#but from cold and rational standpoint not he is my favorite

[katyspersonal]

since you've been playing elden ring, do you have a favorite npc so far?

Haha, my pace at discovering more of Elden Ring is SNAIL slow. And I don't mean moderately fast snail-like mobs in ER, I mean real life snails. xD So, my knowledge is still lacking. But with what I DO know, I think I can pick a favourite already!

This might come off as a surprise, but this...

...is...

...SELLEN!

Honestly, so far I liked her the most! She gives me very strong Imposter Iosefka vibe (in the scenario if after having made enough Emissaries, the Imposter also joined with them to be several small ascended people hiding in a trench coat pretending to be one BIG ascended person…). Whereas she is still, of course, a unique and interesting character on her own! It is just this kind of a female character after knowledge beyond human plane that reminds me.

I am particularly fond of the madman/woman/person characters who want to know the eldrich truths of the universe, no matter how horrifying they are and no matter what taboos they have to break, and what they have to give in exchange. I also can respect the type of 'scientist that is not above trying their own medicine' because, again, she becomes The Orb herself xd Her sassy and blunt attitude is also very appealing for me, she is a confident character with a very certain motivation! I do also enjoy how no matter what scroll she is given, her reaction is that she is familiar with this sorcery, so she is already very educated!

I've posted my analysis how in Bloodborne, Willem and 'original' Choir (from which only Yurie remains) prioritise ascending humanity and leveling with the gods as people, whereas the Choir as it is later tries to TRANSCEND humanity, and will break any taboos, just like Mensis too. In there, I actually sympathise with Willem's side and see Choir as reckless and desperate fools. But in Elden Ring, for some reason, I actually sympathise with the ideas of Sellen (and her teachers, Azur and Lusat) more instead, whereas seeing how Caria family goes about the glintstone teachings as kinda weak. Not REAL researchers. It is very funny and I can't even explain why I am so inconsistent all of a sudden; doesn't help that Rennala herself gives strong Willem and Yurie vibe! Truly, the magic of narration can make EITHER side feel more sympathetic than the other o_o"

Also, I've learned that initially her Witch's Glintsone Crown was named Grana Glintstone Crown, but it was patched out!

I feel like developers initially did want to make Sellen as important as someone who had her own school and the crown made in her likeness was a common wear too, but it never picked up because… well, her line of studies contradicted with Caria's family agenda and restrictions too much? It is one thing to just explore rocks from space, but completely different one to try and BECOME one! But I decided to go with 'they retconned the idea' rather than with 'they obscured the idea'. I mean, how exactly people would follow this "school"? They'd just become rocks lol. It is not really studying the object when you become the object.

I also honest to god cannot recall this particular shade of green glintstone anywhere else - not in an environment, nowhere on Graven Scholars, and there are no spells or staff associated with this color. So I feel like it is artificial and created BY her; would go with theme of her experimenting with turning people into seeds of a star. Heck, maybe this glintstone also had an… organic origin, too. So it cannot be turned into a weapon (unlike staffs of Azur and Lusat that ARE made from existing cosmic material), but only serve as cathalyst for intellect and sorcery of THE caster.

Also I just gotta say, I really appreciate how in these spheres everyone is always having the both horrified and awe-full expression, but she looks really blissful and calm x) She actually gave a realistic, adequate estimate towards how much she wanted to become one with the cosmos xD Lore says that even Azur and Lusat were devastated when they witnessed it, so she is arguably MORE of a madwoman than those two. Love this about her so much.

Honorable mention: so far, Nepheli is my second favorite. Her design definitely beats everyone else's amongst NPCs yet, but also she is just really appealing character. Badass warrior with two axes with great honor and will to go on no matter what, who is also very sensitive and compassionate at heart, is in touch with her vulnerable side, grieving the fallen, strong but not invincible… It is a very good example of how TO write a strong and badass female character; the power is not to be a solid brick that never cries but to be able to connect with one's insecurities and still get back up. Her being heartbroken when her father figure turned on her was very moving, for some reason this way she feels stronger than if she just got up and kicked Gideon's ass and hated him forevermore after that. I just live for this balance of both big muscles but ALSO a big heart.

[forestlingincorporated]

When Superboy Died For Nightwing

When reading Infinite Crisis and it’s build up, you may notice that Nightwing seems to have a target on his back. The reason for that is fairly simple... Nightwing was supposed to die. 

The decision came from Dan Didio, who admitted to not really liking Dick all that much, but always claimed the decision was a rational one: Dick Grayson had touched the most heroes lives, his death would effect the most people, and bring the most people together. Didio felt Dick’s death would be a hero’s send off for a character that had lived through his coming of age arc and had no where to go. 

Didio: We were looking for the big death in Infinite Crisis – the big moment. We were looking for something that would have equal import and merit and weight in this story. One of the things I’ve been proven wrong about is that I had felt that Dick Grayson was a redundant character – Tim Drake had filled his role as Robin, he would never be Batman, so where could he go? My big fear was that Nightwing would get older than Batman.

As Didio states, he was wrong. Dick had plenty of storylines to be told, and even had his own run as Batman, which was wildly loved. Stories we got because the other people on staff disagreed that killing Dick was the right move - not that it wouldn’t be impactful, but that is was just not a good idea. 

Phil Jimenez: Though I can’t think of a character who would have a greater impact than Nightwing dying.

Geoff Johns: True, but it’s Dick Grayson. My mom knows who he is. Nightwing would’ve been a mistake.

Geoff Johns, who ended up writing Infinite Crisis #6, in particular went to bat for Dick. He thought the idea of killing Nightwing was so bad, he offered up a character, who he’d not only been writing for but was one of his favorites, in his place - Conner. 

Geoff: Superboy was the best choice.

Phil: Just in terms of links to other characters, though. Dick has so many connections to other characters. In many ways, even more than Superman or Batman, Nightwing is the soul, the linchpin, of the DCU. He’s well respected by everyone, known to the JLA, the Titans, the Outsiders, Birds of Prey – everyone looks to him for advice, for friendship, for his skills. He’s the natural leader of the DCU. His loss would devastate everyone and create ripples through the DCU. If it wasn’t him, it had to be a hero that really impacted so many.

Geoff: Well, what other character? Not Wonder Girl. Enough women have died in the DCU. Superboy was my favorite Titan. And I literally had to offer him as a sacrificial lamb.

Interviewer: You killed your favorite Titan? That must have been hard to write.

Jeanine Schaefer: I literally had tears in my eyes when the pages came in.

Geoff: I really fought to have Conner in TEEN TITANS. He gave the title a dynamic the book never had before.

Jeanine: It’s one of the reasons [his death] worked so well and became such a powerful scene. I remember talking to Geoff when the decision was made, and he was, correctly, really adamant that it matter.

Geoff: And Phil did such a great job with facial expressions there, depicting everyone’s sorrow.

Eddie Berganaza: We were hoping to save both Nightwing AND Superboy. But at the end of the day, if we were going to do something really impactful, we really had to go all the way. It just worked for the whole story.

Notably, DC has had off-and-on legal disputes over the Superboy IP with the Siegel family for years (if you’re wondering why they never called Clark ‘Superboy’ in Smallville... yeah) and were actively Going Through It with the Siegels around this time. So, yeah, if two writers were presenting DC with two characters asking the corporate execs to pick which one to kill off, and one of them was Extremely Profitable Fandom Darling Nightwing and the other had their hero name wrapped up in a messy legal battle... I can’t prove that was a factor, I don’t have a quote saying it is, but I know which one I would pick from a cold, business-oriented standpoint. 

All of that to bring me to a rather interesting comic given it’s time frame, writer, and characters involved... Teen Titans #33, by Geoff Johns and Marv Wolfman, published one month before Superboy dies in Infinite Crisis #6. It makes a note at the beginning to read Infinite Crisis #5 before reading Teen Titans #33.

