't be that hard to believe.

°°°

"What? Are you really serious?"

Apparently, it was.

"Do we appear to be in a humorous mood, officer?" My emotionless face stared directly at the group of officers across from us, specifically at the one who spoke.

"I'm sorry, but could you perhaps repeat yourself one more time? Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, is it?" He asked at Integra, whose back was to him as Walter removed Integra's coat, letting her blonde hair fall down her shoulders, and bowed.

"Very well. I'll start again." She turned and looked at him through her lenses. "They're ghouls, and the village of Cheddar has become a den of ghouls. A ghoul is what happens to deflowered humans when they're bitten by a vampire. They're much like zombies under the control of a vampire. And that means there's a vampire somewhere in Cheddar." She rose her hand, signaling for Walter.

The officer looked at her as if she was mad and laughed. "Hmph, that's ridiculous. Vampires? Do you really expect me to believe this occult nonsense?" He questioned as Walter opened a container of cigars for Integra.

I narrowed my eyes at him while Walter glared at him from the corner of his eye.

Integra picked up a cigar and put it to her lips. "Why on earth would a cheap bureaucrat like yourself know anything on the matter? How dare you even question my credentials? The Hellsing Organization has been defending the British Empire from such monsters for generations!"

By looking closely at the officer, I saw the fear shaking in his eyes. She looked at me and nodded for me to speak while Walter lit her cigar.

"Allow me to illuminate. The Hellsing Organization is a special operations agency charged by Her Majesty with the duty of finding and eradicating all supernatural and satanic threats to the Church and Crown."

I lowered my red tinted shades to stare directly at the man who spoke. "There's a vampire in Cheddar that's controlling the ghouls—a monster from the pits of hell. Send in all the troops you wish, send every last man under your command, they'll end up little more meat. Or they may suffer a worse fate. When a vampire drinks from a virgin of the opposite sex, a new vampire is created. Otherwise, your people become food, and then join the vampire's unholy legion of ghouls."

"Sir, I've completely lost radio contact with Squads 2 and 3." The correspondent sitting by the radio informed.

One of the officers stepped up and walked forward. "Bollocks. What's going on? Report. Come in!"

Integra blew out a puff of smoke. "If you are to stop the ghouls from further multiplying, you're going to have to terminate that vampire at the source." She looked at them with a small smirk. "And this is where Hellsing comes in. We will take care of your vampire."

The officers looked at her in disbelief. "That's... insane."

She turned and crossed her arms at them. "I can assure you, gentlemen, that one of our finest anti-vampire field agents is already in route to Cheddar. This will be settled in a matter of hours."

"What sort of agent would handle this?"

"When dealing with monsters��� vampires especially—I promise there is no better expert walking this earth."

Yes, no better exp—wait.

I looked at her with furrowed brows. Did she just...?

Meanwhile...

ALUCARD

My footsteps made me known by the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet. I was surrounded by the beauty of the night, yet only one stayed on my mind...

My beloved queen has returned to me. She has yet to remember our past, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that I can see her beauty every morning, afternoon, and evening.

Oh, the smell of her blood running beneath those veins hiding under her smooth rose-tinged ivory skin was intoxicating.

I took a moment to gaze up at the illuminating glow of the evening moon. "How beautiful... Nights like this make me want to have a bite to drink. Yes... I couldn't imagine a more... perfect evening." My eyes glowed a bright red beneath the hue of my orange goggles.

My beloved Nica...if only you were here beside me...that would make it truly perfect.

I resumed my walking through the green forest. Once I rid of this, I shall return to you and we will once again be reunited...iubita mea de flori. (My beloved flower)

"Aahhhh!!!" The scream tore through me like a great shard of glass. I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. The scream was desperate, terrified...human.

Nica?

Flashback...

"Vlad! Please! Don't do this to me...please don't do this to us!" I peered down at my queen and snarled.

How dare she! She doesn't have any faith in me—I can see the lies written all over her face!

She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. "I-I love you..."

My glowing red eyes had narrowed into slits as I knelt down to grab her chin. She whimpered in pain at the bruises I was sure to leave on her. "Lies! You filthy wench! You never loved me, it was all lies!"

There was a pure shock in her eyes. "V-Vlad, I would never—"

"Just admit it! You don't love me—you are afraid of me! That's why you went to him!"

"No, I only love you, Vlad, please!"

"Shut your mouth! You don't think I know where you go—what you do after dusk? You make me sick! I don't need you!" I made her look at my three newest brides that awaited my company on my plush bed, which was sure to break her.

She looked at them with a hurt expression. "No. Y-you wouldn't."

I grinned. "Oh, Nica, I already have." I threw her to the ground. "You've been replaced. Now get out of my sight!"

Nica...

As I walked forward, I realized my queen was safe, with my master. The scream had come from a human police girl that was currently being groped by the vampire I was sent to kill.

Yes. I was to rid of him—grind him to dust, and only then shall I see my beloved. I grinned as I approached them.

He looked back to stare at me. "Who the hell are you?!"

I peered at him through my goggles. "Your death."

He did a maniacal laugh. "My death? Oh, really? My god, this is pathetic." He chuckled, then outstretched his arm. "Kill him."

By the snap of his fingers, a barricade of guns was aimed at me and wasted no time and no ammo in emptying its loads into me. The force of the bullets was enough to blast holes through my clothes, my skin, and bone. It penetrated me over and over, all while my grin remained glued on to my face...even when part of it was blown off. I even felt my right arm blow off and fall to the ground.

As the gunfire ceased, my body now lay upon the ground, my dull eyes staring up at that oh so beautiful moon.

The vampire walked forward and stared at my bloody body. "Is that the best you’ve got? Hahahahahahaha!" His laughter echoed throughout the area.

My eyes lit up a bright red. The wind picked up as I summoned my power. "huh…hahahahahaha…"

°°°

PHYRE

"Your agent’s a vampire?!" The officer exclaimed.

Huh. Funny, that's what I said.

Integra smirked as she bit down on her cigar. "Correct. You see, humans make poor vampire killers. They are frail, they are mortal, they are corruptible, body, mind, and soul. The most effective weapon against the vampire is another more powerful vampire."

I gave her another offended look. Honestly. Like I'm not right here!

I couldn’t help but shoot my finger up to interject. "Of course, there are very few humans that are capable of killing a number of vampires. With the required skill set, of course."

She looked at me, then the soldiers. "Perhaps. However, none may compare to a top of the line vampire that may out its opponent."

Is that so? I don't believe that's what you said earlier.

"The Hellsing organization has such a creature in its ménage. And let me assure you gentleman, our vampire has power beyond imagination."

°°°

ALUCARD

As my body completely healed, I grinned while withdrawing my Joshua and aimed it, watching closely as it fired rounds at every last ghoul in the area. Their bodies all collapsed in a field of death.

"No! How could he be killing them?!" He looked at them as they dropped like flies, then at my Joshua. "It’s those bullets!"

The magazine fell to the ground as I pulled out the next set and replaced it. "The silver cross in Manchester Cathedral was melted down to make these thirteen millimeter exploding shells. Nothing I shoot ever gets back up again…"

His wide eyes stared into me. "But why?! Tell me! Why fight to save these pathetic humans?"

He eyed the human girl behind him, then proceeded to grab her and use her as a shield in front of him, which only made my grin widen.

"Don’t take another step. The girl's the last survivor. Don’t you want to save her? Be reasonable. I’m not asking for much. Just a bit of help. You can look the other way."

I looked directly at the girl. "Are you a virgin, my dear?" I smirked as she grew bright red.

"Ah!?"

The vampire's grin dropped. "What are you doing?"

I kept my eyes locked with the police girl. "I’m asking if you’re a virgin!"

She was frozen at my question. "Vir…I…"

"You bastard!" The vampire snarled at me with narrowed eyes.

I rose my gun and aimed it at them. "Answer me!"

The girl shut her eyes. "Ye..Yes! I am!"

*bang*

I watched the bullet go through her chest, piercing her right breast until it also reached the vampire's heart. "Aaaaaagh!" The vampire flew back by the force of the bullet in a splatter of blood, releasing the girl that fell to the ground.

I went forward and smiled as my hand plunged through his chest and heart. He groaned as blood spilled from his mouth. "You...you" My hand twisted until he disintegrated in a flash of blue light.

Blood dripped down onto the moaning human police girl that lay on the ground, staring up at nothing in a pool of her own blood.

I walked over to peer down at her. "I had to shoot through you to pierce his heart. I’m sorry, but you’re dying. And there’s no time left. The choice is yours. What do you want to do?"

With all the strength she could gather, she rose her hand up—to what, I wasn't sure. Tears watered in her eyes as she reached out to me as if asking me to save her.

It was interesting, having someone want to be saved by a monster. This girl has been left with nothing. She faced these undead monsters, knowing her dull bullets would only result in her death. It was very interesting.

That was when her strength wavered and fell weak. Her arm fell, and I unintentionally caught her hand with mine. The symbol stitched into my glove glowed as I grinned.

"Police girl…Tonight is truly…A beautiful night."

[marvinkiel009339-blog]

Eye Disorders

Fifty Shades of Grey is just one of the largest manual trilogy's of all time. At that point the illusionists said to Pharaoh, This is the finger of The lord." But Pharaoh's soul was actually set (Pharaoh's heart was solidified four opportunities), and he carried out not pay attention to all of them, as the Lord had actually pointed out "as the God had stated is utilized 4 times in the competition profile (7:13, 7:22, 8:15, 8:19) in the imaginative profile. God communicated and also it was. Cool Skins, Healthylifesupplement.Info OPI offers you these attractive and also nontoxic nail refinement colors to balance along with your trendy complexion These amazing colours supplement as well as look gorgeous next to your trendy complexion due to the fact that you were born with blue-pink-red skin layer touches and also appear your finest in silver or even platinum precious jewelry. In this particular kind of situation there are actually pair of traits our team could do, one is actually sand the furrow out and along with some fillers and also color make the chair new again, this is actually where a leather specialist can be found in to participate in, or substitute of the section that is actually bent, that's where a furniture store can be found in. In these sort of scenarios there aren't any type of leather conditioners or even cleansers on the planet that will definitely take out a creased or even puckered leather, what happens is actually the genuine construct of the threads in the leather-made have actually been actually changed as well as what you find is what you have. Our testing, having said that, presented the Sensation to be much more efficient when certainly not proactively in operation - which, also for extensive smart device users, tends to become the majority of the amount of time - providing it a greater ceiling for battery life. Thus earlier this year i took yet another large turn and also go out as well as get brown hair die coming from the regional supermarket and this was actually the most ideal trait i have actually ever before done to my body it created me appear older, made me look pretty, effectively thats what people mentioned and also it was actually amazing to go on tp of the expense as it only cost my mum 6 extra pound every 4 to 6 weeks to accomplish my roots. " I stuck with Calypso 7 years directly at a time, and sprinkled the great outfits she provided me along with my rips during the course of throughout; yet finally when the 8th year arrived circular she bade me leave of her own free choice, either considering that Jove had informed her she must, or even considering that she had changed her mind. Water different colors coating consist of 4 key components; color (typically pigment), binder, the substance that keeps the pigment in revocation and also fixes the pigment to the painting surface area, components, substance that change the viscosity, hiding, resilience or even shade of the pigment and vehicle blend, lastly, the synthetic cleaning agent, the element make use of to thin or even thin down the paint for request and that evaporates when the paint hardens or dry. Patrick's Recuperation Performs treatment consisted of one thing phoned movie theater therapy." At one treatment, he and also his fellow hookeds enjoyed The Blind Side." At another, it was Braveheart." He learned about soberness via parlor games on just how to mention no when come close to" about making use of medicines and how to have a blast in recuperation without making use of liquor or various other medications." In another training class, he filled out a worksheet inquiring him to determine his beloved shade and other beloved factors that might help him connect to other addicts. Eat healthy food items that maintains you chewing, crunching, and tearing before swallowing it. That tongue requires food items that can easily wash it. If you are actually consistently engaging in each of these newly found routines with little bit of to no end results for a month or more, at that point take the last steps to clean the hair and also color off of your tongue. As I discussed before re. the colour swatches I make, oil-painting paper functions most effectively for this due to the fact that the surface area has merely enough absorbency to 'key' what is actually put on it yet a lot of the is going to stay resting on the surface and may be worked around for a while. The distinct variation I think is that Lao people use cilantro as well as shallots as well as a couple of various other spices while Hmong individuals makes use of different seasonings as well as normally include a little bit a lot more vegetable elements.

[phthalology]

HZD: Winter’s Bargain Chapter 1 

Read here on AO3. Rescued by Aloy and now under the watchful eye of the Carja court's many spies, Sylens reluctantly helps put Meridian back together after the attack on the Spire. Someone seems to want to keep the Carja nervous, and Sylens needs to find out whether they're an enemy or an ally. The one with Marad’s spy shenanigans. Aloy/Sylens, 2300 words. 

He must have been thrown onto the ice.

That would explain the hard surface underneath him, the concussed confusion as his eyesight blurred. Shamans stood over him, songs distorted behind heavy wire-and-cloth headsets. Their voices cracked and reverberated. Sylens had done something terribly wrong. Of that he was certain. The tribe had decreed this cold vengeance for what he had done.

Aloy said, “If I had known you were the person who needed rescuing, I wouldn’t have come.”

Sylens opened his eyes.

Red desert dust caked his hands, the orange blankets in front of him, and Aloy’s jacket. Heat washed off her. It felt like the desert sun, but something metallic too, like the HADES unit. She looked more muscular than he remembered, heavier, as if she had been given gravitas by her conquests.

The red-and-gold battlement walls around him looked Carja. Not ice at all; heat and heavy blankets covered him. There were more people in the room than he had seen in months, more than he cared to see. Three masked guards were arranged behind Aloy like nervous Watchers. They were extraneous, a sign of a nervous sovereign. Aloy could have attacked him while he was asleep if she had wanted. The guards did serve to partially hide a man dressed in the lighter finery of a Carja noble, who waited patiently beside the closed wooden door.

Until now, Sylens had imagined that he could have walked through Meridian at almost any time unobserved; although his markings might be memorable, most people who knew his face were dead. In the course of their business he and Bahavas had met once at a shrine near the edge of the city and once in the holy circle near the apex. On other days, he had gone to the markets on the outskirts with his arms and head covered, to forestall questions from Carja who found Banuk memorable.

He had certainly never been here before.

“Why did you bring me to the palace?”