This is a team-up comic between Conner and Dick, who have really not had much interaction, especially not one-on-one. We get a good look inside both of their heads and really see into the emotions of both characters. 

There are several panels that use their mental dialog to parallel the two characters. Dick is doing his best to be a mentor figure, and Conner is trying his hardest to appear put together, which puts them at odds where Dick is hoping Conner will be vulnerable with him and admit when he’s worn out or needs help, and Conner doesn’t want to show weakness in front of Nightwing because he doesn’t want him to think he’s a fuck up. 

It’s really sweet, actually, Dick is a fantastic mentor, even if Dick personally feels out of his depth sometimes doing it. 

And they are given just enough time to really bond for a minute...

Just in time for Conner to die in Dick’s place. 

It’s a really interesting comic from that standpoint, designed to put Conner in harms way for Crisis #6, wrap up a lot of Conner’s emotional drama and self-worth issues with the help of a mentor figure (note that Conner’s sacrifice ends up being about Conner coming to terms with himself, and not about motivating other characters as Nightwing’s would have been), and masks a Superboy send off as a Nightwing send off. 

I’m not even completely sure if they made their decision on who to kill when Teen Titans #33 was written, but it’s clearly on their minds, and I find it a very interesting read with the behind the scenes background in mind. It’s an easy comic to overlook if you don’t know what was being discussed, but it’s very much a sweet gesture to give these two room to bond and have Conner literally sacrifice himself for Dick on the page. 

It REALLY turns into a real bait and switch right there at the end, they very much lean into the idea that it’s going to be Dick right up until it’s not. When the decision to kill of Conner instead was made, they leaned into it hard as a surprise, and I gotta be honest... I feel like it works very well. 

[c4rdsharp]

meechi. lowkey, one of my favorite unintentional side effects of RPing is seeing the trends of how other muses feel / see about Luck. partly because, if it repeats, it means i have a consistent characterization on how I write Luck and i'm not being uncertain, but mainly it's because i like the reflections of how other muses see Luck. Since I write him, I don't really have a clear outside perspective of how others may see him. His actions & motivations make sense to me, as his RPer, especially since one of Luck's special skills is his ability to rationalize practically every single decision he makes. But, of course, other people and especially other muses don't have this inside information. This doesn't mean their observations are ever wrong or incorrect ( though they can sometimes arise from misunderstandings ), just that they provide a different framework for me to view his characterization from! If it's something unexpected, I can ask myself why that's the case and discover where Luck's blindspots are as a person. I know what weaknesses and strengths he may have on paper, but other muses can point them out in a way more objective light than I could, who is by proxy writing from a biased standpoint ( i.e. in Luck's perspective of his own weaknesses & strengths ). Some of my favorite trends I've noticed :

muses accusing Luck of being egotistical or arrogant. He's actually far from it, but I can see where that impression may come from. most of the time, it's muses projecting on him their own insecurities because, even though he has flaws as any others and is self - critical, he's pretty self - assured in terms of his strengths. As a result, he can come across as acting 'high and mighty.'

muses being uncomfortable with him because he has a way of getting way more out of them than they intend. It's not always intentional, but it points that I manage to write him in a charismatic - enough fashion that muses, even those who don't particularly like him, are prone to being genuine with him. Considering Luck works in interrogation and acts as the social face of the family, it's something I'm always happy to see.

muses finding him difficult to read or predict. This is pretty self - explanatory, but Luck genuinely thinks he's pretty easy to understand once you get past the mask. He is, but most muses don't, so they are often faced by someone they can't really comprehend the motives of.

muses who just. They don't necessarily dislike him, but he does rub them the Wrong Way. I love it when people don't like Luck in character ; he can be absolutely unpleasant & cold to some individuals. You either really love him or you really hate him. There is no in - between.

anyone who meets Luck and goes there is something very wrong with you. They're absolutely right, and he's somehow always shock to hear he is failing to masquerade as a completely normal human being.

[isabel3710]

World Of Color: Part 2

Sander Sides Fanfiction    Part 1

Summary: Patton relaxes and talk to his family.

Word Count: 1,811

Patton sank into his room, panicking. They were going to figure it out! They were all going to know! Why couldn’t he just act normal? Patton breathed heavily as he leaned up against his closed bedroom door.

Patton didn’t know how long it was before he finally started to calm down nut when he was he sat down on his bed, thinking about the events that had occurred. He then started trying to reassure himself, and it slowly began to work.

After all, He told himself. Just because I reacted the way I did doesn’t mean that they know about my secret.

Patton was drawn out of his thoughts when he felt a sharp stab of pain coming from his pounding headache. He was still worried but there was nothing he could about it do now. What was done was done, and there was no use worrying about it. Right now he needed to focus on getting rid of this pain in his head.

Standing up Patton made his way over to his bathroom and took a painkiller. Standing in the center of the room, his eyes wandered over the bathtub. One thing he loved to do was to take hot baths and listen to music.

He smiled to himself, a long bath was just what he needed to help himself relax. Walking over to the tub he plugged the drain and turned on the hot water tap on full blast and poured in some bubble mix. Leaving the bathroom Patton trapped the steam in by shutting the door behind him and grabbed his phone.

Back in the bathroom he turned off the water and flipped through his music before settling on a classical music playlist. Logan had introduced him to the music genre and Patton found that not only did he enjoyed the peaceful instrumental music, but the colors were amazing.

He placed the playlist on shuffle and smiled when one of the songs started. The steam from the water made his colors all the more alive. It gave off the appearance of looking to be almost 3D and he loved it. Quickly disrobed the Cheerful Side climbed into the bubbly, hot water and felt his body relax as he watched the colors dance about with the music playing in the background.

Yes, there was a chance of his family figuring out his secret but he can worry about that later. Right now Patton was going to relax and enjoy his colors.

------

It had been a couple of hours since Patton had left the others and his bath had long since gone cold. By now he decided wasn't going to worry about his secret being found out, there was a chance that his family had not figured it out yet.

The Child-Like Aspect was now sitting on his bed with his stuffies, coloring when he felt the light tugging of being summoned. Putting down his coloring book he sank into the real world and appeared in his usual place in front of the blinds. Looking around Patton saw everyone sitting on the couch. Well except for Virgil, he was sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, kiddos!” Morality greeted in his usual, cheerful voice “what’s up?”

“Patton,” Logan said, “how about you sit down?”

“Sure,” he said with a smile and plopped down next to Roman. “Is everything okay?”

“Patton,” The Creative Side said gently “we wanted to ask you something.”

“But only if you’re okay with it,” Virgil added quickly.

“Of course! You can ask me anything!”

“Good, because we wanted to ask….” Logan’s voice trailed off before continuing “Patton, do you have Synesthesia?”

Patton froze, eyes wide “how.. How did you find out?”

“So it’s true?” Logic asked, ignoring his question.

“Yes…” The Normally-Cheerful Side admitted looking down, ashamed “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Roman asked.

“For… lying to you” it was hard to do so but he needed to say it.

“What are you talking about?” Thomas asked, “when did you lie to us?”

“I never told you my secret!” He said looking up, confused “I lied to you because I never told you!”

“Patton..” The Youngest Trait said slowly, “we don’t care that you didn’t tell us. Yeah, you kept something from us and sure we may not understand why but it's okay. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and it’s up to them to decide when they want to share it. We’re just glad that you're telling us now.”

“But I didn’t tell you! You found out on your own!”

“You're telling us now.” The Logical Attribute pointed out, “and now that you are we want to ask you some questions about your Synesthesia.”

Patton looked at his friends, his family, in shock “You…. you forgive me?”

“Of course we do!” Thomas said with a soft smile.

Patton turned to look at Virgil “I’m sorry for yelling of you.” He said, “do you forgive me too?”

“Yeah, I do. After all.” The Negative Counterpart said, “you guys have forgiven me for much worse.”

“Oh.. Thank you kiddo” Virgil gave him a nod and a small smile and the fatherly trait looked up at Logan with a grin spreading across his face “well, in that case, ask away!’