Aloy ignored the guards as surely as Sylens had done. “You were hurt. Do you remember the Vantage near the prison?”

The prison? Ah, she meant the one in the Sundom. Sylens still had a feeling that exile should be cold. Maybe that was why the avalanche-prone cliffs of the Alpha site had sometimes been a comfort. Now, though, the palette of his life was not blue and white but shades of green.

He had had months wandering in deserts to disprove his fear of the cold, not to mention the time spent here, in the humid forest. The idea had never departed, though. When he had been a child he had seen an exile taken onto the ice, the shamans singing in praise to the justice of the rime. The man had been half-mad with poison, but he had been alive enough to weakly struggle.

That wasn’t what Aloy was talking about, though. “Yes, of course I remember. The Vantages are made to be difficult, and this one was no different.” The cache up in the mountains would have been a good place for a relay signal. Not an essential part of the plan, but something in him had wanted to take a journey that long. He needed to stretch his legs, to ride without needing to go anywhere. Maybe, he needed to look at the mesa and wonder whether Aloy was in Meridian.

“Someone yelled. It turned out to be you. Avad’s people wrapped your arm, but it will take a long time for the bruises to heal.”

“You brought me to Meridian?” He lowered his voice, both for their secrets and because he was angry. Afraid, too; he doubted that Carja justice was any kinder than Ban-Ur’s.  

Aloy nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. She knew it was a weighted decision.

“Foolish. I suppose I should thank you for saving my life, but I didn’t think you had any particular love for this city.” Sylens sighed. She might have saved his life. It had been a careless fall, and now that the tattered dreams were clearing, his left arm ached fiercely.

Instead of asking anything further, Aloy turned away fast, the beads in her hair jangling against the metal sewn into her clothing. “Let me talk to him alone,” she said, talking through the guards to the nobleman still half out of sight behind them.

“A minute, no longer.” The man had a clipped voice full of confidence. It sounded familiar, but Sylens had intentionally stayed out of bloody Carja court politics when he was luring Bahavas and the other members of the gang that would become the Eclipse. The king had only mattered as much as Helis’ revenge demanded he did.

Aloy nodded. Sylens sat up as the guards walked out, leaving him with a better view of the single door in the little tower room and the bench on which they had placed him. Aloy folded her arms, looked like she considered sitting down and then decided against it.

“There were bandits near the Vantage,” Sylens said. “Some of them caught me on the cliff and must have fled when you came. I did not just fall off the ledge.”

Aloy smirked, did not directly reply. “I haven’t told Avad and Marad who you are,” she said.

“And why not?”

“You gave me the tools I needed to defeat HADES. And out last conversation was … unusually civil. Now we’re even.”

Sylens chuckled. She didn’t know that the spear had included the virus a virus that was meant to send a version of HADES, caged again, back to his new hideout. There was something appealingly reasonable about the exchange of debt, though. Hadn’t they all been paying the debts of the Old Ones, all this time? Hadn’t humanity deserved what it got, for Faro’s sin of erasing APOLLO? Sylens wasn’t sure. Aloy, though, was the only other person likely to understand any of that at all.

“In fact, that’s why I was in the forest in the first place, setting up relays. If we could use Eclipse equipment to speak to HADES, we could learn so much more,” he said.

Aloy was taken aback. “You’re just … telling me that? You trust me with that? Did it not occur to you what HADES did last time? Did you want to do that again?”

“I was in the desert. I thought that if the Faro robots rose up out of the ground it would be a terrible loss but at least I wouldn’t be around to see civilizations destroyed again.” He shifted, found that his arm ached only slightly less if he tucked it against his side. “We make scant few pieces of information now. For them to be consumed again …”

“But now you’re telling me you want to do that exact same thing again.”

“No. Not to unleash it. To control it. To talk to it, as you talked to GAIA. With the spear, with the Alpha Override, I think we could do it.”

“I was here.”

“What?”

“I was here, in Meridian, when the world almost ended. You know that. I would have had to watch innocent people die, not just myself. I will not face that again if I can prevent it with my own hands.”

“Exactly! Exactly.” Sylens sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. It didn’t hurt to move that far. How had she carried him here? Drugged with hintergold, on the back of a Strider? “Aloy, if we learn what HADES has to tell us we can find out more about the kind of technology that created GAIA in the first place.”

“I can still work with GAIA, in the Nora lands.” She uncrossed her arms, sat heavily down on the side of the couch where his legs had been.

“Then you understand the knowledge they both could give us.”

“I heard the recordings. Quantum processing, was that the one? That’s what you would have destroyed us all for.”

“That is what I trust you with now. We could remake the Earth, Aloy.”

“I won’t allow it. The Kestrels won’t allow it.”

“I know. So I’ll help you. Whatever you’re working on here … I don’t doubt my knowledge of the city will help you.”

“Locked together by a bargain again. I’m beginning not to regret rescuing you, if this sort of fight results. Too few people …”

“Even though the world is at stake?”

“It won’t be. Because you won’t leave my sight.” She stood up. “This is good timing. Marad has me working on some things in the city. We can both stay out of trouble.”

“Good. You deserve a place as Avad’s investigator. You deserve Marad’s place as advisor, really.” It was a guess, based on the name she had used, but it was also honest. Sylens did not doubt that Aloy was more intelligent than any of the Carja courtiers.

Aloy pushed a sigh out in a loud burst. “I won’t tell them who you are. I’m saving that one for when I might need it.”

“To use against me? A good decision for both of us, I think.”

Aloy rapped on the inside of the door.

The guards hadn’t gone far. Almost immediately, the door opened and the man in the robes, the one Aloy had called Marad, walked in. Sylens carefully stood.

Aloy looked between them. “Sylens, this is Blameless Marad. Sylens helped me … prepare for the attack on the city.”

“Greetings. You come highly recommended, and Aloy … I’m sure you know how much she did for the city.”

Was he probing, wanting to know where Sylens was during the attack? Aloy had seemed to think everything would go smoothly. “Blameless. That’s a … notable name.”

“Is it? Some people certainly say so.”

“…Do they.”

“Right now, my advice is that Aloy consider her work,” Marad said. “After the attack, some people are rebuilding and others are taking advantage of the chaos. The Hunter’s Lodge has been taking in scared farmers. There’s plenty to do, if you want to help us while your friend recovers.”

Aloy did not hesitate. “Yes. I already know a few places where we could help out with supplies. The Nora have already left, but … like you said. Lots of refugees.”

“You know where to find me,” Marad spoke with clipped authority, like a teacher telling a child how far they were allowed to stray. When he went out, leaving the door open behind him, he conspicuously gestured for the guards to move out onto the next lower balcony, far enough that they could see the doorway but not so far that they were obviously watching the tower. Sylens watched him go. He had a feeling that Marad was more than an advisor; someone so effortlessly practiced at giving out no information at all was more likely a spymaster. Sylens could admit when he was outclassed — to himself, at least. Unfamiliar with the city as he was, Marad would be able to track him easily.

Aloy nodded at the door. She always looked ahead, didn’t she? Always forward.

“You’ll be able to stay here in the palace,” Aloy said, and led him out. “But I have work to do. Machines are all out of their usual territories after the attack.”