------

“How does your Synesthesia work?” The Scholarly Aspect asked, wasting no time whatsoever.

Patton frowned, confused. “What do you mean? Like how it works in general or how it works for me?”

“For you, I am already aware of how it works from a general standpoint.”

“Oh! Okay.” The Eldest Side paused, thinking of the best way to explain it “well my type of Synesthesia is called ‘colored hearing’ which means that I see colors when I hear sounds. It's the same when words spoken to me or I read them.”

“Fascinating.” Logan said, “Does your alphabet have colors as well?”

“Yes,” Patton noded.

“Can you give us an example?” Virgil asked.

“What kind of example?”

“Ooo! Like, do our names have colors?!” Roman asked excitedly and Patton gasped.

“Yes, they do!” He said “I almost forgot. I’ve always wanted to tell you guys them and now I can!” Patton was full of bubbly energy as he went and told each side what the color of their name. “Roman: your name is glossy red, like your sash! With a little bit of a gold shine to it.”

“Like glitter?” The Dramatic Side asked hopefully.

“Just like glitter!”

“Defiantly fits Princey.” Virgil commented “what mine?”

“Virgil: your’s takes on the shape of sharp, eggy, dark purple zig-zags outlined with black.” Anxiety nodded in approval and Patton moved on to the next side, “Logan: your name is a dark navy blue with thin black stripes. It also has the texture of paper, kind of like the page in a book.”

“Fascinating.” The Rational Facet whispered with awe.

“What color is my name?” Thomas asked.

Patton looked over at his Host and smiled “your name is my favorite.” He admitted, “I think everyone’s are beautiful but your name is the one I like best.”

“What color is it?” Roman asked.

“It's rainbow and super sparkly.” Patton said with a smile “but not glitter sparkly… it's more like… Anime sparkles.” He paused before nodding to himself “yeah like anime sparkles.” He confirmed.

“What color is your name?” Logan asked.

“Mine? Well, it’s light blue with little flecks of light grey, like my cat hoodie, and it’s fuzzy and soft like dog or cat fur.”

“Wow.” Thomas said softly “that’s amazing Pat.”

“Why would you hide something like this from us?” Virgil asked and Patton looked down. His body filling with shame.

“Because… I was worried that you’d think that something was wrong with me and try and ‘fix me’ because I’m not normal.” The Synesthete Side whispered.

“Falsehood.” Logan said “nothing is wrong with you Patton, while this may be unusual and rare you are not strange... Also, nobody is ‘normal’ for everyone is different.”

“That's right!” Roman said “everybody is weird and strange, it’s what makes them unique! Being weird and strange might as well be normal.”

Patton blushed “aww well thanks kiddos.”

--------

The rest of the afternoon was filled with the family talking about Patton’s Synesthesia and asking him questions about it but the Moral Side didn’t mind. They were all so nice and accepting of him. Patton had nearly burst into tears of happiness when Virgil gave him a pair of noise-canceling headphones. Saying that he could use them when he got too overwhelmed by noises.

They eventually had to stop for the day because Roman and Logan had to finish up some planning for a short video. And Thomas was going to film a video with his friends for his second channel. So the sides sunk out of the real world and back into the Mindplace.

Roman and Virgil quickly headed up to their rooms and Patton was about to follow when he was stopped by Logan.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I have something to give you.”

“Oh okay!” Patton said, surprised, and his logical friend quickly hurried up the stairs to his room and came back down with a book in hand.

Logan stopped in front of him and handed it over to him. Patton took the book and looked at the cover which was a light mango orange with a picture of a white silhouette of a cat, and the title written inside. The multi-colored letters of the title gave him a slight headache due to them being different than his own.

Patton looked up with a questioning look and his Logan quickly explained “it’s called ‘Mango Shaped Space’ by Wendy Mass. It is a story about a young girl with Synesthesia, specifically colored hearing such as yourself. While the story may be fictional the author made sure to express full understand all types of Synesthesia and what synesthetes experience.”

Morality's face split into a huge grin and he threw his arms around his friend who stiffened before awkwardly returning the hug. “Thank you, Logan, I love it!”

“Of course. It was not a problem, I hope you enjoy it.” Logic said, pulling away.

“No, no, not just that.” He shook his head “but yes, thanks for the book. What I meant to say was, thank you. Thank you to you and the others for being so nice to me about all this, it means a lot and I’ll be sure to thank them later.”

Logan gave a small, rare smile full of understanding. “Your welcome” was all he said before leaving.

Patton left to his room shortly after Logan to read his new book. All with a smile on his face, now that his family knew his secret (and that he knew that they still loved him for it) he felt closer to them then he ever had before.

[postscriptsonliving]

laughing and forgetting

The first thing writing does is putting what isn’t there. 

If I wrote about him, I would’ve written different arrays of him, like anyone with the originality he had when I knew him. You know I can get imaginative. One version has not read a single book in his entire life. Another played in a basketball team and was part of the in-crowd. Another lived among the Plain communities, probably an Amish or Casiano Nazaire, so brainwashed that he despised education. Another didn’t love me, or at least was incredibly indifferent to whatever I do in my life.

This is I realize what the two of us have been doing throughout the years we wrote to and about each other. All those words, poems, unsolicited letters -- stored in a pipe dream where literature and reality moved in parallel lines, never converging, not once.

The thing about writing is that you tend to seek narrative consistency in life, but rarely there is any in reality. I date a fellow writer, read poetry to each other, tucked in a corner inside a cold coffee shop, writing letters to each other at the most random times, challenging each other with the kinds of book we read, arranging that we’ll both collaborate in a book someday. He was my favorite writer. I was his favorite writer. P.G. Woodhouse said that “There is no surer foundation for a beautiful friendship than a mutual taste in literature”. All was alright. 

Both of us were perfectly placed in the central standpoint of universe; we owned the world; and despite the rough edges here and there, it’s all part of the story dynamic. There’s nothing more I can feel beyond this. I would do anything to make him happy. He swore he would do the same.

So one afternoon, with my entire heart and soul, I wrote him a long persuasive letter, with two jazz records and his favorite book, declaring that we both belong to each other, that I’d never leave again. Asking him if he would do the cardinal undertaking of loving me again, or any of its odd variations. 

Then I wake up one morning with him, the man I had thought I wanted to spend my entire life with, and realize, a clump in my backbone, that I don’t like him at all. This isn’t what I want. He isn’t what I want. Suddenly I like this older guy who’s sent me discreet messages. The girl I’ve had drinks with. This boy who used to date me. I wanted to leave the country. I didn’t actually like men. Making excuses to rationalize what I feel. I can no longer trust my affections. My words now mean not a damn thing. People and things you think you love forever may be people and things you hate.  

Thoughts of leaving spring, but I bivouac in the illusion that you’ll just stay friends. He will look surprised and hurt and I will hate it. Are you sure? he will ask in his soft, shaky voice, the delicacy evident in any kind of unconditional love. 

Do not attempt to bandy words. Tell him straightly that I do not actually love him, but only the idea of us. It will make him cry. He will be sad for days. I’ve always been the greatest reason why he’s lonely. He will say something like: you know I will forever love you. It will be heart-wrenching, excruciating, but the pain I will have at that moment is not even a quarter of his, so I will stay shut on my end of the call. I will ask for his forgiveness, that I didn’t want to hurt him, but it’s also alright if he decides not to forgive me. Say that he made me a better person, and honestly mean it. Thank him for the undeserved love I received, but loving is not enough. Why is that not always enough?

If there’s a thing I should’ve learned about literature, is that artistry doesn’t lie merely in its elements. Don’t insist that every word and sentence carry some pretentious value. Seek the beauty or value of the mere gesture. The emotional value. It’s not to be known or understood. The risk of scrutiny is dismantling it. Love is much like art. It's like painting an impressionistic art. You don’t need to look at it upclose and personal to love it.