Years ago, Sylens would have thought that he might never walk the streets of Meridian again. He had little use for the city itself as long as he could lure people like Bahavas out of it. The chaos in the court had worked to his advantage. Now, Sun priests did not walk in bloody-minded procession but hunched their shoulders on their way to shamed and profaned alters. Sylens almost laughed at how unlikely it was that someone would recognize him. As soon as they crossed the bridge from the palace, people crowded them. Farmers from lands shelled and shredded during the attack, hunters who had made their way to the Spire to seek their fortune, and thrill-seekers now seeking no more than hot food and passage north thronged the streets.

People recognized Aloy, though.

Vendors called out to her, not to sell but to thank. She greeted some people with clasped hands and a nod toward the Hunter’s Lodge. “Tell Talanah I say hello.” Soon enough, though, Aloy found her own apartment door and opened it onto a large, cool room. Sylens shut the door behind him. The trap door on the left side of the room had recently been broken, and sharp pieces still stuck out from the edges of the stone passageway. Otherwise, the room was decorated in Carja finery.

“They gave me this place,” Aloy said bluntly, setting her bow and arrows down beside the door. She followed them with the spear Sylens had given her, and met his eyes. “The last owner is gone.”

“How convenient for you.”

“He was a complicated man.” She let the spear go, moved to sit on a cushioned bench beside it. “But now we have a chance to do more. Let me explain what we’re working on here.”

“Wait.You kept my secret, for now. The thing that could put me in greater danger than any other person in this city. You trust yourself with it. Why?” Sylens did not hesitate to be blunt.

She looked down. “Because we’re the only ones who know.” She stood, faced him furious. “If I told Avad that you had helped call HADES down on this city, they could kill you. I don’t know if Avad would, or if Marad would sway him. And then our last piece of information is gone, a lifetime worth of research. You’re wrong about so many things, Sylens, so very many. But you did the work. And I won’t see the only other person who understands that work destroyed.”

So fierce. So … he watched the line of her jaw as she tilted her face up toward him. The thin, white scar was barely visible from one side of her neck to the other, like a terrible smile.

He nodded. “And what is our work?”

“First, we’re going hunting.”

[jmsebastian]

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly of Polygon Faces

Sometimes we just have to be honest with ourselves. There is an undeniable charm to many games from the early 3D era. While often unrefined, a style developed that now breeds nostalgia in the way blocky, squat pixel mascots did in a generation prior. Pushing polygons rather than sprites was a new art form, and not many had a clear vision as to how it should go. Many made the push toward photo realism, and in doing so, ended up drowning us in a new surreal, a limbo of concrete and abstract representation. I have a deep fondness for the 32/64 bit generation because it gave way to a new visual language for video games, but like I said before, we have to be honest with ourselves. Sometimes the language being spoken with those ground breaking graphics was unintelligible. Sometimes the results were downright unsettling.

Let’s start with this police officer from Parasite Eve II.

All things considered, this police officer really doesn’t look too bad. He’s got some nice shading and some real definition to his features. This being a 1999 release, it’s pretty clear that Squaresoft had made some real improvements over their earlier forays into 3D gaming:

(Ahem.)

The problem with the officer isn't so much in the level of detail, but really the content of those details, specifically his eyes. With Aya approaching him, his gaze seems to be aimed at nowhere in particular. Given that this game features no voice acting, it isn’t really odd that he would have a neutral expression, but neutral is not really an appropriate description. He looks eerily absent, as unresponsive as a mannequin. Compare that to the beautiful pre-rendered cutscenes that pepper the game and you have yourself quite the disconnect.

Obviously, no Playstation game is going to be rendering characters that look as good as that on the fly, but even compared to Aya’s in game face, the officer looks odd.

This closeup reveals a hint of determination, but also a sense of calm, similar to how she was characterized in the cutscene above. The officer, on the other hand, looks as though he’s never experienced stimulus of any kind.

(There’s just nothing going on in there.)

Parasite Eve II is one of the more technically impressive Playstation games, and as such, its crimes against humanity barely even register. There are modern games that can’t get characters to emote, and their faces can actually move. By that measurement, Officer No Soul is a crowning achievement. Let’s take a look at a game in the same genre and released the same year. Capcom’s Dino Crisis featured a female protagonist, Regina, with the same kind of gun totin’ sex appeal that Aya Brea brought to Squaresoft’s character lineup. For reference, when we thought about Regina, this is what Capcom would have preferred we have in mind:

The unnaturally red hair seems geared at portraying Regina as a fiery, adventurous type. Her look is pointedly alluring, which doesn’t complement the theme of the game in any way, shape or form, but was par for the course after the debut of Lara Croft. Let’s see how well this dinosaur murdering seductress translated into the actual game.

(Oh, god!)

The “come hither” look from the cover seems to have melted like a wax figure. Similar to the officer from Parasite Eve II, Regina lacks any meaningful expression on her face. The texture mapping is slightly misaligned as well, making it so her lips appear to be sliding off to the side of her mouth. What’s most disappointing has to be the way her hair is rendered. This was long before things like cloth physics or individually animated feather blowing in the breeze. I’m empathetic to the constraints of the platform, but I can’t help but feel discontent when I’m teased with distinguished hair strands and am instead given a rust colored crescent moon with some highlights capping her skull.

By 1999, the Playstation had been on the market in Japan for five years. Dino Crisis and Parasite Eve II were games developed and published by big players in the industry. While it’s all well and good to poke fun at their badness now, they were still among the most advanced graphics that could be achieved on the platform. While looking quite dated by the dawn of Sega’s Dreamcast, in the same year as these releases, they managed to hold their own. Results from games much earlier in the system’s library tell a very different tale.

This is from King’s Field, released in North America in 1995. You may have noticed that this man here has no face. There’s an extra polygon showing for his nose, but other than that, we are just staring into the void. Bad faces are unsettling, sure, but no faces is the stuff of nightmares. This game is technically the second in the King’s Field series. The first game, confusingly also just called King’s Field in Japan, released early on in the Playstation’s life, December of 1994.

While many of the established studios were busy mixing pre-rendered backgrounds with polygonal character models in order to maximize the amount of detail they could squeeze out of each scene, From Software decided to go all in on 3D right from the beginning. Nearly everything in this game is built using polygons. Even more impressive, the game continuously streams data from the disc, meaning load times are practically nonexistent once play begins. In order to accomplish that, corners had to be cut. A lot of those corners were in the details department. Most objects are made of simple shapes with little or no texturing. Edges are sharp in a way that feels unnatural. This extends to every face in the game, and is the biggest barrier to buying into the game’s world.

There is something inherently unpleasant about holding conversations with people sans mouth. It was bad enough when characters couldn’t move their lips, but to not have a visual reference for where the speech is supposed to be produced from puts the player in a tough spot. On the one hand, there is plenty of space for the player’s imagination to take over. They can create any character they want due to the faces being literal blank slates. On the other hand, of course, the inability to visually relay more detailed information about its characters through facial expressions means King’s Field has to work harder at the language that’s used when NPCs communicate directly with the player. Overall, the trade off of having a large, fully 3D world at the expense of detail was risky. Given what we know about texture mapping in the ‘90s, I’d say From Software made the right call, even though it meant talking to no faced monstrosities.