As Susan Sontag said: 

“The modern style of interpretation excavates and as it excavates, destroys; it digs 'behind' the text, to find a sub-text which is the true on.”

“Think of the sheer multiplication of works of art available to every one of us, superadded to the conflicting tastes and odors and sights of the urban environment that bombard our senses. Ours is a culture based on excess, on overproduction; the result is a steady loss of sharpness in our sensory experience.”

Perhaps that’s why I have absolutely no means of writing about him. I seemed to have learned to love him for every reason in the world; except for no reason. But maybe it’s also because I just cannot encapsulate him in writing, the analytical malfunctioning. Maybe that was why not even my imagination could bring him back anymore.

When J.R.R. Tolkien wrote: “Fantasy is escapist...if we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we're partisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!” Escaping means exactly that: eluding free from what you have. Literature means moving from one quadrant of dimension to another, but still remaining in the same plane of reality. Charles Bukowski remarking that “without literature, life is hell” merely reiterated the fact that what we have is hell.

Because when I think about what it was like to live with him, it was like all these things: like living in a poem, a paragraph of run-ons, an anecdote, a supercut, when I look back at it now. It was all wonderful. It was a place I don’t necessarily miss or want get back, but just absolutely adore.

Clearly we’ll still continue to write. Despite the false faith we’ve both disclosed in literature, within this erratic and groundless plane of reality.

Here’s a possible plot: I will never see him again. Or perhaps I will. Because this corner of the world is too cramped, we will encounter each other in a convention, minding our own  business. I will greet him and he will nod, but he will not stop.

A week, a month, a year, the sadness will fade. We will feel nothing but indifference. Waves of nostalgia every now and then.

Here’s a possible plot: me, getting in a plane. Him, climbing a mountain. 

[jason673878-blog]

Candace

This would be the 12th year of the Bluegrass festival, Hank and I had attended them all.  We were just out of high school when we spent a weekend here that October,  it was only a few weeks into our relationship, and our first time we slept together.  It would be a romantic retreat each autumn during our 10 year marriage.  This would be my first festival without him, and I would be damned to miss one of my favorite vacations just because of Hank.  He had already taken so much from me, I would avenge the injustice of his affair by enjoying these things without him.

  I phoned my best friend, Clair, bluegrass music wasn't her thing, but cheap booze and the sights and sounds of autumn would convince her to share a tent with me.  She had been my friend since we were school children, we shared our lives.  She had been in a pair of her own marriages and divorces, she was more than just a best friend to me, from my support group to my road trip partner.  We had been on many, many adventures together.  It was little surprise that she agreed to share the price of gas, and give up a weekend to hang out.  I tell myself that I am a strong and independent woman without Hank, I can do anything on my own, but the thought of being alone in a nylon tent wasn't kosher from a safety standpoint. 

  We joined the festival early on Saturday.  The usual sights and sounds. Craft booths, the food, and of course the canteen cocktails.  The cider and pumpkin spice coffee from the vendors mixed well with the rum smuggled in my bag.   The raspy folk music seemed more whimsical after a few drinks that morning.   It was a beautiful day, perfect weather, polite and familiar faces greeted us from one corner to the next.  The same explanation, over and over, of how Hank and I weren't together any more.  The story began as "Well, we had grown apart, so we went through an divorce last spring".  The erosion of alcohol during the day changed the story to a bitter "He's a cheating asshole, we split in June."   There was no guarantee that Hank, himself, wouldn't be at the festival with his trophy cunt home wrecker slut of a girlfriend, so I had prepared a friendly response should we meet up with them, explaining that my boyfriend couldn't make it for this year's festival because he was in navy seal or astronaut training, and how his dick was bigger than Hank's.   I wasn't bitter, I was just prepared.  It wouldn't be proper to let Hank think he was the only one having a good time after ten years of marriage were devastated by his lust for other women.   I needed a boyfriend, a real one, not just a story, someone to make Hank jealous. 

  We met a few men, from the tattooed and pierced bad boy to the mild mannered banjo player, I was giving out my phone number like an ad for a used car on a workplace bulletin board.  I felt somewhat desperate, but maybe the next Mr. Right could be here.  The rum gave me courage.  My loneliness overruled my logic, the thought of being alone forever constantly in my head.  Clair and I shared a picnic table with Sean and Will, they were old friends.   Sean was tall, he wore tattoo sleeves and blue eyes behind 50's style glasses.  His hair was dark as night, and slicked back. He was smart, really smart, he spoke fluent Italian and worked in an art studio as a glass blower.   Will was of average height, he also wore the 50's style glasses, a flannel shirt and skinny jeans, he seemed younger than Sean.  Will was the story teller, Sean was the joker, they were amusing individually,  as a pair they were outstanding.  Sean's smile was friendly, his tattooed neck accented his lips.  He was just right. 

  Clair and I left the table to go to the bathrooms together, laughing uncontrollably.  Sean had the cutest smile, he was just enough tough, and just enough sweet.   The trick now was to split the group up so I could get some alone time with Sean.

"I haven't laughed this hard in a long time." Clair said.  "I see how Will looks at you, would you like me to hang out with Sean so you two can have some time together?"

Really, Will is giving me 'the look' ?   I hadn't noticed, either I was staring so deeply at Sean or the rum-cocktail bender that started this morning was taking it's toll.  "I like Will, a lot, if it weren't for Sean, I'd totally be into him, but I think Sean is just perfect."

"Well, I like chatting with Will, so I'll do that, he can be my type for tonight."

 I've known Clair my whole life, she wasn't at all into Will, he wasn't really her type at all.  She liked tall, foreign men, who didn't talk much.  She liked to be the center of attention, Will just wasn't the kind of guy I'd ever seen her with before, but I wanted a first kiss with Sean tonight, I was ready to move on from the divorce. 

  We split just before sunset, Sean and I walked along the river.  We chatted like old friends, I told him my story, he teased me with his jokes.  We laughed together.  Hours would pass into the darkness, he explained that he and Will shared the blue tent second from the end of the third row with the cooler in front.  I gave him my telephone number, and half a bottle of smuggled tequila before a kiss on a park bench at the water's edge.  Our lips met, his tongue mimicked the motions of mine, we were neither one too sure of how far we wanted to go, or how committed we could be.  It was playful and seductive, he left me wanting more.    We parted ways at the campground, and I found my way to Clair and our tent.  "You still awake?"  No response.  The booze and the long day of driving and festival activity was taking it's toll, I should get some sleep anyway.  I curled up in my sleeping bag, thinking how great Sean will be to make Hank jealous with his tattoos, jokes and good looks.  He was a nice guy, so much fun to joke with.  I lay half asleep for some time, the thought of Sean and the kiss in my mind.  I questioned everything I said to him, had I made him doubt me?  Did I say anything to turn him off?  Did I mention my crazy family?  He's probably not going to call me, it's an hours drive up here from home, and I told him that, I imagined that he would find someone closer to home that he liked better. 

  I couldn't sleep, worry and doubt in my mind.  I'll sit out by the water for a bit, gather some cool autumn air and the sound of the wind in the dry leaves.  The peace will calm me, or so I thought.   Alone by the water, wrapped in a blanket, I felt more lonely than before.  I would find Sean, see if he was still awake, if he wanted to talk.  His tent wasn't far away.   Stumbling through the crowded campground in the semi-darkness, I found the blue tent with the cooler in front, just as Sean had described.  I peaked inside, two seperate sleeping bags on opposite sides, a flannel shirt and skinny jeans lay at the foot of one, that must be Will's.   I grabbed Sean's foot, "Psst, hey, you awake?"  No response.  "Hey, wake up, Sean, it's Candace.  Wake up!"  He was a heavy sleeper, must have been too much alcohol.  I couldn't get any louder without waking the whole campground.  I didn't want to go back to my tent and be lonely and alone while Clair slept.  The alcohol gave me courage.  I worked my way into Sean and Will's tent, and shook Sean.  "Hey, it's Candace, do you want to cuddle?"  His sleeping bag was more than large enough for the two of us.  He woke, "You what? Huh?"  "It's Candace, I couldn't be alone tonight, my friend, Clair, well, she's asleep and I just want to be with somebody, can we cuddle up tonight?"   "uh, ya, sure, I ... guess?"  He unzipped the sleeping bag in the darkness, and helped me find my way in.   Half the tent was lit by the moon, but where Sean was sleeping was nearly pitch black, it added a sense of romance.  We spooned, he held me, he wasn't asleep any more.  He didn't say anything, he must be waiting for me to start the conversation.  I rolled over and faced him.   "Thanks for sharing your sleeping bag with me."  "No problem, I had some extra space."  I felt him smile.  I kissed him.  Our lips met with much more direction and purpose this time, his tongue felt completely different, this time he was supple and soft, a gentle kisser.  I reach down and feel his strong abdomen.  He is much more fit than I imagined, he is firm to my touch.  Suddenly he grabs me with his strong arm, holds me close to him.  His tongue presses into mine.  With a smooth motion he angles my legs apart with his knee and plants his hand between my thighs.  His fingers explore inside me, his thumb gently circles.  He pulls my hair, lifting my face, he bites my neck gently.  His fingers follow a rhythm and he hits the note just right, I exhale loudly.  He pushes deeper inside me, he's playing me like an instrument.  I'm brought to the brink of climax, he gentles his hand and pulls it from me.  He teases me.  I need him, I must have him.  He unzips his sleeping bag and opens it, Will lay motionless next to us.  I must be quiet, or he may wake and destroy this moment.  Sean pulls my pants off in a quick and seemless motion over my shoes, I pull my sweater off over my head.  I lay there kissing him gently, wearing nothing but my black pumps.  He claims me once again with his fingers, my legs grow stiff as I pressure his hand inside me.  He presses harder, deeper.  The rhythm of his fingers, we've stopped kissing, he is focused on me.  I shutter and shake, my heartbeat races, my sweat condensates like dew upon my forehead in the cold air, he is playing me like a violin.  My body grows stiff, I try to turn away, the feeling is amazing, overwhelming, tickling.  I come.  He gentles his hand for a moment, then begins a circling again with his thumb, his fingers still inside me, motionless.   

            Sean reaches for Will's sleeping bag, his other hand still inside me, his thumb still playing my most pleasing notes.  He shakes Will.  I'm confused, at first, then I rationalize he's trying to get Will out of the tent so we can be alone.   Will wakes.   "Dude, get over here"  What?  My heart skips a beat.  "I'm....not...sure..."  Sean buries his tongue in my mouth before I can finish my sentence, he stiffens his fingers and plays a note I didn't know I had.   Sean jumps like an acrobat toward my feet, he spreads my legs with his.  I feel his soft tongue upon me, he licks and sucks me like a lollypop.  He grasps my hand and pulls it toward his mouth "Show me how you pleasure yourself."  The rhythm of his strong fingers still inside me.   We worked our fingers together in concert. 

            Will sat up on his knees near my face.  He pulled his boxers off, his erection sprung within an inch of my lips.  I pull him into my mouth.  I think of Hank, how he would beg me to gag on his dick, and I never would, it seemed too kinky.  I pulled Will to my throat, my lips touch his trimmed bush.  I gag slightly at first, but the reaction subsides and I'm left with Will at the back of my throat, he shutters, I move him to my lips, my tongue wraps around the end.  I suck harder and harder, my thrusts deeper and deeper.   Hank would be jealous, of how well I do the things tonight that I wouldn't do for him in our decade together.  The thought of him with that whore, her fingernails in Hank's back, I'm such a slut tonight, acting out Hank's fantasies.

            Will's dick is soft on my lips, it is as average a cock as I have ever been with.  He feels surprisingly manageable and familiar.   Sean and I continue our salsa dance with my hooha, me rubbing and fondling, him thrusting slowly, then fast, then slow and deep, he stretches me with more fingers from time to time.   My legs shake, I have to take Will's dick from my mouth, the feeling is intense.  "Oh yes, oh...my..." Sean and I continue our dance at a ferocious pace, the sounds of my wet vajayjay and the motion of his fingers, 'splish, splosh, splish.' My ass tightens, my muscles compress his hand which seems to make his fingers angry as they work harder, furious inside me.  "Oh...my...fucking..." I want to come so badly, but I can't, like a sneeze stuck in my nose, the feeling is incredible, this is the longest orgasm ever.  We continue, my fingers ache now, my whole body shaking, breathing hard, can't close my mouth, my neck stiffens, then my back, it works down my body to my toes which curl in pleasure.  "You're going to come for us, do it now, come now."  Will commands as he compresses his hand over my neck, the pressure of being choked, no stopping, not now.  "Touch my arm if it's too tight or you want me to stop, ok?"  Will reassures me.  I nod.   He compresses my airway, the excitement increases, Sean and I continue our merengue dance, as fast as we both can.  Pressure.  I can hardly breathe, but I don't want it to stop, my body grows limp for a second, Will releases his grasp, "No, don't stop!", he grabs my neck again, this time higher toward my jaw, he controls me, he could kill me easily if he wanted to.  The thought of being trapped by Will's strong grasp excites me more.  Stiffening again, I can hardly breathe, my body needs more, Sean adds another finger, stretching me, and leans in to whisper "You're ours for the rest of the night, you need to come now so we can get off, don't you feel me inside you?  You have a perfect body, made for us to fuck."  Slap!  "You like it a little rough, you like to be controlled.  You will do what we say, you are ours tonight." I imagine what they could do to me, there are hours of darkness left, Sean knows what he is doing, and the thought of these two filling me, giving me all of their attention, the object of their desires, I smile for a split second " Oh ... my ...fucking... oh...shit..."  Will tightens his grasp of my neck, reminding me that he owns me at this moment, Sean pushes as deep as he can, my fingers fondle furiously.   I feel warmth over my whole body, "YES!" I scream, it feels like the first hill on a roller coaster, my stomach is in knots, a warm and wet discharge from my pussy, "don't stop now, keep going, feel me inside you deeper, keep going don't stop!"  Sean cheers me on.  It's a free fall now, my back arches, only my feet and my neck touch the ground, I reach up and grab Will's hand, he immediately releases my throat, Sean gentles his hand.  "Oh shit, I'm still coming!"  the feeling is like a wave over my body, from head to toe, it comes and goes for a few seconds.   I grab Will's neck and pull him toward me and I kiss him gently.  "[exhales] that was amazing"  It was the best orgasm I have ever had.  Lucky.  My head is dizzy from the alcohol and intense pleasure that last for what seemed like hours.  I hold Sean's hand as he lay to my left, Will fondles my nipples as he lay to my right in the near perfect darkness.

            "How was that?"  Will asks, playfully.  "That was the most incredible orgasm I have ever had.  I've never come that hard."   "Did you know that you squirt?"  Sean adds.  I'm a squirter?  Wow, I had never done that before, maybe it was just so wet that he had been confused "Are you sure that I squirted?"  Will interrupted "Shhh, just be [long pause] ours, for a little longer."

            Hank would never believe this story, his little trophy bitch could never be the squirter that I have become.  These men worship me.  What would happen next?  Would we just go to sleep?  The mystery wouldn't last long, Sean leans to my ear and whispers "It's our turn" 

            In a single motion, Will spreads my thighs, and moves between them.  He leans forward and thrusts into me, deeply.  I inhale loudly, Sean notices.  He leans back to sit on his knees and pulls down his boxer briefs exposing his member.  I'm curious about his dick, he's tall, he's athletic, it'll be a surprise.  Reaching, touching his thigh, working toward his center.  Oh, shit!  There's no way I can take this whole thing, it's huge, like the guys in the porn that Hank and I watched that one time. 