I wanted to point out a few bad examples of polygonal faces in order to demonstrate that some games took a completely different approach to the whole 3D thing: mainly, they tried to maximize their capacity to convey information visually by only including the most vital information. In Mega Man Legends, the characters are incredibly blocky. The basic shapes and sharp edges make it so that it looks as though everything was a paper cutout. When looking straight on at a character’s face, all you see is a flat surface with everything simply drawn on top of it. It may not be the most technically impressive, but it allows for a great deal more emotion. Mega Man expresses more with his face in one scene than any of the previously mentioned character do throughout their entire adventures.

Here, Mega Man shows some clear confusion. The simple frown and solid coloring gives him a great deal of personality.

In this shot, Mega Man’s sense of fulfillment is very clear, and all it took was a different mouth texture over the same facial structure. Sure, he doesn’t have the lips and his hair looks poised to pop any balloons that might be floating by, but the anime style art design allows for visual storytelling in a way that many early 3D games just couldn’t pull off.

Another great benefit to Mega Man Legend’s art style is that it has prevented the game from appearing as old as many of its contemporaries. Dino Crisis may have looked really good when it came out in 1999, but when magnified and displayed at resolutions above those that would have been possible on TVs of the time, it’s very obvious what era of video games it was made in. Games with pre-rendered backgrounds look especially bad at higher resolutions because character models and the environments don’t scale together. A character might upres quite well, but then clash horrifically against the blurry, pixelated mess of a backdrop. For anyone playing on the original hardware hooked up to a television of the era, these issues are lessened, or even non-existent thanks to the resolutions and adaptability of CRT technology. When played by more modern means, say on a Playstation 3 via the Playstation Store connected to a nice LCD screen, you can get some very unfortunate results.

Mega Man Legends’ visuals may not hold up perfectly in the modern era, but they can be blown up significantly and still maintain most of their quality. The techniques of simplifying visuals would pay off big for Nintendo just a few years later with The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker for Gamecube. Basic shapes combined with newly developed cell shading techniques allowed the game’s visuals to be expressive in ways even modern games struggle to match. When played at modern resolutions, The Wind Waker hardly skips a beat.

(That is a look of some serious, and easily distinguishable distaste.)

The increased processing capabilities of the Gamecube meant that visuals for its games would automatically outpace the Playstation, but visual techniques pioneered on that platform gave 3D games a way to circumvent the inherent limitations of the era and technology available to them so that they would have lasting power. It’s important for games to push the boundaries when it comes to visuals, and a cartoonish style certainly isn’t appropriate for every title, but I can’t help but wonder how many times this cycle will repeat. Games developed for the Playstation 3 are already starting to show significant visual age when compared to the newest released on PC, so much so that I almost prefer the abstract horror of bad face texture mapping to settling in the uncanny valley. Graphical fidelity never felt as important as artistic design, a reality that feels more true now probably than ever before.

[seasaltmemories]

Protector

Rating: T

Summary: Saying you’ll die for someone else is quite a selfish promise.  Rin and Yugo try to figure out things together

If there was one good thing about the nightmares, at least by now Yugo had learned to wake up without screaming.

His entire body was soaked with sweat as he awoke, remnants of the dream that clung to his skin. In the hazy aftermath where one can't be sure what's reality and what's not, all he could do was lay there in silence as he pawed for Rin.

She's not here. She's not here. You could have saved her but you chose to focus on petty revenge and now she's gone.

Before those worries could consume him whole, he heard a rush of water surge through the pipes. Immediately his entire body relaxed as he realized she was just in the bathroom, and he rolled over to try and feign sleep before she came back.

However as she climbed in to join him, Yugo noticed that she going much slower than usual. Before he could figure out what could be wrong, she leaned over to look him directly in the eye.

"Why are you doing up at this hour?" Golden eyes stared into blue. Even if she hadn't caught him wide awake, he wouldn't have been able to resist meeting her gaze.

"Just stupid stuff," He finally looked away. "Nothing much."

"Nuh-huh, when the actual ray of sunlight isn't beaming as usual, something has to be wrong. Don't lie to me." She rolled him back over so he was facing her. "Just tell the truth."

He studied her closely for a few seconds, every contour of her face and the shadows that shaded it. More and more, Yugo found himself overcome with just how much he loved her, a burning intensity that seemed to grow every day. He peppered kisses across her face—one on her forehead, one on her nose—each for less than half a second, but the more he kissed her, the longer his lips lingered until he couldn't take it anymore and finally pressed his mouth against hers. Words were hardly his strong suit, so he tried to communicate everything he wanted to say and more with his kiss.

When they finally broke apart, he leaned forward and rested his chin on her shoulder as a shudder passed through his body.

"I can't lose you again," He whispered against her skin. "Not again."

Her hands danced up his back, fast and quick and searching for a way to occupy them—a habit of hers when deep in thought.

"You're always good at comforting me, yet I can never do the same. I feel pretty useless."

"Rin—" He pulled back form their embrace to tell her no, she was driven and clever as a whip and wonderful and everything he could ever need, but before he could say anything else, she gripped his hands in hers and slowly guided them to her growing belly.

"Will the baby be able to help?"

He hadn't really forgotten about it, but the realization that she was having his child that they had created together hit him just as much as when she had first figured it out. Almost reverently he traced her taunt stomach. The doctor had said she still had her third trimester to get to, but he couldn't help but picture children with Rin's eyes and his smile.

"I'll protect you and this child with my life." Blues eyes grew somber. "No matter what, I'll—"

"You can't protect us from everything," She interrupted, words coming out clumsy and rushed. "It's just the reality of things. Something or another will end up hurting me eventually. Even you might hurt me—"

"Not on purpose—"

"Never on purpose." Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled out her throat. "I've come to accept that though. The only thing I can't accept is if you do something dumb and end up leaving us alone." She pulled Yugo forward to kiss him soft and tenderly. "I can't afford to lose you either."

While the nightmare no longer haunted him, he still felt a certain restlessness gnawing at his core. It hadn't been brought on by the kiss, but something else about the conversation. He must have been pretty transparent about it because Rin started speaking again.

"I'm really bad at this comforting thing, making it all about me. Just give me a second, I might have an idea." She positioned them so he was hugging her from behind, hands still rested on her stomach. "I think you're having one of my problems—thinking too much about everything—and sometimes when I can't sleep I've started focusing on the baby instead. So just don't think for now." She snuggled deeper into his chest.

It was almost ironic considering usually she'd scolded him over not thinking, but it was an easy command to follow. Yugo closed his eyes and wondered if he could really sense their baby growing inside of her.

There was a slight movement below his palm, and he couldn't help but grin as sleep came back slowly but surely.

A.N. I guess this is partly to make up for my last appleshipping thing and because I can’t help but imagine them grown-up and in situations like this

[randomguywholikesstuff]

Quotes From: Jonathan Haidt. “The Happiness Hypothesis: Finding Modern Truth in Ancient Wisdom”[3]

Personality

“basic traits such as the "big five": neuroticism, extroversion, o p e n n e s s to new experiences, agreeableness (warmth/niceness), and conscientiousness”

“characteristic adaptations," includes personal goals, defense and coping mechanisms, values, beliefs, and life-stage concerns (such as those of parent-hood or retirement) that people develop to succeed in their particular roles and niches”

“third level of personality is that of the "life story.”

“We can't stop ourselves from creating what McAdams describes as an "evolving story that integrates a reconstructed past, perceived present, and anticipated future into a coherent and vitalizing life myth...

the life story is written primarily by the rider. You create your story in consciousness as you interpret your own behavior, and as you listen to other people's thoughts about you...

the rider has no access to the real causes of your behavior; it is more like a work of historical fiction that makes plenty of references to real events and connects them by dramatizations and interpretations that might or might not be true to the spirit of what happened.”