            "You like it.  Touch it."  Sean tells me "Just get it hard, I can do the rest."  What the fuck?  It gets bigger? I am so.... drunk.... what the hell.          It takes two hands to work Sean's dick, I say dick, I mean cock.  That's the best way to describe it.

            Will is thrusting into me.  After the hard finger banging from Sean, Wills penis is soft and welcoming, his motion and rhythm is soothing, smooth, it feels good, like jazz music.  I'm wet from before, and warm from the orgasm, my ears burn, my mouth is dry.  Sean puts a finger in my mouth, gently, he reminds me "You are mine now, roll over."

Will hears the command and pulls from me, I'm weak and powerless on all fours now, Will on my left, Sean works his way behind me.  He builds his erection, and fills me... completely.  I'm stretched. Will watches, sitting back.  Sean thrusts slowly, it's so big that it is uncomfortable at first.  He builds his motion, in and out, a little deeper, a little faster, one step at a time, he is teaching me to handle his huge cock.  Wet, but not the waterfall it was before, he leans over my back and grabs my hair, he pulls.  "You're taking all of me now."  He thrusts deeply, I feel his thighs against mine.  Stars.  Rainbows.  Pots of gold. It was good.  Really good.  He begins his rhythm of fucking me, the best word to describe it, fucking.  He was a professional, he knew exactly where to go and what to do, he varied in his pattern, a few deep thrusts, a shallow, another two fast,  four more slower, then fast again... he is an artisan, tinkering with my intimate parts.  The pace increases, he leans forward again "Show me how you get yourself off, touch yourself for me while I fuck you, do it now!"  He pulls my hair harder now, there is a sharp sting on my scalp, I fondle myself slowly and gently, he continues his rhythm.  He releases my hair and grabs my hips with his hands now.  He pulls me into him, quickly, hard, deep, forcefully. "Yes!" I scream, no regard for the other tents nearby,  "You like that, don't you.  You're going to come for me."  He continues inside me, deeper, then slow, then fast, then slower again...then deep and quickly, and deep and quickly "Oh my!"  I'm fondling myself flat-out, I pull my finger to my mouth to wet them, my arm is growing weak, I grab a pillow and lay my chest upon it.  My fingers find their way back to my intimate area.  Focused.  Faster, more, deeper, rainbows, unicorns, "Oh, Harder!" He rails me.  Thud, thud, slap, thud, the sting of his spanking my ass, the thud of his hips against my ass cheeks.   We are tuned, together, "Oh yes, ahhh..." he calls out, a wave of weightlessness, I'm sweating, breathing hard, heart racing, every ounce of me feels numb and alive at the same time.  I'm boiling.  He thrusts deeply into me, three times, He pulls me to him as hard as he can.  "Woooah!" he exclaims, he is motionless.  I was close, but I didn't quite finish.  He pulls out of me, leaving me the horniest girl in the world.  I want more, I want to finish. 

            I roll over on my back, Will kisses my neck and runs his hand over my stomach and thighs passionately.  Sean lays quietly, his hand on my thigh.  He watches Will as he works his way between my legs again.  He kisses my mouth, he was a good kisser, not too hard, not too gentle.  He penetrates me, but I hardly notice, Sean had spoiled me with his fingers, then with his huge cock.  Will couldn't satisfy me now, and he was on top of me so I couldn't finger myself very well either.  We need a different solution.  We need to be creative.

            "I want you both... at the same time."   I work my way to all fours again, and kiss Sean as he lays on his back.  Will spits on my ass, he works in one finger, it feels odd at first, like a finger in my ass. I had been with a boyfriend before this way, before Hank.  Once or twice I used plug toys when I was felt extra horny when I played with myself.  Will works his finger, gently, it starts feeling good, then he adds another finger, as I loosen up it feels great, then he adds yet another.  This is going to take some time, but Will seems patient.  He spits again, it helps, it feels good.  He gently fingers my ass for a few minutes, then an in and out motion, it's not great, but it's not bad either.   The dream of getting two men off at the same time excites me, worshipping me, coming inside me at the same time, getting me off as their fuck toy. 

            Will climbs and mounts me, he penetrates me, slowly, shallowly.  He knows this won't be easy for me.  He spits and waits with his bulge inside me, motionless.   Sean moves under me, kisses me and pulls my hair.  He builds his erection again, he fills me once more.  Will pulls out, and pleases himself to get hard again, he spits, and works his way into me again, deeper this time.  Sean thrusts me, pulling my neck to him, we tongue kiss without lip contact, he pulls my hair, a gentle sting.   Will spits again, and again, I feel him against my ass cheeks, he is all the way inside me now.  Sean continues up and down thrusting, the rhythm is incredible.

            Will slaps my ass, the gentle sting intensifies as he hits the same place over and over, I feel Will fucking me now too.  That is the best way to describe a dick in my ass, fucking.  They are in different rhythms, adding surprise and a constant feeling of lightness, like I could come at any moment.  I'm a pot of boiling water, gently boiling, ready to explode into a steamy hot mess.  Sean is going faster now, Will reaches from behind and puts his finger in the corner of my mouth and pulls me, "You're going to make us both come tonight inside you" He commands me, Sean pinches my nipple.  Will spanks me, the bombardment of stinging sensation, the taboo of having two men at the same time inside me.  The buzz of tequila, it all hits me at once.  I'm a dirty little slut for these men, Sean's huge cock, Will's velvet dick, I want to feel them both come at once.  "Oh my, this is..." it was a different feeling, like a huge orgasm, right on the edge but not falling over.  They push harder and faster, Sean's rhythm gives way to speed and depth, "splish, splosh, splish", Will sinks into me, then out, then in, he teases me.  Seans tongue against mine, "Fuck me!  harder! Faster!"  I'm close, this may be even better than the one with Sean earlier.  Sean holds my ear close to his mouth, I feel him breathing deeply, Will holds my hips and pulls me to him, "thud, thud, thud" as our flesh meets.   "I'm coming, I'm coming!"  Sean screams, he thrusts deep into me, three times again, Will thrusts a single time, as deep as he can, he grasps my thighs tightly, pain from his fingernails.  I picture their juices flowing into my love caverns at the same time.  I'm so close, but not quite there.  Will starts thrusting again, in and out, slowly at first.  He's one of those guys, he can keep going.  He grabs my hair again and pulls it.  "You're going to come for me alone this time.  You feel me, deep inside your ass don't you, you owe me this, focus on how it feels when I thrust you."  He grasps my shoulder with his other hand, and rails me like he's angry.   Sean reaches for my throat, he compresses my neck.  "You're going to come now aren't you, like a good little fuck toy."  Sean expresses as he clinches my throat.  I can hardly breathe.  Will pulls my hair, so hard, oh it hurts, the pain excites me.  He fucks me harder as I breathe loudly "oh yes, don't stop... oh yes..." thud, thud, thud, "you're choking me, I can't breathe."  Sean maintains his grasp of my neck, he isn't as gentle as Will.  "Come, goddamnit, come." Sean insists.   He may kill me, I hardly know him, he may be a psycho, he could choke me to death, I start to panic.  Will lays into me, so fast, thud thud thud, slap.  Oh the pain, my ass is so raw from his incessant slapping.  I'm feeling lightheaded, my heart races.  Will is fucking me so hard, deep and fast now, it is amazing, but I can't focus from being choked.  My body is tingling, legs numb.  I come, so...fucking... hard...  My heart races, my legs are like noodles, biting down clinching my teeth, more unicorns, warmth, toes curl, stomach tightens, waves of tension, screaming inside, shaking, spinning.   Sean releases my neck, I breathe deeply and cough, Will pulls out of me.  We lay on our backs, Sean tells me he's sorry if he hurt me but he was sure it would make me come harder if I felt fear from the choking, he was right.  I haven't ever come that hard, it was amazing.  We slept in the cool autumn air, spooning with me in the middle, exhausted.