“Most of the life goals that people pursue at the level of "characteristic adaptations" can be sorted—as the psychologist Robert Emmons has found—into four categories: work and achievement, relationships and intimacy, religion and spirituality, and generativity (leaving a legacy and contributing something to society).”

“People who strive primarily for achievement and wealth are, Emmons finds, less happy, on average, than those whose strivings focus on the other three categories”

Adversity Hypothesis

“Adversity may be necessary for growth because it forces you to stop speeding along the road of life, allowing you to notice the paths that were branching off all along, and to think about where you really want to end up...

You need interesting material to write a good story..

stories are" "fundamentally about the vicissitudes of h u m a n intention organized in time

Some people's life stories show a "contamination" sequence in which emotionally positive events go bad and everything is spoiled.

People who tell such stories are, not surprisingly, more likely to be depressed...

Although adversity that is not overcome can create a story of depressing bleakness, substantial adversity might be necessary for a meaningful story...

Imagine a woman whose basic traits are warm and gregarious but who strives for success in a career that offers few c h a n c e s for close contacts with people, and whose life story is about an artist forced by her parents to pursue a practical career. She is a mess of mi s matched motives and stories, and it may be that only through adversity will she be able to make the radical changes she would need to achieve coherence a m o n g levels..

people who are mentally healthy and happy have a higher degree of "vertical coherence" a m o n g their goals—that is, higher-level (long term) goals and lower-level (immediate) goals all fit together well so that pursuing one's short-term goals advances the pursuit of long-term goals...

“Trauma often shatters belief systems and robs people of their sense of meaning..

When bad things happen to good people, we have a problem. We know consciously that life is unfair, but unconsciously we see the world through the lens of reciprocity..

At an intuitive level, we all believe in karma”

we are so motivated to believe that people get what [they deserve]..

that we often blame the victim of a tragedy, particularly when we can't achieve justice by punishing a perpetrator or compensating the victim...

but, in general, the ability to make sense of tragedy and then find benefit in it is the key that unlocks posttraumatic growth”

Optimism Advantage

“The answer compounds the already great unfairness of life: Optimists are more likely to benefit than pessimists. Optimists are, for the most part, people who won the cortical lottery: They have a high happiness setpoint, they habitually look on the bright side, and they easily find silver linings. Life has a way of making the rich get richer and the happy get happier...

When a crisis strikes, people cope in three primary ways: active coping (taking direct action to fix the problem), reappraisal (doing the work within—getting one's own thoughts right and looking for silver linings), and avoidance coping (working to blunt one's emotional reactions by denying or avoiding the events, or by drinking, drugs, and other distractions)...

People who have a basic-level trait of optimism (McAdams's level 1) tend to develop a coping style (McAdams's level 2) that alternates between active coping and reappraisal. Because optimists expect their efforts to pay off, they go right to work fixing the problem. But if they fail, they expect that things usually work out for the best, and so they can't help but look for possible benefits. When they find them, they write a new chapter in their life story (McAdams's level 3), a story of continual overcoming and growth.

In contrast, people who have a relatively negative affective style (complete with more activity in the front right cortex than the front left) live in a world filled with many more threats and have less confidence that they can deal with them. They develop a coping style that relies more heavily on avoidance and other defense mechanisms. They work harder to manage their pain than to fix their problems, so their problems often get worse...

Drawing the lesson that the world is unjust and uncontrollable, and that things often work out for the worst, they weave this lesson into their life story where it contaminates the narrative.

If you can find a way to m a k e sense of adversity and draw constructive lessons from it, you can benefit, too. ”

Writing about Adversity to gain Reappraisal

“Once Pennebaker had found a correlation between disclosure and health, he took the next step in the scientific process and tried to create health benefits by getting people to disclose their secrets..

“T h e people who showed deep insight into the causes and c o n s e q u e n c e s of the event on their first day of writing got no benefit, either: T h e y had already made sense of things. It was the people who made progress across the four days, who showed increasing insight; they were the ones whose health improved over the next year..

You have to use words, and the words have to help you create a meaningful story. If you can write such a story you can reap the benefits of reappraisal (one of the two healthy coping styles) even years after an event. You can close a chapter of your life that was still open, still affecting your thoughts and preventing you from moving on with the larger narrative...

Anyone, therefore, can benefit from adversity, although a pessimist will have to take s o m e extra steps, s o m e conscious , rider-initiated steps, to guide the elephant gently in the right direction. T h e first step is to do what you can, before adversity strikes, to change your cognitive style. If you are a pessimist, consider meditation, cognitive therapy, or even Prozac..

the second step is to cherish and build your social support network. Having one or two good attachment relationships helps adults as well as children (and rhesus monkeys) to face threats..

Trusted friends who are good listeners can be a great aid to making sense and finding meaning. Third, religious faith and practice can aid growth, both by directly fostering sense making (religions provide stories and interpretive schemes for losses and crises) and by increasing social support (religious people have relationships through their religious communities, and many have a relationship with God ) . A portion of the benefits of religiosity could also be a result of the confession and disclosure of inner turmoil, either to God or to a religious authority that many religions encourage...

at some point in the months afterwards, pull out a piece of paper and start writing...

that you write continuously for fifteen minutes a day, for several days...

Write about what happened, how you feel about it, and why you feel that way. If you hate to write, you can talk into a tape recorder. The crucial thing is to get your thoughts and feelings out without imposing any order on t h e m — b u t in such a way that, after a few days, s o m e order is likely to emerge on its own. Before you conclude your last session, be sure you have d o n e your best to answer these two questions: Why did this happen ? What good might I derive from it?”

Virtue Hypothesis: Knowledge and Wisdom

“We do not receive wisdom, we must discover it for ourselves, after a journey through the wilderness which no one else can make for us, which no one can spare us, for our wisdom is the point of view from which we come at last to regard the world...

explicit and tacit. Explicit knowledge is all the facts you know and can consciously report, independent of context

T h e rider gathers it up and files it away, ready for use in later reasoning. But wisdom is b a s e d — according to Robert Sternberg, a leading wisdom researcher—on "tacit knowledge." Tacit knowledge is procedural (it's "knowing how" rather than "knowing that"), it is acquired without direct help from others, and it is related to goals that a person values..

Tacit knowledge resides in the elephant..

There is no universal set of best practices for ending a romantic relationship, consoling a friend, or resolving a moral disagreement...

First, wise people are able to balance their own needs, the needs of others, and the needs of people or things beyond the immediate interaction

T h e wise are able to see things from others' points of view, appreciate shades of gray, and then choose or advise a course of action that works out best for everyone in the long run. S e c o n d , wise people are able to balance three responses to situations: adaptation (changing the self to fit the environment), shaping (changing the environment), and selection (choosing to move to a new environment”

“For adversity to be maximally beneficial, it should happen at the right time (young adulthood), to the right people (those with the social and psychological resources to rise to challenges and find benefits), and to the right degree (not so severe as to c a u s e PTSD )”

Virtue Hypothesis: Morality

“He was saying that a good life is one where you develop your strengths, realize your potential, and become what it is in your nature to become...

While my care was employed in guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another; habit took the advantage of inattention; inclination was sometimes too strong for reason. I concluded, at length, that the mere speculative conviction that it was our interest to be completely virtuous was not sufficient to prevent our slipping, and that the contrary habits must be broken, and good ones acquired and established, before we can have any dependence on a steady, uniform rectitude of conduct

The rider must take part in the training, but if moral instruction imparts only explicit knowledge (facts that the rider can state), it will have no effect on the elephant, and therefore little effect on behavior. Moral education must also impart tacit knowledge—skills of social perception and social emotion..

so finely tuned that one automatically feels the right thing in each situation, knows the right thing to do, and then wants to do it. Morality, for the ancients, was a kind of practical wisdom.”

“Plato's Republic and Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics, two of the greatest works of Greek philosophy, are essentially treatises on the virtues and their cultivation

Like Plato, Kant believed that h u m a n beings have a dual nature: part animal a n d part rational. T h e animal part of us follows the laws of nature, just as does a falling rock or a lion killing its prey. There is no morality in nature; there is only causality. But the rational part of us, Kant said, can follow a different kind of law: It can respect rules of conduct, and so people (but not lions) can be judged morally for the degree to which they respect the right rules Kant turned the problem around and said that people should think about whether the rules guiding their own actions could reasonably be proposed as universal laws.

This simple test, which Kant called the "categorical imperative," was extraordinarily powerful...

offered to make ethics a branch of applied logic, thereby giving it the sort of certainty that secular ethics, without recourse to a sacred book, had always found elusive”

“Bentham was the father of utilitarianism, the doctrine that in all deci-sionmaking (legal and personal), our goal should be the maximum total benefit (utility), but who gets the benefit is of little concern...

deontologists" from the Greek deon, obligation) try to elaborate the duties and obligations that ethical people must respect, even when their actions lead to bad outcomes (for example, you must never kill an innocent person, even if doing so will save a hundred lives). Descendants of Bentham (known as "consequentialists" because they evaluate actions only by their consequences) try to work out the rules and policies that will bring about the greatest good, even when doing so will sometimes violate other ethical principles (go ahead and kill the one to save the hundred, they say, unless it will set a bad example that leads to later problems).

They both believe in parsimony: Decisions should be based ultimately on one principle only, be it the categorical imperative or the maximization of utility. They both insist that only the rider can make such decisions because moral decision making requires logical reasoning and sometimes even mathematical calculation. They both distrust intuitions and gut feelings, which they see as obstacles to good reasoning. And they both shun the particular in favor of the abstract. The moral law, like a law of physics, works the same for all people at all times.”

“T h e philosopher E d m u n d Pincoffs has argued that consequentialists and deontologists worked together to convince Westerners in the twentieth century that morality is the study of moral quandaries and dilemmas. Where the Greeks focused on the character of a person and asked what kind of person we should each aim to become, modern ethics focuses on actions, asking when a particular action is right or wrong

This turn from character ethics to quandary ethics has turned moral education away from virtues and toward moral reasoning

Children must be taught how to think about moral problems, especially how to overcome their natural egoism and take into their calculations the needs of others

I believe that this turn from character to quandary was a profound mistake, for two reasons. First, it weakens morality and limits its scope. Where the ancients saw virtue and character at work in everything a person does, our modern conception confines morality to a set of situations that arise for each person only a few times in any given week: tradeoffs between self-interest and the interests of others. In our thin and restricted modern conception, a moral person is one who gives to charity, helps others, plays by the rules, and in general does not put her own self-interest too far ahead of others'. Most of the activities and decisions of life are therefore insulated from moral concern. When morality is reduced to the opposite of self-interest, however, the virtue hypothesis b e c o m e s paradoxical: In modern terms, the virtue hypothesis says that acting against your self-interest is in your self-interest..

thicker, richer notion of virtues as a garden of excellences that a person cultivates to become more effective and appealing to others. Seen in this way, virtue is, obviously, its own reward..

Maclntyre says that the loss of a language of virtue, grounded in a particular tradition, makes it difficult for us to find meaning, coherence, and purpose in life.”

“Although no specific virtue made every list, six broad virtues, or families of related virtues, a p p e a r e d on nearly all lists: wisdom, courage, humanity, j u s t i c e , temperance, and transcendence (the ability to forge connections to something larger than the self)- T h e s e virtues are widely endorsed because they are abstract: There are many ways to be wise, or courageous, or h u m a n e , and it is impossible to find a human culture that rejects all forms of any of these virtues

But the real value of the list of six is that it serves as an organizing framework for more specific strengths of character. Peterson and Seligman define character strengths as specific ways of displaying, practicing, and cultivating the virtues. Several paths lead to each virtue. People, as well as cultures, vary in the degree to which they value each path. This is the real power of the classification: It points to specific means of growth toward widely valued ends without insisting that any one way is mandatory for all people at all times..

twenty-four principle character strengths, each leading to one of the six higher-level virtues”

“But you don't really have to be good at everything. Life offers so many chances to use one tool instead of another, and often you can use a strength to get around a weakness”

“immanent justice"—justice that is inherent in an a c t itself

The belief that God or fate will dole out rewards and punishments for good and bad behavior seems on its face to be a cosmic extension of our childhood belief in immanent justice, which is itself a part of our obsession with reciprocity.

These two processes — kin altruism and reciprocal altruism—do indeed explain nearly all altruism among nonhuman animals, and much of human altruism, too. This answer is unsatisfying, however, because our genes are, to s o m e extent, puppet masters making us want things that are sometimes good for them but bad for us (such as extramarital affairs, or prestige bought at the expense of happiness

anyone who does embrace reciprocal altruism as a justification for altruism (rather than merely a c a u s e of it) would then be free to pick and choose: Be nice to those who can help you, but don't waste time or money on anyone else (for example, never leave a tip in restaurants you will not return to). So to evaluate the idea that altruism pays for the altruist, we need to p u s h the sages and the scientists harder: Does it even pay when there is neither postmortem nor reciprocal payback?”

Virtue Hypothesis: Volunteering and Happiness

“Research on "service learning," in which (mostly) high school students do volunteer work and engage in group reflection on what they are doing as part of a course, provides generally encouraging results: reduced delinquency and behavioral problems, increased civic participation, and increased commitment to positive social values

W h e n a person increased volunteer work, all measures of happiness and well-being increased (on average) afterwards, for as long as the volunteer work was a part of the person's life”

“T h e elderly benefit even more than do other adults, particularly when their volunteer work either involves direct person-to-person helping or is done through a religious organization. T h e benefits of volunteer work for the elderly are so large that they even show up in improved health and longer life

With age, however, one's story begins to take shape, and altruistic activities add depth and virtue to one's character. In old age, when social networks are thinned by the deaths of friends and family, the social benefits of volunteering are strongest (and indeed, it is the most socially isolated elderly who benefit the most from volunteering)”

Virtue Hypothesis: Freedom from Norms

“Anomie is the condition of a society in which there are no clear rules, norms, or standards of value. In an anomie society, people can do as they please; but without any clear standards or respected social institutions to enforce those standards, it is harder for people to find things they want to do. Anomie breeds feelings of rootlessness and anxiety and leads to an increase in amoral and antisocial behavior

Values clarification taught children how to find their own values, and it urged teachers to refrain from imposing values on anyone

Asking children to grow virtues hydroponically, looking only within themselves for guidance, is like asking each one to invent a personal language—a pointless and isolating task if there is no community with whom to speak.