            The hangover would hit a few hours later when the sun rose.  I yawned and collected my clothes from the tent.  I sat at their feet as I put on my pumps and prepared to leave for the bathroom.  Sean looked different in the morning light, so did Will, and somehow Sean was missing his tattoos.  It seems this is a case of mistaken itentity.

[metastable1]

It's easy to make big plans and ask big questions, but a lot harder to follow them through.  Find out what happens to Harry Potter-Evans-Verres, Hermione, Draco, and everyone else once they grow into their roles as leaders, leave the shelter of Hogwarts, and venture out into a wider world of intrigue, politics, and war.  Not official.

Significant Digits by Alexander D is an unofficial continuation of Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Eliezer Yudkowsky. Despite being better crafted (from the wielding and richness of language standpoint, at least in the first half) it’s not as fun or funny as HPMoR, however, those rare moments when humor comes back, or when the author takes pokes at Rowling’s Harry Potter, make it feel exactly like the previous fic). Although the author abandoned heavy references made by Yudkowky to the heuristics and biases, it still feels like a rational fic and maintains ratfic’s qualities. One thing that I miss severely is a didactic tone of HPMoR - in Significant Digits, it comes back only for brief moments. I understand that it would be difficult to incorporate that when dealing with older and more experienced characters but still…

The thing I most respect about this fic is the amount of effort that clearly went into writing it, as well as the level of skill represented by the author, who, without a doubt, did a tremendous amount of research and is clearly quite an erudite. As one commenter said:

It saddens me a little that there is not a long discussion below this chapter. You are a good writter. I guess you are just too deep into the rabbit whole.

I admit that probably 95% of references, easter eggs and clues went over my head.

We spend most of the time inside Hermione’s head as if the author was afraid to write extensively from a perspective of Harry or Draco but when he does, he nails it. Alexander D did a really good job of writing more experienced and matured versions of the trio. Their dialogues also work well and one of them is my favorite fragment of the fic - I like it so much that I posted it below.

Fic is rich when it comes to fight scenes - there are a lot of fight scenes. The author deserves a great amount of praise for handling them so well - descriptions are really good and somehow he managed to not make them tedious or repetitious. If you wondered what would look like descriptions of duels featured in Harry Potter movies (they are quite different from those in the books) then wonder no more. Also, for the benefit of those with low tolerance level for violent scenes, I should note that continuation is a lot more gore-y than HPMoR.

Another aspect that deserves praise are awesome moments and lines of dialogues or internal monologues that stayed with me long after I took time off from reading. And then there are the Moments: those epic and deeply satisfying moments that the reader is often waiting for and when they arrive and unfold, there is this feeling of appropriateness and fulfillment; an exhilaration and “this is the way it should be” sensation. There were such moments in Rowling’s HP, in Yudkowsky’s HPMoR and they can be found in Significant Digits.

Now about the main plot and ending: I think that the idea for the main antagonist was pretty great, their motivations were solid. I think what failed was execution but I don’t have a good idea how intrigue should be lead or concluded instead. Don’t get me wrong - it’s still really good, I enjoyed it, don’t regret reading SD and its ending is quite unique and very risky, and despite that, it works! However, I feel that there was a greater potential that could be realized. Events leading to the main conclusion felt a bit clunky. On the other hand, the fic has a ”reread value” - with a benefit of hindsight readers can discover new things hidden by the author and spot hints that they missed during their first reading.

Overall, in my opinion, Significant Digits is a worthy successor of Yudkowsky’s fic. If you liked HPMoR give it a shot.

My favorite chapters:

Chapter Two: Buffering Conflicts and Chapter Nine: Boxes - for Harry’s perspective

Chapter Sixteen: Protagonists - for bringing back the spirit of J.K. Rowling’s HP

Chapter Thirty-Three: Walpurgisnacht - for a great ending of an arc and that dialogue

Chapter Fifty: Ultimate - for that final confrontation

PS. Important note: my comprehension of English let me understand HPMoR on my reread without much problem, however, Significant Digits has much richer language - it is possible that I missed some positive qualities because of this.

And now, my favorite fragment:

Wearily, Harry mounted the stairs to the workroom of the Headmistress.  In his pocket were four phials of blood from Vincent Crabbe, obtained after two hours of intimidation and veiled threats.  Moody had helped, along with two aurors Moody had trained himself -- an older one named Hedley Kwannon, and one barely out of training named Nymphadora Tonks.  The glass phials, filled with the blood of Hermione’s enemy, clicked against each other as Harry climbed the stairs. He pushed open the door.  It was silent inside.  Reddish light from the dawn illuminated the alchemical diagram on the floor: nested and interlaced circles and pentagons surrounding a central pentacle.  He’d been here once before, when he first demonstrated partial Transfiguration -- so long ago! -- and the room didn’t look to have been used since that visit. “Mad-Eye’s not here yet.  We have to wait,” said Draco’s voice from his left.  Harry started, and stepped forward to see that the boy was sitting at the base of the circular wall, head slumped forward. “How are you, Draco?” asked Harry, quietly. “This was your fault,” Draco replied. “I know.” “No, you don’t, you stupid piece of arrogant filth,” said the Slytherin boy, but there was no anger in his voice.  It was disconcertingly flat, with nothing but weariness and sorrow -- the sorrow of someone who had been required to endure too much, too soon.  “You think that you just made a mistake.  You’d do the same thing all over again, but you’d just be sure to include one more trap.  One more level of manipulation or cleverness.  You don’t see that the entire thing is… impossible.  It’s just impossible, and you won’t see that, and Hermione just keeps listening to you, and now she’s paid for your stupidity.” “I know.” “And even worse, this is just another reminder of why I was stupid to ever trust you -- to ever get involved in this asinine little play.  Your goals are… mad.  Insane.  But you don’t recognize that, since you don’t recognize any limits to… to… to anything.” It was more than that, of course.  It was even more than the terrible suffering and temporary absence of Hermione, as badly as that, too, had hurt the other boy.  There was something more. You’re worried that I can’t deliver on my promises… that you’ve placed hope in false prophecies and a false prophet.  You’re wondering if I am just a freak prodigy of Muggle science who looked really impressive in schoolyard antics, since he had a whole other world of tricks to steal, and who got lucky once… but who might just not be able to cut it in the real world. Draco looked up at him, and the boy looked unspeakably sad -- like he’d lost something precious. You’re worried I’ll never be able to bring your father back, after all. “Draco, there is--” “Shut up,” interrupted Draco, his voice hardening.  “Shut up and let’s just wait without talking.  You’re always talking, but it didn’t help her, did it?  Her phoenix burned and she burned. And now she’s dead, again, just like she was afraid would happen.” Draco’s eyes were red, but dry.  “She told me that… those months when she was trying to get her Patronus.  To meet your expectations.  She told me that she was terrified of dying again and that she thought that was probably the reason she couldn’t do it.  ‘I wake up screaming sometimes, Draco,’ she said.” “Stop,” said Harry, squeezing his eyes shut. Draco sounded more like he was scolding himself than Harry.  His words were black and bitter.  “And now she’s all burned up and dead again, and it’s your fault again.  Because you don’t understand what is possible, and you talk and you push -- oh, Merlin, it always sounds so insane when you first start talking, but by the end of the conversation it’s the rest of the world that seems insane, and how could I ever think that made sense?  How could anyone be that damned arrogant?” Harry turned away, blindly.  His eyes burned with hot tears.  For a moment, despite all of his resolutions, he almost called on his dark side: to cool him and calm him and solve this problem.  The cold emptiness of Voldemort’s thought patterns would have been preferable to this.  Null was better than negative. But he didn’t, because one did not abandon carefully-considered decisions during the exact sort of situation for which you had prepared them.  All he could do, instead, was sink to the stone, slick with dust under his fingers, and cry. After a time, his shoulders stopped heaving, and his breathing slowed from great shuddering gasps into quiet evenness.  Draco had said nothing, and hadn’t moved.  When Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position, he saw through a smear of tears that the other boy was just staring at him, dully, with red-rimmed eyes. “I…” began Harry, but he found that he didn’t have any words.  He fell silent again. Eventually, he stood up and drew his wand.  “Scourgify,” he cast, his voice heavy.  The spell cleared away the dust.  Putting away his wand, Harry opened his pouch and reached in.  “Cauldron,” he said to it, and felt the metal lip of a small cauldron leap into his hand.  He pulled it free of the pouch, which distended to permit its passage, and set it in the center of the diagram. Harry sat down next to it, and took the phials of blood out of his pocket.  He set them down next to the cauldron. Draco pushed himself to his feet, and walked over.  Digging into the pocket of his robes -- still the same burned ones, had he not had a chance to change?  no, of course... he left them on for effect -- he pulled out a small bag of soft bicorn skin and dropped it down next to the other objects.  The flesh of a servant, willingly given by Odette Charlevoix. Moody would be here soon, with a piece of bone from Hermione’s father.  He had insisted on doing this part himself, saying that he didn’t trust anyone else to invisibly infiltrate Happy Smiles Family Dentistry, stun one of the owners, extract a chip of bone while the man was unconscious, and fix any memories afterwards. It was a thankless task, and Harry thought that some part of Moody’s insistence was probably repentance.  Moody blamed himself for the attack, almost as much as he blamed Harry.  “We weren’t paranoid enough,” he had said, bitterly.  It was as heavy an indictment as he could deliver. They waited in silence. Finally, Harry spoke again.  “I tried. I tried as hard as I could.  I thought through everything and planned it out and assembled every bit of information… I counted forty-three known threats and planned for eight kinds of unknowns.  We had just… layers of security and plans.”  Draco knew most of them, of course.  He’d helped, along with Moody and Hermione and Bones. There were fat folders, stuffed with parchments -- or had been, anyway, before the fire ate the hidden boltholes that had been serving as safes.  Dossiers on people and information on countries:  CHINA.  Overview:  Continued worries about European and British dominance in magic, may seek to strike before new regime rises.  Often isolates self and seeks to extend power over Ten Thousand, but pragmatic leadership points to a willingness to shift tactics, if seems advantageous. Traditional value for immortality, connected to long specialization in potioneering.  Informal and formal power structures largely mirror each other; little vulnerability to factionalization but suggests opportunity to shift key functionaries and alter trajectory of entire country.  And so on. Plans within plans, contingency upon contingency: living and adaptable Matryoshka dolls whirling in a furious dance.  A location that couldn’t be stormed by force, allies watching other allies, security measures and magical wards that could cut off the life of an attacker in moments.  And none of it had done any good when the mind of a powerful wizard had broken.  He had died, but so had others.  So had Hermione. “It’s not your fault that you can’t do the impossible.  It’s only your fault that you try the impossible, and other people pay for it,” replied Draco.  He stared down at Harry.  “You can’t plan for everything.  The world is dark and people are vicious.  Even the good ones are vicious, and the bad ones are worse, and the crazy ones do things you couldn’t possibly predict. You can’t control the universe, Harry Potter-Evans-Verres, you miserable, arrogant little scrub.” Harry was silent once more, and looked away, unable to meet Draco’s gaze.  He hugged his knees.  Draco turned away, walking heavily towards the door. There’s too much evil and too much madness in the world, Moody had said.  Too much damn randomness. You can’t control the universe. “I don’t accept that,” he whispered, as much for himself as for Draco. “What?” demanded Draco, turning back around, his voice incredulous -- angry now, where he hadn’t been before. “I don’t accept that,” Harry repeated, more loudly.  He looked up.  “I do not accept that.” “You can’t--” Harry lurched to his feet, swaying slightly, his kneecaps popping from the sudden shift.  There was iron in his voice, now.  It wasn’t cold iron; it wasn’t the chill metal of his dark side, icy with hateful clarity.  It was iron at a white heat.  He glowed with it. “No,” Harry said, his voice as certain as a hammerblow. “No,” he repeated. “No,” he said again. “I do not accept that.  I do not accept death.  I do not accept decline.  I do not accept madness.  I do not accept randomness.  They are all part of the universe, and they are all important… but I do not -- mankind does not -- have to accept them,” said Harry.  “If you want out of this, then say so.  If you want to lead a different life, then you know I won’t begrudge you that.  I will make that happen, and that choice I once gave you will always be yours: you may choose another path and you will not hear a word of regret from me.  Your preferences are sacred. So if you think this can’t be done… go.”  Harry’s face was grim.  “But I’m not going.” Harry walked towards Draco until he was inches away from the other boy.  Iron was bright in his words. “Right now, there is a little girl somewhere in the world.  She’s a small thing for her age, with big eyes.  She loves her big brother.  She wants to be just like her mother when she grows up.  But tonight, there will be an accident.  A rotten tree will collapse as the little girl climbs it, and she’ll tumble to the ground, and she’ll land badly.  And she’ll die.  And then her big eyes will be gone, and her brother will never see her again, and she’ll never grow up to be like her mother.  Everything she ever was or will be: gone and dead and buried. “Her brother will deal with his grief, in time, and may even find solace and strength in stories about how death is necessary.  Her mother will cry and hurt, but in time it will hurt less, and she’ll focus more on her son, and eventually the loss will fade until it’s just a nagging ache in her heart -- that never quite leaves.  And the world will go on, because it’s happened every day in every way, and we have learned how to manage the loss. “But it doesn’t have to be that way.  And I don’t just mean saving that little girl, or Hermione, or even your father, Draco, but every little girl and friend and father.  People die every day and they always have but I do not accept it.” But something of Harry’s heat had communicated itself with his words, and Draco’s eyes were lit as bright as the red glow of Fiendfyre.  He seized the front of Harry’s robes, twisting his fists in them, and shoved as hard as he could.  Harry stumbled backwards, foot skidding, and only barely kept his balance. “Do you think I want them to die, you sanctimonious idiot?  Are you even listening to me?  I’m saying that it doesn’t matter how much you want them to live, because the world is too complicated!  You’re denying the data!  You want to do things that no one has ever done, and do them all at once which no one has even dreamed of doing.  Not Dumbledore, not Salazar Slytherin, not the Peverell brothers, not even Merlin the bloody First Enchanter himself!  The greatest wizards in the history of the world only barely attempted some tiny fraction of your insane fever dream!  You want to rule the world and end death, good and fine, and you want to end poverty and sickness and make everyone equal and put goblins and other trash up on a pedestal and all that other fluffy nonsense, fine!”  Draco was shouting, now.  “But it is impossible!  It is just impossible!  To do any one of them was beyond anyone’s power, even those who tried, much less all of it at once!  And by trying to do it, you’re going to burn down this world and everyone in it, and it is just beyond arrogant and stupid to look at the world and declare that you are going to change it so much and so fast, and we are all suffering because of that!” Harry roared back at Draco, his voice larger than himself, as though it were echoing the cries of others, of legions, “I don’t give a damn if it is impossible!  I don’t give a damn if no one has ever done it or tried it or dreamed it in the history of the world!  ‘Impossible’ is a little word and a petty one -- it’s the word of small minds and small imaginations, and I reject it.” Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Harry continued over him, shouting now, white iron in his words and eyes and heart, a white glow suffusing him as a glow from his wand waxed brighter and brighter. “We are standing on the brink -- at the moment of crux between peril and paradise, Draco!  We are caught at the edges of two singularities, held equipoise at their event horizons, and it is terrifying, but when they offer you the Ring you don’t reject it with the word ‘impossible!’“ Draco shouted back, lunging forward to stab a finger into Harry’s chest: accusatory.  “Not everything is possible in this world!” And Harry replied, quietly, caught with a sudden stillness as clear as the sweet ring of a tranquil bell, “Draco. There are more worlds than this one.  We’ll find one where we can save everybody."  His voice caught with emotion.  "Impossible just means you haven’t figured out how to cheat.”