For many liberals, diversity has become an unquestioned good—like justice, freedom , and happiness, the more diversity, the better...

two main kinds of diversity—demographic and moral

Demographic diversity is about socio-demographic categories such as race, ethnicity, sex, sexual orientation, age, and handicapped status

Calling for demographic diversity is in large measure calling for justice, for the inclusion of previously excluded groups .

Moral diversity, on the other hand, is essentially what Durkheim described as anomie: a lack of consensus on moral norms and values. O n c e you make this distinction, you see that nobody can coherently even want moral diversity.

If you prefer diversity on an issue, the issue is not a moral issue for you; it is a matter of personal taste...

Nonetheless, Franklin may be right that leadership on virtue can never come from the major political actors; it will have to come from a movement of people, such as the people of a town who come together and agree to create moral coherence across the many areas of children's lives.”

[dramirez79-blog]

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[foreverseveredthoughts]

Why We Lie and How to Stop

By Lisa Firestone Ph.D

There’s a scene in the movie “Something’s Gotta Give” that simply and succinctly captures one reality about the truth. After catching the man she loves on a date with another woman, Diane Keaton is chased out of the restaurant by a guilty and distraught Jack Nicholson. When he finally stops her, he pleads, “I have never lied to you, I have always told you some version of the truth.” She replies, “The truth doesn't have versions, okay?” And that’s the truth. The truth may have many sides to it. It may be complicated or hard to understand, but it exists… in one version. Yet, most of us have trouble with the truth. We may not be outright liars, but we certainly shade the truth to make it fit more comfortably into our lives—to keep it from disrupting anything from our careers to our relationships to our afternoons.

In her research, Bella DePaulo, Ph.D. found that people lie in one in five of their daily interactions. Pamela Meyer, author of Liespotting, claims in her TED Talk that we’re lied to from 10-200 times a day. It’s important to consider: how honest is the world we’ve created around ourselves? How often do we ourselves tell lies? And, on the flip side, do we intimidate others in ways that might encourage them to shade the truth?

It’s common for people to only say the parts of the truth that they feel are acceptable or that they think people want to hear, leaving the full truth hidden away. They may lie by omission or tell “little white lies” that paint a very different picture of reality. It’s no surprise that these lies don’t just hurt relationships, they can outright destroy them. Even lies told in the name of protecting others can leave you feeling pretty bad about yourself, because you don’t feel like an authentic, strong individual when you aren’t being honest. Here are some examples of the many ways people lie and how these lies hurt them in all areas of their lives: Controlling a Response—When you talk to a close friend about an interaction with a co-worker or lover, do you only tell your side of the story? Do you leave out a small but significant detail about something you brought to the table? Do you rephrase the less desirable words you said in the moment? Think about how these subtle changes may influence your friend’s attitude and response. Are you just getting your friend to say what you want to hear? In the end, how authentic is their response if you strategically manipulated the outcome?

When you control a response by shading the truth, you create an alternate, agreed upon reality between you and another person. You then get advice that may be based on faulty information. Plus, you deny yourself the value and integrity that another person's true opinions might have awarded you. Lying by Omission—Ever complained to someone that you aren’t losing weight without mentioning the Grande Frappuccino you downed as an afternoon snack? Everyone has times when they leave out less desirable details. Sometimes you do this to be sensitive or to spare a person’s feelings, but sometimes those details matter, and you know it. For example, if your partner asks what you did that day, you may not mention that you wound up running into an ex and having lunch. Maybe you try to conceal an ongoing flirtation with a co-worker. These may not feel like acts of deceptionto you, but imagine how your partner would see them. Whether there’s nothing to hide or something real you’d rather they not know about, leaving out significant facts will make you feel shady and create a hotbed for further deceptions. On the other hand, creating an environment where you can be open about these things will promote a feeling of mutual trust and honest communication. Exaggerations—People's insecurities about themselves may lead them to try to preserve a certain image of themselves, and they may experience a need for approval from others. However, when you exaggerate or don’t represent yourself honestly, you are left feeling like a fraud, which further hurts your self-esteem. There’s a fine line between highlighting your attributes and completely inflating your abilities. At work, you may promise to finish a task you know you won’t be able to complete on time. You may exaggerate to a boss when it comes to your progress or skill level. Doing this will lead to trouble when, most likely, your actions will fail to match your words.

At times, you may lie to compensate for guilt. Parents often do this with their children, missing a soccer game, for instance, then promising they’ll show up at every game for the rest of the season—only to disappoint again soon-after. It’s hard to hide a broken promise, a missed meeting or a poor performance. Exaggerating deems you untrustworthy. Your words start to mean a lot less when the reality doesn’t match up. Plus, you may never believe that you’re being chosen or cared about for who you really are.

Self-Protection—Too often, people are coached by an inner critic to not express directly what they want or feel toward other people. You may have a guard up that tells you not to be too vulnerable. You may downplay your emotions or act like you don’t care, because you don’t want to feel or look like a fool. But defending yourself with deceptions or false portrayals of who you are will drive you further from your goals and will likely prevent you from getting what you want in life.

Gossip or Covert Communication—Gossip is an epidemic. It’s in every household, office space and coffee house. It’s a booming industry taking over our media. The biggest problem with talking about someone behind their back is that you may flat out deny these observations when face-to-face with that person. You can see how this can be harmful to your relationships. A true friend or loved one should be someone you can talk openly with, someone to whom you can offer feedback and welcome the same in return.

Another problem is that gossip breeds cynicism and destroys compassion. It’s a nasty way of indirectly dealing with real observations or competitive feelings. When you favor direct communication over gossip, you become a more genuine, compassionate, not to mention appealing, person to be around.

Some people believe you need lies to survive in a relationship. I would argue that this is untrue. Misleading a person distorts their reality and makes them feel crazy, which is one of the most unethical things you can do to another person. So what can you do to be more honest? You can begin by being honest with yourself.

First off, you can stop listening to your “critical inner voice.” Shading the truth often comes from listening to an inner coach that’s not on your side, that instructs you to self-protect by telling you things like you can only be accepted if you say the right thing or don’t really reveal yourself. In relation to your boss, it may tell you, “You’ve been messing up lately so make your boss think you solved this problem without the help of your co-workers.” With your spouse, it may say, “Don’t tell her you forgot her birthday; it will only lead to a fight.” In relation to a competitor, it may advise you, “Don’t let him know you think he’s talented. Don’t let your guard down; he’ll just use the truth to hurt you.” By getting to know this inner critic, you can separate it from your real point of view and act against it.

Next, you can take chances on the people you care about by being a lot more honest and direct with them. You can find healthy and considerate ways to express yourself and to be sensitive to the other person’s sense of reality. The truth may not always be easy to hear, but in the long term, you will earn a lot more trust and respect from the people whose opinion you value the most.

When it comes to the truth, it’s important to think about whether you want people to trust you. Do you value integrity and want your words to be reflected in your actions? If you commit to these attributes on a behavioral level, you’ll be better able to gain trust and live your life with honest, open communication. This world may not be perfect, nor the truth always easy to take, but you can find peace and freedom in the security of knowing that the world you’ve created around you is as real as it gets.

Original Source:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/compassion-matters/201309/why-we-lie-and-how-stop